Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  He had left it with the firm determination never to return to it whatever it might cost him. And now he was strolling once more through the avenues of the park with a secret satisfaction which he made no attempt to conceal. He must have been impelled by a powerful motive, doubtless, to set at naught so quickly a line of conduct which he had ruthlessly marked out for himself, but it was a motive which, in all sincerity, he had no cause to regret.

  It would have needed very little persuasion to induce Captain d’Haumont to confess that he blessed the startling occurrences the outcome of which was that he beheld once more the faces and places which filled so large a part in his heart.

  An imperative duty impelled him to cross that garden gate. He had nothing to reproach himself with. Treason lay concealed in that house; and he had to unmask it.

  Since he had all but fallen a prey to the mysterious gang who had pursued him so far as the neighborhood of the Hotel d’Or, the Captain was convinced that the scheme which his villainous aggressors were carrying out was planned at M. de la Boulays’ house. It was the only place where the hidden enemy might have overheard something to indicate the importance of the secret mission with which he had been charged. In a word, Captain d’Haumont believed that the Château de la Boulays was the center of a spy system. He called to mind that, as he left M. de la Boulays’ study the night before, he almost stumbled over Schwab, whose attitude had always seemed suspicious. Some few minutes later, at the moment of leaving the house, he caught a glimpse of two dark forms in conversation in the park, one of whom was undoubtedly Schwab and the other curiously suggestive of de Gorbio. The incident had made no great impression on him at the time, but how prominently it stood out in his thoughts to-day!

  He reached the house after lunch. The men were at the other side of the park practicing firing with Count de Gorbio. From the sounds of the shots and the exclamations which followed he gathered that he was quite close to the butts. He heard the voice of Françoise:

  “Well done, Count. That was a wonderful shot.

  What a pity the Boches are not up against your pistol!”

  Françoise was moving away from the group where the Count was “showing off” his prowess when her eyes fell upon Didier. She gave a start and grew pale. Nevertheless she continued her way towards the house as though she had not seen him.

  M. de la Boulays was not less astonished than his daughter at the sudden and entirely unexpected apparition of the Captain, and though the latter did not express any desire to see him alone, he realized that he must have some urgent communication to make to him connected with the important mission with which the Captain had been entrusted the night before. In the meantime he took his cue from the Captain’s attitude and was content to wait.

  Count de Gorbio treated the new-corner with icy politeness, for he was by no means pleased to see him again.

  Several more shots were fired which served to display the Count’s wonderful skill. He was congratulated by all and they returned to the house. Didier had declined to take part in the contest when the pistols were offered to him, under the pretence of a weakness in his right arm. He had no wish to run the risk of being humiliated before de Gorbio, and when he looked at him it was certainly not at a cardboard target that he longed to fire!

  As soon as they were in the house M. de la Boulays went up to Didier and said quietly:

  “I presume you have something to tell me, Captain.”

  “Yes; something serious.”

  “Would you care to go upstairs to my study?”

  “No; don’t let any one think we’re having a serious talk. We’re being spied upon.”

  They went on the terrace while one party was arranging a game of poker with the Count, and another party was making up a game of bridge in which M. de la Boulays was to join.

  “Let me know when you want me,” he said. And, turning to Didier, asked in a somewhat nonplussed tone: “Well, what’s it all about?”

  “Monsieur de la Boulays, there’s a spy in this house.”

  As he heard those words M. de la Boulays could not restrain himself.

  “De Gorbio was right!” he exclaimed.

  The result was that before Captain d’Haumont could say another word de Gorbio, who had caught M. de la Boulays’ cry, came up and asked for an explanation. But d’Haumont became frigidly silent, and M. de la Boulays appeared to be extremely perplexed by the Captain’s attitude. The Count at once apologized for interposing so clumsily in a private conversation.

  “I thought I heard you say ‘de Gorbio was right.’ I see that I made a mistake,” and he walked away in spite of M. de la Boulays’ protestations.

  “I think you might have explained matters before the Count,” said M. de la Boulays. “This morning he persuaded me to dismiss the man-servant whom you never liked and whom he caught he tells me, eavesdropping.”

  “Isn’t Schwab here now?” cried d’Haumont. “Well, I’m very sorry to hear it. We might have brought him to book or caught him in the act.... Now it’s too late.”

  “In any case we can’t blame Count de Gorbio.”

  “I’m not blaming him. I’m only sorry that, owing to the haste with which he has had him turned out, Schwab can continue his treachery elsewhere.”

  “I think you are a little unfair to Count de Gorbio,” said M. de la Boulays. “But never mind that, tell me what happened to you to put you in such a state.”

  Didier told his story in a few words without entering into particulars of the attack on him, and passing over in silence, of course, the incident at Hilaire’s grocery stores, the escape by the roofs, and the descent into a timber merchant’s yard, while his adversaries were waiting for him in the Rue Saint Roch. After all, was not the fact that he had brought his errand to a successful issue the main thing? Finally, he told M. de la Bourlays how he had found himself face to face with Schwab the night before, when he left the study, but he did not feel called upon to mention that afterwards he caught a glimpse of the Count, in the park, in conversation with the man.

  After M. de la Boulays had heard Didier’s story he regretted less than ever having got rid of Schwab — a point of view which was not shared by d’Haumont.

  Just then some one came up to fetch M. de la Boulays for his bridge party. He left the Captain after making him promise that he would stay to dinner. The latter could not well refuse the invitation, for he had no conceivable pretext for leaving the house before the hour at which the train departed by which he would return to Paris.

  He did not see Mademoiselle de la Boulays again during the whole of the afternoon, but half an hour before dinner, while he was on the terrace lost in sorrowful musings, swinging on a rocking-chair and smoking a cigar, he saw her coming towards him. He threw away his cigar and stopped the movement of his chair.

  He saw from the wistful and lovelorn look in her eyes that she was suffering no less than he, and he hated himself for his powerlessness to combat their twofold misery save to disappear from sight.

  She came to him in all the simplicity of her soul, such as he had known her when he recovered consciousness after his sufferings in hospital, when she supported his first steps on his return to health and strength, and when she turned her beloved face to him in full confidence.

  They made their way down into the park.

  “My father tells me that last night again your life was in great danger,” she said.

  Her voice was shaken by intense emotion, and he saw a tear spring from her beautiful eyes. He forgot the infamous past and the impossible future. He lived through an exquisite moment. He was loved at that hour and in that place, and straightway he separated that hour and place from every other hour and place. The arm of his beloved trembled against his. He forgot everything. He was a happy man for a space, and he lifted his eyes to heaven in a frenzy of gratitude.

  What did he say next? What words had he uttered? They could only have been trivial, since they had no connection with what was passing in his heart. He told th
e story, perhaps, of the night before; he spoke, perhaps, of other things. What he said was of no consequence. His words fell in silence, and they could not come between their twin souls, responsive only to the mute rhythm of their love.

  How, in that moment of exaltation, could he see behind him a rival whose eyes were gleaming with hatred? Count de Gorbio stood beside M. de la Boulays on the terrace, and what he saw and heard made him swell with suppressed anger.

  He saw Françoise walking arm in arm with Didier and heard M. de la Boulays telling him that it was in vain that he had endeavored to induce his daughter to fix a date for the marriage.

  “But I say, what did she reply?”

  “She made no reply at all. She left me to meet Captain d’Haumont.”

  The Count could not repress a gesture of fury. Nevertheless the two men ceased talking, for the Captain and Françoise, summoned by the dinner bell, were coming up the steps to the terrace.

  D’Haumont was placed next to Françoise at dinner, and the Count was seated opposite them. He at once turned the conversation to the subject of gold-diggers, and the hazards which attended their enterprises, and, in particular, the unfortunate necessity which forced persons who were out there to mix with the lowest type of adventurers.

  “That’s true,”’ agreed d’Haumont, without betraying the least agitation. “Count de Gorbio knows the manners and customs of the country as if he had lived there.”

  The conversation could not continue for long in such a strain without the fear of some altercation arising during the dinner. The enmity of the two men was so obvious that the guests exchanged astonished glances. What were they about to witness?

  M. de la Boulays was conscious of the danger and did not conceal his anxiety. Françoise, on the other hand, maintained her composure. She asked Count de Gorbio to tell them in his usual charming manner some of his theatrical anecdotes, which would change the subject from that of spies and savages.

  “For my part, I wish to be enlightened,” protested the Count. “One never knows what may happen in life. Is it true that you went out there without a sou and came back as rich as a nabob?”

  Before Didier had time to reply Françoise took it upon herself to interpose.

  “Captain d’Haumont is a poorer man now than he was before he went out. He gave all his fortune in addition to shedding some of his blood for France.”

  A murmur of approval passed through the room. It was as much as the guests could do not to break forth into applause.

  “Captain d’Haumont is a hero and the most disinterested man of my acquaintance,” rejoined the Count. “I am very pleased to number myself among his friends.”

  This sudden and unexpected change of front did not deceive any one. Nevertheless it put an end, for the time being, to a situation which was one of great delicacy for M. and Mlle de la Boulays, whom every one was watching. It was easy to understand the cause of the quarrel, and the reason of the animosity which had brought about a contest between the two men.

  M. de la Boulays himself grew increasingly uncomfortable. He could not make out his daughter’s attitude. She had suddenly shown a violent hostility to the Count, and the problem for him was why, if she were animated by such feelings, she had bestowed her hand upon him.

  He determined to get her to unburden herself to him, for he was an extremely worthy man, and though his interests were bound up in certain business matters with those of de Gorbio, he would not have seen his daughter unhappy on any account. And, moreover, if she were in love with d’Haumont she had but to confess it.

  When they rose from the table to retire to the drawing-room, Mlle de la Boulays took d’Haumont’s arm and asked him to go with her into the park for a breath of fresh air of which she stood in need. She did not omit, as she left the room, to apologize gracefully to the Count for monopolizing the attention of “his friend.”

  “He is my patient,” she said, “and I want to give him my last injunctions.”

  “Do you know that you were very disagreeable to my future husband?” she said when they were alone. “If you don’t like him, it would be a mistake not to tell me so seeing that I accepted him on your advice! But nothing is lost yet. There is still time to choose a different one if this one does not please you!” She did not give him time to reply. “And now,” she added quickly, “you must go and say good-by to my father and start off if you want to catch your train. The small racing-car will take you to the station.”

  It was she now who was urging him to depart, eager to see him leave the Château. Obviously she dreaded any sort of encounter between the two men. But at that moment Count de Gorbio appeared before them.

  “M. de la Boulays wishes to speak to you, Mademoiselle. He asked me to come and tell you so.” And he added in a somewhat sharper tone, “You must forgive me for disturbing, in this way, your last conversation.”

  “But you are not disturbing it, I assure you, my dear Count. Be kind enough, Captain d’Haumont, to take me to my father.”

  The Count let them pass out of sight. He was seeing red.

  A quarter of an hour later d’Haumont left the house in the racing car. A break-down occurred on the way, and he reached the station only to see the express “on the move.” The next train did not leave until the following morning, and he put up at an hotel in the town. He had not been in his room for more than five minutes when a knock came at the door. He opened it.

  It proved to be Count de Gorbio, who bowed politely and apologized for disturbing him at such an hour, but he was convinced that when the Captain knew the reason of his haste, he would not bear him any ill-will. The matter in question was this: Count de Gorbio had always held that a man’s honor was the most valuable thing in the world, and as his honor had been affronted by Captain - d’Haumont’s remarks, he had come without delay to demand satisfaction.

  Captain d’Haumont listened to him with absolute composure. He answered that the Count’s errand greatly astonished him, for he was not aware in what way he could have caused him any personal annoyance.

  “There have been many things, Monsieur, which I do not feel called upon to explain, but among others you used a certain phrase about adventurers which you would not have finished if I had not been held back by respect for my host.”

  “Monsieur,” broke in d’Haumont, in a frigid tone, “the remark was made by you and I merely replied to it. But it will serve. You want a duel. Very well, you shall have one when peace is signed. Until then my life belongs to my country.”

  “I quite expected that excuse. It’s easy to say that. We don’t know when peace will be signed. We may both of us be old men by then. Hang it all, the armistice is good enough for me, and I am so constituted that the thought of holding over indefinitely the remembrance of so unpardonable an affront, makes me furious. I want to kill you at once, Captain d’Haumont.”

  “I say again that for the time being my life belongs to my country.”

  “Mlle de la Boulays told us that you had shed half your blood for your country. I claim the other half. When a man knows that he cannot fight, or chooses not to fight, he behaves himself accordingly, and keeps to himself the ill opinion that he may have formed of his neighbor.”

  Captain d’Haumont did not answer the Count. He pointed to the door.

  Then Count de Gorbio, with a slow movement, drew off a heavy motor-glove and struck him with it across the face.

  The scene changed in a flash. Didier took the Count in his formidable hands, lifted him, swung him, and was about to break his head against the wall when the Count, in his terror, bellowed the one thing that could save him.

  “Coward, afraid of my pistol.”

  Didier let him drop.

  “Very well,” he said, “I’ll fight you.”

  During this time Mlle de la Boulays was searching the Château for de Gorbio, and was in a fever of anxiety as to what had become of him.

  She learned that he had set out in one of the motor-cars with the hood up. M. de la Bou
lays was in his study, unconscious of what was happening. At that juncture the small racing car returned, and the chauffeur told Françoise that Captain d’Haumont had missed the train and had ordered him to drive to an hotel.

  She sprang into the car, a prey to the gloomiest forebodings. It seemed a forgone conclusion to her that de Gorbio, furious at the manner in which she had openly slighted him and with Didier for his attitude towards him, was in pursuit with a view of challenging him. The deed, perhaps, was already done. Her memory harked back to the Count’s wonderful prowess with the pistol, and she shuddered. Besides, she had learned with certainty that his car had preceded her by an hour....

  Her feeling of anguish increased every moment almost to the point of suffocation. She was convinced that the two men were in the very act of fighting. They could not even wait until the next morning!

  When she reached the hotel and discovered that Didier was in his room safe and sound, she wept tears of joy. She ran up to his room and knocked wildly at the door. The Captain himself opened it.

  “You’re going to fight a duel,” she burst out, addressing him in the familiar second person which spoke volumes for their love which, when they were alone, had never been in question. They both remained as motionless as statues. “Forgive me,” she went on, while a deep blush mantled her cheeks. “Oh, forgive me.” And she sank into a chair, sobbing aloud.

  “Yes, Françoise, it’s true. I’m fighting a duel to-morrow morning.”

  “Oh, good heavens!” she cried. And then, with a look of dismay: “What are you fighting with? Pistols? You saw what that wretched man can do with a pistol. He will kill you.”

  “Yes,” answered Didier simply, transfigured by an immense joy. “Yes, he will kill me.... There’s no way out of it. But I shall die the happiest of men because you came to me.”

  She rose from her chair and took his hands in hers.

  “You will not fight. I don’t want it and you don’t want it. You must not fight. You are a soldier. In war time a soldier fights only against the enemy. You would be guilty of an act of treason if you were to fight. No, no; you will not fight.”