Book: 54 40 or Fight

E >> Emerson Hough >> 54 40 or Fight




We sat silent for some moments, fixedly regarding each other. I have
said that a more beautiful face than hers I had never seen. There sat
upon it now many things--youth, eagerness, ambition, a certain defiance;
but, above all, a pleading pathos! I could not find it in my heart,
eager as I was, to question her further. Apparently she valued this
reticence.

"You condemn me?" she asked at length. "Because I live alone, because
quiet rumor wags a tongue, you will judge me by your own creed and not
by mine?"

I hesitated before I answered, and deliberated. "Madam, I have already
told you that I would not. I say once more that I accredit you with
living up to your own creed, whatever that may have been."

She drew a long breath in turn. "Monsieur, you have done yourself no ill
turn in that."

"It was rumored in diplomatic circles, of course, that you were in touch
with the ministry of England," I ventured. "I myself saw that much."

"Naturally. Of Mexico also! At least, as you saw in our little carriage
race, Mexico was desirous enough to establish some sort of communication
with my humble self!"

"Calhoun was right!" I exclaimed. "He was entirely right, Madam, in
insisting that I should bring you to him that morning, whether or not
you wished to go."

"Whim fits with whim sometimes. `Twas his whim to see me, mine to go."

"I wonder what the Queen of Sheba would have said had Solomon met her
thus!"

She chuckled at the memory. "You see, when you left me at Mr. Calhoun's
door in care of the Grand Vizier James, I wondered somewhat at this
strange country of America. The _entresol_ was dim and the Grand Vizier
was slow with candles. I half fell into the room on the right. There was
Mr. Calhoun bolt upright in his chair, both hands spread out on the
arms. As you promised, he wore a red nightcap and long gown of wool. He
was asleep, and ah! how weary he seemed. Never have I seen a face so sad
as his, asleep. He was gray and thin, his hair was gray and thin, his
eyes were sunken, the veins were corded at his temples, his hands were
transparent. He was, as you promised me, old. Yet when I saw him I did
not smile. He heard me stir as I would have withdrawn, and when he arose
to his feet he was wide-awake. Monsieur, he is a great man; because,
even so clad he made no more apology than you do, showed no more
curiosity; and he welcomed me quite as a gentleman unashamed--as a king,
if you please."

"How did he receive you, Madam?" I asked. "I never knew."

"Why, took my hand in both his, and bowed as though I indeed were queen,
he a king."

"Then you got on well?"

"Truly; for he was wiser than his agent, Monsieur. He found answers by
asking questions."

"Ah, you were kinder to him than to me?"

"Naturally."

"For instance, he asked--"

"What had been my ball gown that night--who was there--how I enjoyed
myself! In a moment we were talking as though we had been friends for
years. The Grand Vizier brought in two mugs of cider, in each a toasted
apple. Monsieur, I have not seen diplomacy such as this. Naturally, I
was helpless."

"Did he perhaps ask how you were induced to come at so impossible a
time? My own vanity, naturally, leads me to ask so much as that."

"No, Mr. Calhoun confined himself to the essentials! Even had he asked
me I could not have replied, because I do not know, save that it was to
me a whim. But at least we talked, over our cider and toasted apples."

"You told him somewhat of yourself?"

"He did not allow me to do that, Monsieur."

"But he told you somewhat of this country?"

"Ah, yes, yes! So then I saw what held him up in his work, what kept him
alive. I saw something I have not often seen--a purpose, a principle, in
a public man. His love for his own land touched even me, how or why I
scarcely know. Yes, we spoke of the poor, the oppressed, of the weary
and the heavy laden."

"Did he ask you what you knew of Mexico and England?"

"Rather what I knew of the poor in Europe. I told him some things I knew
of that hopeless land, that priest-ridden, king-ridden country--my own
land. Then he went on to tell me of America and its hope of a free
democracy of the people. Believe me, I listened to Mr. Calhoun. Never
mind what we said of Mr. Van Zandt and Sir Richard Pakenham. At least,
as you know, I paid off a little score with Sir Richard that next
morning. What was strangest to me was the fact that I forgot Mr.
Calhoun's attire, forgot the strangeness of my errand thither. It was as
though only our minds talked, one with the other. I was sorry when at
last came the Grand Vizier James to take Mr. Calhoun's order for his own
carriage, that brought me home--my second and more peaceful arrival
there that night. The last I saw of Mr. Calhoun was with the Grand
Vizier James putting a cloak about him and leading him by force from his
study to his bed, as I presume. As for me, I slept no more that night.
Monsieur, I admit that I saw the purpose of a great man. Yes; and of a
great country."

"Then I did not fail as messenger, after all! You told Mr. Calhoun what
he desired to know?"

"In part at least. But come now, was I not bound in some sort of honor
to my great and good friend, Sir Richard? Was it not treachery enough to
rebuke him for his attentions to the Dona Lucrezia?"

"But you promised to tell Mr. Calhoun more at a later time?"

"On certain conditions I did," she assented.

"I do not know that I may ask those?"

"You would be surprised if I told you the truth? What I required of Mr.
Calhoun was permission and aid still further to study his extraordinary
country, its extraordinary ways, its extraordinary ignorance of itself.
I have told you that I needed to travel, to study, to observe
mankind--and those governments invented or tolerated by mankind."

"Since then, Madam," I concluded, stepping to assist her with her chair,
as she signified her completion of our repast, "since you do not feel
now inclined to be specific, I feel that I ought to make my adieux, for
the time at least. It grows late. I shall remember this little evening
all my life. I own my defeat. I do not know why you are here, or for
whom."

"At what hotel do you stop?"

"The little place of Jacques Bertillon, a square or so beyond the Place
d'Armes."

"In that case," said she, "believe me, it would be more discreet for you
to remain unseen in Montreal. No matter which flag is mine, I may say
that much for a friend and comrade in the service."

"But what else?"

She looked about her. "Be my guest to-night!" she said suddenly. "There
is danger--"

"For me?" I laughed. "At my hotel? On the streets?"

"No, for me."

"Where?"

"Here."

"And of what, Madam?"

"Of a man; for the first time I am afraid, in spite of all."

I looked at her straight. "Are you not afraid of _me?_" I asked.

She looked at me fairly, her color coming. "With the fear which draws a
woman to a man," she said.

"Whereas, mine is the fear which causes a man to flee from himself!"

"But you will remain for my protection? I should feel safer. Besides, in
that case I should know the answer."

"How do you mean?"

"I should know whether or not you were married!"




CHAPTER XV

WITH MADAM THE BARONESS

It is not for good women that men have fought battles, given their
lives and staked their souls.--_Mrs. W.K. Clifford_.


"But, Madam--" I began.

She answered me in her own way. "Monsieur hesitates--he is lost!" she
said. "But see, I am weary. I have been much engaged to-day. I have made
it my plan never to fatigue myself. It is my hour now for my bath, my
exercise, my bed, if you please. I fear I must bid you good night, one
way or the other. You will be welcome here none the less, if you care to
remain. I trust you did not find our little repast to-night unpleasing?
Believe me, our breakfast shall be as good. Threlka is expert in
omelets, and our coffee is such as perhaps you may not find general in
these provinces."

Was there the slightest mocking sneer in her words? Did she despise me
as a faint-heart? I could not tell, but did not like the thought.

"Believe me, Madam," I answered hotly, "you have courage, at least. Let
me match it. Nor do I deny that this asks courage on my part too. If
you please, in these circumstances, _I shall remain_."

"You are armed?" she asked simply.

I inserted a finger in each waistcoat pocket and showed her the butts of
two derringers; and at the back of my neck--to her smiling amusement at
our heathen fashion--I displayed just the tip of the haft of a short
bowie-knife, which went into a leather case under the collar of my coat.
And again I drew around the belt which I wore so that she could see the
barrel of a good pistol, which had been suspended under cover of the
bell skirt of my coat.

She laughed. I saw that she was not unused to weapons. I should have
guessed her the daughter of a soldier or acquainted with arms in some
way. "Of course," she said, "there might be need of these, although I
think not. And in any case, if trouble can be deferred until to-morrow,
why concern oneself over it? You interest me. I begin yet more to
approve of you."

"Then, as to that breakfast _a la fourchette_ with Madam; if I remain,
will you agree to tell me what is your business here?"

She laughed at me gaily. "I might," she said, "provided that meantime I
had learned whether or not you were married that night."

I do not profess that I read all that was in her face as she stepped
back toward the satin curtains and swept me the most graceful curtsey I
had ever seen in all my life. I felt like reaching out a hand to
restrain her. I felt like following her. She was assuredly bewildering,
assuredly as puzzling as she was fascinating. I only felt that she was
mocking me. Ah, she was a woman!

I felt something swiftly flame within me. There arose about me that net
of amber-hued perfume, soft, enthralling, difficult of evasion.... Then
I recalled my mission; and I remembered what Mr. Calhoun and Doctor Ward
had said. I was not a man; I was a government agent. She was not a
woman; she was my opponent. Yes, but then--

Slowly I turned to the opposite side of this long central room. There
were curtains here also. I drew them, but as I did so I glanced back.
Again, as on that earlier night, I saw her face framed in the amber
folds--a face laughing, mocking. With an exclamation of discontent, I
threw down my heavy pistol on the floor, cast my coat across the foot of
the bed to prevent the delicate covering from being soiled by my boots,
and so rested without further disrobing.

In the opposite apartment I could hear her moving about, humming to
herself some air as unconcernedly as though no such being as myself
existed in the world. I heard her presently accost her servant, who
entered through some passage not visible from the central apartments.
Then without concealment there seemed to go forward the ordinary routine
of madam's toilet for the evening.

"No, I think the pink one," I heard her say, "and please--the bath,
Threlka, just a trifle more warm." She spoke in French, her ancient
serving-woman, as I took it, not understanding the English language.
They both spoke also in a tongue I did not know. I heard the rattling of
toilet articles, certain sighs of content, faint splashings beyond. I
could not escape from all this. Then I imagined that perhaps madam was
having her heavy locks combed by the serving-woman. In spite of myself,
I pictured her thus, even more beautiful than before.

For a long time I concluded that my presence was to be dismissed as a
thing which was of no importance, or which was to be regarded as not
having happened. At length, however, after what seemed at least half an
hour of these mysterious ceremonies, I heard certain sighings, long
breaths, as though madam were taking calisthenic movements, some
gymnastic training--I knew not what. She paused for breath, apparently
very well content with herself.

Shame on me! I fancied perhaps she stood before a mirror. Shame on me
again! I fancied she sat, glowing, beautiful, at the edge of the amber
couch.

At last she called out to me: "Monsieur!"

I was at my own curtains at once, but hers remained tight folded,
although I heard her voice close behind them. "_Eh bien?_" I answered.

"It is nothing, except I would say that if Monsieur feels especially
grave and reverent, he will find a very comfortable _prie-dieu_ at the
foot of the bed."

"I thank you," I replied, gravely as I could.

"And there is a very excellent rosary and crucifix on the table just
beyond!"

"I thank you," I replied, steadily as I could.

"And there is an English Book of Common Prayer upon the stand not far
from the head of the bed, upon this side!"

"A thousand thanks, my very good friend."

I heard a smothered laugh beyond the amber curtains. Presently she spoke
again, yawning, as I fancied, rather contentedly.

"_A la bonne heure, Monsieur!_"

"_A la bonne heure, Madame!_"




CHAPTER XVI

DEJEUNER A LA FOURCHETTE

Woman is a creature between man and the angels.
--_Honore de Balzac_.


A government agent, it seems, may also in part be little more than a
man, after all. In these singular surroundings I found myself not wholly
tranquil.... At last toward morning, I must have slept. It was some time
after daybreak when I felt a hand upon my shoulder as I lay still partly
clad. Awakened suddenly, I arose and almost overthrew old Threlka, who
stood regarding me with no expression whatever upon her brown and
wrinkled countenance. She did no more than point the way to a door,
where presently I found a bath-room, and so refreshed myself and made
the best toilet possible under the circumstances.

My hostess I found awaiting me in the central room of the apartments.
She was clad now in a girdled peignoir of rich rose-color, the sleeves,
wide and full, falling hack from her round arms. Her dark hair was
coiled and piled high on her head this morning, regardless of current
mode, and confined in a heavy twist by a tall golden comb; so that her
white neck was left uncovered. She wore no jewelry, and as she stood,
simple and free from any trickery of the coquette, I thought that few
women ever were more fair. That infinite witchery not given to many
women was hers, yet dignity as well. She was, I swear, _grande dame_,
though young and beautiful as a goddess. Her brow was thoughtful now,
her air more demure. Faint blue shadows lay beneath her eyes. A certain
hauteur, it seemed to me, was visible in her mien, yet she was the soul
of graciousness, and, I must admit, as charming a hostess as ever
invited one to usual or unusual repast.

The little table in the center of the room was already spread. Madam
filled my cup from the steaming urn with not the slightest awkwardness,
as she nodded for me to be seated. We looked at each other, and, as I
may swear, we both broke into saving laughter.

So we sat, easier now, as I admit, and, with small concern for the
affairs of the world outside at the time, discussed the very excellent
omelet, which certainly did not allow the reputation of Threlka to
suffer; the delicately grilled bones, the crisp toasted rye bread, the
firm yellow butter, the pungent early cress, which made up a meal
sufficiently dainty even for her who presided over it.

Even that pitiless light of early morning, the merciless cross-light of
opposing windows, was gentle with her. Yes, she was young! Moreover, she
ate as a person of breeding, and seemed thoroughbred in all ways, if one
might use a term so hackneyed. Rank and breeding had been hers; she
needed not to claim them, for they told their own story. I wondered what
extraordinary history of hers remained untold--what history of hers and
mine and of others she might yet assist in making!

"I was saying," she remarked presently, "that I would not have you think
that I do not appreciate the suffering in which you were plunged by the
haste you found necessary in the wedding of your _jeune fille_."

But I was on my guard. "At least, I may thank you for your sympathy,
Madam!" I replied.

"Yet in time," she went on, gone reflective the next instant, "you will
see how very unimportant is all this turmoil of love and marriage."

"Indeed, there is, as you say, something of a turmoil regarding them in
our institutions as they are at present formed."

"Because the average of humanity thinks so little. Most of us judge life
from its emotions. We do not search the depths."

"If I could oblige Madam by abolishing society and home and humanity, I
should be very glad--because, of course, that is what Madam means!"

"At any cost," she mused, "that torture of life must be passed on to
coming generations for their unhappiness, their grief, their misery. I
presume it was necessary that there should be this plan of the general
blindness and intensity of passion."

"Yes, if, indeed, it be not the most important thing in the world for us
to marry, at least it is important that we should think so. Madam is
philosopher this morning," I said, smiling.

She hardly heard me. "To continue the crucifixion of the soul, to
continue the misapprehensions, the debasings of contact with human
life--yes, I suppose one must pay all that for the sake of the gaining
of a purpose. Yet there are those who would endure much for the sake of
principle, Monsieur. Some such souls are born, do you not think?"

"Yes, Sphinx souls, extraordinary, impossible for the average of us to
understand."

"That torch of _life_!" she mused. "See! It was only _that_ which you
were so eager to pass on to another generation! That was why you were so
mad to hasten to the side of that woman. Whereas," she mused still, "it
were so much grander and so much nobler to pass on the torch of a
_principle_ as well!"

"I do not understand."

"The general business of offspring goes on unceasingly in all the
nations," she resumed frankly. "There will be children, whether or not
you and I ever find some one wherewith to mate in the compromise which
folk call wedlock. But _principles_--ah! my friend, who is to give those
to others who follow us? What rare and splendid wedlock brings forth
_that_ manner of offspring?"

"Madam, in the circumstances," said I, "I should be happy to serve you
more omelet."

She shook her head as though endeavoring to dismiss something from her
mind.

"Do not philosophize with me," I said. "I am already distracted by the
puzzle you offer to me. You are so young and beautiful, so fair in your
judgment, so kind--"

"In turn, I ask you not to follow that," she remarked coldly. "Let us
talk of what you call, I think, business."

"Nothing could please me more. I have slept little, pondering on this
that I do call business. To begin with, then, you were there at the
Chateau Ramezay last night. I would have given all I had to have been
there for an hour."

"There are certain advantages a woman may have."

"But you were there? You know what went forward?"

"Certainly."

"Did they know you were present?"

"Monsieur is somewhat importunate!"

She looked me now directly in the eye, studying me mercilessly, with a
scrutiny whose like I should not care often to undergo.

"I should be glad if it were possible to answer you," she said at last
enigmatically; "but I have faith to keep with--others--with
you--with--myself."

Now my own eagerness ran away with me; I became almost rude. "Madam," I
exclaimed, "why beat about the bush? I do not care to deceive you, and
you must not deceive me. Why should we not be friends in every way, and
fair ones?"

"You do not know what you are saying," she said simply.

"Are you then an enemy of my country?" I demanded. "If I thought you
were here to prove traitress to my country, you should never leave this
room except with me. You shall not leave it now until you have told me
what you are, why you are here, what you plan to do!"

She showed no fear. She only made a pretty little gesture at the dishes
between us. "At my own table!" she pouted.

Again our eyes met directly and again hers did not lower. She looked at
me calmly. I was no match for her.

"My dear lady," I began again, "my relation to the affairs of the
American Republic is a very humble one. I am no minister of state, and I
know you deal with ministers direct. How, then, shall I gain your
friendship for my country? You are dangerous to have for an enemy. Are
you too high-priced to have for a friend--for a friend to our Union--a
friend of the principle of democracy? Come now, you enjoy large
questions. Tell me, what does this council mean regarding Oregon? Is it
true that England plans now to concentrate all her traders, all her
troops, and force them west up the Saskatchewan and into Oregon this
coming season? Come, now, Madam, is it to be war?"

Her curved lips broke into a smile that showed again her small white
teeth.

"Were you, then, married?" she said.

I only went on, impatient. "Any moment may mean everything to us. I
should not ask these questions if I did not know that you were close to
Mr. Calhoun."

She looked me square in the eye and nodded her head slowly. "I may say
this much, Monsieur, that it has pleased me to gain a little further
information."

"You will give my government that information?"

"Why should I?"

"Yet you spoke of others who might come here. What others? Who are they?
The representatives of Mexico? Some attache of the British Embassy at
Washington? Some minister from England itself, sent here direct?"

She smiled at me again. "I told you not to go back to your hotel, did I
not?"

I got no further with her, it seemed.

"You interest me sometimes," she went on slowly, at last, "yet you seem
to have so little brain! Now, in your employment, I should think that
brain would be somewhat useful at times."

"I do not deny that suggestion, Madam."

"But you are unable to analyze. Thus, in the matter of yourself. I
suppose if you were told of it, you would only say that you forgot to
look in the toe of the slipper you had."

"Thus far, Baroness," I said soberly, "I have asked no special
privilege, at least. Now, if it affords you any pleasure, I _beg_ you, I
_implore_ you, to tell me what you mean!"

"Did you credit the attache of Mexico with being nothing more than a
drunken rowdy, to follow me across town with a little shoe in his
carriage?"

"But you said he was in wine."

"True. But would that be a reason? Continually you show your lack of
brain in accepting as conclusive results which could not possibly have
occurred. _Granted_ he was in wine, _granted_ he followed me, _granted_
he had my shoe in his possession--what then? Does it follow that at the
ball at the White House he could have removed that shoe? Does Monsieur
think that I, too, was in wine?"

"I agree that I have no brain! I can not guess what you mean. I can only
beg once more that you explain."

"Now listen. In your most youthful and charming innocence I presume you
do not know much of the capabilities for concealment offered by a lady's
apparel! Now, suppose I had a message--where do you think I could hide
it; granted, of course, the conditions obtaining at a ball in the White
House?"

"Then you did have a message? It came to you there, at that time?"

She nodded. "Certainly. Mr. Van Zandt had almost no other opportunity to
meet me or get word to me."

"_Van Zandt!_ Madam, are you indeed in the camp of _all_ these different
interests? So, what Pakenham said was true! Van Zandt is the attache of
Texas. Van Zandt is pleading with Mr. Calhoun that he shall take up the
secretaryship. Van Zandt promises us the friendship of Texas if we will
stand out for the annexation of Texas. Van Zandt promises us every
effort in his power against England. Van Zandt promises us the sternest
of fronts against treacherous Mexico. Van Zandt is known to be
interested in this fair Dona Lucrezia, just as Polk is. Now, then, comes
Van Zandt with his secret message slipped into the hand of Madam at the
Ambassador's ball--Madam, _the friend of England!_ The attache of Mexico
is curious--furious--to know what Texas is saying to England! And that
message must be concealed! And Madam conceals it in--"

She smiled at me brilliantly. "You come on," she said. "Should your head
be opened and analyzed, yes, I think a trace of brain might be
discovered by good chemistry."

I resumed impatiently. "You put his message in your slipper?"

She nodded. "Yes," she said, "in the toe of it. There was barely chance
to do that. You see, our skirts are full and wide; there are curtains in
the East Room; there was wine by this time; there was music; so I
effected that much. But when you took the slipper, you took Van Zandt's
note! You had it. It was true, what I told Pakenham before the
president--I did _not_ then have that note! _You_ had it. At least, I
_thought_ you had it, till I found it crumpled on the table the next
day! It must have fallen there from the shoe when we made our little
exchange that night. Ah, you hurried me. I scarce knew whether I was
clad or shod, until the next afternoon--after I left you at the White
House grounds. So you hastily departed--to your wedding?"

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