Читать книгу The Iron Mistress - Paul Iselin Wellman - Страница 20

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Bowie was right: Audubon did not understand him. In some ways he did not understand himself. He was moody the rest of that evening and next morning as they lounged in their room after breakfast. But Audubon amused himself by drawing out Nez Coupé.

“Plenty bird on the Bayou Boeuf,” said the Cajun. “Plenty animal-bear—deer—’gator—painter—wolf—loup-garou——”

“Loup-garou?”

“Oh, loup-garou—sure. Bad thing, that one. Look like wolf sometime—sometime change to man—sometime big bat—suck out blood if he find you sleeping—carry off child, suck blood till she die——”

Audubon was curious. He had heard of the superstition of the vampire werewolf—the loup-garou of the Cajuns—but this was his first encounter with someone who fully believed it.

“Did thee ever see a loup-garou?” he asked.

“Me? No, not see—hard to see, that one. But I been near where he come. Nom de Dieu—make hair stand up on my neck now when I think about it!”

“How did thee know it was near?”

“How I know? Le bon Dieu! Sometime I track wolf—track long time. All at once—wolf track gone. No see him, that wolf track. Man track there! No man track before—just there. I stop, me. Thick woods ahead. Mon Dieu, John, I hear something in those woods! Something funny. I not know, see? I scare! I think man in there, mebbe, but not like man. How man get in those place, with wolf track? I nevair hear that thing before. Dieu, I scare bad! I come back quick from that place.” He stopped, and cackled uneasily.

“Thee didn’t actually see it?”

“No. I not wait—me!”

“It didn’t chase you?”

Nez Coupé cackled again. “That loup-garou—he have to go pretty fast that time to catch me!”

Bowie had heard this sort of thing before. The Cajun was incurably superstitious, his world peopled by the unseen and inexplicable. Audubon rose and went to the door as a knock came.

Henri Pinchon, very obsequious, very perspiring, was bowing low before a young man in a tall hat, with side whiskers trimmed to a sharp point at the angles of his jaw.

“This is the room, Monsieur de Bornay. I—I—did not dream these messieurs were friends of yours——”

De Bornay waved him away and entered. For a moment he stood silent, then bowed to Bowie.

“Monsieur, your message was conveyed to me.” He spoke a very precise English.

“Yes?”

“Though its proposal was frivolous, I believe I recognized the good will behind it. I therefore have come to express my respects.”

The Creole had a smile of peculiar charm: he was very different from the arrogant, drunk and quarrelsome man of the day before.

Bowie returned the smile. “Thank you. And I’ll say, Monsieur de Bornay, that I regret my own hasty words——”

“Chut! We will not speak of that.” Bowie gathered that the hasty words still had power to rankle. They shook hands, and the Creole turned winningly to Audubon.

“John—I was a scoundrel! Can you forgive?”

“Ah, Narcisse!”

“Ah, John!”

In the impetuous French way, they embraced. A pleasant moment.

“Will you be seated?” Bowie said. “On the bed—or John’s pallet yonder. I regret we have no better accommodations.”

“John’s pallet?” De Bornay was surprised, then concerned as the circumstances of Audubon’s departure from his former lodgings came out.

“This cannot be permitted!” he said.

“The good Madame Guchin is within her rights,” said the artist.

“A pest on such rights! At least we’ll get those pictures——”

“I beg thee, Narcisse—no charity.” Warning in Audubon’s voice.

“Who spoke of charity? A small loan——”

“Would in this case be charity—since I cannot repay it.”

“John, John—will you be sensible——?”

“Cannot a man be left some shreds of his pride?” Audubon walked abruptly to the small window and stood with hands locked behind him, gazing stonily out under the eaves.

Bowie found himself wondering at a man who could at one moment accept insults without resentment, yet at another grow angry at an offer of friendly help. But Narcisse seemed to understand.

“How stupid of me,” he said. “I had forgot—John, I seem always to do the wrong thing——”

“And I am a fool to take such matters to heart!” said Audubon quickly.

The situation was restored. Presently Narcisse glanced at his watch. “Are you to be long in the city?” he asked Bowie.

“Only a few days.”

“In such time as you are here—if you care to see something of New Orleans—will you accept me as your cicerone?”

“Why—many thanks——”

“Then, as a beginning, since it is near noon, will the three of you be my guests at luncheon?”

But Audubon pleaded that he wished to spend the afternoon sketching. And Nez Coupé had a project even more important.

“I have a friend——” he began.

“Bring him along,” said Narcisse.

“Him? Who say him? I have enough him all time here, mon Dieu! This a her.” A cavernous grin. “Lots of woman in this place, Jim. Nevair I see so many at one time. Plenty woman like Cajun man here. Down at French Market is one name of Marie. Me, I make woman laugh, that one. Fine woman, her. An’ cook! Always she want to cook things——”

Bowie alone accompanied Narcisse de Bornay to luncheon that day.