The Unspeakable Gentleman Part 33
"Ives!" shrieked Mademoiselle.
"She is right," said my father. "It is Ives de Blanzy. I had forgotten you had sent him to the house."
The man Mr. Aiken was holding wrenched himself free, and sprang forward, shaking a fist in my father's face.
"Forgotten!" he shouted. Was it you who sent me here and had me tied in the cellar, and left me chewing at the rope, and set this pirate on me?
Mother of G.o.d! Captain Shelton! Is this a joke you are playing--"
"Only a very regrettable error," said my father. "A mistake of my son's.
Pray calm yourself, Ives. It is quite all right. My son, this is Mademoiselle's brother."
"Her brother!" I cried.
"And who the devil did you think I was?" He walked slowly towards me.
"Have you no perceptions?"
He would have continued further, if my father had not laid a hand on his arm.
"Gently, Ives," he said. "You know I would not treat you so. Give him the paper, my son. He is the one who should have it."
I stared at my father in blank astonishment, but before I could speak, he had continued.
"I know what you are thinking. What was the use of all this comedy? Why should I have deceived you? I was only running true to form, my son, which is the only thing left to do when life tastes bitter. Do you not understand? But you do not. Your palate is unused yet to gall and wormwood. Only wait, my son--"
He raised his hand slowly, as though tilting an imaginary gla.s.s to his lips.
"Only wait. They will offer you the cup some day, and we were always heavy drinkers. Pray G.o.d that you will stand it with a better grace than I--that you will forget the sting and rancor of it, and not carry it with you through the years."
His eyes grew brighter as he spoke, and his features were suddenly mobile and expressive.
"She said she believed it. She threw their lies in my face. She lashed me with them, and my blood was hotter then than now. She would not listen, and I forgot it was a woman's way. How was I to know it was only impulse?
I ask you--how was I to know? Was I a man to crawl back, and ask her forgiveness, to offer some miserable excuse she would not credit? And you, brought into manhood to believe I was a thief--was I to stand your flinging back my denial? Was I to pose as the picture of injured innocence, and beg you the favor of believing? I would not have expected it of you, my son. By heaven, it would have stuck in my throat. I had gone my way too long, and the draught still tasted bitter. It burned, burned as I never thought it would again, when I first saw you standing watching me. Indeed it is only now that its taste has wholly gone--only now that I see what I have done, now when the lights are dim, and it is too late to begin again."
He stopped and squared his shoulders and the harshness left his voice.
"You understand, I hope," he added "Give him the paper, Henry." And he nodded towards Ives de Blanzy.
I drew it from my pocket, and handed it to him in silence.
"Now what is the meaning of this?" said Ives de Blanzy harshly. "This is not the paper! The cursed thing is blank inside!"
My father s.n.a.t.c.hed it from his hands.
"Blank!" he muttered. "Blank! Clean as the driven snow! Is it possible I have failed in everything?"
Mademoiselle had moved forward, and touched his arm. He glanced at her quickly, and slowly his frown vanished.
"Naturally it is blank, captain," said Mademoiselle. "I took the real one from you this morning when you left it in your volume of Rabelais. I thought that you might place it there. I am sorry, captain, sorry now that you made me take you seriously."
The paper dropped from his fingers and fluttered to the floor, but strangely enough he did not appear chagrined. His gallantry was back with him again, and with it all his courtesy.
"Ah, Mademoiselle," he said, "I should have known you better. Will there always be a woman where there is trouble?"
"And you have not made me hate you, Captain," Mademoiselle continued.
"But you, my son," said my father, "you understand?"
I felt his glance, but I could not meet it.
"Yes," I said, "I understand."
"Good," said my father. "Here comes Brutus. And now we shall have our rum."
"I understand," I said, and my voice seemed unsteady, "that you are a very brave and upright gentleman."
"The devil!" cried my father.
And then he started and whirled toward the door.
"Ned! Ives!" he called sharply. "What the devil is going on outside?" and the three of them had darted into the hall.
Clear and distinct through the quiet night had come a shriek and the report of a pistol.
I started to follow them, but Mademoiselle had laid a hand on my arm, and was pointing to the table. I lifted first one and then the other of the two pistols that were lying there. Neither was primed. Neither was loaded.
"The third one," she said quietly, "Mr. Lawton took. No, no," she added, as I started toward the door, "Stay here, Monsieur. It is not your affair."
XVIII
She still stood looking at the pistols on the table. Was she thinking, as I was, of the irony, and the comedy and the tragedy that had been so strangely blended in the last hour? Slowly she turned and faced me, her slender fingers tugging aimlessly at her handkerchief. For a moment her eyes met mine. Then she looked away, and the color had deepened in her cheeks.
"So," said Mademoiselle, "It is almost over. Are you not glad, Monsieur, that it is finished?"
The wick of a candle had dropped to the wax, and was spluttering fitfully. Mechanically I moved to fix it.
"No," I said, "I am not glad."
"Not glad? Surely you are glad it has ended so. Surely you are glad your father--"
"No," I said, and my voice was so much louder than I had intended that the sound of it in the quiet room made me stop abruptly. She looked up at me, a little startled.
"At least Monsieur is frank," she said. "Do you know--have you thought that you are the only one of us who has been wholly so, who has not had something to conceal? Pray go on, Monsieur. It is pleasant to hear someone who is frank again. Continue! You must be glad for something.
Every cloud must have--do you not say--a silver lining? If it is not your father--surely you are glad about me?"
She made a graceful little gesture of interrogation.