Part 8 (1/2)
Pierre broke in fiercely:
”She shall not! Sixtin year? Sixtin year she know honly me, Pierre, her daddy, and you, her mammy. What you tink, heh? elise go school in one beeg city, heh? She mek herself choke wiz ze brick house and ze stone street. She get sick and lonesome for ze mountain, for her hol' daddy and her hol' mammy, for ze gra.s.s and ze flower.”
”That is for her to say. Send her away as you promised. Then”--Madame's heavy eyes grew deep, almost beautiful--”then, if she comes back to us!”
Pierre turned sullenly.
”She is mine. Mine and yours. She shall stay.”
Madame's tears ceased flowing.
”She shall go.” Her temerity frightened her. ”I will tell her all if you don't send her away.”
Pierre did not explode, as she expected. Instead, there was the calm of invincible purpose. He held up one finger impressively.
”I settle hall zis. _ecoutez!_ She shall marry. Right away. Queek. Da's hall.” He left the room before Madame had time to reply.
Madame was too terrified to think. The possibility conveyed in her husband's declaration had never suggested itself to her. elise was still the little baby nestling in her arms, the little girl prattling and playing indoors and out, on the wide ranch, and later, Madame shuddered, when Pierre had abandoned the ranch for the Blue Goose, waiting at the bar, keeping Pierre's books, redeeming checks at the desk, moving out and in among the throng of coa.r.s.e, uncouth men, but through it all the same beautiful, wilful, loving little girl, so dear to Madame's heart, so much of her life. What did it matter that profanity died on the lips of the men in her presence, that at her bidding they ceased to drink to intoxication, that hopeless wives came to her for counsel, that their dull faces lighted at her words, that in sickness or death she was to them a comfort and a refuge?
What if Pierre had fiercely protected her from the knowledge of the more loathsome vices of a mining camp? It was no more than right. Pierre loved her. She knew that. Pierre was h.o.a.rding every s.h.i.+ning dollar that came to his hand. Was he lavish in his garnishment of the Blue Goose? It was only for the more effective luring of other gold from the pockets of the careless, unthinking men who worked in mines or mills, or roamed among the mountains or washed the sands of every stream, spending all they found, hoping for and talking of the wealth which, if it came, would only smite them with more rapid destruction. And all these little rivulets, small each one alone, united at the Blue Goose into a growing stream that went no farther. For what end? Madame knew. For Pierre, life began and ended in elise. Madame knew, and sympathized with this; but her purpose was not changed. She knew little of life beyond the monotonous desolation of a western ranch, the revolting glamour of a gambling resort, where men revelled in the fierce excitement of shuffling cards and clicking chips, returning to squalid homes and to spiritless women, weighed down and broken with the bearing of many children, and the merciless, unbroken torture of thankless, thoughtless demands upon their lives. Madame saw all this. She saw and felt the dreary hopelessness of it all. Much as she loved elise, if it parted her from all that made life endurable she would not shrink from the sacrifice. She knew nothing of life beyond her restricted circle, but anything outside this circle was a change, and any change must be for the better.
”She shall marry. Right away.” Pierre's words came to her again with overwhelming terror. Overwhelming, because she saw no way of averting the threatened blow.
From behind, Madame felt two soft hands close on her straining eyes, and a sympathetic voice:
”Has daddy been scolding you again? What was it about this time? Was it because I ran away this morning? I did run away, you know.”
For reply Madame only bowed her head from between the clasping hands that for the first time had distress instead of comfort for her groping soul. She did not pray for guidance. She never thought of praying. Why should she? The prisoned seed, buried in the dank and quickening soil, struggles instinctively toward the source of light and strength. But what instinct is there to guide the human soul that, quickened by unselfish love, is yet walled in by the Stygian darkness of an ignorant life?
Madame's hands were clinched. Her hot eyes were dry and hard. No light!
No help! Only a fierce spirit of resistance. At length she was conscious of elise standing before her, half terrified, but wholly determined. Her eyes moistened, then grew soft. Her outstretched arms sought the girl and drew her within their convulsive grasp.
”My poor elise! My poor little girl, with no one to help her but me!”
”What is it, mammy? What is it?”
Madame only moaned.
”My poor little elise! My poor little girl!”
elise freed herself from the resisting arms.
”Tell me at once!” She stamped her foot impatiently.
Madame sprang to her feet.
”You shall not marry that man. You shall not!” Her voice rose. ”I will tell you all--everything. I will, if he kills me. I will! I will!”
The door from the saloon was violently opened, and Pierre strode in. He pushed elise aside, and, with narrowed eyes and uplifted hand, approached his wife.