The Double Four Part 25

"I motored from Paris," Sogrange explained, "and arrived, contrary to my custom, I must confess, somewhat early. Will you permit that I introduce an acquaintance whom I have been fortunate enough to find on board: Monsieur le Baron de Grost--Madame la d.u.c.h.esse della Nermino."

Peter was graciously received, and the conversation dealt, for a few moments, with the usual ba.n.a.lities of the voyage. Then followed the business of settling the d.u.c.h.esse in her place. When she was really installed, and surrounded with all the paraphernalia of a great and fanciful lady, including a handful of long cigarettes, she raised her veil. Peter, who was at the moment engaged in conversation with her, was a little shocked with the result. Her features were worn, her face dead white, with many signs of the ravages wrought by the constant use of cosmetics. Only her eyes had retained something of their former splendour. These latter were almost violet in colour, deep-set, with dark rims, and were sufficient almost in themselves to make one forget for a moment the less prepossessing details of her appearance. A small library of books was by her side, but after a while she no longer pretended any interest in them. She was a born conversationalist, a creature of her country, entirely and absolutely feminine, to whom the subtle and flattering deference of the other s.e.x was as the breath of life itself. Peter burned his homage upon her altar with a craft which amounted to genius. In less than half an hour Madame la d.u.c.h.esse was looking many years younger. The vague look of apprehension had pa.s.sed from her face. Their voices had sunk to a confidential undertone, punctuated often by the music of her laughter. Sogrange, with a murmured word of apology, had slipped away long ago. Decidedly, for an Englishman, Peter was something of a marvel!

Madame la d.u.c.h.esse moved her head towards the empty chair.

"He is a great friend of yours--the Marquis de Sogrange?" she asked, with a certain inflection in her tone which Peter was not slow to notice.

"Indeed, no!" he answered. "A few years ago I was frequently in Paris. I made his acquaintance then, but we have met very seldom since."

"You are not travelling together, then?" she inquired.

"By no means," Peter a.s.sured her. "I recognised him only as he boarded the steamer at Cherbourg."

"He is not a popular man in our world," she remarked. "One speaks of him as a schemer."

"Is there anything left to scheme for in France?" Peter asked carelessly. "He is, perhaps, a Monarchist?"

"His ancestry alone would compel a devoted allegiance to Royalism," the d.u.c.h.esse declared; "but I do not think that he is interested in any of these futile plots to reinstate the House of Orleans. I, Monsieur le Baron, am Spanish."

"I have scarcely lived so far out of the world as to have heard nothing of the d.u.c.h.esse della Nermino," Peter replied with _empress.e.m.e.nt_. "The last time I saw you, d.u.c.h.esse, you were in the suite of the Infanta."

"Like all Englishmen, I see you possess a memory," she said, smiling.

"d.u.c.h.esse," Peter answered, lowering his voice, "without the memories which one is fortunate enough to collect as one pa.s.ses along, life would be a dreary place. The most beautiful things in the world cannot remain always with us. It is well, then, that the shadow of them can be recalled to us in the shape of dreams."

Her eyes rewarded him for his gallantry. Peter felt that he was doing very well indeed. He indulged himself in a brief silence. Presently she returned to the subject of Sogrange.

"I think," she remarked, "that of all the men in the world I expected least to see the Marquis de Sogrange on board a steamer bound for New York. What can a man of his type find to amuse him in the New World?"

"One wonders, indeed," Peter a.s.sented. "As a matter of fact, I did read in a newspaper a few days ago that he was going to Mexico in connection with some excavations there. He spoke to me of it just now. They seem to have discovered a ruined temple of the Incas, or something of the sort."

The d.u.c.h.esse breathed what sounded very much like a sigh of relief.

"I had forgotten," she admitted, "that New York itself need not necessarily be his destination."

"For my own part," Peter continued, "it is quite amazing the interest which the evening papers always take in the movements of one connected ever so slightly with their world. I think that a dozen newspapers have told their readers the exact amount of money I am going to lend or borrow in New York, the stocks I am going to bull or bear, the mines I am going to purchase. My presence on an American steamer is accounted for by the journalists a dozen times over. Yours, d.u.c.h.esse, if one might say so without appearing over-curious, seems the most inexplicable. What attraction can America possibly have for you?"

She glanced at him covertly from under her sleepy eyelids. Peter's face was like the face of a child.

"You do not, perhaps, know," she said, "that I was born in Cuba. I lived there, in fact, for many years. I still have estates in the country."

"Indeed?" he answered. "Are you interested, then, in this reported salvage of the _Maine_?"

There was a short silence. Peter, who had not been looking at her when he had asked his question, turned his head, surprised at her lack of response. His heart gave a little jump. The d.u.c.h.esse had all the appearance of a woman on the point of fainting. One hand was holding a scent bottle to her nose, the other, thin and white, ablaze with emeralds and diamonds, was gripping the side of her chair. Her expression was one of blank terror. Peter felt a shiver chill his own blood at the things he saw in her face. He himself was confused, apologetic, yet absolutely without understanding. His thoughts reverted at first to his own commonplace malady.

"You are ill, d.u.c.h.esse!" he exclaimed. "You will allow me to call the deck steward? Or perhaps you would prefer your own maid? I have some brandy in this flask."

He had thrown off his rug, but her imperious gesture kept him seated.

She was looking at him with an intentness which was almost tragical.

"What made you ask me that question?" she demanded.

His innocence was entirely apparent. Not even Peter could have dissembled so naturally.

"That question?" he repeated, vaguely. "You mean about the _Maine_? It was the idlest chance, d.u.c.h.esse, I a.s.sure you. I saw something about it in the paper yesterday, and it seemed interesting. But if I had had the slightest idea that the subject was distasteful to you I would not have dreamed of mentioning it. Even now--I do not understand----"

She interrupted him. All the time he had been speaking she had shown signs of recovery. She was smiling now, faintly and with obvious effort, but still smiling.

"It is altogether my own fault, Baron," she admitted graciously. "Please forgive my little fit of emotion. The subject is a very sore one amongst my country-people, you know, and your sudden mention of it upset me. It was very foolish."

"d.u.c.h.esse, I was a clumsy idiot!" Peter declared penitently. "I deserve that you should be unkind to me for the rest of the voyage."

"I could not afford that," she answered, forcing another smile. "I am relying too much upon you for companionship. Ah! could I trouble you?"

she added. "For the moment I need my maid. She pa.s.ses there."

Peter sprang up and called the young woman, who was slowly pacing the deck. He himself did not at once return to his place. He went instead in search of Sogrange, and found him in his state-room. Sogrange was lying upon a couch, in a silk smoking suit, with a French novel in his hand and an air of contentment which was almost fatuous. He laid down the volume at Peter's entrance.

"Dear Baron," he murmured, "why this haste? No one is ever in a hurry upon a steamer. Remember that we can't possibly get anywhere in less than eight days, and there is no task in the world, nowadays, which cannot be accomplished in that time. To hurry is a needless waste of tissue, and, to a person of my nervous temperament, exceedingly unpleasant."

Peter sat down on the edge of the bunk.

"I presume you have quite finished?" he said. "If so, listen to me. I am moving in the dark. Is it my fault that I blunder? By the merest accident I have already committed a hideous _faux pas_. You ought to have warned me."

"What do you mean?"

"I have spoken to the d.u.c.h.esse of the _Maine_ disaster."

The eyes of Sogrange gleamed for a moment, but he lay perfectly still.

"Why not?" he asked. "A good many people are talking about it. It is one of the strangest things I have ever heard of, that after all these years they should be trying to salve the wreck."

"It seems worse than strange," Peter declared. "What can be the use of trying to stir up bitter feelings between two nations who have fought their battles and buried the hatchet? I call it an an act of insanity."

A bugle rang. Sogrange yawned and sat up.

"Would you mind touching the bell for my servant, Baron," he asked.

"Dinner will be served in half an hour. Afterwards, we will talk, you and I."

Peter turned away, not wholly pleased.

"The sooner the better," he grumbled, "or I shall be putting my foot into it again."

After dinner the two men walked on deck together. The night was dark, but fine, with a strong wind blowing from the north-west. The deck steward called their attention to a long line of lights stealing up from the horizon on their starboard side.

"That's the _Lusitania_, sir. She'll be up to us in half an hour."

They leaned over the rail. Soon the blue fires began to play about their masthead. Sogrange watched them thoughtfully.