[#] Deck-chair.It was a sadder-looking, thinner, somewhat older-looking Carmelita than she who had welcomed Rupert and his fellowbleuson the occasion of their first visit to hercafé. Carmelita's little doubt had grown, and worry was bordering upon anxiety--for Luigi Rivoli was Carmelita's life, and Carmelita was not only a woman, but an Italian woman, and a Neapolitan at that. Far better than life she loved Luigi Rivoli, and only next to him did she love her own self-respect and virtue. As has been said before, Carmelita considered herself a married woman. Partly owing to her equivocal position, partly to an innate purity of mind, Carmelita had a present passion for "respectability" such as had never troubled her before.And Luigi was causing her grief and anxiety, doubt and care, and fear. For long she had fought it off, and had stoutly refused to confess it even to herself, but day by day and night by night, the persistent attack had worn down her defences of Hope and Faith until at length she stood face to face with the relentless and insidious assailant and recognised it for what it was--Fear. It had come to that, and Carmelita now frankly admitted to herself that she had fears for the faith, honesty and love of the man whom she regarded as her husband and knew to be the father of the so hoped-forbambino....Could it be possible that the man for whom she had lived, and for whom she would at any time have died, her own Luigi, who, but for her, would be in a Marseilles graveyard, her own husband--was laying siege to fat and ugly Madame la Cantinière, because her business was a more profitable one than Carmelita's? It could not be. Men were not devils. Men did not repay women like that. Not even ordinary men, far less her Luigi. Of course not--and besides, there was the Great Secret.For the thousandth time Carmelita found reassurance, comfort and cheer in the thought of the Great Secret, and its inevitable effect upon Luigi when he knew it. What would he say when he realised that there might be another Luigi Rivoli, for, of course, it would be a boy--a boy who would grow up another giant among men, another Samson, another Hercules, another winner of a World's Championship.What would he do in the transports of his joy? How his face would shine! How heartily he would agree with her when she pointed out that it would be as well for them to marry now before thebambinocame. No more procrastination now. What a wedding it should be, and what a feast they would give the bravesoldati! Il Signor Jean Boule should have the seat of honour, and the Signor Americano should come, and Signor Rupert, and Signor 'Erbiggin, and the poor Grasshopper, and the two Russi (ah! what of that Russian girl, what would be her fate? It was wonderful how she kept up the deception. Poor, poor little soul, what a life--the constant fear, the watchfulness and anxiety. Fancy eating and drinking, walking, talking and working, dressing and undressing, waking and sleeping among those men--some of them such dreadful men). Yes, it should be a wedding to remember, without stint of food or drink--un pranzo di tre portatewithi maccheroniandla frittate d'uovaand the best ofcouscous, and there should bevino Italiano--they would welcome a change from the eternalvino Algerino....Four Legionaries entered, and Carmelita rose with a smile to greet them. There was no one she would sooner see than Il Signor Jean Boule and his friends--since it was not Luigi who entered."Che cosa posso offrirve?" she asked. (Although Carmelita spoke Legion French fluently one noticed that she always welcomed one in Italian, and always counted in that language.)"I want a quiet talk with you, carissima Carmelita," said John Bull. "We are in great trouble, and we want your help.""I am glad," replied Carmelita. "Not glad that you are in trouble, but glad you have come to me.""It is about Mikhail Kyrilovitch," said the Englishman."I thought it was," said Carmelita."Don't think me mad, Carmelita," continued John Bull, "but listen. Mikhail Kyrilovitch is agirl.""Don't think me mad, Signor Jean Boule," mimicked Carmelita, "but listen. I have known Mikhail Kyrilovitch was a girl from the first evening that she came here."The Englishman's blue eyes opened widely in surprise, as he stared at the girl. "How?" he asked."Oh, in a dozen ways," laughed Carmelita. "Hands, voice, manner. I stroked her cheek, it was as soft as my own, while her twin brother's was like sand-paper. When she went to catch a biscuit she made a 'lap,' as one does who wears a skirt, instead of bringing her knees together as a man does.... And what can I do for Mademoiselle Mikhail?""You can save her, Carmelita, from I don't know what dangers and horrors. She has been found out, and what her fate would be at the tender mercies of the authorities on the one hand, and of the men on the other, one does not like to think. The very least that could happen to her is to be turned into the streets of Sidi-bel-Abbès.""Do the officers know yet?" asked Carmelita. "Who does know? Who found her out?""Luigi Rivoli found her out," replied John Bull."And sent her to me?" asked Carmelita. "I am glad he...""He did not send her to you," interrupted the Englishman gravely."What did he do?" asked Carmelita quickly."I will tell you what he did, Carmelita, as kindly as I can.... He forgot he was a soldier, Carmelita; he forgot he was an honest man; he forgot he was your--er--fidanzato, yoursposo, Carmelita...."Carmelita went very white."Tell me, Signor," she said quickly. "Did you have to protect this Russian wretch from Luigi?""I did," was the reply. "Why do you speak contemptuously of the girl? She is as innocent as--as innocent as you are, Carmelita.""I hate her," hissed Carmelita.... "Did Luigi kiss her? What happened? Did he...?"The Englishman put his hand over Carmelita's little clenched fist as it lay on the bar."Listen, little one," he said. "You are one of the best, kindest and bravest women I have known. I am certain you are going to be worthy of yourself now. So is Rupert, so is Monsieur Bronco. He has been blaming us bitterly when we have even for a moment wondered whether you would save this girl. He is worth a thousand Rivolis, and loves you a thousand times better than Rivoli ever could. Don't disappoint him and us, Carmelita. Don't disappoint usin yourself, I mean.... What has the girl done that you should hate her?""Did Luigi kiss her?" again asked Carmelita."He did not," was the reply. "He behaved...""And he could not, of course, while she was with me, could he?" said Carmelita."Exactly," smiled the Englishman. "Take her in now, little woman, and lend her some clothes until we can get some things bought or made for her.""Clothes cost francs, Signor Jean," was the practical reply of the girl, who had grown up in a hard school. "I can give her food and shelter, and I can lend her my things, but I have no francs for clothes.""Rupert will find whatever is necessary for her clothes and board and lodging, and for her ticket too. She shan't be with you long, cara Carmelita, nor in Sidi-bel-Abbès."Carmelita passed from behind the bar and went over to the table at which sat Rupert, the American, and the girl Olga. Putting her arm around the neck of the last, Carmelita kissed her on the cheek."Come, little one," she said. "Come to my bed and sleep. You shall be as safe as if in the Chapel of the Mother of God," and, as the girl burst into tears, led her away.John Bull joined his friends as the two women disappeared through the door leading to Carmelita's room."Well, thank God for that," he said as he sat down, and wiped his forehead. "What's the next step?""Find the other little Roosian guy, an' put him wise to what's happened to sissy, I guess," replied the American."Yes," agreed Rupert. "It's up to him to carry on now, with any sort or kind of help that we can give him.... Where did he go after parade, I wonder?""The gal got copped for a wheel-barrer corvée--they was goin' scavengin' round the officers' houses and gardens I think--an' he took her place.... He'd be back by dark an' start washin' hisself," opined the American."Better get back at once then," said John Bull."I feel a most awful cad," he added."What on earth for?" asked Rupert."About Carmelita," was the reply. "I've got her help under false pretences. If I had told her that I was going to fight a serious duel with her precious Luigi, she'd never have taken that girl in. If I don't fight him now, he'll make my life utterly unlivable.... I wish to God Carmelita could be brought to see him as he is and to understand that the moment the Canteen will have him, he is done with the Café.... I wish Madame la Cantinière would take him and settle the matter. Since it has got to come, the sooner the better. I should really enjoy my fight with him if he had turned Carmelita down, and she regarded me as her avenger instead of as the destroyer of her happiness.""One wouldn't worry about Madame la Cantinière's feelings if one destroyed her young man or her latest husband, I suppose?" queried Rupert with a smile."Nope," replied the American. "Nit. Not a damn. Nary a worry. You could beat him up, or you could shoot him up, and lay your last red cent that Madam lar Canteenair would jest say, 'Mong Jew! C'est la Legion' and look aroun' fer his doo and lorful successor.... Let's vamoose, b'ys, an' rubber aroun' fer the other Roosian chechaquo."The three Legionaries quitted le Café de la Légion and made their way back to theircaserne."I'll look in thechambrée," said John Bull as they entered the barrack-square. "You go to the lavabo, Rupert, and you see if he is in the Canteen, Buck. Whoever finds him had better advise him to let Luigi Rivoli alone, and make his plans for going on pump. Tell him I think his best line would be to see Carmelita and arrange for him and his sister to get dresses alike, and clear out boldly by train to Oran, as girls. After that, they know their own business best, but I should recommend England as about the safest place for them.""By Jove! I could give him a letter to my mother," put in Rupert. "Good idea. My people would love to help them--especially as they could tell them all about me.""Gee-whiz! Thet's a brainy notion," agreed the Bucking Bronco. "Let 'em skin out and make tracks for yure Old-Folk-at-Home. It's a cinch."Legionary John Bull found Legionary Feodor Kyrilovitch sitting on his cot polishing "Rosalie," as the soldier of France terms his bayonet. Several other Legionaries were engaged inastiquageand accoutrement cleaning. For the thousandth time, the English gentleman realised that one of the most irksome and maddening of the hardships and disabilities of the common soldier's life is its utter lack of privacy."Bonsoir, cher Boule," remarked Feodor Kyrilovitch, looking up as the English approached. "Have you seen my brother? He appears to have come in and changed and gone out without me."Evidently the boy was anxious."Your brother is at Carmelita's," replied John Bull, and added: "Come over to my bed and sit beside me with your back to the room. I want to speak to you.""Don't be alarmed," he continued as they seated themselves. "Your brother is absolutely all right."The Russian gazed anxiously at the kindly face of the man whom he had instinctively liked and trusted from the first."Your brother is quite all right," continued the Englishman, "but I am afraid you will have to change your plans.""Change our plans, Monsieur Boule?""Yes," replied the older man, as he laid his hand on Feodor's knee with a reassuring smile. "You will have to change your plans, for Mikhail can be Mikhail no longer."The Russian bowed his head upon his hands with a groan."My poor little Olusha," he whispered."Courage, mon brave," said John Bull, patting him on the back. "We have a plan for you. As soon as your sister was discovered, we took her to Carmelita, with whom she will be quite safe for a while. Our idea is that she and Carmelita make and buy women's clothes for both of you, and that you escape as sisters. Since she made such a splendid boy, you ought to be able to become a fairly convincing girl. Légionnaire Mikhail Kyrilovitch will be looked for as a man--probably in uniform. By the time the hue and cry is over, and he is forgotten, everything will be ready for both of you, then one night you slip into Carmelita's café and, next day, two café-chantant girls who have been visiting Carmelita, walk coolly to the station and take train for Oran.... Rivoli can't tell on them and still keep in with Carmelita. He'll have to help--or pretend to."Feodor Kyrilovitch was himself again--a cool and level-headed conspirator, accustomed to weighing chances, taking risks and facing dangers."Thanks, mon ami," he said. "I believe I owe you my sister's salvation.... There will be difficulties, and there are risks--but it is a plan.""Seems fairly hopeful," replied the other. "Anyhow, we could think of nothing better.""We might get to Oran," mused Feodor; "but where we can go from there, God knows. We daren't go to Paris again, and I doubt if we have a hundred and fifty roubles between us.... And we dare not write to friends in Russia.""We've thought of that too, my boy," interrupted the Englishman. "My friend Rupert has money in the Credit Lyonnais, here in the town. He says he will be only too delighted to lend you enough to get you to England, and write a letter for you to take to his people. He says his mother will welcome you with open arms as coming from him.... From what he has said to me about her at different times, I imagine her to be one of the best--and the best of Englishwomen are the best of women, let me tell you.""And the best of Englishmen are the best of men," replied Feodor, seizing the old Legionary's hand and kissing it fervently--to the latter gentleman's consternation and utter discomfort."Don't be an ass," he replied in English.... "Clear out now, and go and have a talk with Carmelita. You can trust her absolutely. Give her what money you've got, and she'll poke around in the ghetto for clothes. She'll know lots of the Spanish Jew dealers and cheapcouturières, if old Mendoza hasn't what she wants. Meanwhile, Rupert will draw some money from thebanque."The Russian rose to his feet."But how can I thank you, Monsieur? How can I repay Monsieur Rupert for his kindness?""Don't thank me, and repay Rupert by visiting his mother and waxing eloquent over his marvellous condition of health, happiness and prosperity. Tell her he is having a lovely time in a lovely place with lovely people.""You joke, Monsieur, howcanI repay you all?""Well, I'll tell you, my son--by getting your sister clear of this hell and safe into England."The Russian struck himself violently on the forehead and turned away.A minute later Rupert entered thechambrée."He's not in the lavabo," he announced."No, it's all right. I found him here. He has just gone down to Carmelita's.... Let's go over to the Canteen, I want to meet the gentle Luigi Rivoli there."On the stairs they encountered the Bucking Bronco, who was told that Feodor had been found and informed."Our Loojey's in the road-house," he announced, "layin' off ter Madam.... I wish she'd deliver the goods ef she's gwine ter. Then we could git next our Loojey without raisin' hell with Carmelita.""Is the Canteen fairly full?" asked John Bull."Some!" replied the Bucking Bronco."Then I'm going over to seek sorrow," said the other."Yure not goin' ter git fresh, an' slug the piker any, air yew, John?" enquired the American anxiously."No, Buck," was the reply. "I'm only going to make an interestin' announcement," and, turning to Rupert, he advised him not to identify himself with any proceedings which might ensue."You are hardly complimentary, Bull," commented Rupert resentfully....As the three entered the Canteen, which was rapidly filling up, they caught sight of Rivoli lolling against the bar in his accustomed corner, and whispering confidentially to Madame, during her intervals of leisure. Pushing his way through the throng John Bull, closely followed by his two friends, approached the Neapolitan. His back was towards them. The American, whose face wore an ugly look, touched Rivoli with his foot."Makin' yure sweet self agreeable as usual, Loojey, my dear?" he enquired, and proceeded with the difficult task of making himself both sarcastic and intelligible in the French language. The Italian wheeled round with a scowl at the sound of the voice he hated.John Bull stepped forward."I have come for your answer, Rivoli," he said quietly. "I wish to know when and with what weapons you would prefer to fight me. Personally, I don't care in the least what they are, so long as they're fatal."A ring of interested listeners gathered round. The Neapolitan laughed contemptuously."Weapons!" he growled. "Aficofor weapons. I'll twist your neck and break your back, if you trouble me again.""Very good," replied the Englishman. "Now listen, bully. We have had a little more than enough of you. You take advantage of your strength to terrorise men who are not street acrobats, and professional weight-lifters. NowIam going to take advantage of this, to terroriseyou," and he produced a small revolver from his pocket. "Now choose. Try your blackguard-rush games and get a bullet through your skull, or fight me like a man with any weapon you prefer."An approving cheer broke from the quickly increasing audience. The Italian moistened his lips and glared round."Mais oui," observed Madame with cool impartiality, "but that is a fair offer."As though stung by her remark, the Italian threw himself into wrestling attitude and extended his arms. John Bull moved only to extend his pistol-arm, and Luigi Rivoli recoiled. Strangling men who could not wrestle was one thing, being shot was quite another. The thrice-accursed English dog had got him nicely cornered. To raise a hand to him was to die--better to face his enemy, himself armed than unarmed. Better still to catch him unarmed and stamp the life out of him. He must temporise."Ho-ho, Brave Little Man with a Pistol," he sneered. "Behold the English hero who fears the bare hands of no man--while he has a revolver in his own.""You miss the point, Rivoli," was the reply. "I want nothing to do with you bare-handed. I want you to choose any weapon you like to name," and turning to the deeply interested crowd he raised his voice a little:"Gentlemen of the Legion," he said, "I challenge le Légionnaire Luigi Rivoli of the Seventh Company of the First Battalion of La Légion Etrangère to fight me with whatever weapon he prefers. We can use our rifles; he can have the choice of the revolvers belonging to me and my friend le Légionnaire Bouckaing Bronceau; we can use our sword-bayonets; we can get sabres from the Spahis; or it can be a rifle-and-bayonet fight. He can choose time, place, and weapon--and, if he will not fight, let him be known asRivoli the Cowardas long as he pollutes our glorious Regiment."Ringing and repeated cheers greeted the longest public speech that Sir Montague Merline had ever made.A bitter sneer was frozen on Rivoli's white face."Galamatias!" he laughed contemptuously, but the laugh rang a little uncertain.Madame la Cantinière was charmed. She felt she was falling in love with ce brave Jean Bouleau grand galop. This was a far finer man, and a far more suitable husband for a hard-working Cantinière than that lump of a Rivoli, with his pockets alwayspleine de videand his mouth always full oflangue vert. A trifle on the elderly side perhaps, but aristocratau bout des ongles. Yes, decidedly grey as to the hair, but then, how nice to be an old man's darling!--and Madame simpered, bridled and tried to blush."Speak up thou, Rivoli," she cried sharply. "Do not stand there like ablanc becbefore a Sergeant-Major. Speak,bécasse--or speak not again to me."The Neapolitan darted a glance of hatred at her."Peace, fat sow," he hissed, and added unwisely--"You wag your beard too much."In that moment vanished for ever all possibility of Madame's trying an Italian husband. "Sow" may be a term of endearment, but no gentleman alludes to beards in the presence of a lady whose chin does not betray her sex.Turning to his enemy, Rivoli struck an attitude and pointed to the door."Go, dig your graveci-devant," he said portentously, "and I will kill you beside it, within the week.""Thanks," replied the Englishman, and invited his friends to join him in a litre....The barracks of the First Battalion of the Foreign Legion hummed and buzzed that night, from end to end, in a ferment of excitement over the two tremendous items of most thrilling and exciting news, to wit, that there was among them a sheep in wolf's clothing--a girl in uniform--and, secondly, that there was a duel toward, a duel in which no less a person than the great Luigi Rivoli was involved.Cherchez la femmewas the game of the evening; and the catch-word of the wits on encountering any bearded and grisledancienin corridorchambrée, canteen, or staircase, was--"Artthouthe girl, petite?"The wrinkled old grey-beard, Tant-de-Soif, was christened Bébé Fifinette, provided with a skirt improvised from a blanket, and subjected to indignities.CHAPTER VIIITHE TEMPTATION OF SIR MONTAGUE MERLINEIl Signor Luigi Rivoli strode forth from the Canteen in an unpleasant frame of mind."Curse the Englishman!" he growled. "Curse that hag behind the bar. Curse that Russianragazza. Curse that thrice-damned American...."In fact--curse everybody and everything. And among them, Il Signor Luigi Rivoli cursed Carmelita for not making a bigger financial success of her Café venture, and saving a Neapolitan gentlemen from the undignified and humiliating position of having to lay siege to a cursed fat Frenchbitche, to get a decent living.... What a fool he'd been that evening! He had lost ground badly with Madame, and he had lost prestige badly with the Legionaries. He must regain both as quickly as possible.... That accursed English devil must meet with an accident within the week. It would not be the first time by hundreds that a Légionnaire had been stabbed in the back for his sash and bayonet in theVillage Négreand alleys of the Ghetto.... A little job for Edouard Malvin, or Tou-tou Boil-the-Cat. Yes, a knife in the back would settle the Englishman's hash quite effectually, and it would be the simplest thing in the world to leave his body in one of those places to which Legionaries are forbidden to go--for the very reason that they are likely to remain in them for ever.... Curse that old cow of the Canteen! Had he offended her beyond hope of reconciliation? The Holy Saints forbid, for the woman was positively wealthy. Well, he must bring the whole battery of his blandishments to bear and make one mighty effort to win her fortune, hand and heart--in fact, he would give her an ultimatum and settle things, one way or the other, for Carmelita was beginning to show distinct signs of restiveness. Curse Carmelita! He was getting very weary of her airs and jealousies--a franc a day did not pay for it all. As soon as things were happily settled with Madame he would be able to sell his rights and goodwill in Carmelita and her Café. But one must not be precipitate. There must be no untimely killing of geese that laid golden eggs. Carmelita must be kept quiet until Madame's affair was settled. 'Twas but a clumsy fool that would lose both the substance and the shadow--both the Canteen and the Café. If Madame returned an emphatic and final No, to his ultimatum, the Café must suffice until something better turned up. Luigi Rivoli and an unaugmented halfpenny a day would be ill partners, and agree but indifferently....Revolving these things in his heart, the gentle Luigi became conscious of a less exalted organ, and bethought him of dinner, Chianti, and his cigar. He turned in the direction of the Café de la Légion, his usual excellent appetite perhaps a trifle dulled and blunted by uncomfortable thoughts as to what might happen should this grey English dog survive the week, in spite of the attentions of Messieurs Malvin, Tou-tou, et Cie. The choice between facing the rifle or revolver of the Company marksman, or of being branded for ever asRivoli the Cowardwas an unpleasant one.... Should he choose steel and have a dagger-fight with sword-bayonets? No, he absolutely hated cold steel, and his mighty strength would be almost as useless to him as in a shooting-duel. Suppose he selected sword-bayonets, to be used as daggers--held his in his left hand, seized his enemy's right wrist, broke his arm, and then made a wrestle of it after all? He could strangle him or break his back with ease. And suppose he missed his snatch at the Englishman's wrist? The devil's bayonet would be through his throat in a second! ... But why these vain and discomforting imaginings? Ten francs would buy a hundred bravos in theVillage Négreand slums, if Malvin failed him....He turned into Carmelita's alley and entered the Café.Carmelita, whose eyes had rarely left the door throughout the evening, saw him as he entered, and her face lit up as does a lantern when the wick is kindled. Here was her noble and beautiful Luigi. Away with all wicked doubts and fears. Even the good Jean Boule was prejudiced against her Luigi She would now hear his version of the discovery of the Russian girl. How amused he would be to know that she had guessed Mikhail's secret long ago.Rivoli passed behind the bar. Carmelita held open the door of her room, and having closed it behind him, turned and flung her arms round his neck."Marito amato!" she murmured as she kissed him again and again. How could she entertain these doubts of her Luigi in his absence? She was a wicked, wicked girl, and undeserving of her fortune in having so glorious a mate. She decided to utter no reproaches and ask no questions concerning the discovery of the Russian girl. She would just tell him that she had taken her in and that she counted on his help in keeping the girl's secret and getting her away."Beloved and beautiful Luigi of my heart," she said, as she placed a steaming dish of macaroni before him, "I want your help once more. That poor, foolish, little Mikhail Kyrilovitch has come and told me he is in trouble, and begged my help. Fancy his thinking he could lead the life that my Luigi leads--that of a soldier of France's fiercest Regiment. Poor little fool.... Guess where he is at this moment, Luigi."With his mouth full, the noble Luigi intimated that he knew not, cared not, and desired not to know."I will tell my lord," murmured Carmelita, bending over his lordship's huge and brawny shoulder, and kissing the tip of the ear into which she whispered, "He is in my bed."Luigi had to think quickly. How much had the Russian girl told of what had happened in the wash-house? Nothing, or Carmelita would not be in this frame of mind. What did Carmelita know? Did she know thatheknew? He sprang to his feet with an oath, and a well-assumed glare of ferocity. He raised his fist above his head, and by holding his breath, contrived to induce a dark flush and raise the veins upon his forehead."In your bed,puttana?" he hissed. (Carmelita was overjoyed, Luigi was angered and jealous. Where there is jealousy, there is love! Of course, Luigi loved her as he had always done. How dared she doubt it? Throwing her arms around his neck with a happy laugh, she reassured her ruffled mate until he permitted himself to calm down and resume his interrupted meal. Jean Boule had lied to her! Luigi knew nothing!...) She went to the bar.Curse this Russian anarchist! But for her he would not have been in danger of losing Madame, nor of finding a violent death. Curse Carmelita, the stupid fool, for harbouring her. What should he do? What could he say? If he thwarted Carmelita's plan, she would think he desired the Russian wench for himself, and fly into a rage. She would be a very fiend from hell if she were jealous! A pretty pass he would be brought to if both Canteen and Café were closed to him! He had better walk warily here, until he had ascertained the exact amount of damage he had done by his most unwise allusion to Madame's whiskers. (Never tell a cross-eyed man he squints.) But he must get even with this Russian she-devil who had thwarted him in the lavatory, struck him across the face, humiliated him before the Englishman, ruined his prestige with his comrades and Madame, and brought him to the brink of an abyss of danger.... He had an idea.... When Carmelita came into the room again from the bar, she should have the shock of her life, and the Russianputtana, another. Also the over-clever Jean Boule should learn that the race is not always to the slow, nor the battle to the weak.... Carmelita entered. Picking up his képi, he extended his arms, and with a smile of lofty sadness, bade her come and kiss him while she might....While she might! Carmelita turned pale, and Doubt again reared its horrid head. Was this his way of beginning some tale concerning separation? Some tale in which Madame la Cantinière's name would appear sooner or later? By the Blessed Virgin and the Holy Bambino, she would tear the eyes from Luigi Rivoli's head, before they should look on that Frenchmeretriceas his wife."While I may? Why do you say that, Luigi?" she asked in a dead voice.The ruffian felt uncomfortable as he watched those great, black eyes blazing in the pinched, blanched face, and realised that there were depths in Carmelita that he had not sounded--and would be ill-advised to sound. What a devil she looked! Luigi Rivoli would do well to eat no food to which Carmelita had had access, when once she knew the truth. Luigi Rivoli would do well to watch warily, and, move quickly, should Carmelita's hand go to the dagger in her garter when he told her that he was thinking of settling in life. In fact it was a question whether his life would be safe, so long as Carmelita was in Sidi-bel-Abbès, and he was the husband of Madame! Another idea!Madre de Dios! A brilliant one. Denounce Carmelita for aiding and abetting a deserter! Two birds with one stone--Carmelita jailed and deported, and the Russian recaptured--Luigi Rivoli rid of a danger from the one, and gratified by a vengeance on the other! As these thoughts flashed through the Italian's evil mind, he maintained his pose, and gently and sadly shook his head."While you may, indeed, my Carmelita," he murmured, and produced the first of his brilliant ideas. "While you may. Do not think I reproach you, Carmelita, for you have acted but in accordance with the dictates of your warm young heart in taking in this girl. How wereyouto know that this would involve me in a duel to the death with the finest shot in the Nineteenth Division, the most famous marksman in the army of Africa?""What?" gasped Carmelita."What I say, my poor girl," was the reply, uttered with calm dignity. "Your English friend, this Jean Boule, who fears to meet me face to face, and man to man, with Nature's weapons, has forced a quarrel on me over this Russian girl. He challenged me in the Canteen this night, and I, who could break him like a dried stick, must stand up to be shot by him, like a dog.... I do not blameyou, Carmelita. How were you to know?..."Carmelita suddenly sat down."I do not understand," she whispered and sat agape."The Englishman owns this girl....""He brought her here," Carmelita interrupted, nodding her head."Ha! I guessed it.... Yes, he owns her, and when I discovered the shamelessputtana'ssex he drew a pistol on me, an innocent, unarmed man.... Did he tell you it was I who found the shameful hussy out? What could I do against him empty-handed? ... And now I must fight him--and he can put a bullet where he will.... So kiss me, while you may, Carmelita."With a low cry the girl sprang into his arms."My love! My love! My husband!" she wailed, and Luigi hoped that she would release her clasp from about his neck in time for him to avoid suffocation.... Curse all women--they were the cause of nine-tenths of the sorrows of mankind. But one could not do without them.... Suddenly Carmelita started back, and clapped her hands with a cry of glee. "The Holy Virgin be praised! I have it! I have it! Unless Légionnaire Jean Boule confesses his fault and begs my Luigi's pardon--out into the gutter goes his Russian mistress," and Carmelita pirouetted with joy.... Thank God! Thank God! Here was a solution, and she embraced her lover again and again. Luigi's face was wreathed in smiles.Excellente! That would do the trick admirably, and the thrice-accursed, and ten-times-too-clever Englisharistocraticoshould publicly apologise, if he wished to save his mistress.... Yes, that would be very much pleasanter than a mere stab-in-the-back revenge, as well as safer. There is always some slight risk, even in Sidi-bel-Abbès, about arranging a murder, and blackmail is always unpleasant--for the blackmailed. Ho-ho! Ho-ho! Only to think of the cold and haughty Englishman publicly apologising and begging Luigi, of his mercifulness, to cancel the duel.Corpo di Bacco, he should do it on his knees. "Rivoli the Coward," forsooth, and what of "Jean Boule the Coward," after this? ... Yes; Jean Boule defeated, the Russian girl denounced when clear of Carmelita's Café, if Madame proved unkind, and denounced in the Café together with Carmelita if Madame accepted him. He himself need not appear personally in the matter at all. And when Carmelita was jailed or deported, and the Russian girl sent to Biribi, or turned into afiglia del reggimento, the Englishman should still get it in the back one dark night--and Signor Luigi Rivoli would wax fat behind Madame's bar, until his five years' service was completed and he could live happy ever after, upon the earnings of Madame....Stroking her hair, he smiled superior upon Carmelita."A clever thought, my little one," he murmured, "and bravely meant, but your Luigi's days are numbered. Would that proud, coldaristocraticoeat the words he shouted before half the Company? No! He will leave the girl to shift for herself."Carmelita's face fell."Do not say so," she begged. "No! No! He would not do that. You know how these English treat women. You know the sort of man this Jean Boule is," and for a moment, involuntarily, Carmelita contrasted her Luigi with Il Signor Jean Boule in the matter of their chivalry and honour, and ere she could thrust the thought from her mind, she had realised the comparison to be unfavourable to her lover."Luigi," she said, "I feel it in my heart that, since the Englishman has said that he will save his mistress, he will do it at any cost whatsoever to himself.... Go, dearest Luigi, go now, and I will send to him, and say I must see him at once. He will surely come, thinking that I send on behalf of this Russian fool."And with a last vehement embrace and burning kiss, she thrust him before her into the bar and watched him out of the Café.Le Légionnaire Jean Boule was not among the score or so of Legionaries who sat drinking at the little tables, nor were either of his friends. Whom could she send? Was that funny Englishribaldo, Légionnaire Erbiggin, there? ... No.... Ah!--There sat the poor Grasshopper. He would do. She made her way with laugh and jest and badinage to where he sat,faisant Suisseas usual."Bonsoir, cher Monsieur Cigale," she said. "Would you do me a kindness?"The Grasshopper rose, thrust his hands up the sleeves of his tunic as far as his elbows, bowed three times, and then knelt upon the ground and smote it thrice with his forehead. Rising, he poured forth a torrent of some language entirely unknown to Carmelita."Speak French or Italian, cher Monsieur Cigale," she said."A thousand pardons, Signora," replied the Grasshopper. "But you will admit it is not usual for a Mandarin of the Highest Button to speak French. I was saying that the true kindness would be your allowing me to do you a kindness. May I doom yourwonk[#] of an enemy to the death of the Thousand Cuts?"[#] Chinese pariah dog."Not this evening, dear Mandarin, thank you," replied Carmelita; "but you can carry a message of the highest military importance. It is well known that you are a soldier of soldiers, and have never yet failed in any military duty."The Mandarin bowed thrice."Will you go straight and find le Légionnaire Jean Boule of your Company, and tell him to come to me at once. Say Carmelita sent you and tell him you have the countersign:--'Our Ally, Russia, is in danger!'""I am honoured and I fly," was the reply. "I will send no official of the Yamen, but go myself. Should the Po Sing, they of the Hundred Names, the [Greek:hoi polloi], beset my path I will cry, 'Sha! Sha!--Kill! Kill!--and scatter them before me. Should thekwei tzu, the Head Dragon from Hell, or the Military Police (and they aretung yenyou know--of the same race and tarred with the same brush) impede me, they too shall die the death of the Wire Net," and the Grasshopper placed his képi on his head.Carmelita knew that John Bull would be with her that evening, and that the risk of eight days'salle de police, for being out after tattoo, would not deter him.In a fever of anxiety, impatience, hope and fear, Carmelita paced up and down behind her bar, like a panther in its cage. One thought shone brightly on the troubled turmoil of her soul. Luigi loved her still; Luigi so loved her that he had been ready to strike her dead as the tide of jealousy surged in his soul. That was the sort of love that Carmelita understood. Let him take her by the throat until she choked--let him seize her by the hair and drag her round the room--let him stab her in the breast, so it be for jealousy. Better Luigi's knife in Carmelita's throat than Luigi's lips on Madame's face. Thank God! Luigi had suffered those pangs--on hearing of a Russian boy in her room--that she herself had suffered on hearing Malvin and the rest couple Luigi's name with Madame's. Thank God! that Luigi knew jealousy even as she did herself. Where there is jealousy, there is love....And then Carmelita struck her forehead with her clenched fists and laid her head upon her folded arms with a piteous groan. Luigi had been acting. Luigi hadpretendedthat jealousy of the Russian. Luigi knew Mikhail Kyrilovitch was a girl--he had fooled her, and once again doubt raised its cruel head in Carmelita's poor distracted mind. "Oh Luigi! Luigi!" she sobbed beneath her breath. And then again a ray of comfort--thebambino. Merciful Mother of God grant that it might be true, and that her bright and golden hopes were based on more solid foundation than themselves. Why had she not told him that evening? But no, she was glad she hadn't. She would keep the wonderful secret until such moment as it really seemed to her that it should be produced as the gossamer fairy chain, weightless but unbreakable, that should bind them together, then and forever, in its indissoluble bonds. Yes, she must force herself to believe devoutly and implicitly in the glorious and beautiful secret, and she must treasure it up as long as possible and whisper it in Luigi's ear if it should ever seem that, for a moment, her Luigi strayed from the path of justice and honesty to his unwedded wife.Faith again triumphed over Doubt.These others were jealous of her Luigi, or mistook his natural and beautiful politeness to Madame, for overtures and love-making. Could not her Luigi converse with, and smile upon, Madame la Cantinière without setting all their idle and malicious tongues clacking and wagging? As for this Russian wretch, Luigi had given her no more thought than to the dust beneath his feet, and she should go forth into the gutter, in Carmelita's night-shift, before her protector should injure a hair of Luigi's head. She was surprised at Jean Boule, but there--men were all alike, all except her Luigi, that is. How deceived she had been in the kindly old Englishman! ... Fancy coming to her with their cock-and-bull story....The voice of the man of whom she was thinking broke in upon her reverie."What is it, little one? Nothing wrong about Olga?""Come in here, Signor Jean Boule," said Carmelita, and led the way into her room.The Englishman involuntarily glanced round the little sanctum into which no man save Luigi Rivoli had been known to penetrate, and noted the clean tablecloth, the vase with its bunch of krenfell and oleander flowers, the tiny, tidy dressing table, the dilapidated chest of drawers, bright oleographs, cheap rug, crucifix and plaster Madonna--a room still suggestive of Italy.Turning, Carmelita faced the Englishman and pointed an accusing finger at his face, her great black eyes staring hard and straight into the narrowed blue ones."Signor Jean Boule," she said, "you have played a trick on me; you have deceived me; you have killed my faith in Englishmen--yes, in all men--except my Luigi. Why did you bring your mistress to me and beg my help while you knew you meant to kill my husband, because he had found you out? Oh, Monsieur Jean Boule--but you have hurt me so. And I had thought you like a father--so good a man, yes, like a holy padre, aprête. Oh, Signor Jean Boule, are you like those others, loving wickedly, killing wickedly? Are therenogood honest men--except my Luigi?..."The Englishman shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, twisting his képi in his fingers, a picture of embarrassment and misery. How could he persuade this girl that the man was a double-dealing, villainous blackguard? And if he could do so, why should he? Why destroy her faith and her happiness together? If this hound failed in his attempt upon the celibacy of Madame, he would very possibly marry the girl, and, in his own interests, treat her decently. Apparently he had kept her love for years--why should she not go on worshipping the man she believed her lover to be, until the end? But no, it was absurd. How should Luigi Rivoli ever treat a woman decently? Sooner or later he was certain to desert her. What would Carmelita's life be when Luigi Rivoli had the complete disposal of it? Sooner or later she must know what he was, and better sooner than later. A thousand times better that she should find him out now, while there was a risk of his marrying her.... It would be a really good deed to save Carmelita from the clutches of Luigi Rivoli. Stepping toward her, he laid his hands upon the girl's shoulders and gazed into her eyes with that look which he was wont to fasten upon the Grasshopper to soothe and influence him."Listen to me, Carmelita," he said, "and be perfectly sure that every word I say to you is absolutely true.... I did not know that Mikhail Kyrilovitch was a woman more than half an hour before you did. I only knew it when she rushed to me for protection from Luigi Rivoli, who had discovered her and behaved to her like the foul beast he is. I have challenged him to fight me in the only way in which it is possible for me to fight him, and I mean to kill him. I am going to kill him partly for your sake, partly for my own, and partly for that of every wretched recruit and decent man in the Company."Carmelita drew back."Coward!" she hissed. "You only dare face my Luigi with a gun in your hand.""I am not a coward, Carmelita. It is Rivoli who is the coward. He is by far the strongest man in the Regiment, and is a professional wrestler. He trades on this to bully and terrorise all who do not become his servants. He is a brutal ruffian, and he is a coward, for he would do anything rather than meet me in fair fight. He is only arisquetoutwhere there are no weapons and the odds are a hundred to one in his favour.... If I hear one more word about my trading on my marksmanship, he shall fight me with revolvers across a handkerchief. Besides, I have told him he can choose any weapon in the world.""And now hearme," replied Carmelita, "and I would say it if it were my last word. Either you take all that back and apologise to my Luigi, or out into the night goes this Russian girl," and she pointed with the dramatic gesture of the excited Southerner to thebassourab-cloth which screened off the little inner chamber which was just big enough to hold Carmelita's bed.The Englishman started."You don't mean that, Carmelita!" he asked anxiously.The girl laughed bitterly, cruelly."Do you think a thousand Russians would weigh with me against one hair of my husband's head?" she answered. "Give me your solemn promise now and here, or I will do more than throw her out, I will denounce her. I will give her to the Turcos and Spahis. I will have her dragged to the Village Négre.""Hush! Carmelita. I am ashamed of you. Are you mad?" said John Bull sternly."I am sorry," was the reply. "Yes, Iammad, Signor Jean Boule. I am being driven mad by this horrible plot against my Luigi. Why are you all his enemies? It is because you are jealous of him and because you fear him--but you shall not hurt him. This, at least, I say and mean: Take the Russian girl away with you now, or promise me you will never fight my husband with lead or steel.""I cannot promise it, Carmelita. I have challenged Rivoli publicly and must fight him. To draw out now would brand me as a coward, would make him twice the bully he is, and would be a cruelty to you.... You ask too much, you ask an impossibility. I must make some other plan for Olga Kyrilovitch."Carmelita staggered, and stared open-mouthed. She could not believe her ears."What?" she gasped."The girl must go elsewhere," repeated the Englishman. Carmelita appeared to be about to faint. Could he mean it? Was it possible? Was her brilliant plan failing?"Will you lend the girl some clothes?" asked John Bull."Most certainly will I not," she whispered."Then please go and tell her to dress again in uniform," was the answer, as he pointed to the uniform lying folded on a chair."And will you ruin her chance of escape, Signor Jean Boule?" asked Carmelita. "Isthathow Englishmen treat women who throw themselves on their mercy? Do you put your own vengeance before her safety and honour and life?""No, Carmelita, I do not," answered the man. "I am in a terrible position, and am going to choose the lesser of two evils. It is better that I take the girl away and help her brother to desert with her, than let Rivoli wreck your life, break your heart, and doubly regain the bully's prestige and power to make weaker comrades' lives a misery and a burden. He, at any rate, shall be the cause of no more suicides."Carmelita flung herself upon the hideous horsehair couch and burst into a torrent of hysterical tears. What could she say to this hard, cold man? What could she do? Whatcouldshe do?John Bull, suffering acutely as he had ever suffered in his life, stood silent, and wondered how far the wish was father to the thought that, in this ghastly dilemma, it was his duty to stand firm in his attitude toward Rivoli. For once, the thing he longed to do was the right thing to do, and the course which he would loathe to follow was the wrong course for him to pursue. Olga Kyrilovitch had brought her fate upon herself, and he had no more responsibility to her than the common duty of lending a helping hand to a neighbour in trouble. Had there been no other consideration, he would have helped her to the utmost of his power, without counting cost or risk. When it came to a clear choice between saving Carmelita, protecting recruits, making a stand for self-respect and decency, and redeeming his own word and honour and reputation on the one hand, and, on the other hand, helping this rash and lawless Russian girl, there could be no hesitation.Carmelita sprang to her feet."I will denounce her," she cried. "I will throw open those shutters and scream and scream until there is a crowd, and they shall have her in her nightdress.Nowwill you spare my husband?""You'll do nothing of the kind," answered John Bull calmly. "You know you would regret it all the days of your life. Is this Italian hospitality, womanliness, and honour? Be ashamed of yourself, to talk so. Be fair. Be just. Who needs protection most--your bully, or this wretched girl?" and here Legionary John Bull showed more than his wonted wisdom in dealing with women. Stepping up to Carmelita he seized her by the shoulders and shook her somewhat sharply, saying as he did so, "And understand once and for all, little fool, I keep my promise to Luigi Rivoli--whatever you do."In return for her shaking, the surprising Carmelita smiled up into the old soldier's face, and clasped her hands behind his head."Monsieur Jean Boule," she said, "I think I would have loved my father like I love you--but how you try to hide the soft, kind heart with the hard, cruel face!" and Carmelita gave John Bull the first kiss he had received for over a quarter of a century.He pushed her from him roughly. Carmelita was glad. This was a thousand times better than that glacial immobility. This meant that he was moved."Save Olga's life, Babbo," she whispered coaxingly. "Save Olga and make me happy. Don't ruin two women for fear men should not think you brave. Who doubts the courage of the man who wears themédaille? The man who had the courage to challenge Luigi Rivoli can have the courage to withdraw it if it suits him.""The man who killed Luigi Rivoli would be your best friend, Carmelita," was the reply, "and Olga Kyrilovitch must be saved in some other way. I must keep my word. It is due to others as well as to myself that I do so."The two regarded each other without realising that it was across an abyss of immeasurable width and unfathomable depth. He was a man, she was a woman; he a Northerner, she a Southerner. To him honour came first; and without love there could be, she thought, neither honour nor happiness nor life itself.How should these two understand each other, these two whose souls spoke languages differing as widely as those spoken by their tongues? The woman understood and appreciated the rectitude and honour of the man as little as he realised and fathomed the depth and overwhelming intensity of her love and devotion.Carmelita now made a great mistake and took a false step--a mistake which turned to her advantage and a false step which led whither she so yearned to go. For Luigi's sake she played the temptress. In defence of her virtue let it be said that, as once before, she believed that her Luigi's life was actually at stake; in defence of her judgment, let it be remembered that she had grown up in a hard school, and had reason to believe that no man does something for nothing where a woman is concerned. She advanced with her bewitching smile, took the Englishman's face between her hands, drew his head down and kissed him upon the lips.The Englishman blushed as he returned her kiss, and laughed to find himself blushing as the thought struck him that he might have had a daughter older than Carmelita. The girl misunderstood the kiss and smile. Alas! all men were alike in one thing and the best were like the worst. She put her lips to his ear and whispered....John Bull drew back. Placing his hands upon the girl's shoulders, he gazed into her eyes. Carmelita blushed painfully, and dropped her eyes before the man's searching stare. She heaved a sobbing sigh. Yes, all alike, all had their price--and any pretty woman could pay it. All alike--even grey-haired, kind old Babbo Jean Boule, who looked as though he might be her grandfather.She felt his hand beneath her chin, raising her face to his. Again he gazed into her eyes and slowly shook his head."And is this what men and Life have taught you, Carmelita?" he said....A horrid fear gripped Carmelita's heart. Could she be wrong? Could she have offered herself in vain? Could this man's pride and hatred be so great that the bribe was not enough?"And you would do this--you, Carmelita; for that filthy blackguard?""I would do anything for my Luigi. Sell me his life and I will pay you now, the highest price a woman can. Kiss me on the lips, dear Monsieur Jean, and I will trust you to keep your part of the bargain--never to fight nor attack my Luigi with a weapon in your hand. Kiss me! Kiss me!"The Englishman drew the pleading girl to him and kissed her on the forehead. She flung her arms around his neck in a transport of joy and relief."You will sell me my Luigi's life?" she cried. "Oh praise and thanks to the Mother of God. Youwill?""I willgiveyou your Luigi's life," said Sir Montague Merline, and went out.
[#] Deck-chair.
It was a sadder-looking, thinner, somewhat older-looking Carmelita than she who had welcomed Rupert and his fellowbleuson the occasion of their first visit to hercafé. Carmelita's little doubt had grown, and worry was bordering upon anxiety--for Luigi Rivoli was Carmelita's life, and Carmelita was not only a woman, but an Italian woman, and a Neapolitan at that. Far better than life she loved Luigi Rivoli, and only next to him did she love her own self-respect and virtue. As has been said before, Carmelita considered herself a married woman. Partly owing to her equivocal position, partly to an innate purity of mind, Carmelita had a present passion for "respectability" such as had never troubled her before.
And Luigi was causing her grief and anxiety, doubt and care, and fear. For long she had fought it off, and had stoutly refused to confess it even to herself, but day by day and night by night, the persistent attack had worn down her defences of Hope and Faith until at length she stood face to face with the relentless and insidious assailant and recognised it for what it was--Fear. It had come to that, and Carmelita now frankly admitted to herself that she had fears for the faith, honesty and love of the man whom she regarded as her husband and knew to be the father of the so hoped-forbambino....
Could it be possible that the man for whom she had lived, and for whom she would at any time have died, her own Luigi, who, but for her, would be in a Marseilles graveyard, her own husband--was laying siege to fat and ugly Madame la Cantinière, because her business was a more profitable one than Carmelita's? It could not be. Men were not devils. Men did not repay women like that. Not even ordinary men, far less her Luigi. Of course not--and besides, there was the Great Secret.
For the thousandth time Carmelita found reassurance, comfort and cheer in the thought of the Great Secret, and its inevitable effect upon Luigi when he knew it. What would he say when he realised that there might be another Luigi Rivoli, for, of course, it would be a boy--a boy who would grow up another giant among men, another Samson, another Hercules, another winner of a World's Championship.
What would he do in the transports of his joy? How his face would shine! How heartily he would agree with her when she pointed out that it would be as well for them to marry now before thebambinocame. No more procrastination now. What a wedding it should be, and what a feast they would give the bravesoldati! Il Signor Jean Boule should have the seat of honour, and the Signor Americano should come, and Signor Rupert, and Signor 'Erbiggin, and the poor Grasshopper, and the two Russi (ah! what of that Russian girl, what would be her fate? It was wonderful how she kept up the deception. Poor, poor little soul, what a life--the constant fear, the watchfulness and anxiety. Fancy eating and drinking, walking, talking and working, dressing and undressing, waking and sleeping among those men--some of them such dreadful men). Yes, it should be a wedding to remember, without stint of food or drink--un pranzo di tre portatewithi maccheroniandla frittate d'uovaand the best ofcouscous, and there should bevino Italiano--they would welcome a change from the eternalvino Algerino....
Four Legionaries entered, and Carmelita rose with a smile to greet them. There was no one she would sooner see than Il Signor Jean Boule and his friends--since it was not Luigi who entered.
"Che cosa posso offrirve?" she asked. (Although Carmelita spoke Legion French fluently one noticed that she always welcomed one in Italian, and always counted in that language.)
"I want a quiet talk with you, carissima Carmelita," said John Bull. "We are in great trouble, and we want your help."
"I am glad," replied Carmelita. "Not glad that you are in trouble, but glad you have come to me."
"It is about Mikhail Kyrilovitch," said the Englishman.
"I thought it was," said Carmelita.
"Don't think me mad, Carmelita," continued John Bull, "but listen. Mikhail Kyrilovitch is agirl."
"Don't think me mad, Signor Jean Boule," mimicked Carmelita, "but listen. I have known Mikhail Kyrilovitch was a girl from the first evening that she came here."
The Englishman's blue eyes opened widely in surprise, as he stared at the girl. "How?" he asked.
"Oh, in a dozen ways," laughed Carmelita. "Hands, voice, manner. I stroked her cheek, it was as soft as my own, while her twin brother's was like sand-paper. When she went to catch a biscuit she made a 'lap,' as one does who wears a skirt, instead of bringing her knees together as a man does.... And what can I do for Mademoiselle Mikhail?"
"You can save her, Carmelita, from I don't know what dangers and horrors. She has been found out, and what her fate would be at the tender mercies of the authorities on the one hand, and of the men on the other, one does not like to think. The very least that could happen to her is to be turned into the streets of Sidi-bel-Abbès."
"Do the officers know yet?" asked Carmelita. "Who does know? Who found her out?"
"Luigi Rivoli found her out," replied John Bull.
"And sent her to me?" asked Carmelita. "I am glad he..."
"He did not send her to you," interrupted the Englishman gravely.
"What did he do?" asked Carmelita quickly.
"I will tell you what he did, Carmelita, as kindly as I can.... He forgot he was a soldier, Carmelita; he forgot he was an honest man; he forgot he was your--er--fidanzato, yoursposo, Carmelita...."
Carmelita went very white.
"Tell me, Signor," she said quickly. "Did you have to protect this Russian wretch from Luigi?"
"I did," was the reply. "Why do you speak contemptuously of the girl? She is as innocent as--as innocent as you are, Carmelita."
"I hate her," hissed Carmelita.... "Did Luigi kiss her? What happened? Did he...?"
The Englishman put his hand over Carmelita's little clenched fist as it lay on the bar.
"Listen, little one," he said. "You are one of the best, kindest and bravest women I have known. I am certain you are going to be worthy of yourself now. So is Rupert, so is Monsieur Bronco. He has been blaming us bitterly when we have even for a moment wondered whether you would save this girl. He is worth a thousand Rivolis, and loves you a thousand times better than Rivoli ever could. Don't disappoint him and us, Carmelita. Don't disappoint usin yourself, I mean.... What has the girl done that you should hate her?"
"Did Luigi kiss her?" again asked Carmelita.
"He did not," was the reply. "He behaved..."
"And he could not, of course, while she was with me, could he?" said Carmelita.
"Exactly," smiled the Englishman. "Take her in now, little woman, and lend her some clothes until we can get some things bought or made for her."
"Clothes cost francs, Signor Jean," was the practical reply of the girl, who had grown up in a hard school. "I can give her food and shelter, and I can lend her my things, but I have no francs for clothes."
"Rupert will find whatever is necessary for her clothes and board and lodging, and for her ticket too. She shan't be with you long, cara Carmelita, nor in Sidi-bel-Abbès."
Carmelita passed from behind the bar and went over to the table at which sat Rupert, the American, and the girl Olga. Putting her arm around the neck of the last, Carmelita kissed her on the cheek.
"Come, little one," she said. "Come to my bed and sleep. You shall be as safe as if in the Chapel of the Mother of God," and, as the girl burst into tears, led her away.
John Bull joined his friends as the two women disappeared through the door leading to Carmelita's room.
"Well, thank God for that," he said as he sat down, and wiped his forehead. "What's the next step?"
"Find the other little Roosian guy, an' put him wise to what's happened to sissy, I guess," replied the American.
"Yes," agreed Rupert. "It's up to him to carry on now, with any sort or kind of help that we can give him.... Where did he go after parade, I wonder?"
"The gal got copped for a wheel-barrer corvée--they was goin' scavengin' round the officers' houses and gardens I think--an' he took her place.... He'd be back by dark an' start washin' hisself," opined the American.
"Better get back at once then," said John Bull.
"I feel a most awful cad," he added.
"What on earth for?" asked Rupert.
"About Carmelita," was the reply. "I've got her help under false pretences. If I had told her that I was going to fight a serious duel with her precious Luigi, she'd never have taken that girl in. If I don't fight him now, he'll make my life utterly unlivable.... I wish to God Carmelita could be brought to see him as he is and to understand that the moment the Canteen will have him, he is done with the Café.... I wish Madame la Cantinière would take him and settle the matter. Since it has got to come, the sooner the better. I should really enjoy my fight with him if he had turned Carmelita down, and she regarded me as her avenger instead of as the destroyer of her happiness."
"One wouldn't worry about Madame la Cantinière's feelings if one destroyed her young man or her latest husband, I suppose?" queried Rupert with a smile.
"Nope," replied the American. "Nit. Not a damn. Nary a worry. You could beat him up, or you could shoot him up, and lay your last red cent that Madam lar Canteenair would jest say, 'Mong Jew! C'est la Legion' and look aroun' fer his doo and lorful successor.... Let's vamoose, b'ys, an' rubber aroun' fer the other Roosian chechaquo."
The three Legionaries quitted le Café de la Légion and made their way back to theircaserne.
"I'll look in thechambrée," said John Bull as they entered the barrack-square. "You go to the lavabo, Rupert, and you see if he is in the Canteen, Buck. Whoever finds him had better advise him to let Luigi Rivoli alone, and make his plans for going on pump. Tell him I think his best line would be to see Carmelita and arrange for him and his sister to get dresses alike, and clear out boldly by train to Oran, as girls. After that, they know their own business best, but I should recommend England as about the safest place for them."
"By Jove! I could give him a letter to my mother," put in Rupert. "Good idea. My people would love to help them--especially as they could tell them all about me."
"Gee-whiz! Thet's a brainy notion," agreed the Bucking Bronco. "Let 'em skin out and make tracks for yure Old-Folk-at-Home. It's a cinch."
Legionary John Bull found Legionary Feodor Kyrilovitch sitting on his cot polishing "Rosalie," as the soldier of France terms his bayonet. Several other Legionaries were engaged inastiquageand accoutrement cleaning. For the thousandth time, the English gentleman realised that one of the most irksome and maddening of the hardships and disabilities of the common soldier's life is its utter lack of privacy.
"Bonsoir, cher Boule," remarked Feodor Kyrilovitch, looking up as the English approached. "Have you seen my brother? He appears to have come in and changed and gone out without me."
Evidently the boy was anxious.
"Your brother is at Carmelita's," replied John Bull, and added: "Come over to my bed and sit beside me with your back to the room. I want to speak to you."
"Don't be alarmed," he continued as they seated themselves. "Your brother is absolutely all right."
The Russian gazed anxiously at the kindly face of the man whom he had instinctively liked and trusted from the first.
"Your brother is quite all right," continued the Englishman, "but I am afraid you will have to change your plans."
"Change our plans, Monsieur Boule?"
"Yes," replied the older man, as he laid his hand on Feodor's knee with a reassuring smile. "You will have to change your plans, for Mikhail can be Mikhail no longer."
The Russian bowed his head upon his hands with a groan.
"My poor little Olusha," he whispered.
"Courage, mon brave," said John Bull, patting him on the back. "We have a plan for you. As soon as your sister was discovered, we took her to Carmelita, with whom she will be quite safe for a while. Our idea is that she and Carmelita make and buy women's clothes for both of you, and that you escape as sisters. Since she made such a splendid boy, you ought to be able to become a fairly convincing girl. Légionnaire Mikhail Kyrilovitch will be looked for as a man--probably in uniform. By the time the hue and cry is over, and he is forgotten, everything will be ready for both of you, then one night you slip into Carmelita's café and, next day, two café-chantant girls who have been visiting Carmelita, walk coolly to the station and take train for Oran.... Rivoli can't tell on them and still keep in with Carmelita. He'll have to help--or pretend to."
Feodor Kyrilovitch was himself again--a cool and level-headed conspirator, accustomed to weighing chances, taking risks and facing dangers.
"Thanks, mon ami," he said. "I believe I owe you my sister's salvation.... There will be difficulties, and there are risks--but it is a plan."
"Seems fairly hopeful," replied the other. "Anyhow, we could think of nothing better."
"We might get to Oran," mused Feodor; "but where we can go from there, God knows. We daren't go to Paris again, and I doubt if we have a hundred and fifty roubles between us.... And we dare not write to friends in Russia."
"We've thought of that too, my boy," interrupted the Englishman. "My friend Rupert has money in the Credit Lyonnais, here in the town. He says he will be only too delighted to lend you enough to get you to England, and write a letter for you to take to his people. He says his mother will welcome you with open arms as coming from him.... From what he has said to me about her at different times, I imagine her to be one of the best--and the best of Englishwomen are the best of women, let me tell you."
"And the best of Englishmen are the best of men," replied Feodor, seizing the old Legionary's hand and kissing it fervently--to the latter gentleman's consternation and utter discomfort.
"Don't be an ass," he replied in English.... "Clear out now, and go and have a talk with Carmelita. You can trust her absolutely. Give her what money you've got, and she'll poke around in the ghetto for clothes. She'll know lots of the Spanish Jew dealers and cheapcouturières, if old Mendoza hasn't what she wants. Meanwhile, Rupert will draw some money from thebanque."
The Russian rose to his feet.
"But how can I thank you, Monsieur? How can I repay Monsieur Rupert for his kindness?"
"Don't thank me, and repay Rupert by visiting his mother and waxing eloquent over his marvellous condition of health, happiness and prosperity. Tell her he is having a lovely time in a lovely place with lovely people."
"You joke, Monsieur, howcanI repay you all?"
"Well, I'll tell you, my son--by getting your sister clear of this hell and safe into England."
The Russian struck himself violently on the forehead and turned away.
A minute later Rupert entered thechambrée.
"He's not in the lavabo," he announced.
"No, it's all right. I found him here. He has just gone down to Carmelita's.... Let's go over to the Canteen, I want to meet the gentle Luigi Rivoli there."
On the stairs they encountered the Bucking Bronco, who was told that Feodor had been found and informed.
"Our Loojey's in the road-house," he announced, "layin' off ter Madam.... I wish she'd deliver the goods ef she's gwine ter. Then we could git next our Loojey without raisin' hell with Carmelita."
"Is the Canteen fairly full?" asked John Bull.
"Some!" replied the Bucking Bronco.
"Then I'm going over to seek sorrow," said the other.
"Yure not goin' ter git fresh, an' slug the piker any, air yew, John?" enquired the American anxiously.
"No, Buck," was the reply. "I'm only going to make an interestin' announcement," and, turning to Rupert, he advised him not to identify himself with any proceedings which might ensue.
"You are hardly complimentary, Bull," commented Rupert resentfully....
As the three entered the Canteen, which was rapidly filling up, they caught sight of Rivoli lolling against the bar in his accustomed corner, and whispering confidentially to Madame, during her intervals of leisure. Pushing his way through the throng John Bull, closely followed by his two friends, approached the Neapolitan. His back was towards them. The American, whose face wore an ugly look, touched Rivoli with his foot.
"Makin' yure sweet self agreeable as usual, Loojey, my dear?" he enquired, and proceeded with the difficult task of making himself both sarcastic and intelligible in the French language. The Italian wheeled round with a scowl at the sound of the voice he hated.
John Bull stepped forward.
"I have come for your answer, Rivoli," he said quietly. "I wish to know when and with what weapons you would prefer to fight me. Personally, I don't care in the least what they are, so long as they're fatal."
A ring of interested listeners gathered round. The Neapolitan laughed contemptuously.
"Weapons!" he growled. "Aficofor weapons. I'll twist your neck and break your back, if you trouble me again."
"Very good," replied the Englishman. "Now listen, bully. We have had a little more than enough of you. You take advantage of your strength to terrorise men who are not street acrobats, and professional weight-lifters. NowIam going to take advantage of this, to terroriseyou," and he produced a small revolver from his pocket. "Now choose. Try your blackguard-rush games and get a bullet through your skull, or fight me like a man with any weapon you prefer."
An approving cheer broke from the quickly increasing audience. The Italian moistened his lips and glared round.
"Mais oui," observed Madame with cool impartiality, "but that is a fair offer."
As though stung by her remark, the Italian threw himself into wrestling attitude and extended his arms. John Bull moved only to extend his pistol-arm, and Luigi Rivoli recoiled. Strangling men who could not wrestle was one thing, being shot was quite another. The thrice-accursed English dog had got him nicely cornered. To raise a hand to him was to die--better to face his enemy, himself armed than unarmed. Better still to catch him unarmed and stamp the life out of him. He must temporise.
"Ho-ho, Brave Little Man with a Pistol," he sneered. "Behold the English hero who fears the bare hands of no man--while he has a revolver in his own."
"You miss the point, Rivoli," was the reply. "I want nothing to do with you bare-handed. I want you to choose any weapon you like to name," and turning to the deeply interested crowd he raised his voice a little:
"Gentlemen of the Legion," he said, "I challenge le Légionnaire Luigi Rivoli of the Seventh Company of the First Battalion of La Légion Etrangère to fight me with whatever weapon he prefers. We can use our rifles; he can have the choice of the revolvers belonging to me and my friend le Légionnaire Bouckaing Bronceau; we can use our sword-bayonets; we can get sabres from the Spahis; or it can be a rifle-and-bayonet fight. He can choose time, place, and weapon--and, if he will not fight, let him be known asRivoli the Cowardas long as he pollutes our glorious Regiment."
Ringing and repeated cheers greeted the longest public speech that Sir Montague Merline had ever made.
A bitter sneer was frozen on Rivoli's white face.
"Galamatias!" he laughed contemptuously, but the laugh rang a little uncertain.
Madame la Cantinière was charmed. She felt she was falling in love with ce brave Jean Bouleau grand galop. This was a far finer man, and a far more suitable husband for a hard-working Cantinière than that lump of a Rivoli, with his pockets alwayspleine de videand his mouth always full oflangue vert. A trifle on the elderly side perhaps, but aristocratau bout des ongles. Yes, decidedly grey as to the hair, but then, how nice to be an old man's darling!--and Madame simpered, bridled and tried to blush.
"Speak up thou, Rivoli," she cried sharply. "Do not stand there like ablanc becbefore a Sergeant-Major. Speak,bécasse--or speak not again to me."
The Neapolitan darted a glance of hatred at her.
"Peace, fat sow," he hissed, and added unwisely--"You wag your beard too much."
In that moment vanished for ever all possibility of Madame's trying an Italian husband. "Sow" may be a term of endearment, but no gentleman alludes to beards in the presence of a lady whose chin does not betray her sex.
Turning to his enemy, Rivoli struck an attitude and pointed to the door.
"Go, dig your graveci-devant," he said portentously, "and I will kill you beside it, within the week."
"Thanks," replied the Englishman, and invited his friends to join him in a litre....
The barracks of the First Battalion of the Foreign Legion hummed and buzzed that night, from end to end, in a ferment of excitement over the two tremendous items of most thrilling and exciting news, to wit, that there was among them a sheep in wolf's clothing--a girl in uniform--and, secondly, that there was a duel toward, a duel in which no less a person than the great Luigi Rivoli was involved.
Cherchez la femmewas the game of the evening; and the catch-word of the wits on encountering any bearded and grisledancienin corridorchambrée, canteen, or staircase, was--
"Artthouthe girl, petite?"
The wrinkled old grey-beard, Tant-de-Soif, was christened Bébé Fifinette, provided with a skirt improvised from a blanket, and subjected to indignities.
CHAPTER VIII
THE TEMPTATION OF SIR MONTAGUE MERLINE
Il Signor Luigi Rivoli strode forth from the Canteen in an unpleasant frame of mind.
"Curse the Englishman!" he growled. "Curse that hag behind the bar. Curse that Russianragazza. Curse that thrice-damned American...."
In fact--curse everybody and everything. And among them, Il Signor Luigi Rivoli cursed Carmelita for not making a bigger financial success of her Café venture, and saving a Neapolitan gentlemen from the undignified and humiliating position of having to lay siege to a cursed fat Frenchbitche, to get a decent living.... What a fool he'd been that evening! He had lost ground badly with Madame, and he had lost prestige badly with the Legionaries. He must regain both as quickly as possible.... That accursed English devil must meet with an accident within the week. It would not be the first time by hundreds that a Légionnaire had been stabbed in the back for his sash and bayonet in theVillage Négreand alleys of the Ghetto.... A little job for Edouard Malvin, or Tou-tou Boil-the-Cat. Yes, a knife in the back would settle the Englishman's hash quite effectually, and it would be the simplest thing in the world to leave his body in one of those places to which Legionaries are forbidden to go--for the very reason that they are likely to remain in them for ever.... Curse that old cow of the Canteen! Had he offended her beyond hope of reconciliation? The Holy Saints forbid, for the woman was positively wealthy. Well, he must bring the whole battery of his blandishments to bear and make one mighty effort to win her fortune, hand and heart--in fact, he would give her an ultimatum and settle things, one way or the other, for Carmelita was beginning to show distinct signs of restiveness. Curse Carmelita! He was getting very weary of her airs and jealousies--a franc a day did not pay for it all. As soon as things were happily settled with Madame he would be able to sell his rights and goodwill in Carmelita and her Café. But one must not be precipitate. There must be no untimely killing of geese that laid golden eggs. Carmelita must be kept quiet until Madame's affair was settled. 'Twas but a clumsy fool that would lose both the substance and the shadow--both the Canteen and the Café. If Madame returned an emphatic and final No, to his ultimatum, the Café must suffice until something better turned up. Luigi Rivoli and an unaugmented halfpenny a day would be ill partners, and agree but indifferently....
Revolving these things in his heart, the gentle Luigi became conscious of a less exalted organ, and bethought him of dinner, Chianti, and his cigar. He turned in the direction of the Café de la Légion, his usual excellent appetite perhaps a trifle dulled and blunted by uncomfortable thoughts as to what might happen should this grey English dog survive the week, in spite of the attentions of Messieurs Malvin, Tou-tou, et Cie. The choice between facing the rifle or revolver of the Company marksman, or of being branded for ever asRivoli the Cowardwas an unpleasant one.... Should he choose steel and have a dagger-fight with sword-bayonets? No, he absolutely hated cold steel, and his mighty strength would be almost as useless to him as in a shooting-duel. Suppose he selected sword-bayonets, to be used as daggers--held his in his left hand, seized his enemy's right wrist, broke his arm, and then made a wrestle of it after all? He could strangle him or break his back with ease. And suppose he missed his snatch at the Englishman's wrist? The devil's bayonet would be through his throat in a second! ... But why these vain and discomforting imaginings? Ten francs would buy a hundred bravos in theVillage Négreand slums, if Malvin failed him....
He turned into Carmelita's alley and entered the Café.
Carmelita, whose eyes had rarely left the door throughout the evening, saw him as he entered, and her face lit up as does a lantern when the wick is kindled. Here was her noble and beautiful Luigi. Away with all wicked doubts and fears. Even the good Jean Boule was prejudiced against her Luigi She would now hear his version of the discovery of the Russian girl. How amused he would be to know that she had guessed Mikhail's secret long ago.
Rivoli passed behind the bar. Carmelita held open the door of her room, and having closed it behind him, turned and flung her arms round his neck.
"Marito amato!" she murmured as she kissed him again and again. How could she entertain these doubts of her Luigi in his absence? She was a wicked, wicked girl, and undeserving of her fortune in having so glorious a mate. She decided to utter no reproaches and ask no questions concerning the discovery of the Russian girl. She would just tell him that she had taken her in and that she counted on his help in keeping the girl's secret and getting her away.
"Beloved and beautiful Luigi of my heart," she said, as she placed a steaming dish of macaroni before him, "I want your help once more. That poor, foolish, little Mikhail Kyrilovitch has come and told me he is in trouble, and begged my help. Fancy his thinking he could lead the life that my Luigi leads--that of a soldier of France's fiercest Regiment. Poor little fool.... Guess where he is at this moment, Luigi."
With his mouth full, the noble Luigi intimated that he knew not, cared not, and desired not to know.
"I will tell my lord," murmured Carmelita, bending over his lordship's huge and brawny shoulder, and kissing the tip of the ear into which she whispered, "He is in my bed."
Luigi had to think quickly. How much had the Russian girl told of what had happened in the wash-house? Nothing, or Carmelita would not be in this frame of mind. What did Carmelita know? Did she know thatheknew? He sprang to his feet with an oath, and a well-assumed glare of ferocity. He raised his fist above his head, and by holding his breath, contrived to induce a dark flush and raise the veins upon his forehead.
"In your bed,puttana?" he hissed. (Carmelita was overjoyed, Luigi was angered and jealous. Where there is jealousy, there is love! Of course, Luigi loved her as he had always done. How dared she doubt it? Throwing her arms around his neck with a happy laugh, she reassured her ruffled mate until he permitted himself to calm down and resume his interrupted meal. Jean Boule had lied to her! Luigi knew nothing!...) She went to the bar.
Curse this Russian anarchist! But for her he would not have been in danger of losing Madame, nor of finding a violent death. Curse Carmelita, the stupid fool, for harbouring her. What should he do? What could he say? If he thwarted Carmelita's plan, she would think he desired the Russian wench for himself, and fly into a rage. She would be a very fiend from hell if she were jealous! A pretty pass he would be brought to if both Canteen and Café were closed to him! He had better walk warily here, until he had ascertained the exact amount of damage he had done by his most unwise allusion to Madame's whiskers. (Never tell a cross-eyed man he squints.) But he must get even with this Russian she-devil who had thwarted him in the lavatory, struck him across the face, humiliated him before the Englishman, ruined his prestige with his comrades and Madame, and brought him to the brink of an abyss of danger.... He had an idea.... When Carmelita came into the room again from the bar, she should have the shock of her life, and the Russianputtana, another. Also the over-clever Jean Boule should learn that the race is not always to the slow, nor the battle to the weak.... Carmelita entered. Picking up his képi, he extended his arms, and with a smile of lofty sadness, bade her come and kiss him while she might....
While she might! Carmelita turned pale, and Doubt again reared its horrid head. Was this his way of beginning some tale concerning separation? Some tale in which Madame la Cantinière's name would appear sooner or later? By the Blessed Virgin and the Holy Bambino, she would tear the eyes from Luigi Rivoli's head, before they should look on that Frenchmeretriceas his wife.
"While I may? Why do you say that, Luigi?" she asked in a dead voice.
The ruffian felt uncomfortable as he watched those great, black eyes blazing in the pinched, blanched face, and realised that there were depths in Carmelita that he had not sounded--and would be ill-advised to sound. What a devil she looked! Luigi Rivoli would do well to eat no food to which Carmelita had had access, when once she knew the truth. Luigi Rivoli would do well to watch warily, and, move quickly, should Carmelita's hand go to the dagger in her garter when he told her that he was thinking of settling in life. In fact it was a question whether his life would be safe, so long as Carmelita was in Sidi-bel-Abbès, and he was the husband of Madame! Another idea!Madre de Dios! A brilliant one. Denounce Carmelita for aiding and abetting a deserter! Two birds with one stone--Carmelita jailed and deported, and the Russian recaptured--Luigi Rivoli rid of a danger from the one, and gratified by a vengeance on the other! As these thoughts flashed through the Italian's evil mind, he maintained his pose, and gently and sadly shook his head.
"While you may, indeed, my Carmelita," he murmured, and produced the first of his brilliant ideas. "While you may. Do not think I reproach you, Carmelita, for you have acted but in accordance with the dictates of your warm young heart in taking in this girl. How wereyouto know that this would involve me in a duel to the death with the finest shot in the Nineteenth Division, the most famous marksman in the army of Africa?"
"What?" gasped Carmelita.
"What I say, my poor girl," was the reply, uttered with calm dignity. "Your English friend, this Jean Boule, who fears to meet me face to face, and man to man, with Nature's weapons, has forced a quarrel on me over this Russian girl. He challenged me in the Canteen this night, and I, who could break him like a dried stick, must stand up to be shot by him, like a dog.... I do not blameyou, Carmelita. How were you to know?..."
Carmelita suddenly sat down.
"I do not understand," she whispered and sat agape.
"The Englishman owns this girl...."
"He brought her here," Carmelita interrupted, nodding her head.
"Ha! I guessed it.... Yes, he owns her, and when I discovered the shamelessputtana'ssex he drew a pistol on me, an innocent, unarmed man.... Did he tell you it was I who found the shameful hussy out? What could I do against him empty-handed? ... And now I must fight him--and he can put a bullet where he will.... So kiss me, while you may, Carmelita."
With a low cry the girl sprang into his arms.
"My love! My love! My husband!" she wailed, and Luigi hoped that she would release her clasp from about his neck in time for him to avoid suffocation.... Curse all women--they were the cause of nine-tenths of the sorrows of mankind. But one could not do without them.... Suddenly Carmelita started back, and clapped her hands with a cry of glee. "The Holy Virgin be praised! I have it! I have it! Unless Légionnaire Jean Boule confesses his fault and begs my Luigi's pardon--out into the gutter goes his Russian mistress," and Carmelita pirouetted with joy.... Thank God! Thank God! Here was a solution, and she embraced her lover again and again. Luigi's face was wreathed in smiles.Excellente! That would do the trick admirably, and the thrice-accursed, and ten-times-too-clever Englisharistocraticoshould publicly apologise, if he wished to save his mistress.... Yes, that would be very much pleasanter than a mere stab-in-the-back revenge, as well as safer. There is always some slight risk, even in Sidi-bel-Abbès, about arranging a murder, and blackmail is always unpleasant--for the blackmailed. Ho-ho! Ho-ho! Only to think of the cold and haughty Englishman publicly apologising and begging Luigi, of his mercifulness, to cancel the duel.Corpo di Bacco, he should do it on his knees. "Rivoli the Coward," forsooth, and what of "Jean Boule the Coward," after this? ... Yes; Jean Boule defeated, the Russian girl denounced when clear of Carmelita's Café, if Madame proved unkind, and denounced in the Café together with Carmelita if Madame accepted him. He himself need not appear personally in the matter at all. And when Carmelita was jailed or deported, and the Russian girl sent to Biribi, or turned into afiglia del reggimento, the Englishman should still get it in the back one dark night--and Signor Luigi Rivoli would wax fat behind Madame's bar, until his five years' service was completed and he could live happy ever after, upon the earnings of Madame....
Stroking her hair, he smiled superior upon Carmelita.
"A clever thought, my little one," he murmured, "and bravely meant, but your Luigi's days are numbered. Would that proud, coldaristocraticoeat the words he shouted before half the Company? No! He will leave the girl to shift for herself."
Carmelita's face fell.
"Do not say so," she begged. "No! No! He would not do that. You know how these English treat women. You know the sort of man this Jean Boule is," and for a moment, involuntarily, Carmelita contrasted her Luigi with Il Signor Jean Boule in the matter of their chivalry and honour, and ere she could thrust the thought from her mind, she had realised the comparison to be unfavourable to her lover.
"Luigi," she said, "I feel it in my heart that, since the Englishman has said that he will save his mistress, he will do it at any cost whatsoever to himself.... Go, dearest Luigi, go now, and I will send to him, and say I must see him at once. He will surely come, thinking that I send on behalf of this Russian fool."
And with a last vehement embrace and burning kiss, she thrust him before her into the bar and watched him out of the Café.
Le Légionnaire Jean Boule was not among the score or so of Legionaries who sat drinking at the little tables, nor were either of his friends. Whom could she send? Was that funny Englishribaldo, Légionnaire Erbiggin, there? ... No.... Ah!--There sat the poor Grasshopper. He would do. She made her way with laugh and jest and badinage to where he sat,faisant Suisseas usual.
"Bonsoir, cher Monsieur Cigale," she said. "Would you do me a kindness?"
The Grasshopper rose, thrust his hands up the sleeves of his tunic as far as his elbows, bowed three times, and then knelt upon the ground and smote it thrice with his forehead. Rising, he poured forth a torrent of some language entirely unknown to Carmelita.
"Speak French or Italian, cher Monsieur Cigale," she said.
"A thousand pardons, Signora," replied the Grasshopper. "But you will admit it is not usual for a Mandarin of the Highest Button to speak French. I was saying that the true kindness would be your allowing me to do you a kindness. May I doom yourwonk[#] of an enemy to the death of the Thousand Cuts?"
[#] Chinese pariah dog.
"Not this evening, dear Mandarin, thank you," replied Carmelita; "but you can carry a message of the highest military importance. It is well known that you are a soldier of soldiers, and have never yet failed in any military duty."
The Mandarin bowed thrice.
"Will you go straight and find le Légionnaire Jean Boule of your Company, and tell him to come to me at once. Say Carmelita sent you and tell him you have the countersign:--'Our Ally, Russia, is in danger!'"
"I am honoured and I fly," was the reply. "I will send no official of the Yamen, but go myself. Should the Po Sing, they of the Hundred Names, the [Greek:hoi polloi], beset my path I will cry, 'Sha! Sha!--Kill! Kill!--and scatter them before me. Should thekwei tzu, the Head Dragon from Hell, or the Military Police (and they aretung yenyou know--of the same race and tarred with the same brush) impede me, they too shall die the death of the Wire Net," and the Grasshopper placed his képi on his head.
Carmelita knew that John Bull would be with her that evening, and that the risk of eight days'salle de police, for being out after tattoo, would not deter him.
In a fever of anxiety, impatience, hope and fear, Carmelita paced up and down behind her bar, like a panther in its cage. One thought shone brightly on the troubled turmoil of her soul. Luigi loved her still; Luigi so loved her that he had been ready to strike her dead as the tide of jealousy surged in his soul. That was the sort of love that Carmelita understood. Let him take her by the throat until she choked--let him seize her by the hair and drag her round the room--let him stab her in the breast, so it be for jealousy. Better Luigi's knife in Carmelita's throat than Luigi's lips on Madame's face. Thank God! Luigi had suffered those pangs--on hearing of a Russian boy in her room--that she herself had suffered on hearing Malvin and the rest couple Luigi's name with Madame's. Thank God! that Luigi knew jealousy even as she did herself. Where there is jealousy, there is love....
And then Carmelita struck her forehead with her clenched fists and laid her head upon her folded arms with a piteous groan. Luigi had been acting. Luigi hadpretendedthat jealousy of the Russian. Luigi knew Mikhail Kyrilovitch was a girl--he had fooled her, and once again doubt raised its cruel head in Carmelita's poor distracted mind. "Oh Luigi! Luigi!" she sobbed beneath her breath. And then again a ray of comfort--thebambino. Merciful Mother of God grant that it might be true, and that her bright and golden hopes were based on more solid foundation than themselves. Why had she not told him that evening? But no, she was glad she hadn't. She would keep the wonderful secret until such moment as it really seemed to her that it should be produced as the gossamer fairy chain, weightless but unbreakable, that should bind them together, then and forever, in its indissoluble bonds. Yes, she must force herself to believe devoutly and implicitly in the glorious and beautiful secret, and she must treasure it up as long as possible and whisper it in Luigi's ear if it should ever seem that, for a moment, her Luigi strayed from the path of justice and honesty to his unwedded wife.
Faith again triumphed over Doubt.
These others were jealous of her Luigi, or mistook his natural and beautiful politeness to Madame, for overtures and love-making. Could not her Luigi converse with, and smile upon, Madame la Cantinière without setting all their idle and malicious tongues clacking and wagging? As for this Russian wretch, Luigi had given her no more thought than to the dust beneath his feet, and she should go forth into the gutter, in Carmelita's night-shift, before her protector should injure a hair of Luigi's head. She was surprised at Jean Boule, but there--men were all alike, all except her Luigi, that is. How deceived she had been in the kindly old Englishman! ... Fancy coming to her with their cock-and-bull story....
The voice of the man of whom she was thinking broke in upon her reverie.
"What is it, little one? Nothing wrong about Olga?"
"Come in here, Signor Jean Boule," said Carmelita, and led the way into her room.
The Englishman involuntarily glanced round the little sanctum into which no man save Luigi Rivoli had been known to penetrate, and noted the clean tablecloth, the vase with its bunch of krenfell and oleander flowers, the tiny, tidy dressing table, the dilapidated chest of drawers, bright oleographs, cheap rug, crucifix and plaster Madonna--a room still suggestive of Italy.
Turning, Carmelita faced the Englishman and pointed an accusing finger at his face, her great black eyes staring hard and straight into the narrowed blue ones.
"Signor Jean Boule," she said, "you have played a trick on me; you have deceived me; you have killed my faith in Englishmen--yes, in all men--except my Luigi. Why did you bring your mistress to me and beg my help while you knew you meant to kill my husband, because he had found you out? Oh, Monsieur Jean Boule--but you have hurt me so. And I had thought you like a father--so good a man, yes, like a holy padre, aprête. Oh, Signor Jean Boule, are you like those others, loving wickedly, killing wickedly? Are therenogood honest men--except my Luigi?..."
The Englishman shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, twisting his képi in his fingers, a picture of embarrassment and misery. How could he persuade this girl that the man was a double-dealing, villainous blackguard? And if he could do so, why should he? Why destroy her faith and her happiness together? If this hound failed in his attempt upon the celibacy of Madame, he would very possibly marry the girl, and, in his own interests, treat her decently. Apparently he had kept her love for years--why should she not go on worshipping the man she believed her lover to be, until the end? But no, it was absurd. How should Luigi Rivoli ever treat a woman decently? Sooner or later he was certain to desert her. What would Carmelita's life be when Luigi Rivoli had the complete disposal of it? Sooner or later she must know what he was, and better sooner than later. A thousand times better that she should find him out now, while there was a risk of his marrying her.... It would be a really good deed to save Carmelita from the clutches of Luigi Rivoli. Stepping toward her, he laid his hands upon the girl's shoulders and gazed into her eyes with that look which he was wont to fasten upon the Grasshopper to soothe and influence him.
"Listen to me, Carmelita," he said, "and be perfectly sure that every word I say to you is absolutely true.... I did not know that Mikhail Kyrilovitch was a woman more than half an hour before you did. I only knew it when she rushed to me for protection from Luigi Rivoli, who had discovered her and behaved to her like the foul beast he is. I have challenged him to fight me in the only way in which it is possible for me to fight him, and I mean to kill him. I am going to kill him partly for your sake, partly for my own, and partly for that of every wretched recruit and decent man in the Company."
Carmelita drew back.
"Coward!" she hissed. "You only dare face my Luigi with a gun in your hand."
"I am not a coward, Carmelita. It is Rivoli who is the coward. He is by far the strongest man in the Regiment, and is a professional wrestler. He trades on this to bully and terrorise all who do not become his servants. He is a brutal ruffian, and he is a coward, for he would do anything rather than meet me in fair fight. He is only arisquetoutwhere there are no weapons and the odds are a hundred to one in his favour.... If I hear one more word about my trading on my marksmanship, he shall fight me with revolvers across a handkerchief. Besides, I have told him he can choose any weapon in the world."
"And now hearme," replied Carmelita, "and I would say it if it were my last word. Either you take all that back and apologise to my Luigi, or out into the night goes this Russian girl," and she pointed with the dramatic gesture of the excited Southerner to thebassourab-cloth which screened off the little inner chamber which was just big enough to hold Carmelita's bed.
The Englishman started.
"You don't mean that, Carmelita!" he asked anxiously.
The girl laughed bitterly, cruelly.
"Do you think a thousand Russians would weigh with me against one hair of my husband's head?" she answered. "Give me your solemn promise now and here, or I will do more than throw her out, I will denounce her. I will give her to the Turcos and Spahis. I will have her dragged to the Village Négre."
"Hush! Carmelita. I am ashamed of you. Are you mad?" said John Bull sternly.
"I am sorry," was the reply. "Yes, Iammad, Signor Jean Boule. I am being driven mad by this horrible plot against my Luigi. Why are you all his enemies? It is because you are jealous of him and because you fear him--but you shall not hurt him. This, at least, I say and mean: Take the Russian girl away with you now, or promise me you will never fight my husband with lead or steel."
"I cannot promise it, Carmelita. I have challenged Rivoli publicly and must fight him. To draw out now would brand me as a coward, would make him twice the bully he is, and would be a cruelty to you.... You ask too much, you ask an impossibility. I must make some other plan for Olga Kyrilovitch."
Carmelita staggered, and stared open-mouthed. She could not believe her ears.
"What?" she gasped.
"The girl must go elsewhere," repeated the Englishman. Carmelita appeared to be about to faint. Could he mean it? Was it possible? Was her brilliant plan failing?
"Will you lend the girl some clothes?" asked John Bull.
"Most certainly will I not," she whispered.
"Then please go and tell her to dress again in uniform," was the answer, as he pointed to the uniform lying folded on a chair.
"And will you ruin her chance of escape, Signor Jean Boule?" asked Carmelita. "Isthathow Englishmen treat women who throw themselves on their mercy? Do you put your own vengeance before her safety and honour and life?"
"No, Carmelita, I do not," answered the man. "I am in a terrible position, and am going to choose the lesser of two evils. It is better that I take the girl away and help her brother to desert with her, than let Rivoli wreck your life, break your heart, and doubly regain the bully's prestige and power to make weaker comrades' lives a misery and a burden. He, at any rate, shall be the cause of no more suicides."
Carmelita flung herself upon the hideous horsehair couch and burst into a torrent of hysterical tears. What could she say to this hard, cold man? What could she do? Whatcouldshe do?
John Bull, suffering acutely as he had ever suffered in his life, stood silent, and wondered how far the wish was father to the thought that, in this ghastly dilemma, it was his duty to stand firm in his attitude toward Rivoli. For once, the thing he longed to do was the right thing to do, and the course which he would loathe to follow was the wrong course for him to pursue. Olga Kyrilovitch had brought her fate upon herself, and he had no more responsibility to her than the common duty of lending a helping hand to a neighbour in trouble. Had there been no other consideration, he would have helped her to the utmost of his power, without counting cost or risk. When it came to a clear choice between saving Carmelita, protecting recruits, making a stand for self-respect and decency, and redeeming his own word and honour and reputation on the one hand, and, on the other hand, helping this rash and lawless Russian girl, there could be no hesitation.
Carmelita sprang to her feet.
"I will denounce her," she cried. "I will throw open those shutters and scream and scream until there is a crowd, and they shall have her in her nightdress.Nowwill you spare my husband?"
"You'll do nothing of the kind," answered John Bull calmly. "You know you would regret it all the days of your life. Is this Italian hospitality, womanliness, and honour? Be ashamed of yourself, to talk so. Be fair. Be just. Who needs protection most--your bully, or this wretched girl?" and here Legionary John Bull showed more than his wonted wisdom in dealing with women. Stepping up to Carmelita he seized her by the shoulders and shook her somewhat sharply, saying as he did so, "And understand once and for all, little fool, I keep my promise to Luigi Rivoli--whatever you do."
In return for her shaking, the surprising Carmelita smiled up into the old soldier's face, and clasped her hands behind his head.
"Monsieur Jean Boule," she said, "I think I would have loved my father like I love you--but how you try to hide the soft, kind heart with the hard, cruel face!" and Carmelita gave John Bull the first kiss he had received for over a quarter of a century.
He pushed her from him roughly. Carmelita was glad. This was a thousand times better than that glacial immobility. This meant that he was moved.
"Save Olga's life, Babbo," she whispered coaxingly. "Save Olga and make me happy. Don't ruin two women for fear men should not think you brave. Who doubts the courage of the man who wears themédaille? The man who had the courage to challenge Luigi Rivoli can have the courage to withdraw it if it suits him."
"The man who killed Luigi Rivoli would be your best friend, Carmelita," was the reply, "and Olga Kyrilovitch must be saved in some other way. I must keep my word. It is due to others as well as to myself that I do so."
The two regarded each other without realising that it was across an abyss of immeasurable width and unfathomable depth. He was a man, she was a woman; he a Northerner, she a Southerner. To him honour came first; and without love there could be, she thought, neither honour nor happiness nor life itself.
How should these two understand each other, these two whose souls spoke languages differing as widely as those spoken by their tongues? The woman understood and appreciated the rectitude and honour of the man as little as he realised and fathomed the depth and overwhelming intensity of her love and devotion.
Carmelita now made a great mistake and took a false step--a mistake which turned to her advantage and a false step which led whither she so yearned to go. For Luigi's sake she played the temptress. In defence of her virtue let it be said that, as once before, she believed that her Luigi's life was actually at stake; in defence of her judgment, let it be remembered that she had grown up in a hard school, and had reason to believe that no man does something for nothing where a woman is concerned. She advanced with her bewitching smile, took the Englishman's face between her hands, drew his head down and kissed him upon the lips.
The Englishman blushed as he returned her kiss, and laughed to find himself blushing as the thought struck him that he might have had a daughter older than Carmelita. The girl misunderstood the kiss and smile. Alas! all men were alike in one thing and the best were like the worst. She put her lips to his ear and whispered....
John Bull drew back. Placing his hands upon the girl's shoulders, he gazed into her eyes. Carmelita blushed painfully, and dropped her eyes before the man's searching stare. She heaved a sobbing sigh. Yes, all alike, all had their price--and any pretty woman could pay it. All alike--even grey-haired, kind old Babbo Jean Boule, who looked as though he might be her grandfather.
She felt his hand beneath her chin, raising her face to his. Again he gazed into her eyes and slowly shook his head.
"And is this what men and Life have taught you, Carmelita?" he said....
A horrid fear gripped Carmelita's heart. Could she be wrong? Could she have offered herself in vain? Could this man's pride and hatred be so great that the bribe was not enough?
"And you would do this--you, Carmelita; for that filthy blackguard?"
"I would do anything for my Luigi. Sell me his life and I will pay you now, the highest price a woman can. Kiss me on the lips, dear Monsieur Jean, and I will trust you to keep your part of the bargain--never to fight nor attack my Luigi with a weapon in your hand. Kiss me! Kiss me!"
The Englishman drew the pleading girl to him and kissed her on the forehead. She flung her arms around his neck in a transport of joy and relief.
"You will sell me my Luigi's life?" she cried. "Oh praise and thanks to the Mother of God. Youwill?"
"I willgiveyou your Luigi's life," said Sir Montague Merline, and went out.