Jason: A Romance Read online

  VIII

  JASON MEETS WITH A MISADVENTURE AND DREAMS A DREAM

  So on the next day these two rode forth upon their quest, and no questwas ever undertaken with a stouter courage or with a grimmerdetermination to succeed. To put it fancifully, they burned their towerbehind them, for to one of them, at least--to him who led--there was nogoing back.

  But, after all, they set forth under a cloud, and Ste. Marie took aheavy heart with him. On the evening before an odd and painful incidenthad befallen--a singularly unfortunate incident.

  It chanced that neither of the two men had a dinner engagement thatevening, and so, after their old habit, they dined together. There wassome wrangling over where they should go, Hartley insisting uponArmenonville or the Madrid, in the Bois, Ste. Marie objecting that thesewould be full of tourists so late in June, and urging the claims of somequiet place in the Quarter, where they could talk instead of listeningperforce to loud music. In the end, for no particular reason, theycompromised on the little Spanish restaurant in the rue Helder. Theywent there about eight o'clock, without dressing, for it is a very quietplace which the world does not visit, and they had a sopa de yerbas, andsome langostinos, which are shrimps, and a heavenly arroz, with fowl init, and many tender, succulent strips of red pepper. They had a saladmade out of a little of everything that grows green, with the trueSpanish oil, which has a tang and a bouquet unappreciated by thePhilistine; and then they had a strange pastry and some cheese and greenalmonds. And to make then glad, they drank a bottle of old redValdepenas, and afterward a glass each of a special Manzanilla, uponwhich the restaurant very justly prides itself.

  It was a simple dinner and a little stodgy for that time of the year,but the two men were hungry and sat at table, almost alone in the upperroom, for a long time, saying how good everything was, and from time totime despatching the saturnine waiter, a Madrileno, for more peppers.When at last they came out into the narrow street, and thence to thethronged Boulevard des Italiens, it was nearly eleven o'clock. Theystood for a little time in the shelter of a kiosk, looking down theboulevard to where the Place de l'Opera opened wide and the lights ofthe Cafe de la Paix shone garish in the night. And Ste. Marie said:

  "There's a street fete in Montmartre. We might drive home that way."

  "An excellent idea," said the other man. "The fact that Montmartre liesin an opposite direction from home makes the plan all the better. Andafter that we might drive home through the Bois. That's much farther inthe wrong direction. Lead on!"

  So they sprang into a waiting fiacre, and were dragged up the steep,stone-paved hill to the heights, where La Boheme still reigns, thoughthe glory of Moulin Rouge has departed and the trail of the tourist isover all. They found Montmartre very much en fete. In the Place Blanchewere two of the enormous and brilliantly lighted merry-go-rounds, whichonly Paris knows--one furnished with stolid cattle, theatrical-lookinghorses, and Russian sleighs; the other with the ever-popular gallopingpigs. When these dreadful machines were in rotation, mechanical organs,concealed somewhere in their bowels, emitted hideous brays and shriekswhich mingled with the shrieks of the ladies mounted upon the gallopingpigs, and together insulted a peaceful sky.

  The square was filled with that extremely heterogeneous throng which theParisian street fete gathers together, but it was, for the most part, awell-dressed throng, largely recruited from the boulevards, and it wasquite determined to have a very good time in the cheerful, harmlessLatin fashion. The two men got down from their fiacre and elbowed a waythrough the good-natured crowd to a place near the more popular of themerry-go-rounds. The machine was in rotation. Its garish lights shoneand glittered, its hidden mechanical organ blared a German waltz tune,the huge, pink-varnished pigs galloped gravely up and down as theplatform upon which they were mounted whirled round and round. A littlegroup of American trippers, sight-seeing with a guide, stood near by,and one of the group, a pretty girl with red hair, demanded plaintivelyof the friend upon whose arm she hung: "Do you think momma would beshocked if we took a ride? Wouldn't I love to!"

  Hartley turned, laughing, from this distressed maiden to Ste. Marie. Hewas wondering, with mild amusement, why anybody should wish to do such afoolish thing; but Ste. Marie's eyes were fixed upon the galloping pigs,and the eyes shone with a wistful excitement. To tell the truth, it wasimpossible for him to look on at any form of active amusement withoutthirsting to join it. A joyous and carefree lady in a blue hat, who wasmounted astride upon one of the pigs, hurled a paper serpentine at himand shrieked with delight when it knocked his hat off.

  "That's the second time she has hit me with one of those things," hesaid, groping about his feet for the hat. "Here, stop that boy with thebasket!"

  A vendor of the little rolls of paper ribbon was shouting his waresthrough the crowd. Ste. Marie filled his pockets with the things, andwhen the lady with the blue hat came round, on the next turn, lassoedher neatly about the neck and held the end of the ribbon till it broke.Then he caught a fat gentleman, who was holding himself on by hissteed's neck, in the ear, and the red-haired American girl laughedaloud.

  "When the thing stops," said Ste. Marie, "I'm going to take a ride--justone ride. I haven't ridden a pig for many years."

  Hartley jeered at him, calling him an infant, but Ste. Marie bought moreserpentines, and when the platform came to a stop clambered up to it andmounted the only unoccupied pig he could find. His friend still scoffedat him and called him names, but Ste. Marie tucked his long legs roundthe pig's neck and smiled back, and presently the machine began again torevolve.

  At the end of the first revolution Hartley gave a shout of delight, forhe saw that the lady with the blue hat had left her mount and was makingher way along the platform toward where Ste. Marie sat hurlingserpentines in the face of the world. By the next time round she hadcome to where he was, mounted astride behind him, and was holdingherself with one very shapely arm round his neck, while with the othershe rifled his pockets for ammunition. Ste. Marie grinned, and thepublic, loud in its acclaims, began to pelt the two with serpentinesuntil they were hung with many-colored ribbons like a Christmas-tree.Even Richard Hartley was so far moved out of the self-consciousness withwhich his race is cursed as to buy a handful of the common missiles, andthe lady in the blue hat returned his attention with skill and despatch.

  But as the machine began to slacken its pace, and the hideous wail andblare of the concealed organ died mercifully down, Hartley saw that hisfriend's manner had all at once altered, that he sat leaning forwardaway from the enthusiastic lady with the blue hat, and that the paperserpentines had dropped from his hands. Hartley thought that the rapidmotion must have made him a little giddy, but presently, before themerry-go-round had quite stopped, he saw the man leap down and hurrytoward him through the crowd. Ste. Marie's face was grave and pale. Hecaught Hartley's arm in his hand and turned him round, crying, in a lowvoice:

  "Come out of this as quickly as you can! No, in the other direction. Iwant to get away at once!"

  "What's the matter?" Hartley demanded. "Lady in the blue hat toofriendly? Well, if you're going to play this kind of game you might aswell play it."

  "Helen Benham was down there in the crowd," said Ste. Marie. "On theopposite side from you. She was with a party of people who got out oftwo motor-cars to look on. They were in evening things, so they had comefrom dinner somewhere, I suppose. She saw me."

  "The devil!" said Hartley, under his breath. Then he gave a shout oflaughter, demanding: "Well, what of it? You weren't committing anycrime, were you? There's no harm in riding a silly pig in a sillymerry-go-round. Everybody does it in these fete things." But even as hespoke he knew how extremely unfortunate the meeting was, and thelaughter went out of his voice.

  "I'm afraid," said Ste. Marie, "she won't see the humor of it. Good God,what a thing to happen! _You_ know well enough what she'll think of me.At five o'clock this afternoon," he said, bitterly, "I left her with agreat many fine, high-sounding words about the quest I was to give mydays
and nights to--for her sake. I went away from her like a--knightgoing into battle--consecrated. I tell you, there were tears in her eyeswhen I went. And _now_--now, at midnight--she sees me riding a gallopingpig in a street fete with a girl from the boulevards sitting on the pigwith me and holding me round the neck before a thousand people. Whatwill she think of me? What but one thing can she possibly think? Oh, Iknow well enough! I saw her face before she turned away. And," he cried,"I can't even go to her and explain--if there's anything to explain, andI suppose there is not. I can't even go to her. I've sworn not to seeher."

  "Oh, I'll do that," said the other man. "I'll explain it to her, if anyexplanation's necessary. I think you'll find that she will laugh at it."

  But Ste. Marie shook his head.

  "No, she won't," said he.

  And Hartley could say no more; for he knew Miss Benham, and he was verymuch afraid that she would not laugh.

  They found a fiacre at the side of the square and drove home at once.They were almost entirely silent all the long way, for Ste. Marie wasburied in gloom, and the Englishman, after trying once or twice to cheerhim up, realized that he was best left to himself just then, and so heldhis tongue. But in the rue d'Assas, as Ste. Marie was gettingdown--Hartley kept the fiacre to go on to his rooms in the Avenue del'Observatoire--he made a last attempt to lighten the man's depression.He said:

  "Don't you be a silly ass about this! You're making much too much of it,you know. I'll go to her to-morrow or next day and explain, and she'lllaugh---if she hasn't already done so. You know," he said, almostbelieving it himself, "you are paying her a dashed poor compliment inthinking she's so dull as to misunderstand a little thing of this kind.Yes, by Jove, you are!"

  Ste. Marie looked up at him, and his face, in the light of the cab lamp,showed a first faint gleam of hope.

  "Do you think so?" he demanded. "Do you really think that? Maybe I am.But--Oh, Lord, who would understand such an idiocy? Sacred imbecile thatI am! Why was I ever born? I ask you."

  He turned abruptly, and began to ring at the door, casting a brief"Good-night" over his shoulder. And after a moment Hartley gave it upand drove away.

  Above, in the long, shallow front room of his flat, with the threewindows overlooking the Gardens, Ste. Marie made lights, and after muchrummaging unearthed a box of cigarettes of a peculiarly delectableflavor which had been sent him by a friend in the Khedivial household.He allowed himself one or two of them now and then, usually in sorrowfulmoments, as an especial treat; and this seemed to him to be the momentfor smoking all that were left. Surely his need had never been greater.In England he had, of course, learned to smoke a pipe, but pipe-smokingalways remained with him a species of accomplishment; it never broughthim the deep and ruminative peace with which it enfolds the Anglo-Saxonheart. The "vieux Jacob" of old-fashioned Parisian Bohemia inspired inhim unconcealed horror, of cigars he was suspicious because, he said,most of the unpleasant people he knew smoked cigars, so he soothed hissoul with cigarettes, and he was usually to be found with one betweenhis fingers.

  He lighted one of the precious Egyptians, and after a first ecstaticinhalation went across to one of the long windows, which was open, andstood there with his back to the room, his face to the peaceful,fragrant night. A sudden recollection came to him of that other night amonth before when he had stood on the Pont des Invalides with his eyesupon the stars, his feet upon the ladder thereunto. His heart gave asudden exultant leap within him when he thought how far and high he hadclimbed, but after the leap it shivered and stood still when thisevening's misadventure came before him.

  Would she ever understand? He had no fear that Hartley would not do hisbest with her. Hartley was as honest and as faithful as ever a friendwas in this world. He would do his best. But even then--It was thegirl's inflexible nature that made the matter so dangerous. He knew thatshe was inflexible, and he took a curious pride in it. He admired it. Somust have been those calm-eyed, ancient ladies for whom other Ste.Maries went out to do battle. It was well-nigh impossible to imaginethem lowering their eyes to silly revelry. They could not stoop to suchas that. It was beneath their high dignity. And it was beneath hersalso. As for himself, he was a thing of patches. Here a patch of exaltedchivalry--a noble patch--there a patch of bourgeois, childlike love offun; here a patch of melancholic asceticism, there one of somethingquite the reverse. A hopeless patchwork he was. Must she not shrink fromhim when she knew? He could not quite imagine her understanding thewholly trivial and meaningless impulse that had prompted him to ride agalloping pig and cast paper serpentines at the assembled world.

  Apart from her view of the affair, he felt no shame in it. The moment ofchildish gayety had been but a passing mood. It had in no way slackenedhis tense enthusiasm, dulled the keenness of his spirit, lowered hishigh flight. He knew that well enough. But he wondered if she wouldunderstand, and he could not believe it possible. The mood of exaltationin which they had parted that afternoon came to him, and then the sightof her shocked face as he had seen it in the laughing crowd in the PlaceBlanche.

  "What must she think of me?" he cried, aloud. "What must she think ofme?"

  So, for an hour or more, he stood in the open window staring into thefragrant night, or tramped up and down the long room, his hands behindhis back, kicking out of his way the chairs and things which impededhim, torturing himself with fears and regrets and fancies, until atlast, in a calmer moment, he realized that he was working himself upinto an absurd state of nerves over something which was done and couldnot now be helped. The man had an odd streak of fatalism in hisnature--that will have come of his Southern blood--and it came to himnow in his need. For the work upon which he was to enter with the morrowhe had need of clear wits, not scattered ones; a calm judgment, notdisordered nerves. So he took himself in hand, and it would have beenamazing to any one unfamiliar with the abrupt changes of the Latintemperament to see how suddenly Ste. Marie became quiet and cool andmaster of himself.

  "It is done," he said, with a little shrug, and if his face was for amoment bitter it quickly enough became impassive. "It is done, and itcannot be undone--unless Hartley can undo it. And now, revenons a nosmoutons! Or, at least," said he, looking at his watch--and it wasbetween one and two--"at least, to our beds!"

  So he went to bed, and, so well had he recovered from his fit ofexcitement, he fell asleep almost at once. But for all that the janglednerves had their revenge. He who commonly slept like the dead, withoutthe slightest disturbance, dreamed a strange dream. It seemed to himthat he stood spent and weary in a twilight place--a waste place at thefoot of a high hill. At the top of the hill She sat upon a sort ofthrone, golden in a beam of light from heaven--serene, very beautiful,the end and crown of his weary labors. His feet were set to the ascentof the height whereon she waited, but he was withheld. From the shadowsat the hill's foot a voice called to him in distress, anguish ofspirit--a voice he knew; but he could not say whose voice. It besoughthim out of utter need, and he could not turn away from it.

  Then from those shadows eyes looked upon him, very great and dark eyes,and they besought him, too; he did not know what they asked, but theycalled to him like the low voice, and he could not turn away.

  He looked to the far height, and with all his power he strove to set hisfeet toward it--the goal of long labor and desire; but the eyes and thepiteous voice held him motionless--for they needed him.

  From this anguish he awoke trembling. And after a long time, when he wascomposed, he fell asleep once more, and once more he dreamed the dream.

  So morning found him pallid and unrefreshed. But by daylight he knewwhose eyes had besought him, and he wondered and was a little afraid.

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