He hurried out the door and into a taxi.
"Sixty-four Boulevard Saint-Germain--and hurry."
Leaving Paris? She had no right to do that. Edhart never left. That was the beauty of Edhart--that he remained stationary, so that he could always be found. He was quite sure that Edhart was too considerate even to die, could he have avoided it. Now Marjory was proposing to go and leave him here alone. He could not allow that. It was too early to quit Paris, anyway. It was only the first day of spring!
She came down into the gloomy _pension_ reception-room looking as if she had already begun to a.s.sist Marie with the packing. Her hair had become loosened, and escaped in several places in black curls that gave her a distinctly girlish appearance. There was more color, too, in her cheeks; but it was the flush of excitement rather than the honest red that colored his own cheeks. She looked tired and discouraged. She sank into a chair.
"It was good of you to come, Monte," she said. "But I don"t know why I should bother you with my affairs. Only--he was so disagreeable. He frightened me, for a moment."
"What did he do?" demanded Monte.
"He came here early, and when Marie told him I was out he said he would wait until I came back. So he sat down--right here. Then, every five minutes, he called Madame Courcy and sent her up with a note. I was afraid of a scene, because madame spoke of sending for the gendarmes."
"Why didn"t you let her?"
"That would have made still more of a scene."
She was speaking in a weary, emotionless voice, like one who is very tired.
"So I came down and saw him," she said. "He was very melodramatic."
It seemed difficult for her to go on.
"Absinthe?" he questioned.
"I don"t know. He wanted me to marry him at once. He drew a revolver and threatened to shoot himself--threatened to shoot me."
Monte clenched his fists.
"Good Lord!" he said softly. "That is going a bit far."
"Is it so men act--when they are in love?" she asked.
Monte started.
"I don"t know. If it is, then they ought to be put in jail."
"If it is, it is most unpleasant," she said; "and I can"t stand it, Monte. There is no reason why I should, is there?"
"No: if you can avoid it."
"That"s the trouble," she frowned. "I"ve been quite frank with him. I told him that I did not want to marry him. I"ve told him that I could not conceive of any possible circ.u.mstances under which I would marry him. I"ve told him that in French and I "ve told him that in English, and he won"t believe me."
"The cad!" exclaimed Monte.
"It does n"t seem fair," she mused. "The only thing I ask for is to be allowed to lead my life undisturbed, and he won"t let me. There are others, too. I had five letters this morning. So all I can do is to run away again."
"To where?" asked Monte.
"You spoke of the little villages along the Riviera."
"Yes," he nodded. "There is the village of etois--back in the mountains."
"Then I might go there. _C"est tout egal_."
She shrugged her shoulders. (She had beautiful shoulders.)
"But look here. Supposing the--this Hamilton should follow you there?"
"Then I must move again."
Monte paced the room. Obviously this was not right. There was no reason why she should be continually hounded. Yet there seemed to be no way to prevent it.
He stopped in front of her. She glanced up--her eyes, even now, calm and deep as trout pools.
"I"ll get hold of the beggar to-day," he said grimly.
She shook her head.
"Please not."
"But he"s the one who must go away. If I could have a few minutes with him alone, I think perhaps I could make him see that."
"Please not," she repeated.
"What"s the harm?"
"I don"t think it would be safe--for either of you."
She raised her eyes as she said that, and for a moment Monte was held by them. Then she rose.
"After all, it"s too bad for me to inflict my troubles on you," she said.
"I don"t mind," he answered quickly. "Only--hang it all, there does n"t seem to be anything I can do!"
"I guess there is n"t anything any one can do," she replied helplessly.
"So you"re going away?"
"To-night," she nodded.
"To etois?"
"Perhaps. Perhaps to India. Perhaps to j.a.pan."
It was the indefiniteness that Monte did not relish. Even as she spoke, it was as if she began to disappear; and for a second he felt again the full weight of his thirty-two years. He was perfectly certain that the moment she went he was going to feel alone--more alone than he had ever felt in his life.
It was in the nature of a hunch. Within twenty-four hours he would be wandering over Paris as he had wandered yesterday. That would not do at all. Of course, he could pack up and go on to England, but at the moment he felt that it would be even worse there, where all the world spoke English.