Part 62 (1/2)
”My dear, my dear,” she said, ”forgive me, forgive me! But I loved him so. One day, I think”-her glance sought my face-”you will know. Then you will forgive.”
”Oh, Madame, Madame,” whispered the girl, and began to sob silently.
”Is it enough?” asked Madame de Stamer, raising her head, and looking defiantly at Paul Harley. ”Last night, you, M. Harley, who have genius, nearly brought it all to nothing. You pa.s.sed the door in the shrubbery just when Juan was preparing to go out. I was watching from the window above. Then, when you had gone, he came out-smoking his last cigarette.
”I went to my place, entering the tower room by the door from that corridor. I opened the window. It had been carefully oiled. It was soundless. I was cold as one already dead, but love made me strong. I had seen him suffer. I took the rifle from its hiding-place, the heavy rifle which so few women could use. It was no heavier than some which I had used before, and to good purpose.”
Again she paused, and I saw her lips trembling. Before my mind's eye the picture arose which I had seen from Harley's window, the picture of Colonel Juan Menendez walking in the moonlight along the path to the sun-dial, with halting steps, with clenched fists, but upright as a soldier on parade. Walking on, dauntlessly, to his execution. Out of a sort of haze, which seemed to obscure both sight and hearing, I heard Madame speaking again.
”He turned his head toward me. He threw me a kiss-and I fired. Did you think a woman lived who could perform such a deed, eh? If you did not think so, it is because you have never looked into the eyes of one who loved with her body, her mind, and with her soul. I think, yes, I think I went mad. The rifle I remember I replaced. But I remember no more. Ah!”
She sighed in a resigned, weary way, untwining her arm from about Val Beverley, and falling back upon her pillows.
”It is all written here,” she said; ”every word of it, my friends, and signed at the bottom. I am a murderess, but it was a merciful deed. You see, I had a plan of which Juan knew nothing. This was my plan.” She pointed to the heap of ma.n.u.script. ”I would give him relief from his agonies, yes. For although he was an evil man, I loved him better than life. I would let him die happy, thinking his revenge complete. But others to suffer? No, no! a thousand times no! Ah, I am so tired.”
She took up the little medicine bottle, poured its contents into the gla.s.s, and emptied it at a draught.
Paul Harley, as though galvanized, sprang to his feet. ”My G.o.d!” he cried, huskily, ”Stop her, stop her!” Val Beverley, now desperately white, clutched at me with quivering fingers, her agonized glance set upon the smiling face of Madame de Stamer.
”No fuss, dear friends,” said Madame, gently, ”no trouble, no nasty stomach-pumps; for it is useless. I shall just fall asleep in a few moments now, and when I wake Juan will be with me.”