The Mischief-Maker Part 14

His companion leaned across the table.

"What you call your Secret Service," Julien heard him say, "is a farce.

You have no authority, no scope. You are too proud to ferret about as the others do. You sit in dignified ease and wait for information to be brought to you. My good Foster, you must learn to be a man. We must teach you."

Again their voices became inaudible. Julien drew back into the room.

His heart was beating faster, his brain was full of new thoughts. From a place where he was absolutely secure he sat and gazed at Foster and his companion. Presently the waiter entered with the _aperitif_. Julien gave him five francs.

"Listen," he said, "you see those two gentlemen sitting there?"

"_Parfaitement_, monsieur," the man replied.

"Have you ever seen the elder one before--the dark one with the gla.s.ses?"

The waiter hesitated.

"Monsieur," he said, looking at the five francs in his hand, "_monsieur le proprietaire_ here has strange notions. He objects that we mention ever the name of any of his clients."

"Why is that?" Julien asked.

"How should one know, monsieur?" the waiter answered. "Only it seems that this place is a little distance from Paris, it is retired, one finds seclusion here. People meet, I think, in these gardens who do not care to be seen in Paris. There are some come here who whisper at the door to _monsieur le proprietaire_ that their names must never be mentioned."

"One can understand that, perhaps," Julien agreed, "but these are surely affairs of gallantry? It is when the gentlemen bring ladies, perhaps?"

The man shook his head and gesticulated an emphatic negative.

"Monsieur," he declared, "there are other things. There are other things, indeed. This place is well-known because there meet here often men who are interested in discussing serious matters. I can tell monsieur, alas! the name of no one among the guests here. If I attempted it, it would mean my dismissal, and there is no place in Paris, monsieur, where the salaries are so good as here." Julien hesitated. Then he drew a louis from his pocket.

"Listen," he said, "you may rely upon my word. No mention of it shall go outside this room. Take this louis for just the name of that gentleman with his back to you."

The waiter took the louis.

"His name, monsieur, I cannot tell you, but I will tell you what perhaps will do for monsieur as well. The German Amba.s.sador comes sometimes here with a party of friends; somewhere in the distance you will find the gentleman about whom you ask. The German Amba.s.sador rides through the streets when Paris is troubled; somewhere close at hand you will find monsieur there. The German Amba.s.sador he attends the races; feeling, perhaps, is running a little high. Somewhere amongst the crowd who watch the races, and very close to _Monsieur l'Amba.s.sadeur_, you will find monsieur there with the shoulders."

Julien drank his _aperitif_ thoughtfully.

"Thank you," he said to the waiter. "You have earned your money. You need have no fear."

There was a knock at the door. _Monsieur le proprietaire_ presented himself.

"Monsieur," he announced, "it is my honor to conduct you to the table reserved for madame and yourself. Madame awaits you."

CHAPTER X

BETTER ACQUAINTANCE

The gardens of the Maison Leon d'Or were, in their way, unique. There was no extent of open s.p.a.ce, but the walks threaded everywhere a large shrubbery, and in all sorts of corners and quiet places little dining tables had been placed. Scarcely any one was in sight of any other person, although they were so close together that all the time there was a hum of voices. In the distance, down by the river, a large gondola was pa.s.sing slowly backwards and forwards, on which an orchestra played soft music. Julien and Madame Christophor crossed the narrow strip of lawn together and followed Monsieur Leon into the graveled path bordered with fairy lamps.

"I have arranged for madame and monsieur," he announced, looking backwards, "a table near the lilac tree of which madame is so fond. The perfume, indeed, is exquisite. If madame pleases!"

They turned from the path on to another strip of lawn, which they gained by rounding a large lilac bush. Here a small table was laid with the whitest of cloths and the most dazzling of silver. An attentive waiter was already arranging an ice-pail in a convenient spot. From here the gardens sloped gently to the river, which was barely forty yards distant. Although it was scarcely twilight, the men on the gondola were lighting the lamps.

"Madame and monsieur will find this table removed from all chance visitors," the proprietor declared. "If the dinner is not perfect, permit that I wait upon you again. A word to the waiter and I arrive.

Madame! Monsieur!"

He retreated, with a bow to each. Julien, with a little laugh, took his place at the table.

"Madame," he said, "your entertainment is charming."

"The entertainment is nothing," Madame replied, "but here at least is one advantage--we are really alone. I do not know how you feel, but the greatest rest in life to me is sometimes the solitude. There is no one overlooking us, there is no one likely to pa.s.s whom we know. We are virtually cut off from all those who know us or whom we know. My friend, I would like you to remember this our first evening. Talk, if you will, or be silent. For me it is equal. I, too, have thoughts which I can summon at any time to bear me company. And there is the river. Do you hear the soft flow of it, and the rustle of the breeze in the shrubs, the perfumes, and--listen--the music? Ah! Sir Julien, I think that we give you over here some things which you do not easily find in your own country."

"You are right," he agreed slowly. "You give us a better climate, more sympathetic companions.h.i.+p, a tenderer chicken, a more artistic salad."

"At heart you are a materialist, I perceive," she declared.

"We all are," he admitted. "Everything depends upon our power of concealment."

The service of dinner commenced almost at once. There was something excessively peaceful in the scene. The tables were so arranged that one heard nothing of the clatter of crockery. The murmur of voices came like a pleasant undernote. They talked lightly for some time of the English theatres, of the stage generally, some recent memoirs--anything that came into their heads. Then Julien was silent for several minutes.

He leaned slightly across the table. Their own lamp was lit now and through the velvety dusk her eyes seemed to glow with a new beauty.

"Tell me," he begged, "you spoke of yourself a little time ago as though you might have a personality at which I ought to have guessed.

Are you a woman of Society, or an artist, or merely an idler?"

"I have known something of Society," she replied. "I believe I may say that I am something of an artist. It is very certain that I am not an idler. Why ask me these questions? Let us forget to be serious tonight.

Let us remember only that we are companions, and that the hours, as they pa.s.s, are pleasant."

"It is a philosophy," he murmured, "which brings its own retribution."

She shrugged her shoulders.

"All happiness is lost," she declared, "the moment you begin to try and define it. It is a sensation, not a state of being. Let us drift. The waters are not dangerous for you or for me."

Her words chilled him with a sudden memory. Then, in the act of helping himself to wine, he paused. Some one had taken the table nearest to them, dimly visible through the laurel bushes. He heard the voice of the man who had been with Foster, giving the orders.

"Listen!"

There was no need for him to have spoken. Curiously enough, Madame

Christophor seemed also to have recognized the voice. Her hand fell upon Julien's. He looked at her in surprise. Her cheeks were blanched, her eyes blazing.

"You hear that voice?" she whispered.

Julien nodded.