Читать книгу: «Mademoiselle Blanche», страница 11
For a moment Tate stood without speaking. Then he said: —
"I'm afraid you're putting a romantic interpretation on a very simple sequence of events. That fellow probably did fall in love with his wife's performance, and incidentally he liked the money that went with it. When she stopped her diving and became an ordinary performer, like thousands of others, she ceased to interest him. Then he looked around for some one else to be interested in, and when the other acrobatic person appeared he was just in the condition to be caught."
"I don't believe it. It's a – "
"There's one way, of course, of proving whether you're right or not," Tate interrupted, with a quizzical smile.
"What's that?"
"If your theory is correct, the only thing for Madame Le Baron to do is to go back to her performance. Then she'll meet her rival on her own ground. From what I've read about that other performer, Madame Le Baron's dive must be twice as difficult and twice as thrilling as hers."
Mrs. Tate turned to her husband with a look of admiration, her breath coming and going in quick gasps. "Percy, that's the wisest thing you've ever said in your life." A moment later she added, with a change of tone: "But isn't the whole thing too absurd?"
He started to go upstairs. "You know we're due at the Bigelows in an hour?"
"Wait a minute," said Mrs. Tate. "I want to think over what you said. You can't imagine how this thing has worried me. It's all due to my meddling. Oh, I know that; you needn't say anything to me about it. But I'm determined to help that poor woman if I can. Oh, if I had only followed your advice, and let them alone!" she moaned.
"There's no use worrying now. The mischief's done. He would probably have got tired of her anyway."
"If something isn't done to bring him back to her," she went on without heeding his remark, "it will kill her. I'm sure of that. If you could only see her. She looks like a ghost, and her hands tremble so! I don't believe she's slept a wink for weeks. I don't see how she gets through her performances. A clinging creature like her just lives on affection. Before she was married she always had her mother to take care of her. To think that that man should treat her so! Oh, it's a shame, it's a shame!"
Tate was standing at the door. "If she's going to kill herself over that fellow, she might as well have gone on with her diving and killed herself that way. You ask her if she doesn't want to go back to it," he added, with the quizzical smile, "and see if she won't jump at the chance."
"Do you suppose that she can suspect for an instant that her husband fell in love with her performance?" she said, her eyes following her husband up the stairs.
"She probably hasn't reasoned it out, but I haven't a doubt she feels it intuitively," he replied, continuing his ascent. "You just ask her if she doesn't want to make the plunge again and see what she'll say," he concluded, smiling down at her from the floor above.
XX
Mrs. Tate tried, by an almost impassioned kindness, to atone for her neglect of Blanche during her absence from London. She sent her flowers from her conservatory, she bought gifts for the little Jeanne, she called at the apartment in Upper Bedford Place nearly every morning. During these visits she did not once meet Jules; Blanche told her that he always went away soon after breakfast, and seldom returned before dinner. Sometimes he did not accompany her to the Hippodrome, but he never failed to appear there during the evening. The management had offered to reëngage Miss King as soon as her contract expired, and the diver thought of postponing her return to America; but they had not as yet come to terms, as the girl wanted a much larger salary than she had been receiving.
It was this information that reminded Mrs. Tate to ask Blanche if she were sorry she had given up her plunge and if she ever wished to resume it. Though she had at first been impressed by the solution of Blanche's troubles suggested by her husband, she had on sober second thought dismissed it as ridiculously romantic; such things might happen in novels, but they never could occur in real life. Her belief was shaken, however, when she saw the pale face light up at her question.
"Oh, yes," Blanche cried, "I have thought of it. Sometimes – sometimes I think it would be better if I hadn't given it up. Then – then that woman wouldn't have come." Her eyes filled with tears, but she controlled herself and, a moment later, she went on: —
"But I – I thought it was wrong for me to risk my life, and it made me so unhappy for Jeanne's sake. But sometimes I think I might have stopped being afraid. Before Jeanne was born I never had the least thought of fear, even after father was killed, because I knew that was because the trapeze was weak. Oh, I'm sure," she went on piteously, – "I'm sure I shouldn't be afraid any more!"
"But Dr. Broughton, you remember what he said, don't you?"
"He said that when I stopped making the plunge I should be better," Blanche replied simply. "But I'm not better; I feel worse, – oh, so much worse! I know I should be better if I tried it again. And I sha'n't be afraid any more," she repeated, – "even for Jeanne. It would be so much better for us all!"
This speech made Mrs. Tate wonder if, as her husband had suggested, Blanche had divined that Jules had cared for her performance rather than for herself, and fancied she could win him back by resuming it. Her interest increased when she learned that Jules and Miss King had not spoken to each other for two evenings. Miss King's maid, who had at last come from Manchester, and who knew a little Canadian French, had told Madeleine about it. Jules had urged Miss King to accept Marshall's terms, and was vexed with her because she refused and threatened to go back to America. This had made him even more disagreeable at home than he had been before; for the past few days he had not spoken one pleasant word to them, and he had not even noticed Jeanne.
It was this information that rang in Mrs. Tate's consciousness when she had left the apartment. Jules and that woman had quarrelled! Of course, they would make it up again, – perhaps in a few days, perhaps that very day; but if they did not, the quarrel might be one of the means of winning him back to his wife. At any rate, she would speak to her husband about it. When, on her return home, she did speak, he burst out laughing.
"I don't see how you can find anything funny in that!" she said resentfully. "It's a very serious matter."
"But it threatens to spoil my beautiful little romance!"
"Your beautiful romance? What do you mean?"
"If you had persuaded her to go back to her diving, and if she drove the other woman out of the field in that way, it would be a proof of my theory that he's fallen in love with the performance and not with the performer. But if his wife gets him back again now, it will be merely because the other woman has broken with him. There's nothing for him to do except to go back to his wife and be forgiven."
"Well, I don't care what the reason is – if she only gets him back. She'll certainly die of jealousy and misery if she doesn't, – that's plain enough. In my opinion, Dr. Broughton was entirely wrong in his diagnosis of the case. She says herself that she misses her diving and she wants to take it up again. Her rest hasn't done her a particle of good. Anyway, I'll speak to the Doctor about it to-morrow. I'll write a note, and ask him to come in for tea if he can."
"And hold another council of war," her husband suggested.
"A council of peace," she retorted smartly. "Oh, I know what you're thinking of! But I'm determined to undo the harm I've done. There's no time to be lost. If I can get that poor little woman to resume her plunge while the husband's still quarrelling with the other performer, I feel sure everything will come out all right. He'll be interested in her again. Don't you remember how he used to brag about her? I suppose you don't, but he did; and I could tell that he was as proud of her as if she were the most wonderful creature in the world."
"I don't see what she wants him for," Tate said carelessly.
"Well, you're not a woman, and you can't understand how women feel about men. I sometimes think the worse men are, the more their wives adore them."
Tate smiled, but he made no reply; he was much more interested in the case than he would allow himself to appear to be. Indeed, he was so interested that he left his office the next day earlier than usual, in order to take part in the conference. He found his wife in earnest talk with the Doctor. Before coming to the house, Dr. Broughton, at Mrs. Tate's suggestion, had made a call on Madame Le Baron, and he expressed his alarm at having found her so thin and weak.
"Do you remember what I said the night we had our first talk about her?" he asked, glancing at Tate. "I was afraid then that if she gave up her work it might upset her, though I didn't see how she could go on with the diving and keep whatever health she had. Now she's a great deal worse off than she was when I last saw her."
Then they discussed the case in all its aspects. The Doctor laughed when Mrs. Tate declared she believed the poor woman's happiness depended on her resuming her plunge. "Oh, it may seem absurd to you!" she cried, growing more earnest under ridicule; "but Percy believes it, though he may pretend to you that he doesn't. He was the one who first suggested it to me."
"I really think the diving wouldn't hurt her health so much as her worrying about her husband does," the Doctor admitted. "Besides, she believes she won't be afraid of it any more. She says her rest from it has taken all her fear away."
"Then you think the best thing for her to do would be to resume the plunge?" said Mrs. Tate.
For a moment the Doctor stroked his chin. "Under the circumstances I should say it might," he replied slowly. "At any rate, it would be worth trying. Of course, if that haunting fear returned she'd have to stop it again."
A look of triumph flashed from the face of Mrs. Tate; and when she glanced at her husband she saw that he was trying to dissemble his interest in the decision. "I shall tell her that to-morrow!" she cried. "It'll be the best news the poor thing has had for a long time. She's crazy to begin that plunge again."
"I hope you are ready to take the consequences of your interference in this business," said Tate, dryly.
XXI
The next morning, in a long and secret talk, Mrs. Tate communicated the Doctor's judgment to Blanche. She learned that Jules was still sullen and depressed. That, of course, was a sign that his quarrel with the diver had not as yet been made up. Blanche said that she would speak to him at once about resuming the plunge; so far as she knew, no one had as yet been engaged to take Miss King's place, and perhaps Mr. Marshall would make a new contract with her on the old terms. Mrs. Tate hurried away in a state of feverish excitement, dreading, yet hoping, that she might meet Jules on the stairs, in order to reveal the great news. She would have liked to return to the apartment that very afternoon, to learn the effect of the announcement upon him; but she controlled her impatience.
Jules did not return till late in the afternoon. From his manner Blanche saw at once that he was in a surly mood. He flung his coat and hat on a chair and threw himself on the couch. For a long time she did not dare to speak to him. She thought he was going to sleep, but she suddenly saw him staring at her with a look that frightened her.
"Jules!" she said.
He had closed his eyes again, and he seemed not to hear.
"Jules."
He opened his eyes, and once more she met that look. "What is it?" he grunted. Her plaintive manner vexed him; it seemed like a reflection on himself.
"There's something I want to say to you," she went on apologetically, and with a suggestion of tearfulness in her voice, as if she felt disappointed at his manner of receiving her news.
As he did not reply, she said: "It's about – about my plunge. I have been thinking that I'm – I'm so much better now – I mean I'm not so nervous – perhaps I can begin it again."
He sat up on the couch, a light coming into his eyes. For a moment he was too surprised to speak. Then he said: "Well, I'm glad you're coming to your senses!"
Encouraged by the change in his manner, she repeated what Dr. Broughton had said to Mrs. Tate. At the mention of the names, Jules' face darkened; since that night at the Tates' he had felt a personal resentment against the Doctor, almost as strong as his hatred of the Englishwoman.
"So that woman's been here again today, has she?" he said bitterly. After a brief silence, he added more gently: "If you feel able to do the plunge again, the sooner you begin the better. I know that Marshall will be glad enough to renew the old contract. It will just fit in with his plans," he continued, with a grim thought of the diver's discomfiture on being superseded by Blanche. "I'll speak to him this very night."
Blanche tried to smile, but the effort ended in a sigh. She had thought that Jules would show more enthusiasm.
"But we can't have any more nonsense," he said, glancing at her again, – this time, however, without the bitterness she had before observed in his face. "If you allow yourself to be afraid of the plunge again, it will simply ruin you as an attraction. It'll make the managers think you're unreliable, and they won't engage you."
In spite of his apparent indifference, Jules was secretly delighted at the thought of his wife's resuming her great dive. For the past few days he had never felt so keenly the humiliation of his own position. A petulant remark of Lottie King's the day of their quarrel had kept ringing in his ears: "What do you amount to anyway?" Now he thought triumphantly of the restoration of his own dignity. With Blanche as the star attraction of the Hippodrome, earning a large salary, and with a choice of offers from all over the world, he would become a personage again! But he must guard her more carefully. He must in future keep her out of the way of interfering foreigners like Mrs. Tate, who would put a lot of nonsense into her head!
That night, when Jules consulted Marshall, he learned what he had already surmised, that the manager was much upset by Miss King's refusal to extend her engagement on any but exorbitant terms, and though it would be completed in two weeks, he had not as yet found a sufficiently strong attraction to take her place; so he was not only willing, but glad, to renew with Blanche the contract she had at first made with him. Jules felt the more elated on being told that Miss King had not been nearly so good an attraction as his wife while giving the sensational plunge. He was in high spirits when he entered Blanche's dressing-room and told her the news. Blanche flushed with pleasure, not merely at the news, but at his affectionate manner as well; Madeleine, however, though she said nothing, seemed depressed. She had hoped that the poor child would never make that horrible dive again.
After that night Blanche was so happy that she seemed like another creature from the thin, white-faced little woman of the past few weeks. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed. Jules had been so different with her, she said to Mrs. Tate, since she had told him she would go on with the plunge. The night before he had taken her to the Hippodrome, and after the performance they had gone with Madeleine to a café; it reminded them of the days of their courtship in Paris.
The two weeks that followed were the happiest Blanche had known since those first days after the birth of her child. Jules' devotion extended not only to her, but to little Jeanne and to Madeleine as well. For several days the gloom that had wrapped the city during most of the winter lifted; the sun shone, and the feeling of spring was in the air. In the afternoons Blanche took walks with Jules in the park, and on Sunday they went to mass together and then drove out to Richmond and dined there. They agreed to pretend that they were still in their days of courtship, and Jules delighted Blanche by repeating some of the foolish speeches he had made to her in the first weeks of their love.
Then, too, they made great plans for the future. The negotiations with Hicks in New York had been broken off, but Jules had heard of an Australian manager who was in London looking for performers to appear during the following winter in Melbourne. How fine it would be if they could go out there and give performances in the chief Australian cities! Blanche, however, showed so little enthusiasm for this plan that Jules abandoned it for a time. Besides, he himself liked better the plan she suggested of returning to the Cirque Parisien. They might make an engagement there that would enable them to pass the winter in Paris. How good it would be to be back there again! Perhaps they could secure the little apartment in the rue de Lisbonne. Jules became so enthusiastic that he wrote to the manager in Paris, proposing terms. After a winter there they might think of going to Australia, where they would be much better paid than in Paris.
The thought of returning to France added to Blanche's happiness. Oh, to see her mother and Jeanne and Louise again! How good it would be! There had been times during the past few weeks when she felt as if she could not bear to be separated from them any longer. But in Paris they could come to see her; perhaps Monsieur Berthier would let her mother and the girls pass a few weeks with her. Of course, she would be with them in Boulogne for the summer. When she spoke of this to Jules, however, he said nothing. He had in mind other plans, a possible engagement at one of the French watering places; but he thought it best not to refer to this at present. He realized the importance of making as much money as possible and as quickly as possible. There was no knowing how long his wife's nerve would last. If she only held out for a few years longer, they could make a fortune in Australia and America. Then they could retire, and live comfortably in Paris for the rest of their lives. He expected to earn a great deal of money in America; but he had reasons for not speaking of that country at all for the present.
The two weeks during which Blanche was enjoying her new happiness were an exciting time for Mrs. Tate, who felt as if she were responsible for the success of her protégée's return to her former place in the Hippodrome. Every day she repaired to Upper Bedford Place and held long conferences with Blanche. Everything promised well, she thought. Jules showed no signs of returning to the thraldom of Lottie King. How providential, Mrs. Tate thought, the quarrel between them had been! She did not know that, even before his break with her, Jules had begun to tire of the diver's domineering manner and of her habit of ridiculing him; moreover, he had at last perceived that she was only playing with him. This had helped to prejudice him against her performance, and as the novelty of the performance wore off, he saw that it was far inferior in daring and skill to his wife's magnificent plunge. This had never lost its fascination for him, and now, as he assisted Blanche in her daily exercises he felt the old thrill at its brilliancy and his own sense of importance in having a part in it.
On the afternoon of the day when her plunge was to be resumed, Blanche took a long rest. She was awakened by the crowing of Jeanne in the next room. She raised her hands to her head; at the thought of the ordeal of the evening, a sudden dizziness came upon her. It was more than three months since she had made the dive, and she wondered if she should be equal to it. How horrible if at the last moment she should lose her nerve! She arose quickly, hardly daring to allow herself to think, and she hurried to the child. How strong and beautiful Jeanne was! Blanche took her in her arms and pressed her closely. When Madeleine turned and lumbered out of the room, leaving them alone together, Blanche began to kiss the child passionately, and tears welled over on her cheeks. Then she bathed her face, for fear that Jules would see that she had been crying.
That night at dinner, Jules was in high spirits. "Marshall expects a big house," he said. "He's spent a lot of money advertising your dive. He thinks of getting a big poster made of you flying through the air."
During the whole of the meal Blanche was very quiet. Madeleine noticed that her eyes were shining. When it was time to go to the Hippodrome, Jules, wrapping his wife in her cloak, put his arms around her, and kissed her on the ear, as he had often done in the days of their engagement. She drew away and started for Jeanne's room.
"Where are you going?" he said.
"I want to kiss the little one good-night."
"But she's asleep!" he cried impatiently. "You mustn't wake her up."
In spite of his protest, she silently made her way into the room where the child lay, closing the door behind her. Jules listened, thinking that Jeanne would cry on being disturbed; but there was no sound. Then he knew that she was praying by the crib, and this angered him. It was about time to put a stop to her notions, he said to himself. When, a moment later, she came out, her face was covered with a thick veil, and, after glancing at her sharply, he said nothing.
On arriving at the Hippodrome, they found Mrs. Tate in the star dressing-room, which had been assigned to Blanche again.
"I have been waiting for you," Mrs. Tate said nervously. "I suppose I have no right to be here, but I felt that I must see you, and I made my husband bring me. Are you quite well?"
She had observed the look of disgust given her by Jules, but this did not disturb her nearly so much as the white face that Blanche presented. Moreover, she did not feel reassured when Blanche smiled and said she felt perfectly well.
"Of course everything will be splendid. There's a tremendous crowd," Mrs. Tate added. "You'll have a great success."
Jules, after bowing coldly, had turned from the room. As soon as the door closed behind him, Mrs. Tate seized Blanche by both hands and kissed her affectionately. "I mustn't keep you from dressing," she said with a smile. "Perhaps I'll come in and congratulate you when it's all over."
Blanche grew a shade paler, and Mrs. Tate hesitated at the door. "What is it?" she said.
"Nothing."
Mrs. Tate walked toward her. "Nothing?"
Blanche turned her head away. "If anything should happen," she said quietly, "the – the little one – I should like my mother to take her."
Mrs. Tate began to breathe hard; but she burst out laughing. "You silly child! Of course; I shall look after Jeanne anyway. Don't you worry about her. Now I must hurry out to that husband of mine. He'll be furious with me for keeping him waiting so long."
A few moments before Blanche appeared in the ring, Jules returned to the dressing-room, resplendent in his evening clothes, with three diamonds gleaming on his shirt-front, and carrying a bouquet of white roses.
"These are just like the roses I bought for you the night I met you. I selected them this afternoon, and they've just come. You must wear them in your belt, as you did then," he said, as she flushed with pleasure and thanked him. "I remember how tickled I was when I saw them; and oh, how I hated Pelletier when you took them out and gave them to him to hold, while you were going through your act."
Then, as she adjusted the flowers in her belt, he went on: "It's the biggest house of the season! Marshall says you're the best attraction he ever had. Ready?" he asked, surveying Blanche as she stood in her white silk tights. "You look just as you did when I first saw you," he added, putting one hand on her cheek and kissing her lightly on the other. "Come along."
Then he threw over her the robe she always wore on her way to the ring, and they hurried from the room. As Blanche ran out on the net and heard the applause of the vast audience, she felt a thrill of joy and an intoxicating sense of her own power. All fear seemed to leave her, and she laughed as she climbed hand over hand to the trapeze. From trapeze to trapeze she shot with delight; she had never felt so sure of herself, so exultant. When she returned to the net, Jules, who had taken his place at the rope, whispered to her: "You're in great form to-night. Keep it up."
She was smiling as she started on her long climb to the top of the building. But when she had taken her place on the beam from which she was to make her plunge and looked down at the black mass in the distance, her strength seemed suddenly to leave her. Her fingers tightened on the beam, as if she felt afraid of losing her balance. Then she heard her husband's voice ring through the place, crying the familiar warning. She knew the moment had come for making the plunge; but she continued motionless. She felt as if her will had become suddenly paralyzed, and a moment later, as if her body were frozen.
The black mass below seemed to dance before her, then to beckon to her, and in her ears she kept hearing the voice of little Jeanne and the sound of her laughter. Oh, she had known that this moment would come some time; she had known it ever since Jeanne was born. But she could not sit there forever; the crowd below was waiting to see her fall. If she did not make an effort she should lose her self-control and go plunging into the blackness. She must lift her hands and gather herself together, and hurl herself out as she had always done. But she had no strength; she could only lift her arms weakly. Then she tried to give her body the necessary impetus, and she plunged wildly into the air.
There was a cry of horror from the crowd, and a moment later the white figure lay motionless in the net. The people rose from their seats and rushed toward the ring. The police tried to drive them back as Jules leaped into the net and seized the prostrate body in his arms.
"Keep them back," he cried frantically, not realizing that he was speaking French. "She must have air." Then, turning, he said: "Blanche! Blanche! Can't you speak? Open your eyes so I may know you aren't dead."
He was terrified by the way her head fell back from her shoulders. "We must get her out of this," he said desperately, to two of the circus men who had followed him on the net, as he glanced down at the struggling mass beneath him. "Bring her to her dressing-room. Make those people get out of the way."
With difficulty they bore her through the crowd. Some one threw her cloak over her as she passed. She gave no sign of life, but the expression in Jules' face showed that he still hoped. When they reached her room, they placed her on the floor, and Jules closed the door to keep out the crowd. Madeleine, who had been ringing her hands and moaning, quickly loosened the tight bodice. Then the door was forced open again, and Marshall entered with a physician, who quickly bent over the prostrate figure and listened for the heart-beat.
"She's dead," he said quietly.
Jules threw himself on the body in a paroxysm of despair.
