Page 10 of The Enemies of Women (Los enemigos de la mujer)

  CHAPTER X

  A week passed, and Lubimoff had not once left Villa Sirena. In hisconversations with the Colonel--his only companion in this solitarylife--he had avoided making any allusion to what had occurred in Lewis'castle. Toledo, for his part, displayed absolute discretion, as thoughhe had forgotten the duel and the strange ending which the Prince hadgiven it; but the latter guessed that the Colonel's silence concealedmany things that might have proved distasteful to himself.

  The other seconds had probably told everything. What people must havebeen saying! And fearing the curiosity of society which was doubtlessrepeating his name on all occasions, Lubimoff remained in retirement,with the hope of being forgotten. Some one would lose or win an enormoussum in the Casino, and that would be enough to make the gossips stoptalking about him.

  His loneliness, however, began to weigh upon him like a fate. He wasgetting tired of walking about his garden all the time. It seemed to himnarrow and monotonous. Besides, Lewis' niece, abusing her privilege,came every afternoon, with a constantly renewed escort of woundedEnglishmen. She ran about with them through the Avenues, amid the criesof the exotic birds, weaving great garlands of flowers for her soldiers.Meanwhile he was obliged to hide in the upper stories of the villa toescape this child-like joy, which seemed to him to have something gloomyand funereal about it.

  The nights seemed endless. He thought with wistful longing of the quietevenings with the "enemies of women", when Spadoni used to sit at thepiano or perform his infinite calculations, always doubling; when Novoawould indulge in his scientific paradoxes, and Castro relate theadventures of his grandfather "the red Don Quixote." Where were theynow, those comrades of his dreamy happiness?

  Atilio interested him particularly. He had asked Don Marcos about himtwice, without the latter being very clear in his explanations. TheColonel never saw Castro any more in the Casino; he doubtless waskeeping away out of fear of gambling. The Prince had a feeling that theColonel knew something more, and was refusing to talk from motives ofdiscretion.

  One morning, the weariness of his imprisonment finally galvanized hisstupefied will. Why should he not go in quest of those friends? Perhapsif he were to take the first step he would succeed in renewing relationswith them, and re-establish his former life.

  As he was going out, the Colonel stopped him to speak again about amatter that had occupied their attention the evening before. What replyshould he give the Paris business agent? The _nouveau riche_ who hadbought the palace on the Monceau Park, wanted to buy Villa Sirena also.The Prince's manager was transmitting a final offer; a million and ahalf. The man would not give any more, and it was necessary to reply inhaste, before his caprice should turn toward some other acquisition.

  Michael shrugged his shoulders, as though the matter were something ofno interest to him.

  "Tell him I don't want to sell. No--it would be better still not toreply at all. We shall see later on; I shall think it over."

  On getting out of the street car in Monte Carlo he passed to the rightof the Casino, and followed the upper Boulevards. First he was going inquest of Spadoni, who lived nearest. Besides, the latter would surelyknow better than Novoa where Atilio was staying. Perhaps they wereliving together.

  He had a vague idea of the house, through Castro's joking. The pianistwas "the guardian of the tomb" above the Sainte Devote ravine.

  From the summit of a bridge the Prince saw this ravine at his feet. Itssides were covered with gardens, luxurious villas and hotels, and at itsoutlet stretched the smiling harbor of La Condamine.

  Sixty years before, the ravine had been a wild spot. It was visited onlyby religious processions coming from the walled City of Monaco to payhomage to Sainte Devote in a little white church, which to-day seemedstill more diminutive beside the arches of the railway bridge.

  In the earliest times of Christianity, a bark without oars or sail,guided by the will of God, who had deigned to grant a patron saint tothe inhabitants of "Hercules Harbor," had grounded keel on those shores.

  The bark contained the miracle working body of a Corsican Christianmartyrized by the Romans. Nobody knew her name, and popular devotioncalled her simply the Sainte Devote. Once a year, at nightfall, on herfeast day, a large crowd from the Casino left roulette and _trente etquarante_ to watch the sailors of Monaco, to the sound of music, burn anold bark in front of the church, thus cutting off all means of retreatto the Holy Patroness.

  The stony fields, once planted with prickly pear and olive trees, werenow covered with palaces, as large as barracks. They supported a secondlofty city, above, which stretched away along the slopes of the Alps,and united Monaco with Monte Carlo. The land here, now sold at fabulousprices, was a spot so neglected half a century before that any of itsowners might arrange without interference to be buried on his ownproperty.

  An obscure officer in Napoleon's Army, born in Monaco, and who hadsucceeded in becoming a General in the days of Louis Philippe, had hadhis tomb built in an olive grove above the Sainte Devote ravine. Latergambling had made Monte Carlo rise above the wild plateau of theCaverns; the elegant, new city was spreading out to join old Monaco,covering all the land of the principality with buildings, and the tombof the unknown warrior was imprisoned by this wave of great hotels,palaces, and villas. The olive grove around the tomb was sold by theyard, making a fortune for the soldier's heirs. Between the sepulchreand the edge of the ravine there remained a level space, from which onecould enjoy a view of the splendid panorama. A millionaire from Parishad been bold enough to construct over the spot a house in "artistic"style, with gardens descending in terraces. He had imagined it would bean easy matter to have the General transferred to the cemetery and themortuary chapel demolished. But the dead man was on his own land, andcould not come to life to cancel the arrangements he had made in hiswill with so little prescience of the extraordinary growth old Monacowas to make; as a result there was no power on earth that could demolishhis last dwelling place.

  From the harbor Michael had often, above the heights of the ravine, seenthis pantheon which was to serve him now as a place for meeting Spadoni.It was a simple block of masonry, with white-washed walls, fourpinnacles at the angles, and a cupola of black tile. From a distance itlooked like a Mohammedan hermitage, the tomb of some saint of Islam, andthe similarity was carried out by groups of palm trees in theneighboring gardens.

  Castro had often made him laugh by telling him the story of the deadGeneral and his wealthy neighbors. The owners of the villa could notsleep with a dead man on the other side of the wall, and moreover, itwas a nameless dead man, which made it all the more creepy andmysterious.

  Nobody could remember the name of this gentleman, who had commandedthousands of men, and was still exerting his will power on the living.The owners decided to rent the villa with all its elegant furnishingsfor a modest sum, and at first, the ladies who were gambling in theCasino, quarreled as to who should get it. How wonderful it would be tolive in a little palace adorned by famous Parisian decorators, and witha magnificent view, all for five hundred francs a month! But the rentershastened to give up this bargain to others. Imagine having to pass theGeneral's mausoleum at midnight, on returning from the Casino! And thinkof not being able to open one's window blinds without having to lookthat corpse in the face. Besides, the spiteful tongues of the women gaveeach successive tenant the nickname of: "The guardian of the tomb."

  Then Spadoni appeared. Castro had a vague idea that the pianist had paidthe first month's rent, but he was not sure. What he knew for certainwas that he had not paid any more. The owners, living in Paris, hadfinally accepted the situation, considering the pianist an unpaidcaretaker for that house, which had come to inspire them with terror.

  The Prince descended the wide road between garden balustrades and wallsof rock broken by tufts of flowers hanging from the crevices. On seeingthe sepulchre at close hand, he understood why all the tenants had takenflight. The General had known how to do things. The pinnacles, as wellas the iron cross which su
rmounted the cupola, were adorned with skullsand cross-bones; and these funereal symbols, by force of contrast, madea still deeper impression because of the green splendor of the adjoininggardens under the bright blue skies and the dazzling sunlight, with thesmiling harbor in the background, and the ruffled surface of the violetsea. The gate of the nameless mausoleum had not been opened for manyyears, and the wind had heaped the dirt against the underpinnings.Between the iron gate and the walls a thick, wild growth of vegetationhad appeared, a diminutive forest, in the dense growth of which insectsmade war and devoured one another after sending forth endless flying andcreeping expeditions against all the neighboring houses.

  Lubimoff passed close to the mausoleum in order to reach the entrance ofthe villa, a handsome building in the Tuscan style of architecture. Thegate was a complicated piece of iron work; the windows had stained glassfigures; the gray walls were encrusted with marble bas-reliefs, andancient escutcheons.

  He knocked in vain with the iron dragon that served as a knocker.Finally from an adjoining alley-way, between two walls, appeared a womanwith dishevelled hair, holding an infant in her arms. It was a neighbor,who acted as a servant for Spadoni, when he stayed in the house. Thearrival of a visitor was an event for her.

  "Yes, he is in," she said, "don't you hear him?"

  As a matter of fact, Michael had heard the sound of a piano, deadened bythe thick walls.

  The woman, convinced that the artist would never hear the blows of theknocker, disappeared around the corner. Shortly afterward, her head andthe child she was carrying in her arms appeared above the edge of thewall.

  "Maestro!" she shouted. "A gentleman to see you! A visitor!"

  And she came back again, smoothing her skirts as though she had justdescended a ladder.

  The door groaned on its hinges, as it opened, and Spadoni appeared inthe opening.

  "Oh, your Highness!"

  There was no expression of surprise in his smile. He greeted the Princeas though he had seen him the day before.

  Then he guided him through corridors and drawing-rooms, which were sunkin deep multi-colored shadow, and smelled of dust and mold. It had beenmany months since the stained glass windows had been opened, or thecurtains drawn. Spadoni lived his entire life in a single room. Lubimoffcollided with furniture and curios, as he advanced, almost upsetting twohuge Japanese vases, and nearly impaling himself on the numerousprojections in the profuse decoration of a "romantic studio," which hadbeen in style twenty-five years before.

  They finally returned to the light, a dazzling light that entered bythree open doors overlooking a terrace bordering the ravine. It was the"hall" of the villa, decorated with Hindustanee draperies and divans.The Prince saw that Spadoni had excellent quarters in his "tomb". Alarge grand-piano was the only piece of furniture kept clean in thisdust-invaded room. On the music rack several albums of music inmanuscript lay opened.

  Seeing that Lubimoff noticed them, the pianist gave a look of despair.

  His poverty was very great: he was forced to give concerts in order tolive, and found himself obliged to study the new operas.

  He spoke of this labor as though it represented the cruelest impositionof inexorable Reality, the greatest degradation in his life.

  Various ladies who organized benefits for the soldiers had sought hisaid. He played for nothing, "out of patriotism", but the good ladiesalways found a way of giving him a fair sum. His poverty was tremendous!He was going to the gambling rooms only at long intervals. He hadn'tenough money to play even the roulette wheel, where the stakes were butfive francs!

  The Prince started to read the titles of the scores, but Spadoni coveredthem up in comic haste.

  "Awful rot! You mustn't look at those, your Highness. Here on theRiviera, when the ladies are getting on in years, and do not find anyone to fall in love with them any more, they devote themselves towriting love songs or dance music for great spectacles; and the Casinoaccepts their work in order not to offend them. It results that oncertain days the Monte Carlo Theater becomes the Temple of MusicalImbecility. No; it would be better for you to see what we are givingthis afternoon. It is the work of a millionairess who writes the wholething, music and words."

  And he read aloud the titles of various "picturesque scenes": _Dialoguebetween the Butterfly and the Rose, What the Palm Tree said to theCentury Plant, Prayer of the Grasshopper to Our Father the Sun._

  "Fortunately, your Highness, this humiliating situation will not last. Ihave a way out of it--a way out of it!"

  And forgetting the piano, the scores, and his musical degradation,Spadoni suddenly launched into the world of dreams. He knew the secretof the great man, the Greek, who was winning millions at theSporting-Club. He had guessed it, with his own cunning, after wormingcertain data out of a man who accompanied the lofty personage. It was asimple combination, like all ideas of genius. For example....

  And he reached for a pack of cards which was on the table, lying on anumber of albums bound in red: The nine Symphonies of Beethoven.

  "Oh no--if you please!" the Prince brusquely restrained him, to keep himfrom plunging into that mania for demonstrating.

  "I hoped to meet Castro here," he said, in a quiet voice, a momentlater.

  Spadoni seemed to awaken.

  "Castro?... Oh, yes! He lived with me for a few days, but he went away."

  Still obsessed by his marvelous combination, he talked in anabsent-minded manner without showing the slightest interest in what hewas saying. Castro had expressed a desire to live with him; he had toldhim so, late one afternoon in the Casino, and Spadoni had left VillaSirena to accompany him. It was the least a friend could do!

  "But when did he go? Where is he?"

  "He went day before yesterday, and must be in Paris. A fool trip!Imagine, your Highness, during the last few days he had an extraordinaryrun of luck, winning as high as twenty thousand francs. If he had onlygone on! But he wouldn't! He was in a hurry. He gave me five hundredfrancs, and I lost them immediately; it was very little money for mycombination. I think he was going to be a soldier; he kept talking to meabout the Foreign Legion. You can expect almost any foolishness fromhim. A man who is winning and runs away!..."

  Then, as though the disordered workings of his brain were functioninglogically for a few seconds, he added, with a smile of cunning:

  "Dona Clorinda also went to Paris. She left two days before him.... Oh,your Highness! How I think of what you told us at the lunch once aboutwomen! I know them, Prince: They are all enemies to be feared."

  And he pointed spitefully to _What the Palm Tree said to the CenturyPlant_.

  In vain the Prince kept questioning him. The pianist did not knowanything more, and Castro's fate did not arouse his curiosity. He hadgone to Paris, to be a soldier, and Spadoni had so many friends,already, who were soldiers!

  The "General" being a woman, aroused more interest in him; shestimulated his love of gossip.

  "I think," he said, with a smile that showed his hate for women, "thatshe went away out of jealousy, out of pique. The Duchess de Delille tookthat Lieutenant away from her, though the 'General' had been the one tointroduce them. It seems even that this Lieutenant has had a duel...."

  The pianist grew pale, looking at Lubimoff with an expression of terror.His look was like that of a person who is talking aloud when he imagineshimself alone, and then suddenly notices that some one is listening tohim. He sat there embarrassed and stammering:

  "I don't know ... people tell so many lies!... Women's gossip!"

  Lubimoff felt a like embarrassment on realizing that even Spadoni hadtaken up his adventure with delight.

  He felt there was no use in continuing the conversation with an imbecilelike that. He arose, and the pianist, still trembling at his ownindiscretion, showed similar signs of haste to end the visit.

  "And Novoa?" asked the Prince on reaching the outer door. "Has he alsoleft?"

  No; he was still in Monaco, working at the Museum, when he did not haveany more urg
ent business. They met very seldom. How could they see eachother if he, Spadoni, on account of his poverty, refrained from enteringthe gambling rooms?

  "He goes on playing, your Highness; but very badly, with the timidity ofa novice, and for that reason he loses. He isn't made of the same stuffthat we are, we who are true gamblers."

  And the pianist drew himself up to his full height as he said this, asthough he had never lost and possessed all the secrets of chance.

  "I sent him two tickets for this afternoon's concert: one for him andthe other for that Senorita Valeria, the Duchess's companion. Poor man!Always doing something silly, like a young lover!"

  But his smile, which was that of a superior person exempt from suchhumiliations, disappeared, as he realized that once more he was sayingsomething offensive to the Prince.

  The latter passed close to the tomb again, but without seeing it, oreven remembering the unknown General. Castro had gone!... Castro wantedto become a soldier!...

  After going down along the Monegetti road as far as the parade ground ofLa Condamine, he ascended once more the gently sloping avenue that leadsup to Monaco. After his long seclusion, this walk aroused a certainpleasant tingling in his muscles.

  Finding himself between the two turrets that mark the entrance to thegardens, the memory of Alicia flashed across his brain. There, a littlefarther on, they had gotten out of their carriage; behind the trees wasa bench on which he first had told her of his love; below, at the edgeof the rocks, lay the solitary path along which they had passed asthough treading on air, wrapped in the twilight and with lips joined.Then, had come the tearing of her dress, the sweet comical difficultiesin mending it, and the pearl pin of the Princess.... Only a few weekshad passed, and these happenings seemed to belong to another happierrace of beings, to have taken place on a different planet, bathed in alight that was different from the light of earth.

  He made an effort to forget. At present he was standing on an asphaltsquare, opposite the steps of the Museum of Oceanography. For the firsttime he noticed the architectural decorations of the white building.They had adopted as an ornamental motif the cluster of twisting arms ofthe octopus, the semi-circular striations of sea-shells, the trailingfilmy umbrella form of the jelly-fish. He observed the sculptural groupssymbolizing the powers of the Ocean, or the arts of the navigators, heread the names carved on the frieze of the edifice, and the titles ofships famous for scientific explorations.

  He stood there motionless for a long time, seeking a pretext to justifyhis visit. Finally he went up the steps of the building, and foundhimself in a deep, cool shade like that of a Cathedral, but without thestale, musty odor of shut-in places, and with a whiff of salt air comingfrom the nearby sea. He knew the stately edifice: on one side was thevast hall for the lectures and scientific assemblies, like that of aparliament building, with lamp shades of frosted crystal affecting thedifferent shapes of animals from the ocean depths; in the middle of thevestibule was the statue of Prince Albert, dressed as a sailor andleaning on the rail of the bridge of his yacht; on the opposite side andon the upper floors, were the collections gathered during the voyages ofthe famous scientific explorer: thousands of fishes and molluscs,gigantic skeletons of whales, some _kaiaks_ and fishing implements fromthe polar seas. On the lower floors, under his feet, in that secondpalace which, clinging to the cliff, descended to the sea, were theaquaria, where the mysterious creatures of the depths continued theirlives in crystal cages amid the silver bubbles of running water.

  The gate-keeper in a long blue coat, and a _kepis_ with red braid,started to offer him a ticket, but paused on seeing that he was stoppingat the turn-stile, asking for Novoa.

  "He went out a moment ago. Perhaps you may find him in the neighborhoodof the palace. Almost every day, before lunch, he makes the rounds of'the rock'."

  "The Rock," for the inhabitants of Monaco, is the nickname of the highpromontory on which Monaco is situated, and "to make the rounds" meansto follow the circle of gardens and abandoned bulwarks, which, startingfrom the palace of the Princes, returns to it, after completelyembracing the old city.

  Lubimoff followed the outer line of the San Martino gardens. He did notdare enter them; he was afraid of coming across the bench where he andAlicia had been that afternoon. He entered the City streets, narrow,without sidewalks, and paved with wide stones, as in many towns inItaly.

  The dwellings, which were old and lofty, recalled the time when groundwas precious on a peninsula narrowly enclosed by its fortifications.Some of the houses were pierced by tunnels and at the end of thearchway, one could see the sunlight and the whiteness of the nextstreet. The largest buildings were convents, or religious schools. Abovethe roofs, the bells slowly tolled as in a Spanish village; in thestreets there were many sacred images lighted by tiny lamps.

  When the paving stones resounded with human footsteps, the shutters allopened half way. A carriage caused many heads to appear at the windows.The few passersby were often canons from the cathedral, BarefootBrothers with a crown of hair about their shaven scalps, or nuns withhuge starched butterflies on their heads.

  Only a little door separated the old city from the other situated on theheights opposite, with its Casino, its hotels, its orchestras, and itswealthy pleasure-loving crowd. A short ride by street car was sufficientto give one the illusion of having suddenly slipped back two centuries.Lubimoff recalled the expressions of surprise awakened in people byseveral of these barefoot brothers crossing the Casino Square on theirway down to Monte Carlo.

  He passed under a covered archway that joined two houses. A large openspace, like a plain, opened in front of him. It was the Palace Square.Opposite it rose the lordly dwelling of the Grimaldi, a jumble ofbuildings dating back to different periods, which recalled the palacesof certain sovereign princes in ancient Italy. It was of a dark rosecolor, cut by the Archway of the Loggias, and was flanked by towers ofwhite stone surmounted by battlements. He knew this edifice likewise. Itwas a mere show-place, and quite uninhabited, since the Prince, duringhis short visits to his domains, preferred to live on board his yacht.

  The first thing that attracted his attention was the guard. The soldiersof Monaco, old French gendarmes, had gone to the war, and a nationalmilitia was taking the place of the Prince's army. It was composed ofactual citizens of the "Rock," where citizens must be descendants of atleast four generations resident in Monaco. They alone could contributeto the ideal defense of the principality, since they enjoyed theadvantages of belonging to a country, unique in the world, where all whowere born there, had bread and work assured them, thanks to the Casino.

  Lubimoff admired the warlike guard, an old man with a white mustache,and stooping, almost humped, shoulders, dressed in a dark tan overcoatand a derby hat. A red and white arm band was his entire uniform. Onhis shoulder he carried an ancient gun which because of itstremendously long bayonet seemed even more enormous and heavy than itwas. He might have rested beside a sentry box, painted with the Monacocolors; but he preferred to pace incessantly up and down, like asquirrel in a cage, looking in every direction to see if any one weretrying to enter the palace of the absent sovereign. Other men who werefathers and even grandfathers, dressed in their Sunday clothes, werepatiently waiting on a bench for their turn to exercise the honorablefunction.

  The most notable thing on this esplanade was the artillery, a collectionof XVIII century cannon placed there as an ornament, like the panopliesof a drawing room. On both sides of the entrance to the palace six huge,magnificent cannon, cast in green statue bronze, and chiseled likemuseum pieces, were drawn up in a row. Around their mouths, the metalcurved backward forming a leafy design like that of a capital on acolumn; the other end was surmounted by a Medusa's head. The barrels ofthese hollow columns were ornamented with the three _fleurs de lis_ ofthe ancient French Monarchy; the handles on each cannon were twodolphins, and all the pieces displayed the pretentious motto: _Necpluribus impar_ of Louis XIV, with another more somber one: _Ultimaratio regum_.

&nbsp
; The Prince smiled at the latter motto.

  "These days, artillery," he said to himself, "is no longer 'the lastargument of kings', but it is of peoples. We have progressed somewhat."

  Each of these green cannon had its own name, just as a ship or aregiment. One was named _Nero_, another _Tiberius_; farther on _Robust_and the _Snorer_ opened their round mouths.

  On the parapets enclosing the large square on both sides, other moremodest, but equally huge and ancient cannon, thrust their mouths outupon the harbor or the open sea. The solid balls of these cannon formedpyramids, and parasitical vegetation had crept in between these ironspheres.

  Behind the palace, like the back-drop on a stage, rose the FrenchMountain of the _Tete du Chien_, with the windows in the barracks of theBlue Devils, the _Chasseurs Alpins_, gleaming on its rounded summit. TheMonaco plateau was simply the lowest step in the great stairway whichthe Alps let fall to the sea. Above, clouds were caught amid the peaks,covering them momentarily with a shadow ominous of storm. Below, amidthe rose-colored walls and the white towers of the Grimaldi, rose thetropical palms, the cocoanut and plantain trees, giving this Liguriancastle the luxurious aspect of Brazilian farm.

  Lubimoff was seated between the cannon, on the parapet that overlooksthe open sea, when he saw Novoa strolling along the bulwarks that riseabove the harbor.

  On recognizing the Prince, the professor hastened forward withoutstretched hands.

  How likable the Professor seemed! His frank manners had never been soattractive to Michael as they were then. Novoa was greatly pleased atthis meeting, attributing it to chance, and the Prince did not see fitto mention his visit to the Museum, so that Novoa would now know that hehad come in search of him.

  Mechanically they began to promenade between the row of guns and thetrees that cast a pallid shade on one side of the Square.

  It was Lubimoff who began to talk, questioning Novoa, showing aninterest in his affairs and greeting his laments with a kindly smile.

  The Professor appeared unhappy. This place with its gay, pleasant lifewas fatal for study. To think that back in his own country, he hadimagined himself making useful discoveries in the mysteries of theocean! The Casino spread its influence in every direction, reaching eventhe Museum of Oceanography. Often, while he was studying the _plancton_,a new idea would occur to him as to how he might penetrate themysterious workings of the _trente et quarante_ series. Mornings heworked with his thoughts fixed on Monte Carlo; and no sooner didafternoon come, than he felt an irresistible desire to go there. It wasuseless for him to invent pretexts to remain there on the "Rock." He hadlost sums that for him were enormous, and he needed to get them back. Hewas worried at the thought of the money he had received from home as anadvance payment on the modest fortune inherited from his parents.

  "Some days, common sense tells me that I ought to return to Spain, and Iimmediately want to act on that good advice. Unfortunately there arecertain things that keep me here and shatter my will power."

  "I know what you mean," said Michael smiling. "First of all, there islove."

  Novoa blushed, and then accepted the words of the Prince with a comiclook of embarrassment. Yes; there was something in that, but love hadits disillusionments, the same as gambling.

  Lubimoff suddenly saw in his eyes an expression like that of Spadoni's.He, too, knew what had happened, and in speaking of love immediatelyrecalled that absurd duel. But Novoa was a different person, incapableof feeling the malign pleasure of gossips, who rejoice in other people'sshortcomings. Besides, Michael felt that he was very frank, and wasimmediately convinced of this. Quietly, without thinking whether or nothis words might annoy the other man, the Professor alluded to what hadoccurred at Lewis' castle. He lamented it as something illogical anduntimely, but had not ceased to be interested in the affairs of thePrince on that account. If he had refrained from going to Villa Sirena,it was in order not to seem forward. He had often talked with theColonel, asking him to take his best wishes to the Prince.

  Then, as though repenting the severity with which he had judged theduel, he hastened to explain. The image of Castro passed through hismind, causing him to look at his comrade with brotherly tolerance.

  "I can understand a great many things. I am not a fighting man like you,and nevertheless, I once felt a desire to fight. At present I laugh whenI think of it; but, in similar circumstances, I would do the same again.What power women have over us! How they change us!"

  The Prince did not protest on hearing that Novoa supposed him to be inlove, attributing the duel to a woman's influence. And he continued toremain silent, while the Professor, through a logical association ofideas, began to talk about Alicia. The kindly simple savant showed akeen satisfaction in telling certain news which he thought would pleaseLubimoff.

  He felt a similar interest in his compatriot, Martinez. He did not hateany one. He had even forgotten the disagreements with Castro, which hadcaused him to leave the comfort and plenty of Villa Sirena.

  "That poor Lieutenant is less fortunate than you, Prince: this duel hasbeen rather hard on him. I enjoy a certain intimacy with people who areclose to the Duchess de Delille.... I do not need to say any more: youunderstand that I am in a position to know what is going on in the VillaRosa. Well, then; since the duel, I don't know what has happened, butMartinez calls at that house less frequently. Whole days go by withouthis daring to ring at the door. Sometimes he goes there, and a personwhom you know tells me that the Duchess refuses to see him. At presenthe is a mere visitor, a friend like any other. The Duchess is anxious toavoid their former intimacy; she continues to send him little gifts atthe Officers' Hotel, and to look after his comfort. She sends the younglady who is a friend of mine to find out if he needs anything, but shereceives him only at rare intervals. The lunches and dinners each dayhave come to an end, with that life in common, which would have beencomplete if he had slept in the house. And the poor boy seems sad, andfull of despair at this change."

  The Professor was encouraged in his confidences on noting the pleasurewith which the Prince received them.

  "A certain person," he continued, after some hesitation, "who has spentseveral nights in the street where the Duchess lives--the deuce, acertain person! Why shouldn't I tell the whole truth--I, who sometimesspend hours in the neighborhood of Villa Rosa, waiting for the younglady in question, have surprised Martinez near the house, slinking byclose to the gate, looking at the windows. Poor boy! And they tell methat during the day time, when he is afraid that the Duchess won'treceive him, he goes by there, just the same."

  Lubimoff was stirred by a double feeling: one of rage, at the convictionthat he had made no mistake: that little soldier boy was in love withAlicia; and one of delight on learning that he was not received in thehouse, as before, and was hovering about the neighborhood in vain. Itwas a negative sort of joy for him, but joy at any event, to see thatyouth in a situation like his own.

  Novoa, being a man of simple tastes, could not understand love exceptunder conventional circumstances, and between people of similar ages;and he laughed at this passion of the officer, as though it weresomething exceedingly amusing.

  "How absurd! To fall in love like that with a woman old enough to be hismother!"

  The Prince started on hearing this, looking fixedly at his companion.No; the Professor had discovered nothing. He was laughing at his ownreflections, without any indirect insinuations. No one but Lubimoffhimself could possibly know Alicia's real secret.

  They walked back and forth several times between the cannon and thetrees. Suddenly, the bells of the churches and convents in Monaco, beganto ring, answering, through the luminous atmosphere, those of the MonteCarlo frontier.

  Twelve o'clock! Novoa became restless. He was a man of fixed habits, andbesides, the Monaco people at whose house he was living were absolutelypunctual in their meal hours. To think that there was not a restaurantin Monaco, where for once he could be extravagant and invite the Prince!The latter proposed that he accompany him to the far-of
f Villa Sirena tolunch together. It was so pleasant to be in his company! He gave himsuch interesting news!

  "Impossible!" the Professor hastened to say. "I must see some one inMonte Carlo as soon as I finish my lunch. They will wait for me."

  And the Prince did not insist, guessing that the person referred to wasValeria.

  A single carriage had taken refuge in the pale shade of the trees. Ithad remained there after bringing some tourists who, on coming out ofthe Museum, preferred to return on foot by the ancient path along thefortifications.

  Michael got into it, and drove to Villa Sirena.

  The rest of the day and a great part of the night passed very pleasantlyfor him. He was going over and over in his memory the news he had justheard. It had not been a bad day. He scarcely remembered Castro. Castrowas in Paris; that was the one thing certain. On the other hand, themisfortune of Martinez made him hum gaily to himself, and this unusualgood humor quite deceived the Colonel.

  "All I say is, Your Highness ought to go out, and see people. I was surethat to-day's walk would do you a world of good."

  The following day, the Prince had an even pleasanter surprise. He hadfinished his lunch, when his valet announced ceremoniously: "Dr. Novoa,the professor, to see you, sir."

  Michael, having a presentiment that it meant something very interestingfor him, received the Spaniard with extraordinary effusion, such asToledo had never seen before. "Awfully good of you to come, Novoa! Youdon't mean to say you have had your lunch already? What a regular lifeyou Monaco bachelors lead! Well, at least, you'll have coffee with me?"

  And the Prince hastily finished his lunch and went into the _salon_,where coffee and liqueurs were waiting. The impatience of the visitor totalk with him privately was so obvious, that Lubimoff hastened to inventan excuse for Don Marcos to go away.

  When they were alone, Novoa left his cup on the little table, tookseveral puffs at his cigar, as though to summon all his strength ofwill, and finally said in a resolute voice:

  "I have a message to give you: a certain person sent me here ... and Isuspect that I am playing a rather cheap role. A man like myself doingsuch errands as this!... Besides, men ought to help one another. Youwho are a real gentleman, may perhaps consent to do something forme...."

  And the good Professor talked as though he felt himself united with thePrince by a sort of professional comradeship, by being in the samecondition.

  Lubimoff, anxious to know the message, gave a look of acquiescence. Yes:it was true; he was capable of doing anything for him that he might ask.At that moment he felt the savant his best friend. But what was themessage?

  Novoa continued, with a certain hesitation. The day before, after hismeeting with the Prince, he had seen that young lady ... that young ladywho is a companion to the Duchess. He had told her everything; a badhabit he had, but lovers cannot always talk about themselves.

  "We were together at a concert, and this morning she came to the Museumto tell me to see you immediately. I refused at first to take themessage, but you know what women are. Besides, the young woman has amind of her own. To make it short, here I am repeating what I was told."

  He was silent for a moment, and after looking all around, he added, in amysterious voice:

  "This afternoon, at St. Charles."

  On his way there Novoa had been worried by the obscurity of the message.What St. Charles was it? A hotel? A promenade? As a resident of Monaco,the Professor knew only the Casino in Monte Carlo. The one thing certainin his mind was that Valeria's message came from the Duchess.

  Michael made an effort to hide the joy which these words gave him.Alicia was looking for him! In spite of his satisfaction he felt a needof asking for fresh details. Hadn't Novoa been told the time?

  "No, Prince. 'This afternoon, at St. Charles'; not another word more.The young lady almost became angry because I asked her to make itclearer. I told you that when we are by ourselves she can be cross--likeall the rest. She told me that you would understand the message atonce."

  Lubimoff nodded in affirmation; yes, he understood. What a nice fellowthe scientist was! At that moment he wished him every sort of happinessthat men can enjoy. If he had not known Novoa's scruples and his pride,he would have asked Don Marcos for all the money there was in the house,to hand it to him in handfuls. But since a material gift was quite outof the question, he expressed the hope that Valeria, whom he had alwaysconsidered an ambitious climber, would bring happiness and beauty intothe Professor's life. His satisfaction made him so optimistic that heeven believed that he had been mistaken in regard to her, and he endowedthe Duchess' companion with a great number of hidden virtues.

  Toledo had returned, and the Prince, who wanted to please Novoa, talkedto him about Oceanographic explorations, displaying a lively curiosityin his questions, though his thoughts were far away.

  But this attempt at flattery was wasted. The Professor replied to hisquestions with hesitation. He was in a hurry; some one was waiting forhim ... doubtless Valeria needed to know the result of his errand atonce. And the Prince also displayed a certain haste in accompanying himto the gate, with the greatest possible show of friendliness. He mustreturn often to Villa Sirena; he was his one real friend. What a pity herefused to live there, as he had formerly!

  When Lubimoff found himself alone, he went upstairs to his rooms on thesecond floor. He was afraid the Colonel would guess the cause of hissatisfaction. A sensation of pride and triumph mingled now with the joyof the first moment.

  He thought of his situation, Don Marcos had remained silent since theduel, and he, himself, a prey to loneliness, had been in the depths ofdespair, imagining himself the laughing-stock of every one.

  Now he could see things clearly, Alicia wanted to come back to him. Shehad fallen in love with him again. Everything showed that: theLieutenant practically expelled from the house, which two weeks beforehe had considered as his own; and his former protectress avoiding him,so that his visits were becoming rare. Doubtless, on learning throughValeria that her former lover had voluntarily left his retirement inVilla Sirena, she was hastening to make an immediate appointment withhim in haste to resume their former relations.

  He congratulated himself on his unexplainable aggressiveness which hadimpelled him to offend Martinez. He, who, in the last few days hadrepented of that mad affair! What had weighed upon him like remorse, wasperhaps the most sensible and opportune act of his life. Alicia, seeingthat, mad with jealousy, he was doing something which many peopleconsidered absurd, fighting for her sake, doubtless felt flattered inher vanity, and was looking upon him now with new interest.

  "Oh, these women!" thought Lubimoff. "You've got to know them. They havean instinctive admiration for the strong. There is nothing like an actof brutality at the right moment to conquer them. They take a certainjoy in yielding to a man who impresses them by violence."

  This had been his first happy moment in many, many days. Once more hewas the Prince Lubimoff who had always had his way, triumphing onobstacles, sometimes with his money, but more often with his imperiouspride.

  Satisfied with his rough strength, he felt the need of making himselfhandsome before keeping the engagement. He was thinking of the males ofthe animal kingdom, who in addition to teeth, claws, and spurs, havecombs, manes, and plumage to fall back on when it comes to inspire asort of mystic slavish admiration in the females. It was the same amonghuman beings. Education, laws, and traditions do nothing but disguisethe barbaric foundations of human nature.

  His thoughts were interrupted by something which worried him. At whattime should he appear at the place indicated. It occurred to him, thatas no hour was mentioned, it must be the same as that of the previousmeeting at the door of St. Charles. But he finally was convinced thatthe Professor had forgotten something, and his uneasiness made him keepthe engagement much earlier.

  He spent more than three hours waiting anxiously, wandering about thestreets in the neighborhood of the church, standing motionless at thecorners, and changing from
one place to another on noticing thecuriosity of the passersby. He entered St. Charles several times, andwas always greeted by the same sight: the multi-colored stained glasswindows growing paler and paler, as the daylight waned, the clusters offlags, the altar pieces breaking the shadow with the dull splendor oftheir gold background, and women kneeling and motionless; women whoseemed the same as on the other occasion, as though weeks had beenminutes.

  With the superstitious feeling of those who wait, he said to himselfthat Alicia surely would not appear until nightfall, and the day seemedendless to him.

  As night came on he began to doubt.

  "She won't come. She must have repented."

  He was standing on the corner of a curved and sloping street adjoiningthe church. From there he could observe the steps leading to the littlesquare with the sunken boulevard. No one climbed them; all the carriagespassed without stopping.

  Suddenly, he had a sensation that some one was approaching from behind.He heard a light step, and on turning his head, he saw a woman inmourning.

  Suddenly recovering his triumphant joy, he forgot everything: his longwait, his doubts and the fatigue of standing there in endlessexpectation. He was so sure of the motive which had induced her to askfor this interview, that he went forward to meet her with chivalrouscordiality.

  "Oh, Alicia!" he said, holding out both hands at once.

  But his hands clutched unavailingly at empty space, without findinganything to take hold of, and finally dropped in dismay.

  Lubimoff felt disconcerted at the expression on the woman's face. Allthe ideas that had been with him until that moment were so manyillusions. They vanished in an instant, leaving him dismayed face toface with reality. Of that reality there could be no doubt. There was alook of hardness in the eyes that surveyed him fixedly.

  Alicia spoke rapidly, as though she had come on a matter of businesswith a person rather distasteful to her and wanted to end it as soon aspossible, and be rid of his presence.

  There was a money matter between them which had to be settled. She hadnot written to him because, since certain recent happenings, she felt aletter was inadvisable. Besides, she could neither go to Villa Sirena,nor receive him at her home. For that reason, on hearing the day beforethat Michael, whom she imagined ill, had been seen taking a walk, shehad boldly made an appointment with him there, so that they might seeeach other for a few moments. That was all.

  "Let us talk like business men; business men who are in a hurry and donot waste words. I owe you some money and it is impossible for me tohave any peace of mind until I return it to you: three hundred thousandfrancs which your mother gave me, and what you lent me in theCasino--perhaps something more. I have enough to pay you. If you don'tcare to take the matter up, send me Toledo."

  Lubimoff stood there dumbfounded at these unexpected words. After makingthis proposal, she seemed anxious to get away. Now she had said all shehad to say; it annoyed her to remain there with the Prince; she hadnothing to add.

  "No!" said Michael energetically.

  So that was why she had called him? And that was all she had to say tohim, after they had been separated for so long?

  His refusal was so resolute, and his pained surprise was reflected inhis features in such a manner, that Alicia felt it useless to insist.

  "Very well; let's not say anything more. I know your character, and Iknow that we would stay here arguing for hours without any result. Ishall try and find a way to return what belongs to you. Good-by,Michael!"

  The Prince tried to stop her by gently taking one of her hands, but shewithdrew it with a nervous gesture of repulsion.

  "And you are going away!" he said in a tone of deep discouragement.

  The humility in his voice seemed to irritate the Duchess, causing herto stop as she was turning away.

  "What did you think?" she asked indignantly. "I am surprised at yourself-absorption, your failure to think of other people. Michael!Michael! You'll always be the same; you don't consider any one butyourself: nothing counts but your own desires. You've hurt me so much!And now you say like a child: 'And you are going away, ...' What, pray,did you expect after your despicable conduct? I want you to realize itonce for all: I despise you. Your presence is odious to me. I despiseyou!"

  Poor Lubimoff saw his conduct once more as he had during his days ofvoluntary confinement. Alas! Where were the deceitful dreams that hadcheered him until then? His sadness, and his repentance were so obviousthat Alicia softened the tone of her words.

  "Perhaps despise is not the word; but I am sure that you fill me withpity; pity much like that which I feel for myself. We are two poor, madcreatures, Michael: our misfortunes have followed us a long way."

  Recalling their lives, Alicia thought of builders who make a seriousmistake in putting in the foundation of a building, and go on raisingit, imagining that their work is in a straight line, without observingthat it is entirely out of plumb, owing to the defect in its base.

  "We began wrong. If the world had gone on the same as before, perhaps wewould have been able to keep on our feet and be triumphant. Oursurroundings sustained us: we were like children."

  But the Universal cataclysm had made them lose their balance forever.They were toppling over, with gaps that could never be brought together,ready to fall in a heap.

  "We belong to another period, and no one can protect our frailty. Ifeel pity for you, Michael; and you must feel the same for me, for me,whom you have wronged so deeply!"

  The Prince, in spite of his dejected humility, protested. He had beenimprudent: that was sure. His aggression in the Casino and the miserableduel had caused a stupid scandal to be sure. But what irreparable harmdid she mean, that caused her such profound sorrow? How could hismadness, which injured him only, making him the object of comments andlaughter, cause her such despair?

  * * * * *

  Alicia interrupted him with a gesture of impatience, as though she feltit impossible to make him understand her thoughts.

  "Look," she said pointing to the church door. "Before, I could go inthere. Remember the last time that we saw each other on this spot. I hadjust been praying, and talking with my son; it was an illusion perhaps;but illusions help us to live. And now it is impossible for me; I feelremorse where before I found hope. And I have you to thank for this, youwho took away the last consolation that I had invented for myself."

  She no longer looked at the Prince with hostile gaze. Her tremblingvoice, and her moist eyes, were those of a poor woman making an effortto hide her emotion. Michael stammered in embarrassment, not knowingwhat to do or say. Had he really been able to do her such an evil turn?When? How?

  Alicia, deaf to his questions, was thinking only of herself and hermisfortune.

  "I had a son, and I lost him," she went on saying. "He was my hope, myone reason for living. The suffering made me look for consolation. Whatwould become of us if we did not have the power of deceiving ourselvesby creating new illusions? And I had a second son, a son whom Iinvented, sad, condemned to die, but young like the other, unfortunatelike the other, and lacking a mother to bring joy to his last days. Iwanted to be that mother. I can feel only the sweet, protecting joy ofmaternity; my role as a woman is over: all I can see in a man is a son,and you take away this last consolation! You robbed me of my poor joy!"

  Lubimoff began to understand. Alicia was talking about Martinez; and hefelt once more the sting of jealousy.

  "When we saw each other here the last time I had sought a quiet refugewithin my sorrow. I was praying for my son in the church, talking withhim, and telling him how he was a brother in misfortune to one who wasstill alive, but who perhaps would soon go to join him. Then, onreturning home I found the other, and my illusion was so great, that Iwas able to fuse them into a single person, imagining that time and thewar were all a dream, and that my son was still alive, and had returnedfrom his captivity and was by my side. They do not look alike, I amsure, although I avoid looking at George's pictures--b
ut they seem to methe same; it is the uniform, misfortune, and nearness to death. Besides,the poor boy was so good! He was so timid, satisfied with anything,looking at me with the sweet look of a gentle little creature: he who isso proud! He venerated me like a being descended from an upper world. Iwas his mother. His words and looks breathed a feeling of deep respect.I wasn't a woman to him: I was something like the angels. And you, withyour crazy interference, have spoiled it all. He is no longer my son: mydream has ended. I am obliged to do without his presence, and it is onlyat rare intervals that he finds open to him a house which I had taughthim to consider his home. Through your fault, this boy, in whom I saw ason, is now merely a man, and I, his mother, have become once more awoman."

  Lubimoff's features became dark and gloomy with an earthly cast, as onthe afternoon of the duel. He was beginning to understand.

  "What did you do, Michael!" she continued in a tearful voice. "Youaroused the poor boy by your madness. On fighting you, he imagined hewas fighting for me, and that I was simply a woman. He saw me suddenlyin a new light, as though he had been asleep until then. I might almostbe his mother; for women of my class prolong their youth, preserve itartificially, and we are still desirable when women of the lower classesare already coming to old age. Besides, I understand the element ofvanity in his admiration, that vanity which exists in all oursentiments. To him I am the unknown, the mysterious, a great lady, aDuchess, brought by these topsy-turvy days within his reach. Poor boy! Afew weeks ago he used to laugh in my presence with childlike simplicity,and look at me placidly, without the shadow of an evil thought in hiseyes. He was happy, and so was I; while now...!"

  The Prince pictured Martinez pursuing Alicia with his amorous desires."I'll kill him: I must kill him," he said to himself. But this homicidalanger lasted only an instant. The various scenes of the duel passedthrough his mind: a vision of himself kissing the officer's hand, in asudden burst of unexplainable humility, which kept returning to tormenthim like remorse. What could he do now? After what had happened therewas something sacred about the man. And once more he gave himself up tohis despair, while Alicia went on talking.

  "My dream is dead. My son has become my son once more, and Martinez is aman like any other. At present it is impossible for me to pray; I amashamed to hold imaginary conversation with my real son. I am assailedby thoughts of what I told him; I am overwhelmed when I think that I goon talking with the other boy, in spite of what he has said to me, ofwhat I read in his glances, and of what I know of his real desires. Whata wrong you have done me! I lost one son, and can think of him only withremorse; I invented another, and you have taken him away from me."

  Then, as though complaining of some superior force that had presidedover her destiny, she added:

  "What torture! Not to be able to know quiet friendship, and the tranquildays of maternity. Always to have love looming up in front of one! In myyounger days I considered that the one aim of life was to inspireadmiration and desire, and now I am punished for that indeed. I soughtin you a sustaining friendship, and you immediately desired me. I triedto deceive my maternal longings by caring for an unfortunate boy who maydie very soon, and this son of my affections talked to me of love. Is ittrue that women are never able to enjoy the peace and confidence thatcome to men quite naturally?"

  The Prince expressed his wishes, with eagerness and hatred in his voice.

  "Don't see him: break with him; close your door to him forever. In thatway you will recover your peace of mind, and I ... I shall be yourfriend, I shall be anything you desire, it will be enough for me that Isee you."

  She greeted his last words with a look of incredulity. Men had promisedher so often to be friends! Besides, she knew Michael very well, and didnot take the trouble to reply. The one thing that interested her was hisadvice that she definitely reject the wounded man, and not see him anymore. Once more her eyes grew moist.

  "Imagine driving the poor boy away! There are certain things you can'tunderstand; you try to order affections about in the same arrogant waythat you formerly disposed of people. Do you think I can abandon him? Iam his mother in spite of everything, and you know very well how amother tolerates and forgives things. The poor boy is not to blame forhis evil thoughts; it was you who suggested them to him. Besides, itwon't last; I have hopes that his foolish desires will die out."

  The idea of deserting the crippled soldier aroused her pity, giving anamorous tone to her words.

  "What would become of him! He doesn't know any one: he is alone in theworld; the other officers are living, in their native land, they havefamilies. Before, he could go and see Clorinda; now 'the General' hasgone away, and I am the only one who remains, the only one! And you wantme to forget him? You don't know him very well; you are an enemy of his.It is such a delight for me to recall the period of his innocence. Hewas like my son; no; there was something more about him; a thankfulness,a capacity for veneration concentrated entirely on me, such as I hadnever known before. You forget how his life hangs on a thread. Nor doeshe realize it himself; he does not know the real situation he is in; hehas illusions of healthy youth; he thinks he will live for many years.Poor fellow! How hard it is for me to pretend that I am angry, to rejecthim with indignation because of the desires he feels for me ... me, whoonly want to be his mother!"

  This tone of sweet pity wounded her listener. Alicia seemed to feel theremorse of a death watch obliged to deny a condemned criminal thesatisfaction of his last whim. She was lamenting like a nurse who cannotgive a dying man what he asks for in his last gasps.

  Michael felt that he guessed the secret of the last interviews betweenthis pseudo-mother and her adopted son. Perhaps she talked to him abouthis health, momentarily refusing to flatter him in his illusions ofhealth, revealing to him the danger to which his life was exposed; andhe, in a suicidal ardor of passion, was perhaps entreating her like achild who has placed all his dreams in a toy: "once, just once."

  He was convinced that this was the truth of the matter. He read it inher eyes, which in turn seemed to guess what the Prince was thinking,and she blushed slightly.

  "What harm you have done me," she repeated. "I must send him away fromme, and I can't bear to desert him. It would be a crime if I abandonedhim to his fate. You don't know what this constant struggle means to me.At times I see him hovering around my house; hidden behind the windowblinds, I look at him, and I can hardly repress my tears. He seems sosad! I remember my son, who also lived alone, even more friendless thanhe, and who perhaps became interested in some woman, anxiously desiringmany things without succeeding in possessing them, and I feel a desireto call to him, to shout: 'Since that is your dream, my dear child, yourlast wish in life, take it! Take it, and be happy!' Yet I think of hishealth, I think of many other things, and I restrain my impulse, andweep, letting him wander about near my house, imagining himselfforgotten, though I am thinking of him all the time. Alas! May God giveme strength! May I not lose my self control! May I continue to resist myabsurd charitableness! Sometimes I fear I won't."

  "Oh, Alicia!"

  The Prince uttered the words in a tone of desperation. His presentimentwas becoming a reality; he could already see that dying youth possessingwhat he had not been able to obtain. There was a look of homicidalanger in his eyes.

  This hostile expression annoyed Alicia, making another woman of her. Theharsh look and the cutting tones which had accompanied her arrivalappeared in her once more.

  "Enough said. I came here to return your money. You refuse to take it?You refuse? Very well, I will find a way to make you. Good night,Michael!"

  As a matter of fact, night had fallen, and the Prince saw her disappearin the shadows of the street whence she had come: a street dimly lightedby a single blue street lamp.

  For a moment, he thought of heading her off, humble and entreating. Hewould never see her again: he was sure of that. But at the same time heperceived the uselessness of insisting. She wanted him to forget her;the interview had merely been to suppress all traces of
the past stillexisting between them. And he allowed her to pass out of his sight.

  From that day on, the life of the Prince lacked a purpose. Something hadbroken within him: his will had crumbled to dust, enveloping his sensesin a sort of fog. What was to be done? Not even the narrowest of pathsremained open to his initiative. Alicia hated him as though he were anenemy. It meant good-by for all time! There still remained the otherman, but the Prince was invulnerable as far as Martinez was concerned.

  It was enough for him to think of what had happened in Lewis' castle tolose all intention of violence. He cursed his Slavic sentimentality, soconfused and incoherent, like his mother's, which prevented him fromgoing to the end in malice, and causing him to fall, when he leastexpected it, into exaggerated submission. Alas, for his tears ofrepentance! Alas for that kiss on his adversary's hand! If he avoidedreturning to the Casino, it was in order not to meet Martinez and thosetwo Captains who had witnessed the incomprehensible conclusion of theduel. He no longer had the energy to impose his will; his formerharshness of character had melted with the catastrophe of his desires.

  He shut himself up once again in Villa Sirena, in order not to see anyone. He hated people, and at the same time he thought with a certainterror of the ill-concealed smiles that might greet his passing, and theremarks that might be exchanged behind his back.

  Don Marcos was the one companion of his loneliness; and Lubimoff, whoduring the first few days exchanged but a few words with him, finallycame to wish that he would hurry back from Monte Carlo, at nightfall, inorder to hear the news, which in other days he would have consideredinsignificant. They entered into long conversations on what was going onin the Casino, or on the happenings of the world. It was the curiosityof a prisoner or an invalid, who takes an exaggerated interest inthings, as he loses his sense of values, owing to his inability to moveabout in his confinement.

  The Colonel was giving less and less importance to the events of dailylife. All his attention had been focused on the Atlantic Coast and theopposite shores of the ocean.

  "They keep on coming!" he said, after greeting the Prince. "TheAmericans keep on coming: a regular crusade. There are hundreds ofthousands of them; there are millions. And to think that a lot of peopleconsidered the talk of sending armies from America mere bluff!"

  He was really indignant at such ignorance, quite forgetting hisskepticism of a few months before.

  "A great country! And that fellow Wilson, what a man!"

  At present he believed the American people capable of accomplishinganything they set out to do, no matter how extraordinary; but hisold-fashioned ideas prevented him from feeling sustained enthusiasm foranything collective and abstract, without human physiognomy. The formerpartisan of absolute monarchy, preferred individuals: one man to thinkfor the rest, and give them orders. And after a few words, hisenthusiasm for the American democracy began to shrink in scope until itrested in concentrated form on the head of Wilson.

  "The greatest man in the world!"

  His eyes moistened with idolatrous fervor as he read the President'sspeeches; he exhausted all his vocabulary of superlatives in expressinghis admiration for the personage who had made a great people unsheaththeir swords, disinterestedly, in defense of justice and liberty, andwho prophesied at the same time a future of peace for mankind, with nogreedy nations to menace the life of the humble and the weak.

  One evening he found a new phrase to express his admiration.

  "What a poet!" Lubimoff, in spite of his melancholy, began to laugh.President Wilson a poet!

  Don Marcos, stammering at the laughter of his Prince, tried to explainhimself. Perhaps "poet" was not just the word to express his thoughtaccurately. But poet he would call him nevertheless, and with goodreason. A poet for the Colonel was a seer, who says very beautifulthings about the future of mankind; a prophet who dreams upon hisheights, embracing with his glance all that the common crowd swarmingbelow cannot see; a being who, on speaking, in whatever form he maychoose, succeeds in making people who are listening blink their eyeswith emotion, while a shiver runs down their spines.

  His tongue became twisted as he said this but above his stammering,arose a firm unshakable conviction.

  "After all, I know what I mean. For me, he is a poet: a man who haswings ... very long wings."

  The Prince began to laugh again. Wilson with wings! He imagined thePresident with his high hat, his glasses, and his kindly smile, andgrowing out from each shoulder of his long coat two enormous featherytriangles like those of the angels in religious paintings. What anamusing fellow the Colonel was!

  Then suddenly he became thoughtful, while his features took on anexpression of great seriousness.

  "You are right," he said. "I can see him with wings, wings that are toolong perhaps. A great thing when it comes to flying, but when one isobliged to live among men, and has to walk along on the ground!... I amafraid he will drag his wings; I am afraid they will be stepped on someday, and that people will find them a great nuisance...."

  And they dropped the subject.

  The Prince wanted to break the confinement which he had voluntarilyimposed upon himself. Why should he stay there at Villa Sirena, nearcertain people who constantly occupied his thoughts yet whom he did notwish to see? The best thing would be for him to return to Paris as soonas possible. The long range cannon was continuing to fire on theCapital; almost every week squads of German aeroplanes made nightexcursions about it, dropping explosives. Such a trip offered theinducement of danger and excitement to the lonely man, tormented in hisperfect health by an inactive and monotonous life, which offered nothingmore stimulating than the irritations to be derived from his recentexperiences.

  Every morning, when he got up, he formulated the same plan: "I am goingto Paris." But the trip kept being put off from week to week. It was acase of abulia, the loss of will power of an invalid, who makes projectsof active life, and no sooner attempts to carry them out, than he loseshis strength again, and postpones them indefinitely.

  The most insignificant details loomed gigantically before his diseasedwill. He had to go to Nice to make reservations at the Sleeping-carOffice. He thought of sending Don Marcos; then refrained, considering itpreferable to go himself. And days went by without his taking the shortride preliminary to his Paris trip. Both of them seemed equally long.He, who had thrice circumnavigated the globe, wearily shrunk at thethought of the slowness of travel due to the war. Just imagine sixteenhours on a train!

  One afternoon, bored by his splendid gardens,--now so monotonous!--bythe silence of his house,--now so deserted!--and by the increasingabsent-mindedness of the Colonel, who was always having something to doeither in Monte Carlo, or in the gardener's pavilion, Lubimoff startedout on foot toward the City. And he met some one.

  He had turned quite mechanically and without thinking in the directionof the upper boulevards, near the street in which Villa Rosa wassituated. When he realized this, he decided to turn back. Just then hesaw Lieutenant Martinez coming along on the opposite sidewalk, in thedirection that he himself had been going a few moments before.

  The soldier seemed to him taller, stronger, and as it were, surroundedby a halo of glory. His uniform was the same, frayed and old lookingafter some years of service; but to the Prince it seemed entirely new,even dazzling in its freshness. Everything about the Lieutenant lookedmagnificent and he seemed to illumine the objects about him by merecontact. His features perhaps were paler and more angular; but Michaelimagined that he radiated a certain inner splendor, composed of prideand satisfaction. A sort of ethereal mask, enveloping him in astrallight, made him appear handsome and gave him a new physiognomy,Apollo-like and triumphant.

  They passed without speaking. The Lieutenant pretended not to see him,as Lubimoff's eyes followed him with a questioning glance. What wasthere that was new in this man? The Prince doubted that lack of soundhealth, that perilous condition which worried the doctors so much. Itwas all a lie made up to impress the ladies! He noticed the proudfirmness
of the soldier's step, the jaunty, boyish air with which heswung the rattan he used as a cane.

  On losing him from sight, he could see him even more clearly. Hisimagination kept vividly recalling certain details over which his eyeshad wandered carelessly. There was something that stood out in painfulrelief in his memory: a few roses, a little bunch of roses, which thesoldier was wearing on his breast, between two buttons of his uniform.An officer with flowers seemed rather strange! That was what had shockedthe Prince at the first glance, shocked him so violently that his wholevision had been deeply disturbed. Yes, those flowers!...

  He spent the rest of the day thinking about them. As he stretched out inhis bed that night, darkness clarified the maze of thoughts and doubtswhirling in his brain. He could see it all in a cold clear light. "Ithas happened already!"

  He jumped out of bed and turned on the light, pacing up and down hisbedroom in a fury.

  "It has happened already!"

  He kept repeating the words with anguished obsession; he repented hisgenerosity, as though it were a crime. "Why didn't I kill him?" Then inplaintive tones he would repeat his original affirmation, concludingthat what had happened was irreparable. Then he put out the light again;and for a long time, in the darkness, which once more filled thebedroom, the curses of the Prince resounded, alternating with fierceexclamations of wounded pride and sobs of rage.

  The following day his conviction still persisted. The childlike beautyof the morning, which always inspires optimism, meant nothing to him.How was he to know the truth about that thing which he had suspected andfeared, but which he never imagined would really come to pass?

  A desperate curiosity caused him to spend the entire day in Monte Carlo.He met Martinez again. The officer kept on walking, turning his glanceaway in order not to see him; but the Prince imagined he caught afleeting look of generous pity in his eyes, an expression of compassionfor an unfortunate and inoffensive rival. Again he was wearing flowers;doubtless different from those of the day before.

  Lubimoff repeated to himself the laments of the previous night: "Yes, ithad already happened." It was impossible to doubt it. But the thought ofkilling him did not recur, nor did he repent of his generosity. That wasall so useless now! He merely thought with envy of people in thesubmerged classes of society, who feel the impulses of passion verysimply, without any disturbing sense of honor and solemn promises. Theywere men who could act regardless of laws and customs. When they wantedto kill some one, they went and did so!

  He saw that Martinez was thinner than ever, with a feverish look in hiseyes. Oh, that indefinable something, that suggestion of youthfulvanity, of triumph and satisfaction, which seemed to radiate from hisfeatures like a halo of glory!

  That evening, Toledo found himself brusquely repelled by his Prince,when he tried to tell him about a letter which he had received fromParis. The Administrator of the Prince's estate was getting impatient;he was asking for a reply from his Highness in regard to the sale ofVilla Sirena.

  "I don't know; leave me alone. The best thing is for me to arrange thematter myself. I'll go to Nice to-morrow and see about my trip toParis.... No, not to-morrow: day after to-morrow."

  He could not explain to himself why he had conceded that additional dayto his idleness: it was an instinctive postponement, without any motivewhatsoever. The following day, after breakfast, he regretted it; but itwas already too late to find the chauffeur he had gotten the afternoonof the duel, and whom Don Marcos had just promoted to the rank of"purveyor to his Highness."

  Where could he go, and be sure of not coming across the persons presentso bitterly in his thoughts? Toward the end of the afternoon he went tothe Casino terraces. There was an open air concert which was attractinga huge crowd. It was improbable that Martinez and the woman should showthemselves in such a gathering.

  It seemed as though he were living in peace times; as though he had goneback to one of those rare winters which used to attract all the wealthypeople of the globe to the Riviera. Both terraces were filled withwell-dressed people. The bombardment of Paris and the attacks of theGerman _Gothas_ were keeping a great many elegant ladies in Monte Carlowho formerly would have felt they were losing caste if they stayed onthe warm coast when winter was over.

  Chairs were lacking. A large part of the audience was seated on thebalustrades and steps. Around the orchestra _kiosque_ there was a massof pleasant colors, formed by women's hats, spring dresses, andfluttering fans. Opposite the terraces the sea stretched away betweenthe rose-colored promontories. The far-away sails reddened by thesetting sun seemed like so many flames. Across the violet surface of theMediterranean and the crystal opalescence of the evening sky the musicfell voluptuously.

  Nobody was thinking about the war: that was a calamity that belonged toanother world, to other skies. Even the convalescent soldiers inuniform, who were living entirely in the present moment, breathing thesalt air, listening to the wail of the violins, and surrounded by gaylydressed women, did not seem to remember it. Many eyes were following theprogress, along the horizon line, of a string of ships strangely paintedlike fabulous monsters, and escorted by several torpedo boats. But thelulling music that rang in the ears of the idlers took all significanceaway from the fearful disguise of the boats, and from the cautiousslowness with which they were gliding along off the Shores of Pleasure.

  When, after seven o'clock, the concert was over, the terraces graduallyemptied. On the benches only a few couples remaining, putting off thetime of parting by conversing quietly in the silence of the bluetwilight.

  The Prince succeeded in walking from one end to the other of the lowerpromenade without once having to submit to contact with the crowd.

  Suddenly he stopped, with a feeling of surprise and pain, as though hehad just received a blow in the breast. Down the wide steps which joinedthe two terraces, a couple were descending. His instinct recognizedthem even before he could see them clearly. It was a soldier. It wasLieutenant Martinez ... and she!

  Alicia was dressed in mourning, just as he had seen her near the church;but she was walking less resolutely, shrinking and timid, on findingherself on that spot which shortly before had been occupied by all herneighbors from the city.

  They were talking as they slowly descended. Absorbed in the view outupon the sea, they did not turn their eyes toward the spot whereLubimoff was standing motionless. At the bottom of the stairs they choseto walk in the opposite direction, and the Prince was able to followthem.

  He felt that some extraordinary power of divination was sharpening hisfaculties; a sort of second sight which was enabling him to see andstudy both their faces, in spite of the fact that their backs wereturned toward him.

  Alas, that walk! It was the desire for light and open air, which peoplefeel after a sweet confinement. It was the insolent need lovers have ofdisplaying their happiness in public, when the joyous hours, throughmonotonous repetition, begin to weigh on them. It was the desire ofprolonging in the sight of every one the sweet intimacy enjoyed insecret and now spiced with the added incentive of being obliged tofeign, and to hide all real feelings.

  Michael considered his intuitions as beyond all question. Of course! Itwas the officer who had proposed that walk. How proud he would be towalk in a public place with a celebrated lady, and in full consciousnessof the new rights he had acquired over her! It was no longer possiblefor him to question the visualization which had made him groan in thesilence of the night.... It had taken place! It had taken place!

  Alicia's appearance dispelled all doubts in advance. She was walkingalong with a certain dismay like a person obliged to go on in spite ofherself. He could see her invisible features. They were sad, profoundlysad, with a melancholy look of the woman who has fallen and is consciousof her abasement, but considers it irremediable, the result of anirresistible destiny, of a cause beyond the radius of the will's action.

  Her head kept bending down to one side toward her companion, for hereyes to gaze on him. It must have been the gaze of a willing pri
soneranxious to forget the pangs of remorse and taking a sensuoussatisfaction in her shameful slavery. While her soul shrank away at thememory, her body was bending under physical attraction to that otherbody, instinctively seeking the contact that was causing her youth tobloom again in a new spring-time; a sad spring-time, like all thesurprises of fate, but sweeter far than the dull gray hours of solitude.

  Hate, repugnance, and indignant jealousy caused the Prince to stop. Whyshould he follow them? They might turn their heads and see him. He wasashamed at the thought of meeting them. The wretches! There must be SomeOne above to punish such things!

  And he left them, walking toward the other end of the promenade in orderto descend to the harbor of La Condamine.

  He was just leaving the terrace when something happened behind his backwhich brought him to a stop. The couples seated on the benches suddenlyrose and ran shouting in the direction whence he had come. He could hearpeople calling to one another. Some news seemed to be circulatingthrough both levels of the garden, bringing people forth from the walks,from the clusters of palm trees, and the walls of vegetation.

  Lubimoff allowed himself to be carried along by this alarm, andretraced his steps. He saw in the distance a noisy mass of people everincreasing in size, a group which was being joined by the winding linesof curiosity seekers running down the steps. The garden, which a momentbefore had been deserted, was pouring forth people from every opening.

  As he drew near the crowd, he could hear the comments of variousdetached onlookers, who were telling the news to the new arrivals.

  "A convalescent officer.... He was taking a walk with a lady....Suddenly he fell in a heap, as though struck by lightning. There he is."

  Yes; there was Martinez, in the center of that human mass, a pitifulobject, lying on the ground, with his body bent into the shape of a Z:his head made a right angle with his breast, and his legs were doubled,making another angle. Lubimoff came forward until he could look over theshoulders of the first row of stupefied onlookers. A constant sound ofhard breathing, a rattle like that of some poor beast in the death agonykept coming from his foaming lips. In his motionless body, the only signof life was that moan, repeated with clock-like regularity, with nochange in the tone.

  Officers were leaving their women companions to force their way into thecenter of the crowd. On recognizing Martinez, their surprise assumed acaressing brotherly expression.

  "Antonio! Antonio!"

  They bent over him to talk in his ear, as though he were asleep; butAntonio did not hear them. One of his eyes was hidden in the dirt of thewalk; a small pebble was clinging to the eyelid of the other. All oneside of his uniform was white with dust. The terrible harsh breathingwas the only reply to their words of endearment.

  A military doctor stepped through the crowd. He took hold of Martinez'shands, and felt his pulse. A look of helplessness came over the doctor'sface. The Lieutenant had had many attacks like this one. They could onlyhope that it was not to be his last....

  Lubimoff could see Alicia kneeling on the ground, stunned by the shock,showing the sinuous curves of her back, under her mourning garments,oblivious of everything about her, with her eyes fixed on the man who afew minutes before had been walking at her side, talking and smiling,convinced that life is happiness, and who now lay stretched in the dust,convulsed and inert, a pitiable vessel slowly emptying itself in dyinggasps.

  Suddenly she stood up, with an instinctive sense of danger. She did notcare to remain in that posture before everybody's gaze. Her large eyes,with a blank, frightened look, began to move about over the crowd,without however recognizing any one. For a moment they rested on Michaeland her gaze met his with an expression of anguished entreaty. But thePrince, lowering his head, concealed himself behind the front row ofonlookers, and her eyes went on in their search about the circle, with alook that became dull and gray again. She believed, doubtless, that ithad been an hallucination.

  As Alicia remained standing there, people began to point her out. Thatwas the lady who was with the officer. Some of them recognized her, andrepeated her name: "The Duchess de Delille." Through an instinctivefeeling of repulsion, or a cowardly desire not to get mixed up in any"affair," no one spoke to her. She was left alone in the center of thecrowd, with a look of stupefaction in her eyes, that seemed to ask forhelp, though without knowing just what help.

  Willing souls began to take the initiative with an air of authority.

  "Air! Give him air!" They began to shove the crowd back in order toincrease the circle around the fallen man. But the people immediatelypushed forward again with useless suggestions of aid; and once more thespace was narrowed, until the feet of the nearest spectators grazed thepanting lips of the dying man.

  A young girl had run of her own accord to the bar at the entrance of theCasino and was coming back with a glass of water.

  "Antonio! Antonio!" his kneeling comrades vainly called the Lieutenant,using all their strength to open his jaws and force him to drink. Hislips repelled the liquid, and went on repeating the painful moans.

  Ladies, attracted by the news, began to arrive from the gambling rooms.They all knew the Duchess; and looked at her with a certain hostility,after gazing at the dying man. The Prince heard fragments of theircomment: "A poor fellow rescued from death by a miracle.... Theslightest emotion.... That woman...."

  Beyond the group, park policemen were running about giving orders. Thestretcher bearers had arrived; the same ones who, according to publicrumor, were passed by magic through the walls of the Casino to carryaway the gamblers dying in the play-rooms.

  This time the stretcher was absent. The onlookers were separating toopen the way for an extraordinary novelty. A hired carriage was comingacross the terraces, which were forbidden to vehicles.

  Suddenly Lubimoff saw the Duchess rise above the heads of the crowd. Shehad just gotten into the carriage and was standing in it, with a dazedlook and the inexpressive features of a person walking in her sleep.Perhaps she had done it without thinking; perhaps the military doctorhad invited her to get in, thinking she was a relative of the patient.Several men in uniform lifted the inert body of the officer.

  The harsh breathing that rent his chest continued.

  And then, in the presence of the crowd, whose eyes were sightless withstupefaction, the Duchess proceeded as though she were alone. She hadjust dropped to the seat. She had them lay the corpse-like body acrossher knees, and she herself, as she held Martinez with one arm, laid hispanting head against one of her shoulders.

  The carriage slowly started off in the direction of the officers' hotel,followed by a large part of the crowd. The doctor went along on foot,telling the driver to go slowly.

  Michael saw Alicia pass, upright and rigid in her seat, her eyes wideopen, with terror, her mouth tense with grief, and holding the dying manon her knees. Her attitude reminded him of the Divine Mother at the footof the cross; but there was something impure and shameful in Alicia'ssorrow that made the comparison inadmissible.

  "Oh, Venus Dolorosa."

  The Prince was interrupted in his reflections. He felt himself rudelyshoved aside by a woman in uniform. It was Mary Lewis, running, as fastas her legs could carry her, to overtake the carriage. The Amazon ofGood Deeds always arrived in time to catch up with suffering.

  Lubimoff saw how the vehicle slowly drove away with its embroidery ofpeople. Its journey as far as the hotel would be endless; all MonteCarlo would see it go by.

  He felt sad, very, very sad. That officer was his enemy; but death!...

  He was not so sorry for Alicia. He smiled a malicious smile as he lookedfor the last time at the carriage and its following, which wasconstantly increasing.

  In the line of scandals there was nothing commonplace about this latestof the Duchess de Delille.