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The Dark Road: Further Adventures of Chéri-Bibi

<h4>CHAPTER XV</h4> <h4>THE HONEYMOON</h4> The moon—Captain and Madame d'Haumont's honeymoon—rose with its soft refulgence over the silver waves at Villefranche, at the extremity of Cape Ferrat, between Nice and Monte Carlo. It was here, in the seclusion of the fragrant gardens of "Thalassa," the splendid villa which M. de la Boulays possessed on the azure coast of the Mediterranean, that they had hidden their great and new-found happiness. Leaning on the beflowered balcony the happy couple listened in silence to the moaning of the sea breaking itself at the foot of the hills which watched over this enchanted bay. The dark mass of two vessels lay heavily asleep on their gleaming bed in the beautiful night. Only the faint splash of two oars causing a light swirl of glistening foam could be heard from the roadstead, and a boat passed so near as to be almost at their feet. "How pleasant it would be to have a row on the sea at this delightful hour," murmured Françoise. She had scarcely given expression to the wish when Didier hailed the fisherman who was rowing the boat and asked him to wait. They made their way down the steps which led to the beach, and the man, having consented by a gesture to take them with him, they were soon gliding over the surface of the waves, which were flowing out to the headland of Cape Ferrat. "Do you often fish at this hour?" questioned Françoise. "I believe I caught sight of you yesterday pulling round the point." The man answered only with a grunt. "Certainly our sailor is no gossip," said Françoise in a whisper to Didier. They did not again speak to him. They even completely forgot his existence. Didier's arm gently stole round Françoise's waist. Her head lay on his shoulder. A soft and scented breeze was wafted from the gardens at Saint Jean and the terraces at Beaulieu. Their lips met in the glad night as though they were alone. The uncouth fisherman, a few feet away from them, was deemed as of no importance. Moreover he looked half asleep as he bent over his oars, drowsing in the huge muffler which covered his face. But the man was not slumbering, and in the innermost recesses of his mind he thought: "Love each other. Rejoice like children who are free from care while Chéri-Bibi keeps watch. Let nothing disturb the happiness which you have wrested from fate. I, too, have known those divine moments. I, too, have known what it is to be kissed by a beloved wife. I, too, have felt a beautiful form yield in my arms. I, too, have heard a lover's sighs. Alas, there is an end to all things! Make haste! The most delightful nights are not far distant from the blackest chaos. The abyss lies under your feet. Forget it! Forget it. Nut, as long as you can! I have come from a great distance to remove from your path the cowardly forms clinging to your shadow who are lying in wait for you as for a quarry. Pray to your God in whom you believe, because your cup of happiness is full, that I may save you from evil before even you suspect its presence. Alas, nothing comes more swiftly in the world than misfortune. You are right to forget it lest your fondest kisses be fraught with bitter tears." Thus Chéri-Bibi's thoughts flowed on in the lyrical and affected style which was usual with him when the occasion did not call upon him to express himself in the most frightful slang. Those who have known as he knew, both sides of life as a result of complications which they have not sought, and which have sent them astray from their early path, find themselves again with a suddenness which cannot surprise them, either with a heart full of the joys of former times, or else wearing a hideous mask under which Fatality endeavors to suppress their former selves without entirely succeeding. Chéri-Bibi half saw what was passing in the Nut's elated mind. He was at that moment entirely transported with gratitude to Providence, the Giver of life and death, who had imposed on him such sore trials and made such splendid amends. This secret pæan to the mighty spirit of goodness rose all the higher, inasmuch as the Nut could consider himself henceforward safe from a recurrence of his evil fortune. As far as the world was concerned the Nut was dead, Chéri-Bibi thought. The newspapers, some months before, had published the glad news: "The tragedy of the murder of a well-known banker by Raoul de Saint Dalmas," it was reported, "is now doubtless forgotten by the public. It may be stated that the prisoner succeeded in escaping from the convict settlement, but the Penitentiary Authorities have been able to satisfy themselves beyond any doubt that the miscreant perished in the primeval forest like so many other convicts who have attempted the same venture." No endeavor would be made to search further for him, and since he had learned from the same source, on his arrival in Europe, that the men who in Cayenne were called the Burglar, the Parisian, the Caid and the Joker had been recaptured, together with the notorious Chéri-Bibi, he had every reason to believe that the past contained no menace for him. He was confident, moreover, that he owed his perfect security to Chéri-Bibi, and at those moments when his thoughts reverted to him, he vowed an even deeper gratitude to him. "Be happy, Nut! You will learn all too soon, if you are to learn it, that your old companions in bondage escaped once again after four years of imprisonment, showing greater cunning this time, for they managed to return to France, and were present at your wedding. Oh, if you had known it! How you would have invoked in your prayers the demon of darkness who alone can save you, and whom, in the natural selfishness of your happiness, you no longer wished even to remember." * * * * * Françoise loved adornment and admiration, and Didier was delighted, for he thought, with some reason, that a woman without elegance and style was a woman without charm. During the early months of the war, Mlle. de la Boulays restricted herself with a veritable enthusiasm to the greatest simplicity in dress. But, in truth, could she claim that she was devoted to her Red Cross costume solely because it served to remind her of her duties to humanity? Did she entirely ignore the fact that it suited her to perfection? Her engagement, and then her marriage, which was a society event, afforded her more than a sufficient reason for returning to her former tastes, so that she found herself once more devoting herself to matters of toilet and dress. The fact, moreover, in no way detracted from her more solid qualities. Captain d'Haumont was delighted to accompany his wife when she went shopping or visited her dressmaker. And when they were in Nice, after sauntering through the Promenade des Anglais, he never failed to bring her back to the verdant avenue where behind the great shop-fronts bloomed the latest fashions. On that day they went to Violette's to see a certain dress in white voile embroidered with pearls upon which Françoise had been casting longing eyes. The elder of the sisters, Violette, had just returned from their principal branch in Paris, bringing with her every kind of fashionable wonder. Françoise had not visited Violette's during the war. But she knew the two sisters well, and she was quite surprised to see the elder one put out her hand to Didier with a pleasant smile. So Didier also knew her! So Didier used to visit the millinery shops before his marriage! With a charming pout, lifting in mock-seriousness a threatening finger, she remarked upon the fact. "Don't scold us, Madame," said the elder Mlle. Violette with a smile. "It's a great secret between Captain d'Haumont and me. But as it's the secret of a good action, you must not ask me to tell you about it." "I insist on knowing what it is," said Françoise gaily. "A husband ought not to have any secrets from his wife." "After all, you're quite right, Madame, and well . . . the secret is . . ." At that juncture a girl appeared from the other end of the shop. She was wearing an exquisite dress which Françoise at once gazed upon enraptured. She did not even bestow a glance at the face of the wearer. A mannequin in the flesh means little more to the customers than a mannequin in dummy. Nevertheless she was obliged to take stock of that handsome face with its refined and aristocratic outline, for the girl, catching sight of Captain d'Haumont, uttered a cry of joy, and blushing with pleasure went quickly up to him with outstretched hand. And then, doubtless feeling that her gesture was indiscreet, she stopped short and murmured, almost stammering: "Oh, Captain d'Haumont! . . . How is it you're here?" "What about you?" returned d'Haumont. "Have you been in Nice long?" "I brought her with me from Paris yesterday," interposed Mlle. Violette. "We needed a few mannequins, and I took her away from the cash desk so as to have her taught a new business here. She does all that we want. We are very pleased with our favorite, Captain d'Haumont." "My dear," said Captain d'Haumont, turning to his wife, who did not know what to say or what to think, and who remained standing somewhat nonplussed by the mystery, "I want you to be very nice to Mlle. Giselle who is quite worthy of it. It's a story which I will tell you later." "A very pathetic story, Madame," interposed Mlle. Violette, "and one that redounds to your husband's credit." Giselle bowed gracefully to Madame d'Haumont. "I will try to deserve your kindness, Madame and Monsieur," she said with great simplicity. "When my mother and I heard of Captain d'Haumont's marriage we both of us prayed for your happiness." "She is delightful, this child," said Françoise, as she shook her warmly by the hand. "And how pretty she is!" Then, turning to her husband with an adorable pout: "I don't know what you did to make them so grateful to you, but you know how to choose the people to whom to do good turns, my dear Didier." When they left the shop Françoise, who was agog with the greatest curiosity, asked him what it all meant. "Be quick, tell me. You know that I am jealous, you brigand." D'Haumont was much amused by her impatience. He assumed an air of detachment. "My dear, it's a secret which belongs to that young girl," he said. "I really don't know if I can——" "Oh, you're making game of me! That's not the old Didier. Think of the confidence that I have in you. We go into a shop and the first mannequin that we see throws herself into your arms and I don't scratch her eyes out." "That would have been a pity, for they are very nice eyes," said Didier. "Yes, she has extremely nice blue eyes and an expression of gentle sadness which haunts one, it's true. Oh, you're an excellent judge. I congratulate you! All the same, you must admit that I am a good sort. Do I know what you did before our marriage?" "Françoise!" rapped out Didier in a muffled voice. The word was uttered in such a tone of reproach that Françoise stopped teasing him. She saw that he was very pale and painfully upset. "Good gracious, I didn't know that I should be hurting your feelings like that." He took her hand and pressed it gently. "My dearest," he said, "I will tell you all about her, but never forget that since the day that I first saw you, there's never been any other woman in the world for me but you." "I believe you, my Didier." Nothing more was said while they remained among the fashionably dressed crowd which assembles between eleven o'clock and midday on the Promenade de la Baie des Anges. But as soon as they were alone on the terrace, which was usually deserted at that time, and which, skirting the Château, leads to the harbor, Didier told Françoise what he knew of Giselle and how he came to know her. The incident occurred on an occasion when he was home on leave. He was "pulling himself together" from the fatigues of the front in a small flat which he had taken on his arrival in Paris. It was in the Luxembourg quarter, facing the gardens, of which he was very fond, and which served to remind him of the happiest days of his boyhood. One day as he left his flat he was arrested by a most mournful procession which was descending from the attic above. Some poor devil was being taken to his last resting place. A young girl was walking behind the coffin. She was in tears, and was so weak that obviously she had the greatest difficulty to hold herself upright. She was alone or almost alone. Didier offered her his assistance. She clung to his arm in her distress with an ingenuous confidence that deeply touched him. He took her thus to the cemetery, and brought her back home again. It was not until they were in the house that she seemed to notice the assistance which a stranger had rendered her. "Oh, monsieur, it's very good of you," she said, and as they were now indoors she made her escape and went upstairs to her attic. Captain d'Haumont questioned the porter's wife. He learned that Giselle's father had suffered from an illness—consumption—which was practically incurable. Thus he had not been able to work for two years, and her mother was crippled, so that the young girl could only maintain her unhappy family by the most grinding toil. Scarcely being able to leave them, she was forced to wear herself out with needlework at home, and earned barely enough to keep the wolf from the door. D'Haumont knew the elder of the Violette sisters, for one of her nephews, a second lieutenant, had served under him; and amid the dangers of the campaign they had struck up a friendship. He called upon this worthy lady and asked her if she could find a situation for an honest girl who would be worthy of her trust. Mlle. Violette, as it happened, had a vacancy for a cashier. And that was how Giselle came to enter one of the principal dressmaking establishments in Paris, and her mother and herself to be extricated from poverty. In the course of a year, assisted by her youth, Giselle won back her health. In a word, she blossomed forth into the beautiful young girl whom Françoise had just seen. Mlle. Violette, realizing how graceful she was, sometimes took her away from the cash desk and dressed her as her most valuable mannequin, for she set off to advantage their most sensational "confections." "And now, my dear Françoise, you know as much as I do about Giselle." "You always will be the best of men," returned Françoise, affectionately pressing his arm. "Men are only as good as that in popular novels and plays," she added with an arch smile. "You are laughing at me," said the Nut in a tone of surprise, slightly vexed. But she grew entirely serious again. "I adore you, my Didier." They retraced their steps, for it was now lunch time. As they turned round they almost ran into a singular-looking person, with a copper-colored skin, and eyes devoid of eyebrows but protected from the glare of the sun by large yellow glasses. This peculiar individual was dressed entirely in white linen; and he wore white shoes and a gray bowler hat. Didier could not help giving a start when his eyes fell upon him. "How very much like Yoyo he is!" he said to himself. But the idea no sooner flashed upon him than he realized how ridiculous and unpardonable it was to let his thoughts wander back to the men and things of the primeval forest while walking on the Promenade des Anglais. "Did you notice that man?" asked Françoise, laughing. "There's an eccentric for you! Do you know who he is? From what I hear, he is a genuine redskin, a celebrated surgeon-dentist from Chicago who has just opened a consulting-room in Nice. How would you like to have a redskin as your dentist? Personally, I should be afraid of his sending me to sleep and then scalping me. Madame d'Erlande told me, the other day, that the women here are crazy about him, and that he has already secured the smartest people in the foreign colony as his patients." Captain d'Haumont smiled and turned round to have another look at him. The man was still walking some twenty paces behind them, smoking a cigarette. A few days later a charitable fête was held in Cimiez, in the beautiful gardens of the Château de Valrose, standing on the hills which tower above Nice. Madame d'Erlande was one of the chief organizers of the fête, and she invited Françoise, whom she had known since she was a little girl, and for whom she had always shown a great affection, to take charge of a stall. Françoise could not well refuse. Didier went with her. He allowed her to sell his choicest tobacco with all the reckless and charming freedom which the holder of a tobacco stall is expected to show in an affair of the sort. He wandered among the clumps of trees, strolled through the sham Roman ruins, and drew near and entered the Château de Valrose almost at the same time as the redskin, who was surrounded by a regular "court" of smart women. He knew the man's name now, for it was to be heard on every hand. He called himself Herbert Ross. They went into the theater at the same time. The surgeon-dentist from Chicago took a seat in front of him, next to a woman whose appearance seemed to be familiar to him. She chattered incessantly to the redskin and did her utmost to arouse his interest. But with his usual unruffled calm he replied to her only in monosyllables. That was his method. Moreover, it was stated that he could only speak a black man's broken lingo. At that juncture a celebrated Russian diva sang Gluck's "Alceste." She secured a great triumph, and was followed by sundry instrumental pieces on the piano, harp and violin. Finally it was announced that the celebrated Nina Noha would appear in her character dances. Didier gave a start when he heard her name. He had often seen mention of her in the newspapers since his return to France. He was fully aware that the dancer, was still much courted, or at least that the fascination which the great public in Paris found in her who used to be Raoul de Saint Dalmas's mistress had in no sense diminished. The war had made no difference to her. On the one hand were those who fought, and on the other those who idled away their time. Nevertheless it struck him that Nina Noha must have changed in the course of fifteen years. If he had been bent on it, he could have seen for himself. It would have been easy for him to have found an opportunity. But he did not seek her out—far from it. In spite of the image which was reflected in his mirror, and showed him a Didier who in no way resembled the old Raoul, he could not help shuddering with a peculiar dread at the thought of finding himself confronted by a countenance which used to be so familiar to him. Suppose she recognized him! Repeat to himself that the thing was impossible as he might, he had none the less procured some tortoiseshell-rimmed dark glasses in order to take refuge behind those glasses should any sudden encounter place him in an embarrassing position. Nina Noha! She was the origin of all his misery. What follies he had committed for the woman whom he now held in horror! She came on to the stage. What a marvel she was! She had not changed in the least. She still possessed her fatal beauty. Her eyes, her great dark, blazing eyes still held their disturbing fire. Her movements were still as lithe, as voluptuous, as before. She was still as young as ever. Nina Noha danced in a Parisian robe which revealed her figure more completely than if she had worn a Corinthian tunic. What were Didier's real feelings as he gazed at that apparition? Did they betoken the death of his former passion for her? Was he mourning over himself? Did he see in her the hated cause of all his woes? He clapped his hands like everybody else, hardly knowing what he was doing. Five minutes later, at the sound of a voice which, likewise had undergone no change, he came to himself from his musings. "Well, doctor, are you satisfied?" The woman who had sat in front of him and whose back alone he had seen while she chattered to the "doctor," was no other than Nina Noha. Didier instinctively put on his dark glasses. She had come back to her seat. She had danced solely to please the redskin. At least he gathered as much from her talk which he could not but overhear. But the Captain was no longer listening to her voice. He was staring at her. He was staring at the nape of her neck, the sight of which at one time distracted him. Even now he could not remove his eyes from it, but it was not the living flesh that held him, it was not the perfumed neck which he was wont to cover with kisses that he now gazed upon. His eyes were fixed on the necklace fastened round her neck. Lord above, he had known a necklace with pearls like that! It was a long time ago . . . a very long time ago. It was more than fifteen years ago. Yes, he had held in his hand gems which were so like them that they might easily be mistaken for those which were round Nina's neck. He had held pearls in his hand like them on the day when the banker had passed to him, so that he might judge their brilliance, the necklace which once belonged to the Queen of Carynthia. Oh, how he longed to count the number of pearls in it! That particular necklace—the fact had been repeated often enough during the trial for the Nut to remember it—contained sixty pearls. Such was the necklace which, if the Public Prosecutor was to be believed, Raoul de Saint Dalmas had stolen, and to obtain which he had not scrupled to murder his employer! It was enough to strike any man to the very heart suddenly to see before his eyes, after fifteen years, a necklace like it . . . exactly like it . . . for after all, suppose it were one and the same? "I am wandering in my mind," he thought, Nina Noha! A pearl necklace! Raynaud's murder! . . . All these things were whirling in Didier's poor brain. "It's not surprising that I cannot see a necklace without thinking of the other one," he thought to himself. "But the other one contained a certain pearl, a pearl with a flaw in it, a pearl which had lost its luster. M. Raynaud pointed it out to me. True, I myself remember the particular pearl. It was not perfectly round either. True, I see it in my mind's eye still. . . . But here I cannot see it at all! "Am I going mad? Haven't I yet done staring at that necklace, trying to count how many pearls there are in it? Why do I not at once cry aloud to the people in this theater: 'Cannot you recognize me? I am Raoul de Saint Dalmas. I was condemned to death for the murder of the owner of that necklace. I insist on this woman telling me where she got it from.'" He was afraid of himself. He left the theater. By a curious coincidence Nina Noha came out after him. She was no longer with the redskin but was attended by a showily dressed "gentleman" who, however, left her almost at once, and to whom she said: "See you this evening, my dear de Saynthine. . . ." At that moment Didier encountered his wife's friend, Madame d'Erlande, who likewise was leaving the theatre, and she stopped to speak to him. She was a vivacious and sprightly, and somewhat mature woman, who wore a smile from which youth had fled. She was not devoid of wit, nor of love of mischief, nor, in particular, of malice. She liked to tease the enamored. She had assisted at Françoise's wedding with immense enjoyment; and she never failed to say, when she caught her giving her husband an adoring look: "Make the most of it, my dear. Make the most of it. One can never tell how long it will last with those gentlemen." She was reputed, moreover, to have had not a little experience in love affairs, and malicious tongues declared that in her time she had rarely allowed to slip from her the opportunity of putting to test the constancy of man. "Well," she said to Didier, "what do you think of our little fête? I noticed just now that you were by no means boring yourself. You were taking an enormous pleasure in watching Nina Noha dance." "Upon my word," returned Didier, forcing himself to reply by a resolute effort of will so as to appear natural, for, at the mention of her name, Nina Noha turned her head and was eyeing him with considerable interest, "upon my word, she certainly dances extremely well." "She is undoubtedly one of our most beautiful actresses. Ah, you brigand, she was in front of you. I was watching you. You never took your eyes from her. But I shall tell Françoise the whole story. I must put the little innocent on her guard." Nina Noha passed them with an air of supreme unconcern. Well, Madame d'Erlande could let her tongue run on as she pleased. Nina Noha had not recognized him. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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