The Dark Star

by Robert W. Chambers

  CHAPTER XXXIV

  SUNRISE

  When the taxicab carrying Captain Sengoun and the unknown Russian girlhad finally disappeared far away down the Boulevard in the thin greyhaze of early morning, Neeland looked around him; and it was a sceneunfamiliar, unreal, that met his anxious eyes.

  The sun had not yet gilded the chimney tops; east and west, as far ashe could see, the Boulevard stretched away under its double line oftrees between ranks of closed and silent houses, lying still andmysterious in the misty, bluish-grey light.

  Except for police and municipal guards, and two ambulances movingslowly away from the ruined cafe, across the street, the vastBoulevard was deserted; no taxicabs remained; no omnibuses moved; noearly workmen passed, no slow-moving farm wagons and milk wains fromthe suburbs; no _chiffoniers_ with scrap-filled sacks on their curvedbacks, and steel-hooked staves, furtively sorting and picking amongthe night's debris on sidewalk and in gutter.

  Here and there in front of half a dozen wrecked cafes little knots ofpolicemen stood on the glass-littered sidewalk, in low-voicedconsultation; far down the Boulevard, helmets gleamed dully throughthe haze where municipal cavalry were quietly riding off the mobs andgradually pushing them back toward the Montmartre and Villettequarters, whence they had arrived.

  Mounted Municipals still sat their beautiful horses in double lineacross the corner of the rue Vilna and parallel streets, closing thatentire quarter where, to judge from a few fitful and far-away pistolshots, the methodical apache hunt was still in progress.

  And it was a strange and sinister phase of Paris that Neeland nowgazed upon through the misty stillness of early morning. For there wassomething terrible in the sudden quiet, where the swift and shadowyfury of earliest dawn had passed: and the wrecked buildings saggedlike corpses, stark and disembowelled, spilling out their deadintestines indecently under the whitening sky.

  Save for the echoes of distant shots, no louder than the breaking of asplinter--save for the deadened stamp and stir of horses, a low-voicedorder, the fainter clash of spurs and scabbards--an intense stillnessbrooded now over the city, ominously prophetic of what fatefulawakening the coming sunrise threatened for the sleeping capital.

  Neeland turned and looked at Ilse Dumont. She stood motionless on thesidewalk, in the clear, colourless light, staring fixedly across thestreet at the debris of the gaping, shattered Cafe des Bulgars. Herevening gown hung in filmy tinted shreds; her thick, dark hair inlustrous disorder shadowed her white shoulders; a streak of dry bloodstriped one delicate bare arm.

  To see her standing there on the sidewalk in the full, unshadowedmorning light, silent, dishevelled, scarcely clothed, seemed to himpart of the ghastly unreality of this sombre and menacing vision, fromwhich he ought to rouse himself.

  She turned her head slowly; her haggard eyes met his withoutexpression; and he found his tongue with the effort of a man whostrives for utterance through a threatening dream:

  "We can't stay here," he said. The sound of his own voice steadied andcleared his senses. He glanced down at his own attire, blood-stained,and ragged; felt for the loose end of his collar, rebuttoned it, andknotted the draggled white tie with the unconscious indifference ofhabit.

  "What a nightmare!" he muttered to himself. "The world has been turnedupside down over night." He looked up at her: "We can't stay here," herepeated. "Where do you live?"

  She did not appear to hear him. She had already started to move towardthe rue Vilna, where the troopers barring that street still sat theirrestive horses. They were watching her and her dishevelled companionwith the sophisticated amusement of men who, by clean daylight,encounter fagged-out revellers of a riotous night.

  Neeland spoke to her again, then followed her and took her arm.

  "Where are you going?" he repeated, uneasily.

  "I shall give myself up," she replied in a dull voice.

  "To whom?"

  "To the Municipals over there."

  "Give yourself up!" he repeated. "Why?"

  She passed a slender hand over her eyes as though unutterably weary:

  "Neeland," she said, "I am lost already.... And I am very tired."

  "What do you mean?" he demanded, drawing her back under a_porte-cochere_. "You live somewhere, don't you? If it's safe for youto go back to your lodgings, I'll take you there. Is it?"

  "No."

  "Well, then, I'll take you somewhere else. I'll find somewhere to takeyou----"

  She shook her head:

  "It is useless, Neeland. There is no chance of my leaving the citynow--no chance left--no hope. It is simpler for me to end the matterthis way----"

  "Can't you go to the Turkish Embassy!"

  She looked up at him in a surprised, hopeless way:

  "Do you suppose that any Embassy ever receives a spy in trouble? Doyou really imagine that any government ever admits employing secretagents, or stirs a finger to aid them when they are in need?"

  "I told you I'd stand by you," he reminded her bluntly.

  "You have been--kind--Neeland."

  "And you have been very loyal to me, Scheherazade. I shall not abandonyou."

  "How can you help me? I can't get out of this city. Wherever I go,now, it will be only a matter of a few hours before I am arrested."

  "The American Embassy. There is a _man_ there," he reminded her.

  She shrugged her naked shoulders:

  "I cannot get within sight of the Trocadero before the secret policearrest me. Where shall I go? I have no passport, no papers, not evenfalse ones. If I go to the lodgings where I expected to find shelterit means my arrest, court martial, and execution in a _caserne_ withintwenty-four hours. And it would involve others who trust me--condemnthem instantly to a firing squad--if I am found by the police intheir company!... No, Neeland. There's no hope for me. Too many knowme in Paris. I took a risk in coming here when war was almost certain.I took my chances, and lost. It's too late to whimper now."

  As he stared at her something suddenly brightened above them; and helooked up and saw the first sunbeam painting a chimney top with palestgold.

  "Come," he said, "we've got to get out of this! We've got to gosomewhere--find a taxicab and get under shelter----"

  She yielded to the pressure of his arm and moved forward beside him.He halted for a moment on the curb, looking up and down the emptystreets for a cab of any sort, then, with the instinct of a man forwhom the Latin Quarter had once been a refuge and a home, he startedacross the Boulevard, his arm clasping hers.

  All the housetops were glittering with the sun as they passed theranks of the Municipal cavalry.

  A young officer looked down mischievously as they traversed theBoulevard--the only moving objects in that vast and stillperspective.

  "_Mon Dieu!_" he murmured. "A night like that is something to rememberin the winter of old age!"

  Neeland heard him. The gay, bantering, irresponsible Gallic wit awokehim to himself; the rising sun, tipping the city's spires with fire,seemed to relight a little, long-forgotten flame within him. Hissombre features cleared; he said confidently to the girl beside him:

  "Don't worry; we'll get you out of it somehow or other. It's been arather frightful dream, Scheherazade, nothing worse----"

  Her arm suddenly tightened against his and he turned to look at theshattered Cafe des Bulgars which they were passing, where twopolicemen stood looking at a cat which was picking its way over themass of debris, mewing dismally.

  One of the policemen, noticing them, smiled sympathetically at theirbattered appearance.

  "Would you like to have a cat for your lively _menage_?" he said,pointing to the melancholy animal which Neeland recognised as thedignified property of the Cercle Extranationale.

  The other policeman, more suspicious, eyed Ilse Dumont closely as sheknelt impulsively and picked up the homeless cat.

  "Where are you going in such a state?" he asked, moving over the heapsof splintered glass toward her.

  "Back to the Latin Quarter," said Neeland
, so cheerfully thatsuspicion vanished and a faint grin replaced the official frown.

  "_Allons, mes enfants_," he muttered. "_Faut pas s'attrouper dans larue_. Also you both are a scandal. _Allons! Filez! Houp!_ The sun isup already!"

  They went out across the rue Royale toward the Place de la Concorde,which spread away before them in deserted immensity and beauty.

  There were no taxicabs in sight. Ilse, carrying the cat in her arms,moved beside Neeland through the deathly stillness of the city, asthough she were walking in a dream. Everywhere in the pale blue skyabove them steeple and dome glittered with the sun; there were nosounds from _quai_ or river; no breeze stirred the trees; nothingmoved on esplanade or bridge; the pale blue August sky grew bluer; thegilded tip of the obelisk glittered like a living flame.

  Neeland turned and looked up the Champs Elysees.

  Far away on the surface of the immense avenue a tiny dark speck wasspeeding--increasing in size, coming nearer.

  "A taxi," he said with a quick breath of relief. "We'll be all rightnow."

  Nearer and nearer came the speeding vehicle, rushing toward thembetween the motionless green ranks of trees. Neeland walked forwardacross the square to signal it, waited, watching its approach with aslight uneasiness.

  Now it sped between the rearing stone horses, and now, swerving, swungto the left toward the rue Royale. And to his disgust anddisappointment he saw it was a private automobile.

  "The devil!" he muttered, turning on his heel.

  At the same moment, as though the chauffeur had suddenly caught anorder from within the limousine, the car swung directly toward himonce more.

  As he rejoined Ilse, who stood clasping the homeless cat to herbreast, listlessly regarding the approaching automobile, the car sweptin a swift circle around the fountain where they stood, stopped shortbeside them; and a woman flung open the door and sprang out to thepavement.

  And Ilse Dumont, standing there in the rags of her frail gown,cuddling to her breast the purring cat, looked up to meet her doom inthe steady gaze of the Princess Naia Mistchenka.

  Every atom of colour left her face, and her ashy lips parted.Otherwise, she made no sign of fear, no movement.

  There was a second's absolute silence; then the dark eyes of thePrincess turned on Neeland.

  "Good heavens, James!" she said. "What has happened to you?"

  "Nothing," he said gaily, "thanks to Miss Dumont----"

  "To _whom_?" interrupted the Princess sharply.

  "To Miss Dumont. We got into a silly place where it began to look asthough we'd get our heads knocked off, Sengoun and I. I'm really quiteserious, Princess. If it hadn't been for Miss Dumont--" he shrugged;"--and that is twice she has saved my idiotic head for me," he addedcheerfully.

  The Princess Naia's dark eyes reverted to Ilse Dumont, and the pallidgirl met them steadily enough. There was no supplication in her owneyes, no shrinking, only the hopeless tranquillity that looks Destinyin the face--the gaze riveted unflinchingly upon the descending blow.

  "What are _you_ doing in Paris at such a time as this?" said thePrincess.

  The girl's white lips parted stiffly:

  "Do you need to ask?"

  For a full minute the Princess bent a menacing gaze on her in silence;then:

  "What do you expect from _me_?" she demanded in a low voice. And,stepping nearer: "What have you to expect from anyone in France onsuch a day as this?"

  Ilse Dumont did not answer. After a moment she dropped her head andfumbled with the rags of her bodice, as though trying to cover thedelicately rounded shoulders. A shaft of sunlight, reflected from theobelisk to the fountain, played in golden ripples across her hair.

  Neeland looked at the Princess Naia:

  "What you do is none of my business," he said pleasantly, "but--" hesmiled at her and stepped back beside Ilse Dumont, and passed his armthrough hers: "I'm a grateful beast," he added lightly, "and if I'venine lives to lose, perhaps Miss Dumont will save seven more of thembefore I'm entirely done for."

  The girl gently disengaged his arm.

  "You'll only get yourself into serious trouble," she murmured, "andyou can't help me, dear Neeland."

  The Princess Naia, flushed and exasperated, bit her lip.

  "James," she said, "you are behaving absurdly. That woman has nothingto fear from me now, and she ought to know it!" And, as Ilse liftedher head and stared at her: "Yes, you ought to know it!" she repeated."Your work is ended. It ended today at sunrise. And so did mine. Waris here. There is nothing further for you to do; nothing for me. Theend of everything is beginning. What would your death or mine signifynow, when the dawn of such a day as this is the death warrant formillions? What do we count for now, Mademoiselle Minna Minti?"

  "Do you not mean to give me up, madame?"

  "Give you up? No. I mean to get you out of Paris if I can. Give meyour cat, mademoiselle. Please help her, James----"

  "You--offer me your limousine?" stammered Ilse.

  "Give that cat to me. Of course I do! Do you suppose I mean to leaveyou in rags with your cat on the pavement here?" And, to Neeland:"Where is Alak?"

  "Gone home as fit as a fiddle. Am I to receive the hospitality of yourlimousine also, dear lady? Look at the state I'm in to travel with twoladies!"

  The Princess Naia's dark eyes glimmered; she tucked the catcomfortably against her shoulder and motioned Ilse into the car.

  "I'm afraid I'll have to take you, James. What on earth has happenedto you?" she added, as he put her into the car, nodded to thechauffeur, and, springing in beside her, slammed the door.

  "I'll tell you in two words," he explained gaily. "Prince Erlik and Istarted for a stroll and landed, ultimately, in the Cafe des Bulgars.And presently a number of gentlemen began to shoot up the place, andMiss Dumont stood by us like a brick."

  The Princess Mistchenka lifted the cat from her lap and placed it inthe arms of Ilse Dumont.

  "That ought to win our gratitude, I'm sure," she said politely to thegirl. "We Russians never forget such pleasant obligations. There is aCossack jingle:

  "To those who befriend our friends Our duty never ends."

  Ilse Dumont bent low over the purring cat in her lap; the Princesswatched her askance from moment to moment, and Neeland furtively notedthe contrast between these women--one in rags and haggard disorder;the other so trim, pretty, and fresh in her morning walking suit.

  "James," she said abruptly, "we've had a most horrid night, Ruhannahand I. The child waited up for you, it seems--I thought she'd gone tobed--and she came to my room about two in the morning--the littlegoose--as though men didn't stay out all night!"

  "I'm terribly sorry," he said contritely.

  "You ought to be.... And Ruhannah was so disturbed that I put onsomething and got out of bed. And after a while"--the Princess glancedsardonically at Ilse Dumont--"I telephoned to various sources ofinformation and was informed concerning the rather lively episodes ofyour nocturnal career with Sengoun. And when I learned that you and hehad been seen to enter the Cafe des Bulgars, I became sufficientlyalarmed to notify several people who might be interested in thematter."

  "One of those people," said Neeland, smiling, "was escorted to herhome by Captain Sengoun, I think."

  The Princess glanced out of the window where the early morning sunglimmered on the trees as the car flew swiftly through the ChampsElysees.

  "I heard that there were some men killed there last night," she saidwithout turning.

  "Several, I believe," admitted Neeland.

  "Were _you_ there, then?"

  "Yes," he replied, uncomfortably.

  "Did you know anybody who was killed, James?"

  "Yes, by sight."

  She turned to him:

  "Who?"

  "There was a man named Kestner; another named Weishelm. Three Americangamblers were killed also."

  "And Karl Breslau?" inquired the Princess coolly.

  There was a moment's silence.

  "No. I think he got away a
cross the roofs of the houses," repliedNeeland.

  Ilse Dumont, bent over the cat in her lap, stared absently into itsgreen eyes where it lay playfully patting the rags that hung from hertorn bodice.

  Perhaps she was thinking of the dead man where he lay in the crowdedcafe--the dead man who had confronted her with bloodshot eyes andlifted pistol--whose voice, thick with rage, had denounced her--whosestammering, untaught tongue stumbled over the foreign words with whichhe meant to send her to her death--this dead man who once had been_her_ man--long ago--very, very long ago when there was no bitternessin life, no pain, no treachery--when life was young in the WesternWorld, and Fate gaily beckoned her, wearing a smiling mask and crownedwith flowers.

  "I hope," remarked the Princess Mistchenka, "that it is sufficientlyearly in the morning for you to escape observation, James."

  "I'm a scandal; I know it," he admitted, as the car swung into the rueSoleil d'Or.

  The Princess turned to the drooping girl beside her and laid a glovedhand lightly on her shoulder.

  "My dear," she said gently, "there is only one chance for you, and ifwe let it pass it will not come again--under military law."

  Ilse lifted her head, held it high, even tilted back a little.

  The Princess said:

  "Twenty-four hours will be given for all Germans to leave France.But--you took your nationality from the man you married. You areAmerican."

  The girl flushed painfully:

  "I do not care to take shelter under his name," she said.

  "It is the only way. And you must get to the coast in my car. There isno time to lose. Every vehicle, private and public, will be seized formilitary uses this morning. Every train will be crowded; every foot ofroom occupied on the Channel boats. There is only one thing for you todo--travel with me to Havre as my American maid."

  "Madame--would you do that--for me?"

  "Why, I've got to," said the Princess Mistchenka with a shrug. "I amnot a barbarian to leave you to a firing squad, I hope."

  The car had stopped; the chauffeur descended and came around to openthe door.

  "Caron," said the Princess, "no servants are stirring yet. Take mykey, find a cloak and bring it out--and a coat for MonsieurNeeland--the one that Captain Sengoun left the other evening. Have youplenty of gasoline?"

  "Plenty, madame."

  "Good. We leave for Havre in five minutes. Bring the cloak and coatquickly."

  The chauffeur hastened to the door, unlocked it, disappeared, thencame out carrying a voluminous wrap and a man's opera cloak. ThePrincess threw the one over Ilse Dumont; Neeland enveloped himself inthe other.

  "Now," murmured the Princess Naia, "it will look more like a lateautomobile party than an ambulance after a free fight--if any earlyservants are watching us."

  She descended from the car; Ilse Dumont followed, still clasping thecat under her cloak; and Neeland followed her.

  "Be very quiet," whispered the Princess. "There is no necessity forservants to observe what we do----"

  A small and tremulous voice from the head of the stairs interruptedher:

  "Naia! Is it you?"

  "Hush, Ruhannah! Yes, darling, it is I. Everything is all right andyou may go back to bed----"

  "Naia! Where is Mr. Neeland?" continued the voice, fearfully.

  "He is here, Rue! He is all right. Go back to your room, dear. I havea reason for asking you."

  Listening, she heard a door close above; then she touched Ilse on theshoulder and motioned her to follow up the stairs. Halfway up thePrincess halted, bent swiftly over the banisters:

  "James!" she called softly.

  "Yes?"

  "Go into the pantry and find a fruit basket and fill it with whateverfood you can find. Hurry, please."

  He discovered the pantry presently, and a basket of fruit there.Poking about he contrived to disinter from various tins and ice-boxessome cold chicken and biscuits and a bottle of claret. These hewrapped hastily in a napkin which he found there, placed them in thebasket of fruit, and came out into the hall just as Ilse Dumont, inthe collar and cuffs and travelling coat of a servant, descended,carrying a satchel and a suitcase.

  "Good business!" he whispered, delighted. "You're all right now,Scheherazade! And for heaven's sake, keep out of France hereafter. Doyou promise?"

  He had taken the satchel and bag from her and handed both, and thefruit basket, to Caron, who stood outside the door.

  In the shadowy hall those two confronted each other now, probably forthe last time. He took both her hands in his.

  "Good-bye, Scheherazade dear," he said, with a new seriousness in hisvoice which made the tone of it almost tender.

  "G-good-bye----" The girl's voice choked; she bent her head and restedher face on the hands he held clasped in his.

  He felt her hot tears falling, felt the slender fingers within hisown tighten convulsively; felt her lips against his hand--an instantonly; then she turned and slipped through the open door.

  A moment later the Princess Naia appeared on the stairs, descendinglightly and swiftly, her motor coat over her arm.

  "Jim," she said in a low voice, "it's the wretched girl's only chance.They know about her; they're looking for her now. But I am trusted bymy Ambassador; I shall have what papers I ask for; I shall get herthrough to an American steamer."

  "Princess Naia, you are splendid!"

  "You don't think so, Jim; you never did.... Be nice to Rue. The childhas been dreadfully frightened about you.... And," added the PrincessMistchenka with a gaily forced smile, resting her hand on Neeland'sshoulder for an instant, "don't ever kiss Rue Carew unless you mean itwith every atom of your heart and soul.... I know the child.... And Iknow you. Be generous to her, James. All women need it, I think, fromsuch men as you--such men as you," she added laughingly, "who know notwhat they do."

  If there was a subtle constraint in her pretty laughter, if her gaygesture lacked spontaneity, he did not perceive it. His face hadflushed a trifle under her sudden badinage.

  "Good-bye," he said. "You _are_ splendid, and I _do_ think so. I knowyou'll win through."

  "I shall. I always do--except with you," she added audaciously. And"Look for me tomorrow!" she called back to him through the open door;and slammed it behind her, leaving him standing there alone in thedark and curtained house.