Part 29 (2/2)

And you have the brazenness, the impudence to say that you have not been living with Jean, that you have not been coming here at all hours of the night for the last two years--as you have to-night--as you did last night! Bah, you pitiful little hypocrite, would any one believe you?”

”Yes, they would believe me!” Marie-Louise cried pa.s.sionately. ”And _you_ will believe me! I will make you believe me! I will make you!

I will make you! I--” Her voice broke suddenly, and with a half sob she dropped her hands to her sides. Her fury had gone and in its place had come only a desperate earnestness to make mademoiselle believe.

She had been thinking of herself alone--and there was Jean! If mademoiselle would not believe her, the shame would be Jean's too, and the guilt that mademoiselle imagined would be Jean's guilt too. And even if she must tell all about Father Anton bringing her to Hector and Madame Mi-mi, she must make mademoiselle believe. ”Mademoiselle”--she was pleading now, her voice choking as she spoke--”mademoiselle, see--listen! You must--you must believe! It is true, every word I have said is true! And it is true that I love Jean, and that that is why I came, but--but Jean has never seen me since that day he left Bernay-sur-Mer. See, mademoiselle--listen! It is only a few days since I came to Paris--see, mademoiselle, even this hat and cloak proves it. I did not know that it was cold, that one needed such things in Paris, and I had nothing except just the clothes I had worn in Bernay-sur-Mer, and the night I came I went to Father Anton and he gave the hat and cloak to me--but I did not know, mademoiselle, that they had been yours. I wanted to see Jean again, not to let him know that I was here, but only to see him, only to see his work. It was two years, mademoiselle, two years--and Father Anton understood, only he made me promise, mademoiselle, that I would not speak to Jean, that I would not let Jean know that I was here. Listen--listen, mademoiselle!” Marie-Louise's hands were raised again--but entreatingly now. ”It was only to see Jean again, and see his work, and then I was going away. For nothing, for nothing in the world would I let Jean know that I had come. And so--and so, mademoiselle, so Father Anton arranged with Hector that I should do the work about the salon and the _atelier_, but very early in the mornings before Jean was up; and then because I came so early Hector gave me the key--and last night--oh, mademoiselle, mademoiselle, can you not understand?--I came here, and--and I came again to-night. See, mademoiselle--it is so easy to believe! You do believe! Father Anton will tell you that it is all true, and that I have been in Bernay-sur-Mer all this time.

Mademoiselle, mademoiselle--you do believe!”

Myrna Bliss was staring at Marie-Louise in startled amazement.

”You mean--you mean,” she said, in a low, tense way; ”you mean that Jean knows nothing of this--that he does not know that you are even in Paris, that he has not seen you since he left Bernay-sur-Mer?”

”But, yes; yes, yes, yes, mademoiselle, it is so, all that--it is so!”

Marie-Louise answered feverishly. ”And--and he must not know now, mademoiselle--he must not know now.”

And then Myrna Bliss smiled ironically.

”I will see to that!” she said grimly. ”You need have no fear on that score, if what you say is true!” She turned abruptly from Marie-Louise, walked straight to the ”_Fille du Regiment_,” and gazed at it for a moment. Then, scarcely aloud: ”'The womanhood of France,'

he had said ... 'The model in his heart.'” And so Jean did not know!

Well, if that were so, she would take very good care that he never did know! It seemed incredible, but the girl's sincerity was not to be denied. She laughed out sharply, and wheeled back upon Marie-Louise.

”Well, and what now?” she said coldly; and then, thrusting quickly: ”Are you aware that I am to marry Monsieur Laparde?”

Marie-Louise's face blanched.

”Yes,” she said faintly.

”And so”--the scathing tones were back in Myrna's voice--”and so you were just playing with fire! Well, are you satisfied with what you have done? If Jean Laparde lives it will be no thanks to you; if he dies it will be you who--”

Marie-Louise put out her hands as though to ward off a blow. She was swaying upon her feet.

”Not that--not that, mademoiselle!”--she could scarcely force the words to her lips. ”Do not say it, mademoiselle! I know that it is true--G.o.d in his infinite pity, have pity on me!--but do not say it! I will go away, mademoiselle--I will go away--for always. I will wait only to know that--that Jean is well, for the _bon Dieu_ will not let him die--and then--and then I will go--and then I--” A great sob shook her frame, and covering her face with her hands she sank down again upon the modelling platform.

She was conscious that Mademoiselle Bliss was standing there, that the grey eyes were fixed upon her; and then that from the salon some one called to mademoiselle--but she did not hear mademoiselle go, only when she looked up again she was alone in the atelier. And it was very kind of mademoiselle to go so softly, and to say no more.

She rose slowly to her feet, and pa.s.sed through the atelier, and through the salon, and out into the hall, and to the stairs--and paused there to listen with pitiful eagerness. But there was no sound from above--there was only the voice of her soul that kept whispering so cruelly, ”it is you ... it is you ... it is you ... it is not Paul Valmain who has done this ... it is you ... it is you.”

And there at the foot of the stairs she knelt down for a moment; then rose, and crossed the hall slowly to the door, and opened it--and walked blindly out.

-- VIII --

FLIGHT

Madame Garneau's hair straggled untidily about her head, her hands were red, calloused, inclined indeed to be grimy, she had pa.s.sed even that poets'-consolation-prize age of forty, and she had no figure; but Madame Garneau was possessed of a heart. She pushed open the door of Marie-Louise's room, and dangled in her hand a yellow paper bag that was grease specked on the bottom.

”_Voila_, my little lodger!” she cried gaily. ”I have this for you, and you will never guess what it is; and, besides, I have something else--a message for you from Father Anton. Now which will you have first?”

Marie-Louise, from her chair by the window, rose quickly to her feet, with a little exclamation of pleased surprise.

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