Perhaps, if he had known that Adele had stood at the gate on that unlucky night, where she had followed, lingering, to await the return of her brother and lover, wondering why they had chosen so tempestuous an hour and so black a spot to hold converse--if he had known that a sudden flash of lightning had revealed to her sight that short, sharp struggle as Victor was sinking under his hands, he might have explained everything, and she--I know what she would have done.But one thing is clear--there was something besides her brother's disappearance between Grandemont's pleadings for her hand and Adele's "yes." Ten years had passed, and what she had seen during the space of that lightning flash remained an indelible picture.She had loved her brother, but was she holding out for the solution of that mystery or for the "Truth"? Women have been known to reverence it, even as an abstract principle.It is said there have been a few who, in the matter of their affections, have considered a life to be a small thing as compared with a lie.That I do not know.But, I wonder, had Grandemont cast himself at her feet crying that his hand had sent Victor to the bottom of that inscrutable river, and that he could no longer sully his love with a lie, I wonder if--I wonder what she would have done!
But, Grandemont Charles, Arcadian little gentleman, never guessed the meaning of that look in Adele's eyes; and from this last bootless payment of his devoirs he rode away as rich as ever in honour and love, but poor in hope.
That was in September.It was during the first winter month that Grandemont conceived his idea of the /renaissance/.Since Adele would never be his, and wealth without her were useless trumpery, why need he add to that hoard of slowly harvested dollars? Why should he even retain that hoard?
Hundreds were the cigarettes he consumed over his claret, sitting at the little polished tables in the Royal street cafes while thinking over his plan.By and by he had it perfect.It would cost, beyond doubt, all the money he had, but--/le jeu vaut la chandelle/--for some hours he would be once more a Charles of Charleroi.Once again should the nineteenth of January, that most significant day in the fortunes of the house of Charles, be fittingly observed.On that date the French king had seated a Charles by his side at table; on that date Armand Charles, Marquis de Brasse, landed, like a brilliant meteor, in New Orleans; it was the date of his mother's wedding; of Grandemont's birth.Since Grandemont could remember until the breaking up of the family that anniversary had been the synonym for feasting, hospitality, and proud commemoration.
Charleroi was the old family plantation, lying some twenty miles down the river.Years ago the estate had been sold to discharge the debts of its too-bountiful owners.Once again it had changed hands, and now the must and mildew of litigation had settled upon it.A question of heirship was in the courts, and the dwelling house of Charleroi, unless the tales told of ghostly powdered and laced Charleses haunting its unechoing chambers were true, stood uninhabited.
Grandemont found the solicitor in chancery who held the keys pending the decision.He proved to be an old friend of the family.Grandemont explained briefly that he desired to rent the house for two or three days.He wanted to give a dinner at his old home to a few friends.
That was all.
"Take it for a week--a month, if you will," said the solicitor; "but do not speak to me of rental." With a sigh he concluded: "The dinners I have eaten under that roof, /mon fils/!"
There came to many of the old, established dealers in furniture, china, silverware, decorations and household fittings at their stores on Canal, Chartres, St.Charles, and Royal Streets, a quiet young man with a little bald spot on the top of his head, distinguished manners, and the eye of a /connoisseur/, who explained what he wanted.To hire the complete and elegant equipment of a dining-room, hall, reception-
room, and cloak-rooms.The goods were to be packed and sent, by boat, to the Charleroi landing, and would be returned within three or four days.All damage or loss to be promptly paid for.
Many of those old merchants knew Grandemont by sight, and the Charleses of old by association.Some of them were of Creole stock and felt a thrill of responsive sympathy with the magnificently indiscreet design of this impoverished clerk who would revive but for a moment the ancient flame of glory with the fuel of his savings.
"Choose what you want," they said to him."Handle everything carefully.See that the damage bill is kept low, and the charges for the loan will not oppress you."
To the wine merchants next; and here a doleful slice was lopped from the six hundred.It was an exquisite pleasure to Grandemont once more to pick among the precious vintages.The champagne bins lured him like the abodes of sirens, but these he was forced to pass.With his six hundred he stood before them as a child with a penny stands before a French doll.But he bought with taste and discretion of other wines--Chablis, Moselle, Chateau d'Or, Hochheimer, and port of right age and pedigree.
The matter of the cuisine gave him some studious hours until he suddenly recollected Andre--Andre, their old /chef/--the most sublime master of French Creole cookery in the Mississippi Valley.Perhaps he was yet somewhere about the plantation.The solicitor had told him that the place was still being cultivated, in accordance with a compromise agreement between the litigants.
On the next Sunday after the thought Grandemont rode, horseback, down to Charleroi.The big, square house with its two long ells looked blank and cheerless with its closed shutters and doors.
