“Meanwhile, I have the key to the little door which opens into the Coulteray grounds, where I am at this moment. The marquis gave it to me without any objections, although I was not present when Christine asked him for it. He handed it to me in a perfectly natural manner, saying:
“‘Now, you can come in when you like. You can be quite at home here.’
“This took place yesterday. I am to give the key to Christine to-day. But it is five o’clock in the evening and she has not yet come. She has made herself very scarce for some days. I suppose that Gabriel needs her.
“The health of this dear, mysterious boy must be improving, if one may judge by Christine’s fine color.
“Undoubtedly the surgical operation must have saved him, and I have hopes of seeing him walking about once more in the Norbert garden, on the arm of his beautiful nurse.
“An unheard-of thing! It seems to me that I am now going to hate Christine. Do you know why? Oh, the mystery of the human heart — it is because she could betray a man like Jacques Cotentin for this young fop.
“Now that I have had a glimpse of that brain, yes, Christine seems to be nothing more than an odious, contemptible, hateful doll. If she did not love him, she ought not to have accepted him. If she no longer loves him, she should tell him so. But to deceive such a man! But wait — here she comes. What youthful charm! Gabriel should be cured by the sight of such a smile at his bedside. That beautiful hand could draw the dead from the tomb.
“Speaking of death and the tomb, I have not seen the marchioness again, so, consequently, I have not had to bother myself to find a plausible excuse for not having returned her little stories of vampires, which I continue to study, and which annoy me with their stupidity. Christine must have seen her. But where — when — or how — I do not know.
“She told me that the marchioness had become very languid again and that Saib Kahn was calling upon her almost every day.
“‘You are very late,’ I said to Christine, looking her full in the eyes.
“‘Why do you look at me like that?’ she queried, her smile deepening. ‘One would think that you always had something to reproach me for.’
“‘I have nothing to reproach you for, except for being late,’ I said. ‘It is only that, nothing more.’
“‘You are very gallant, monsieur,’ she murmured, looking at me somewhat mockingly over her shoulder, as she walked toward the library.
“I had blushed to the roots of my hair. That is how far gone I am at present. I, Benedict Masson! Such mawkishness. What good do you think that will do you, Adonis?
“When we were in the library, and I had given her the key to the garden gate, she said:
“‘Now we are quite at home here. We can come in by the garden and go out whenever we wish. We won’t have to have anything to do with that old porter, we won’t have to walk through the whole house and meet that inquisitive Sangor, or have that monkey Shing-shing staring at us.’
“‘Speak for yourself,’ I said; T have not a key.’
“‘I shall have one made for you in the morning. That was understood by the marquis. He wants us to be quite at home here, and that we shall not be disturbed by anybody.’
“‘Oh, yes?’
“‘Yes, he wishes it to be like that,’ she said, going to the door of the library, which led into the little hall; ‘you know this door has been closed up, and no one but he can come in here.’
“‘Is that true?’ I asked, somewhat astonished. ‘Why the precautions?’
“‘He does not want the marchioness to come in and annoy us,’ she replied.
“‘Now I understand.’
“I ought to be delighted at this privacy with Christine, which they are going to let us have in the future, but the obscure events by which this was brought about, and the very thought of the other isolated one, who was passing away, exhausted by a foolish imagination, causes me a sort of uneasiness, which I cannot define.
“It is like a vague presentiment, which one sometimes has on the eve of a great disaster. Indeed, a very singular and even tragic incident took place some minutes later, which upset Christine and myself so much, that I scarcely know how to relate it.
“We had begun to work. One of the windows leading to the garden was open. Suddenly, to our amazement, we heard a piercing cry of pain ring through the house.
“Christine and I sprang up, one as pale as the other. We had recognized the marchioness’s voice.
“The cry was followed by moans, by calls, by the guttural cries of Sangor and by the mewing voice of Shing-shing. And above all, sharp orders, quickly repeated in the furious voice of the marquis:
“‘Run, why don’t you run?’
“Then, through the entire house, in the hall, on the stairs, we could hear a sound of rushing and the furniture being overthrown.
“I sprang to the door, but it was closed. Christine quickly called to me, saying:
“‘By the garden, by the garden!’
“We dashed into the garden and rushed through a side alley into the Court of Honor, quite breathless.
“The old porter, who seemed very agitated, was standing on the threshold of the somber arch, the door of which was closed. He stood glued to the ground, as though he were unable to take a step, but when he saw us he cried:
“‘Don’t interfere! Don’t interfere in that! It is only the madame, having one of her spells.’
CHAPTER XXI
IT MAKES BLOOD FLOW
“BUT WE WERE beyond him and were climbing the stairs. We entered the house. The noise was now all on the first floor. Guided by the commotion and by the loud noise of a door being smashed in, we were soon in the corridor leading to the marchioness’s apartments. A door had been broken in — smashed as though with a battering ram. It led to the marchioness’s bedroom.
“The unfortunate lady was moaning and struggling in the hands of the marquis. Her elaborate dress was torn to shreds, and her furs had slipped to the floor at her feet, where they lay like a carpet of snow. And she was even whiter than her furs, than snow.
“Shing-shing, his jade green eyes flashing with an excited gleam, was helping the marquis to hold her.
“As soon as the unfortunate lady saw us, she gave a loud cry, in which she seemed to put her last remaining hope.
“‘This time it is the arm!’ she shrieked. ‘Look!’
“And, as she lifted her arm, we saw near the shoulder a little wound from which the red blood was flowing freely.
“‘What, you here?’ cried the marquis — from the way he spoke it was evident that he did not think we were in the house. ‘That’s a good thing! You can help me to quiet her. It’s nothing at all. Less than nothing. She has a little wound here. I bet she pricked herself on the rosebush. But see what a state she is in?’
“While he was speaking, the marchioness continued to moan, with a sort of hiccough:
“‘Don’t leave me! Above all, don’t leave me!’
“At this moment Sangor ran in. He seemed as surprised as his master had been to see us there. He carried in his hand a bottle, on the label of which I read ‘Citrate of Soda.’
“As soon as the marquis caught sight of the bottle, he exclaimed:
“‘You imbecile! That is not the bottle I asked you for. Get me the chloride of calcium.’
“Sangor bowed and went off, returning almost immediately with the chloride of calcium.
“The blood, flowing from the little wound, soon stopped under the action of the chloride. The marquis tended his wife with great care, using words of encouragement, but she was almost swooning.
“I looked at the wound. It was not larger than the prick from a big needle.
“At this moment the Hindu doctor arrived.
“‘She has hurt her arm,’ the marquis stated, turning to him, ‘and, of course — another attack.’
“When he had heard this, Saib Kahn requested us to leave him alone with his patient.
“She opened her eyes and
looked at us so beseechingly that I felt a pain at my heart. Yet, with Saib Kahn’s eyes, as well as those of the marquis upon her, she had not the strength to utter a word. Only a faint moan escaped from her trembling lips. We were obliged to leave her. The marquis had already made a sign to us, so we left the room, with Sangor and Shing-shing walking behind us.
“The marquis pointed out to us the splintered door.
“‘You see,’ he explained to us, ‘I had to break in the door. We dare not leave her alone when she has one of these attacks. She would kill herself, throw herself out of the window, or dash her head against the wall.’
“‘How did it happen?’ inquired Christine.
“But I asked nothing. I was strangely troubled, and I scarcely dared to look at the marquis, for I was afraid that he would read my thoughts — my very hesitating, but dreadfully disturbing thoughts.
“He led us into the marchioness’s small private salon on the ground floor. The window looking on to the garden was still open. A rose vine climbed up to this window.
“‘She was enjoying the evening air at this window,’ he explained. T did not see her, but Shing-shing, coming out of the garage, saw her at the very moment when she uttered her cry that she had been attacked. Then, in a despairing clamor, such as I had not heard from her in a long time, she ran to the first floor and closed herself in her bedroom. I was in my study when all the commotion broke out, but I did not need to be told what it was. I knew. We began running after her. Her door had to be broken in. And now,’ he added, turning toward me, ‘you know as much as I. No one is now ignorant of my sorrow.’
“Christine and I returned to the library, she very sad, I more and more agitated.
“‘What do you think of it all?’ she asked me.
“‘Christine,’ I demanded, ‘did you notice the marquis’s face when we went into the bedroom?’
“‘No, I only looked at the marchioness.’
“‘Well,’ I stated, ‘I took a good look at the marquis, and he was not very pleasant to see, I can tell you. His bloodshot eyes seemed to be ready to burst from their sockets like two red balls, his mouth was open, showing his gleaming, fierce teeth, and his whole face looked like one of those frightful masks which the Japanese use to frighten their enemies.
“T have never seen anything like that look, except the look of joyous ferocity on the face of the bust of the Marquis Gonzague, which is so carefully hidden on the main floor of the National Museum in the little lumber room, which gets daylight from the Dantes Square. Gonzague had the same look, perhaps, on that day, on the Eve of Fornoue, when he paid ten ducats for the first French head cut off by one of his men and kissed the man who brought it to him, on the mouth. Gonzague was not a vampire, but, nevertheless, he drank blood in his own fashion.’ “‘Tell me your exact thoughts,’ said Christine in an awe-struck voice; ‘do you think that we really caught our marquis “on the Eve of Fornoue?”’
“‘My thoughts are so formidable that I dare not speak them. Perhaps it was only in his appearance,’ I hastened to add.
“‘Well,’ she murmured, ‘even if Gonzague anticipated feasting on blood on the Eve of Fornoue, his attempt was frustrated the next day.’
“‘Yes,’ I replied; ‘some one appeared who disturbed the feast.’
“‘Do you know, that was also my impression,’ she said; ‘we seemed to be in the way of all those people. But even if the affair was quite natural, we ought not to be astonished if the marquis was disagreeably surprised at seeing us appear on the scene.’
“‘But if it were true?’ I asked.
“‘What — if what were true? What — if what were true?’ she repeated.
“‘Well, let us put all the other stories aside. He doesn’t have to have lived for two hundred years to feel the instincts of a wild beast.’
“‘What, then you think — you believe?’
“‘Listen, Christine, did you notice the bottle that Sangor was carrying when he came in the first time?’ “‘Yes, it contained citrate of soda, yes — that was it.’
“‘Yes,’ I said, ‘and the marquis told him to take it back and bring the calcium chloride. Do you know what he did with the calcium chloride, Christine — can you tell me?’
“‘Why, he stopped the blood with it!’
“‘Exactly! But do you know what one does with citrate of soda, Christine?’
“‘No!’
“‘Well — citrate of soda makes blood flow.’
“She looked at me as though I now had gone mad. “‘Makes it flow,’ she repeated vaguely.
“‘Yes,’ I explained; ‘it prevents a clot from forming which would close the wound. If a wound or scratch is rubbed with citrate of soda, the vein will continue to empty its blood like water coming from a tap. And that is not all, the mouth which sucks up the blood from the wound which has been rubbed with citrate of soda, need not fear coagulation, and this always has to be watched.’
“‘But what you tell me is frightful,’ cried Christine. ‘Where did you learn all this?’
“‘Why, in the most elementary medical books.
Haven’t you a First Aid book in your home? You see, Christine, a bookbinder is not only interested in bookbinding. In time he learns a lot of little things.’
“She was still looking at me, and I could see plainly that she was as agitated as myself, for she kept repeating:
“‘But this is dreadful! Science put to use by vampires!’
“‘In our time,’ I said conclusively, ‘a vampire, if there is such a thing, could not be otherwise than scientific.’
“Then we found ourselves gazing up at the four portraits of the Coulterays, who, up there on the wall, were smiling down at us in a very enigmatical and disturbing manner, through the fading daylight which showed the lines of objects vaguely — a sort of blotting out, pastel effect.
“‘It is very true that they all resemble one another in a strange fashion, a very strange fashion,’ she said.
“‘And, if they are one and the same,’ I continued, trying to speak lightly, ‘he certainly has had time to perfect his method.’
“But the joke stopped here, for we heard more moans from above.
“And as the moans became more prolonged, we could not help shuddering.
“‘Just the same,’ I said, ‘it would be a good thing if we knew exactly how she did get that scratch. After all, the marquis can tell us what he likes.’
CHAPTER XXII
AN IMAGE FOR ETERNITY
“IT WAS NOW late. The dinner hour had long gone by. But we could not make up our minds to leave this spot, the scene of such mysterious suffering. They must have thought that we had gone.
“We had no thought of pretending; that would have been unworthy of us. But under the circumstances, they might, perhaps, need our help, in any case that is what we shall say, if any one is surprised to find us here.
“We lit the little portable electric lamp in our office, and its rays made a little square of light in the garden.
“A sudden silence fell upon the house, a silence so great that it weighed upon us perhaps more than the dismal and monotonous moaning which has just thrown us both into a state of anguish.
“A half hour passed. We were working absently upon some books — we knew not what. Christine and I evidently had thoughts we did not dare confide to one another. Finally I asked:
“‘Does the marquis leave you alone now, Christine?’
“She was surprised by my question.
“‘What do you mean?’ she demanded, quite agitated. ‘Do you think there is any relation between — between — all that imagination upstairs — and what happened down here?’
“‘Well, has he made another attempt?’
“She hesitated a moment, then said:
“‘No, I saw to that.’
“I must say that in my presence the marquis has always been most correct in his manner. It seems as though he hardly dares look at her, except when he is addressin
g her.
“‘He is probably ashamed of himself anyway,’ she said with perfect simplicity. ‘Ashamed to have let himself go in what might be called the violence of his temperament. It is quite true that in those moments he is not very pleasant to look at. It was hard to say whether he wanted to kiss me or to bite me.’
“‘Or bite you?’ I repeated, gazing at her.
“‘Oh, that is just a way of speaking,’ she said smiling; ‘I don’t believe in vampires. But all the same, I am afraid of him.’
“‘It is most extraordinary that you remain here, Christine.’
“T have already explained to you why I stay, M. Benedict Masson.’
“She flung this reply at me as though I had insulted her.
“It was she who broke the embarrassing silence which followed.
“‘Tell me, my friend,’ she said, ’is it true that you have a pretty house in the country?’
“I was overcome by surprise at this question.
“‘Why do you ask me that?’ I inquired.
“She looked at me in astonishment.
“‘Why are you so agitated? My question was quite natural.’
“‘But why do you speak of my house in the country?’
“‘Great heavens! If I had known! Why, you are quite pale! It was the marquis who told me about it. He once said:
“Benedict Masson has a charming house in the country, and I am surprised that he has not yet invited you down.”’
“‘How does he know that I have a charming house in the country? Christine! Christine — my house in the country is not charming! It is the most gloomy, the most melancholy abode any one could find. It stands between the outskirts of a wood and a black pond of dark, slimy water. Christine, I shall never invite you there, and you must never come!’
“She was still amazed.
“‘What a funny man you are,’ she said at last. ‘If I had expected this! Such vehemence! Well, well, my friend, I won’t insist.’
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 393