Faithful Margaret Part 50

"Where Colonel Brand, the lion of chivalry raged, was not I, Colonel Calembours, ever at his side, the unwearied partner of the perilous speculation?

"But when I fall under the blind displeasure of the stupid bureau at Washington, justice, nay, honesty, is forgotten--they mulct me of my laurels.

"I go to New York, and turn into a dealer for horseflesh for the army.

In a few weeks I fill my wrinkled purse, and get rid of the last of my consignment; and, before the wretched brutes have time to betray their many infirmities, New York in turn loses Calembours. But ere I leave I have the satisfaction of again greeting my invalid friend, who has been sent North to a better hospital, and who is gradually convalescing. He urges me to stay with him, that we may begin the world together; but I have a sacred duty to perform, a slight to remember, an insult to avenge. I am free, I have money, I have health, and I come here, to this Castle Brand, to see mademoiselle, and (for revenge) to sell to her--_a secret_."

The chevalier paused with _empress.e.m.e.nt_, and remained peering into his listener's face with a gay, encouraging smile for two or three minutes.

Whiter Margaret could not be, nor colder.

"Proceed, monsieur," she breathed at last; "do not mock my anxiety."

"Mademoiselle understands that what follows is for sale?" quoth the chevalier slyly.

"Yes, yes, you shall be satisfied. Proceed."

"_Mille mercies_, dear mademoiselle. _Eh, bien!_ I will do myself the honor to keep you au courant with my history. History pleases mademoiselle; she is a good listener--_ma foi!_ a very good listener.

"_Voila!_ I begin at the end of the volume. I begin, as do the Hebrews, at the last page, and read from right to left, to meet this end of the little tale which you have just heard.

"Some months ago--perhaps eighteen--I, the ill.u.s.trious Chevalier de Calembours, arrived at Canterbury, on business of mine.

"In time I meet a very great man there; we play _rouge-et-noir_; _mon Dieu!_ he cheats me at _rouge-et-noir_. Mademoiselle, _rouge-et-noir_ is my own great weapon, _ma foi!_ I must have learned it in my cradle when an infant; with it I have beat the world, with it I have cheated the world--and this greatest of men cheats me!

"I stop the game, I contemplate him with exalted emotions, with admiration, with awe; tears start to the eyes, I offer him the hand.

"Monsieur," I cry, with much enthusiasm, "tell me your name. You shall be my great model in this n.o.ble game; I shall be your pupil."

"The great man glares at me through those cavernous eyes; his lips, so thin and evil, smile sourly, and his long fingers make me the gambler's sign. Ah! he is the gambler by profession, then--the sly sharper, the hanger-on upon the young of the military. I marvel no more at his proficiency in the art in which, beside him, I am but an amateur.

"'My name is Roland Mortlake,' he says, unwillingly; 'you are welcome to any hints you think I can give you; but I was admiring your play all the time. I've never seen it equalled.'

"Mademoiselle, this man had played in Germany, in Italy, in France, and he had never seen my play equalled.

"I listen to the delicious praise; the heart swells with generous pride; I rise, I embrace him as a brother.

"'You do me too much honor, Monsieur Mortlake,' I cry; 'you do the Count of Santo Spirito, Turin, too much honor.'

"We became acquaintances, friends, inseparable brothers--we became necessary to each other.

"We combine our forces, we cheat the world, and we reap a golden harvest.

"The world is _so_ gullible _chere amie_. Why not glean the benefit then?

"'I must go to London,' says my friend, in March; 'better come along. We can always pigeon the subs, and they are always to be found there.'

"My friend was a great player, but he spoke ill, even coa.r.s.ely at times.

"So be it, _camerade_!' I cry and we go.

"At first we do well; we enter humble circles, and we mount to higher every day; the purse is very full, the heart is very merry, when, _ouais!_ hush! Monsieur Mortlake becomes mysterious, close, unjust--says:

"'Better keep out of sight for a while, Calembours; I can't be seen with a notorious harpy like you just now; the circle I'm getting into won't care for a dirty little Frenchman. They're exclusive.'

"'_Merci_, Monsieur Mortlake,' I return, 'Napoleon the brave thought Calembours worthy of the Legion of Honor; but perhaps your circle are right, and are exclusive of the n.o.bility.'

"We part good friends, though, for are we not necessary to each other?

He goes his way and I go mine, but I set myself to know the reason why.

"I discover my Mortlake hovering about a great flame in the military world--a Captain St. Udo Brand, of the Coldstream Guards, who has great expectation of a wealthy grandmother dying and leaving him the sole heir.

"My Mortlake wheels nearer and nearer this mighty captain, learns all he can about his history and habits, and becomes an acquaintance of his.

What he intends to do with him I cannot tell; for he cannot pigeon _him_ as he pigeons weaker men. My faith, he dares not.

"Captain Brand treats the gambling Mortlake with that lofty insolence which great men show to little men; he is indifferent to him, he forgets his presence, he turns the back upon him at the mess-table when any of the softer officers bring him there.

"My Mortlake does not like it; he grows very black when the captain is not by, and he swears a great deal against him.

"I look on and laugh; it is a gay _comedie_ for me. I clasp the hands and cry _encore_!

"Presently the great captain's grandmama's malady grows worse; messages continue to arrive, and he must go to Surrey.

"Monsieur Mortlake comes to me with his curious green eyes gleaming.

"'Come Calembours,' he says; 'we may as well take a run down to Surrey to see this wonderful castle.'

"'So be it!' I cry once more, and we go.

"We are living at a hotel in Regis when the sullen captain arrives; he is accosted to his surprise by Monsieur Mortlake, who is of course quite astonished to meet him there.

"Captain Brand swears a good deal at the idea of going down to that 'infernal dull hole,' his grandmother's handsome castle, which he a.s.sures Mr. Mortlake is inhabited by old women and servants.

"'A note will do for to-night, by Jove!' vows Captain Brand, 'and I'll send it over.'

"Monsieur Mortlake protests that he has heard so much of the antiquity of Castle Brand that he would think it a boon if the captain would permit him to carry that note, if it is only for the chance of seeing such a castle.

"'By all means you shall, if that will please you,' says the captain.

"Mademoiselle, as these men stand together in the lobby, I looking down from the staircase upon them--for has not monsieur ordered me not to disgrace him by intruding upon the captain?--a very strange idea occurs to me; it strikes me very forcibly. I watch the men with amazement, with fear. As we ride away together in the moonlight, I say to my friend:

"'Monsieur le Capitaine is a most handsome man.'

"He only curses Monsieur le Capitaine.

"I say again:

"'_Mon ami_, do not execrate your own image.'