The Master Mummer Part 31

"To-night," he said, "I was coming to see Mr. Greatson."

"It is better," she murmured, "to have met you like this."

He smiled very slightly, yet it seemed to me that the curve of his lips was almost a caress. There was certainly nothing left now of Mr.

Grooten.

"I think that I, too, am glad," he said. "Your mother suffered all her life because she permitted herself to care for me. We mummers, you see, Isobel, though the world loves to be amused, are always a little outside the pale. I think," he added, with a curious little note of bitterness in his tone, "that we are not reckoned worthy or capable of the domestic affections."

"You do not believe--you cannot believe," she murmured, "that there are many people who are so foolis.h.!.+ It is the dwellers in the world who are mummers--those who live their foolish, orderly lives with their eyes closed, and oppressed all the while with a nervous fear of what their neighbours are thinking of them. Those are the mummers--but you--you, Monsieur, are Feurgeres--the artist! You make music on the heartstrings of the world!"

For myself I was astonished. I had not often seen Isobel so deeply moved. I had never known her so ready, so earnest of speech. But Feurgeres was almost agitated. For the first time I saw him without the mask of his perfect self-control. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes were soft as a woman's. He raised Isobel's hand to his lips, and his voice, when he spoke, shook with real emotion.

"You are the daughter of your mother, dear Isobel," he said. "Beyond that, what is there that I can say--I, who loved her!"

"You can tell me about her," Isobel said gently. "That is what I have been hoping for!"

"A little, a very little," he answered, "and more to-night, if you will.

I have already written to Mr. Greatson, and I meant in a few hours to tell him everything. But I would have you know this, Isobel, and remember it always. Your mother was a holy woman. For my sake, for the sake of the love she bore me, she abandoned a great position. She broke down all the barriers of race, and all the conventions of a lifetime.

She lost every friend she had in the world; she even, perhaps, in some measure, neglected her duty to you. Yet you were seldom out of her thoughts, and her last words committed you to my distant care. I have, perhaps, ill-fulfilled her charge, Isobel. Yet I have been watching over you sometimes when you have not known it."

"You were my saviour once," she said, "you and Arnold here, when I sorely needed help."

"I came from America at a moment's notice," he said, "when it seemed to me that you might need my help. I broke the greatest contract I had ever signed, and I placed my liberty, if not my life, at the mercy of your wonderful police system. But those things count for little. I have been forced, Isobel, to leave you very much to yourself. You come of a race who would regard any a.s.sociation with me as defilement. And there is always the chance that you may be able to take your proper position in the world. That is why it has been my duty to keep away from you, why I have been forced to leave to others what I would gladly have done myself. To-night you will understand everything."

"Nothing that you can tell me of my family or myself," she answered, "will ever make me forget that, whereas of them I know nothing, you have been my guardian angel. It was you who rescued me from the one person in this world of whom I have been miserably, hatefully afraid. It was not my family who saved me. It was you!"

A shrill bell was ringing outside. We heard the commotion of hurrying footsteps, the call-boy's summons, the creaking of moving scenery.

Feurgeres glanced at the watch which stood upon his table. His manner seemed to undergo a sudden change. The man no longer revealed himself.

"The curtain is going up," he said. "I can stay with you but two minutes longer. I am coming to see Mr. Greatson to-night, Isobel, after the performance, and I wish to see him alone. This is at once our meeting and our farewell."

"Our farewell!" she repeated doubtfully. "Surely you are not going to leave us--so soon! You cannot mean that?"

"To-morrow," he said, "I leave for St. Petersburg. My engagement there has been made many months ago. But even if it were not so, dear child, our ways through life must always lie far apart. If the necessity for it had not existed, I should not have left you to the care of--of even Mr.

Greatson. To be your guardian, Isobel, would not be seemly. That you will better understand--to-morrow."

"Indeed!" she protested, "I would sooner hear it now from your own lips--if, indeed, it must be so!"

He shook his head very slowly, but with a decision more finite than the most emphatic negation which words could have framed.

"I must go away, Isobel," he said, "and you and I must remain apart. I will only ask you to remember me by this. I am the man your mother loved. Nothing else in my life is worth considering--but that. I am one of those with whom fate has dealt a little hardly. I am as weary of my work as I am of life itself. I go on because it was her wish. But I cannot forget. The past remains--a blazing page of light. The present is a very empty and a very cold place. My days here are a sort of aftermath. My life ended with hers. To-night, for one moment--I want you to take her place."

Isobel looked at him eagerly.

"Tell me how," she begged. "Tell me what to do!"

"It may sound very foolish," he said, with a faint smile, "but I have a fancy, and I am sure that you will do as I ask. I want you to sit where she sat night after night. You will find some flowers in her chair. Keep them. They were the ones she preferred."

There was an imperative knocking at the door. Feurgeres caught up his plumed hat and sword.

"I am ready," he said quietly. "Mr. Greatson, my servant will take you to the box, which I beg that you and Isobel will occupy for the rest of the evening. It is a harmless whim of mine, and I trust that it will not inconvenience you."

With scarcely another word he left us, and a moment later we heard the roar of applause which greeted his appearance on the stage. Isobel's eyes kindled, and she moved restlessly towards the door.

"I do hope," she said, "that someone will come for us soon. I want to hear every word. I hate to miss any of it."

The dark-visaged servant stood upon the threshold.

"I have orders from Monsieur Feurgeres," he announced respectfully, "to conduct you to his box. If Mademoiselle will permit!"

We followed him on tiptoe to the front of the house. He unlocked the door of the left-hand stage box with a key which he took from his pocket.

"Monsieur will permit me to remark," he whispered, "that this is the first time since I have been in the service of Monsieur Feurgeres that anyone has occupied his private box. I trust that Mademoiselle will be comfortable."

Then the door closed behind him, and we were left to ourselves.

CHAPTER XI

Isobel, her chair drawn a little behind the curtain, was almost invisible from the house. With both hands she held the cl.u.s.ter of pink roses which she had found upon the seat. Gravely, but with wonderful self-composure, she followed the action of the play with an intentness which never faltered. Occasionally she leaned a little forward, and at such moments her profile pa.s.sed the droop of the curtain, and was visible to the greater part of the audience. It was immediately after one of such movements that I noticed some commotion amongst the occupants of the box opposite to us. Their attention seemed suddenly drawn towards Isobel--two sets of opera-gla.s.ses were steadily levelled at her. A woman, whose neck and arms were ablaze with diamonds, raised her lorgnettes, and, regardless of the progress of the play, kept them fixed in our direction. I changed my position to obtain a better view of these people, and immediately I understood.

I saw the house now for the first time, and I saw something which pleased me very little. We were immediately opposite the Royal box, which, with the one adjoining, was occupied by a very brilliant little party. The Archd.u.c.h.ess was there. It was she whose lorgnettes were still unfalteringly directed towards Isobel. Lady Delahaye sat in the background, and a greater personage than either occupied the chair next to the Archd.u.c.h.ess. Soon I saw that they were all whispering together, all still looking from Isobel towards the stage, and from the stage to Isobel; and in the background was a man whose coat was covered with orders, and who held himself like a soldier. He looked at Isobel as one might look at a ghost. I stood back almost hidden in the shadows, and I wondered more than ever what the end of all these things might be.

Towards the close of the act that wonderful voice, with its low burden of sorrow so marvellously controlled, drew me against my will to the front of the box. He stood there with outstretched arms, the prototype of all pathos, and the low words, drawn as it were against his will from his tremulous lips, kept the whole house breathless. His arms dropped to his side, the curtain commenced to fall. In that moment his eyes, suddenly uplifted, met mine. It seemed to me that they were charged with meaning, and I read their message rightly. After all, though, I am not sure that I needed any warning.

The curtain fell. There was twenty minutes' interval. Isobel sat back in her chair, and her hand lingered lovingly about the roses which lay upon her lap. I did not speak to her. I knew that she was living in a little world of her own, into which any ordinary intrusion was almost sacrilege. Arthur and Allan had left their places. I judged rightly that they had gone home. So I sat by myself, and waited for what I knew was sure to happen.

And presently it came--the knock at the box door for which I had been listening. I rose and opened it. A tall young Englishman, with smooth parted hair, whose evening attire was so immaculate as to become almost an offence, stood and stared at me through his eyegla.s.s.

"Mr. Greatson!" he suggested. "Mr. Arnold Greatson?"

I acknowledged the fact with becoming meekness.

"My name is Milton," he said--"Captain Angus Milton. I am in the suite of the Archd.u.c.h.ess for this evening. Her Highness occupies the box opposite to yours."

I bowed.

"I have noticed the fact," I answered. "The Archd.u.c.h.ess has been good enough to favour us with some attention."

The young man stared at me for some moments. I found myself able to endure his scrutiny.

"Her Highness desires that you and the young lady"--for the first time he bowed towards Isobel--"will be so good as to come to the anteroom of the Royal box. She is anxious for a few minutes' conversation with you."

"The Archd.u.c.h.ess," I answered, "does us too much honour! I shall be glad, however, if you will inform her that we will take another opportunity of waiting upon her. Miss de Sorrens is much interested in the play."