The Three Eyes Part 17

She handed it to me, with a quick movement. After a brief pause, I continued:

"Why did you come to fetch it? My uncle told you of its existence, didn't he? And you . . . you were taking it to my uncle's murderers, so that they might have nothing more to fear and be the only persons to know the secret? . . . Speak, Berangere, will you?"

I had raised my voice and was advancing towards her. She took another step back.

"You shan't move, do you hear? Stay where you are. Listen to me and answer me!"

She made no further attempt to move. Her eyes were filled with such distress that I adopted a calmer demeanour:

"Answer me," I said, very gently. "You know that, whatever you may have done, I am your friend, your indulgent friend, and that I mean to help you . . . and advise you. There are feelings which are proof against everything. Mine for you is of that sort. It is more than affection: you know it is, don't you, Berangere? You know that I love you?"

Her lips quivered, she tried to speak, but could not. I repeated again and again:

"I love you! . . . I love you!"

And, each time, she shuddered, as though these words, which I spoke with infinite emotion, which I had never spoken so seriously or so sincerely, as if these words wounded her in the very depths of her soul. What a strange creature she was!

I tried to put my hand on her shoulder. She avoided my friendly touch.

"What can you see to fear in me," I asked, "when I love you? Why not confess everything? You are not a free agent, are you? You are being forced to act as you do and you hate it all?"

Once more, anger was overmastering me. I was exasperated by her silence. I saw no way of compelling her to reply, of overcoming that incomprehensible obstinacy except by clasping her in my arms and yielding to the instinct of violence which urged me towards some brutal action.

I went boldly forward. But I had not taken a step before she spun round on her heel, so swiftly that I thought that she would drop to the floor in the doorway. I followed her into the other room. She uttered a terrible scream. At the same moment I was knocked down by a sudden blow. The man Ma.s.signac, who had been hiding in the dressing-room and watching us, had leapt at me and was attacking me furiously, while Berangere fled to the staircase.

"Your daughter," I spluttered, defending myself, "your daughter! . . .

Stop her! . . ."

The words were senseless, seeing that Ma.s.signac, beyond a doubt, was Berangere's accomplice, or rather an inspiring force behind her, as indeed he proved by his determination to put me out of action, in order to protect his daughter against my pursuit.

We had rolled over the carpet and each of us was trying to master his adversary. The man Ma.s.signac was no longer laughing. He was striking harder blows than ever, but without using any weapon and without any murderous intent. I hit back as l.u.s.tily and soon discovered that I was getting the better of him.

This gave me additional strength. I succeeded in flattening him beneath me. He stiffened every muscle to no purpose. We lay clutching each other, face to face, eye to eye. I took him by the throat and snarled:

"Ah, I shall get it out of you now, you wretch, and learn at last . . ."

And suddenly I ceased. My words broke off in a cry of horror and I clapped my hand to his face in such a way as to hide the lower part of it, leaving only the eyes visible. Oh, those eyes riveted on mine!

Why, I knew them! Not with their customary expression of smug and hypocritical cheerfulness, but with the other expression which I was slowly beginning to remember. Yes, I remember them now, those two fierce, implacable eyes, filled with hatred and cruelty, those eyes which I had seen on the wall of the chapel, those eyes which had looked at me on that same day, when I lay gasping in the murderer's grip in the woods near the Yard.

And again, as on that occasion, suddenly my strength forsook me. Those savage eyes, those atrocious eyes, the man Ma.s.signac's real eyes, alarmed me.

He released himself with a laugh of triumph and, speaking in calm and deliberate accents, said:

"You're no match for me, young fellow! Don't you come meddling in my affairs again!"

Then, pus.h.i.+ng me away, he ran off in the same direction as Berangere.

A few minutes later, I perceived that the sheet of paper which the daughter had found behind the old engraving had been taken from me by the father; and then, but not till then, I understood the exact meaning of the attack.

The amphitheatre was duly inaugurated on the afternoon of that same day. Seated in the box-office was the manager of the establishment, the possessor of the great secret, Theodore Ma.s.signac, Noel Dorgeroux's murderer.

CHAPTER X

THE CROWD SEES

Theodore Ma.s.signac was installed at the box-office! Theodore Ma.s.signac, when a dispute of any kind occurred, left his desk and hastened to settle it! Theodore Ma.s.signac walked up and down, examining the tickets, showing people to their places, speaking a pleasant word here, giving a masterful order there and doing all these things with his everlasting smile and his obsequious graciousness.

Of embarra.s.sment not the slightest sign. Everybody knew that Theodore Ma.s.signac was the fellow with the broad face and the wide-cleft mouth who was attracting the general attention. And everybody was fully aware that Theodore Ma.s.signac was the man of straw who had carried out the whole business and made away with Noel Dorgeroux. But nothing interfered with Theodore Ma.s.signac's jovial mood: not the sneers, nor the apparent hostility of the public, nor the more or less discreet supervision of the detectives attached to his person.

He had even had the effrontery to paste on boardings, to the right and left of the entrance, a pair of great posters representing Noel Dorgeroux's handsome face, with its grave and candid features!

These posters gave rise to a brief altercation between us. It was pretty lively, though it pa.s.sed unnoticed by others. Scandalized by the sight of them, I went up to him, a little while before the time fixed for the opening; and, in a voice trembling with anger, said:

"Remove those at once. I will not have them displayed. The rest I don't care about. But this is too much of a good thing: it's a disgrace and an outrage."

He feigned an air of amazement:

"An outrage? You call it an outrage to honour your uncle's memory and to display the portrait of the talented inventor whose discovery is on the point of revolutionizing the world? I thought I was doing homage to him."

I was beside myself with rage:

"You shan't do it," I spluttered. "I will not consent, I will not consent to be an accomplice in your infamy."

"Oh, yes, you will!" he said, with a laugh. "You'll consent to this as you do to all the rest. It's all part of the game, young fellow.

You've got to swallow it. You've got to swallow it because Uncle Dorgeroux's fame must be made to soar above all these paltry trifles.

Of course, I know, a word from you and I'm jugged. And then? What will become of the great invention? In the soup, that's where it'll be, my lad, because I am the sole possessor of all the secrets and all the formulae. The sole possessor, do you understand? Friend Velmot, the man with the gla.s.ses, is only a super, a tool. So is Berangere.

Therefore, with Theodore Ma.s.signac put away, there's an end of the astounding pictures signed 'Dorgeroux.' No more glory, no more immortality. Is that what you want, young man?"

Without waiting for any reply, he added:

"And then there's something else; a word or two which I overheard last night. Ha, ha, my dear sir, so we're in love with Berangere! We're prepared to defend her against all dangers! Well, in that case--do be logical--what have I to fear? If you betray me, you betray your sweetheart. Come, am I right or wrong? Daddy and his little girl . . .

hand and glove, you might say. If you cut off one, what becomes of the other? . . . Ah, you're beginning to understand! You'll be good now, won't you? There, that's much better! We shall see a happy ending yet, you'll have heaps of children crowding round your knee and who will thank me then for getting him a nice little settlement? Why, Victorien!"

He stopped and watched me, with a jeering air. Clenching my fists, I shouted, furiously:

"You villain! . . . Oh, what a villain you make yourself appear!"

But some people were coming up and he turned his back on me, after whispering:

"Hush, Victorien! Don't insult your father-in-law elect."

I restrained myself. The horrible brute was right. I was condemned to silence by motives so powerful that Theodore Ma.s.signac would soon be able to fulfil his task without having to fear the least revolt of conscience on my part. Noel Dorgeroux and Berangere were watching over him.