The Maids of Paradise Part 18

"I do not exactly understand," said I, "how you can expiate a crime here."

"I can at least make rest.i.tution," he said, turning the paper box over and over between his flat fingers.

"Have you brought me the diamonds which belong to the state?" I inquired, amused.

"Yes," he said, and to my astonishment he drew a small leather pouch from his pocket and laid it on my blanket-covered knees. "How many diamonds were there?" he asked.

"One hundred and three," I replied, incredulously, and opened the leather pouch. Inside was a bag of chamois-skin. This I stretched wide and emptied.

Scores of little b.a.l.l.s of tissue-paper rolled out on the blanket over my knees; I opened one; it contained a diamond; I opened another, another, and another; diamonds lay blazing on my blanket, a whole handful, glittering in undimmed splendor.

"Count them," murmured Buckhurst, fashioning the paper box into a fly-trap with a lid.

With a quick movement I swept them into my hands, then one by one dropped the stones while I counted aloud one hundred and two diamonds.

The one hundred and third jewel was, of course, safely in Paris.

When I had a second time finished the enumeration I leaned back in my chair, utterly at a loss to account for this man or for what he had done. As far as I could see there was no logic in it, nothing demonstrated, nothing proven. To me--and I am not either suspicious or obstinate by nature--Buckhurst was still an unrepentant thief and a dangerous one.

I could see in him absolutely nothing of the fanatic, of the generous, feather-headed devotee, nothing of the hasty disciple or the impulsive martyr. In my eyes he continued to be the pa.s.sionless master-criminal, the cold, slow-eyed source of hidden evil, the designer of an intricate and viewless intrigue against the state.

His head remained bent over the paper toy in his hands. Was his hair gray with age or excesses, or was it only colorless like the rest of his exterior?

"Rest.i.tution is not expiation," he said, sadly, without looking up.

"I loved the cause; I love it still; I practised deception, and I am here to ask this gentle lady to forgive me for an unworthy yet unselfish use of her money and her hospitality. If she can pardon me I welcome whatever punishment may be meted out."

The Countess dropped her elbow on the arm of my chair and rested her face in her hand.

"Swept away by my pa.s.sion for the cause of universal brotherhood,"

said Buckhurst, in his low, caressing voice, "I ventured to spend this generous lady's money to carry the propaganda into the more violent centres of socialism--into the clubs in Montmartre and Belleville. There I urged non-resistance; I pleaded moderation and patience. What I said helped a little, I think--"

He hesitated, twisting his fly-box into a paper creature with four legs.

"I was eager; people listened. I thought that if I had a little more money I might carry on this work.... I could not come to you, madame--"

"Why not?" said the Countess, looking at him quickly. "I have never refused you money!"

"No," he said, "you never refused me. But I knew that La Trappe was mortgaged, that even this house in Morsbronn was loaded with debt. I knew, madame, that in all the world you had left but one small roof to cover you--the house in Morbihan, on Point Paradise. I knew that if I asked for money you would sell Paradise,... and I could not ask so much,... I could not bring myself to ask that sacrifice."

"And so you stole the crucifix of Louis XI.," I suggested, pleasantly.

He did not look at me, but the Countess did.

"Bon," I thought, watching Buckhurst's deft fingers; "he means to be taken back into grace. I wonder exactly why? And ... is it worth this fortune in diamonds to him to be pardoned by a penniless girl whom he and his gang have already stripped?"

"Could you forgive me, madame?" murmured Buckhurst.

"Would you explain that stick of dynamite first?" I interposed.

The Countess turned and looked directly at Buckhurst. He sat with humble head bowed, nimbly constructing a paper bird.

"That was not dynamite; it was concentrated phosphorus," he said, without resentment. "Naturally it burned when you lighted it, but if you had not burned it I could easily have shown Madame la Comtesse what it really was."

"I also," said I, "if I had thrown it at your feet, Mr. Buckhurst."

"Do you not believe me?" he asked, meekly, looking up at the Countess.

"Mr. Buckhurst," said the young Countess, turning to me, "has aided me for a long time in experiments. We hoped to find some cheap method of restoring nitrogen and phosphorus to the worn-out soil which our poor peasants till. Why should you doubt that he speaks the truth? At least he is guiltless of any connection with the party which advocated violence."

I looked at Buckhurst. He was engaged in constructing a multi-pointed paper star. What else was he busy with? Perhaps I might learn if I ceased to manifest distrust.

"Does concentrated phosphorus burn like dynamite?" I asked, as if with newly aroused interest.

"Did you not know it?" he said, warily.

But was he deceived by my manner? Was that the way for me to learn anything?

There was perhaps another way. Clearly this extraordinary man depended upon his persuasive eloquence for his living, for the very shoes on his little, flat feet, as do all such chevaliers of industry. If he would only begin to argue, if I could only induce him to try his eloquence on me, and if I could convince him that I myself was but an ignorant, self-centred, bullet-headed gendarme, doing my duty only because of perspective advancement, ready perhaps to take bribes--perhaps even weakly, covetously, credulous--well, perhaps I might possibly learn why he desired to cling to this poor young lady, whose life had evidently gone dreadfully to smash, to land her among such a coterie of thieves and lunatics.

"Mr. Buckhurst," I said, pompously, "in bringing these diamonds to me you have certainly done all in your power to repair an injury which concerned all France.

"As I am situated, of course I cannot now ask you to accompany me to Paris, where doubtless the proper authorities would gladly admit extenuating circ.u.mstances, and credit you with a sincere repentance.

But I put you on your honor to surrender at the first opportunity."

It was as stupidly trite a speech as I could think of.

Buckhurst glanced up at me. Was he taking my measure anew, judging me from my bray?

"I could easily aid you to leave Morsbronn," he said, stealthily.

"O-ho," thought I, "so you're a German agent, too, as I suspected."

But I said, aloud, simulating astonishment: "Do you mean to say, Mr.

Buckhurst, that you would deliberately risk death to aid a police officer to bring you before a military tribunal in Paris?"

"I do not desire to pose as a hero or a martyr," he said, quietly, "but I regret what I have done, and I will do what an honest man can do to make the fullest reparation--even if it means my death."

I gazed at him in admiration--real admiration--because the gross bathos he had just uttered betrayed a weakness--vanity. Now I began to understand him; vanity must also lead him to undervalue men. True, with the faintest approach to eloquence he could no doubt hold the "Clubs" of Belleville spellbound; with self-effacing adroitness to cover stealthy persuasion, he had probably found little difficulty in dominating this inexperienced girl, who, touched to the soul with pity for human woe, had flung herself and her fortune to the howling proletariat.

But that he should so serenely undervalue me at my first bray was more than I hoped for. So I brayed again, the good, old, sentimental bray, for which all Gallic lungs are so marvellously fashioned:

"Monsieur, such sentiments honor you. I am only a rough soldier of the Imperial Police, but I am profoundly moved to find among the leaders of the proletariat such delicate and chivalrous emotions--" I hesitated. Was I b.u.t.tering the sop too thickly?

Buckhurst, eyes bent on the floor, began picking to pieces his paper toy. Presently he looked up, not at me, but at the Countess, who sat with hands clasped earnestly watching him.

"If--if the state pardons me, can ... you?" he murmured.

She looked at him with intense earnestness. I saw he was sailing on the wrong tack.

"I have nothing to pardon," she said, gravely. "But I must tell you the truth, Mr. Buckhurst, I cannot forget what you have done. It was something--the one thing that I cannot understand--that I can never understand--something so absolutely alien to me that it--somehow--leaves me stunned. Don't ask me to forget it.... I cannot. I do not mean to be harsh and cruel, or to condemn you.