Читать книгу The Iron Mistress - Paul Iselin Wellman - Страница 43

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Narcisse, alone of the young men, was awaiting their return with the ladies. The others had pointedly excused themselves while Bowie was with Judalon in the garden.

In one glance Narcisse saw from their faces what had occurred. At once he left the house with Bowie.

“I’m sorry,” he said after they had walked a few moments in silence.

“Never mind,” Bowie said. “I had it coming.”

He was still white-faced.

Narcisse said, hesitantly, “I was thinking—this is Friday. Hardly a good night at St. Sylvain’s. Some other entertainment—perhaps the theater—would be more enjoyable.”

“I’m leaving New Orleans, Narcisse—maybe tomorrow. And we’ve told several people we were going to St. Sylvain’s.”

“Does that make any difference?”

“I saw that Cabanal and the rest had left your house too. They’ve got it in for me. I believe Cabanal’s in love with your sister.”

“In love?” Narcisse smiled. “I’m not sure Philippe would recognize love if he met it. But he likes our family fortune. Not long ago he offered her his name—and also his debts. He had lost heavily at the casino. His father came from Natchez where they live and was very stern with him, even threatening to cut off his allowance. Philippe was desperate, but Judalon rejected him, and he was quite disconsolate until the following week when his father relented and paid off his debts.”

“The fortune hunter!” said Bowie savagely. Then he remembered that his own approach to Judalon might easily be interpreted as the same thing, though he had not so intended it.

“Perhaps,” said Narcisse. “But if I resented all the motives that impel gentlemen to pursue my fair sister, I’d be at rapier points with half of New Orleans.”

Bowie said, “That brings us back to what we were talking about. If we don’t go to St. Sylvain’s tonight, won’t everybody suspect that I’m afraid to go?”

Narcisse raised his brows, shrugged, and at last nodded. “I follow you. Rapier points and St. Sylvain’s. I doubt it would come to that. But you’re right—it might be misinterpreted if we didn’t go. So—St. Sylvain’s it shall be.”