The Dark Star

by Robert W. Chambers

  CHAPTER XXXV

  THE FIRST DAY

  Neeland had undressed, bathed his somewhat battered body, and had thenthrown himself on the bed, fully intending to rise in a few momentsand await breakfast.

  But it was a very weary young man who stretched himself out for tenminutes' repose. And, when again he unclosed his eyes, the austereclock on the mantel informed him that it was five--not five in themorning either.

  He had slept through the first day of general mobilisation.

  Across the lowered latticed blinds late afternoon sunshine struck red.The crests of the chestnut trees in the rue Soleil d'Or had turnedrosy; and a delicate mauve sky, so characteristic of Paris in earlyautumn, already stretched above the city like a frail tent of silkfrom which fragile cobweb clouds hung, tinted with saffron and palestrose.

  Hoisting the latteen shades, he looked out through lace curtains intothe most silent city he had ever beheld. Not that the streets andavenues were deserted: they swarmed with hurrying, silent people andwith taxicabs.

  Never had he seen so many taxicabs; they streamed by everywhere,rushing at high speed. They passed through the rue Soleil d'Or; therue de la Lune fairly whizzed with them; the splendid avenue wasmerely a vista of flying taxis; and in every one of them there was asoldier.

  Otherwise, except for cyclists, there seemed to be very few soldiersin Paris--an odd fact immediately noticeable.

  Also there were no omnibuses to be seen, no private automobiles, noelectric vehicles of any sort except great grey army trucks trundlingby with a sapper at the wheel.

  And, except for the whiz and rush of the motors and the melancholysiren blasts from their horns, an immense silence reigned in thestreets.

  There was no laughter to be heard, no loud calling, no gay andanimated badinage. People who met and stopped conversed in undertones;gestures were sober and rare.

  And everywhere, in the intense stillness, Red Cross flags hungmotionless in the late afternoon sunshine; everywhere were postednotices warning the Republic of general mobilisation--on dead walls,on tree-boxes, on kiosques, on bulletin boards, on the facades ofpublic and ecclesiastical buildings.

  Another ordinance which Neeland could read from where he stood at thewindow warned all citizens from the streets after eight o'clock in theevening; and on the closed iron shutters of every shop in sight of hiswindow were pasted white strips of paper bearing, in black letters,the same explanation:

  "_Ferme a cause de la mobilisation._"

  Nowhere could he see the word "war" printed or otherwise displayed.The conspiracy of silence concerning it seemed the more ominous.

  Nor, listening, could he hear the sinister voices of men and boyscalling extra editions of the papers. There seemed to be no need forthe raising of hoarse and threatening voices in the soundless capital.Men and youths of all ages traversed the avenues and streets withsheafs of fresh, damp newspapers over their ragged arms, but it wasthe populace who crowded after and importuned them, not they thepeople; and no sooner did a paper-seller appear than he was strippedof his wares and was counting his coppers under the trees beforehurrying away for a fresh supply.

  Neeland dressed himself in sections, always returning to the window tolook out; and in this manner he achieved his toilet.

  Marotte, the old butler, was on the floor below, carrying a tea trayinto the wide, sunny sitting-room as Neeland descended.

  "I overslept," explained the young American, "and I'm nearly starved.Is Mademoiselle Carew having tea?"

  "Mademoiselle requested tea for two, sir, in case you should awake,"said the old man solemnly.

  Neeland watched him fussing about with cloth and table and silver.

  "Have you any news?" he asked after a moment.

  "Very little, Monsieur Neeland. The police have ordered all Germansinto detention camps--men, women, and children. It is said that thereare to be twelve great camps for these unfortunates who are toassemble in the Lycee Condorcet for immediate transportation."

  Neeland thought of Ilse Dumont. Presently he asked whether any messagehad been received from the Princess Mistchenka.

  "Madame the Princess telephoned from Havre at four o'clock thisafternoon. Mademoiselle Carew has the message."

  Neeland, reassured, nodded:

  "No other news, Marotte?"

  "The military have taken our automobiles from the garage, and haverequisitioned the car which Madame la Princess is now using, orderingus to place it at their disposal as soon as it returns from Havre.Also, Monsieur le Capitaine Sengoun has telephoned from the RussianEmbassy, but Mademoiselle Carew would not permit Monsieur to beawakened."

  "What did Captain Sengoun say?"

  "Mademoiselle Carew received the message."

  "And did anyone else call me up?" asked Neeland, smiling.

  "_Il y avait une fe--une espece de dame_," replied the old mandoubtfully, "--who named herself Fifi la Tzigane. I permitted myselfto observe to her," added the butler with dignity, "that she had theliberty of writing to you what she thought necessary to communicate."

  He had arranged the tea-table. Now he retired, but returned almostimmediately to decorate the table with Cloth of Gold roses.

  Fussing and pottering about until the mass of lovely blossoms suitedhim, he finally presented himself to Neeland for further orders, and,learning that there were none, started to retire with aself-respecting dignity that was not at all impaired by the tearswhich kept welling up in his aged eyes, and which he always winkedaway with a _demi-tour_ and a discreet cough correctly stifled by hisdry and wrinkled hand.

  As he passed out the door Neeland said:

  "Are you in trouble, Marotte?"

  The old man straightened up, and a fierce pride blazed for a momentfrom his faded eyes:

  "Not trouble, monsieur; but--when one has three sons departing for thefront--_dame!_--that makes one reflect a little----"

  He bowed with the unconscious dignity of a wider liberty, a subtlerequality which, for a moment, left such as he indifferent tocircumstances of station.

  Neeland stepped forward extending his hand:

  "_Bonne chance!_ God be with France--and with us all who love ourliberty. Luck to your three sons!"

  "I thank monsieur----" He steadied his voice, bowed in the faultlessgarments which were his badge of service, and went his way through thesilence in the house.

  Neeland had walked to the long windows giving on the pretty balconywith its delicate, wrought-iron rails and its brilliant masses ofgeraniums.

  Outside, along the Avenue, in absolute silence, a regiment ofcuirassiers was passing, the level sun blazing like sheets of crimsonfire across their helmets and breastplates. And now, listening, thefar clatter of their horses came to his ears in an immense, unbroken,rattling resonance.

  Their gold-fringed standard passed, and the sunlight on the nakedsabres ran from point to hilt like liquid blood. Sons of theCuirassiers of Morsbronn, grandsons of the Cuirassiers ofWaterloo--what was their magnificent fate to be?--For splendid itcould not fail to be, whether tragic or fortunate.

  The American's heart began to hammer in his breast and throb in histhroat, closing it with a sudden spasm that seemed to confuse hisvision for a moment and turn the distant passing regiment to aglittering stream of steel and flame.

  Then it had passed; the darkly speeding torrent of motor cars alonepossessed the Avenue; and Neeland turned away into the room again.

  And there, before him, stood Rue Carew.

  A confused sense of unreasoning, immeasurable happiness rushed overhim, and, in that sudden, astounding instant of self-revelation,self-amazement left him dumb.

  She had given him both her slim white hands, and he held to them asthough to find his bearings. Both were a trifle irrelevant andfragmentary.

  "Do you c-care for tea, Jim?... What a night! What a fright you gaveus.... There are _croissants_, too, and caviar.... I would not permitanybody to awaken you; and I was dying to see you----"

  "I am so sorry you were anxious a
bout me. And I'm tremendouslyhungry.... You see, Sengoun and I did not mean to remain out allnight.... I'll help you with that tea; shall I?..."

  He still retained her hands in his; she smiled and flushed in abreathless sort of way, and looked sometimes at the tea-kettle asthough she never before had seen such an object; and looked up at himas though she had never until that moment beheld any man like him.

  "The Princess Naia has left us quite alone," she said, "so I must giveyou some tea." She was nervous and smiling and a little frightened andconfused with the sense of their contact.

  "So--I shall give you your tea, now," she repeated.

  She did not mention her manual inability to perform her promise, butpresently it occurred to him to release her hands, and she slidgracefully into her chair and took hold of the silver kettle withfingers that trembled.

  He ate everything offered him, and then took the initiative. And hetalked--Oh, heaven! How he talked! Everything that had happened to himand to Sengoun from the moment they left the rue Soleil d'Or the nightbefore, this garrulous young man detailed with a relish for humorouscircumstance and a disregard for anything approaching the tragic,which left her with an impression that it had all been a tremendouslark--indiscreet, certainly, and probably reprehensible--but a lark,for all that.

  Fireworks, shooting, noise, and architectural destruction he admitted,but casualties he skimmed over, and of death he never said a word. Whyshould he? The dead were dead. None concerned this young girlnow--and, save one, no death that any man had died there in theshambles of the Cafe des Bulgars could ever mean anything to RueCarew.

  Some day, perhaps, he might tell her that Brandes was dead--not whereor how he had died--but merely the dry detail. And she might docketit, if she cared to, and lay it away among the old, scarcelyremembered, painful things that had been lived, and now were to beforgotten forever.

  The silence of intensest interest, shy or excited questions, and thegrey eyes never leaving his--this was her tribute.

  Grey eyes tinged with golden lights, now clear with suspense, nowbrilliant at a crisis, now gentle, wondering, troubled, as he spoke ofIlse Dumont and the Russian girl, now charmingly vague as her mindoutstripped his tongue and she divined something of the sturdy part hehad played--golden-grey eyes that grew exquisite with her pride inhim, tender with solicitude for him in dangers already passedaway--this was her tribute

  Engaging grey eyes of a girl with the splendour and mystery ofwomanhood possessing her--attracting him, too, fascinating him,threatening, conquering, possessing him--this, the Greek gift of RueCarew, her tribute.

  And he took all, forgetting that the Greeks bore gifts; or, perhaps,remembering, rejoicing, happy in his servitude, he took into his heartand soul the tribute this young girl offered, a grateful, thankfulcaptive.

  The terrible cataclysm impending, menacing the world, they seemedpowerless, yet, to grasp and comprehend and understand.

  Outside, the street rippled and roared with the interminable clatterof passing cavalry: the girl looked into the eyes of the boy acrossthe tea-table, and her young eyes, half fearful yet enchanted, scarcedared divine what his eyes were telling her while his hurrying tonguechattered irrelevancies.

  Three empires, two kingdoms, and a great republic resounded with thehellish din of arming twenty million men. Her soft lips were touchedwith the smile of youth that learns for the first time it is beloved;her eyes of a child, exquisite, brooding, rested with a little morecourage now on his--were learning, little by little, to sustain hisgaze, endure the ardour that no careless, laughing speech of his couldhide or dim or quench.

  In the twilight of the streets there was silence, save for the rush ofmotors and the recurrent trample of armed men. But the heart of RueCarew was afire with song--and every delicate vein in her ran singingto her heart.

  There was war in the Eastern world; and palace and chancellery wereablaze. But they spoke of the West--of humble places and lowly homes;of still woodlands where mosses edged the brooks; of peacefulvillages they both had known, where long, tree-shaded streets slept inthe dappled shadow under the sun of noon.

  * * * * *

  Marotte came, silent, self-respecting, very grey and tranquil in hishour of trial.

  There were two letters for Neeland, left by hand. And, when the oldman had gone away bearing his silver tray among his heavier burdens:

  "Read them," nodded Rue Carew.

  He read them both aloud to her: the first amused them a little--notwithout troubling them a little, too:

  * * * * *

  Monsieur Neeland:

  It is the Tzigane, Fifi, who permits herself the honour of addressingyou.

  Breslau escaped. With him went the plans, it seems. You behavedadmirably in the Cafe des Bulgars. A Russian comrade has you andPrince Erlik to remember in her prayers.

  You have done well, monsieur. Now, your task is ended. Go back to theWestern World and leave us to end this battle between ourselves.

  It is written and confirmed by the stars that what the Eastern Worldhas sown it shall now reap all alone.

  We Tziganes know. You should not mock at our knowledge. For there is adark star, Erlik, named from the Prince of Hell. And last night it wasin conjunction with the red star, Mars. None saw it; none has everbeheld the dark star, Erlik.

  But we Tziganes know. We have known for five thousand years that Erlikhung aloft, followed by ten black moons. Ask your astronomers. But weTziganes knew this before there ever were astronomers!

  Therefore, go home to your own land, monsieur. The Prince of Hell isin the heavens. The Yellow Devil shall see the Golden Horn again.Empires shall totter and fall. Little American, stand from under.

  Adieu! We Tziganes wish you well--Fifi and Nini of the Jardin Russe.

  "Adieu, _beau jeune homme_! And--_to her whom you shall take withyou_--homage, good wishes, good augury, and adieux!"

  * * * * *

  "'To her whom you shall take with you,'" he repeated, looking at RueCarew.

  The girl blushed furiously and bent her head, and her slender fingersgrew desperately busy with her handkerchief.

  Neeland, as nervous as she, fumbled with the seal of the remainingletter, managed finally to break it, glanced at the writing, thenlaughed and read:

  * * * * *

  My dear Comrade Neeland:

  I get my thousand lances! Congratulate me! Were you much battered bythat _canaille_ last night? I laugh until I nearly burst when I thinkof that absurd _bousculade_!

  That girl I took with me is all right. I'm going to Petrograd! I'mgoing on the first opportunity by way of Switzerland.

  What happiness, Neeland! No more towns for me, except those I take. Nomore politics, no more diplomacy! I shall have a thousand lances to domy talking for me. Hurrah!

  Neeland, I love you as a brother. Come to the East with me. You shallmake a splendid trooper! Not, of course, a Terek Cossack. A Cossack isGod's work. A Terek Cossack is born, not made.

  But, good heavens! There is other most excellent cavalry in the world,I hope! Come with me to Russia. Say that you will come, my dearcomrade Neeland, and I promise you we shall amuse ourselves when theworld's dance begins----

  * * * * *

  "Oh!" breathed the girl, exasperated. "Sengoun is a fool!"

  Neeland looked up quickly from his letter; then his face altered, andhe rose; but Rue Carew was already on her feet; and she had lost mostof her colour--and her presence of mind, too, it seemed, for Neeland'sarms were half around her, and her hands were against his shoulders.

  Neither of them spoke; and he was already amazed and rather scared athis own incredible daring--already terribly afraid of this slender,fragrant creature who stood rigid and silent within the circle of hisarm, her head lowered, her little, resisting hands pressedconvulsively against his breast.<
br />
  And after a long time the pressure against his breast slowly relaxed;her restless fingers moved nervously against his shoulders, picked atthe lapels of his coat, clung there as he drew her head against hisbreast.

  The absurd beating of his heart choked him as he stammered her name;he dropped his head beside her hot and half hidden cheek. And, after along, long time, her face stirred on his breast, turned a very littletoward him, and her young lips melted against his.

  So they stood through the throbbing silence in the slowly darkeningroom, while the street outside echoed with the interminable trample ofpassing cavalry, and the dim capital lay like a phantom city under theghostly lances of the searchlights as though probing all Heaven to thevery feet of God in search of reasons for the hellish crime nowlaunched against the guiltless Motherland.

  And high among the planets sped the dark star, Erlik, unseen by men,rushing through viewless interstellar space, hurled out of nothing bythe Prince of Hell into the nothing toward which all Hell is speeding,too; and whither it shall one day fade and disappear and pass awayforever.

  * * * * *

  "My darling----"

  "Oh, Jim--I have loved you all my life," she whispered. And her youngarms crept up and clung around his neck.

  "My darling Rue--my little Rue Carew----"

  Outside the window an officer also spoke through the unbroken clatterof passing horsemen which filled the whole house with a hollow roar.But she heard her lover's voice alone as in a hushed and magic world;and in her girl's enchanted ears his words were the only sounds thatstirred a heavenly quiet that reigned between the earth and stars.

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