The Crossing [189]
that Auguste has fallen in love with his cousin, Monsieur? That he loses his head, forgets that he is a gentleman, and steals her portrait from his sister!''
Had I not been so occupied with my own fate in the outcome of this inquisition, I should have been sorry for Auguste. And yet this feeling could not have lasted, for the young gentleman sprang to his feet, cast a glance at me which was not without malignance, and faced his father, his lips twitching with anger and fear. Monsieur de St. Gre sat undisturbed.
``He is so much in love with the portrait, Monsieur, that he loses it.''
``Loses it!'' cried Auguste.
``Precisely,'' said his father, dryly, ``for Mr. Ritchie tells me he found it--at Madame Bouvet's, was it not, Monsieur?''
Auguste looked at me.
``Mille diables!'' he said, and sat down again heavily.
``Mr. Ritchie has returned it to your sister, a service which puts him heavily in our debt,'' said Monsieur de St. Gre. ``Now, sir,'' he added to me, rising, ``you have had a tiresome day. I will show you to your room, and in the morning we will begin our--investigations.''
He clapped his hands, the silent mulatto appeared with a new candle, and I followed my host down the gallery to a room which he flung open at the far end. A great four-poster bedstead was in one corner, and a polished mahogany dresser in the other.
``We have saved some of our family furniture from the fire, Mr. Ritchie,'' said Monsieur de St. Gre; ``that bed was brought from Paris by my father forty years ago. I hope you will rest well.''
He set the candle on the table, and as he bowed there was a trace of an enigmatical smile about his mouth. How much he knew of Auguste's transaction I could not fathom, but the matter and the scarcely creditab]e part I had played in it kept me awake far into the night. I was just falling into a troubled sleep when a footstep on the gallery startled me back to consciousness. It was followed by a light tap on the door.
``Monsieur Reetchie,'' said a voice.
It was Monsieur Auguste. He was not an imposing figure in his nightrail, and by the light of the carefully shaded candle he held in his hand I saw that he had hitherto deceived me in the matter of his calves. He stood peering at me as I lay under the mosquito bar.
``How is it I can thank you, Monsieur!'' he exclaimed in a whisper.
``By saying nothing, Monsieur,'' I answered.
``You are noble, you are generous, and--and one day I will give you the money back,'' he added with a burst of magniloquence. ``You have behave very well, Monsieur, and I mek you my friend. Behol' Auguste de St. Gre, entirely at your service, Monsieur.'' He made a sweeping bow that might have been impressive save for the nightrail, and sought my hand, which he grasped in a fold of the mosquito bar.
``I am overcome, Monsieur,'' I said.
``Monsieur Reetchie, you are my friend, my intimate'' (he put an aspirate on the word). ``I go to tell you one leetle secret. I find that I can repose confidence in you. My father does not understan' me, you saw, Monsieur, he does not appreciate--that is the Engleesh. Mon Dieu, you saw it this night. I, who spik to you, am made for a courtier, a noble. I have the gift. La Louisiane--she is not so big enough for me.'' He lowered his voice still further, and bent nearer to me. ``Monsieur, I run away to France. My cousin the Marquis will help me. You will hear of Auguste de St. Gre at Versailles, at Trianon, at Chantilly, and peut-etre--''
``It is a worthy campaign, Monsieur,'' I interrupted.
A distant sound broke the stillness, and Auguste was near to dropping the candle on me.
``Adieu, Monsieur,'' he whispered; ``milles tonneres, I have done one extraordinaire foolish thing when I am come to this house to-night.''
And he disappeared, shading his candle, as he had come.
CHAPTER XIV
RETRIBUTION
During the next two days I had more evidence of Monsieur de St. Gre's ability, and, thanks to his conduct of my campaign, not the least suspicion of my mission to New Orleans
Had I not been so occupied with my own fate in the outcome of this inquisition, I should have been sorry for Auguste. And yet this feeling could not have lasted, for the young gentleman sprang to his feet, cast a glance at me which was not without malignance, and faced his father, his lips twitching with anger and fear. Monsieur de St. Gre sat undisturbed.
``He is so much in love with the portrait, Monsieur, that he loses it.''
``Loses it!'' cried Auguste.
``Precisely,'' said his father, dryly, ``for Mr. Ritchie tells me he found it--at Madame Bouvet's, was it not, Monsieur?''
Auguste looked at me.
``Mille diables!'' he said, and sat down again heavily.
``Mr. Ritchie has returned it to your sister, a service which puts him heavily in our debt,'' said Monsieur de St. Gre. ``Now, sir,'' he added to me, rising, ``you have had a tiresome day. I will show you to your room, and in the morning we will begin our--investigations.''
He clapped his hands, the silent mulatto appeared with a new candle, and I followed my host down the gallery to a room which he flung open at the far end. A great four-poster bedstead was in one corner, and a polished mahogany dresser in the other.
``We have saved some of our family furniture from the fire, Mr. Ritchie,'' said Monsieur de St. Gre; ``that bed was brought from Paris by my father forty years ago. I hope you will rest well.''
He set the candle on the table, and as he bowed there was a trace of an enigmatical smile about his mouth. How much he knew of Auguste's transaction I could not fathom, but the matter and the scarcely creditab]e part I had played in it kept me awake far into the night. I was just falling into a troubled sleep when a footstep on the gallery startled me back to consciousness. It was followed by a light tap on the door.
``Monsieur Reetchie,'' said a voice.
It was Monsieur Auguste. He was not an imposing figure in his nightrail, and by the light of the carefully shaded candle he held in his hand I saw that he had hitherto deceived me in the matter of his calves. He stood peering at me as I lay under the mosquito bar.
``How is it I can thank you, Monsieur!'' he exclaimed in a whisper.
``By saying nothing, Monsieur,'' I answered.
``You are noble, you are generous, and--and one day I will give you the money back,'' he added with a burst of magniloquence. ``You have behave very well, Monsieur, and I mek you my friend. Behol' Auguste de St. Gre, entirely at your service, Monsieur.'' He made a sweeping bow that might have been impressive save for the nightrail, and sought my hand, which he grasped in a fold of the mosquito bar.
``I am overcome, Monsieur,'' I said.
``Monsieur Reetchie, you are my friend, my intimate'' (he put an aspirate on the word). ``I go to tell you one leetle secret. I find that I can repose confidence in you. My father does not understan' me, you saw, Monsieur, he does not appreciate--that is the Engleesh. Mon Dieu, you saw it this night. I, who spik to you, am made for a courtier, a noble. I have the gift. La Louisiane--she is not so big enough for me.'' He lowered his voice still further, and bent nearer to me. ``Monsieur, I run away to France. My cousin the Marquis will help me. You will hear of Auguste de St. Gre at Versailles, at Trianon, at Chantilly, and peut-etre--''
``It is a worthy campaign, Monsieur,'' I interrupted.
A distant sound broke the stillness, and Auguste was near to dropping the candle on me.
``Adieu, Monsieur,'' he whispered; ``milles tonneres, I have done one extraordinaire foolish thing when I am come to this house to-night.''
And he disappeared, shading his candle, as he had come.
CHAPTER XIV
RETRIBUTION
During the next two days I had more evidence of Monsieur de St. Gre's ability, and, thanks to his conduct of my campaign, not the least suspicion of my mission to New Orleans