The Indiscretion of the Duchess Part 21

I was going to give him a straightforward answer. My hand was actually on the way to the spot where I felt the red box pressing against my side, when he rose from his seat and strode toward me; and a sudden pa.s.sion surged in his voice.

"Answer me! answer me!" he cried. "No, I'm not asking about my wife; I don't care a farthing for that empty little parrot. Answer me, sir, as you value your life! What do you know of Marie Delha.s.se?"

And he stood before me with uplifted hand, as though he meant to strike me. I did not move, and we looked keenly into one another's eyes. He controlled himself by a great effort, but his hands trembled, as he continued:

"That old hag who came to-night and dared to show her filthy face here without her daughter--she told me of your talks and walks. The girl was ready to come. Who stopped her? Who turned her mind? Who was there but you--you--you?"

And again his pa.s.sion overcame him, and he was within an ace of dashing his fist in my face.

My hands hung at my side, and I leaned easily against the wall.

"Thank G.o.d," said I, "I believe I stopped her! I believe I turned her mind. I did my best, and except me, n.o.body was there."

"You admit it?"

"I admit the crime you charged me with. Nothing more."

"What have you done with her? Where is she now?"

"I don't know."

"Ah!" he cried, in angry incredulity. "You don't know, don't you?"

"And if I knew, I wouldn't tell you."

"I'm sure of that," he sneered. "It is knowledge a man keeps to himself, isn't it? But, by Heaven, you shall tell me before you leave this place, or--"

"We have already one good ground of quarrel," I interrupted. "What need is there of another?"

"A good ground of quarrel?" he repeated, in a questioning tone.

Honestly I believe that he had for the moment forgotten. His pa.s.sion for Marie Delha.s.se and fury at the loss of her filled his whole mind.

"Oh, yes," he went on. "About the d.u.c.h.ess? True, Mr. Aycon. That will serve--as well as the truth."

"If that is not a real ground, I know none," said I.

"Haven't you told me that you kept her from me?"

"For no purposes of my own."

He drew back a step, smiling scornfully.

"A man is bound to protest that the lady is virtuous," said he; "but need he insist so much on his own virtue?"

"As it so happens," I observed, "it's not a question of virtue."

I suppose there was something in my tone that caught his attention, for his scornful air was superseded by an intent puzzled gaze, and his next question was put in lower tones:

"What did you stay in Avranches for?"

"Because your wife asked me," said I. The answer was true enough, but, as I wished to deal candidly with him, I added: "And, later on, Mlle.

Delha.s.se expressed a similar desire."

"My wife and Mlle. Delha.s.se! Truly you are a favorite!"

"Honest men happen to be scarce in this neighborhood," said I. I was becoming rather angry.

"If you are one, I hope to be able to make them scarcer by one more," said the duke.

"Well, we needn't wrangle over it any more," said I; and I sat down on the lid of a chest that stood by the hearth. But the duke sprang forward and seized me by the arm, crying again in ungovernable rage:

"Where is she?"

"She is safe from you, I hope."

"Aye--and you'll keep her safe!"

"As I say, I know nothing about her, except that she'd be an honest girl if you'd let her alone."

He was still holding my arm, and I let him hold it: the man was hardly himself under the slavery of his pa.s.sion. But again, at my words, the wonder which I had seen before stole into his eyes.

"You must know where she is," he said, with a straining look at my face, "but--but--"

He broke off, leaving his sentence unfinished. Then he broke out again:

"Safe from me? I would make life a heaven for her!"

"That's the old plea," said I.

"Is a thing a lie because it's old? There's nothing in the world I would not give her--nothing I have not offered her." Then he looked at me, repeating again: "You must know where she is." And then he whispered: "Why aren't you with her?"

"I have no wish to be with her," said I. Any other reason would not have appealed to him.

He sank down on the stool again and sat in a heap, breathing heavily and quickly. He was wonderfully transfigured, and I hardly knew in him the cold harsh man who had been my temporary master and was the mocking husband of the d.u.c.h.ess. Say all that may be said about his pa.s.sion, I could not doubt that it was life and death to him. Justification he had none; excuse I found in my heart for him, for it struck me--coming over me in a strange sudden revelation as I sat and looked at him--that he had given such love to the d.u.c.h.ess, the gay little lady would have been marvelously embarra.s.sed. It was hers to dwell in a radiant mid-ether, neither to mount to heaver nor descend to h.e.l.l. And in one of theses two must dwell such feelings as the dukes's.

He roused himself, and leaning forward spoke to me again:

"You've lived in the same house with her and talked to her. You swear you don't love her? What? Has Elsa's little figure come between?"

His tone was full of scorn. He seemed angry with me, not for presuming to love his wife (nay, he would not believe that), but for being so blind as not to love Marie.

"I didn't love her!" I answered, with a frown on my face and slow words.

"You have never felt attracted to her?"

I did not answer that question. I sat frowning in silence till the duke spoke again, in a low hoa.r.s.e whisper: