“I do not deserve your pity, but if you wish to see your servant come quickly in the taxi which is bringing you this message. I shall be dead within an hour. I received the letter from Transylvania, and I have again spent the money intended for ‘propaganda purposes.’”
Titin jumped into the taxi.
“If he is not dead, I will kill him,” he thought.
Forty minutes later the taxi pulled up outside the Casino. Titin observed the Comte seated with a book before him at the open front of the Café de Paris. The Comte rose to his feet with dignity:
“Don’t touch me. I was wrong in saying that my life belongs to you. My life does not belong to me or to you.
It belongs to Prince Marie Hippothadee. I have no wish to steal it from him. To die would be too easy. Here is the Prince’s letter in which he threatens me with the direst penalties if I fail to carry out his instructions to the letter.... I’m going to him. To-morrow I shall take the boat to Genoa and go on to Venice. Before the end of the week I shall be in Mostarajevo.”
Titin read the Prince’s letter:
“I’ve had enough of your damned kidding,” he shouted in a hoarse voice. “Come on.”
He drew him to a secluded corner of the terraced gardens overlooking the sea. He had a mad longing to throw him into the harbor and told him so.
“Wait a bit, I beg you,” cried the Comte. “Wait — a splendid idea has just occurred to me.”
“I don’t want to hear it,” said Titin, “I’m sick of your splendid ideas.”
“No, no, all hope is not lost,” said the Comte as if speaking to himself. “And I was despairing of Providence. May the Virgin of Mostarajevo be with us and we shall be saved! Why didn’t I think of it before? I ought to be ashamed of myself.... Tell me — it’s important — have you ever played at the tables?”
“Never, and what I know of your experience as a gambler will never induce me to play.”
“You make a mistake. Don’t play more than once, but at least play this once. The beginner always wins. What do you risk?... Only to win a lot of money, because you can’t lose since you have never lost!”
“How do you expect me to play without money?”
“You say you haven’t any money when you have your sleeve links, shirt studs, tie pin.... What are they if they’re not money?”
Titin took out his pearl pin, studs, and links.
“Here you are. I’ll wait for you.”
He was at the bottom of an abyss. He could escape from it only by a miracle. He would tempt fortune. For once, Odonovitch was right. What could Titin do, now that he was to be Titin once more, with those absurd jewels?
The Comte walked away without a word. Titin thought he might not return, but he was mistaken. Indeed, his faith in Titin’s luck as a beginner outweighed every other consideration, and it suppressed his own passion for gambling. Titin made no effort to follow him. What will be will be, he thought.
In less than fifteen minutes the Comte returned with eight thousand francs. He surrendered the whole amount, and Titin went into the casino. The Comte remained on the terrace in expectation.... Half an hour later Titin came out. He had lost the entire sum. He seemed relieved.
“Now it’s all over. You will take the boat to-morrow, and don’t let me ever see you again,” he said; and with a start: “Of course you’ve got your return ticket?”
“No,” answered the Comte helplessly, unable to understand why Titin had lost. “But be easy in your mind I will get one.”
“Have you got your passage money?”
The Comte shrugged his shoulders. This incredible stroke of fate had made him lose all sense of respect.
“But how will you manage to take the boat?”
“I shall get my viaticum,” returned the Comte, at last recovering from a fit of despondency unworthy of his birth and position.
“What do you mean by viaticum?”
“It’s the amount allowed by the management to persons who have lost their all, to enable them to return home. May I suggest another idea to you?”
“You want to gamble with the viaticum?”
“Oh no, that’s impossible. Once I have received the viaticum it’s good-bye to the casino. You are not allowed to enter it again. But what I want to propose is — you take your viaticum and come with me.”
“No — you must return alone.... That would be quite outside the Prince’s instructions, and I have business here. Go and get your viaticum.”
When the Comte had obtained it, he of course suggested a gamble with the money.
“But I thought you weren’t allowed to gamble with it?”
“No, I am not allowed to, but I can give it to you and you can build up our fortunes again.”
“Hand it over,” said Titin.
He put the money into his pocket, and did not return it to the Comte until next morning on the boat. There was a touching farewell. But Titin was not at ease until the boat was but a wisp of smoke on the horizon. Soon it was lost to sight altogether, and after that Titin disappeared too.
CHAPTER XVI
IN WHICH IT IS SHOWN ONCE MORE THAT COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS
WHEN IT WAS established that Comte Valdar and Titin had disappeared without troubling about their very considerable debts, a great outcry arose along the coast from Antibes Point to Cape Martin. Hotel and restaurant-keepers, tailors, hosiers, bootmakers, and other tradesmen began once more to lift up their voices. But the loudest note was struck by the victimized jewelers who strewed the battlefield, over which Odon Odonovitch had swept without a scruple of remorse or pity.
The little that we have related of his exploits was but a minor incident in the great strategic operation that he carried through successfully with the help of his faithful Lombards — such is the name in Transylvania of the admirable institution commonly called the National pawnshop — to enable him to maintain his rank.
Soon furniture dealers entered the fray as well as buyers and sellers of old rubbish, pictures, engravings and pottery, who had competed one with another to decorate the rooms and walls of a flat in which no one had lived, and to which a new occupant, on paper, appeared to have succeeded daily, only to enable Odonovitch and Titin, through the credit they were able to obtain because they were its tenants, to scour all the hotels....
Finally, as the one security which they left behind them — the one definite souvenir of their passage — was furniture which each one, with duly authenticated legal documents, claimed to be the preferential owner, there followed a veritable mobilization of the litigious tribe: barristers, solicitors, prosecutors, bailiffs, and every other legal quill-driver; and these were practically the only people to reap any advantage from the intricate situation except M. Hyacinthe Supia, who as will be seen presently, was not the man to leave his share to anyone.
The stir that rose over the matter reflected no credit on Titin. Many of his friends were sorry for him, but no one grieved more than Mlle. Agagnosc. She wept in secret when she learnt of his escapades. She was aware of the banquets at which a famous dancer and some doubtful characters were present. Before others, Antoinette would indignantly repel the calumny, and often silenced Hippothadee. But he never grew weary of returning to the charge.
After the incident of the abortive marriage and Antoinette’s home-coming and revolt, the “tyrant” said to Hippothadee:
“Have patience. The marriage is only postponed. Unless you are a regular ass, you will know how to disgust her with Titin.”
Hippothadee thought only how to carry out Supia’s wishes, all the more so as circumstances had come so opportunely to his aid. The scandal had reached its culminating point. Titin dared not show himself. In the Courts, Mr. Lawyer spoke of him as a common sharper. It seemed as if the unhappy Toinette alone defended him now that he was stripped of all his success. Hardigras himself seemed to have deserted him.
“What did you expect?” said Hippothadee. “The poor fellow lost his head. A swindler whom I know w
ell. He has done me a lot of harm, my brother’s willing tool, Odon Odonovitch, said to him: ‘You are a prince. You might hope for anything. Meantime you need deny yourself nothing.’ Titin, who is not used to society, believed or pretended to believe this fable, but it was Odonovitch who reaped the advantage and got what he wanted for himself.... All the same they were made to understand each other, these fine fellows, and Titin never had any schooling — we must do him the justice to say that. All in a moment he forgot everything. After the ‘girls from Fourca’ came dancing stars, and, never fear, he is less to be pitied than you think. For he will find consolation in La Fourca, until he makes his appearance again in our hotels. In short — he bids far to succeed as a crook.”
Another thing that “succeeded” and Hippothadee scarcely expected, was a sharp slap in the face with which Toinette, who had not interrupted him, punctuated the end of his last sentence. The conversation had taken place after lunch, when coffee and liquors were served, in the Supia’s small dining-room, in the presence of Mme. Supia, simpering and affected, her daughter full of expectation now that her rival had abandoned the prince, and poor little Toinetta seated huddled in an arm-chair where she had entrenched herself in her dejection.
It was from this spot that the unexpected and startling answer had come. M. Supia was in his office. He hurried in, attracted by the tumult, fearing lest some injury had befallen his pledge which was daily becoming more valuable to him.
The Prince held his hand to his cheek and while Thélese and Caroline were speechless with indignation, Toinette gave him a piece of her mind. To stop her would have been no easy matter. For a full ten minutes she embroidered the theme of Titin’s honesty, declaring that whatever troubles had befallen him were due to his having been far too good-natured to a foreign nobleman of doubtful antecedents from the same country as Vladimar, engaged by him and the Supia family to bring disgrace to a youth who was the soul of honor: “But Titin had been through worse things. He would know how to get out of this scrape too. As for you, Prince, you are too silly.”
The Prince forgot the blow and M. Supia was almost ready to shout his admiration.... So that was the story she had made up — they had sent for Odon Odonovitch from the depths of Transylvania in order to bring disgrace on Tit in! Entirely taken aback by this instance of feminine logic, Hippothadee bowed and withdrew, Supia joined him outside.
“The little thing goes it pretty strong,” he said.
“Yes, I thought she had blinded me in one eye.”
“I wasn’t speaking of that but of this nonsense about Odonovitch. We should never have thought of it. Oh, these young girls! They always get the better of us.”
“Yes, of course.”
“And you couldn’t find a word to say.”
“That’s because my answer was not ready. Wait till I see you again, M. Supia.”
His answer came several days later and it was a pretty formidable one.... It came one golden afternoon, the herald of approaching spring, at the cool hour when the throng was returning from the races and the sun already low in the horizon seemed to be leaving with regret this Baie des Anges which displayed the glories of Nice....
Facing the road, over which motor cars and carriages from the race course crowded in a procession, stood “Le Père la Bique,” an inn famous for its cuisine and wines, and above all for its view. They had brought Antoinette here on the terrace so that she might “see”.
See what?... The procession of cars and carriages, of course. They had to divert her thoughts. Never had they been so kind to her. And yet Hippothadee had too quickly forgiven the blow, Thélise was too smiling, Caroline was too sad, and the “tyrant” rubbed his hands too often not to arouse her suspicions.
She left her glass of port untouched. Hippothadee was talking unceasingly. Irritated by his flow of words, Toinetta looked the other way and this is what she saw: a bungalow amid flowers — a small crimson cottage surrounded by cactus and carob and aloe and mastic trees, cut off from the road by a thick, high hedge of rushes.
To reach the garden gate it was necessary to clear the hedge, but behind the gate and the rushes complete seclusion reigned. It was an ideal place for lovers’ assignations.... Hippothadee, who seemed to know it and explained all about it to M. Supia, though he had not been asked, spoke in such tones as to be overheard by Antoinette, who shrugged her shoulders, considering the Prince’s comments unseemly.
She was about to turn her eyes from this spot, which no longer interested her, when a feminine form, wrapped in a large fringed, shawl, appeared in the garden. When she reached the garden she let the shawl slip off, and a handsome girl of the people clad in her best clothes was revealed. Antoinette saw only her back. She was a tall, well-proportioned girl and walked briskly with a graceful stride. She seemed to be somewhat uneasy; but her confusion was not without its charm. Before she went into the crimson cottage she turned her head — a beautiful dark head encircled by two black bands, and her dark eyes gleamed with a somewhat timorous light.
“Nathalie!”
Antoinette could not restrain the slight cry that rose to her lips as she recognized one of her old playmates from La Fourca — Nathalie Babazouk, Giaousé’s wife.... She now understood why she had been brought there. And she clung to the hope that these wretched people were mistaken. Nathalie might have an assignation but not with Titin, who had always spurned her. That was well-known in La Fourca and had aroused laughter. Toinetta was no fool, and grasped at once that she had been brought there to see Titin in some compromising situation. But she loved him and prayed that some startling sequel might give Hippothadee the lie.
She turned her back to hide her face from them.... Titin came into view. It was almost dark. He slipped through the rushes, opened the gate and entered the garden. He was dressed as she was wont to see him in La Fourca — it was the old Titin. He had the calm step and resolute mien characteristic of him. He crossed the garden but before he reached the cottage, Nathalie’s pale face appeared at the door and smilingly greeted him. He bent forward to kiss her. The door closed after them....
A slight moan and Toinetta tottered and fainted. Hippothadee lifted her in his arms.
“Quick, home,” he said.
They drove home. Now she was theirs.
CHAPTER XVII
LOVERS’ MEETINGS
WHILE THESE SCENES were taking place at “Le Père la Bique,” certain events were happening not far away in an inn whose rustic pergola rose above a path that, skirting the garden in which the crimson cottage stood, intersected at right angles the road from the race course and further along branched into the main road.
From this lodge only the surroundings of the crimson cottage could be seen; nevertheless, from a slightly higher point of the pergola the eye could take in that part of the garden in front of the cottage which could be observed in its entirety from the terraces of “Le Père la Bique.”
In this part of the pergola Giaousé and two friends, Noré the smith and Tulip — his real name was Felix Bonifasse — chief clerk to M. Propser Clappa, solicitor in La Fourca, were seated at table with a bottle of white wine before them. Tulip was a great friend of Giaousé’s and seemed to have as much admiration for him as Giaousé had for Titin.
He was a curious person and never lost an opportunity to break away from his quill driving. He had a fondness for the “inn” but was clumsy in all physical exercise, thin and long of limb. His skinny neck counterbalanced a huge purple head, hence his nickname of Tulip. In spite of his freaks his employer, M. Clappa, could not make up his mind to get rid of him, for he was an adept at drawing up legal documents, knew a great deal about most people, and, moreover, was discreet. He had begun life as junior clerk to a sheriff’s officer in Torre les Tourettes, the town whose ancient walls stood out so picturesquely on the crest of the rocks dominating the Gorges du Loup.
Time was when there was good feeling between the people of Torre les Tourettes and La Fourca. But that friendship, since, had chang
ed to enmity. As it is ancient history and also forms part of our story, it will be as well to say a word about it. In this way we may know something of the manners of these people.
After a game of bowls, which ended in a quarrel, the young men of Torre les Tourettes swore to carry off the May tree which the people of La Fourca were in the habit of planting every year in the square facing St. Helene Church. Forewarned, the young men of La Fourca took up their positions in the cypress and olive trees surrounding the church, and when the assailants came up at night time received them with a shower of stones. Those who persisted in the attempt to tear up the tree were attacked even with knives. One youth, Toton Robin, fell on the battlefield and for a week his life was despaired of.
Smarting under their failure, the young men of Torre les Tourettes returned the following year and succeeded in carrying off the May tree which they planted before their own church. In view of this bold stroke, after evening service on the following Sunday, the pluckiest young men of La Fourca — Toton Rohin, Jerome Brocard, Pierre Antoine, and his brother Barthélémy, the two Raybouts, and Titin, then but a boy, headed by their fife and drum band, and supported by well-nigh all the able-bodied population of La Fourca, men, women, and children with Mme Bibi and her two goats bringing up the rear — carried off the May tree at Torre in sight of the people who dared not offer resistance, and marched back in triumph to St. Helene Church, where they sang and danced round their trophy.
That was only the beginning. Three young girls — Thérésia, Félicita, and Madalon — allowed themselves the following year to be lured by three young men of Torre to leave La Fourca. Their rivals swore to be revenged for the affront. Five years sped by during which there was no mean trick which the young men of either side did not play on the other. Meantime, Titin, increased in strength and courage, put an end to the feud by a striking feat.
One fête day in La Fourca twenty-five young men of Torre les Tourettes appeared at the church door during the evening service and shouted their insults. Chased by the infuriated people they took to their heels. But, to get back to Torre they had to cross a narrow bridge made up of a few planks thrown across the stream.
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 422