“If her husband had gone under like her brother, she would have been well rid of him, poor thing. But knowing that the Marquis is coming back to her one of these fine days, she can’t be jumping for joy. Not to mention that she got on very well without him. If I’d been in the Marchioness’s shoes, I wouldn’t have provided those ruffians with five millions so as to send me back a bird like him.”
“The Marquis made a heap of money out of the St. Julien property in Rouen. His solicitor had no need to ask anyone’s permission to get him out of the mess you may be sure.”
“Anyway I pity her.”
“Did you see the ‘Belle of Dieppe’ coming back from the races to-day? She had a dress on that hit you in the eye.”
“All the same the Baroness Proskof is a beautiful woman, but only the Marquis knows what she’s cost him.”
When the diners reached this point in the conversation they were obliged to move their chairs to allow the two customers from the private room to pass out.
“Hullo” said one of the sailors when the two men were in the arcade outside “that man and the Marquis are as like as two peas.”
“It isn’t the Marquis. You don’t suppose he’d come here to dine... You’ve gone cross-eyed.”
The Marquis when he was outside looked at his watch in increasing agitation.
“It’s only half past eight” he said.
“It doesn’t begin until ten o’clock” said Hilaire.
“The programme says that the ball will be opened at nine o’clock... When I think that in half an hour... I’m frightened Hilaire, I’m trembling like a child... I can tell you now... The thought of seeing Cecily again appals me... Yes at first I was immensely elated... And it was that which made me suffer and endure everything... it was that which enabled me to bear torture. The thought that I should be her husband, her master... that she would belong to me... that this woman whom I idolized, and who was so far, so far above me, was to be mine... mine... that I should live in the same house with her, see her every day, breathe the atmosphere that she breathed, and hold my arms out to her... Was not this the most perfect happiness, a heaven upon earth? Well, Hilaire, for more than a year I have put off opening the door of that paradise.”
“You did well, monsieur le Marquis” returned the secretary “if only because you’ve waited until the day on which we’ve learnt of the death of the two persons who alone knew your secret. Now we may feel safe. Besides this last year has benefited you and benefited me too. You have travelled and seen people and the world. You have learnt a good many things. You have mixed in “society.” You know how to hold your own, how to succeed in society. You have conferred with your solicitor. You have examined your accounts. You know the extent of your fortune. Wealth does not astonish you any more. You know how to talk to women. You are a real nobleman. Your manners have become polished, your language more refined. I listened to you just now saluting your native country in the choice language that one reads in books. No vulgar word escapes you any more, and though the opportunity has often presented itself, you have never once allowed yourself to utter the Fatalitas which in the old days so often embellished your speech. For my part, I have followed you in this prudent course. I have benefited from the lessons that we have taken together, and I no longer recognise myself.”
“You still have the same old kind expression on your pale face, my dear Dodger.”
“Don’t mention that name monsieur le Marquis. It is buried with all our troubles.”
“You have the stuff of an upstart in you my dear Dodger. I am not at all offended when you forget yourself and call me Chéri-Bibi as you did in the old days — provided we’re alone of course.”
“Don’t go for me,” said the Dodger in hurt tones, “I may look like an upstart, but I often find you now rather bombastic. It’s certain that something more than your features have been changed.”
“What does it matter if my heart is the same.”
“I must admit that in that respect you haven’t altered. You are still in love with Madame Cecily.... You think of nothing but her.... See, here’s the Casino already illuminated. What do you propose to do?”
“Come Dodger, my dear Dodger, let’s have a turn on the pier.... There’s plenty of time.”
“How you’re trembling... I feel very sorry for you. Lean on my arm....”
“You see, Hilaire, I’m very unhappy. Understand me.... This woman... this woman is my very life...
And I have every right to her.... That is the terrible part of it. Suppose I make her suffer.... She doesn’t care for me. She is happy without me. If I were a decent man — and had a heart as you say I had, I should slink away this evening without seeing her. Can you imagine the torment through which I am passing, and why we stayed for three days in idleness at Treport, when everything called me here? I don’t know where to turn my steps... I waver.
... I’m like a man groping in the dark. At one time I had an idea of living in America... of settling down there. But I couldn’t.... No.... No.... The thought of her attracts me as iron attracts the magnet.”
“As the magnet attracts iron you mean,” Hilaire thought it well to interject.
“As you please.... So I sailed for Europe. And then we reached Paris... and afterwards came still nearer her. Now we are quite close, and I must see her. At first I shall try to see her from a distance.... This ball has decided me. When I learned that she would be present I said to myself: Here is an opportunity. I will go to the Casino — after paying for a ticket of course. I will stay outside the ball-room. But we can see the dancing through the great glass windows... we can watch the scene. I shall see Cecily again. I am longing to know if she still retains the beauty of long ago which I have carried in my heart. Let us sit down here my dear Hilaire, my dear old Dodger and only friend. I am very glad that when you came to collect the millions you did not see Cecily.”
“Yes; as you know, monsieur le Marquis, the business was settled through the solicitor. And I personally am glad that the solicitor died; because being dead he won’t recognise me!”
“Maître Régime who succeeded him is a very excellent man Dodger.... But I was saying that I was glad you didn’t see Cecily, and I’ll tell you why. Tastes differ, and perhaps you would not have considered Cecily as beautiful as I could have wished, and I should have been greatly grieved, and would never have forgiven you, you see Dodger. I can’t understand anyone not admiring Cecily.”
“Now I know what to expect,” thought the devoted secretary.
They were on the pier and the breeze from the offing wafted them alike the scent of the sea and the opening sounds of revelry.
“Here goes,” cried Chéri-Bibi. “The die is cast.”
He rose and hurried the Dodger off to the Casino. A crowd was already assembled at the great gates, and carriages and motor cars were bringing a constant succession of well-dressed people. Our two men passed through the reserved courtyard, and quickly made their way to one of the large windows overlooking the ball-room, and posted themselves in a secluded corner which was screened from indiscreet observation. They could see without being seen. Chéri-Bibi sat down to allay his excitement, his eyes fixed on the ball-room in which groups of dancers were already beginning their evolutions. On a platform near the orchestra a number of valuable prizes were laid out which were to be drawn for in the lottery at the end of the evening. Sprightly young girls and charming young women, came backwards and forwards to examine the prizes, passing them from hand to hand, and smilingly commenting on them. Young men with flowers in their button-holes, were moving from chair to chair to greet their friends or to “put themselves down” for dances. Some of them were showing off, strutting about and assuming ridiculous airs. A man of about forty came in, extravagantly well-dressed, holding his handsome but frivolous head high. His appearance gave no pleasure to those who do not care for dandies. Chéri-Bibi, who, as it happened, did not like them, rose and swore under his breath. He recognised the man:
M. de Pont-Marie offered his arm to an elderly, white-haired lady whose distinguished features could be seen under her lace wrap.
“See, the Dowager Marchioness du Touchais,” said Chéri-Bibi to the Dodger.
“Do you know her monsieur le Marquis?” asked the Dodger. “I should think I do — it’s my mother!”
He had not descried Cecily. His eyes dived into the different groups, roaming among the young women, because Cecily was still a young woman to him, though she must be thirty-five now, and “in the full flush of her beauty” as the Dodger expressed it consolingly. Apparently she had not yet arrived. She was not behind time for the Deputy Prefect had not yet put in an appearance.
For a moment it occurred to Chéri-Bibi that she was present; and that perhaps she was under his very eyes but that he failed to recognise her... The mere thought caused great drops of perspiration to break over his forehead which he wiped with feverish and agitated gestures no longer able to keep still.
But it was impossible. His heart was thumping in his chest with heavy, dull blows that resounded like the beating of a drum; and he knew that even if his eyes had failed to recognise Cecily his heart would have stopped and said “There she is!” for his heart would have stopped beyond a doubt. And indeed he might have died from that very fact. He leaned for support upon the Dodger who felt that he was trembling.
At one moment there was a sort of commotion in the ballroom. The dancers turned round. People who were seated rose to their feet. Every face wore an expression of curiosity and young men flocked to the door as if someone had arrived and was creating a sensation.
“It’s Cecily or the Deputy Prefect” thought Chéri-Bibi half dead with emotion for he could not conceive why there should be any excitement unless it were on account of Cecily or the gold-laced representative of the Government. But it was neither the Depute Prefect nor Cecily. A brilliant couple had arrived.
The lady wore a conspicuous head-dress of plumps The Dodger who had devoted sometime to the study of literature since he became Chéri-Bibi’s secretary, considered that she was of “proud beauty.” Tall, of an ideal grace of form, and expressing in her entire person, her bearing, her manner of looking and smiling, a most voluptuous charm, she advanced like one accustomed to carry everything before her, a veritable belle of the ball. She wore a daring princess dress of straw-coloured Indian silk, clinging closely to the figure, while an enormous sash of crimson crepe de chine was slung over her shoulders.
Chéri-Bibi in his wrath was about to ask: “Who is this minx?” when he perceived her “partner.” Her partner was the Baron Proskof who had returned to France and to his wife as soon as he could. By a miracle she had escaped from the wreck of the “Belle of Dieppe” in a boat which was picked up by the vessel which had crashed into them.
If Chéri-Bibi had retained any doubt as to whether this superb creature was the Baroness, he would have been quickly informed by the remarks which were passed at the windows near him. The spectators whispered “the Belle of Dieppe” and perhaps he would not have resisted the longing to express somewhat openly his own thoughts about such a person, but there was no time. At that moment Cecily arrived.
Chéri-Bibi had mounted a chair and he collapsed. The Dodger caught him in his arms, pulled him together and spoke a few encouraging words to which he replied with a vague shake of the head promising to be sensible, and then returned to the window against which he flattened his face, as pale as death.
The Deputy Prefect advanced to meet the lady President of the “Aid for Poor Seamen,” led her to her seat, offering his arm and talking to her with every mark of attention. Chéri-Bibi at once felt a loathing for the Deputy Prefect.
She possessed a wonderful charm did the young Marchioness du Touchais, a charm rendered all the more affecting by her natural air of melancholy. Even as her rival shed a radiance in her path, so Cecily appealed by reason of her quiet beauty and her grace and good form. For she was as graceful as the Baroness, if not more so, if it be true that grace is that quality, innate in some women, which consists in perfect refinement of manners, ease of movement, unfailing taste in dress, and simplicity in the midst of opulence. The Marchioness wore a white silk dress trimmed with black Chantilly lace.
“Heavens!” said Chéri-Bibi in his innermost conscience where his love for Cecily found utterance in a lyrical outburst which went beyond the language of ordinary mortals: “Heavens! behold the sweet light of my life; she who holds the four corners of my heart; the dear object of my fears; of hopes so fraught with grief. How comely she is! Her unhappiness has but made her more beautiful in my eyes. As a woman she surpasses the promise of her girlhood. See how she moves and tell me if fairies stealing across the flowered meadows have lighter feet. See how she smiles and tell me if sorrow that laughs, and is akin to pity that weeps, is not the fairer of the two... O young fools who “like the fickle multitude” revolve round this buzzing queen who is her rival, how can you see her pass without being enslaved for ever.”
Thereupon he sighed; and after feeling astonished at the lack of cordiality which the Baroness’s friends showed when they bowed to his idol, a wave of his customary fury shook him from head to foot when he saw the Deputy Prefect dance with Cecily.
The Deputy Prefect had a way of smiling at Cecily which Chéri-Bibi intensely disliked. Besides he found that this high official made too free with the Marchioness’s figure. He held her too closely; it was not good manners; and he had a conceited look about him as he whirled her round which deserved chastisement. Of course the explanation was very simple. Chéri-Bibi did not understand why anyone should dare touch his idol, and he cursed the customs of society which under the guise of charity permitted tricks the impropriety of which revolted him.
In the end he removed his eyes from the Deputy Prefect because “it hurt him” and interested himself only in Cecily. She danced without effort, with an absent look, her mind elsewhere. Chéri-Bibi saw her pass quite close to him, and he received a shock which made him lean, gasping, against the wall. The window had been partly opened. As she went by it seemed to him that her presence fingered with him. Those Vermillion lips, those adorable eyes, that yielding form, that dress which was raised and held in her hand showing her exquisite ankles, her little feet in their fine silk stockings and satin shoes... Oh it was all Cecily, his Cecily... And she belonged to him... him. He had only to set his mind to it. The thought of it... the thought of it was, in truth enough, as he told the Dodger a few minutes before, to send him crazy... To-morrow, the day after to-morrow; in short, whenever he dared... that very evening if he had the courage, he had but to come forward and say: “Here I am!” The mayor, the rector, Providence, the law if necessary, all society in heaven above and in the earth beneath would be at one in bringing Cecily to him and saying: “Take her. She belongs to you.” He pressed his clenched fingers to his heated brow... Oh yes, he would dare, he would dare. To begin with, now that he had seen her nothing else was possible; that is to say, nothing that implied flight, self-denial, parting for ever, renunciation of so much beauty and youth. He could no longer do without her. Whatever happened she should be his...
The dance was over and the Deputy Prefect took Cecily back to her place with the Dowager Marchioness. Chéri-Bibi quietened down somewhat. Thenceforth he was sure of himself, and of his intentions.
He made up his mind once for all. He would be the Marquis du Touchais to the death.
Suppose that someone had told the little boy living in Le Pollet that it would be so — the youngster who scarcely ventured to lift his eyes to the young lady at the Bourreliers’.... At that moment Chéri-Bibi no longer regretted the past, nor any of the amazing events in his career of crime, the years spent in prison, in a convict settlement, his destitution, his innocence ignored by the blindness of his judges, his frightful revolts, nor his moments of terrible hatred against an implacable destiny; a
nd for the first time in his life he thanked the fatalitas which had led him through paths of perfidy and bloodshed to the arms of Cecily... the arms of Cecily... He saw them for the first time. Oh those beautiful arms... the arms of Cecily... his wife!
The orchestra was striking up the first bars of the next waltz. Chéri-Bibi saw M. de Pont-Marie, with his monocle in his eye, bow with — to his mind — an idiot smile to Cecily. She smiled in return, and rising, seemed to accept his arm with pleasure. Then they began to dance. The feeling that he experienced as he watched the Deputy Prefect and Cecily dance was nothing compared with the storm which in a flash overwhelmed him. The Dodger whose arm he held as in a vice repressed a desire to cry out, and thought it as well, after shaking himself free, to witness Chéri-Bibi’s outbursts of love and hatred from a safer distance.
M. de Pont-Marie was a blackguard. He danced with his eyes fixed on Cecily’s, and though indeed he did not smile, as he danced, like the Deputy Prefect, nevertheless his detestable character as a coxcomb, as a connoisseur of women, was reflected in the ardour with which he expressed his secret feelings. At moments his lips whispered words that Chéri-Bibi could not, of course, hear though he could imagine the sense. They were from all appearance “burning words.” How Chéri-Bibi suffered. Cecily blushed and turned her head.
“The monster” Chéri-Bibi thought, feeling a wild and bitter desire as the two drew nearer to fly at the little beast’s throat. “He takes undue advantage of this entertainment at which the Marchioness was obliged to be present. He makes the most of the fact that during the dance which Cecily was kind enough to give him, she could not publicly treat him as he deserves. And he says things for which if he had the audacity to utter them in her house, she would have him thrown out by her flunkeys.”
And M. de Pont-Marie’s eyes gleamed and his hand pressed Cecily’s hand though she obviously resented it. How Chéri-Bibi suffered! It was enough to make him shout with impotent rage... And the dance pursued its course... and she continued to listen to him.
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 163