The Arrow of Gold: A Story Between Two Notes

  CHAPTER II

  For this, properly speaking wonderful, reason I was the only one of thecompany who could listen without constraint to the unbidden guest withthat fine head of white hair, so beautifully kept, so magnificentlywaved, so artistically arranged that respect could not be felt for it anymore than for a very expensive wig in the window of a hair-dresser. Infact, I had an inclination to smile at it. This proves how unconstrainedI felt. My mind was perfectly at liberty; and so of all the eyes in thatroom mine was the only pair able to look about in easy freedom. All theother listeners' eyes were cast down, including Mills' eyes, but that Iam sure was only because of his perfect and delicate sympathy. He couldnot have been concerned otherwise.

  The intruder devoured the cutlets--if they were cutlets. Notwithstandingmy perfect liberty of mind I was not aware of what we were eating. Ihave a notion that the lunch was a mere show, except of course for theman with the white hair, who was really hungry and who, besides, musthave had the pleasant sense of dominating the situation. He stooped overhis plate and worked his jaw deliberately while his blue eyes rolledincessantly; but as a matter of fact he never looked openly at any one ofus. Whenever he laid down his knife and fork he would throw himself backand start retailing in a light tone some Parisian gossip about prominentpeople.

  He talked first about a certain politician of mark. His "dear Rita" knewhim. His costume dated back to '48, he was made of wood and parchmentand still swathed his neck in a white cloth; and even his wife had neverbeen seen in a low-necked dress. Not once in her life. She was buttonedup to the chin like her husband. Well, that man had confessed to himthat when he was engaged in political controversy, not on a matter ofprinciple but on some special measure in debate, he felt ready to killeverybody.

  He interrupted himself for a comment. "I am something like that myself.I believe it's a purely professional feeling. Carry one's point whateverit is. Normally I couldn't kill a fly. My sensibility is too acute forthat. My heart is too tender also. Much too tender. I am a Republican.I am a Red. As to all our present masters and governors, all thosepeople you are trying to turn round your little finger, they are allhorrible Royalists in disguise. They are plotting the ruin of all theinstitutions to which I am devoted. But I have never tried to spoil yourlittle game, Rita. After all, it's but a little game. You know verywell that two or three fearless articles, something in my style, youknow, would soon put a stop to all that underhand backing of your king.I am calling him king because I want to be polite to you. He is anadventurer, a blood-thirsty, murderous adventurer, for me, and nothingelse. Look here, my dear child, what are you knocking yourself aboutfor? For the sake of that bandit? _Allons donc_! A pupil of HenryAllegre can have no illusions of that sort about any man. And such apupil, too! Ah, the good old days in the Pavilion! Don't think I claimany particular intimacy. It was just enough to enable me to offer myservices to you, Rita, when our poor friend died. I found myself handyand so I came. It so happened that I was the first. You remember, Rita?What made it possible for everybody to get on with our poor dear Allegrewas his complete, equable, and impartial contempt for all mankind. Thereis nothing in that against the purest democratic principles; but thatyou, Rita, should elect to throw so much of your life away for the sakeof a Royal adventurer, it really knocks me over. For you don't love him.You never loved him, you know."

  He made a snatch at her hand, absolutely pulled it away from under herhead (it was quite startling) and retaining it in his grasp, proceeded toa paternal patting of the most impudent kind. She let him go on withapparent insensibility. Meanwhile his eyes strayed round the table overour faces. It was very trying. The stupidity of that wandering starehad a paralysing power. He talked at large with husky familiarity.

  "Here I come, expecting to find a good sensible girl who had seen at lastthe vanity of all those things; half-light in the rooms; surrounded bythe works of her favourite poets, and all that sort of thing. I say tomyself: I must just run in and see the dear wise child, and encourage herin her good resolutions. . . And I fall into the middle of an _intime_lunch-party. For I suppose it is _intime_. Eh? Very? H'm, yes . . . "

  He was really appalling. Again his wandering stare went round the table,with an expression incredibly incongruous with the words. It was asthough he had borrowed those eyes from some idiot for the purpose of thatvisit. He still held Dona Rita's hand, and, now and then, patted it.

  "It's discouraging," he cooed. "And I believe not one of you here is aFrenchman. I don't know what you are all about. It's beyond me. But ifwe were a Republic--you know I am an old Jacobin, sans-culotte andterrorist--if this were a real Republic with the Convention sitting and aCommittee of Public Safety attending to national business, you would allget your heads cut off. Ha, ha . . . I am joking, ha, ha! . . . andserve you right, too. Don't mind my little joke."

  While he was still laughing he released her hand and she leaned her headon it again without haste. She had never looked at him once.

  During the rather humiliating silence that ensued he got a leather cigarcase like a small valise out of his pocket, opened it and looked withcritical interest at the six cigars it contained. The tireless_femme-de-chambre_ set down a tray with coffee cups on the table. Weeach (glad, I suppose, of something to do) took one, but he, to beginwith, sniffed at his. Dona Rita continued leaning on her elbow, her lipsclosed in a reposeful expression of peculiar sweetness. There wasnothing drooping in her attitude. Her face with the delicate carnationof a rose and downcast eyes was as if veiled in firm immobility and wasso appealing that I had an insane impulse to walk round and kiss theforearm on which it was leaning; that strong, well-shaped forearm,gleaming not like marble but with a living and warm splendour. Sofamiliar had I become already with her in my thoughts! Of course Ididn't do anything of the sort. It was nothing uncontrollable, it wasbut a tender longing of a most respectful and purely sentimental kind. Iperformed the act in my thought quietly, almost solemnly, while thecreature with the silver hair leaned back in his chair, puffing at hiscigar, and began to speak again.

  It was all apparently very innocent talk. He informed his "dear Rita"that he was really on his way to Monte Carlo. A lifelong habit of his atthis time of the year; but he was ready to run back to Paris if he coulddo anything for his "_chere enfant_," run back for a day, for two days,for three days, for any time; miss Monte Carlo this year altogether, ifhe could be of the slightest use and save her going herself. Forinstance he could see to it that proper watch was kept over the Pavilionstuffed with all these art treasures. What was going to happen to allthose things? . . . Making herself heard for the first time Dona Ritamurmured without moving that she had made arrangements with the police tohave it properly watched. And I was enchanted by the almostimperceptible play of her lips.

  But the anxious creature was not reassured. He pointed out that thingshad been stolen out of the Louvre, which was, he dared say, even betterwatched. And there was that marvellous cabinet on the landing, blacklacquer with silver herons, which alone would repay a couple of burglars.A wheelbarrow, some old sacking, and they could trundle it off underpeople's noses.

  "Have you thought it all out?" she asked in a cold whisper, while wethree sat smoking to give ourselves a countenance (it was certainly noenjoyment) and wondering what we would hear next.

  No, he had not. But he confessed that for years and years he had been inlove with that cabinet. And anyhow what was going to happen to thethings? The world was greatly exercised by that problem. He turnedslightly his beautifully groomed white head so as to address Mr. Bluntdirectly.

  "I had the pleasure of meeting your mother lately."

  Mr. Blunt took his time to raise his eyebrows and flash his teeth at himbefore he dropped negligently, "I can't imagine where you could have metmy mother."

  "Why, at Bing's, the curio-dealer," said the other with an air of theheaviest possible stupidity. And yet there was something in these fewwords which
seemed to imply that if Mr. Blunt was looking for trouble hewould certainly get it. "Bing was bowing her out of his shop, but he wasso angry about something that he was quite rude even to me afterwards. Idon't think it's very good for _Madame votre mere_ to quarrel with Bing.He is a Parisian personality. He's quite a power in his sphere. Allthese fellows' nerves are upset from worry as to what will happen to theAllegre collection. And no wonder they are nervous. A big art eventhangs on your lips, my dear, great Rita. And by the way, you too oughtto remember that it isn't wise to quarrel with people. What have youdone to that poor Azzolati? Did you really tell him to get out and nevercome near you again, or something awful like that? I don't doubt that hewas of use to you or to your king. A man who gets invitations to shootwith the President at Rambouillet! I saw him only the other evening; Iheard he had been winning immensely at cards; but he looked perfectlywretched, the poor fellow. He complained of your conduct--oh, very much!He told me you had been perfectly brutal with him. He said to me: 'I amno good for anything, _mon cher_. The other day at Rambouillet, wheneverI had a hare at the end of my gun I would think of her cruel words and myeyes would run full of tears. I missed every shot' . . . You are not fitfor diplomatic work, you know, _ma chere_. You are a mere child at it.When you want a middle-aged gentleman to do anything for you, you don'tbegin by reducing him to tears. I should have thought any woman wouldhave known that much. A nun would have known that much. What do yousay? Shall I run back to Paris and make it up for you with Azzolati?"

  He waited for her answer. The compression of his thin lips was full ofsignificance. I was surprised to see our hostess shake her headnegatively the least bit, for indeed by her pose, by the thoughtfulimmobility of her face she seemed to be a thousand miles away from usall, lost in an infinite reverie.

  He gave it up. "Well, I must be off. The express for Nice passes atfour o'clock. I will be away about three weeks and then you shall see meagain. Unless I strike a run of bad luck and get cleaned out, in whichcase you shall see me before then."

  He turned to Mills suddenly.

  "Will your cousin come south this year, to that beautiful villa of his atCannes?"

  Mills hardly deigned to answer that he didn't know anything about hiscousin's movements.

  "A _grand seigneur_ combined with a great connoisseur," opined the otherheavily. His mouth had gone slack and he looked a perfect and grotesqueimbecile under his wig-like crop of white hair. Positively I thought hewould begin to slobber. But he attacked Blunt next.

  "Are you on your way down, too? A little flutter. . . It seems to me youhaven't been seen in your usual Paris haunts of late. Where have youbeen all this time?"

  "Don't you know where I have been?" said Mr. Blunt with great precision.

  "No, I only ferret out things that may be of some use to me," was theunexpected reply, uttered with an air of perfect vacancy and swallowed byMr. Blunt in blank silence.

  At last he made ready to rise from the table. "Think over what I havesaid, my dear Rita."

  "It's all over and done with," was Dona Rita's answer, in a louder tonethan I had ever heard her use before. It thrilled me while shecontinued: "I mean, this thinking." She was back from the remoteness ofher meditation, very much so indeed. She rose and moved away from thetable, inviting by a sign the other to follow her; which he did at once,yet slowly and as it were warily.

  It was a conference in the recess of a window. We three remained seatedround the table from which the dark maid was removing the cups and theplates with brusque movements. I gazed frankly at Dona Rita's profile,irregular, animated, and fascinating in an undefinable way, at herwell-shaped head with the hair twisted high up and apparently held in itsplace by a gold arrow with a jewelled shaft. We couldn't hear what shesaid, but the movement of her lips and the play of her features were fullof charm, full of interest, expressing both audacity and gentleness. Shespoke with fire without raising her voice. The man listenedround-shouldered, but seeming much too stupid to understand. I could seenow and then that he was speaking, but he was inaudible. At one momentDona Rita turned her head to the room and called out to the maid, "Giveme my hand-bag off the sofa."

  At this the other was heard plainly, "No, no," and then a little lower,"You have no tact, Rita. . . ." Then came her argument in a low,penetrating voice which I caught, "Why not? Between such old friends."However, she waved away the hand-bag, he calmed down, and their voicessank again. Presently I saw him raise her hand to his lips, while withher back to the room she continued to contemplate out of the window thebare and untidy garden. At last he went out of the room, throwing to thetable an airy "_Bonjour, bonjour_," which was not acknowledged by any ofus three.