Mare Nostrum (Our Sea) Part 51

His pet.i.tion was granted. He was the owner of a vessel and they were afraid of losing his cooperation when means of transportation were growing so very scarce. Besides, the _Mare Nostrum_, on account of its high speed, deserved individual employment in extraordinary and rapid service.

He remained in Ma.r.s.eilles some weeks waiting for a cargo of howitzers, and meandered as usual around the Mediterranean capital. He pa.s.sed the evenings on the terrace of a cafe of the _Cannebiere_. The recollection of von Kramer always loomed up in his mind at such times. "I wonder if they have shot him!..." He wished to know, but his investigations did not meet with much success. War Councils avoid publicity regarding their acts of justice. A Ma.r.s.eilles merchant, a friend of Ferragut, seemed to recall that some months before a German spy, surprised in the harbor, had been executed. Three lines, no more, in the newspapers, gave an account of his death. They said that he was an officer.... And his friend went on talking about the war news while Ulysses was thinking that the executed man could not have been any one else but von Kramer.

On that same afternoon he had an encounter. While pa.s.sing through the street of _Saint-Ferreol_, looking at the show windows, the cries of several conductors of cabs and automobiles who could not manage to drive their vehicles through the narrow and crowded streets, attracted his attention. In one carriage he saw a blonde lady with her back to him, accompanied by two officers of the English navy. Immediately he thought of Freya.... Her hat, her gown, everything about her personality, was so very distinctive. And yet, when the coach had pa.s.sed on without his being able to get a glimpse of the face of the stranger, the image of the adventuress persisted in his mind.

Finally he became very much irritated with himself, because of this absurd resemblance suspected without any reason whatever. How could that English-woman with the two officers be Freya?... How could a German refugee in Barcelona manage to slip into France where she was undoubtedly known by the military police?... And still more exasperating was his suspicion that this resemblance might have awakened a remnant of the old love which made him see Freya in every blonde woman.

At nine o'clock the following morning, while the captain was in his stateroom dressing to go ash.o.r.e, Toni opened the door.

His face was scowling and timid at the same time, as though he had some bad news to give.

"That creature is here," he said laconically.

Ferragut looked at him with a questioning expression: "_What_ creature?..."

"Who else could it be?... The one from Naples! That blonde devil that brought us all so much trouble!... We'll see now if this witch is going to keep us immovable for I don't know how many weeks just as she did the other time."

He excused himself as though he had just failed in discipline. The boat was fastened to the wharf by a bridgeway and anybody could come aboard.

The pilot was opposed to these dockings which left the pa.s.sage free to the curious and the importunate. By the time he had finished announcing her arrival, the lady was already on deck near the staterooms. She remembered well the way to the saloon. She had wished to go straight in, but it had been Caragol who had stopped her, while Toni went to advise the captain.

"_Cristo_!" murmured Ulysses. "_Cristo!_..."

And his astonishment, his surprise, did not permit him to utter any other exclamation.

Then he burst out furiously. "Throw her overboard!... Let two men lay hold of her and put her back on the wharf, by main force, if necessary."

But Toni hesitated, not daring to comply with such commands. And the impetuous Ferragut rushed outside of his cabin to do himself what had been ordered.

When he reached the saloon some one entered at the same time from the deck. It was Caragol, who was trying to block the pa.s.sage of a woman; but she, laughing and taking advantage of his purblind eyes, was slipping little by little in between his body and the wooden part.i.tion.

On seeing the captain, Freya ran toward him, throwing out her arms.

"You!" she cried in a merry voice. "I knew well enough that you were here, in spite of the fact that these men were a.s.suring me to the contrary.... My heart told me so.... How do you do, Ulysses!"

Caragol turned his eyes toward the place where he supposed the mate must be, as though imploring his pardon. With females he never could carry out any order.... Toni, on his part, appeared in an agony of shame before this woman who was looking at him defiantly.

The two disappeared. Ferragut was not able to say exactly how they got away, but he was glad of it. He feared that the recent arrival might allude in their presence to the things of the past.

He remained contemplating her a long time. He had believed the day before that he had recognized her back, and now he was sure that he might have pa.s.sed on with indifference had he seen her face. Was this really the same woman that the two English officials were accompanying?... She appeared much taller than the other one, with a slenderness that made her skin appear more clear, giving it a delicate transparency. The nose was finer and more prominent. The eyes were sparkling, hidden in bluish black circles.

These eyes began to look at the captain, humbly and pleadingly.

"You!" exclaimed Ulysses in wonder. "You!... What are you coming here for?"...

Freya replied with the timidity of a bondslave. Yes, it was she who had recognized him the day before, long before he had seen her, and at once had formed the plan of coming in search of him. He could beat her just as at their last meeting: she was ready to suffer everything ... but with him!

"Save me, Ulysses! Take me with you!... I implore you even more anxiously than in Barcelona."

"What are you doing here?..."

She understood the captain's amazement on meeting her in a belligerent country, the disquietude he must naturally feel upon finding a spy on his vessel. She looked around in order to make sure that they were entirely alone and spoke in a low voice. The doctor had sent her to France in order that she should "operate" in its ports. Only to him could she reveal the secret.

Ulysses was more indignant than ever at this confidence.

"Clear out!" he said in a wrathful voice. "I don't want to know anything about you.... Your affairs do not interest me at all. I do not wish to know them.... Get out of here! What are you plaguing me for?"

But she did not appear disposed to comply with his orders. Instead of departing, she dropped wearily down on one of the divans of the stateroom.

"I have come," she said, "to beg you to save me. I ask it for the last time.... I'm going to die; I suspect that my end is very near if you will not hold out a helping hand; I foresee the vengeance of my own people.... Guard me, Ulysses! Do not make me go back ash.o.r.e; I am afraid.... So safe I shall feel here at your side!..."

Fear, sure enough, was reflected in her eyes as she recalled the last months of her life in Barcelona.

"The doctor is my enemy.... She who protected me so in other times abandons me now like an old shoe that it is necessary to get rid of. I am positive that her superior officers have condemned me...."

She shuddered on remembering the doctor's wrath when on her return from one of her trips she learned of the death of her faithful Karl. To her, Captain Ferragut was a species of invulnerable and victorious demon who was escaping all dangers and murdering the servants of a good cause.

First von Kramer; now Karl.... As it was necessary for her to vent her wrath on somebody, she had made Freya responsible for all her misfortunes. Through her she had known the captain, and had mixed him up in the affairs of the "service."

Thirst for vengeance made the imposing dame smile with a ferocious expression. The Spanish sailor was doomed by the Highest Command.

Precise orders had been given out against him. "As to his accomplices!..." Freya was figuring undoubtedly among these accomplices for having dared to defend Ferragut, for remembering the tragic event of his son, for having refused to join the chorus desiring his extermination.

Weeks afterwards the doctor again became as smiling and as amiable as in other times. "My dear girl, it is agreed that you should take a trip to France. We need there an agent who will keep us informed of the traffic of the ports, of the goings and comings of the vessels in order that our submersibles may know where to await them. The naval officials are very gallant, and a beautiful woman will be able to gain their affection."

She had tried to disobey. To go to France!... where her pre-war work was already known!... To go back to danger when she had already become accustomed to the safe life of a neutral country!... But her attempts at resistance were ineffectual. She lacked sufficient will-power; the "service" had converted her into an automaton.

"And here I am, suspecting that probably I am going to my death, but fulfilling the commissions given to me, struggling to be accommodating and r.e.t.a.r.d in this way the fulfillment of their vengeance.... I am like a condemned criminal who knows that he is going to die, and tries to make himself so necessary that his sentence will be delayed for a few months."

"How did you get into France?" he demanded, paying no attention to her doleful tones.

"Freya shrugged her shoulders. In her business a change of nationality was easily accomplished. At present she was pa.s.sing for a citizen of a South American republic. The doctor had arranged all the papers necessary to enable her to cross the frontier.

"But here," she continued, "my accomplices have me more securely than as though I were in prison. They have given me the means of coming here and they only can arrange my departure. I am absolutely in their power.

I wonder what they are going to do with me!..."

At certain times terror had suggested most desperate expedients to her.

She had thought of denouncing herself, of appearing before the French authorities, telling them her story and acquainting them with the secrets which she possessed. But her past filled her with terror, so many were the evils which she had brought against this country. Perhaps they might pardon her life, taking into account her voluntary action in giving herself up. But the prison, the seclusion with shaved head, dressed in some coa.r.s.e serge frock, condemned to silence, perhaps suffering hunger and cold, filled her with invincible repulsion.... No, death before that!

And so she was continuing her life as a spy, shutting her eyes to the future, living only in the present, trying to keep from thinking, considering herself happy if she could see before her even a few days of security.

The meeting with Ferragut in the street of Ma.r.s.eilles had revived her drooping spirits, arousing new hope.

"Get me out of here; keep me with you. On your s.h.i.+p I could live as forgotten by the world as though I were dead.... And if my presence annoys you, take me far away from France, leave me in some distant country!"

She was anxious to evade isolation in the enemy's territory, obliged to obey her superiors like a caged beast who has to take jabs through the iron grating. Presentiment of her approaching death was making her tremble.

"I do not want to die, Ulysses!... I am not old enough yet to die. I adore my physical charm. I am my own best lover and I am terrified at the thought that I might be shot."

A phosph.o.r.escent light gleamed from her eyes and her teeth struck together with a chattering of terror.

"I do not want to die!" she repeated. "There are moments in which I suspect that they are following me and closing me in.... Perhaps they have recognized me and at this moment are waiting to surprise me in the very act.... Do help me; get me away from here; my death is certain. I have done so much harm!..."