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Page 52
The antithesis of the one expression to the other did not annoy her;
rather she was sensitive to a tender exultance the recurrence of which,
later in the day, subdued her: for Breitmann at tea turned a few
phrases of a similar character. Fitzgerald was light-hearted and
boyish, Breitmann was grave and dignified; but in the eyes of each
there was a force she had encountered so seldom as to forget its being.
Breitmann, in his capacity of secretary, was not so often in her
company as Fitzgerald; nevertheless she was subtly attracted toward
him. When he was of the mind he could invent a happy compliment with a
felicity no less facile than Fitzgerald. And the puzzling thing of it
all was, both men she knew from their histories had never been
ornaments at garden-parties where compliments are current coin. She
liked Fitzgerald, but she admired Breitmann, a differentiation which
she had no inclination to resolve into first principles. That
Breitmann was a secretary for hire drew no barrier in her mind. She
had known many gentlemen of fine families who had served in like
situations. There were no social distinctions. On the other hand, she
never felt wholly comfortable with Breitmann. There was not the least
mistrust in this feeling. It was rather because she instinctively felt
that he was above his occupation. To sum it up briefly, Breitmann was
difficult to understand and Fitzgerald wasn't.
Fitzgerald had an idea; boldly put, it was a grave suspicion. Not once
had he forgotten the man in the chimney. Once the finger had pointed
at Breitmann or some one with whom he was in understanding. This had
proved to be groundless. But he kept turning over the incident and
inspecting it from all sides. There were others a-treasure hunting;
persons unknown; and a man might easily become desperate in the pursuit
of two-million francs, almost half a million of American money, more,
for some of these coins would be rare. He had thoroughly searched the
ground outside the cellar-window, but the sea gravel held its secret
with a tenacity as baffling as the mother-sea herself. There was a new
under-groom, or rather there had been. He had left, and where he had
gone no one knew. Fitzgerald dismissed the thought of him; at the most
he could have been but an accomplice, one to unlock the cellar-window.
While Breitmann lingered near Laura, offering what signs of admiration
he dared, and while the admiral chatted to his country neighbors who
were gathered round the tea-table, Fitzgerald and M. Ferraud were
braced against the terrace wall, a few yards farther on, and exchanged
views on various peoples.
"America is a wonderful country," said M. Ferraud, when they had
exhausted half a dozen topics. He spread out his hands, Frenchman-wise.
"So it is." Fitzgerald threw away his cigarette.
"And how foolish England was over a pound of tea."
"Something like that."
"But see what she lost!" with a second gesture.
"In one way it would not have mattered. She would patronize us as she
still does."
"Do you not resent it, this patronizing attitude?"
"Oh, no--we are very proud to be patronized by England," cynically.
"It's a fine thing to have a lord tell you that you wear your clothes
jolly well."
"I wonder if you are serious or jesting."
"I am very serious at this moment," said Fitzgerald quietly catching
the other by the wrist and turning the palm.
M. Ferraud looked into his face with an astonishment on his own, most
genuine. But he did not struggle. "Why do you do that?"
"I am curious, Mr. Ferraud, when I see a hand like this. Would you
mind letting me see the other?"
"Not in the least." M. Ferraud offered the other hand.
Fitzgerald let go. "What was your object?"
"Mon dieu! what object?"
Fitzgerald lowered his voice. "What was your object in digging holes
in yonder chimney? Did you know what was there? And what do you
propose to do now?"
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