CHAPTER VI

THREE SIDES TO A TRIANGLE

It soon became evident that General Nirzann, in spite of his cox-combry, had given Aline no promises which he was unable to fulfill. Once assured that he was not being played with—which assurance he duly received—he undertook immediately the introduction of Mlle. Solini into the select society of Marisi.

As a beginning, she received a card for a reception at the home of Mme. Chebe.

The affair was anything but exclusive, for everybody in Marisi was there whose name appeared on the biggest list, headed “possible”; still, it served as the point of the wedge.

A week later she and Vivi attended a ball given at the Hotel Walderin by the French minister.

Early in the game Aline began to make her selections of those whom she could most easily use, quite disregarding General Nirzann’s advice and substituting her own judgment. This was natural, since the general had no knowledge of her real goal.

“Mme. Nimenyi is perhaps the most important of all,” the general would say. “Hers is the richest and oldest family in Marisi. Once she sits at your dinner-table you are made.”

“Is she in favor at the palace?” Aline would ask.

“No; a year ago M. Nimenyi refused a loan to the prince, and they are no longer seen at court, as we say. But that is a minor disadvantage. She is almost as important as the prince himself.”

“Well, we shall see,” said Aline. But she no longer paid any attention to Mme. Nimenyi.

She perceived that her own remarkable beauty was the greatest obstacle she would have to encounter.

Women are always the guardians to the doors of society, and they seem to have found a limit to the physical charms of their own sex beyond which respectability ceases. Whether this is the result of a deep law of nature, or of the instinct of self-preservation, or merely of common envy, no one knows except the women themselves; however, we may be allowed to suspect that they are not disinterested in the matter or they would divulge the secret.

For a week the beauty of the unknown mademoiselle who had taken Duroy’s house for the season was the chief topic of conversation in Marisi drawing-rooms. Strange things were averred of her; still stranger were hinted. She was a spy in the service of the Sultan; she was a rich American who had killed her husband; she was a courtesan who had fascinated the young King of Spain, and had been paid a million francs by the Spanish government to leave the country.

Then it began to be whispered about that she was a distant relative of General Paul Nirzann, from somewhere in Russia, and that the general intended to introduce her into Marisi society whether they would or no. Society got out its little knives and sharpened them up.

In the meantime Aline appeared daily in her open carriage on the drive with Vivi at her side. Her carriage always appeared early and remained late, for two reasons. One, which she told General Nirzann, was that a face becomes less hateful and less beautiful to people as it becomes more familiar. The other reason she kept to herself.

The young men were eager to meet her, and Aline was willing, but General Nirzann entered a firm negative.

“You must ignore them,” he declared, “at least for a time. Everyone is inventing lies about your past. You must make them ridiculous by an irreproachable present. It is a field of battle whose victory will lie with the one who exhibits superior wit and strategy. You have been introduced; it is now a waiting game.”

Then came the reception at the house of Mme. Chebe and the ball of the French minister. By that time everyone knew who Mlle. Solini was—a cousin of General Nirzann, Russian by birth, and by inheritance the owner of vast estates in her native land. Vivi, the daughter of a French diplomat, was her ward.

Impecunious young men and their mothers began to look with favorable eyes on Mlle. Solini; not to mention a dozen or so of the old beaus who had stuck to their guns for so many years that they deserved to be called professionals. Such are to be found in every European capital.

The date arrived for Mme. Nimenyi’s annual ball. The best of Marisi attended; and one of the minor surprises of the evening was the absence of Mlle. Solini. Questions were asked, and though Mme. Nimenyi did her best to keep the thing secret, it leaked out that the beautiful Russian had indeed received an invitation, but had returned a polite refusal.

It was the sensation of the evening. Knowing Mme. Nimenyi’s power, everyone said: “The Russian has killed herself; she is buried. All the same, it is a great joke on Mme. N.”

But by this action, seemingly suicidal, Aline had unwittingly made for herself a devoted friend in the person of the Countess Potacci, Mme. Nimenyi’s strongest rival for the leadership.

Within three days she was invited to a select musicale at the home of the countess. This was followed by a party call and an intimate chat. Aline had arrived; discretion only was needed to make her position secure.

“Let me tell you, Vivi,” said Aline, on her return from the Countess Potacci’s, “within a year these people will all be there.” She pointed to the ground at her feet. “But—bah! What does that amount to? They are merely so many stepping-stones.”

“To what?” asked the girl. “Why do you not tell me anything?”

“Have I not?” Aline smiled.

“No; you only tell me what to tell others.”

“Is not that sufficient, since it is the truth?”

“Is it the truth?” It was a question.

“Certainly, dear.”

Vivi hesitated while a little frown appeared on her clear, white brow, then she said, “But if you are so wealthy, why do you take money from M. Stetton?”

For a moment Aline, with all her cleverness, was taken aback by this simple, direct question.

“You do not understand,” she said finally. “I have my reasons; you must believe me, Vivi, and trust me.”

She smiled with genuine affection; the girl seemed to hesitate a moment longer, then she sprang forward and threw her arms around Aline’s neck.

“I do believe you,” she cried, “and I love you! You are so good to me!”

And, in fact, she was.

During this month of preliminary maneuvers Stetton was restraining his impatience with difficulty. He told himself that he was paying all the bills and getting nothing to show for it. But still Aline had little difficulty to keep him within bounds; and now that he saw how highly her charms were regarded by the critical cosmopolites of Marisi, he felt that his reward was all the more worth waiting for.

He had abandoned his own little scheme with regard to Vivi and his friend Naumann; he had dropped it as one does a match that has burned one’s fingers. He could not understand his friend’s conduct in the matter; Naumann had seemed to be completely fascinated by Aline, and yet he evinced no desire to pursue the acquaintance, and indeed refused absolutely to discuss Mlle. Solini in any way.

Aline appeared to be equally desirous of forgetting M. Naumann. Stetton felt vaguely that there must be some reason for this apparent antagonism, but he could make only the wildest guesses as to its nature.

One morning General Nirzann announced to Aline, “It is time to begin now; you are safe.”

Aline’s eyes sparkled. She had been waiting for this word from him, for she knew that in this case the old warhorse could give her instruction to be obtained in no other way.

She said, “Are you sure? Is it not too soon?”

“No, we are timed to the minute,” he replied. “The question is, shall it be a reception or a dinner? There is more to be gained by the reception; but the dinner is much safer, for you can make sure of your guests before you send them cards.”

“Then it shall be the dinner,” said Aline without hesitation, for this question had long before been decided in her own mind. “Come, my dear Paul, you must help me with my list.”

The general arranged himself before her in an attitude intended to express mad ecstasy.

“Ah!” he exclaimed. “You call me Paul! Angel!”

“Did I really?” Aline smiled. “But it is not surprising. I call all of my servants by their first names.”

General Nirzann stared at her for a moment, then burst into laughter.

“Ha, ha! I see. What a joke! Very good!” Then his face was suddenly filled with portentous gravity and an expression of utter devotion. “All the same, I am your servant in reality. I adore you! I worship you!”

It was quite fifteen minutes before Aline could get him started on the list.

* * * *

A week later the day of the dinner arrived. It promised to be a complete success; the gathering was small and quite select, and there were no disappointments. Present: the Count and Countess Potacci, M. and Mme. Chebe, Nirzann, Stetton, Naumann, and two or three young fellows whom Aline had added to the list against the advice of the general.

It may seem necessary to account for the presence of Naumann, but only Aline herself could do that. It may have been that she wished to have him under her eye; at any rate, she put the thing so strongly to Stetton that he absolutely insisted on his friend’s acceptance. Naumann finally gave in, and he and Stetton went together.

The evening was spoiled for Stetton at the very beginning. He understood, of course, that the Count Potacci would have the honor of taking in Mlle. Solini, but he had counted on the seat at her right. General Nirzann, too, had had his eye on that coveted position; and, behold, it was assigned to one Jules Chavot, a young Frenchman from Munich, who possessed nothing except a fashionable wardrobe, and a somewhat sinister reputation as a duelist.

Stetton sulked and refused to open his mouth, except for the entrance of food; General Nirzann muttered, “What the deuce does she want with that blockhead?” as he glared at M. Chavot with a gaze intended to frighten him off the earth.

The dinner itself was excellent, and Aline performed the duties of a hostess to perfection.

“This is just what Marisi needed,” said Mme. Chebe to the general, who had taken her in.

“I beg your pardon?” said the general, removing his ferocious glare from the lucky Chavot.

“Are you getting deaf, little one?” asked Mme. Chebe. Her tongue was the heaviest in Marisi. “I would advise you to be polite to me, or where will you go of an afternoon? I said, this is just what Marisi needed—a woman like Mlle. Solini to give us new life; another dinner-table at which—”

“At which all the homeless puppies can get a square meal,” interrupted the general, still thinking of the Frenchmen.

“—one may expect to hear something besides a discussion of Lehar’s latest waltz,” finished Mme. Chebe serenely, ignoring the interruption.

The voice of the Count Potacci came from across the table.

“How is the prince today, general?”

At these words Aline, who had been chatting with M. Chavot, raised her head quickly, looking at the speaker.

“He is better; much better,” replied General Nirzann. “He will probably appear on the drive tomorrow; the doctor has promised it.”

Aline turned to Chavot.

“Has the prince been ill?”

“Only indisposed, I believe,” replied the young man. “Why—are you concerned, mademoiselle’!”

“Indifferently so.”

“If you would only confess even so slight an interest in myself!”

“M. Chavot, be quiet.”

Chavot sighed and, lifting his eyes, encountered the ferocious glare of General Nirzann, which he immediately proceeded to return in kind.

When the dinner was over, and the gentlemen had smoked their cigars, they rejoined the ladies in the drawing-room. M. and Mme. Chebe left to attend the opera, taking with them two of the young men; the others remained.

The Count and Countess Potacci, with General Nirzann, began a discussion of Marisi politics in general and the alliance with the Turks in particular; Chavot, Stetton, and a M. Franck gathered round Mlle. Solini; and Naumann and Vivi strolled toward the piano in a corner of the room.

“Do you play?” asked Vivi, looking up at him. Her pretty lips were parted and her eyes glowed with the unwonted excitement of the evening.

“No; I used to, but I am out of practice.”

“I am glad; I hate music,” Vivi declared.

“You hate music!” he exclaimed in amused surprise.

“Yes. I think it is because at the convent they kept me at dreary, dull compositions until I felt like knocking the piano to pieces.”

“Quite naturally,” said Naumann. “How long were you at the convent?”

“All my life. That is, until Mlle. Solini—” The girl seemed confused.

“You need not guard your tongue with me,” said Naumann, looking at her.

“Need not guard my tongue—what do you mean?”

“Nothing,” said Naumann hastily, regretting his words. “Except that I am a very discreet person and am therefore an excellent repository for itching secrets.”

“That is really too bad,” said Vivi, smiling, “for I haven’t any to divulge.”

“A pretty girl without secrets! Impossible!” cried the young man.

“That is the second,” observed the girl with apparent irrelevance.

“The second—”

“Yes. That makes twice that someone has called me pretty since we came to Marisi. It is delightful to be told so, even when they say it only to be amusing.”

“Who was the other man?” Naumann hadn’t the slightest idea why he asked.

“The other man?”

“The one who told you you are pretty!”

“Oh! M. Chavot. Aline laughed when I told her of it. She said that M. Chavot was the kind of man who possesses just a certain number of words, and considers it necessary to use all of them every day. I thought it was scarcely nice of her.”

They chatted thus for an hour or more without being joined by any of the others, who had formed an animated group round Mlle. Solini. Naumann had no desire to join the circle, and as for Vivi, she found M. Naumann quite the nicest man she had met.

He got her to talking of her life in the convent, then of her future, and she was surprised to find herself revealing thoughts and desires which she had hitherto considered too intimate to discuss even with Aline.

Then Naumann told her a little of life in Paris and Berlin, while she listened with eager ears, declaring when he had finished that her greatest desire was to travel.

“Paris especially,” said she. “I was born in Paris, you know. Aline has promised to take me there next winter.”

“Have you relatives there?”

“None. None anywhere. I have no one except Aline, but she is so good to me! I want you to know it—you particularly.”

“May I ask why?”

“I want you to. Because when I asked her the other day why you did not come to see us”—Vivi seemed unconscious of the fact that she was betraying a special interest in the young man before her—”she said that you had taken a dislike to her. Why should that be, monsieur?”

Naumann looked at her. Every feature of her face, as well as her words and tone, betokened the most absolute sincerity. He hardly knew what to say, and ended by declaring that he did not dislike Mlle. Solini, but that he had not felt sure of a welcome at her house.

“But she invited you tonight!” cried Vivi. “You are completely in the wrong, M. Naumann. Acknowledge it, and I will forgive you.”

At this moment Jules Chavot approached. The group at the other end of the room had broken up; the Count and Countess Potacci were preparing to leave. General Nirzann had taken himself away half an hour before, saying that his presence was required at the palace.

At parting he had pressed Aline’s hand affectionately before the assembled company, calling her “dear cousin,” and sending a last glance toward Jules Chavot, which was intended to utterly annihilate that young gentleman.

The departure of the count and countess was taken by the others as the signal that the evening was ended. There was an expression of triumph on the face of Mlle. Solini as she bade her guests good night, which carried with it a hint of defiance as she acknowledged the bow of M. Naumann. Stetton and Naumann left together, to walk together down the drive to Walderin Place, where the young diplomat’s rooms were situated.

Stetton chatted for an hour in his friend’s rooms, then left to return to the hotel. He was in the worst possible humor; he had that evening, for the first time, begun to fear—as he expressed it to himself—that he “was being worked for a sucker.” He was filled with anger at Aline, at Nirzann, at Chavot, at himself. He decided at one moment to leave Marisi the following morning; then he laughed aloud in scorn at his own weakness.

He reached the hotel and went to his room. But he did not go to bed; he felt that he could not sleep. All his anger had left—he was now thinking of Aline—the promise of her eyes, the whiteness of her skin, the intoxication of her caress. He allowed his thoughts to dwell on her until his blood was heated and his brain feverish, and he felt that he could no longer contain himself.

He went to the window and opened it, allowing the cool night air to rush across his face. A clock on the church on the side of the square struck twelve.

“I’ll do it,” Stetton muttered aloud; “by Jove, I’ll do it.”

He put on his hat and coat, left the hotel, and started afoot at a rapid pace down the drive. It was quiet and deserted, save occasionally when a limousine or closed carriage whizzed rapidly past with those returning from the theater or opera.

Stetton walked with long strides, face set straight ahead, like a man who knows his destination and intends to reach it. As he arrived in front of No. 341 he took out his watch and looked at it by the light of a street lamp. It was twenty-five minutes past midnight.

He ascended the stoop and rang the bell. After a wait of a minute or so he rang again. Almost immediately the door was opened the space of a few inches, and the face of Czean, Aline’s butler, appeared.

“It is I—Stetton,” said the young man. “Let me in.” He was saying to himself, “I’ll show them whose house this is.”

“But—M. Stetton—” the butler stammered. “Mlle. Solini has retired—”

“What does that matter?” demanded Stetton and, as Czean did not move, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

He was in the reception hall. The drawing-room, on the right, was dark, but a light appeared through the transom of the door of the library at the further end of the hall. He started toward it.

From behind came the voice of the butler in frightened tones.

“Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle!”

Stetton had nearly reached the door of the library when it opened and Aline appeared on the threshold.

“What is it, Czean?” she asked impatiently; then, catching sight of Stetton, she stepped back with a start of surprise.

Stetton moved inside the room before she had time to speak. The library was flooded with light from a chandelier over the table in the center of the room. At one end two or three logs were blazing merrily in a large open fireplace.

In an easy chair placed before the fire, with his back turned to the door, sat the figure of a man. Stetton crossed to his side with an ejaculation. It was General Paul Nirzann.

The general sprang to his feet.

“Ah! M. Stetton!” said he with a weak attempt at a smile.

Aline had crossed the room.

“I did not expect to see you again so soon,” she said to Stetton in an easy tone. “Won’t you sit down?”

She was perfectly composed.

The young man remained standing.

“I seem to be intruding,” he observed with heavy sarcasm, looking at General Nirzann. “I did not know your house was open to visitors at all hours of the night, mademoiselle.”

“Then why did you come?” said Aline, still smiling.

The general broke in with great indignation.

“Do you mean, monsieur, to dictate to me the time when I shall be allowed to visit my cousin?”

“Bah!” Stetton exploded in contempt for the little warrior. He turned to Aline: “Listen to me. I am in earnest. Send this man away—at once. I want to talk to you.”

“But, M. Stetton—”

“I say send him away! Can’t you see I mean it? Otherwise, you leave this house tomorrow.”

Aline lowered her lids to cover the glance of hatred she could not keep from her eyes.

“You had better go, general,” she said quietly, turning to Nirzann.

“But—” the general began furiously.

“No; you must go.”

The general found his hat and coat and crossed to the door, while Stetton followed him with his eyes. There he turned.

“Good night, M. Stetton.” This ironically. “Good night, dear cousin.”

He was gone.

Aline waited until she had heard the outer door open and close, then she turned to Stetton, who had not moved from where he stood near the fireplace.

“Now, monsieur,” she said in a freezing tone. “I shall ask you to explain yourself.”

The young man looked at her with eyes as cold as her own.

“Am I the one to explain?” he demanded quietly. “You seem to forget that I pay the rent here, mademoiselle. Surely I have the right at least to come and bid you good night, and what do I find?”

“Well, then—yes—what do you find? If I am not angry with you, Stetton, it is only because you are such a fool. You know perfectly well that General Nirzann has been of use to us, and that we are not yet through with him. But because you find him sitting in my library, boring me to death with his silly chatter, you insult me and make me ridiculous! Yes, decidedly, it is you who have to explain.”

“It is my house. I pay the rent,” said Stetton stubbornly, feeling that he was somehow being placed in the wrong and sticking to his one idea.

“That no longer interests me,” said Aline coldly. “I shall leave here tomorrow.”

“Leave! But how—you cannot!”

“You are mistaken; what I cannot do is stay here and be insulted by you.”

“But hang it all, what could I do? How could I help it when I saw—”

“You saw nothing.”

That was all she would say, and Stetton had to make the best of it. Aline stuck to her intention of leaving on the morrow; Stetton, in despair, acknowledged himself in the wrong and begged forgiveness.

In the future he would leave her completely free; he would not presume to dictate to her; he would wait for her own pleasure. Aline appeared to hesitate; he fell on his knees and pleaded with her not to leave him.

“You said you loved me!” he cried.

“So I do, Stetton. You know it.” She allowed a little tenderness to creep into her tone.

He clasped her in his arms, crying: “You would not be angry with me if you knew how I loved you. These delays are driving me mad—it is more than flesh and blood can stand. Must I wait forever?”

He was completely conquered. She allowed him to embrace her again, then she gently disengaged herself, saying that it was late—she must retire—he must go.

“As for General Nirzann, do not think of him,” she said. “He is an old idiot whom I shall discard when he is no longer useful; in the meantime, I shall give you no reason to be jealous of him.”

With that promise in his ears, and her kiss on his lips, Stetton walked back to the hotel.