The White Lie Part 12

She looked at him very straight in deep reproach, but uttered no word.

Disillusionment had fallen upon her, and utterly crushed her. Ralph--her Ralph--the man in whom all her love, all her thoughts, all her sympathies were centred, was a thief, and, further, he had cursed her as an enc.u.mbrance.

The poor girl drew her hand across her brow as though unable to actually realise the astounding facts. She was stunned by the hideous truth which had that evening been revealed. The blow had in an instant crushed all the light out of her life.

She now realised the reason of those many secret conferences with Carlier, and certain other rather disreputable-looking companions, jail-birds, without a doubt. She knew why he was sometimes absent all night, why he had stolen in, weary and worn, in the early hours of the morning, and why, on one occasion, he had remained in the house for two whole weeks and had never once gone out.

"Well, now you know the truth, girl, I hope you won't ask any more inquisitive questions," Ralph said, noticing how strangely she had stared at him. "Our business concerns n.o.body but ourselves--you understand?"

"Yes, I understand," she replied, slowly, in a strange, hard voice. "I understand, too, Ralph, that you no longer love me, or you would never have spoken to me as you have to-night."

And she burst into tears.

"Ralph, Ralph, this is too bad!" protested his friend. "You ought to have a little pity for poor madame--you really ought."

"I tell you I don't want any interference in my domestic affairs, so shut up, or you and I won't agree. Do you hear that--once and for all?"

replied Ansell determinedly, thrusting his bony face into that of this companion.

The latter shrugged his shoulders, and merely remarked:

"Well, you surprise me greatly."

Of a sudden, however, Jean, with a quick movement, sprang towards her husband, who had already put on his coat and cap, and placed the revolver in his pocket preparatory to departing upon his midnight adventure. She seized him by both wrists and, throwing herself wildly upon her knees, begged and implored him not to go.

"For my sake, Ralph, don't go!" she urged. "Don't go! Give up the project! Work and lead an honest life, I beg of you."

"Honest life!" he laughed with a sneer. "Can you imagine me sitting in an office all day, adding up figures, or writing letters for some other thief with a bra.s.s plate on his office door? No, I'm not cut out for that, I a.s.sure you," he added.

"But for my sake, don't go," she urged again, his hands still in hers, for she held them firmly, and placed them to her lips.

His confession that he was a thief had fallen upon her, and for the first few moments had held her speechless, but now she had found tongue, and even though the disgraceful truth was out, her first thought was for his safety.

"You're a confounded little fool!" he declared, roughly. "Let me go.

Come on, Adolphe! We haven't any use for women's tears."

And he twisted her hands roughly so that she was compelled to relinquish her hold.

He was leaving the room, but again she caught him, clinging to him resolutely, and beseeching him to heed her word.

This angered him. His face was pale, his eyes flashed quickly and, gripping her by the right hand, he raised his fist to strike her.

In a flash, however, Carlier, who stood with his hat on ready to depart, sprang in from behind, and gripped the brute's arm, shouting:

"No, you shall not strike her--not while I am present! Come away, you infernal coward!"

Jean gave vent to a hysterical shriek, and shook herself free, but ere she could realise what had actually happened, the two men, without further word, had left the room, her husband slamming the door after him with a fierce imprecation.

Then she stood alone, white-faced, terrified, heart-broken.

Ralph Ansell had at last shown himself in his true colours--a thief, a bully, a coward, and a blackguard.

And yet she had loved him until that hour--loved him with all the strength of her being--loved him as she had loved no other man in her whole life.

She had lived only for him, and she would have willingly died for him had he not raised his hand against her.

But she stood in the centre of that meagre little room, staring straight before her, her countenance white to the lips, her big, dark eyes fixed like one in a dream.

Poor Jean! Even then her brain was awhirl. She could scarcely realise the grim, terrible truth.

For a few moments she stood there motionless as a statue, then suddenly she staggered, reeled, and collapsed, inert and senseless, upon the floor.

CHAPTER IX.

IN THE NIGHT.

Not until several hours afterwards did Jean regain consciousness.

When slowly she opened her eyes and gazed wonderingly about the silent room, she found herself lying in a heap upon the floor, a terrible throbbing across her brow and a lump in her throat.

Gradually she recollected the horror of that half-hour before she had fainted, and slowly she raised herself and tottered to a chair.

Upon the table stood the empty bottle from which Ralph and Adolphe had drunk gla.s.s after gla.s.s of red wine, before going forth to commit the crime. There were the three empty plates, too; while on the top of the cupboard the cheap, evil-smelling lamp which Jean had lit on Ralph's arrival, was burning low, shedding a small zone of dim, yellow light.

"Gone!" she gasped aloud. "Oh, I can't believe it! Ralph--my own Ralph--a common thief! Impossible! impossible!" Then she sobbed, burying her pale face in both her hands in blank despair.

The horrible, bitter truth had been forced upon her, and she saw it in all its hideousness.

"He raised his hand to strike me down!" she murmured to herself. "He would have struck me, had it not been for Adolphe. Ah! yes," she sighed.

"Adolphe knows--he knows the truth--of all I have suffered. Ralph is a thief, and--and the police will one day arrest him. He will be tried and punished, and I shall be left alone--alone!"

For a long time the despairing girl sat in her lonely room, bent and utterly crushed. Her thoughts were of the man she loved, and who, in return, had now revealed his contempt, even hatred. He had told her that she was but an enc.u.mbrance. He had not minced matters, but spoken openly and frankly, like the brute he was.

She was unaware that "The American" was well known in the Montmartre as a keen, unscrupulous man, against whom were so many charges. Next to Bonnemain himself, he had been the most daring and expert of all that dangerous gang.

How cleverly he had deceived her, however, she now knew. Her senses seemed benumbed, for the blow had rendered her, for the time, insensible.

A full hour went by.

The room was silent, save that from the courtyard below rose the drunken voice of a workman who lived in the ground-floor flat--the husband of the slatternly _concierge_--who had just returned.

The broken clock still pointed to the hour of four, therefore she had no idea of the time, but sat staring in front of her, like one in a dream.

Once or twice her breast slowly heaved and fell beneath her neat, black gown. Then at last she rose and, crossing to the cupboard with firm resolve, took out a small, ten-centime bottle of ink and an envelope.