“This very evening.”
“This very evening “cried Chéri-Bibi more and more perturbed. “This very evening... But that’s impossible...”
“I insist on it” she replied stubbornly, “Charles and I are going to supper at the ‘Abbaye de Bedlam.’ There are still a few things I want to say to you which will not brook delay. Good-bye for the present... I am relying on you.”
M. d’Artigues appeared, and Chéri-Bibi who had a wild longing to throw himself on the pair of them, and to reduce them to nothingness, hurried away his ears buzzing, his temples throbbing, and his mind in a tumult.
He rejoined Cecily who was engrossed in the play.
The woes of Œdipus continued. And Chéri-Bibi could not help drawing a curious comparison between the fate which had so relentlessly stricken the hero of ancient times with the fate which pursued him even in that theatre.
After all, what were the crimes of Œdipus who had killed his father and married his own mother, in ignorance of his parentage, beside the innumerable crimes of Chéri-Bibi all of which had sprung one from the other, and all of which were the consequence of a generous action — the action of killing Cecily’s father when he was in reality trying to save him? And now when he believed that he had at length shaken off the necessity of committing crime — after taking another man’s skin — calamity was prowling anew round him, was stealthily preparing its blows, and was lifting up before him its hideous blood-stained face.
Chéri-Bibi crushed the shelf in the box on which Cecily had placed her opera glasses, her wrist bag and the trifling odds and ends which a beautiful woman is never without. He had to wreak his passion on something.
The shelf gave way. The things which lay on it fell with a clatter. Cecily uttered an exclamation. The audience moved restlessly in their seats. There was a general protest. At that moment Œdipus who had put out his eyes was descending the steps of the temple, his blood-stained hands stealing over the young and innocent faces of Eteocles and Polyneices.
The scene itself, the excitement in the house, Cecily’s exclamation, the fury that possessed him, all contributed to make Chéri-Bibi lose his head, and in a savage gesture pointing to the son of Laius, forsaken of the gods, he cried: “There’s a man after my own heart!... A man after my own heart!”
The Marchioness, filled with dread, thinking that her husband had suddenly taken leave of his senses, implored him to be calm, and placing her trembling arms about him, defended him from two policemen who had come up, intending to eject the person who had created the disturbance.
“All right, all right. Don’t make a fuss” said Chéri-Bibi. “We’re going. And whatever you do, don’t touch me. I am the Marquis du Touchais.”
The policemen when they heard the title bowed respectfully like good republicans.
Chéri-Bibi helped the Marchioness with her cloak, put on his own overcoat, and left the theatre with dignity while regretting, within himself, that he had not been able to maintain his composure. Persons near him muttered, “The man’s mad!” loud enough for Chéri-Bibi to hear, but he turned a deaf ear to them, and hastened to assist Cecily who was trembling like a leaf into a taxi.
As soon as he had given the address to the driver and they were alone, the Marchioness burst into a fit of sobbing. Chéri-Bibi put his arms round her and said:
“Don’t worry dearest. I had a nervous attack. I have often had these attacks since that dreadful experience in the Malay Archipelago, but as you see the attack is soon over. I have not suffered from them for some eighteen months. As a matter of fact the doctors whom I have consulted, assure me that in course of time I shall be free from them. Don’t let them interfere with our happiness.”
“I was dreadfully alarmed” said Cecily who had indeed feared for her husband’s reason.
When they reached the hotel she was the first to insist on the necessity of rest. Chéri-Bibi was as quiet as a lamb, and allowed himself to be put to bed and tucked in like a child. But at midnight he clandestinely left his room, and did not return to the hotel until daybreak.
When Cecily saw him in the morning his features were still distraught but he wore a look of satisfaction.
“It’s very strange” she said, “you look ill and yet pleased with yourself.”
“Well, dearest, if I look ill it is because the air of Paris doesn’t agree with me, and if I look pleased it is because, with your permission, I have decided to go elsewhere.”
“We ought not to have left Dieppe” sighed the Marchioness.
“Bet us go back home” exclaimed Chéri-Bibi.
It did not take them long to pack up. As they left the hotel a newsboy passed them shouting:
DOUBLE MURDER IN THE ISLE DE PUTEAUX
TRAGIC DEATH OF M. AND MME. D’ARTIGUES
The Marquis and Marchioness uttered a simultaneous cry of horror. Their eyes fell on a few lines in the stop press news:
“It was at first thought that M. and Mme d’Artigues had met with an accident and were drowned last night in crossing the Seine to reach the Isle of Puteaux where they owned a lodge which was the scene of considerable hospitality... but an examination of the bodies shows that both of them were the victims of a terrible aggression. Their throats bear the marks of strangulation. It is supposed that the motive of the crime was jealousy or revenge....”
“Oh this Paris, this Paris,” cried Chéri-Bibi, “I shall never set foot in it again. One day you meet your friends in the best of health, and the next day nothing remains of them, but an article in the newspaper which throws disgrace upon them!”
Cecily shuddered, struck dumb with terror.
“To Dieppe.... To Dieppe,” cried Chéri-Bibi, “and at top speed.”
CHAPTER VII
CHÉRI-BIBI ENJOYS A FLEETING HAPPINESS
CHÉRI-BIBI WAS A father. It was an event which was received with great joy. Though it was notorious in Dieppe and the district that since his return from his adventure the Marquis du Touchais did not “throw his money about,” there was, on this occasion, a great distribution of alms to the poor. The Dodger’s salary was doubled. Happy Chéri-Bibi! Happy Dodger!
In brief, they were living in an earthly paradise. No cloud seemed to threaten their security. De Pont-Marie had disappeared from their horizon. They loved and were loved. Virginie had not been able to resist the Dodger’s blandishments. The two men allowed themselves to be pampered and made much of by their women folk, and they lazily enjoyed life.
They discussed the causes of happiness among mankind. Often as they breasted together the hill at De Pollet, they conversed like wise men. Chéri-Bibi had changed mentally as well as physically. And now the transformation was complete. He knew that he was handsome, strong, rich. Thenceforward he became kind-hearted while husbanding his fortune which is the acme of wisdom. His case does not prove that all men who are handsome and strong and rich are kind-hearted, but it does prove that his former wickedness was but an accident. It was an argument that satisfied him whenever his thoughts recurred — which was as seldom as possible — to certain events of the past for which he desired to discover some excuse.
On one occasion Chéri-Bibi stopped the Dodger outside a fisherman’s modest cottage. It was evening. The man had returned from his arduous labour and was smoking his pipe on the doorstep while his wife was mending the nets, and their children were playing in the gutter.
“Look at that picture” he said. “Those people are poor but honest. They are happy. Money might ruin them. Don’t seek any other explanation Dodger of what, out of politeness, you call my economy. Nothing pleases me better than to assist “those who are in need,” but you must prove to me first of all that they do need something.”
Thus in philosophising they reached the Villa on the Cliff. And Chéri-Bibi caught sight of a white veil which Cecily was waving and he hastened his steps.
“She’s waiting for me, the dear girl.”
She was waiting for him with her latest born in her arms, and the me
eting of father, mother, and son was a moving sight. It was a moment for affectionate kisses, and the pleasing joys of family life.
Chéri-Bibi’s heart melted in the warmth of that delightful hearth. The Dodger’s eyes were bedewed with tears. Young Bernard, an adorable rascal who was up to all sorts of mischief, lent an air of gaiety to the rustic scene. His “father” spoilt him, for he could refuse none of his whims, and the little fellow played the tyrant in the house, while Cecily realising more every day her husband’s perfect behaviour towards the boy who occupied a place to which he was not entitled, felt her love increase for the extraordinary man who had once made her greatly suffer, but who now gave her unhoped for cause of rejoicing.
She was naturally anxious, now that happiness had so bravely and unexpectedly entered under the conjugal roof, that the child should be baptised in the name by which she herself called the Marquis. But by a strange obstinacy the Marquis set his face against the name of Maxime, and the child was christened Jacques. He declared that, to his thinking, it was a nice name; and the Dodger who was fully aware of Chéri-Bibi’s real name surpassed himself in dilating on its charm. Cecily gave way, and Jacques was now a lusty baby of three months old who bore no greater resemblance to his father than his brother did.
It was impossible to recognise any trace of the Marquis in him, but there was a certain harshness in his features, unknown in the family, which delighted Chéri-Bibi whilst it somewhat alarmed the mother. He was not easy to please, the imp! He already showed that he had a will of his own.
Chéri-Bibi no longer uttered the word Fatalitas. And he was inclined to think that, in the main, men were impatient beings who did not allow divine wisdom time to counterbalance the bitter experiences through which it pleased Providence that they should first pass, in order that when a definite share of pleasure was bestowed on them, they might appreciate all the more, by contrast, the blessings of earthly happiness.
“When you marry Virginie I shall make you a present of ten thousand francs” said Chéri-Bibi to the Dodger.
“Oh monsieur le Marquis you are a better man than any of us... You are quite right. Virginie is in love with me and I am in love with her. I had hoped to make a good marriage. But why should I seek riches when I can find happiness? One must not be too ambitious.”
“Well done. I like to hear you talk like a decent fellow. A good marriage! Whom did you expect to marry!... Don’t forget that I raised you from nothing... You were a baker’s man and I made you secretary to the Marquis du Touchais.”
“I shall always remember it monsieur le Marquis, always. So I’ll be off and tell Virginie the good news. As it happens it will come at the right moment, for she’s leaving the restaurant in the harbour to-day or to-morrow. The new proprietor, it seems, is bringing a new staff.”
“Is the restaurant always changing hands?” asked Chéri-Bibi who recollected that the Dodger had told him about a year ago that M. Oscar was giving it up.
“They’ve been waiting a year for the new proprietor. He was to have come in between one day and the next, and that’s been going on for a year... It beat’s everything!... During this time a chap from Paris has been running the show with the help of Virginie... Luckily for him, the manager had to do with an honest girl for he knew nothing about the restaurant and café business. And to show his gratitude to Virginie he has given her the sack.”
“You can bring her here and she can enter our service to-morrow” said Chéri-Bibi.
“Oh monsieur le Marquis!”
“That’s all right, you can thank me some other time, you rotter.”
“Let me shake hands with you.”
“Well, shake hands. And whatever you do, always try to be a decent fellow. It is the best way to be happy, Dodger.”
Hilaire left the Marquis and hurried to Dieppe, tearing down the hill at Le Pollet, and reaching the bottom out of breath and bathed in perspiration. When he got to the bridge he was almost run over by a carriage which was going at a smart pace towards Puys.
It was a private carriage, a fashionable buggy, driven by a man who inveighed against the incautious Dodger in somewhat rough language.
The Secretary started at the sound of that voice and looked round. But the little turn-out had passed him with the speed of a train.
“What a brute!” muttered the Dodger.
A man standing on the pavement who witnessed the incident came up to him.
“I say, you had a narrow escape. He’s in a hurry is Dr. Walter” observed the chance wayfarer in whom the Marquis’s secretary recognised Detective-Inspector Costaud of the Criminal Investigation Department.
Hilaire bowed and shrugged his shoulders without replying. He was not fond of talking to gentlemen of the police in general nor with Costaud in particular whose face had never possessed any attraction for him.
Five minutes later he pushed open the door of the restaurant, and was welcomed, half laughing and half crying, by the handsome Virginie who beckoned him to sit in a corner near the cash desk.
She was as rosy as a bunch of cherries, her hair was rumpled and her cap awry, and she confided to him, out of breath, that she had had a passage of arms with the new proprietor who had just arrived.
She had managed to make him keep his distance, and had demanded the amount due to her, and she was waiting for the fellow to come down from the first floor where he had gone to obtain the money with which to pay her.
“I am very glad that I’m leaving” she said, “ because that man frightens me. He’s like a barrel in appearance, and pierces you with his little weasel eyes. To look at him you can’t tell if he wants to laugh at you or murder you. When he comes near you, you instinctively draw back as you would from a wild animal. When I saw that he wanted to kiss me, I gave a terrified cry and struck him. I thought he was going to kill me. And then he laughed in an ominous manner.”
As Hilaire listened to the story he was filled with righteous indignation.
“I’ve come in the nick of time” he said gravely.” First of all, Virginie, I have a piece of good news for you. I’m going to marry you. The Marquis has promised to give us ten thousand francs to enable us to set up housekeeping. You will be lady’s maid to the Marchioness who is one of the best. We shall be nicely settled for the rest of our lives.”
“Good gracious, you don’t mean to say so” cried Virginie who when she heard of her unexpected good fortune changed colour; that is to say her face which was as rosy as a bunch of cherries became as white as an orange blossom.
“To show you that I mean it, I’m going to take you away at once, and woe betide the wretch who dares to insult you. I shall be man enough to see that you are respected. And, as a start, you shall see how I deal with the proprietor. Have you packed up your trunk? Then go and do it, and have it brought down by the scullery maid. I shall stay here and give that blackguard a piece of my mind.”
“Oh, my dear, whatever you do, be careful. He looks a man that would stick at nothing. Wait until we get outside before you tell him what you think of him” advised the prudent Virginie.
“Don’t be afraid. I don’t want you to tell me what I must or must not do. I’ll teach that barrel how to behave to respectable girls even if I have to tap him!”
Virginie went off quickly to fetch her trunk and almost at the same moment the proprietor appeared at the other end of the café. The light from the door fell upon him and Hilaire was able to see his full face.
Hilaire, who was seated, rose in the air as if he were propelled by some mechanical device and fell back in his seat an inert mass. The newcomer, who had observed this peculiar movement, did not seem to be unduly astonished. He continued to roll his pot-belly towards his only customer, and when he came up to him held out a short arm at the end of which was a horribly flabby hand.
“Good morning Dodger” he said. “How are you my boy!”
“Little Buddha!” the Dodger gasped.
“Yes, my dear Dodger, Little Buddha himself at your ser
vice, what? You’ve lost your tongue. You’re surprised to see me here. Still you knew that the dream of my life was to keep a wine shop. Well, here I am. What is a poor man to do? At my time of life one begins to have had enough of adventures. I’ve roamed about the world too long, and I want to settle down. Now I am a respectable tradesman like anyone else. And you, Dodger, are things as well with you as you hoped?”
The hapless Dodger did not know what to do with himself, and was cursing the moment which had brought him face to face with one of the witnesses of the sorry past, and he could only murmur:
“I thought you were dead.”
“You had every reason to think so old man” returned Little Buddha, slipping a stool underneath him and seating himself beside the Marquis’s secretary. “I must say that some of my friends and I did our utmost to spread that belief generally. It was the wisest thing to do. Didn’t you yourself change your name when you followed the fortunes of the Marquis du Touchais? And yet you had never, as far as I know, come into conflict with the police of your country, nor of any other. Still your friendship with the late Chéri-Bibi and the rather important part that you played in the mutiny of the “Bayard”.... Eh?... What’s that?... You want me to shut up—”
“Hang it all” groaned the Dodger distractedly “I should much prefer you to talk about something else...”
There’s nobody here to overhear us” went on Little Buddha imperturbably. “So calm yourself. I have as much interest as you in not wishing to rake up the ashes of the past! The only person here is M. Bénevent — Jean Charles Bénevent — a respectable proprietor of a restaurant and café who is going to do himself the pleasure of offering a liqueur brandy to his old friend M. Hilaire, secretary to the Marquis du Touchais. You see I know all about you. And I’m telling you all about myself so as to prevent any possibility of error...
“So make your mind easy Monsieur Hilaire. Don’t pull such a long and dismal face. We are bound to get on well together. I know that you would rather I had actually departed this life than have a drink with me... But it can’t be helped. Chance led me to buy this business, pure chance for which I am very thankful, since it brings me into touch with so true a friend...”
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 173