The Wages of Virtue Part 24

"Pull yourself together and swagger all you can," advised John Bull.

"It might ruin everything if the Sergeant of the Guard took it into his head to turn you back. I wonder if we had better go through in a gang, or let you go first? If we are all together there is less likelihood of excessive scrutiny of any one of us, but on the other hand it may be remembered that you were last seen with us three, and that might hamper our future usefulness.... Just as well Feodor isn't here.... Tell you what, you and I will go out together, and I'll use my wits to divert attention from you if we are stopped. The others can come a few minutes later, or as soon as someone else has pa.s.sed."

"That's it," agreed Rupert; "come on."

With beating hearts, the old soldier and the young girl approached the little side door by the huge barrack-gates. Close by it stood the Sergeant of the Guard. Their anxiety increased as they realised that it was none other than Sergeant Legros, one of the most officious, domineering and brutal of the Legion's N.C.O.'s. Luck was against them.

He would take a positive delight in standing by that door the whole evening and in turning back every single man whose appearance gave him the slightest opportunity for fault-finding, as well as a good many whose appearance did not.

As they drew near and saluted smartly, the little piggish eyes of Sergeant Legros took in every detail of their uniform. The girl felt the blood draining from her cheeks. What if they had made a mistake?

What if red trousers and blue tunic should be wrong, and the _ordre du jour_ should be white trousers and blue tunic or capote? What if she had a b.u.t.ton undone or her bayonet on the wrong side? What if Sergeant Legros should see, or imagine a speck upon her tunic? ... Had she been under his evil gaze for hours? Was the side of the Guard House miles in length? ... Thank G.o.d, they were through the gate and free. Free for the moment, and if the good G.o.d were merciful she was free for ever from the horrors and fears of that terrible place. Could anything worse befall her? Yes, there were worse places for a girl than a barrack-room of the French Foreign Legion. There was a Russian prison--there was the dark prison-van and warder--there was the journey to Siberia--there was Siberia itself. Yes, there were worse places than that she had just left--until her secret was discovered. A thousand times worse. And she thought of her friend, that poor girl who had been less fortunate than she. Poor, poor Marie! Would she herself be sent back to Russia to share Marie's fate, if these brave Englishmen and Carmelita failed to save her? What would become of Feodor? ... Did this n.o.ble Englishman, with the gentle face, love this girl Carmelita? ... Might not Carmelita's house be a very trap if the loathsome Italian brute owned its owner?...

"Let's stroll slowly now, my dear," said John Bull, "and let the others overtake us. The more the merrier, if we should run into Rivoli and his gang, or if he is already at Carmelita's. I don't think he will be. I fancy he puts in the first part of his evening with Madame la Cantiniere, and goes down to Carmelita's later for his dinner.... If he should be there I don't quite see what line he can take in front of Carmelita. He could hardly molest you in front of the woman whom he pretends he is going to marry, and I don't see on what grounds he could raise any objection to her befriending you.... It's a deuced awkward position--for the fact that I intend to kill Rivoli, if I can, hardly gives me a claim on Carmelita. She loves the very ground the brute treads on, you know, and it would take me, or anybody else, a precious long time to persuade her that the man who rid the world of Luigi Rivoli would be her very best friend.... He's the most noxious and poisonous reptile I have ever come across, and I believe she is one of the best of good little women.... It is a hole we're in. We've got to see Carmelita swindled and then jilted and broken-hearted; or we've got to bring the blackest grief upon her by saving her from Rivoli."

"Do _you_ love her too, Monsieur?" asked Olga.

"Good Heavens, no!" laughed the Englishman. "But I have a very great liking and regard for her, and so has my friend Rupert. It is poor old Buck who loves her, and I am really sorry for him. It's bad enough to love a woman and be unable to win her, but it must be awful to see her in the power of a man whom you know to be an utter blackguard.... Queer thing, Life.... I suppose there is some purpose in it.... Here they come," he added, looking round.

"Who's gwine ter intervoo Carmelita, and put her wise to the sitooation?" asked the Bucking Bronco as he and Rupert joined the others. "Guess yew'd better, John. Yew know more Eye-talian and French than we do, an', what's more, Carmelita wouldn't think there was any '_harry-air ponsey_'--or is it '_double-intender_'--ef the young woman is interdooced, as sich, by yew."

"All right," replied John Bull. "I'll do my best--and we must all weigh in with our entreaties if I fail."

"Yew'll do it, John. I puts my shirt on Carmelita every time...."

Le Cafe de la Legion was swept and garnished, and Carmelita sat in her _sedia pieghevole_[#] behind her bar, awaiting her evening guests.

[#] Deck-chair.

It was a sadder-looking, thinner, somewhat older-looking Carmelita than she who had welcomed Rupert and his fellow _bleus_ on the occasion of their first visit to her _cafe_. Carmelita's little doubt had grown, and worry was bordering upon anxiety--for Luigi Rivoli was Carmelita's life, and Carmelita was not only a woman, but an Italian woman, and a Neapolitan at that. Far better than life she loved Luigi Rivoli, and only next to him did she love her own self-respect and virtue. As has been said before, Carmelita considered herself a married woman. Partly owing to her equivocal position, partly to an innate purity of mind, Carmelita had a present pa.s.sion for "respectability" such as had never troubled her before.

And Luigi was causing her grief and anxiety, doubt and care, and fear.

For long she had fought it off, and had stoutly refused to confess it even to herself, but day by day and night by night, the persistent attack had worn down her defences of Hope and Faith until at length she stood face to face with the relentless and insidious a.s.sailant and recognised it for what it was--Fear. It had come to that, and Carmelita now frankly admitted to herself that she had fears for the faith, honesty and love of the man whom she regarded as her husband and knew to be the father of the so hoped-for _bambino_....

Could it be possible that the man for whom she had lived, and for whom she would at any time have died, her own Luigi, who, but for her, would be in a Ma.r.s.eilles graveyard, her own husband--was laying siege to fat and ugly Madame la Cantiniere, because her business was a more profitable one than Carmelita's? It could not be. Men were not devils.

Men did not repay women like that. Not even ordinary men, far less her Luigi. Of course not--and besides, there was the Great Secret.

For the thousandth time Carmelita found rea.s.surance, comfort and cheer in the thought of the Great Secret, and its inevitable effect upon Luigi when he knew it. What would he say when he realised that there might be another Luigi Rivoli, for, of course, it would be a boy--a boy who would grow up another giant among men, another Samson, another Hercules, another winner of a World's Championship.

What would he do in the transports of his joy? How his face would shine!

How heartily he would agree with her when she pointed out that it would be as well for them to marry now before the _bambino_ came. No more procrastination now. What a wedding it should be, and what a feast they would give the brave _soldati_! Il Signor Jean Boule should have the seat of honour, and the Signor Americano should come, and Signor Rupert, and Signor 'Erbiggin, and the poor Gra.s.shopper, and the two Russi (ah!

what of that Russian girl, what would be her fate? It was wonderful how she kept up the deception. Poor, poor little soul, what a life--the constant fear, the watchfulness and anxiety. Fancy eating and drinking, walking, talking and working, dressing and undressing, waking and sleeping among those men--some of them such dreadful men). Yes, it should be a wedding to remember, without stint of food or drink--_un pranzo di tre portate_ with _i maccheroni_ and _la frittate d'uova_ and the best of _couscous_, and there should be _vino Italiano_--they would welcome a change from the eternal _vino Algerino_....

Four Legionaries entered, and Carmelita rose with a smile to greet them.

There was no one she would sooner see than Il Signor Jean Boule and his friends--since it was not Luigi who entered.

"_Che cosa posso offrirve?_" she asked. (Although Carmelita spoke Legion French fluently one noticed that she always welcomed one in Italian, and always counted in that language.)

"I want a quiet talk with you, carissima Carmelita," said John Bull.

"We are in great trouble, and we want your help."

"I am glad," replied Carmelita. "Not glad that you are in trouble, but glad you have come to me."

"It is about Mikhail Kyrilovitch," said the Englishman.

"I thought it was," said Carmelita.

"Don't think me mad, Carmelita," continued John Bull, "but listen.

Mikhail Kyrilovitch is a _girl_."

"Don't think me mad, Signor Jean Boule," mimicked Carmelita, "but listen. I have known Mikhail Kyrilovitch was a girl from the first evening that she came here."

The Englishman's blue eyes opened widely in surprise, as he stared at the girl. "How?" he asked.

"Oh, in a dozen ways," laughed Carmelita. "Hands, voice, manner. I stroked her cheek, it was as soft as my own, while her twin brother's was like sand-paper. When she went to catch a biscuit she made a 'lap,'

as one does who wears a skirt, instead of bringing her knees together as a man does.... And what can I do for Mademoiselle Mikhail?"

"You can save her, Carmelita, from I don't know what dangers and horrors. She has been found out, and what her fate would be at the tender mercies of the authorities on the one hand, and of the men on the other, one does not like to think. The very least that could happen to her is to be turned into the streets of Sidi-bel-Abbes."

"Do the officers know yet?" asked Carmelita. "Who does know? Who found her out?"

"Luigi Rivoli found her out," replied John Bull.

"And sent her to me?" asked Carmelita. "I am glad he..."

"He did not send her to you," interrupted the Englishman gravely.

"What did he do?" asked Carmelita quickly.

"I will tell you what he did, Carmelita, as kindly as I can.... He forgot he was a soldier, Carmelita; he forgot he was an honest man; he forgot he was your--er--_fidanzato_, your _sposo_, Carmelita...."

Carmelita went very white.

"Tell me, Signor," she said quickly. "Did you have to protect this Russian wretch from Luigi?"

"I did," was the reply. "Why do you speak contemptuously of the girl?

She is as innocent as--as innocent as you are, Carmelita."

"I hate her," hissed Carmelita.... "Did Luigi kiss her? What happened?

Did he...?"

The Englishman put his hand over Carmelita's little clenched fist as it lay on the bar.

"Listen, little one," he said. "You are one of the best, kindest and bravest women I have known. I am certain you are going to be worthy of yourself now. So is Rupert, so is Monsieur Bronco. He has been blaming us bitterly when we have even for a moment wondered whether you would save this girl. He is worth a thousand Rivolis, and loves you a thousand times better than Rivoli ever could. Don't disappoint him and us, Carmelita. Don't disappoint us _in yourself_, I mean.... What has the girl done that you should hate her?"

"Did Luigi kiss her?" again asked Carmelita.

"He did not," was the reply. "He behaved..."

"And he could not, of course, while she was with me, could he?" said Carmelita.