CHAPTER X.
Long before the first gun had been fired at Fort Sumter, Madame laMarquise was able to laugh over that summer-time madness of hers, andridicule herself for the wasted force of that infatuation.
She was no longer a recluse unacquainted with men. The prophecy ofMadame, the dowager, that if left alone she would return to theconvent, had not been verified. The death of the dowager occurredtheir first winter in Paris, after Geneva, and the Marquise had notyet shown a predilection for nunneries.
She had seen the world, and it pleased her well enough; indeed, theportion of the world she came in contact with did its best to pleaseher, and with a certain feverish eagerness she went half way to meetit.
People called her a coquette--the most dangerous of coquettes, becauseshe was not a cold one. She was responsive and keenly interested up tothe point where admirers declared themselves, and proposals ofmarriage followed; after _that_, every man was just like every otherone! Yet she was possessed of an idea that somewhere there existed ahitherto undiscovered specimen who could discuss the emotions and thephilosophies in delightful sympathy, and restrain the expression ofhis own personal emotions to tones and glances, those indefinitesuggestions that thrill yet call for no open reproof--no reversal offriendship.
So, that was the man she was seeking in the multitudes--and on theway there were surely amusements to be found!
Dumaresque remonstrated. She defended herself with the avowal that shewas only avenging weaker womanhood, smiled at, won, and forgotten, ashis sex were fond of forgetting.
"But we expect better things of women," he declared warmly; "not adeliberate intention of playing with hearts to see how many can behurt in a season. Judithe, you are no longer the same woman. Where isthe justice you used to gauge every one by? Where the mercy to othersweaker than yourself?"
"Gone!" she laughed lightly; "driven away in self-defense! I have hadto put mercy aside lest it prove my master. The only safeguard againstbeing too warm to all may be to be cool to all. You perceive thatwould never--never do. So--!"
"End all this unsatisfied, feverish life by marrying me," he pleaded."I will take you from Paris. With all your social success you havenever been happy here; we will travel. You promised, Judithe, and--"
"Chut! Loris; you are growing ungallant. You should never remember awoman's promise after she has forgotten it. We were betrothed--yes.But did I not assure you I might never marry? Maman was made happy fora little while by the fancy; but now?--well, matrimony is no moreappealing to me than it ever was, and you would not want anindifferent wife. I like you, you best of all those men you champion,but I love none of you! Not that I am lacking in affection, butrather, incapable of concentrating it on one object."
"Once, it was not so; I have not forgotten the episode of Fontainbleu."
"That? Pouf! I have learned things since then, Loris. I have learnedthat once, at least, in every life love seems to have been born onearth for the first time; happy those whom it does not visit too late!Well! I, also, had to have my little experience; it had to be _some_one; so it was that stranger. But I have outgrown all that; we alwaysoutgrow those things, do we not? I compare him now with the men I haveknown since, and he shrinks, he dwindles! I care only for intellectualmen, and the artistic temperament. He had neither. Yes, it is true;the girlish fancies appear ridiculous in so short a time."
Dumaresque agreed that it was true of any fancy, to one of ficklenature.
"No, it is not fickleness," she insisted. "Have you no boyish loves ofthe past hidden away, each in their separate nook of memory? Confess!Are you and the world any the worse for them? Certainly not. They eachcontributed a certain amount towards the education of the emotions.Well; is my education to be neglected because you fear I shall injurethe daintily-bound books in the human library? I shall not, Loris. Ionly flutter the leaves a little and glance at the pictures theyoffer, but I never covet one of them for my own, and never read one tothe finale, hence--"
Dumaresque left soon after for an extended artistic pilgrimage intonorthern Africa, and people began to understand that there would be nowedding. The engagement had only been made to comfort the dowager.
Judithe de Caron regretted his departure more than she had regrettedanything since the death of the woman who had been a mother to her.There was no one else with whom she could be so candid--no man whoinspired her with the same confidence. She compared him with theAmerican, and told herself how vastly her friend was the superior.
Had McVeigh been one of the scholarly soldiers of Europe, such as shehad since known--men of breadth and learning, she could haveunderstood her own infatuation. But he was certainly provincial, andnot at all learned. She had met many cadets since, and had studiedthem. They knew their military tactics--the lessons of their schools.They flirted with the grissettes, and took on airs; they drank and hadpride in emptying more glasses and walking straighter afterwards thantheir comrades. They were very good fellows, but heavens! how shallowthey were! So _he_ must have been. She tried to remember a singlesentence uttered by him containing wisdom of any sort whatever--therehad not been one. His silences had been links to bind her to him. Hisglances had been revelations, and his words had been only: "I adoreyou."
So many men had said the same thing since. It seemed always the sortof thing men said when conversation flagged. But in those earlier daysshe had not known that, hence the fact that she--well, she knew now!
Twice she had met that one-time bondwoman, Kora, and the meeting lefther thoughtful, and not entirely satisfied with herself.
How wise she could be in advice to that pretty butterfly! How plainlyshe could work out a useful life to be followed by--some one else!
Her more thoughtful moods demanded: Why not herself? Her charitiesof the street, her subscriptions to worthy funds, her patronageof admirable institutions, all these meant nothing. Dozens offashionables and would-be fashionables did the same. It wasexpected of them. Those charities opened a door through whichmany entered the inner circles.
She had fitful desires to do the things people did not expect. Shedetested the shams of life around her in that inner circle. She feltat times she would like to get them all under her feet--trample themdown and make room for something better; but for what? She did notknow. She was twenty-one, wealthy, her own mistress, and was tired ofit all. When she drove past laughing Kora on the avenue she was moretired of it than ever.
"How am I better than she but by accident?" she asked herself. "Sheamuses herself--poor little bondslave, who has only changed masters! Iamuse myself (without a master, it is true, and more elegantly,perhaps), but with as little usefulness to the world."
She felt ashamed when she thought of Alain and his mother, who seemedto have lived only to help others. They had given over the power toher, and how poorly she had acquitted herself!
Once--when she first came with the dowager to Paris--the days had beenall too short for her plans and dreams of usefulness; how long agothat seemed.
Now, she knew that the owner of wealth is the victim of multitudinousschemes of the mendicant, whether of the street corner or thefashionable missions. She had lost faith in the efficacy of alms. Nocause came to her with force enough to re-awaken her enthusiasms.Everything was so tame--so old!
One day she read in a journal that the usefulness of Kora as a dancerwas over. There had been an accident at the theatre, her foot wassmashed; not badly enough to call for amputation, but too much for herever to dance again.
The Marquise wondered if the fair-weather friends would desert hernow. She had heard of Trouvelot, an exquisite who followed thefashions in everything, and Kora had succeeded in being the fashionfor two seasons. She was just as pretty, no doubt--just as adorable,but--
As the weeks of that winter went by rumors from the Western world werethick with threats of strife. State after State had seceded. The Southwas marshalling her forces, training her men, urging the necessity ofdefending State rights and maintaining their power to govern a portionas
ably as they had the whole of the United States during the eightyyears of its governmental life. The North, with its factories, itsforeign commerce, and its manifold requirements, had bred thepoliticians of the country. But the South, with its vast agriculturalStates, its wealth, and its traditions of landed ancestry, hadproduced the orators--the statesman--the men who had shone mostbrilliantly in the pages of their national history.
From the shores of France one could watch some pretty moves in thegames evolving about that promise of civil war; the creeping forwardof England to help widen the breach between the divided sections, andthe swift swinging of Russian war vessels into the harbors of theAtlantic--the silent bear of the Russias facing her hereditary Englishfoe and forbidding interference, until the lion gave way with lowgrowlings, not daring to even roar his chagrin, but contenting himselfwith night-prowlings during the four years that followed.
All those wheels within wheels were discussed around the Marquise deCaron in those days. Her acquaintance with the representatives ofdifferent nations and the diplomats of her own, made her aware of manyunpublished moves for advantage in the game they surveyed. Thediscussion of them, and guesses as to the finale, helped to awake herfrom the lethargy she had deplored. Remembering that the McVeighsbelonged to a seceding state, she asked many questions and forgot noneof the replies.
"Madame La Marquise, I was right," said a white moustached general onenight at a great ball, where she appeared. "Was it not a rose youwagered me? I have won. War is declared in America. In South Carolina,today, the Confederates won the first point, and secured a Federalfort."
"General! they have not dared!"
"Madame, those Southerons are daring above everything. I have metthem. Their men are fighters, and they will be well officered."
Well officered! She thought of Kenneth McVeigh, he would be one ofthem; yes, she supposed that was one thing he could do--fight; a thingrequiring brute strength, brute courage!
"So!" said the Countess Biron, who seldom was acquainted with thecauses of any wars outside those of court circles, "this means that ifthe Northern States should retaliate and conquer, all the slaves wouldbe free?"
"Not at all, Countess. The North does not interfere with slavery whereit exists, only protests against its extension to greater territory."
"Oh! Well; I understood it had something to do with the Africans. Thatclever young Delaven devoted an entire hour to my enlightenmentyesterday. And my poor friend, Madame McVeigh, you remember her,Judithe? She is in the Carolinas. I tremble to think of her positionnow; an army of slaves surrounding them, and, of course, only awaitingthe opportunity for insurrection."
"And Louisiana seceded two months ago," said the Marquise, and thensmiled. "You will think me a mercenary creature," she declared, "but Ihave property in New Orleans which I have never seen, and I amwondering whether its value will rise or fall because of the proposedchange of government."
"You have never seen it?"
"No; it was a purchase made by my husband from some home-sickrelative, who had thought to remain there, but could not live awayfrom France. I have promised myself to visit it some day. It would beexceedingly difficult to do so now, I suppose, but how much morespirited a journey it would be; for each side will have vessels onguard all along the coast, will they not?"
"There will at least be enough to deter most ladies from takingadventurous pilgrimages in that direction. I shall not advise you togo unless under military escort, Marquise."
"I shall notify you, General, when my preparations are made; in themeantime here is your rose; and would not my new yacht do for thejourney?"
So, jesting and questioning, she accepted his arm and made the circleof the rooms. Everywhere they heard fragments of the same topic.Americans were there from both sections. She saw a pretty woman fromAlabama nod and smile, but put her hands behind her when a hithertofriendly New Yorker gave her greeting.
"We women can't do much to help," she declared, in those soft tones ofthe South, "but we can encourage our boys by being pronounced in oursympathies. I certainly shall not shake hands with a Northerner whomay march with the enemy against our men; how can I?"
"Suppose we talk it over and try to find a way," he suggested. Thenthey both smiled and passed on together. Judithe de Caron foundherself watching them with a little ache in her heart. She could seethey were almost, if not quite, lovers; yet all their hopes werecentered on opposite victories. How many--many such cases there mustbe!
* * * * *
Before spring had merged into summer, a lady, veiled, and giving noname, was announced to the Marquise. Rather surprised at themysterious call, she entered the reception room, and was againsurprised when the lifted veil disclosed the handsome face of theoctoroon, Kora.
She had lost some of her brilliant color, and her expression was moresettled, it had less of the butterfly brightness.
"You see, Madame, I have at last taken you at your word."
The Marquise, who was carefully noting the alteration in her, bowed,but made no remark. The face of the octoroon showed uncertainty.
"Perhaps--perhaps I have waited too long," she said, and half rose.
"No, no; you did right to come. I expected you--yes, really! Now beseated and tell me what it is."
"First, that you were a prophetess, Madame," and the full lips smiledwithout merriment. "I am left alone, now that I have neither money northe attraction for the others. He only followed the crowd--to me, andaway from me!"
"Well?"
"Well, it is not about _that_ I come! But, Madame, I am going toAmerica; not to teach, as you advised, but I see now a way in which Ican really help."
"Help whom?"
Her visitor regarded her with astonishment; was it possible that she,the woman whose words had aroused the first pride of race in her, thefirst thought of her people unlinked with shame! That she had so soonforgotten? Had she remembered the pupil, but failed to recall thelesson taught?
"You have probably forgotten the one brief conversation with which youhonored me, Madame. But I mean the people we discussed then--mypeople."
"You mean the colored people."
"Certainly, Madame."
"But you are more white than colored."
"Oh, yes; that is true, but the white blood would not count in Americaif it were known there was one drop of black blood in my mother. Butno one need know it; I go from France, I will speak only French, andif you would only help me a little."
She grew prettier in her eagerness, and her eyes brightened. TheMarquise smiled at the change enthusiasm made.
"You must tell me the object for which you go."
"It is the war, Madame; in time this war must free the colored folks;it is talked of already; it is said the North will put coloredsoldiers in the field; that will be the little, thin edge of thewedge, and if I could only get there, if you would help me to someposition, or a recommendation to people in New Orleans; any way sothat people would not ask questions or be curious about me--if youwould only do that madame!"
"But what will you do when there?"
The girl glanced about the room and spoke more softly.
"I am trusting you, Madame, without asking who you side with in ourwar, but even if you are against us I--I trust you! They tell me theSouth is the strongest. They have been getting ready for this a longtime. The North will need agents in the South. I have learned somethings here--people talk so much. I am going to Washington. Fromthere I will go south. No one will know me in New Orleans. I willchange my name, and I promise not to bring discredit on anyrecommendation you may give me."
"It is a plan filled with difficulties and dangers. What has moved youto contemplate such sacrifices?"
"You, Madame!" The Marquise flushed slightly. "From the time youtalked to me I wanted to do something, be something better. But, youknow, it seemed no use; there was no need of me anywhere but in Paris.That is all over. I can go now, and I have some information worthtaking to the Fe
deral government. The South has commissioners herenow. I have learned all they have accomplished, and the people theyhave interested, so if I had a little help--"
"You shall have it!" declared the Marquise. "I have been dying ofennui. Your plan is a cure for me--better than a room full ofcourtiers! But if I give you letters it must be to my lawyers in NewOrleans--clever, shrewd men--and I should have to trust you entirely,remember."
"I shall not forget, Madame."
"Very good; come tomorrow. What can you do about an establishment suchas mine? Ladies maid? Housekeeper? Governess?"
"Any of those; but only governess to very small children."
"Come tomorrow. I shall have planned something by then. I have anengagement in a few minutes, and have no more time today. By the way,have you ever been in Georgia or South Carolina?"
Kora hesitated, and then said: "Yes, Madame."
"Have you any objection to going back there?"
The octoroon looked at her in a startled, suspicious way.
"I hesitate to reply to that, Madame, for reasons! I don't mindtelling you, though, that there is one place in America where I mightbe claimed, if they knew me. I am not anxious to visit that place."
"Naturally! Tomorrow at eleven I will see you, and you can tell me allabout it. If I am to act as your protectress I must know all you cantell me--_all_! It is the only way. I like the mystery and intrigue ofthe whole affair. It promises new sensations. I will help you showthat government that you are willing to help your people. Cometomorrow."
A few days later the Marquise set her new amusement on foot by biddingadieu to a demure, dark eyed, handsome girl, who was garbed mostsedately, and whose letters of introduction pronounced her--oh,sentiment or irony of women--Madame Louise Trouvelot, an attache ofthe Caron establishment, commissioned by the Marquise to inspect thedwellings on the Caron estate in New Orleans, and report as to whetherany one of them would be suitable for a residence should the ownerdesire to visit the city. If none should prove so, Louise Trouvelot,who comprehended entirely the needs of the Marquise, was furthercommissioned to look up such a residence with a view to purchase, andcommunicate with the Marquise and with her American lawyers, who wereto give assistance to Louise Trouvelot in several business matters,especially relating to her quest.