The Enemies of Women Part 36

"If this goes on a few months," he told the Colonel, "I will have gotten together a tidy little sum before I have completed my studies. Every day I lay something aside, and nevertheless I am spending more than ever. I must dress smartly like my fiancee."

And Don Marcos replied with an ambiguous smile.

Novoa's happiness was accompanied by a certain pride. He considered his future life companion a great lady, of higher intellectual capacity and capable of more serious pursuits than the majority of women of her cla.s.s. She was poor, and for that reason accepted a position bordering on that of a servant. But seeing her on familiar terms with the d.u.c.h.ess, he considered her of as high rank as the latter, and finally blended the affairs of both women in a common interest. And since Dona Clorinda was at present an implacable enemy of Alicia's, and since Atilio blindly espoused the whims and ideas of "the General," a hidden animosity began to spring up between the two men, who up to that time had treated each other with amiable indifference.

"Women!" murmured Toledo on observing the progress of this dislike. "The Prince was right...."

But other more important preoccupations tormented the Colonel. The greatly feared offensive had begun. The telegrams from the front were brief and bad. The Allies were retreating before the German advance.

Their lines were not broken, but were wavering, and curving backwards under the overwhelming blows of the enemy. Every day dozens of villages and great stretches of territory were lost.

Don Marcos, with the bursts of anger of a Polytechnic freshman, protested against the lack of foresight of the Generals, mingling his complaints with those of the crowd.

"I knew it would come," he said, with a self-sufficient air to the groups of idlers in the ante-room of the Casino, where he was listened to because of his military t.i.tle. "The Kaiser has ma.s.sed in France all the troops that he had in Russia. Who wouldn't have expected it? And our forces are doubtless inferior in numbers."

The bombardment of Paris finally routed all his ideas of strategy.

"Lies!" he roared, standing in front of the telegraphic despatches on the bulletin board, and reading of the first sh.e.l.ls that had fallen in Paris. It was impossible: he was ready to stake his word, and was well informed as to the range of modern artillery. And on learning the existence of cannon that fired more than a hundred kilometers, he was disconcerted. "What times we're living in! What a war this is!"

When the ladies consulted him in the Casino or in the Hotel de Paris, he displayed unshakable optimism in the face of the bad news.

"This is nothing: The reaction is going to set in. Our men are withdrawing in order to be better able to take the offensive."

But when he was alone his sense of security collapsed, and he could not hide from himself that his faith was shaken like that of the rest.

"They will reach Paris, if G.o.d does not take a hand," he said to himself. "A miracle is necessary, another miracle like that of the Marne."

For the good Colonel still firmly believed that the first battle of the Marne had been a miracle wrought by Saint Genevieve, by Joan of Arc, or some other beatific person able to intervene in human combats, much as the false G.o.ds sung by Homer had intervened. Did not St. James fight in the battles of Spain, whenever the Christians attacked the Moors?

"And the miracle has been rendered worthless," he said bitterly. "It will have to be repeated, they will have to begin again, after four years of war."

With the bombardment of Paris the population of the Riviera had increased considerably in a few weeks. The trains were arriving packed with fugitives. The streets of Nice were filled with strangers just as in peace times, when the Carnival was celebrated. Monte Carlo found its crowds largely increased and new gambling rooms were opened in the Casino.

Toledo spent the afternoon and the early evening hours in the anteroom, always expecting good news, and accepting the bad with an easy optimism which found excuse and justification for everything.

The circle of his friends was gradually increasing. Every day he came across well known faces that he had not seen for a long time. He shook hands, and returned greetings. "You here!" The cannon firing on Paris from an extraordinary distance filled the gambling rooms with a well-dressed crowd, almost as numerous as that of peace times.

Don Marcos continued to announce the reaction, the counter-offensive for the following day, as though he were in touch in some mysterious way with the General Staff. And the anger aroused by the daily failure of his predictions was taken out on the gamblers. "What a life, what an indecent life! Appet.i.tes that know no morals! The selfishness of brutes!"

The people around the Colonel seemed to be sorry for a moment as they read the bad news. Then, the majority entered the Casino. Perhaps it was a lack of thoughtfulness on their part, or perhaps it showed a desire to forget, to seek in gambling the illusions of alcohol. But the tiny ivory ball whirled tirelessly in the many roulette wheels. The cards did not cease to fall in double row on the _trente et quarante_ tables, and the crowds around the green boards kept on increasing.

The people were nervous, argumentative, and irritable, and lost their manners over a mere gambling incident. The activity on the far-off battle line spread like a fierce wind, around the tables; there was an aggressive look in the eyes of the women. Every cannon shot fired on far-away Paris reverberated like an echo in the rain of money falling in Monte Carlo.

When Toledo, the strategist, attempted to put forth his opinions and plans in Villa Sirena, he found a less attentive audience than in the ante-room of the Casino. The Prince had much more interesting things to think of. Novoa displayed a certain selfish joy, as though considering this period the best in his life, and the world's misfortunes merely something which gave a keener zest to his secret happiness. Spadoni listened to war talk as though people were talking of some ancient fiction.

As for him, reality was what he wanted, and he interrupted the Colonel to tell him about more interesting matters. At present he scorned the Casino, and was frequenting the _Sporting-Club_, where there gathered the boldest gamblers who preferred to use chips of five thousand francs.

A Greek, who had been a common sailor in his youth, reigned there like a hero of epic legends, admired by the ladies in ball-room dresses and the solemn gentlemen in evening clothes who gathered together in that aristocratic club. He had learned to read and write after he had grown up, but he possessed an immense fortune. The night before, after dealing for three hours, he had won a million two hundred thousand francs.

Spadoni had seen it with his own eyes, and imitated the hero's gestures as he rose from the table, with a little wicker basket held in both hands, a miserable little basket containing, as so much sweepings, heaps of blue bills, and piles of five thousand franc chips. Why should they talk to him about Generals and battles? There was a man for you!

Castro had been listening to the Colonel in a silence that augured ill, and with a coolly aggressive look. Suddenly, he interrupted the plans of strategy of Don Marcos.

"And when are they going to promote you?"

Many of the Generals who at present were celebrated, had been mere Colonels at the beginning of the war. It was about time that Toledo was shoved up a notch on the Army Register.

And poor Don Marcos, wounded by this cruel jest, replied in a dignified manner:

"I am satisfied with what I am, senor de Castro."

He knew perfectly well what he was: a Colonel, and he did not care to be anything more. And several times he repeated to himself that he did not want to be anything more.

In spite of the fact that at Villa Sirena each one was preoccupied with his own affairs, appearing absent-minded when the other guests were talking, Atilio's bad humor was making their life in common rather unpleasant.

Toledo had a feeling that he knew the reason for this conduct. Dona Clorinda was doubtless treating him badly, and he, in turn, was getting revenge for these humiliations and vexations by showing himself harsh and ironical with his friends. The Colonel had been obliged to calm Clorinda when he met her (discussing the news of the war) in the Casino.

She felt a strong antipathy to every man who was not in uniform, a little more and she would have insulted them.

"Slackers! Cowards! If I were a man!"

Although she was not, she felt the need of doing something, and was consumed with impatience at not being able to use her energies among the whistling bullets at the front. Finally, she found a means of being useful.

She decided to leave for Paris. When every one who was able to run away from there was hastening to do so, she determined she would go and take up her residence in her former house, defying with her presence the cannon and aeroplanes of the enemy.

Castro took the liberty timidly to suggest that this sacrifice would have no effect. The Colonel added, with his professional judgment, that it seemed to him foolish, but she was in no way disposed to modify her determination.

The outcome of the war concerned her pa.s.sionately, and she entered into the spirit of it with a nervous vehemence like that which disturbed her friendly relations.h.i.+ps.

"If the Allies shouldn't win, life for me would be impossible. How those miserable wretches would laugh! I would rather die."

The miserable wretches were the friends she had formerly had before the war, people of various nationalities who, through pose or through personal interest, sympathized with the Germans. The "General" with a feeling of pride that inspired fear, really and sincerely wanted to die, rather than see triumphant those whom she had chosen as enemies.

"If I were a man!" And Atilio, who sought every occasion to be near her in the Casino, or exaggerated the beauty of certain spots, in order to induce her to take walks with him there alone, hastened to flee at these words, in which he detected an insult.

Later, on finding himself at Villa Sirena, his submission as a lover changed to hostility for the rest.

He had discovered that he hated Novoa, or, rather, that logically he ought to hate him. Dona Clorinda was quarreling with Alicia, and the blue-stocking for whom the Professor felt such enthusiasm was the companion and protegee of the d.u.c.h.ess. For that reason he ought to be an enemy of Novoa. They were like two men who have never done each other any particular harm, but belong to two nations which are at war.

Besides--and he would not have been willing to confess it--the air of satisfaction and triumph of the scholar caused him a certain envy. Novoa was never squelched nor treated with indifference, it was the woman who sought him, making an effort to flatter his tastes, pretending scientific interest in things which made no difference to her whatsoever: merely for the sake of keeping him under her sway. Happy man! And how disagreeable! As always happens when one is beginning to be disliked, Atilio discovered, almost daily, various sources of annoyance of which he told Toledo.

His friend, the Professor, was trying to make fun of him, and he was not disposed to tolerate it. One day Atilio had to wait half an hour at the barber's. The Professor was in his chair and using _his_ manicure. Such nerve! He was doubtless trying to outs.h.i.+ne him, and for that reason he even got his clothes from the same tailor in Nice. Another piece of insolence! Besides, he didn't know how to wear clothes. And he even suspected that, to please his fiancee and the latter's mistress, that book-worm was probably taking the liberty of saying mean things about a certain lady, and if he ever found it out!...

But the Colonel paid no attention to such threats. The sad news from the war made the matters of daily life seem unimportant.

The Germans were continuing to advance on Paris. Under the repeated blows of the enemy the retreat of the Allies seemed endless, and Toledo's hopes diminished from moment to moment. By this time, he was prepared for anything! The invaders had an overwhelming numerical superiority!

He had only one hope left. If the aid promised by the United States were actually to materialize! Supposing it did not turn out to be a bluff, as many people thought! Now in his imagination, all he could see was America, its harbors filled with armed mult.i.tudes, and the blue surface of the ocean plowed by thousands of boats, bringing endless armies to land on European sh.o.r.es. And as weeks went by without his dreams being realized, he began to give advice to Wilson from the Groves of Villa Sirena, or from among the jasper columns of the ante-room of the Casino.

"What is the man thinking of? Why don't they come? If they don't hurry, it will all be over before they arrive."

War and discord made their appearance nearer at hand, within his own domains, causing him for a few hours to consider the general conflagration as a matter of secondary interest.

He never knew for sure who started the row, but one night during dinner, he noticed that Castro and Novoa, with studied coolness, were exchanging words like sword thrusts. The Prince could not suspect any hostility between his two friends, since never in his presence did they depart from the usual forms of courtesy. Besides, occupied with his own thoughts, he did not realize that the Professor, stirred up, doubtless, by Atilio's animosity, had become somewhat quarrelsome. Novoa made a slight allusion to the war-like "General," who was talking about going to Paris, as though her presence there could have any effect on the war.