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The Mischief Maker, a novel by E. Phillips Oppenheim |
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Book 1 - Chapter 19. An Offer |
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_ BOOK ONE CHAPTER XIX. AN OFFER Kendricks, as they entered the cafe, recognized his friends with joy openly expressed. "It is fate!" he exclaimed, striking a dramatic attitude. "It is the gentleman who ate both portions of chicken!" mademoiselle cried. "It is the gallant Englishman of the Cafe Helder," madame laughed, her double chin becoming more and more evident. "And yonder, in the corner, sits Mademoiselle Ixe," Kendricks whispered to Julien. "For whom does she wait, I wonder?". "For Herr Freudenberg?" suggested Julien. "For Herr Freudenberg, let us pray," Kendricks replied. The husband of madame, the father of mademoiselle, the rightly conceived future papa-in-law-to-be of the attendant young man, rose to his feet in response to a kick from his wife. "If monsieur is looking for a table," he suggested, "there is room here adjoining ours. It will incommode us not in the slightest." "Of all places in the room," Kendricks declared, with a bow, "the most desirable, the most charming. Madame indeed permits--and mademoiselle?" There were more bows, more pleasant speeches. A small additional table was quickly brought. Kendricks ignored the more comfortable seat by Julien's side and took a chair with his back to the room. From here he leaned over and conversed with his new friends. He started flirting with mademoiselle, he paid compliments to madame, he suddenly plunged into politics with monsieur. Julien listened, half in amusement, half in admiration. For Kendricks was not talking idly. "A man of affairs, monsieur," Kendricks proclaimed himself to be. "My interest in both countries, madame," he continued, knowing well that she, too, loved to talk of the affairs, "is great. I am one of those, indeed, who have benefited largely by this delightful alliance." Alliance! Monsieur smiled at the word. Kendricks protested. "But what else shall we call it, dear friends?" he argued. "Are we not allied against a common foe? The exact terms of the _entente_, what does it matter? Is it credible that England would remain idle while the legions of Germany overran this country?" Monsieur was becoming interested. So was madame. It was madame who spoke--one gathered that it was usual! "What, then," she demanded, "would England do?" "She would come to the aid of your charming country, madame." "But how?" madame persisted pertinently. Kendricks was immediately fluent. He talked in ornate phrases of the resources of the British Empire, the perfection of her fleet, the wonder of her new guns. Julien, who knew him well, was amazed not only at his apparent earnestness, but at his insincerity. He was speaking well and with a wealth of detail which was impressive enough. His little company of new friends were listening to him with marked attention; Julien alone seemed conscious that they were listening to a man who was speaking against his own convictions. "Monsieur! Monsieur Julien!" It was the voice of Mademoiselle Ixe. She was leaning slightly forward in her place. Julien turned quickly around and she motioned him to a seat by her side. He rose at once and accepted her invitation. "I do not disturb you?" she asked. "It seemed to me that your friend was talking with those strange people there and that you were not very much interested. It is dull when one sits here alone." "Naturally," Julien agreed. "My friend talks politics, and for my part it is very certain that I would sooner talk of other things with mademoiselle." She was a born flirt--a matter of nationality as well as temperament, and not to be escaped--and her eyes flashed the correct reply. But a moment later she was gazing wistfully at the door. "You expect Herr Freudenberg?" Julien inquired. "I cannot tell," she replied. "I must not say that I am expecting him because he did not ask me to meet him here. But I thought, perhaps, that he might come--so I risked it. I was restless to-night. I do not sing this week because Herr Freudenberg is in Paris, and without any occupation it is hard to control the thoughts. I sat at home until I could bear it no longer. _Eh bien!_ I sent for a little carriage and I ventured here. There is a chance that he may come." "Mademoiselle permits that I offer her some supper?" Julien suggested. She hesitated and glanced at the clock. "You are very kind, Sir Julien," she answered. "I have waited because I have thought that there was a chance that he might come, and to sup alone is a drear thing. If monsieur really--Ah! Behold! After all, it is he! It is he who comes. What happiness!" It was indeed Herr Freudenberg who had mounted the stairs and was yielding now his coat to the attentive _vestiaire_--Herr Freudenberg, unruffled and precisely attired in evening clothes. He showed not the slightest signs of his recent adventure. He chatted gayly to Albert and waved his hand to mademoiselle. He came towards them with a smile upon his face, walking lightly and with the footsteps of a young man. Yet mademoiselle shivered, her lip drooped. "He is not pleased," she murmured. "I have done wrong." There was nothing apparent to others in Herr Freudenberg's manner to justify her conviction. He raised her fingers to his lips with charming gayety. "Dear Marguerite," he exclaimed, "this is indeed a delightful surprise! And Sir Julien, too! I am enchanted. Once more let us celebrate. Let us sup. I am in time, eh?" "With me, if you please," Julien insisted, taking up the menu. Herr Freudenberg smiled genially. "Host or guest, who cares so long as we are joyous?" he cried, sitting on mademoiselle's other side. "Although to-night," he added, with a humorous glance at Julien, "it should surely be I who entertains! Dear Marguerite!" He patted her hand. She looked at him pathetically and he smiled back again. "Be happy, my child," he begged. "It is gone, that little twinge. It was perhaps jealousy," he whispered in her ear. "Sir Julien has captured many hearts." She drew a sigh of content. She raised his hand to her lips. Then she dabbed at her eyes with the few inches of perfumed lace which she called a handkerchief. It was passing, that evil moment. "There is no man in the world," she told him softly, "who should be able to make you jealous. In your heart you know." He laughed lightly. "You will make me vain, dear one. Give me your little fingers to hold for a moment. There--it is finished." He looked around the room with the light yet cheerful curiosity of the pleasure-seeker. Then he leaned over towards Julien. "What does our shock-headed friend the journalist do in that company?" he asked, with a backward motion of his head. Julien smiled. "He is devoted to madame with the double chin. He is apparently also devoted to mademoiselle, the daughter of madame with the double chin. He is contemplating, I believe, an alliance with the bourgeoisie." Herr Freudenberg watched the group for a moment with a slight frown. "They are types," he said under his breath, "absolute types. Kendricks is studying them, without a doubt." He continued his scrutiny of the room. Then he leaned towards mademoiselle. "Dear Marguerite!" "Yes?" "There is Mademoiselle Soupelles there," he pointed out, "sitting with an untidy-looking man in a morning coat and a red tie. You see them?" "But certainly," mademoiselle agreed. "They are together always. It is an alliance, that." "It would please me," Herr Freudenberg continued, still speaking almost under his breath, "to converse with the companion of Mademoiselle Soupelles. From you, dear Marguerite, I conceal nothing. I made no appointment with you to-night because it was my intention to speak with that person, and I could not tell where he would be. All has happened fortunately. We spend our evening together, after all. See what you can do to help me. Go and talk to your friend, Mademoiselle Soupelles. Bring them here if you can. Sir Julien thinks he is ordering the supper, but he is too late; I ordered it from Albert as I entered." Mademoiselle rose at once and shook out her skirts. She kissed her hand across the room to her friend. "I go to speak to her," she promised. "What I can do I will. You know that, dear one. But he is a strange-looking man, this companion of hers. You know who he is? His name is Jesen. If I were Susanne, I would see to it that he was more _comme-il-faut_." Herr Freudenberg laughed. "Never mind his appearance," he said. "He can drive the truth into the hearts of this people as swiftly and as surely as any man who ever took up a pen. Bring him here, little sweetheart, and to-morrow we visit Cartier together." She glanced at him almost reproachfully. "As if that mattered!" she murmured, as she glided away. Julien turned discontentedly to his companion. "This fellow will take no order from me," he objected. "Do you own this place, Herr Freudenberg, that you must always be obeyed here?" "By no means," Herr Freudenberg replied. "To-night is an exception. I ordered supper as I entered. You see, there are others whom I may ask to join. You shall have your turn when you will and I will be a very submissive guest, but to-night--well, I have even at this moment charged mademoiselle with a message to her friend and her friend's companion. I have begged them to join us. On these nights I like company--plenty of company!" "In that case, perhaps," Julien suggested, "I may be _de trop_." Freudenberg laid his hand upon his companion's shoulder. "My friend," he said earnestly, "it is not for you to talk like that, to-night of all nights. If I say little, it is because we are both men of few words, and I think that we understand. You know very well what you and your shock-headed friend have done for me. Not that I believe," he went on, "that it would ever come to me to be hounded to death by such a gang. I am too fervent a believer in my own star for that. But one never knows. It is well, anyhow, to escape with a sound skin." "Why did you run such a risk?" Julien asked him. "Partly," Freudenberg answered, "because I was really curious to know what those fellows were driving at; and partly," he added, "because, alas! I am possessed of that restless spirit, that everlasting craving for adventures, which drives one on into any place where life stirs. I knew that these people were plotting something against me. I wanted to hear it with my own ears, to understand exactly what it was against which I must be prepared. But now, Sir Julien, I question you. As for me, my presence there was reasonable enough; but what were you doing in such a place? What interests have you in German socialism?" Julien shrugged his shoulders. "I cannot say that I have any," he admitted. "It was Kendricks who took me. He is showing me Paris--Paris from his own point of view. He took me first to a restaurant, where we dined for two francs and sat at the same table with those people to whom he is now making himself so agreeable. Kendricks has democratic instincts. His latest fad is to try and instil them into me." Herr Freudenberg looked thoughtfully across at the journalist, still deep in argument with his friends. "I am not sure that I understand that man," he declared. "In a sense he impresses me. I should have put him down as one of those who do nothing without a set and fixed purpose. But enough of other people. Listen. I wish to speak with you--of yourself. I am glad that we have met to-night. I have another and altogether a different proposition to make to you." Julien remained silent for several moments. Herr Freudenberg watched him. "A proposition to make to me," Julien repeated at last. "Well, let me hear it?" Herr Freudenberg leaned towards him. "Sir Julien," he said, "there has happened to you, as to many of us, a little slip in your life. It is a wise thing if for a few months you pass off the stage of European affairs. You are of an adventurous spirit. Will you undertake a commission for me? Listen. I will guarantee that it is something which does not, and could not ever, by any chance, affect in the slightest degree the interests of your country. It is a commission which will take you a year to execute, and it will lead you into a new land. It will require tact, diplomacy and some courage. If you succeed, your reward will be an income for life. If you fail, the worst that can happen to you is that you will have passed a year of your life without effective result. Still, you will at least have traveled, you will at least have seen new phases of life." Julien was puzzled. "You cannot seriously propose to me," he protested, "to undertake a diplomatic errand for a country which has absolutely no claims upon me--to which I am not even attracted?" he added. Herr Freudenberg tapped with his forefinger upon the table. Upon his lips was a genial and tolerant smile. He had the air of a preceptor devoting special pains upon the most backward member of his kindergarten class. "My friend," he said, "there is no political question involved whatever. The mission which I ask you to undertake would lead you into a remote part of Africa, where neither your country nor mine has at present any interests. More than this I cannot tell you unless you show signs of accepting my invitation. The negotiations which you would have to conduct are simply these. Four years ago a distinguished German scientist who was in command of a somewhat rash expedition, was captured by the ruler of the country to which I wish you to travel. For some time the question of a mission to ascertain his fate has been upon the carpet. It is true that we have received letters from him. He professes to be happy and contented, to have been kindly treated, and to have accepted a post in the army of his captor. We wish to know whether these letters are genuine or not. If they are genuine, all is well, but a suspicion still remains among some of us that the person in question is being held in torture as an example to other white men who might penetrate so far. This is the first object in the journey which I propose to you. There is nothing political about it at all, as you perceive. It is purely a matter of humanity.... Ah! I see that our party is to be increased. Here are some new friends who arrive." Mademoiselle Ixe had succeeded. She returned now to her place, followed by the girl with the chestnut-colored hair and her companion. At close quarters the latter, at any rate, was scarcely prepossessing. He was a man of middle age, untidily dressed, whose clothes were covered with cigar ash and recent wine stains, whose linen was none of the cleanest, and whose eyes behind his pince-nez were already bloodshot. Herr Freudenberg, however, seemed to notice none of these unpleasant defects. He grasped him vigorously by the hand. "It is Monsieur Jesen!" he exclaimed. "Often you have been pointed out to me, and I have long wished to have the pleasure of making your acquaintance. Sit down and join us, monsieur. Your little friend, too,--ah, mademoiselle!" He bent low over the girl's hand and placed a seat for her. The party was now arranged. Their host beamed upon them all. "Come," he continued, "this is perhaps my last night in Paris for some time! We have had adventures, too, within these few hours. You find us celebrating. My English friend here is one of us. I will not introduce him by name. Why should we trouble about names? We are all friends, all good fellows, here to pass the time agreeably, to drink good wine, to look into beautiful eyes, mademoiselle, to amuse ourselves. It is the science of life, that. Monsieur Jesen, mademoiselle, dear Marguerite, my English friend here, let me be sure that your glasses are filled. To the very brim, garcon--to the very brim! Let us drink together to the joyous evenings of the past, to the joyous evenings of the future, to these few present hours that lie before us when we shall sit here and taste further this very admirable vintage. To the wine we drink, to the lips we love, to this hour of life!" For the moment there was no more serious conversation. Herr Freudenberg had started a vein of frivolity to which every one there was quick to respond. Only every now and then he himself, the giver of the feast, had suddenly the look of a different man as he sat and whispered in the ear of Monsieur Jesen. _ |
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