Part 13 (1/2)
And then turning the subject swiftly, he asked, ”Your patron, he has left England, has he not?”
”He has gone to Paris, I believe.”
”Did he speak of the business that took him there?”
”He never speaks of business to me. He has asked me once or twice about the poor people down here and I have tried to tell him. Such a fortune as his could redeem thousands of lives, Paul. I have told him that when he spoke to me.”
”Such a man will never redeem one life. All the money in the world will never buy him rest. He has eaten his harvest and the fields are bare.
Did you mention my name to him?”
”I do not think that I have done so yet.”
”Naturally, you would have been a little ashamed to speak of us. It is very rarely that one who becomes rich remembers those who were poor with him. His money only teaches him to judge them. Those who were formerly his friends are now spendthrifts, extravagant folk who should not be injured by a.s.sistance. The rich man makes their poverty an excuse for deserting them, and he cloaks his desertion beneath lofty moral sentiments. You are too young to do so, but the same spirit is already leading you. Beware of it, Alban Kennedy, for it will lead you to destruction.”
Alban did not know how to argue with him. He resented the accusation hotly and yet could make no impression of resentment upon the imagined grievance which old Paul nursed almost affectionately. It were better, he thought, to hold his tongue and to let the old man continue.
”Your patron has gone to Paris, you say? Are you sure it is to Paris?”
”How could I be sure. I am telling you what was told to me. He is to be back in a few days' time. It is not to be expected that he would share his plans with me.”
”Certainly not--he would tell you nothing. Do you know that he is a Pole, Alban?”
”A Pole? No! Indeed he gives it out that he was born in Germany and is now a naturalized British subject.”
”He would do so, but he is a Pole--and because he is a Pole he tells you that he has gone to Paris when the truth is that he is at Berlin all the time.”
”But why should he wish to deceive me, Paul--what am I to him?”
”You are one necessary to his salvation--perhaps it is by you alone that he will live. I could see when I first spoke to you how much you were astonished that I knew anything about it, but remember, every Pole in London knows all about his fellow-countrymen, and so it is very natural that I know something of Richard Gessner. You who live in his house can tell me more. See what a gossip I am where my own people are concerned.
You have been living in this man's house and you can tell me all about it--his tastes, his books, his friends. There would be many friends coming, of course?”
”Not very many, Paul, and those chiefly city men. They eat a great deal and talk about money. It's all money up there--the rich, the rich, the rich--I wonder how long I shall be able to stand it.”
”Oh, money's a thing most people get used to very quickly. They can stand a lot of it, my boy. But are there not foreigners at your house--men of my own country?”
”I have never seen any--once, I think, Mr. Gessner was talking to a stranger in the garden and he looked like a foreigner. You don't think I would spy upon him Paul?”
”That would be the work of a very ungrateful fellow. None the less, if there are foreigners at Hampstead--I should wish to know of it.”
”You--and why?”
”That I may save your kind friend from certain perils which I think are about to menace him. Yes, yes, he has been generous to you and I wish to reward him. He must not know--he must never hear my name in the matter, but should there be strangers at Hampstead let me know immediately--write to me if you cannot come here. Do not delay or you may rue it to the end of your days. Write to me, Alban, and I shall know how to help your friend.”
He had spoken under a spell of strong excitement, but his message delivered, he fell again to his old quiet manner; and having exchanged a few commonplaces with the astonished lad plainly intimated that he would be alone. Alban, surprised beyond measure, perceived in his turn that no amount of questioning would help him to a better understanding; and so, in a state of perplexity which defied expression, he said ”Good night”
and went out into the quiet street.
CHAPTER XIV