Chapter 3

THEY left the ramparts and returned to the hotel. She left him in the hall for a moment, and then returned, and asked him to follow her.

He followed her to a door on the first floor landing; she opened it, and led him into a sitting-room, where in an armchair beside a blazing wood fire sat old Madame de Warens muffled up in a light shawl, with a novel open upon her lap, asleep.

It was no ordinary hotel sitting-room, this daintily upholstered room. It had, in fact, been entirely redecorated by a Parisian firm three years before, when the two women had decided to take up their quarters for good at the hotel.

The old lady by the fire awoke with a start when she heard them enter, welcomed Hellier with a little old-fashioned bow, and relapsed into her chair, whilst the girl, laying her gloves, which she had drawn off, upon the table, went to a door leading into another room, opened it, and motioned the young man to follow her.

He followed her into a bedroom. A woman�s bedroom. On the dressing-table lay silver hair brushes and all the odds and ends of a woman�s toilet, the little bed stood virginal-looking and white as snow, a row of tiny boots and shoes stood by one wall.

On a table, in a corner near the bed, stood something dismal and dark.

Something veiled with cr�pe. The girl went to this object and removed the covering. She disclosed a bust.

The marble bust of a man. A marvellous piece of work.

A man of middle age with a pointed beard. A jolly-looking man, a forceful face and a lovable face, roguish a bit, with that old Gallic spirit that makes fun in public of the things that Englishmen laugh over in private, yet benevolent.

The face of a man who begins life as a delightful companion, and ends it as a delightful grandfather.

Looking at him one would say, �He might act foolishly, but he could do no real wrong, I would trust him with my last shilling��

�He was my father,� said the girl, as Hellier gazed upon the marble, that, under the chisel of some masterhand, spoke, laughed and diffused jollity around it.

�He was my father and he was a murderer�so the world says.�

Hellier turned slightly aside and placed his hand to the side of his head; he could not speak.

The shocking statement was made in such a calm voice. A calmness that spoke of what suffering endured, what shame, what ruin.

She arranged the dismal cr�pe around the joyous thing.

Then she turned to lead him back to the sitting-room, and as she turned, unable to speak, unable even to think what to say, he took her hand and pressed it.

�I know,� she replied.

He followed her into the sitting-room, and quite regardless of the old lady by the fire, she led him to one of the windows.

Merridew�s library lay opposite, and as they stood and she talked to him they watched the people entering the shop and the people walking on the pavement.

�It was eight years ago,� she said. �I have not changed my name�you must have heard of the case. It was the Lefarge case�ah no?� She paused for a moment, �eight years ago. I cannot tell you the details, but it was in the spring. An artist made that bust of my dear father. The artist�s name was M�ller; he had the face of a demon. I saw him twice, and his face still haunts my dreams. I see it now before me as I talk to you. It was a pale face, a weary face, the face of a man who has known all evil.

�He was a great artist, his name was M�ller, a German, who lived in the Quartier Latin. He was known as the madman. My dear father allowed him to make that bust, gave him sittings, twice invited him to our house.

�When I saw this awful man,� went on the girl, her voice sinking lower, �I felt as though I had seen evil itself. I implored my father to have nothing to do with him. He laughed. He had no fear of evil. He was all good.

�He called at M�ller�s studio one day; listen to me, my friend, for this is what the world says, he called at M�ller�s studio one day and murdered him.

�Listen to me, he murdered him, disappeared, and was never seen again. He decapitated M�ller, and the headless body was found in the studio. That is what the world says. But he did not do it, I know, for I feel it here where I place my hand.�

She placed her little hand, not to her side, but towards the centre of the breast, where the heart really lies.

�It is terrible,� murmured Hellier.

�Terrible�oh, you cannot think!�and now you know why it can never be.�

�If his innocence were proved?� asked he.

�Ah, then�,� she replied.

Hellier took her hand and held it in both of his.

�Listen to me,� he said. �I have seen much of life and men, I do not say it to please you or comfort you, but the face you have shown me is a face incapable of�that. If I could stake my life, and if it were possible for me to stake it upon your father�s innocence, I would do so. I am a member of the English Bar; after what you have told me of the barrier between us, a barrier which is no barrier to me, I will do all that in me lies to remove it. Nothing may come of my efforts, everything may. When a man works from love he goes doubly armed. Tell me, my friend, where I can learn the details of your trouble, not from your lips, for that would be too painful�have you no papers��

�I have the dossier of the case,� replied Mademoiselle Lefarge. �I will place it in your hands; I have belief in you. When I first saw you, something drew me towards you, perhaps it was the spirit of my father�for I feel that he is no more�perhaps it was his spirit pointing out to me his avenger, perhaps�� She paused.

�Yes,� said Hellier.

�Perhaps,� she said, �it was an instinct that told me that some day��

�Yes.�

�Some day, I should love you.�

The next afternoon Hellier returned to London.