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Page 138
"Only the pure in heart can thank God," said Madame, strangely, "but I,
too, am glad. I have written, here"--she pointed to a little heap of
violet note-paper upon a table placed at the opposite side of the bed--
"how glad I am."
Harley and I stared vaguely across at the table. I saw Val Beverley
glancing uneasily in the same direction. Save for the writing materials
and little heap of manuscript, it held only a cup and saucer, a few
sandwiches, and a medicine bottle containing the prescription which Dr.
Rolleston had made up for the invalid.
"I am curious to know what you have written, Madame," declared Harley.
"Yes, you are curious?" she said. "Very well, then, I will tell you,
and afterward you may read if you wish." She turned to me. "You, my
friend," she whispered, and reaching over she laid her jewelled hand
upon my arm, "you have spoken with Ysola de Valera this afternoon, they
tell me?"
"With Mrs. Camber?" I asked, startled. "Yes, that is true."
"Ah, Mrs. Camber," murmured Madame. "I knew her as Ysola de Valera. She
is beautiful, in her golden doll way. You think so?" Then, ere I had
time to reply: "She told you, I suppose, eh?"
"She told me," I replied with a certain embarrassment, "that she had
met you some years ago in Cuba."
"Ah, yes, although _I_ told the fat Inspector it was not so. How
we lie, we women! And of course she told you in what relation I stood
to Juan Menendez?"
"She did not, Madame de St�mer."
"No-no? Well, it was nice of her. No matter. _I_ will tell you. I
was his mistress."
She spoke without bravado, but quite without shame, seeming to glory in
the statement.
"I met him in Paris," she continued, half closing her eyes. "I was
staying at the house of my sister, and my sister, you understand, was
married to Juan's cousin. That is how we met. I was married. Yes, it is
true. But in France our parents find our husbands and our lovers find
our hearts. Yet sometimes these marriages are happy. To me this good
thing had not happened, and in the moment when Juan's hand touched mine
a living fire entered into my heart and it has been burning ever since;
burning-burning, always till I die.
"Very well, I am a shameless woman, yes. But I have lived, and I have
loved, and I am content. I went with him to Cuba, and from Cuba to
another island where he had estates, and the name of which I shall not
pronounce, because it hurts me so, even yet. There he set eyes upon
Ysola de Valera, the daughter of his manager, and, pouf!"
She shrugged and snapped her fingers.
"He was like that, you understand? I knew it well. They did not call
him Devil Menendez for nothing. There was a scene, a dreadful scene,
and after that another, and yet a third. I have pride. If I had seemed
to forget it, still it was there. I left him, and went back to France.
I tried to forget. I entered upon works of charity for the soldiers at
a time when others were becoming tired. I spent a great part of my
fortune upon establishing a hospital, and this child"--she threw her
arm around Val Beverley--"worked with me night and day. I think I
wanted to die. Often I tried to die. Did I not, dear?"
"You did, Madame," said the girl in a very low voice.
"Twice I was arrested in the French lines, where I had crept dressed
like a _poilu_, from where I shot down many a Prussian. Is it not
so?"
"It is true," answered the girl, nodding her head.
"They caught me and arrested me," said Madame, with a sort of triumph.
"If it had been the British"--she raised her hand in that Bernhardt
gesture--"with me it would have gone hard. But in France a woman's
smile goes farther than in England. I had had my fun. They called me
'good comrade!' Perhaps I paid with a kiss. What does it matter? But
they heard of me, those Prussian dogs. They knew and could not forgive.
How often did they come over to bomb us, Val, dear?"
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