Читать книгу The Man and His Kingdom - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 11

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"You are back again—so soon!"

Eugène Rimarez closed the door of her sitting-room behind him and threw his cap upon the table. He had come straight from the interview with his father, and he was in an evil humour.

"Yes, I am back. You need not show quite so plainly how unwelcome my coming is. You look at me as though I were your worst enemy."

"That is precisely," she answered, "how I do regard you."

His eyes were lit with a wicked fire. He stretched out his hand as though to take his cap from the table.

"It is enough," he declared. "I have an errand at the prison; I hasten to execute it."

Her looks showed plainly how glad she was to have him go. Yet he lingered.

"It is a mournful duty," he said. "It is hard that it should have fallen to my lot, for, after all, Arnold and I have been friends."

She rose to her feet quickly.

"What do you mean?" she cried.

He drew a document from his pocket and spread it out before her.

"You can read it," he said "It is very clear. I went to my father and pleaded my hardest for Arnold. He listened in silence. When I had finished he simply handed me this paper. You can see what it is. I am to take a file of soldiers to the prison and have him shot immediately. It is an order signed by my father, and to it is affixed the seal of the Republic of San Martina."

"What are you going to do?" she asked breathlessly.

"It depends," he answered, "upon you."

"Upon me!"

Her tone was one of despair. Rimarez laid down his cap and moved closer to her side.

"Ternissa," he said softly, "why all this fear? Is it that you doubt my affection for you? You cannot do that. You must believe that I adore you. See what I am willing to do—to risk for your sake. I will tear into pieces this parchment."

She withdrew herself from his too close proximity, and thrust his hand from her wrist.

"If you really cared for me," she said slowly, "if you understood in the least what love was, you would not for ever be trying to make a bargain with me; you would not be content to make me miserable; you would not seek to constrain me to do a thing I loathe. If, indeed, you loved me," she added in a lower key, "you would tear up that paper before my eyes instead of seeking to use it as a bribe."

"It is not my way," he answered. "Any means which will gain my end are welcome to me."

"No," she answered; "it is not your way."

Then there was a silence. On the table between them laid the parchment with its red seal uppermost. It was the life of the man who was dearer to her than any one else on earth.

"You must keep it back," she said at last, "until to-morrow."

"And when to-morrow comes," he exclaimed impatiently, "you will not have made up your mind. Again you will seek more delay. You will say, as you say now, 'Wait a little; wait a little.' It is so all the time. No; I say there has been enough putting off. It shall be now."

"You had better be careful," she murmured. "If you press me just now I may say no."

"You may," he admitted "but I do not think that you will. Listen."

A clock struck the hour. Eugène swore softly as he remembered the necessity for his appearance at the Presidency. At least, however, he might obtain some credit for his forced absence.

"Come!" he exclaimed. "I will be generous. I will go away now; I will not come to you again until to-morrow. You shall have your own way. I am too weak; a woman can do anything with me. A woman like you, Ternissa, can make me—her slave."

His arm was suddenly around her waist. She whirled herself away with an exclamation of anger.

"Have I not told you," she protested passionately, "that I will not be touched? I detest it."

"But consider," he pleaded, "that I love you."

"Consider also," she retorted, "that I hate you."

An oath broke from Eugène's lips. He was shaking with anger.

"You will have to be more civil some day," he said in a low, hoarse tone. "Meanwhile, I leave you. It is—until to-morrow."

Ternissa was left to herself only for a few minutes. She was still standing at the window gazing towards the gaunt-looking prison on the hill when she heard the door of her room opened without even a preliminary knock. She looked hastily round. It was the landlord of the hotel, who stood there holding in his hand a sheet of paper.

"It is the bill of mademoiselle," he explained, tendering it to her.

"I do not require it at present," she answered. "I am not leaving to-day, at any rate."

The landlord—a little Frenchman—shrugged his shoulders.

"Nevertheless," he repeated, "it is the bill of mademoiselle. I regret that these rooms are required. I cannot possibly accommodate mademoiselle."

She looked at him in amazement

"What do you mean?" she demanded. "The hotel is almost empty. If you require these rooms particularly others will do for me."

"I regret," he repeated, "that I cannot accommodate mademoiselle."

The colour rose slowly into her cheeks. The man's bearing was insolent and offensive. His black eyes sought hers boldly. His smile was an insult. He was a very different person to the cringing little man who had welcomed her all politeness and bows.

"Do you mean," she said, "that you wish to turn me out?"

"I mean," he said, "that it would be well for mademoiselle to seek more suitable quarters. Mine is a respectable family hotel. You should take rooms in the quarter St. Michael—Mais monsieur! monsieur!"

The door had been suddenly thrown open, and Dene, who was in a towering rage, had stretched forth a great hand, and, lifting the little man up by the collar, had shaken him as though he were a rat. When he set him down his cheeks were livid and his teeth were chattering. Dene was still beside himself with anger.

"Now tell me what you mean, sir, by insulting this lady," he said fiercely.

Monsieur Legrasse was cringing, but quite ready to justify himself.

"Indeed, monsieur," he explained, "I have not the desire to insult mademoiselle. I have merely obeyed orders which I dared not ignore. It is Monsieur the President who has written to me himself. Will Monsieur Dene but read his note?"

Dene glanced through the note which Legrasse handed to him, and which was certainly signed by the President; then, with an angry exclamation, he tore it into pieces.

"The President has been misinformed," Dene declared shortly. "I shall see him in a few minutes, and I will set matters straight In the meantime, get out, and take your bill with you!"

The landlord withdrew, but with considerably less than his usual politeness. Dene closed the door after him. Then he turned to Ternissa.

Her first expression on seeing him had been one of glad relief; since then her face had clouded over. She addressed him coldly.

"I have given you no permission to come here, or to interfere in my affairs, Mr. Dene," she said "Please explain your visit at once, and leave me."

"Mine," he said bluntly, "is the next room, and the hotel is like a great match-box. I heard a few words of your conversation with Eugène Rimarez—also I heard what Legrasse had the effrontery to say to you."

She looked at him steadily.

"You mean," she said, "that you have been listening."

"I heard what Legrasse said to you," he repeated.

"You are aware, I suppose, in what light such conduct must appear to me?" she remarked coldly.

"I cannot help it," he answered. "I heard the man's insolence, and it was more than flesh and blood could stand. Listen to me, Miss Denison. You are alone in this outlandish place, and I claim the right to be your friend. You hold me all the while at arm's length. It is not reasonable. Come! I have a bargain to make with you. I simply say that I know you are in some trouble and you must let me help you. I am a fellow-countryman and I am not powerless here. The President is favourably disposed towards me. I have money and some influence; they are at your service. I want to extricate you from your present dilemma, whatever it may be. Afterwards we can be friends or not, as you choose."

"Mr. Dene," she answered firmly, "I know that you mean to be kind, I should have ordered you out of the room before. I will not say what I think of your conduct in playing the eavesdropper; I will try to forget it, and I will think of you as a friend if you will only do as I ask you. I am in great trouble and in a great difficulty; I admit that, but there is only one man who can help me, and that man is not you. Every time you thrust yourself—forgive my plain speaking—upon me, you only enhance my difficulties. Now please to leave me."

"You do not wish me, then, even to speak of you to the President?" he asked.

"Most certainly not. I only wish you to go away."

"You leave me," he said, with a sudden cold fear at his heart, "no alternative. Only remember that my offer of a home at Beau Desir is still open to you. You will be welcome there whenever you choose to come."

Dene turned and left the room. Outside on the landing Mons. Legrasse was waiting.