The Transgression of Andrew Vane: A Novel

  CHAPTER III.

  THE GIRL IN RED.

  The saddling-bell was whirring for the third race as Andrew andRadwalader slipped in at the main entrance of Auteuil, and made theirway rapidly through the throng behind the _tribunes_, in the directionof the betting-booths beyond.

  "We'll just have time to place our bets," said Radwalader, as he scannedthe bulletins. "Numbers two, five, six, and eleven are out. Scratch themoff your programme and we'll take our pick of the rest."

  "You'll have to advise me," answered Andrew. "One couldn't very well bemore ignorant of the horses than I am."

  "I never give advice," said Radwalader, with an air of seriousness. "Iused to, long ago. I went about vaccinating my friends, as it were, withcounsel, but none of it ever took, or was taken--whichever way youchoose to put it--so I gave it up. Besides, a French race-horse is likethe girl one elects to marry. The choice is purely a matter of luck, andthere's no depending upon the record of previous performances. I'vealways thought that if _I_ had to choose a wife, I'd prefer to do it inthe course of a game of blind-man's buff. The one I caught I'd keep.Then the choice would at least be unprejudiced. Shut your eyes, my dearVane, and stick your pencil-point through your programme. Then open themand bet on the horse nearest the puncture." And he went through thislittle performance himself with the utmost solemnity. "It's Vivandiere,"he added. "I shall stake a louis on Vivandiere."

  "And I, for originality's sake, shall choose Mathias, with my eyesopen," said Andrew, laughing, as they took their places in line beforethe booth.

  "Well, you couldn't do better," observed his companion. "He's a willinglittle beast, and not unlikely to romp home in the lead. I'd bet on himmyself, except that I'm so damnably unlucky that it really wouldn't befair to you, Vane. I never back a horse but what he falls. I had tenlouis up, last Sunday, on a steeplechase, and the water-jump was so fullof the horses I'd chosen that, upon my soul, you couldn't see the water!It was for all the world like the sunken road at Waterloo after thecharge of the _cuirassiers_."

  When they had purchased their tickets, Radwalader led the way to thefront of the _tribunes_, and, mounting upon the bench along the rail,turned his back upon the course, and began to survey the throng in thetiers of seats above.

  "This is my favourite way of introducing a newcomer to Paris," he saidpresently. "She never appears to better advantage than when she istogged out in her Sunday-go-to-race-meeting-best."

  With his stick he began to point out people here and there, until, froma narrow gateway to their right, the horses filed out upon the track,and they turned, resting their elbows on the railing, to watch them goby.

  "That's Vivandiere," said Radwalader. "Poor animal! She runs the bestpossible chance of breaking her neck. If the jockey so much as suspectedthat I'd her number in my pocket, he'd probably have taken out a policyon his life. There's Mathias--the little chestnut. He looks in rattlinggood form. I suspect you haven't thrown away that louis."

  "It wouldn't be a very ruinous loss, in any event," said Andrew.

  Radwalader was choosing a cigarette from his case.

  "I wonder," he answered, rolling it between his fingers, "if you'd mindmy asking you if you mean that? To some people it would be aconsideration; to others, none whatever. It isn't conventional, or evengood form, to pry into a man's finances, but we shall probably be goingabout together, more or less, during your stay, and in such a case Ialways like to know how a man stands in regard to expenses. I don't wantto embarrass you by proposing things you don't feel you can afford,still less to be a clog upon you when you wish to go beyond my means."

  He looked up, smiling frankly.

  "Don't misunderstand me," he added. "It's not in the least an idlecuriosity. I'm an old friend of Mrs. Carnby's, and it would be a greatpleasure to do anything to make your visit a success. But, if you'lltrust me, I'd be glad to know how you propose to live. You don't thinkme impertinent?"

  "Not in the least," said Andrew. "I understand perfectly. It's a verysensible point of view. And I'll say candidly that my grandfather, Mr.Sterling, has been very generous; so that, unless I'm totally reckless,there's no reason why I shouldn't have the best of everything." Hepaused for a moment, and then added: "My letter of credit is for thirtythousand francs."

  "Thank you," said Radwalader. "It makes things easier. I'd forgotten forthe moment your relationship to Mr. Sterling, or I shouldn't have neededto take the liberty of speaking as I did. I met him once in Boston, Ithink. Isn't he called the 'Copper Czar'?"

  "I believe he is," replied Andrew. "But there's not much in nicknames,you know."

  "No, of course not," agreed his companion. "There goes the bell. Foronce, it's a fair start."

  Far away, beyond the thickly-peopled stretch of the _pelouse_, a groupof gaily-coloured dots went rocking rapidly to the left, vanished for aninstant at the turn, and then flashed into view again in the form ofjockeys standing stiffly in their stirrups, as the horses swept down thetransverse stretch. People were shouting all about them, and in Andrew'sunaccustomed ears the blood surged and hammered madly. He was at the agewhen there is nothing more inspiring than such a play of life andaction, under the open sky and over the close-cropped turf. The rippleof lithe muscles along the sleek flanks of the horses; the set,smooth-shaven faces of the rigid jockeys; the gleam of sunlight andcolour; and the deep, crescendo voice of the multitude, swelling tothunder as the racers flew past--all these set his pulses tingling,until he, too, cried out impulsively in his excitement. It was his firsthorse-race, and his first glimpse of Paris into the bargain. There ismore than enough in the combination to set young blood aglow.

  "_Houp! Houp! Houp!_" With sharp, staccato cries of encouragement, thejockeys were raising their mounts at the water-jump, over which theysailed gallantly, one after another, like great brown birds, until thevery last. There was a lisp of grazed twigs, a long "A-ah!" from_pelouse_ and _pesage_ alike, a dull splash which sent the spray flyinghigh in silver beads and then a jockey in a crimson blouse rolledheavily forward on the turf, arose, stamped his foot, and sworeprofusely in picturesque cockney at his mare, who had regained her feetand, with dangling rein and saddle all askew, stood looking back athim, as if uncertain whether to stop and inquire after his injuries orgo on alone. Abruptly deciding upon the latter as the wiser course, sheset off at a leisurely gallop, to the accompaniment of shrill, sarcasticcomments from the crowd, and an additional exposition of the jockey'sastonishing wealth of vocabulary.

  "_Voila!_" sighed Radwalader. "That was Vivandiere! What did I tell you?It's absolutely inhuman of me to bet on a horse. And look at Mathias!He's twenty metres ahead of the rest, and going better every minute.You've hit it this time, Vane. There's one comfort. You'll win back mylouis, at all events. It's something to know that the money's not goingout of the family."

  The crowd was already shouting "_Mathias! C'est Mathias qui gagne!_" asAndrew bent forward to see the horses wheel again into the transversecut. Mathias was far in the lead, and seemed to gain yet more at thehurdle. The race was practically over, a thousand yards from the finish,and, as Mathias flashed past the post, a winner by twenty lengths, andVivandiere came ambling complacently in, at the end of the procession,with the stirrups bouncing grotesquely up and down, Radwalader replacedhis field-glass with a deep sigh of resignation, and the two men wentback toward the bulletins to see the posting of the payments.

  It appeared, when the figures snapped into place, that Mathias returnedone hundred and ten francs, which meant a clear gain of ten louis.Andrew had "hit it" in good earnest.

  "I think I shall adopt horse-racing as my profession," he laughed, asthey cashed the ticket at the _caisse_. "Let's see: forty dollars arace, six races a day, seven days to theweek--two-forty--twenty-eight--fourteen--sixteen--sixteen hundred andeighty dollars a week. By Jove! That's not bad, by way of a start!"

  "The start's the easiest part of it," observed Radwalader. "EvenVivandiere can manage that. It's the finish that counts, and the finishof horse-raci
ng is commonly the penitentiary. It's the only professionwhere the hard labor comes at the end instead of at the beginning."

  "I think I'll hang on to what I've won, then," answered Andrew. "Ifyou've nothing better to do, perhaps you'll help me to spend part of iton a dinner to-night. You know all the best places. And now, if youdon't mind, I'd like to walk about a bit, and see the people."

  "I accept both proposals with pleasure," said his companion. "We mightdine at the Tour d'Argent, if you like. I haven't had one of Frederic'sducks in a little eternity."

  Back of the _tribunes_ the crowd was greater now than it had been at thetime of their arrival. There was the usual gay commingling of elaboratespring _toilettes_, brilliant parasols, white waistcoats, gloves, andgaiters, and red and blue uniforms; and, all about them, a babble ofbrilliant nothings. It was, as Radwalader had said, Paris at her best.He resumed his comments, which had been interrupted by the race,punctuating each sentence with a nod, or a few words, in French orEnglish, to passing acquaintances, and flicking the gravel with thepoint of his stick.

  "I envy you your first impressions, my dear Vane. It's an old story withme, all this, but I remember quite distinctly my first day on a Frenchracecourse. It seemed to me the most wonderful spot on earth. I'd alwayslived in Philadelphia, and from Philadelphia to Paris is something inthe nature of a resurrection. For the first time in my life, I sawpeople in possession of something to live _for_, instead of merelysomething to live _on_. There wasn't so much as a wrinkle of anxiety insight. Then and there, I adopted Paris as my permanent abode. You knowthis town is a kind of metaphorical fly-paper. When once one hassettled, one stops buzzing and banging one's head against thewindow-screens of circumstance."

  "And flops over, and dies?" asked Andrew. "It seems to me that's theunpleasant part about fly-paper."

  "I'm not sure of that," said Radwalader. "I'd have to have the fly'sword for it. All of us must die in one manner or another, and perhapsbeing suffocated by a surfeit of sugar and molasses is not the mostdisagreeable way. However, you are only going to browse along theedges."

  "There are some stunning women here," said Andrew.

  "That's singularly _a propos_," replied Radwalader. "Are there any inparticular whom you'd like to meet? I know about all of them."

  "Oh, do you?" said Andrew. "I hadn't noticed you bow."

  For a fraction of a second Radwalader glanced at his companion's face.Then--

  "Hadn't you?" he said, with a short laugh. "I'm afraid your eyes havebeen too busy with the women themselves to take note of my salutations."

  The next moment he doffed his hat ceremoniously to a little black-eyedcreature with a superb triple string of pearls hanging almost to thewaist of her black lace gown.

  "That's Suzanne Derval," he explained, as they passed. "She's one of thebrightest women in Paris."

  "And alone?" said Andrew.

  "Her escort," answered Radwalader, with an almost imperceptible pausebetween the words, "is probably placing his bet. As I said before, ifthere's any one you want to meet--"

  "Well, there is," replied Andrew, colouring a little. "We passed a girlin red back there a bit. It's possible you know her. I'm afraid youthink me a good deal of a boy."

  "I'm afraid you think a good deal of a girl," laughed Radwalader. "No,my dear chap. Or, rather, if your desire is an evidence of extremeyouth, then the majority of men are fit subjects for a _creche_. Comealong, and we'll try to track your scarlet siren."

  "We'll not have much difficulty," said Andrew, as they turned. "Thereshe is now. Do you see? By the tree--in red."

  "Oh," answered Radwalader, "oh, yes. That's Mirabelle Tremonceau. Your'red' is _cerise_, as a matter of fact, but that's as near as theaverage man comes to the colour of a woman's gown."

  "I can't imagine one spending much time in learning such things."

  "Anywhere but in Paris, perhaps not. Here the knowledge is vital. It'spart of one's education--like being able to distinguish a Louis Quatorzechair from a Louis Quinze, or a Fragonard from a Boucher ten feet away.If you want to meet Mademoiselle Tremonceau, I'll be very glad topresent you."

  "I might wait here while you ask her," suggested Andrew.

  "Eh?" said Radwalader. "Oh, yes--by all means."

  The girl was talking with an officer of _chasseurs_, on the turf, ashort distance away. She was tall and slender, very pale, withmagnificent violet eyes and golden-bronze hair. From the gauze_aigrettes_ on her hat to the tips of her patent-leather shoes, hercostume was absolutely flawless. Her gown, of cherry-coloured _crepe deChine, paillete_ with silver, breathed from its every fold thetalismanic word "Paquin," and the Lalique ornament of emeralds and ruddygold which swung at her throat by a slender chain said as plainly"Charlier." There was not a dot missing from her veil, not thesuggestion of a wrinkle in her white gloves, and not a displeasing notein the harmony of the whole.

  "There's nothing wrong about the boy's judgment," was Radwalader'smental comment. "He's picked out the prettiest and best gowned woman inParis. And it couldn't be better," he added, with an odd little smile.

  Mademoiselle Tremonceau greeted him with a nod, a gloved hand, and a"_Comment vas-tu?_"

  "_B'en, pas mal, merci_," answered Radwalader. With his left hand hecaressed his chin reflectively, and, as if this had been a signal--whichindeed it was--the girl turned to the young _chasseur_, who was staringat the intruder out of round, resentful eyes, and dismissed him with ahint.

  "You've had fifteen minutes of my time, _mon cher_."

  Then, as he retired, discomfited, she faced Radwalader again, and seemedto search his face for the answer to some unspoken question.

  "I want to present one of my friends," he said, as if replying. "Mr.Andrew Vane--an American who has been in Paris three days. We'll have tospeak English. Have I your permission?"

  "You're strangely ceremonious of a sudden," answered MademoiselleTremonceau. "I don't seem to remember your asking permission before."

  "It was his suggestion," observed Radwalader laconically.

  For a moment the girl made no reply. Her questioning look had observablybecome more keen, and with one finger she picked at the turquoise matrixin the handle of her parasol.

  "Well?" she said finally.

  "_Galetteux_," said Radwalader. "Go softly, my friend."

  Mademoiselle Tremonceau bowed with ineffable dignity.

  "You have my gracious permission to present him," she said.

  Whistling softly, as was his habit when pleased, the air of "_Au Clairde la Lune_," Radwalader observed their meeting from the corners of hiseyes, and was struck, as Mrs. Carnby had been, by Andrew's perfectrepose. They spoke in English, of trivialities--Paris, the weather, thecrowd, and the victory of Mathias--and, as the saddling-bell rang forthe fifth race, all walked out together to the trackside. HereRadwalader left them, to place his bet, and Andrew found two littlewooden chairs on which they seated themselves to await his return.

  "You and Mr. Radwalader are old friends?" asked the girl.

  "On the contrary," said Andrew, "we met for the first time only thismorning."

  "Oh! And what do you think of him?"

  "I find him very agreeable," said Andrew; "a little cynical, perhaps,but clever--and cleverness, to twist an English saying, covers amultitude of sins."

  "Yes, he's clever," answered Mademoiselle Tremonceau. "There are thehorses. Are you coming to tea?" she added, after a silence, asRadwalader rejoined them.

  Radwalader turned to Andrew.

  "The poet says that opportunity has no back hair," he observed. "I thinkwe might grasp at this forelock, don't you?"

  "Since Mademoiselle Tremonceau is so kind, I should say, by all means."

  They watched the race in silence, and then:

  "I can find room for you both in the victoria," suggested the girl.

  "Better yet!" said Radwalader with alacrity, "provided Vane takes the_strapontin_. The only place where I feel my age is in my knees. Sinceyou've never occupied Mademoiselle T
remonceau's _strapontin_, my dearVane, you can have no idea of the physical discomfort attendant uponbeing a little lower than an angel. Think of my having won--even a_place_! Shall we go now? I abhor the crush at the end. Give me a minuteto cash my ticket, and then we'll look up the carriage."

  "Do you speak French?" said Mademoiselle Tremonceau to Andrew, asRadwalader strolled off in the direction of the _caisse_.

  "I seem to be able to say what I want when the occasion arises," heanswered, "but I much prefer English. I am trying to adjust myself tonew conditions, and I need all my energy for the task, withoutundertaking a strange language at the same time. You can have no ideahow one's first visit to Paris sends preconceived notions tumbling aboutone's ears. So far, the Eiffel Tower is the only thing which looked as Iexpected it would. There's a surprise at every turn."

  "For example?"

  "Well, for example, French women. Even so far as my own town of Bostonwe know you're beautiful, and beautifully gowned, although nothing shortof personal experience can teach one to what an extent. But I've alwaysbeen brought up to believe that you were so hemmed in byconventionality, so strictly watched, that a chap wasn't allowed so muchas to say 'Good-morning' to one of you, so long as you were unmarried,at least, except under the eyes of mothers and fathers and guardians.But it seems that it's not so at all."

  As he spoke, Mademoiselle Tremonceau's lips parted in a little smile,and as he paused, she slipped in an apparently irrelevant question.

  "Are you married, Mr. Vane?"

  "Good gracious, no!" said Andrew. "I suppose I may as well confess thatI'm only twenty."

  Mademoiselle Tremonceau looked off across the track to where, in theinterval preceding the next race, the restless thousands circled to andfro about the betting-booths of the _pelouse_, in the manner of amultitude of ants preparing to carry off a bulky bit of carrion. Thenshe drew her veil tight, with a charmingly feminine little _moue_ whichshortened her upper lip, tilted her chin, and set her eyelidsfluttering.

  "Twenty?" she echoed. "My age precisely. _Tiens! C'est pluto drolatiqueca!_ Here's Mr. Radwalader, at last. Did you get your payment? Onlytwenty-two fifty? Well, that is your other louis back, at all events.Don't you want to run along after the carriage, as long as you know how?Mr. Vane will attend to me, I'm sure, and we'll meet you at the right ofthe main entrance. Here's the carriage number. Simon is the _brigadier_in charge to-day. Tell him it's for me, and you won't have to wait."

  Radwalader undertook this commission with cheerfulness, although thepace at which he started toward the gate was distinctly incompatiblewith even the most liberal conception of "running along." Evidently hewas not unique in his abhorrence of the crush at the end. Many werealready making their way from the _pesage_, and the crowd behind the_tribunes_ was densest about the _sorties_. Andrew and MademoiselleTremonceau followed him, five minutes later.

  "I wonder if you mind my taking your arm?" asked the girl. "I'm always alittle nervous, going out."

  "With pleasure," said Andrew, adding, as her glove touched his sleeve,"I was going to suggest it, but I don't know French etiquette as yet,and I was afraid I might be presuming."

  He was unconscious that, as they passed through the throng, many headswere turned, among them that of the young officer of _chasseurs_, whodrew the end of his mustache between his lips, and gnawed it savagely. Aperfectly appointed victoria, drawn up at the edge of the driveway, wasawaiting them, with Radwalader standing at the step.

  It was close upon seven o'clock when the two men emerged fromMademoiselle Tremonceau's apartments on the Avenue Henri Martin, and,hailing a passing cab, set off for the Tour d'Argent. Radwalader evincedno desire to talk, as they bowled across to and then down the ChampsElysees, and Andrew was conscious of being grateful for the silence. Hewanted to think. He did not wholly understand the hour and a half whichhad just gone by. There had been no sign of Mademoiselle Tremonceau'sfamily. Tea was served in a _salon_ crowded with elaborate furniture,and softly illumined by rose-shaded electric globes on bronze_appliques_. Liveried servants came and went noiselessly, throughtapestry curtains, and over an inlaid floor, polished to mirror-likebrilliance, and strewn with mounted skins. The double _marqueterie_tea-table gleamed with a silver samovar and candlesticks, Baccaratglass, and thin, cream-coloured cups and saucers, with a crest inraised gold. Here and there, huge Gloire de Dijon roses leaned sleepilyfrom silver vases, and, on a little stand, a great bunch of wild violetsbreathed summer from a blue Sevres bowl. An indefinable atmosphere ofluxury and languor pervaded the room. From the girl herself came a fainthint of some strangely sweet, but wholly unfamiliar, fragrance, whichAndrew had not noted in the open air. He watched her, fascinated, as herslender white hands, with their blazing jewels, went to and fro amongthe cups and saucers. Her every movement was deliciously andsuggestively feminine, as had been her tightening of her veil, an hourbefore, and exquisitely languid and deliberate, as if the day had been athousand hours long instead of twenty-four. She said but little,Radwalader maintaining a running thread of his half-banter,half-philosophy, with its ingenious double-meanings and contortions ofthe commonplace, whereby, in some fashion of his own, he contrived tosimulate and stimulate conviction.

  Andrew had found, presently, that he was growing sleepy. The abruptchange from the cool air of outer afternoon to the perfume-ladenatmosphere of Mademoiselle Tremonceau's _salon_, the drone ofRadwalader's voice, the soft light, in contrast to the sunshine they hadleft--all contributed to his drowsiness. Once, for nearly a minute, thewhole room melted, as it were, into one golden-gray mist, through whichsilver and glass and fabrics glowed only as harmonious notes of colour,and wherein the face of his hostess seemed to float like a reflection introubled water. Then, as suddenly, every detail of his surroundingsappeared to bulge at him out of the haze, and stood fixed and clear. Foran instant he thought that Radwalader had raised his voice. He seemed tobe speaking very loudly; but, when the first nervous start had passed,Andrew realized that this was his own imagining, and that neither of hiscompanions had noticed his momentary somnolence.

  At the end, he had held Mademoiselle Tremonceau's hand for a secondbeyond the limit of convention. She made no motion to withdraw it, butlooked him frankly in the eyes.

  "We've been neglecting you, haven't we?" she said. "Mr. Radwalader and Iare such old friends, that we're inclined to selfishness, and apt toforget that our talk is not as interesting to others as to ourselves.Perhaps you'll come in to tea on Tuesday, about five, and I'll try toprove myself a more considerate hostess."

  "Thank you," said Andrew. "I shall be very pleased--though I suspect youare undertaking the impossible."

  The _fiacre_ was passing the Rond Point when Radwalader spoke.

  "This is the hour when Paris seems to me supremely to deserve her titleof siren," he said. "In spring and summer, at least, I always try topass it out of doors. There is a fascination for me, that never growsstale, in the coming of twilight, when the street-lamps begin to wink,and the _cafes_ are lighting up. Did you ever feel softer air or see amore tenderly saffron sky? And this constant murmur of passingcarriages, this hum of voices, broken, more often than anywhere else onearth, by laughter--isn't it _life_, as one never understands the wordelsewhere? Isn't it full of suggestion and appeal? I've never been ableto analyze the charm of the Champs Elysees at sunset, more nearly thanto say that it seems to blot out one's remembrance of everything in theworld that is sordid and commonplace, and to bring boldly to the forethe significance of all that is sweet and gay. Can you imagineconsidering the price of stocks or the drift of politics just now? Ican't. I think of flowers, and Burgundy in slender-stemmed glasses, and_tziganes_ playing waltz music, and women with good teeth, laughing. Ismell roses and _trefle_. I see mirrors, and candlesticks with openworkshades, silver over red, and sleek waiters bending down with bottlesswathed in napkins. I hear violins and the swish of silk skirts. I tastecaviar--and I _feel_--that I have underestimated Providence, after all!"

  "There is no Paris but
Paris, and Radwalader is her prophet!" laughedAndrew.

  "That suggests a religion," said the other, "and I suppose, all said anddone, that Paris _is_ my religion. How did you like MirabelleTremonceau?"

  "Even more than I expected."

  "That's well--and very unusual. One almost always expects too much of abeautiful woman. Beauty has this in common with an inheritedfortune--that it's apt to paralyze individual effort. Looking intomirrors and cutting coupons don't leave one much time for anything else.But she's exceptional. You're right in liking her, and what's more,you'll probably like her better and better as time goes on."

  "She asked me if I was married," said Andrew.

  "Did she?" answered Radwalader. "Well--are you?"

  "No, assuredly not."

  "Engaged, perhaps."

  Instead of replying, Andrew glanced curiously at his companion, his lipsset in a thin, straight line. Radwalader met his glance fairly.

  "I beg your pardon, Vane," he said immediately. "That was unwarrantedimpertinence, which you're quite justified in resenting. I'm too proneto trifling, and the remark slipped out thoughtlessly. Pray consider itunsaid."

  "With the best will in the world," said Andrew heartily. "There isnothing more admirable, I always think, than a frank apology."

  In the words there was a faint, curiously suggestive echo of the tone inwhich Radwalader was wont to voice his glittering generalities.