The Firefly of France

  CHAPTER IX

  THE BLACK BUTTERFLIES

  The Turin-Paris express--the most direct, the Italians call it--wastoo popular by half to suit the taste of morose beings who wished forsolitude. With great trouble and pains I had ferreted out a singlevacant compartment; but as four o'clock sounded and the whistle blew fordeparture, a belated traveler joined me--worse still, an acquaintancewho could not be quite ignored.

  The unwelcome intruder was Mr. John Van Blarcom, my late fellow-voyager,and he accepted the encounter with a better grace than I.

  "Why, hello!" he greeted me cheerfully. "Going through to France? Gladto see you--but you're about the last man that I was looking for. I gotthe idea somehow you were planning to stop a while in Rome."

  I returned his nod with a curtness I was at no pains to dissemble. ThenI reproached myself, for it was undeniable that on the _Re d'Italia_ hehad more than once stood my friend. He had offered me a timely warning,which I had flouted; he had obligingly confirmed my statement in mygrueling third degree. Yet despite this, or because of it, I didn't likehim; nor did I like his patronizing, complacent manner, which seemedfairly to shriek at me, "I told you so!"

  "Changed my plans," I acknowledged with a lack of cordiality that failedto ruffle him. He had hung up his overcoat and installed himself facingme, and was now making preparations for lighting a fat cigar.

  "Well," he commented, with a chuckle of raillery, after this operation,"the last time I saw you you were in a pretty tight corner, eh? Youcan't say it was my fault, either; I'd have put you wise if you'dlistened. But you weren't taking any--you knew better than I did--andyou strafed me, as the Dutchies say, to the kaiser's taste."

  "Good advice seldom gets much thanks, I believe," was my grumpy comment,which he unexpectedly chose to accept as an apology and with a large,fine, generous gesture to blow away.

  "That's all right," he declared. "I'm not holding it against you. We'veall got to learn. Next time you won't be so easy caught, I guess. Itmakes a man do some thinking when he gets a dose like you did; and thosechaps at Gibraltar certainly gave you a rough deal!"

  "On the contrary," I differed shortly,--I wasn't huntingsympathy,--"considering all the circumstances, I think they wereextremely fair."

  "Not to shoot you on sight? Well, maybe." He was grinning. "But I guessyou weren't hunting for a chance to spend two days cooped up in a cabinthat measured six feet by five."

  "It had advantages. One of them was solitude," I responded dryly. "Andit was less unpleasant than being relegated to a six-by-three grave. Seehere, I don't enjoy this subject! Suppose we drop it. The fact is, I'venever understood why you came to my rescue on that occasion, you didn'towe me any civility, you know, and you had to--well--we'll say draw onyour imagination when you claimed you saw what I threw overboard thatnight."

  "Sure, I lied like a trooper," he admitted placidly. "Glad to do it. Youdidn't break any bones when you strafed me, and anyhow, I felt sorry foryou. It always goes against me to see a fellow being played!"

  Thanks to my determined coolness, the conversation lapsed. I buriedmyself in the Paris "Herald," but found I could not read. Simmering withwrath, I lived again the ill-starred voyage his words recalled tome, breathed the close smothering air of the cabin that had held meprisoner, tasted the knowledge that I was watched like any thief. Anarmed sailor had stood outside my door by day and by night; and a dozentimes I had longed to fling open that frail partition, seize the man bythe collar, and hurl him far away.

  Glancing out at the landscape, I saw that Turin lay back of us and thatour track was winding through dark chestnut forests toward the heights.Confound Van Blarcom's reminiscences and the thoughts they had setstirring! In ambush behind my paper I gloomily relived the past.

  Our ship, following sealed instructions, had changed her course atGibraltar, conveying us by way of the Spanish coast to Genoa instead ofNaples. From my port-hole I had gazed glumly on blue skies and bright,blue waters, purple hills, and white-walled cities, and fishing boatswith patched, gaudy sails and dark-complexioned crews. Then Genoa rosefrom the sea, tier after tier of pink and green and orange houses andshimmering groves of olive trees; and I was summoned to the salon, toface the captain of the port, the chief of the police of the city, andtheir bedizened suites.

  Surrounded by plumes and swords and gold lace, I maintained my innocenceand heard Jack Herriott, on his opportune arrival, pour forth in weird,but fluent, Italian an account of me that must have surrounded me in theeyes of all present with a golden halo, and that firmly establishedme in their minds as the probable next President of the UnitedStates. Thanks to these exaggerations and to various confirmatorycablegrams--Dunny had plainly set the wires humming on receiving myS.O.S.,--I found myself a free man, at price of putting my signatureto a statement of it all. I shook the hand of the ever non-committalCaptain Cecchi, and left the ship. And an hour after good old Jack wasgazing at me in wrath unconcealed as I informed him that I was in themood for neither gadding, nor social intercourse, and had made up mymind to proceed immediately to duty at the Front.

  "You've been seasick; that's what ails you," he said, diagnosing mycondition. "Oh, I don't expect you to admit it--no man ever did that.But you wait and see how you feel when we've had a few meals at theGrand Hotel in Rome!"

  This culinary bait leaving me cold, he lost his temper, expressed a hopethat the Germans would blow my ambulance to smithereens, and assured methat the next time I brought the Huns' papers across the ocean I mightextricate myself without his assistance from what might ensue. However,though he has a bark, Jack possesses no bite worth mentioning. He evensaw me off when I left by the north-bound train.

  Leaning moodily forward, I looked again from the window and wished Imight hurry the creaking, grinding revolution of the wheels. We wereclimbing higher and higher among the mountains. The chestnuts, growingscanter, were replaced by dark firs and pines. Streams came winding downlike icy crystal threads; the little rivers we crossed looked blue andglacial; pale-pink roses and mountain flowers showed themselves as weapproached the peaks. A polite official, entering, examined our papers;and with snow surrounding us and cold clear air blowing in at thewindow, we left Bardonnecchia, the last of the frontier towns.

  I was speeding toward France; but where was the girl of the _Red'Italia_? To what dubious rendezvous, what haunt of spies, had shehurried, once ashore? The thought of her stung my vanity almost beyondendurance. She had pleaded with me that night, swayed against metrustingly, appealed to me as to a chivalrous gentleman and, havingcompetently pulled the wool over my eyes, had laughed at me in hersleeve.

  I had held myself a canny fellow, not an easy prey to adventurers;a fairly decent one, too, who didn't lie to a king's officer or helptreasonable plots. Yet had I not done just those things by my silenceon the steamer? And for what reason? Upon my soul I didn't know, unlessbecause she had gray eyes.

  "Hang it all!" I exclaimed, flinging my unlucky paper into a corner, andbecoming aware too late that Van Blarcom was observing me with a grin.

  "I've got the black butterflies, as the French say," I explainedsavagely. "This mountain travel is maddening; one might as well be asnail."

  "Sure, a slow train's tiresome," agreed Van Blarcom. "Specially ifyou're not feeling overpleased with life anyway," he added, with aknowing smile.

  An angry answer rose to my lips, but the Mont Cenis tunnel opportunelyenveloped us, and in the dark half-hour transit that followed I regainedmy self-control. It was not worth while, I decided, to quarrel with thefellow, to break his head or to give him the chance of breaking mine.After all, I thought low-spiritedly, what right had I to look down onhim? We were pot and kettle, indistinguishably black. It was true thathe had perjured himself upon the liner; but so, in spirit if not inwords, had I!

  Thus reflecting, I saw the train emerge from the tunnel, felt it jarto a standstill in the station of Modane, and, in obedience to staccatoFrench outcries on the platform, alighted in the frontier town. Followedby Van B
larcom and preceded by our porters, I strolled in leisurelyfashion towards the customs shed. The air was clear, chilly,invigorating; snowy peaks were thick and near. And the scene waspicturesque, dotted as it was with mounted bayonets and blue territorialuniforms--reminders that boundary lines were no longer jests and thatstrangers might not enter France unchallenged in time of war.

  Van Blarcom's elbow at this juncture nudged me sharply.

  "Say, Mr. Bayne," he was whispering, "look over there, will you? What doyou know about that?"

  I looked indifferently. Then blank dismay took possession of me. Acrossthe shed, just visible between rows of trunks piled mountain high, stoodMiss Esme Falconer, as usual only too well worth seeing from fur hat tomodish shoe.

  "Ain't that the limit," commented the grinning Van Blarcom; "us threeturning up again, all together like this? Well, I guess she won't haveto call a policeman to stop you talking to her. You know enough thistime to steer pretty clear of her. Isn't that so?"

  But I had wheeled upon him; the coincidence was too striking!

  "Look here!" I demanded, "are you following that young lady? Is thatyour business on this side?"

  "No!" he denied disgustedly, retreating a step. "Never saw her from thetime we docked till this minute; never wanted to see her! Anyhow, what'sthe glare for? Suppose I was?"

  "It's rather strange, you'll admit." I was regarding him fixedly. "Youseemed to have a good deal of information about her on the ship. Yetwhen that affair occurred at Gibraltar, you were as dumb as an oyster.Why didn't you tell the captain and the English officers the things youknew?"

  "Well, I had my reasons," he replied defiantly. "And at that, I don'tsee as you've got anything on me, Mr. Bayne. You're no fool. You puttwo and two together quick enough to know darned well who planted thosepapers in your baggage; so if you thought it needed telling, why didn'tyou tell it yourself?"

  "I don't know who put them there," I denied hastily, "except that he wasa pale little runt of a German, pretending to be a thief, who will wishhe had died young if I ever see him again."

  An inspector had just passed my traps through with bored indifference.I turned a huffy back on Van Blarcom and went to stand in line beforea door which harbored, I was told, a special commission for theexamination of passports and the admission of travelers into France.

  Reaching the inner room in due course, I saluted three uniformed menwho sat round an unimposing wooden table, exhibited the _vise_ that JackHerriott had secured for me at Genoa, and was welcomed to the land. ThenI stepped forth on the platform, retrieved my porter and my baggage, andplaced myself near the door to wait until the girl should come.

  I must have been a grim sort of sentinel as I stood there watching. Iknew what I had to do, but I detested it with all my heart. There wasone thing to be said for this Miss Falconer--she had courage. She waspressing on to French soil without lingering a day in Italy, thoughshe must be aware that by so swift a move she was risking suspicion,discovery, death.

  As moment after moment dragged past, I grew uneasy. Would she come outat all? Could she win past those trained, keen-eyed men? The more Ithought of it, the more desperate seemed the game she was playing. Thislittle Alpine town, high among the peaks, surrounded by pines and snow,had been a setting for tragedies since the war began. These territorialswith their muskets were not mere supers, either. But no! She wasemerging; she was starting toward the _rapide_. There, no doubt, areserved compartment was awaiting her, and once inside its shelter, shewould not appear again.

  I drew a deep breath in which resolve and distaste were mingled. She hadcrossed the frontier, but she was not in Paris yet. I couldn't shirk thething twice, knowing as I did her charm, her beauty, her air of proud,spirited graciousness--all the tools that equipped her. I couldn't, ifI was ever again to hold my head before a Frenchman, let her pass on, sodaring and dangerous and resourceful, to do her work in France.

  As she approached, I stepped in front of her, lifting my hat.

  "This is a great surprise, Miss Falconer," said I.