""You will soon get well, Madam," I managed to stammer.
""No! Do you care? It is pleasant to have one true, kind friend in the world; one who makes a woman believe again in the n.o.bility of human nature. My life has been sad as you know. I should not regret giving it up. Nor should I fear to die. I can not think that G.o.d will be unkind to one who has done her best; at least, has tried to. Yet there is one thing that makes me crave for life. My child--what will she do--poor, motherless, fatherless girl--all alone, all alone--.
""Madam, if I may--will you permit me to care for her? If I might regard her as my child!"
"How tightly she held my hand at that! Her eyes seemed to blaze with heavenly fire. But let me not dwell further upon the sad events that led to the end of her n.o.ble career. Something of her life I had heard; something, I surmised. Unhappy as a woman, she was majestic as an actress; the fire of her voice struck every ear; its sweetness had a charm, never to be forgotten. But only to those who knew her well were revealed the unvarying truth and simplicity of her nature. Even as I write, her spirit, tender and steadfast, seems standing by my side; I feel her eyes in the darkness of night, and, when the time comes--and often of late, it has seemed not far--to go from this mere dressing-room, the earth, into the higher life--"
A knock at the door rudely dispelled these memories. For a moment the manager looked startled, as one abruptly called back to his immediate surroundings; then the pen fell from his hand, and he pushed the book from him to the center of the table.
"Come in," he said.
The door opened and Saint-Prosper entered.
"Am I interrupting you?" asked the soldier, glancing at the littered table.
"Not at all," answered the manager, recovering himself, and settling back in his chair. "Make yourself at home. You"ll find some cigars on the mantel, or if you prefer your pipe, there"s a jar of tobacco on the trunk. Do you find it? I haven"t had time yet to bring order out of chaos. A manager"s trunks are like a junk-shop, with everything from a needle to an anchor."
Filling his pipe from the receptacle indicated, which lay among old costumes and wigs, the soldier seated himself near an open window that looked out upon a balcony. Through a door at the far end of the balcony a light streamed from a chandelier within, playing upon the bal.u.s.trade. Once the figure of the young actress stepped for a moment out upon the balcony; she leaned upon the bal.u.s.trade, looked across the city, breathed the perfume of the flowers, and then quickly vanished.
"Can you spare me a little time to-morrow morning--early--before rehearsal?" said Saint-Prosper, finally.
"Yes," returned the manager, in surprise. "What is it?"
"A foolish piece of business! The patroon is in New Orleans."
Barnes uttered an exclamation of annoyance and apprehension. "Here!
What is he doing here?" he said. "I thought we had seen the last of him. Has he followed--Constance?"
"I don"t know. We met yesterday at the races."
"It is strange she did not tell me about it," remarked the manager, without endeavoring to conceal the anxiety this unexpected information afforded him.
"She does not know he is here." And Saint-Prosper briefly related the circ.u.mstances of his meeting with the land baron, to which the manager listened attentively.
"And so she must be dragged into it?" exclaimed Barnes at length, resentfully. "Her name must become public property in a broil?"
A frown darkened the soldier"s face, but he replied quickly: "Need any one know? The land baron has not been seen with her."
"No; but you have," returned the manager, suddenly pausing and looking down at the other.
The silence between them lasted for some moments. Barnes stood with his hands in his pockets, his face downcast and moody. He felt that events were happening over which he had no control, but which were shaping the destiny of all he loved best. In the dim light the rugged lines of his countenance were strongly, decisively outlined. Turning to the trunk, with a quick, nervous step, he filled a pipe himself.
After he had lighted it, he once more contemplated the soldier, thinking deeply, reviewing the past.
"We have been together for some time, Mr. Saint-Prosper," he said, at length. "We have gone through fair and rough weather, and"--he paused a moment before continuing--"should understand each other. You asked me when you came in if you were interrupting me, and I told you that you were not. As a matter of fact, you were."
And, walking to a table, Barnes took up the notebook.
"A garrulous, single man must tell his little secrets somewhere," he continued. "Will you look at the pages I was writing when you came in?"
Saint-Prosper took the book, and, while he was turning the leaves that were hardly dry, the manager relighted his pipe, over which he glanced nervously from time to time at his companion. Finally, when the soldier had finished the perusal of the diary, Barnes turned to him expectantly, but the other silently laid down the little volume, and, after waiting some moments for him to speak, the manager, as though disappointed by his reticence, breathed a sigh. Then, clearing his throat, in a voice somewhat husky, he went on, simply:
"You will understand now why she is so much to me. I have always wanted to keep her from the world as much as possible; to have her world, her art! I have tried to keep the shadow of the past from her.
An actress has a pretty face; and there"s a hue and cry! It is not notoriety she seeks, but fame; fame, bright and pure as sunlight!"
"The land baron will not cry abroad the cause of the meeting," said the soldier, gravely. "These fashionable affairs need but flimsy pretexts."
"Flimsy pretexts!" cried Barnes. "A woman"s reputation--her good name--"
"Hush!" said Saint-Prosper.
From the door at the far end of the balcony Constance had again emerged and now approached their room. A flowing gown of an early period surrounded her like a cloud as she paused before Barnes"
apartment. At the throat a deep-falling collar was closely fastened; the sleeves were gathered in at elbow and wrist, and from a "coverchief," set upon the dusky hair, fell a long veil of ample proportions. With the light shimmering on the folds of her raiment, she stood looking through the open door, regarding the manager and Saint-Prosper.
"Oh, you are not alone?" she said to the former. "You look as though you were talking together very seriously?" she added, turning to Saint-Prosper.
"Nothing of consequence, Miss Carew!" he replied, flushing beneath her clear eyes.
"Only about some scenery!" interposed the manager, so hastily that she glanced, slightly surprised, from the one to the other. "Some sets that are--"
""Flimsy pretexts!" I caught that much! I only wanted to ask you about this costume. Is it appropriate, do you think, for the part we were talking about?" Turning around slowly, with arms half-raised.
"Charming, my dear; charming!" he answered, enthusiastically.
"If I only thought that an unbiased criticism!" Her dark lashes lowered; she looked toward the soldier, half shyly, half mockingly.
"What do you think, Mr. Saint-Prosper?"
At that moment her girlish grace was irresistible.
"I think it is not only appropriate, but"--looking at her and not at the costume--"beautiful!"
A gleam like laughter came into her eyes; nor did she shun his kindling gaze.
"Thank you!" she said, and courtesied low.
That same evening Spedella"s fencing rooms were fairly thronged with devotees of the ancient art of puncturing. The master of the place was a tall Italian, lank and lean, all bone and muscle, with a Don Quixote visage, barring a certain villainous expression of the eyes, irreconcilable with the chivalrous knight-errant of distressed Dulcineas. But every man with a bad eye is not necessarily a rascallion, and Spedella, perhaps, was better than he looked. With a most melancholy glance he was now watching two combatants, novices in feats of arms. Dejection sat upon his brow; he yawned over a clumsy _feinte seconde_, when his sinister eyes fell on a figure that had just entered the hall. Immediately his melancholy vanished, and he advanced to meet the newcomer with stately cordiality.
"Well met, Mr. Mauville," he exclaimed, extending a bony hand that had fingers like the grip of death. "What good fortune brought you here?"
"An ill wind, Spedella, rather!"
"It"s like a breath of the old days to see you; the old days before you began your wanderings!"
"Get the foils, Spedella; I"ll have a bout with the master. Gad, you"re as ill-looking as ever! It"s some time since I"ve touched a foil. I want to test myself. I have a little affair to-morrow. Hark you, my old brigand; I wish to see if I can kill him!"
"A lad of spirit!" chuckled the master, a gleam of interest illumining his cavernous eyes. "Young!--frisky!--an affair of honor to-day is but nursery sport. Two children with tin swords are more diverting. The world goes backward! A counter-jumper thinks he can lunge, because he is spry, that he can touch a b.u.t.ton because he sells them. And I am wasting my genius with ribbon-venders--"