Robert Chambers - The Moonlit Way - A Novel

“It’s only this,” she said; “the girl you met once in 53 your life – the dancing singing-girl they knew over there – is already an episode to be forgotten. End her career any way you wish, Garry, – natural death, suicide – or she can repent and take the veil, if you like – or perish at sea – only end her… Please?” she added, with the sweet, trailing inflection characteristic of her.

He nodded. The girl smiled mischievously.

“Don’t nod your head so owlishly and pretend to understand. You don’t understand. Only two or three people do. And I hope they’ll believe me dead, even if you are not polite enough to agree with them.”

“How can you expect to maintain your incognito?” he insisted. “There will be plenty of people in your very first audience – ”

“I had a sister, did I not?”

“ Was she your sister? – the one who danced with you – the one called Thessa?”

“No. But the play-bills said she was. Now, I’ve told you something that nobody knows except two or three unpleasant devils – ” She dropped her arms on the table and leaned a trifle forward:

“Oh, pouf!” she said. “Don’t let’s be mysterious and dramatic, you and I. I’ll tell you: I gave that woman the last of my jewels and she promised to disappear and leave her name to me to use. It was my own name, anyway, Thessalie Dunois. Now, you know. Be as discreet and nice as I once found you. Will you?”

“Of course.”

“‘Of course,’” she repeated, smiling, and with a little twitch of her shoulders, as though letting fall a burdensome cloak. “Allons! With a free heart, then! I am Thessalie Dunois; I am here; I am poor – don’t be frightened! I shall not borrow – ”

“That’s rotten, Thessa!” he said, turning very red.

“Oh, go lightly, please, my friend Garry. I have no claim on you. Besides, I know men – ”

“You don’t appear to!”

“Tiens! Our first quarrel!” she exclaimed, laughingly. “This is indeed serious – ”

“If you need aid – ”

“No, I don’t! Please, why do you scowl at me? Do you then wish I needed aid? Yours? Allez, Monsieur Garry, if I did I’d venture, perhaps, to say so to you. Does that make amends?” she added sweetly.

She clasped her white hands on the cloth and looked at him with that engaging, humorous little air which had so easily captivated her audiences in Europe – that, and her voice with the hint of recklessness ever echoing through its sweetness and youthful gaiety.

“What are you doing in New York?” she asked. “Painting?”

“I have a studio, but – ”

“But no clients? Is that it? Pouf! Everybody begins that way. I sang in a café at Dijon for five francs and my soup! At Rennes I nearly starved. Oh, yes, Garry, in spite of a number of obliging gentlemen who, like you, offered – first aid – ”

“That is absolutely rotten of you, Thessa. Did I ever – ”

“No! For goodness’ sake let me jest with you without flying into tempers!”

“But – ”

“Oh, pouf! I shall not quarrel with you! Whatever you and I were going to say during the next ten minutes shall remain unsaid!.. Now, the ten minutes are over; now, we’re reconciled and you are in good humour again. And now, tell me about yourself, your 55 painting – in other words, tell me the things about yourself that would interest a friend.”

“Are you?”

“Your friend? Yes, I am – if you wish.”

“I do wish it.”

“Then I am your friend. I once had a wonderful evening with you… I’m having a very good time now. You were nice to me, Garry. I really was sorry not to see you again.”

“At the fountain of Marie de Médicis,” he said reproachfully.

“Yes. Flatter yourself, monsieur, because I did not forget our rendezvous. I might have forgotten it easily enough – there was sufficient excuse, God knows – a girl awakened by the crash of ruin – springing out of bed to face the end of the world without a moment’s warning – yes, the end of all things – death, too! Tenez, it was permissible to forget our rendezvous under such circumstances, was it not? But – I did not forget. I thought about it in a dumb, calm way all the while – even while he stood there denouncing me, threatening me, noisy, furious – with the button of the Legion in his lapel – and an ugly pistol which he waved in the air – ” She laughed:

“Oh, it was not at all gay, I assure you… And even when I took to my heels after he had gone – for it was a matter of life or death, and I hadn’t a minute to lose – oh, very dramatic, of course, for I ran away in disguise and I had a frightful time of it leaving France! Well, even then, at top speed and scared to death, I remembered the fountain of Marie de Médicis, and you. Don’t be too deeply flattered. I remembered these items principally because they had caused my downfall.”

“I? I caused – ”

“No. I caused it! It was I who went out on the lawn. It was I who came across to see who was painting by moonlight. That began it – seeing you there – in moonlight bright enough to read by – bright enough to paint by. Oh, Garry – and you were so good-looking! It was the moon – and the way you smiled at me. And they all were dancing inside, and he was so big and fat and complacent, dancing away in there!.. And so I fell a prey to folly.”

“Was it really our escapade that – that ruined you?”

“Well – it was partly that. Pouf! It is over. And I am here. So are you. It’s been nice to see you… Please call our waiter.” She glanced at her cheap, leather wrist watch.

As they rose and left the dining-room, he asked her if they were not to see each other again. A one-eyed man, close behind them, listened for her reply.

She continued to walk on slowly beside him without answering, until they reached the rotunda.

“Do you wish to see me again?” she enquired abruptly.

“Don’t you also wish it?”

“I don’t know, Garry… I’ve been annoyed in New York – bothered – seriously… I can’t explain, but somehow – I don’t seem to wish to begin a friendship with anybody…”

“Ours began two years ago.”

“Did it?”

“Did it not, Thessa?”

“Perhaps… I don’t know. After all – it doesn’t matter. I think – I think we had better say good-bye – until some happy hazard – like to-day’s encounter – ” She hesitated, looked up at him, laughed:

“Where is your studio?” she asked mischievously.

The one-eyed man at their heels was listening.

There was a young moon in the southwest – a slender tracery in the April twilight – curved high over his right shoulder as he walked northward and homeward through the flare of Broadway.

His thoughts were still occupied with the pleasant excitement of his encounter with Thessalie Dunois; his mind and heart still responded to the delightful stimulation. Out of an already half-forgotten realm of romance, where, often now, he found it increasingly difficult to realise that he had lived for five happy years, a young girl had suddenly emerged as bodily witness, to corroborate, revive, and refresh his fading faith in the reality of what once had been.

Five years in France! – France with its clear sun and lovely moon; its silver-grey cities, its lilac haze, its sweet, deep greenness, its atmosphere of living light! – France, the dwelling-place of God in all His myriad aspects – in all His protean forms! France, the sanctuary of Truth and all her ancient and her future liberties; France, blossoming domain of Love in Love’s million exquisite transfigurations, wherein only the eye of faith can recognise the winged god amid his camouflage!