Carmen Ariza Part 117

"You are cruel," she retorted, affecting an air of injured innocence as she stood before him with downcast eyes. "But--if you--"

"Madam," said Monsignor, "plainly, what is it that you wish me to do?"

The sudden propounding of the question drew an equally sudden but less thoughtful response.

"Tell the Beau--Madam Beaubien that you wish my ward to be received into the best society, and for the reasons I have given you. That's all."

"And is my influence with Madam Beaubien, and hers with the members of fashionable society, sufficient to effect that?" he asked, an odd look coming into his eyes.

"She has but to say the word to J. Wilton Ames, and his wife will receive us both," said the woman, carried away by her eagerness. "And that means strong Catholic influence in New York's most aristocratic set!"

"Ah!"

"Monsignor," continued the woman eagerly, "will your Church receive an altar from me in memory of my late husband?"

He reflected a moment. Then, slowly, and in a low, earnest tone, "It would receive such a gift from one of the faith. When may we expect you to become a communicant?"

The woman paled, and her heart suddenly chilled. She had wondered how far she might go with this clever churchman, and now she knew that she had gone too far. But to retract--to have him relate this conversation and her retraction to the Beaubien--were fatal! She had set her trap--and walked into it. She groped blindly for an answer. Then, raising her eyes and meeting his searching glance, she murmured feebly, "Whenever you say, Monsignor."

When the man had departed, which he did immediately, the plotting woman threw herself upon the davenport and wept with rage. "Belle,"

she wailed, as her wondering sister entered the room, "I'm going to join the Catholic Church! But I'd go through Sheol to beat that Ames outfit!"

CHAPTER 11

MONSIGNOR LAFELLE made another afternoon call on the Beaubien a few days later. That lady, fresh from her bath, scented, powdered, and charming in a loose, flowing Mandarin robe, received him graciously.

"But I can give you only a moment, Monsignor," she said, waving him to a chair, while she stooped and tenderly took up the two spaniels. "I have a dinner to-night, and so shall not listen unless you have something fresh and really worth while to offer."

"My dear Madam," said he, bowing low before he sank into the great leather armchair, "you are charming, and the Church is justly proud of you."

"Tut, tut, my friend," she returned, knitting her brows. "That may be fresh, I admit, but not worth listening to. And if you persist in that vein I shall be obliged to have William set you into the street."

"I can not apologize for voicing the truth, dear Madam," he replied, as his eyes roved admiringly over her comely figure. "The Church has never ceased to claim you, however far you may have wandered from her.

But I will be brief. I am leaving for Canada shortly on a mission of some importance. May I not take with me the consoling a.s.surance that you have at last heard and yielded to the call of the tender Mother, who has never ceased to yearn for her beautiful, wayward daughter?"

The Beaubien smiled indulgently. "There," she said gently, "I thought that was it. No, Monsignor, no," shaking her head. "When only a wild, thoughtless girl I became a Catholic in order that I might marry Gaspard de Beaubien. The priest urged; and I--poof! what cared I? But the past eighteen years have confirmed me in some views; and one is that I shall gain nothing, either here or hereafter, by renewing my allegiance to the Church of Rome."

Monsignor sighed, and stroked his abundant white hair. Yet his sigh bore a hope. "I learned this morning," he said musingly, "that my recent labors with the Dowager d.u.c.h.ess of Altern in England have not been vain. She has become a communicant of Holy Church."

"What!" exclaimed the Beaubien. "The d.u.c.h.ess of Altern--sister of Mrs.

J. Wilton Ames? Why, she was a high Anglican--"

"Only a degree below the true Church, Madam. Her action is but antic.i.p.atory of a sweeping return of the entire Anglican Church to the true fold. And I learn further," he went on, "that the d.u.c.h.ess will spend the winter in New York with her sister. Which means, of course, an unusually gay season here, does it not?"

The Beaubien quickly recovered from her astonishment. "Well, Monsignor," she laughed, "for once you really are interesting. What else have you to divulge? That Mrs. Ames herself will be the next convert? Or perhaps J. Wilton?"

"No--at least, not yet. But one of your most intimate friends will become a communicant of Holy Saints next Sunday."

"One of my most intimate friends!" The Beaubien set the spaniels down on the floor. "Now, my dear Monsignor, you are positively refreshing.

Who is he?"

The man laughed softly. "Am I not right when I insist that you have wandered far, dear Madam? It is not 'he,' but 'she,' your dear friend, Mrs. Hawley-Crowles."

The Beaubien's mouth opened wide and she sat suddenly upright and gazed blankly at her raconteur. The man went on, apparently oblivious of the effect his information had produced. "Her beautiful ward, who is to make her bow to society this winter, is one of us by birth."

"Then you have been at work on Mrs. Hawley-Crowles and her ward, have you?" said the Beaubien severely, and there was a threatening note in her voice.

"Why," returned Monsignor easily, "the lady sent for me to express her desire to become affiliated with the Church. We do not seek her. And I have had no conversation with the girl, I a.s.sure you."

The Beaubien reflected. Then:

"Will you tell me why, Monsignor, Mrs. Hawley-Crowles takes this unusual step?"

"Unusual! Is it unusual, Madam, for a woman who has seen much of the world to turn from it to the solace and promise of the Church?"

The Beaubien laughed sharply. "For women like Mrs. Hawley-Crowles it is, decidedly. What was her price, Monsignor?"

"Madam! You astonish me!"

"Monsignor, I do not. I know Mrs. Hawley-Crowles. And by this time you do, too. She is the last woman in the world to turn from it."

"But the question you have just propounded reflects seriously upon both the Church and me--"

"Bah!" interjected the Beaubien, her eyes flashing. "Wait," she commanded imperiously, as he rose. "I have a few things to say to you, since this is to be your last call."

"Madam, not the last, I hope. For I shall not cease to plead the cause of the Church to you--"

"Surely, Monsignor, that is your business. You are welcome in my house at any time, and particularly when you have such delightful sc.r.a.ps of gossip as these which you have brought to-day. But, a word before you go, lest you become indiscreet on your return. Play Mrs. Hawley-Crowles to any extent you wish, but let her ward alone--_absolutely_! She is not for you."

The cold, even tone in which the woman said this left no doubt in the man's mind of her meaning. She was not trifling with him now, he knew.

In her low-voiced words he found no trace of banter, of sophistry, nor of aught that he might in any wise misinterpret.

"Now, Monsignor, I have some influence in New York, as you may possibly know. Will you admit that I can do much for or against you?

Drop your mask, therefore, and tell me frankly just what has induced Mrs. Hawley-Crowles to unite with your Church."

The man knew he was pitting his own against a master mind. He hesitated and weighed well his words before replying. "Madam," said he at length, with a note of reproach, "you misjudge the lady, the Church, and me, its humble servant. The latter require no defense. As for Mrs. Hawley-Crowles, I speak truly when I say that doubtless she has been greatly influenced by love for her late husband."

"What!" The Beaubien half rose from her chair. "Jim Crowles--that raw, Irish b.o.o.b, who was holding down a job on the police force until Ames found he could make a convenient tool of him! The man who was Gannette's cat's-paw in the Fall River franchise steal! Now, Monsignor, would you have me believe you devoid of all sense?"

"But," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the man, now becoming exasperated, and for the moment so losing his self-control as to make wretched use of his facts, "she is erecting an altar in Holy Saints as a memorial to him!"

"Heavens above!" The Beaubien sank back limp.

Monsignor Lafelle again made as if to rise. He felt that he was guilty of a miserable _faux pas_. "Madam, I regret that I must be leaving.

But the hour--"