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Page 69
"My dear Mr. Knox," she cried, "I seem to be fated always to apologize
for other people. The Colonel is truly desolate, but he cannot join us
for dinner. I have already explained to Mr. Harley."
Harley inclined his head sympathetically, and assisted to arrange
Madame in her place.
"The Colonel requests us to smoke a cigar with him after dinner, Knox,"
he said, glancing across to me. "It would seem that troubles never come
singly."
"Ah," Madame shrugged her shoulders, which her low gown left daringly
bare, "they come in flocks, or not at all. But I suppose we should feel
lonely in the world without a few little sorrows, eh, Mr. Harley?"
I loved her unquenchable spirit, and I have wondered often enough what
I should have thought of her if I had known the truth. France has bred
some wonderful women, both good and bad, but none I think more
wonderful than Marie de St�mer.
If such a thing were possible, we dined more extravagantly than on the
previous night. Madame's wit was at its keenest; she was truly
brilliant. Pedro, from the big bouffet at the end of the room,
supervised this feast of Lucullus, and except for odd moments of
silence in which Madame seemed to be listening for some distant sound,
there was nothing, I think, which could have told a casual observer
that a black cloud rested upon the house.
Once, interrupting a t�te-�-t�te between Val Beverley and Paul Harley:
"Do not encourage her, Mr. Harley," said Madame, "she is a desperate
flirt."
"Oh, Madame," cried Val Beverley and blushed deeply.
"You know you are, my dear, and you are very wise. Flirt all your life,
but never fall in love. It is fatal, don't you think so, Mr. Knox?"--
turning to me in her rapid manner.
I looked into her still eyes, which concealed so much.
"Say, rather, that it is Fate," I murmured.
"Yes, that is more pretty, but not so true. If I could live my life
again, M. Knox," she said, for she sometimes used the French and
sometimes the English mode of address, "I should build a stone wall
around my heart. It could peep over, but no one could ever reach it."
Oddly enough, then, as it seems to me now, the spirit of unrest seemed
almost to depart for awhile, and in the company of the vivacious
Frenchwoman time passed very quickly up to the moment when Harley and I
walked slowly upstairs to join the Colonel.
During the latter part of dinner an idea had presented itself to me
which I was anxious to mention to Harley, and:
"Harley," I said, "an explanation of the Colonel's absence has occurred
to me."
"Really!" he replied; "possibly the same one that has occurred to me."
"What is that?"
Paul Harley paused on the stairs, turning to me.
"You are thinking that he has taken cover from the danger which he
believes particularly to threaten him to-night?"
"Exactly."
"You may be right," he murmured, proceeding upstairs.
He led the way to a little smoke-room which hitherto I had never
visited, and in response to his knock:
"Come in," cried the high voice of Colonel Menendez.
We entered to find ourselves in a small and very cosy room. There was a
handsome oak bureau against one wall, which was littered with papers of
various kinds, and there was also a large bookcase occupied almost
exclusively by French novels. It occurred to me that the Colonel spent
a greater part of his time in this little snuggery than in the more
formal study below. At the moment of our arrival he was stretched upon
a settee near which stood a little table; and on this table I observed
the remains of what appeared to me to have been a fairly substantial
repast. For some reason which I did not pause to analyze at the moment
I noted with disfavour the presence of a bowl of roses upon the silver
tray.
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