The Red City Part 47

"Sit down," she said. "Don't behave like a child." She went to her desk, wrote a check and gave it to him. "May I trouble you for a receipt?" He gave it, surprised and pleased. "And now do hold your tongue if you can, or if Mr. Schmidt does not beat you when he comes home, I will. You have no more decency than you have hair."

This set him off again. "Ah you think it is only money, money. You, a woman, can say things. I am insult," he cried. "I will have revenge of Schmidt, if he do come. I will have blood."

"Blood, I would," she said. "Get your lancet ready." She broke into laughter at the idea of a contest with the German. "I will hear no more.

These are my friends." When in one of her fits of wrath, now rare, she was not choice of her words. Both were now standing. "A flea and a bear, you and Schmidt! Lord, but he will be scared--poor man!"

He too was in a fine rage, such as he never allowed himself with men.

"Oh, I am paid, am I? That will not be all of it." He rose on tiptoe, gesticulating wildly, and threw his hands out, shaking them. There was a sudden clatter of broken china.

"Great heavens!" cried Gainor. "Two of my G.o.ds gone, and my blue mandarin!"

For a moment he stood appalled amid the wreck of precious porcelain, looking now at Miss Wynne and now at the broken deities.

The owner of the G.o.ds towered over the little doctor. Wrath and an overwhelming sense of the comic contended for expression. "Two G.o.ds, man! Where now do you expect to go when you die--"

"Nowhere," he said.

"I agree with you. Neither place would have you. You are not good enough for one and not bad enough for the other." She began to enjoy the situation. "I have half a mind to take away that check. It would not pay, but still--"

"I regret--I apologize." He began to fear lest this terrible old woman might have a whole mind in regard to the check.

"Oh," she laughed, "keep it. But I swear to you by all my other G.o.ds that if you lie any more about my friends, I shall tell the story Dr.

Abernethy told me. In your greed and distrust of men whose simple word is as sure as their bond, you threaten to tell a tale. Well, I will exchange stories with you. I shall improve mine, too."

"Ah," he cried, "you do promise, and keep no word. You have told already Schmidt of me."

"I did--and one other; but now the whole town shall hear. You were ingenious, but the poor highwayman was too well hanged."

Chovet grew pale. "Oh, Madame, you would not. I should be ruined."

"Then be careful and--go away. I sometimes lose my temper, but never my memory. Remember."

He looked up at the big woman as she stood flushed with anger, and exclaiming under his breath, "_Quelle diablesse!_" went out scared and uneasy.

Looking from the window, she saw him walk away. His hands hung limp at his sides, his head was dropped on his breast; not even ca Ira looked more dejected.

"Good heavens! the man ought to have a bearing-rein. I much fear the mischief is done. The little brute! He is both mean and treacherous."

She turned to look down at the wreckage of her household Lares and rang the bell.

Caesar appeared. "Sweep up my G.o.ds, and take them away. Good heavens! I ought to have flattered the man. I promised the blue mandarin to Darthea Wynne because he always nodded yes to her when she wanted advice to her liking. Well, well, I am a blundering old idiot." She had indeed made mischief, and repentance, as usual with her, came late. She had, however, only added to the mischief. Chovet had already said enough, and the loss of the despatch and the attack on Carteaux by a clerk of the Department of State aroused anew the Democrats and fed the gossip of the card-tables, while Rene rode on his homeward way with a mind at ease.

Nothing had so disturbed the social life of the city for many a day.

Before long the matter came to the ear of the Secretary of State, who saw at once its bearing upon his department and the weapon it would be in the hands of party. It was, however, he said to Mr. Bingham, too wild a story for ready credence, and De Courval would soon be at home.

A day later, Fauchet presented to the amazed and angry Secretary of State Carteaux's formal statement, but made no explanation of its delay except the illness of his attache. The man was near to death. He himself believed his statement, the words of a man about to die. Randolph stood still in thought. "Your charge, sir," he said, and he spoke French well, "is that my clerk, the Vicomte de Courval, has stolen your despatch and perhaps fatally wounded the gentleman commissioned to deliver it."

"You state it correctly. I am not surprised."

The tone was so insolent that Randolph said sharply: "You are not surprised? Am I to presume that you consider me a party to the matter?"

"I have not said so, but subordinates are sometimes too zealous and--"

"And what, sir?"

"It is idle to suppose that the theft had no motive. There was some motive, but what it was perhaps the English party may be able to explain. My despatch is lost. Your secretary took it with the help of one Schmidt. The loss is irreparable and of great moment. I insist, sir, that the one man who has not fled be dealt with by you, and by the law."

"I shall wait, sir, until I hear the vicomte's story. He is a gentleman of irreproachable character, a man of honor who has served us here most faithfully. I shall wait to hear from him. Your secretary seems to have lied at first and waited long to tell this amazing story."

The minister did not explain, but said sharply:

"It will be well if that despatch can be found. It was meant only for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs."

"I do not understand you."

Fauchet laughed. "I trust that you may never have occasion to understand me better." He was angry, and lost both his prudence and what little manners he ever possessed. "It is desirable, or at least it is to be hoped that the thief destroyed it."

"The gentleman you condemn, sir, is not yet on trial, and this has gone far enough and too far. I shall lay the matter in due time before the President." Upon which he bowed out the Republican envoy.

Greatly annoyed, Mr. Randolph put the matter before the members of the cabinet, who agreed that in justice they must wait for De Courval's return.

Meanwhile Chovet's gossip had done its work, and there were a dozen versions which amused many, made others angry, and fed the strife of parties; for now Fauchet spoke of it everywhere with the utmost freedom.

"It is incredible," said Governor Penn; and the women, too, were all on the side of De Courval, while Mr. Wynne, in great anxiety, thought fit to call at Mrs. Swanwick's for news of the vicomte.

He saw in a moment that the widow had heard some of the stories so freely talked about. She had found to her relief some one to whom she could speak. "What is all this," she asked, "I hear about Friend de Courval? My Uncle Josiah has been to tell me and I could make nothing of it?"

"I know, Mary, only the wildest tales. But when De Courval returns, I desire to see him at once."

"His mother heard from him to-day and we look for him possibly to-morrow. Gainor Wynne has been here, in a fine rage. The young man has very warm friends, Hugh. I cannot believe a word of it."

"Nor I, what I hear. But let him see me at once." The widow was distressed. "Something there must have been. Alas, my poor Margaret!"

Her life had been for many years a constant struggle with poverty, made harder by remembrance of early days of ease and luxury. She bore it all with high-hearted courage and the pride which for some inexplicable reason will accept any gift except money. It became an easier life when Schmidt took of her his two rooms and became by degrees their friend, while the fact that the daughter, inheriting her beauty, was like herself of Friends, did in a measure keep their lives simple and free from the need for many luxuries she saw in the homes of their cousins.

Mrs. Swanwick thought, too, of these strangers whom she had nursed, of the vicomtesse, at times a little trying with her sense of what was due to her; of her son, kindly, grave, thoughtful of others, religious,--that was singular,--and twice, as it was said, engaged in b.l.o.o.d.y quarrels. How could one understand that?

She knew what her bountiful nature had given these exiles. Now she was again to be a reproach among Friends and to feel that these people had brought into her quiet home for her child only misfortune and sorrow. If Schmidt were but here! Margaret was at home, busy and joyful, knowing nothing of what lay before her or of this sinister story of attempted murder and robbery. Resolutely setting it all aside, Mrs. Swanwick went out to provide for the wants of the day.

A half hour later De Courval crossed the city, riding along High Street A pleasant comrade--Joy--went with him as he turned down Front Street, past widely separated houses and gardens gay with flowers. Once they had been country homes, but now the city was slowly crowding in on them with need for docks. He left his horse at the stable and walked swiftly homeward.

Mrs. Swanwick's house was still remote enough to be secure from the greed of commerce. The dusty, gray road before him, dry with the intense heat of August, ran southward. No one was in sight. There was something mysteriously depressing in the long highway without sign of life, a reminder of that terrible summer when day by day he had come out of the house and seen no one.

As he drew near Mrs. Swanwick's door, he met Captain Biddle. "Oh, by George!" said the sailor, "so you are come at last, and none too soon. I have been here thrice."

"What is the matter, Captain? Is any one ill?"

"No; but there is a lot of lies about you. There is neither decency nor charity ash.o.r.e. Have you been at the State Department or seen any one?"

"No. I am this moment come back. But, for G.o.d's sake, Captain, tell me what it is."