Chapter III

BAUDOIN had just finished arranging everything in the summer-house where Marcel lived, when he heard his name called by the concierge of the works. On showing himself at the window, the concierge bowed with deference, and said—

“M. Baudoin, some one wishes to speak to you at the gate.”

“Good; I will be down in a moment.”

It was three o’clock in the afternoon, and, as Marcel had just set out in the direction of the woods, Baudoin was alone in the house. He had just placed the furniture in order, and now, after closing the window, he took off his apron, and went out into the courtyard. On reaching the entrance to the works, he saw standing in the street a ruddy-faced man, with untrimmed beard, dressed like a workman, and wearing a pair of large rough shoes. The concierge disdainfully pointed out the man, and said—

“There he is!”

At the same moment the man turned round, and, seeing Baudoin, came up with smiling face and extended hands. Baudoin, astonished, watched him draw near, ransacking his memory, but unable to call to mind if he had ever seen him before. He said to himself, “Who the deuce can it be? Some one who has made a mistake!” On coming close up to him, the man said—

“Good day, M. Baudoin.”

Then Baudoin recognized Laforêt. Taking him by the arm, he conducted him along the garden wall in the direction of the main road; then, sure that he would be out of the hearing of any one, he said—.

“So you are here at last! What a perfect disguise! I had no idea who you were till you spoke.”

“We must not remain in the open air, for no one must see us together. Is there no small inn where we can talk?”

“Certainly; come with me to the Soleil d’Or. I know the landlord; he will let us have a small room to ourselves, where we shall not be disturbed. He is an old soldier, and to be relied upon.”

“Very good!”

Seated before a bottle of beer, the two men began their confidential talk—

“It was quite time you came,” said Baudoin. “There is something new at last. M. Marcel’s solitude has been broken in upon by two strangers, who pass as brother and sister, jabber away in Italian, and who, from the very first week of their stay here, have found means of entering into friendly relations with my master.”

“What kind of a woman is she?”

“Ah, unless I am mistaken, she is a very cunning woman, like the one who called to see my poor General, and tricked him so cleverly.”

“And the man?”

“A foreigner. His first appearance. He calls himself a count, but he is probably a mere fortune-hunter. A handsome-looking fellow, though I have only seen him at a distance.”

“And the sister?”

“A splendid woman! Light-complexioned, with hair arranged in Madonna fashion. The most innocent, harmless-looking creature imaginable! In deep mourning, reminding one of ‘Mignon’ bewailing her country. What is her object in coming here just at this time?”

“We will do our best to throw some light on the matter if possible.”

“I can do nothing, you understand, for I am too well known here. At the very first sign of activity I gave, it would be equivalent to saying to these people, ‘Look out, I am watching you.’ They would be at once on their guard, and the game would be over! I have already hazarded a rather risky examination of the house in which they live, and the surroundings. But I cannot recommence without running the risk of being caught by M. Marcel; and, if he questioned me, what reply could I give him? To warn him of the toils being skilfully drawn around him would be to cut short the intrigue now in preparation, and which, in all probability, will give us an opportunity of laying hands on the villains we are on the look-out for. And not to warn him is to leave him exposed to the greatest dangers! I have been thinking of all this for some days, and the more I reflect, the more I hesitate. Accordingly I was very anxious to see you, as you can give me your advice in the first place, and afterwards we can deliberate as to the best means of defending M. Marcel in case he comes to be threatened.”

“We must proceed methodically. Where is this house situated?”

“Oh, it is very easy to recognize! It is half-way between Ars and the woods of Bossicant, and is named the Villa de la Cavée. Impossible to make a mistake, for it stands all alone.”

“To-morrow morning I will take up my post at the door.”

“How?”

“That is my business. You will see how it is possible to keep a watch over people without appearing to do so.”

“But there is no house for more than half a mile around.”

“That will make no difference. How does the lady live?”

“Very quietly. She never leaves the house, except to take a walk in the wood. Until lately, alone, or with her brother, but now with my master.”

“Then he is bitten?”

“Very badly.”

“Good!”

“And what, in your opinion, must we do as regards M. Marcel?”

“Nothing.”

“Not even warn him of his danger?”

“Under no pretext. What danger does he run? I will keep watch over him outside, and you will look after him inside. No one has any interest in threatening him. If, as is very probable, according to usual tactics, a pretty woman has been told off to try to catch him, all he risks is falling in love with a worthless creature. Will it be the first time this will happen to him? You do not think so, nor do I. Meanwhile, we will set a few caltrops to try and catch our freebooters. Are you sure it is not the same woman who came to Vanves?”

“She has neither the same voice nor the same accent. But then, can one be certain of anything when one has to deal with people of such cunning? As for the man, I can answer that it is not he, for I saw the man at Vanves. He was a head taller than this tom-tit of an Italian. His speech, too, was very peculiar. Oh! I should at once recognize the man who killed my General! And if ever he comes within my reach—”

As he spoke his fists were tightly clenched, and a fierce glare shone in his eyes. Laforêt calmed him by saying—

“Do not get angry! Especially in the matter now engaging our attention; we must keep cool heads. Suppose you suddenly found yourself in front of this man, what would you do?”

“I would seize him by the throat, and he should not escape, that I would swear to before God!”

“What folly! Your duty would be to pretend not to recognize him. You could follow him, find out where he lives, and keep a watch over him, so that we might capture both himself and his accomplices. My dear Baudoin, let us agree at once to some such course beforehand. For if we act in too sentimental a fashion, we shall fail utterly.”

Baudoin sighed—

“You are right; still, it would be very hard for me to keep my fingers away from the rascal’s skin! But then, you have had experience; I will obey you.”

“Well, then, let us find some means of correspondence. For the future we must not be seen to have any communications with one another. See here; when I have anything to say to you I will go to the entrance door of the works, and write on the top of the gate on the left side the day and hour of the rendezvous in red pencil. For instance: ‘Tuesday, 4 o’clock.’ Then you will arrange to come round to this inn, where you will find me. If you wish to speak to me you will do the same on the other pillar on the right of the gate. I shall pass by every morning and evening to see if the rendezvous has to take place that evening or not.”

“Very good.”

“Then good-bye for the moment. When we leave here we no longer know one another. I will go now, and leave you to pay. Good luck, and keep cool!”

“I will, if possible.”

At that very hour Marcel was walking to and fro in the woods with Madame Vignola. The small terrier was running about along the path, which was so narrow that the young man and his fair companion were brought into close proximity to avoid the shooting branches which invaded the way. A feeling of languor seemed to emanate from the earth, gently warmed by the early spring sun. On reaching the edge of the plateau they halted by a rocky ledge overshadowed by large ash-trees.

The whole valley of Ars lay before them. The tile roofs of the works, the large chimney-steeple with its plume of black smoke, and the church and houses capriciously grouped, formed a smiling and delightful picture. The young woman pointed out with the end of her parasol the different parts of the panorama, and Marcel named all the points of interest visible. It was a kind of taking possession of the country under the auspices of Marcel. He said to her, with a smile—

“You are asking questions, as though you intended to settle down in these parts.”

“It is a custom of mine,” she said. “I like to know where I am, and to make inquiries about the district. Things have no meaning or interest for me unless I know their names and purposes. For instance, you point out to me down there a railway line which passes into the plain. To the fact that it is a railway I am absolutely indifferent; you add, it is the line running from Troyes to the frontier, _viâ_ Belfort. Immediately my mind begins to work, and the precise representation given by the thing attaches my mind to the thing itself. As you see, I am of anything but a poetic nature.”

“You appear to me to have an extraordinary intelligence.”

“And one which is not of a very feminine nature, now confess.”

“True, I find you anything but silly or fickle in disposition. But I give you credit for a good quality.”

“In any case, confess that it is not a graceful one.”

“Oh! You have so many others!”

“I did not ask you for a compliment.”

“You must accept it now, all the same.”

She looked at him with an air of simple content, then shook her head.

“That is not right of you; you have broken our agreement. It was understood between us that you should treat me as a companion, in return for which I would allow you to accompany me in my walks, and call on me unceremoniously. But you are a Frenchman, and it is impossible for you to give up all pretensions to gallantry.”

“Would an Italian have stayed so long in your company without telling you how charming you are?”

“Yes, if I had forbidden him to speak of such things. But he would have thought the more!”

“How can you tell?” said Marcel, eagerly. “Do you think I am indifferent because, obeying you too well, I have addressed to you nothing but simple expressions of cold courtesy? Do not judge my feelings by my words; they are very different from one another.”

“You have only known me for a week.”

“Is a longer time needed to love for ever?”

“For ever! What an engagement to make! And so quickly decided on!”

“And so easy to keep when one first sees and afterwards comes to know you!”

“And which can have no result, as I must soon leave, and go away far from—”

“What need is there for you to follow out plans formed during the early days of sadness and solitude? Is it wise to decide for a whole lifetime in a single moment at your age, and with such a store of future compensations to draw upon? At the age of twenty-four to think that everything is lost, because destiny has separated you from a husband old enough to have been your father? Your life has only just begun, at the very time you think it is all over.”

“Yes, my brother has often said the same thing to me. That is the usual way of looking at things. New tenderness to replace a dying affection. But then, how wretched to lend one’s self to such social arrangements, and undergo such an unexpected fate! And yet a heart cannot be swept out like a room for new tenants. The memories of the one who occupied it cannot be so speedily effaced; they remain. And is it not a kind of profanation for a delicate soul to allow itself to cherish a new affection, when it imagined the light had vanished for ever?”

“I will reply in your own words: ‘For ever! What an engagement to make! And so lightly decided on!’ Can you be sure of keeping it? Let the world wag along. Your decision will not alter anything. There is nothing definite in this world, not even the sincerest grief.”

She stood there silent for some time with downcast eyes. Her companion admired the graceful curves of her supple form, and the youthful grace that appeared on the beautiful countenance. She seemed scarcely twenty years of age. Her cheeks had all the appearance of a tempting and savoury fruit, Finally she continued, with a sigh—

“If I listened to your protestations, what trouble should I be preparing for myself in the future? You are not dependent on yourself, as I am, for I have only a brother, though, after all, he is very indulgent towards me. You have a family which will claim you. When you leave this district where will you go?”

“I shall return to Paris, where I generally live. What prevents you taking up your abode there also? Your interests are in Italy? What then? Your brother will look after them, and you will have nothing to do but consider your own happiness.”

“Paris frightens me. That immense stir and commotion troubles me, and I imagine it would be impossible to live there in calm and quiet.”

“What a mistake you make! The excitement of Paris life is very deceptive; it is only the surface that is troubled. Its depths, as in those of the sea, are quiet and peaceful, and the storms on the surface never disturb them. In Paris itself are peaceful corners, filled with verdure, light, and flowers, where a happy and gentle life may be passed. We would find such a spot for you, chosen with tenderest care, and there you would learn to spend your time free from melancholy and feverish anxiety. Far from noise and distraction of every kind, within easy reach of the utmost refinements of taste and intellectual pleasures, you will find out the most precious thing in the world: a quiet home, embellished by a love at once sincere and tender.”

“That is a very seductive picture you have drawn, and you know how to present it in the best light. Is there a touch of the fairy about you? Are you in possession of an enchanter’s wand, to be able thus to dispose of the destiny of others? You summon up characters and scenes to suit your fancy. Were I to listen to you, would you be free to realize your programme? To me you appear to be building castles in the air. What would your parents and friends say of this arrangement?”

“Oh! they would accept it, there is not the slightest doubt of that. If you only knew how fond they are of me, and how joyfully they would welcome anything giving proof of moderation and wisdom on my part! My father, though rough to outward appearance, is the finest man in the world. He is anxious about my doings, only because of his affection for me, and his anxiety regarding my future welfare. He never gave the least sign of egoism, even when we quarrelled. His own pleasure and peace of mind, even, were subordinated to my interests. Only when he saw that some action of mine which he judged harmful—would injure me in some way, did his anger burst forth against me. He loves me so well that, were he certain my happiness might be assured under honourable conditions, he would sacrifice his own without the slightest hesitation. As for my mother, she is the very embodiment of virtue and goodness.”

She bit her lips, and answered with sudden harshness, as though tired of listening to this wealth of praise.

“Very fine sentiments, indeed! Then you are not a dutiful son if you have not been in perfect accord with such loving parents.”

“I have not been undutiful, though not always reasonable.”

“Then what has been lacking to make you so?”

“A serious love.”

Raising a delicate finger, with threatening gesture, to Marcel, she said—

“I am afraid you are anything but a model of virtue!”

“Do not judge me ill for having spoken so frankly. That would be neither benevolent or just. For, really, you would form a false idea of me.”

She continued, gaily—

“Come! I see that you are quite a model, after all!”

“Now, you are joking! How changing is your mood! How can one hope to get the better of you?”

“Ah! my dear sir, did you think that a single word or look would suffice to seduce me? If so, I am more rebellious than you imagined. Did you suppose that the influence of spring, amid this charming scenery, an inactive solitude, and the length of the evenings, joined to your own particular qualities, would have induced me to fall down at your feet? You are going rather too fast. My melancholy mood cannot accommodate itself to such a rapid change! There, now, don’t look so down-hearted; I am speaking to you very gently. Had I wished I might have assumed an offended attitude, for, after all, you offer me your heart without taking the slightest precaution. Still, in this out-of-the-way place one cannot help feeling nearer the simplicity of nature. It is easy to return to habits and manners that are almost primitive, even without troubling concerning forms and customs, and saying what one really thinks and feels. I will forgive you, on condition you do not recommence.”

Astonished at hearing the young woman speak in such a vivacious tone of raillery, Marcel wondered if she were really the same sorrowful languishing widow whose tender melodies were so often broken by sobs. Her face sparkled with a malicious harshness, and those caressing eyes of hers belied the coldness of her words. She offered so irritating a mixture of decency and profligacy, of modesty and sensuality, that Marcel no longer knew what to think. Suddenly the church-bell of Ars began to toll the evening Angelus, changing the trend of their thoughts. The young woman suddenly stood upright, exclaiming—

“Six o’clock already! How time passes! They will wonder what has become of me.”

“But you are quite alone!”

“My servant—”

“That extraordinary creature you call Milo.”

“Do not speak ill of her; she likes you.”

“Thanks for the favour!”

“Oh! she is not fond of everybody. With you, however, she is like my dog, which licks your hand; he does not treat everybody the same way!”

“Yes, I may charm the servant and the dog, but the mistress disdains me.”

“Oh! the mistress. She is the one who orders, and the others obey.”

“Then I will obey.”

Giving him a charming smile, she summoned to her the little terrier, which was hid among the heather, and, walking slowly by Marcel’s side, returned in the direction of the villa. On approaching the gate they saw a man engaged in arranging on the road a pile of stones discharged from a tumbrel that very morning. A large sledge-hammer lay near his vest under a straw covering. Politely raising his cap to the two passers-by, and without appearing to bestow any further heed on them, he continued his task. Madame Vignola seemed vexed at this installation so near her home. She looked carefully at the man, and, as soon as the garden gate was closed, asked—

“What does that person intend to do there?”

“He seems to be engaged in breaking stones,” said Marcel. “Most likely a journeyman who will be working on the road for some time.”

“Will he stay here long?”

“A few days, perhaps.”

“He has a villainous-looking face. Is there nothing to fear from such people?”

“Nothing whatever, except the sound of their hammers breaking the stones. But you will not hear that from the house.”

Madame Vignola did not appear to be quite satisfied by what Marcel said. A look of anxiety shaded her brow.

“If the presence of this poor fellow disturbs you so much,” said the young man, “would you like me to request the authorities to have him removed? He will be sent to work a few hundred yards away. I have sufficient influence to obtain this change.”

“Do nothing of the kind. I shall get accustomed to his presence. After all, he has his living to earn.”

She held out her hand to Marcel, with a smile. Holding it for a moment within his own, he said, softly—“You are not angry with me?”

“No.”

“You will allow me to return to-morrow?”

“Yes, I should like you to do so.”

“And you will allow me to tell you that I love you?”

“If it gives you pleasure to do so.”

They said nothing more; night was falling, and a gentle obscurity was overshadowing all nature. Still, they were less alone than on the plain of Bossicant, and it was, perhaps, this very fact which rendered them more audacious. Marcel drew near to himself the young woman, without the slightest resistance on her part. The tissue of her black dress came in contact with Marcel’s shoulder. A kind of fever seized him, and for a moment he lost all notion of the surrounding world.

A cry of pain, and an effort of resistance, recalled him to himself. He saw Anetta fleeing towards the house. On the threshold she halted, looked at him for a moment, as though trying to find something to say to him. He took a step forward, but she stopped him with a gesture. Placing his fingers to his lips, he sent a kiss to the enchantress who had so completely gained possession of his heart, and took his departure.

A disagreeable surprise awaited him on his arrival at the works. The gates, usually open, were now closed, and small knots of men were collected in the street. They removed as he approached, only to form again a little further distant. What the manager had told him a few days previously concerning the evil dispositions of the workmen returned to his mind. In his eagerness to overcome his love difficulties he had forgotten business worries. Going up to the concierge, he asked—

“What is the matter here? Why are the gates closed? What is the meaning of all these people in the streets?”

“Ah! M. Marcel, there are troubles with the workmen. They went on strike at three o’clock to-day, and are scattered about in the cafés and inns, along with the strikers from the Troyes works, who have turned their heads.”

“No damage has been done?”

“No, M. Marcel. But the manager has been looking for you everywhere.”

“I will go at once and speak to him.”

He made his way towards the office. Through the closed shutters a ray of light announced the presence of M. Cardez in his study. Marcel entered. The manager was seated before his desk writing. On seeing the son of his master he rose at once, and, without waiting to be questioned, began—

“Well! what did I tell you, M. Baradier? Here they are in open revolt! And that without the slightest plausible reason! Simply to do as their comrades! Their heads have been turned by the leaders of the strike. I have reasoned and talked gently to them, but all in vain; they are nothing but machines! Ah! you are interested in the workers, now you will learn to know them!”

“What measures have you taken?”

“I have closed the doors, so that no one may enter without our permission, or without incurring a penal responsibility. Now I am expecting a delegation of the workmen.”

“Under what pretext have they ceased work?”

“They demand the suppression of sweeping and lighting, the supply of needles at a lower price.”

“Is the demand a just one?”

“It is something quite new.”

“But is it just?”

“_Mon Dieu_! Concessions might, doubtless, be granted, but then others would immediately be made. Their grievances would never come to an end. We are only at the beginning. Is it wise to yield all at once?”

“Why not give them the impression that we wish them well?”

“They would look upon it as a sign of weakness.”

Marcel remained pensive.

“So the weavers of Troyes are on strike, and are inciting our workmen to follow their example?”

“They were at Sainte-Savine yesterday, and to-day they are at Ars. They made sufficient noise; you must have been very busy not to have heard them.”

“I was away from home,” said Marcel, embarrassed.

“All the same had you been here; that would have made no difference; their plan of action is fixed. They would have insulted you, as they did me, that is all.”

“Insulted?” exclaimed Marcel.

“Listen.”

A vague sound was heard breaking the silence of the night. The harsh untrained voices of the mob were heard singing a kind of workmen’s Marseillaise—

“Les patrons, les damnés patrons,
Un beau matin, nous les verrons
Accrochés au bout d’une branche!
En se sentant morts a moitié,
C’est alors qu’ils crieront pitié!
Mais nous leur repondrons: Dimanche!
Retroussez vos manches, luron!
Bientôt va commencer la danse.
Ayons la victoire, ou mourons
Pour notre indépendance!
Ayons la victoire, ou mourons
Pour notre indépendance!”

A shrill clamour, mingled with the shrieks of women and children, followed this threatening refrain; then came a formidable hooting—

“Down with Cardez! Down with the manager! To the gallows with him!”

“Do you hear them?” said Cardez. “The gallows, indeed! And what have I done to them? Simply exact from them a conscientious amount of work, and respect for the regulations. The gallows! If they think they can frighten me with their threats they are mistaken. An old soldier like myself cannot be intimidated so easily. Besides, these are nothing but idle cries; no deeds will follow!”

“Have you written to my father and uncle?” asked Marcel.

“I have telephoned to them. They must, by this time, have entered into relations with the prefect to insure the protection of the works, and respect for the rights of labour. But for that troops will be needed, and no one can tell how far things will go with people of the character of these Champagne fools. We have a loyal police at Ars, who are well known and respected. I think that ought to be sufficient.”

“Are you afraid of a conflict?”

“I am afraid of nothing, but I am obliged to take every precaution. Our Ars workmen, as I said, are more noisy than evil-intentioned. But there are strangers who have incited them to action, and it is with them that we shall have to deal.”

“A mob is a brute force, both blind and deaf. You cannot undeceive a hundred men. If they all clamour aloud at once, how can any possible understanding be reached?”

“That is what leaders of strikes rely upon! Tumult and violence. To-morrow I shall receive a delegation of workmen, with whom, I hope, it will be possible to come to reasonable terms.”

“I will help you.”

“If you wish.”

“Will there be any hostile manifestation this evening?”

“No. Not before to-morrow.”

“Then I will go and dine. Good night.”

Baudoin was waiting for him. In serving his meal the devoted servant, to whom Marcel permitted a certain amount of familiarity, lingered near the table instead of returning to the kitchen. He looked carefully at his master, and seemed to wish to read his secret impressions on his face. Never had the young man been so silent and preoccupied as during the past few days. In solitude he lived over again the hours he had spent in the company of the beautiful Italian, and never appeared tired of thinking about her. Not a word did he say, but his countenance was illumined by an inner radiance. Still, in spite of his absentmindedness, Baudoin’s persistence in standing there before him, like a note of interrogation, struck Marcel at last. Looking at him for a moment, he said—

“What is the matter with you, this evening, Baudoin? You seem quite agitated.”

“One might be so with less cause. You are aware, sir, that the employees have assumed a very threatening attitude?”

“Well! Are you afraid?”

“No, indeed, sir, not for myself, at any rate!”

“For whom, then?”

“For yourself, sir. When I left Paris M. Baradier gave me precise orders to protect you from all harm. If anything were to happen I should not know what to do. That is what agitates me, as you say, sir.”

“There is nothing to do, Baudoin, except wait.”

“I beg your pardon, sir, there is something far preferable to that—that is, to take the first train back to Paris.”

“And leave my father’s works exposed to the violence of his workmen?”

“M. Baradier’s works are doubtless very precious, but not so precious as his son.”

“Do not be uneasy, Baudoin; no one will harm either the son or the works. The deuce! Are there no laws in existence? The people of Ars are not savages.”

“Neither are the people of Troyes, nor those of Sainte-Savine, savages, and yet, this very morning, they destroyed everything at the works of Messrs. Tirot and Malapeyre.”

“Hard masters!”

“The question is not whether they are hard or lenient masters, but simply whether they are masters at all. Your presence here, sir, is not absolutely necessary. It would be better if you would go and spend a week in Paris.”

“They would say that I had run away. And old Cardez, who is none too fond of me, will say that I am good for nothing except making chemical experiments! That, when the works are to be defended, I am no longer to be found. No, no! Chance has brought me here, and chance will keep me. I shall even try to arrange everything for the general good.”

“Then you will take all necessary precautions, sir?”

“What precautions?”

“A good revolver on your person, in the first place.”

“What an idea! What would be the use of a revolver, Baudoin? If I have to deal with a crowd of men, I could not attempt to defend myself. With one or two men only, I shall run no danger.”

“At any rate, if you have anything important here, sir, it might be useful to put it in safety.”

They looked at one another in silence. Marcel had understood what the General’s servant meant. He became very serious.

“You allude to the powders, I suppose, Baudoin?”

“Yes, sir, I am aware that you possess the formulæ. Can nothing be stolen which would place the one who should be audacious enough to attempt the _coup_, in possession of the secret?”

“The powders, even the formulæ might be stolen, Baudoin, without the secret being discovered. There is a peculiar trick of manipulation the General revealed to me, which alone constitutes the real value of the discovery.”

“All the same, it was to obtain possession of the formulæ that my master was killed.”

“No, Baudoin, he was killed because he refused to tell the proportions of the ingredients. It was madness at finding himself deceived that inspired the murderer’s arm. He imagined he could substitute his own for the genius of the inventor, and find out the mixtures himself. He wished to storm the mystery and brutalize science. It was then the General was struck.”

“Is it not possible he may try again?”

“Is he even alive? Come, Baudoin, are you attempting to discover some relation, however far-fetched, between these disturbances, which are putting the whole district in commotion, and this powder affair?”

“I know nothing; but I am on my guard against everything that appears of a suspicious nature. There are strangers in the works. It is they who lead the strikers. Strangers were also in the powder affair. _Mon Dieu_! I may be stupid, sir, but I would give a great deal to be safe back in Paris with you.”

“You are very imaginative, Baudoin.”

“Well, then, as I see you are determined to pay no attention to what I say, I should be glad, sir, if you would give me the key of the laboratory. I will keep watch by day, and sleep there by night. In that way I shall be more completely at ease.”

“Very well, Baudoin. You will find the key in my room, over the mantelpiece. If that will restore your peace of mind, it is easy enough.”

“That will not restore my peace of mind entirely, sir; but, at any rate, it will give me a certain amount of satisfaction.”

The dinner being now at an end, Marcel went out for a stroll in the garden and along the river bank. It was a cool evening, and the stars shone forth in undimmed brilliancy. At times a dull, rumbling sound was heard coming from the inns and cafés of the town, where the workmen were celebrating the strike in numerous bumpers. A feeling of sadness came over Marcel at the thought of the women and children awaiting in their poor dwellings the return of the father for the evening meal, whilst the latter, under the persuasion of raillery or threats, lingered before the table covered with glasses, and drinking the most poisonous and maddening liquors imaginable. What wretchedness would result from this interruption of work! The paltry savings of the thrifty would vanish, the debts of the improvident would increase. And the net result of all this tumult and agitation, excited by hypocritical leaders, would be nothing but severity and rancour.

Turning aside his thoughts from these evils, to which he could see no remedy, he directed them to the Villa de la Cavée. There, at the same time as himself, Anetta would be walking to and fro in the garden. He pictured her passing down the winding alley in dreamy solitude. What could she be thinking of, if not of himself; whose heart was filled with her memory? Were they not united in soul, and was not that delicious kiss a proof of her affection. A thrill of pleasure came over him in the silence of the night, and he thought to himself, “Suppose I were to pay her a visit now? She does not expect me, true. What would she think of my eagerness to see her again? Would not the untimely hour, and the isolation she is in, make her consider my visit offensive? The more defenceless she is, ought I not the more to respect her? Ah! She loves me, I feel it. Am I on the point of spoiling by my rashness all the happiness the future has in store for me?”

In his tenderness Marcel was anxiously solicitous of sparing the susceptibilities of her who had set the terrible trap in which he was hopelessly caught. Had he been able to penetrate into the Villa de la Cavée, and reach the salon unperceived, he would have heard Sophia and her Dalmatian servant exchanging their impressions; whilst, seated astraddle on a chair, the terrible Hans was listening to them, smoking the while, and with an expression of ironical contempt on his face.

“After all, madame, what will you do with this poor young man when you have obtained from him what you want?”

“Oh, that will not trouble me! He is very agreeable and charming, and will doubtless bewail my departure. But he has not yet reached the point I wish to bring him to.”

“What we chemists call the incandescence point,” said Hans, harshly. “We know what that is, Sophia, when you have a hand in the matter. For young Zypiatine it was the moment when, in his madness, he handed over the secrets concerning the concentration on the frontiers of Afghanistan; for poor Stenheim, the hour when he stole from the War Office the plan of defence of Herzegovina, and for our friend, the handsome Cesare Agostini—”

“Don’t speak of Cesare,” interrupted the young woman, frowning.

“Why not, indeed? The _coup_ he effected was a very fine one. Were he to attempt to cross the Italian frontier I believe he would be sent to rot in the darkest fortress of Sardinia. For he is not one of those whom they risk passing judgment on, even in private; he knows rather too much. Certainly, this fair-complexioned young fellow from Champagne you are now preparing to shear, is a pascal lamb compared with the dangerous characters you have hitherto led to their ruin without the slightest compunction. All the same, you must beware, Sophia; I know you well. You are not quite at your ease just now, you have become silent and dreamy—preoccupied, in fact; not a good sign at all! Are you on the point of doing something stupid?”

Sophia shuddered. Fixing her eyes full on Hans, she asked suddenly—

“What do you mean?”

“Ah, ah! Now you are interested. I am not surprised. You are too intelligent to form any illusions regarding yourself. You must have noticed that something abnormal is taking place in your mind. The other day there was something in your way of saying that no harm whatever should come to the young Baradier, which gave me serious grounds for reflection. This very evening, on returning home, I saw you in a state of languor anything but natural to so practical a woman as you are. Usually, after playing a _rôle_, you resume your ordinary expression and clear directness of speech, as though, after removing a mask, you had become your own self once more. This time it is not the same. You are under the sway of external influences. In short, to sum up, you seem to me as though about to fall in love with this young Baradier!”

“I!” exclaimed Sophia, almost angrily.

“Yes, you, Sophia, Baroness Grodsko, known here under the name of Madame Vignola. Now listen, my dear, such an occurrence would be an out-and-out act of stupidity!”

“You are mad, Hans!”

“I shall only be too glad if I am mistaken. But I have a very keen intuition! We all have our little weaknesses, Sophia, and I should not wonder in the least if this young man pleased you. But I should be very much astonished if you thought of attaching yourself really to him, for nothing would be more dangerous to us, or to him, or even to yourself. If you could keep the young Marcel from the works for a short time I will not deny that such a course would serve my purpose. But no passion, remember, just a passing fancy. Keep him in the villa just long enough to enable us to execute our plans. That is how I understand things.”

“As I, also,” said the young woman, coldly.

“Very good. If you can keep a cool head and heart, there is nothing to fear and everything to hope for. You hear that, Milo. If your mistress shows any inclination to go astray, you will be there to remind her of her engagements.”

“My duty is to obey her,” said Milona, with scowling look, “and not to order. As for you, never presume to order me to do anything.”

“Why not, if you please, my young savage?”

“Because a girl like myself is willing to give up her liberty for the sake of one she loves, but she will not serve one she detests.”

“That means simply that we are not friends, my little one,” jeered Hans, with a loud laugh. “As you please; I will not force you to like me.”

Milona gave him a steady look, and shrugged her shoulders, pronouncing a few words in an uncouth tongue. She then left the room.

“What did she say in that Romany tongue of hers?”

“She said, ‘Son of a she-wolf, may you die of a burning fever without any one at hand to give you a glass of water.’”

“Many thanks for her gracious wishes. Some day my stick shall make the acquaintance of your back, charming creature.”

“Do not think of such a thing, Hans, she would repay you with dagger-blows!”

“What delightful relations! But you know well that I am afraid of no one. Now let us speak of something more serious. Have you heard from Cesare?”

“He writes to say that he is back from London, where business matters are progressing well. As you are aware, our English friends are very practical. They have launched a company with a capital of fifty million francs. They will need a whole territory for their money, and they will certainly succeed.”

“Assuredly. When one’s calculations are based on human folly and incredulity, failure is impossible. That is why business matters possess so little interest.”

“At the bottom, you have no esteem for anything but force and might. Your temperament is that of a _condottiere_ of the fourteenth century. You have been let loose in this coward society of ours, there is no scope for your talents in such a restricted civilization as the present. Come, Hans, since we are speaking to one another to-night, with apparent frankness, who are you, and where do you come from? It is five years since I first met you, and yet I know you no better than I did the first day. We have mutual interests, and yet I have no hold on you. You are generally called Hans, but sometimes Fichter; although you look like a German, you can speak both Russian and Spanish admirably. I have known you to accomplish the most abominable actions, and yet you are never cruel without necessity. You attempt to obtain possession of huge sums of money, though your style of living is anything but extravagant. Where do all your resources go to? What end have you in view? What is this mysterious task you are engaged on, for the little you accomplish with us is only a small part of your work? You have trusty companions who do not belong to us. Suddenly you disappear, to accomplish some work or other we know nothing about. I sometimes suspect that we are merely tools in your hands, and are collaborating, without the faintest suspicion of it, in the execution of some far-reaching plan which embraces the whole of humanity. At times, I wonder if you are not the visible head of some enormous and terrible international federation, which, at a given moment, and everywhere at the same time, will set the revolution aflame.”

Hans smiled, shook his head approvingly, and then said in railing tones—

“Women are far better than men, after all, for being possessed of delicate tact and a clear perception of things. Ah! So you have wondered who I really was, Sophia? Well, well! my dear, you are more inquisitive than either Lichtenbach or Agostini, without speaking of the rest, for not one of them ever attempted to find out what I was unwilling to show. Good! Sophia, good! I am interested in you, my child, for you are no fool.”

Rising, he took the young woman by the waist, drew her to himself, and gave her a friendly kiss on the forehead. Then, looking at her steadfastly as though to force his words to enter her brain, he said—

“If you attempt to make a psychological study of me you will lose your time, Sophia. Know that I am Hans Fichter to you, and shall never be any other. All the same, do not forget that I am not really Hans Fichter. You have sought my personality with amusing clear-sightedness, but you will never discover it, and that is very lucky for you, otherwise you would not survive your discovery a single moment. Yes, my child, I have too many people around me, interested in my freedom of action, for any one, who thought of playing the spy on me, to be permitted to live. Do not imagine, however, that I am a kind of evil genius, a master of rebel souls, or the arbiter of future social transformations. If you did you would be on the wrong track. My power is great, but not sovereign. I am one of the numerous soldiers of a cause which will triumph in time, and I bow to no master!”

“Hans!” exclaimed Sophia; “you speak like the nihilists of my own country. I knew a young student, named Sewenikof, who propagated nihilist literature among the Moujiks in Moscow, and spoke in almost the same tones as you are using now. One day he disappeared.”

“Yes, my child, as you will disappear if you repeat a single word, however seemingly simple and inoffensive, of what I have just said. Your Sewenikof, whom I have never met, but whom I know, after all, as though I saw him, was merely an instigator, an agent who has been suppressed. That kind of thing happens every day. Be careful, Sophia. I am very fond of you, and should be sorry if any trouble befell you. All the same, I should be unable to do anything. Now it is time to say good night.”

“You are going to bed?”

“No. I have a rendezvous with my men at Ars. Have you not heard them shouting themselves hoarse all day long, fools as they are? What a pack of simpletons! These people have no idea that they are hurling threats and imprecations simply because such a course suits my convenience.”

“Be prudent yourself, Hans.”

“Ah! This is nothing more than child’s play for me!”

Lighting a cigar, he took his leave. The garden was dark. He proceeded, without the slightest noise, along the edge of the turf; gliding along like a shadow. On reaching the gate he opened it noiselessly, and remained there a moment against the wood panel, so as not to be noticed from the road. Then he looked all around, as though possessed of the faculty of seeing in the darkness. After a moment’s hesitation he set out in the direction of Ars. It would have been impossible for any one coming behind him to believe that he had come from the garden of the villa.

When he had advanced a hundred yards the branches of a bush silently separated on the opposite side of the road, and another man, in his turn, appeared. He was the stone-breaker who had been working for the past few days at the Cavée. Walking along in step with Hans, he, too, made his way towards the town.