Part 13 (2/2)

He shook his head slightly, dubiously, for he partly guessed. In that direction was the Place de la Revolution.

”If this other woman should take my place, if you lied to me, I would have my revenge. It would be easy. She is an aristocrat. One word from me, and do you think you could save her? Yonder stands the guillotine,”

and she made a downward sweep of the arm. ”It falls like that. You couldn't save her.”

Lucien stood looking straight before him out of the window. Pauline still held his hand. She waited for him to speak, and when he did not, she shook his hand.

”Do you hear what I say?”

”Yes” and then?”

”Then, Lucien, I should have no rival. You would be mine. If not, if you turned from me for what I had done--G.o.d! That would be awful, but I would never forgive, never. I would speak again. I would tell them many things. Nothing should stop me. You should die too. That is how I love.

Lucien, Lucien, never make me jealous like that.”

She kissed his hand pa.s.sionately, then held it close to her breast. He could feel her heart beat quickly with her excitement.

”That would put an end to all my scheming, wouldn't it?” he said, drawing her back and closing the window. ”Perhaps Latour would thank you.”

”I wasn't thinking of Latour,” and she clung to him and kissed him on the lips.

Into Lucien's complex thought Latour had come, not unnaturally, since this conversation. This exhibition of latent jealousy was the outcome of his visit. Without formulating any definite idea, he felt in a vague way that Latour's career was in some way bound up with his own. There was something in common between them, each had an interest for the other and in his concerns. Lucien did not understand why, but Latour might have found an answer to the question as he went back to the Rue Valette.

He was not sure whether Bruslart had spoken the truth, he did not much care, yet he felt a twinge of conscience. It troubled him because he had not much difficulty in salving his conscience as a rule. It was generally easy to make the ends justify the means. He had taken no notice of the swaying curtains as he left Bruslart. He never guessed that a woman stood behind them. There might have been no p.r.i.c.k of conscience had he known of Pauline Vaison.

He entered the baker's shop in the Rue Valette. Behind the little counter, on which were a few loaves and pieces of bread, an old woman sat knitting.

”Will you give me the key of those rooms? I want to see that everything is prepared.”

The old woman fumbled in her pocket and gave him the key without a word.

”She comes to-morrow,” said Latour. ”You will not fail to do as I have asked and look after her well.”

”Never fear; she shall be a pretty bird in a pretty cage.”

Latour paused as he reached the door. ”She is a dear friend, no more nor less than that, and this is a nest, not a cage. Do you understand?”

The old woman nodded quickly, and when he had gone, chuckled. She had lived long in the world, knew men well, and the ways of them with women.

There might be some things about Citizen Latour which set him apart from his fellows, but all men were the same concerning women.

Latour crossed the courtyard and went quickly up the stairs to the second floor. The rooms here corresponded with his own below, yet how different they were. Everything was fresh and dainty. Cheap, but pretty, curtains hung before the windows and about the alcove where the bed was.

The furnis.h.i.+ng was sufficient, not rich, yet showing taste in the choice; two or three inexpensive prints adorned the walls, and on the toilet table were candlesticks, a china tray, and some cut-gla.s.s bottles. The boards were polished, and here and there was a rug or strip of carpet; the paint was fresh and white--white was the color note throughout. Here was the greatest luxury possible to a shallow pocket, very different from Bruslart's room, yet with a character of its own.

Latour had chosen everything in it with much thought and care. He had spent hours arranging and rearranging until his sense of the beautiful was satisfied. Now he altered the position of a rug, and touched a curtain by the bed to make it fall in more graceful folds. Then he sat down to survey his work as a whole.

Still there was the p.r.i.c.k of conscience, not very sharp, indeed, and becoming less persistent as he argued with himself. The Raymond Latour of to-day was a different man from the old Raymond Latour, the poor student, the n.o.body. Was he not mounting the ladder rung by rung, higher and higher every day? He had been listened to in the Legislative a.s.sembly, applauded; he was a man of mark in the Convention. He was still poor, and his ambition was not towards wealth. The road lay straight before him; it led to fame, he meant it also to lead to love.

Give him love, and these little white rooms were all the kingdom he asked to reign in. Love, the only love that had ever touched him. He remembered its first coming. A restive horse, a young girl in a carriage and in danger. It was nothing to seize the horse, hold it, and quiet it; he had flushed and stammered when the girl had thanked him, all unconsciously casting the spell of her great beauty over him. Never again had he spoken to her. He was only a poor student, the child of simple folk in the country dead long ago; she was of n.o.ble birth, her home a palace, her beauty toasted at Versailles He saw her often, waiting to see her pa.s.s, and each day he thought of her, setting her on the high altar of his devotion. He knew that his must always be a silent wors.h.i.+p, that she could never know it. Then suddenly had come the change, the tide of revolution. The people were the masters. He was of the people, of growing importance among them. The impossible became the possible. He had education, power he would have. Strong men have made their appeal to women, the world over, in every age. Why should not this woman love him? The very stars seemed to have fought for him. She would be here to-morrow, here in Paris, in danger; here, in these rooms, with no man so able to protect her as himself. He had spoken among his fellows and won applause, could he not speak to just one woman in the world and win love?

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