Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  “Cecily... you are crying...” He could not see her face now for she had turned away. “Why do you turn your head? Don’t be ashamed of tears which are a proof of your goodness of heart...” As he spoke he furtively went nearer her. “Look at me Cecily. I too am weeping... “It was true that he wept. “Cecily let me kiss you.”

  He was stooping over the adored head, and carried away by an emotional impulse his trembling lips were touching lightly her hair, when to his cost, Cecily who in no way suspected the enemy’s approach, pushed him away with a fierceness which was extraordinary in so frail a being; but she saw “what was happening” and her strength was increased tenfold. She rose from her seat crimson, breathing heavily, superb in her indignation at this attempt to kiss her, as though the suggestion were a cruel outrage, and looking more beautiful than ever in his eyes cried:

  “You... You want to kiss me!”

  He gazed at her petrified, staggered, dismayed. Fortunately for their future relations she was unable, in her wrath, to measure the extent of his dejection; or else she who remembered the Marquis in his domineering moods, would have thought that he was smitten with idiocy, and that there was no point in concerning herself further with so pitiful a wreck.

  Cecily in a temper! She angrily dried her beautiful eyes still swollen with the tears which had inspired Chéri-Bibi so inopportunely. And she cried out between her dry sobs which stifled her and which she tried to suppress in the presence of her tyrant:

  “Let you kiss me... kiss me. What can you be thinking about? Have you gone out of your mind all of a sudden? Have you lost your memory? How could you suppose that I should allow myself to be treated like a girl whom you pay to gratify your whims. Oh yes, you saw me cry. And your outrageous egotism led you to think that I was crying on your account!... I was crying for myself... for all the sufferings that I have endured through you... for all the shame that you have heaped upon me. When I think that you did not hesitate to turn your mother and me out of your house... out of the Château du Touchais of which you were so proud... to hand it over to that woman who is your mistress, and who only last night at the ball, dared to insult me before five hundred people with her smiles and remarks and gross insolence... when I think of it all.... And when I see you try to move me to pity for some mysterious reason or purpose of which I know nothing, I ask myself if I am dreaming. And you wanted to kiss me... you! Oh Monsieur... Monsieur. You must know quite well that it is impossible. You must know that one thing will always stand between us what ever you do; one thing that I can never forget... never! Remember the night of your departure for Norway?”

  “What did I do on that night?” Chéri-Bibi wondered utterly cast down.

  “Oh course you are here in your own house. You are the master. You can come or go. You can do as you please. That’s your affair, and it’s not for me to interfere. But after all you are a gentleman, or at least you assume the manners of one.”

  Her last phrase made the wretched Chéri-Bibi redden with embarrassment mingled with a certain sense of satisfaction.

  “Well.... Conduct yourself, I beg, in such a way that an explanation as unnecessary as the one which we have just had need not be repeated. That’s all I ask of you.”

  She was in a state of intense excitement. Once more she repeated, “Let him kiss me... him!” but this time she found relief in the sobs that choked her and sank into a chair almost fainting.

  Suddenly she rose for there was a knock at the door. She quickly dried her eyes.

  “Come in,” she said.

  The footman entered and stood in the doorway somewhat ill at ease as if he had a message which he did not like to deliver.

  “What is it Jean?”

  “It’s the Baroness Proskof’s footman, Madame.”

  The Marchioness turned scarlet when she heard the name, and stared with a look of violent hostility at her husband whose unabashed composure she observed. Truth to tell, the name had no power to disturb him unduly, and the foolish fellow seemed not to realise that its mention in that house was a fresh insult to his wife.

  “Come Jean tell us.... What does she want?” Cecily asked in a breathless voice.

  “The Baroness Proskof has heard of the Marquis’s return, and she is expecting to see him about the lease. “All right, all right. Let him tell the Baroness that I’ll be with her immediately,” said Chéri-Bibi with an eagerness that brought down upon him another “outburst” from the Marchioness.

  “Go then Monsieur.... They can’t do without you there....”

  And she swept out of the room, holding her head high, leaving him in a state of confusion. Nevertheless as she was disappearing he made a gesture of dissent and stopped her.

  “Madame I should like to tell you that I shall be back to lunch,” he said.

  “That is as you please Monsieur. I repeat: You are in your own house.”

  When she was gone he left the room with a short sharp movement of his hand on his hat that he put on defiantly grumbling:

  “But she’s not going to have it all her own way like that. She’s really too bad. And I won’t be made a fool of by her.”

  CHAPTER IV

  CHÉRI-BIBI’S DUEL

  WHEN CHÉRI-BIBI RETURNED to Cecily he seemed self-possessed and more satisfied with himself, and he was ravenously hungry.

  From the distance he caught sight, on the front steps, of the figure and the white cornette of a nun. He recognised Sister St. Mary of the Angels. He went up one avenue while she came down another. The lawn lay between them. He bowed to her as they passed and she returned his greeting and then continued her way. Chéri-Bibi had made up his mind to avoid, as far as possible, his sister who was back in the hospital at Dieppe, and in particular not to speak to her. He was determined that she should not hear his voice. It was his wisest course. Moreover he had not come into contact with her on board ship in the latter part of the time. He had not spoken a word to her since his “death.”... Poor Jacqueline!

  “All the same” he thought to himself “suppose that we had been told when we were children that I should enter this house as the Marquis and she would come out of it as a sister of mercy!... Fatalitas.”

  His reflections were cut short by the sight of a charming group standing on the steps. It consisted of Cecily and her son.

  Bernard ran forward to meet his father. From the affectionate manner in which he threw his arms round his neck, Chéri-Bibi perceived that the boy did not dislike him, and that Cecily had done nothing to turn to her own advantage that part of the boy’s filial love which belonged by right to his father. “Excellent woman” he said to himself. “She possesses all the virtues. Happy the man who is loved by her.” He petted the boy, and, since he in no way resembled his defunct father, Chéri-Bibi told himself that he was immensely fond of him.

  “Have you brought me back many toys from the savages?”

  “Yes, my son, a truck load of them; but I must tell you at once that those people get their supplies from the best shops in the metropolis.”

  Chéri-Bibi who was still disposed to be slightly pompous liked to use this word to describe Paris. He saw that Cecily who was in front of them heard it and smiled; and he was in a tumult of happiness.

  “Well, she may reproach me to her heart’s content. I will bow the head and say: So be it.... The dear woman! That light summer dress suits her to perfection. And yet in itself it is scarcely anything; a little muslin thrown over the dearest shoulders in the world. She’s an angel from Heaven. I could kiss the ground she treads on.”

  She was walking ahead holding the boy’s hand, and Chéri-Bibi followed close enough to be fully conscious of her presence. At table he sat between his wife and son. The thought entered his mind that it needed very little, in sooth, to render him the happiest of men. Bunch was served on the verandah which overlooked the sea. A few white sails could be discerned on the horizon. There was an azure sky and a light breeze swept the flowers in the garden. The service was perfect, the napery, sil
ver, crystal, porcelain and flowers on the table a resplendent sight, and Chéri-Bibi’s heart was overflowing with love.

  “So you received a visit from Sister St. Mary of the Angels,” he said.

  “Yes, she came with rather bad news. The Marchioness, your mother, is indisposed. Last night both of us went to the Ball in Aid of Poor Seamen and she caught a chill while waiting in the rain at the Casino gate for our car. I’ll go and see her with Bernard after lunch.”

  “Cecily, you have always been charming in your relations with my mother, and I thank you for it, while I have behaved very badly towards the poor dear. Her door is closed to me and it serves me right. But since you’re going to see her, you may give her a piece of news which cannot fail to please her, and it may help her to get well. In a week from now she will be able to return and settle down for good in the Château du Touchais.”

  “If what you tell me is true” returned Cecily who did not conceal her surprise “the Marchioness will certainly weep for joy. She has often admitted to me that her greatest grief was to find herself excluded so brusquely from the place with which all the memories of her life are associated and in which she hoped to die.” And she asked without looking at Chéri-Bibi. “But are they leaving the Château?”

  “Yes, they are leaving it.”

  “Are they tired of it?”

  “No, they’re not tired of it. They’re leaving it because I’m turning them out.”

  “He has had enough of the “Belle of Dieppe.” He has a fresh mistress somewhere,” Cecily thought.

  “Really!” she said. “Well I won’t hide from you that as far as I am concerned I’m not sorry. And if the “Belle of Dieppe’s” reign is over, it is just as well... Oh! speak simply because her presence so near us is rather embarrassing.”

  “Of course, of course. I know a man who is much to blame in the matter and who will always feel remorse for it.”

  Cecily could scarcely believe her ears. She looked at Chéri-Bibi who lowered his eyes and blushed like a child. With his face in his plate he confessed his fault, carefully choosing his language, because Bernard was present.

  “When I think of all you have had to put up with Cecily, I feel that I don’t deserve to be sitting at this table.”

  Nevertheless she saw that he was eating with great heartiness as he made his extraordinary’ confession, and she could not help thinking: “In any case remorse has not taken away his appetite.”

  “That woman has made me suffer” she said “less on my own account than on your mother’s and the du Touchais’s name. But since she is to go, don’t let us speak of it: a good riddance! She didn’t lay down her arms even at the very end. Last night, at the ball, she found an opportunity of insulting your mother and me, or at least of defying us and showing an impertinence for which in the end she paid the penalty. Since you have just come from her she probably told you about the incident which occurred at the Casino gate in the presence of some two hundred people.”

  “No Cecily no. She didn’t breathe a word about it.”

  “Obviously she can’t be very proud of it. You must know, then, that at the moment of leaving when she saw us she ordered her carriage to take the place which belonged to our car, and she did it so rudely that the people round us expressed their disapproval. Fortunately a stranger who observed what was happening made a rush at the horses heads, and with immense daring and strength backed them out of the way shouting: — Respectable women first!’ and everybody applauded. The Marchioness was delighted, and I myself would have given something to know who the man was who treated her as she deserved. I should have liked to thank him, but he had already disappeared.”

  “If I knew who forced that wicked woman’s horses back” said young Bernard. “I’d give him a kiss.”

  “Kiss me then” said Chéri-Bibi.

  “Do you mean to say it was you?”

  “Yes, my son, it was I.”

  The boy flung his arms round his father’s neck and kissed him delightedly while Cecily looked on in confusion and bewilderment.

  “Now, mummy, you give him a kiss too.”

  Chéri-Bibi embarrassed and quivering put the boy back in his seat.

  “Come Bernard, be good” said Cecily self-conscious. “Let your father have his lunch in peace.”

  “But you can very well give him a kiss since it’s father.”

  “I’ve already told you that little boys should be seen and not heard.”

  She no longer ventured to look at Chéri-Bibi; and to all appearance was concentrating her attention on a fresh dish that was brought in for the boy.

  “Then it was you?” she said. “You were in Dieppe?...”

  “I had just arrived. It was too late to come to the Villa without causing you inconvenience. Besides, I had not given you any notice, and I decided to stay the night at the hotel. Before I turned in, I went for a stroll round the Casino. It happened by chance that I saw and took a hand in the affair. That’s all there is to it. There’s nothing to thank me for.”

  “You might have been run over.”

  She said no more, suddenly becoming pensive, leaving father and son to make game and chatter and laugh between themselves.

  Bunch was nearly over when a footman came in to inform the Marquis that his secretary and Maitre Regime were in the drawing room.

  “Very well. Ask them to wait. I’ll be with them in a moment.”

  “Don’t let me stand in the way if you have to talk business” said Cecily. “You can join them and I’ll have coffee served in the drawing room.”

  “That’s right. You are very good. You think of everything. Excuse me therefore. I have, in fact, a little business to do.”

  “It’s very curious” said Cecily in an undertone after he was gone. “I find him different past all knowledge.”

  “You see how nice my father is and how brave. He told me that all my presents will soon be here in his car. He has a ripping car, and you know, mummy, I want him to teach me to drive. We shall have some fun together.”

  At that moment the enigmatic figure of M. de Pont-Marie appeared in the wide arch of the open verandah.

  “I hope that I’m not disturbing you.”

  He came in without ceremony as was his custom. He was never announced. When Cecily caught sight of him she staggered back in fear. Nevertheless she succeeded in controlling herself. And in the presence of the manservant who was waiting at table she apologised for her sudden start, and asked M. de Pont-Marie to join her on the verandah. Since her terrible interview with him she had had time to think things over, and she concluded that the blackmail to which she was being subjected had no other object than to force money out of her. She knew that de Pont-Marie was financially embarrassed and reduced to the lowest expedients. She had rather expected him during the last few days to have recourse frankly to her for assistance, and she would not have hesitated to open her purse to him in a friendly way. She now realised that the miserable wretch in order to get out of his difficulties, had prepared a regular trap for her which he had dissembled under a show of love, and preceded by the theft of her most private correspondence. She would have to pay dearly; the sacrifice would doubtless be very great; but she was resolved to stop at nothing to get back the letters, to save the honour of her son, and to prevent the terrible outrage with which this mean rascal had threatened her.

  Granted that it was merely a question of money, there was no need to give way to despair. She must retain her self-possession in order to make the best terms she could with the sorry creature. In her husband’s absence she had taken over the management of her fortune, and, moreover, since her brother’s death considerable sums had come into her possession.

  De Pont-Marie expected to find Cecily with the Marquis. He bit his lip when he perceived that she was alone, and he waited with curiosity, to see how she would treat him for he would be able to draw a more or less happy inference from her demeanour. In any case he assumed that she would not have the audacity to
show him the door in view of the weapon that he held against her.

  He at once gathered that she was conciliatory, coldly polite no doubt, but quite affable. She asked him to be seated while he waited for the Marquis, for de Pont-Marie had stated that it was the Marquis whom he wished to see.

  “He is with his secretary and solicitor and won’t be long.”

  “Did he tell you about that stupid quarrel?” asked de Pont-Marie.

  “Not a word... What stupid quarrel?”

  “As he hasn’t thought fit to tell you about it, you will forgive me if I prefer to say nothing. In these affairs” he went on with deliberate clumsiness “the great thing is to say little and act quickly.”

  “You have either told me too much or too little.”

  And turning round to the boy she sent him away.

  “Bernard, dear, go to your governess. I will come to you presently.”

  When they were alone she went on:

  “Now, Monsieur, there is no reason why we should make mysteries of these things. Since you are here so soon after what passed between us, something of consequence must have happened. What is it?”

  “As a matter of fact you are right. You are a sensible woman, and then Maxime, between ourselves, has not, up to the present, been very friendly. All the same I’ve come to place myself at his beck and call. He’s going to fight a duel. That won’t unduly upset you I fancy.”

  “No, as you say yourself I am a sensible woman. What is he going to fight a duel for?”

  “Don’t say what for whom.”

  “Well, ‘for whom’?”

  “For you.”

  “For me?”

  “Exactly, I mean what I say. Maxime is astonishing us all. He is defending his wife now. It’s wonderful. He is a little behind hand in my opinion. But better late than never you know. Besides what he did was done extremely well.”

  “But in what way am I concerned in it?”

  “The thing occurred at the Proskof’s and I was present. The Baroness gave utterance to a scarcely proper remark about you. She was not over-pleased because the Marquis gave her notice to leave, her lease of the place having expired.”