all roads lead to calvary-第25章

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　can　to　fan　the　conflagration。　　Unless　I　am　prepared　to　be　branded　as　a　poltroon。　Every　professional　soldier　is　supposed　to　welcome　war。　　Most　of　us　do：　　it's　our　opportunity。　　There's　some　excuse　for　us。　　But　these　menCarleton　and　their　lot：　　I　regard　them　as　nothing　better　than　the　Menades　of　the　Commune。　　They　care　nothing　if　the　whole　of　Europe　blazes。　　They　cannot　personally　get　harmed　whatever　happens。　It's　fun　to　them。〃

〃But　the　people　who　can　get　harmed；〃　argued　Joan。　　〃The　men　who　will　be　dragged　away　from　their　work；　from　their　business；　used　as　'cannon　fodder。'〃

He　shrugged　his　shoulders。　　〃Oh；　they　are　always　eager　enough　for　it；　at　first；〃　he　answered。　　〃There　is　the　excitement。　　The　curiosity。　　You　must　remember　that　life　is　a　monotonous　affair　to　the　great　mass　of　the　people。　　There's　the　natural　craving　to　escape　from　it；　to　court　adventure。　　They　are　not　so　enthusiastic　about　it　after　they　have　tasted　it。　　Modern　warfare；　they　soon　find；　is　about　as　dull　a　business　as　science　ever　invented。〃

There　was　only　one　hope　that　he　could　see：　　and　that　was　to　switch　the　people's　mind　on　to　some　other　excitement。　　His　advices　from　London　told　him　that　a　parliamentary　crisis　was　pending。　　Could　not　Mrs。　Denton　and　her　party　do　something　to　hasten　it？　　He；　on　his　side；　would　consult　with　the　Socialist　leaders；　who　might　have　something　to　suggest。

He　met　Joan；　radiant；　a　morning　or　two　later。　　The　English　Government　had　resigned　and　preparations　for　a　general　election　were　already　on　foot。

〃And　God　has　been　good　to　us；　also；〃　he　explained。

A　well…known　artist　had　been　found　murdered　in　his　bed　and　grave　suspicion　attached　to　his　beautiful　young　wife。

〃She　deserves　the　Croix　de　Guerre；　if　it　is　proved　that　she　did　it；〃　he　thought。　　〃She　will　have　saved　many　thousands　of　livesfor　the　present。〃

Folk　had　fixed　up　a　party　at　his　studio　to　meet　her。　　She　had　been　there　once　or　twice；　but　this　was　a　final　affair。　　She　had　finished　her　business　in　Paris　and　would　be　leaving　the　next　morning。　　To　her　surprise；　she　found　Phillips　there。　　He　had　come　over　hurriedly　to　attend　a　Socialist　conference；　and　Leblanc；　the　editor　of　Le　Nouveau　Monde；　had　brought　him　along。

〃I　took　Smedley's　place　at　the　last　moment；〃　he　whispered　to　her。　〃I've　never　been　abroad　before。　　You　don't　mind；　do　you？〃

It　didn't　strike　her　as　at　all　odd　that　a　leader　of　a　political　party　should　ask　her　〃if　she　minded〃　his　being　in　Paris　to　attend　a　political　conference。　　He　was　wearing　a　light　grey　suit　and　a　blue　tie。　　There　was　nothing　about　him；　at　that　moment；　suggesting　that　he　was　a　leader　of　any　sort。　　He　might　have　been　just　any　man；　but　for　his　eyes。

〃No；〃　she　whispered。　　〃Of　course　not。　　I　don't　like　your　tie。〃　　It　seemed　to　depress　him；　that。

She　felt　elated　at　the　thought　that　he　would　see　her　for　the　first　time　amid　surroundings　where　she　would　shine。　　Folk　came　forward　to　meet　her　with　that　charming　air　of　protective　deference　that　he　had　adopted　towards　her。　　He　might　have　been　some　favoured　minister　of　state　kissing　the　hand　of　a　youthful　Queen。　　She　glanced　down　the　long　studio；　ending　in　its　fine　window　overlooking　the　park。　　Some　of　the　most　distinguished　men　in　Paris　were　there；　and　the　immediate　stir　of　admiration　that　her　entrance　had　created　was　unmistakable。　　Even　the　women　turned　pleased　glances　at　her；　as　if　willing　to　recognize　in　her　their　representative。　　A　sense　of　power　came　to　her　that　made　her　feel　kind　to　all　the　world。　　There　was　no　need　for　her　to　be　clever：　　to　make　any　effort　to　attract。　　Her　presence；　her　sympathy；　her　approval　seemed　to　be　all　that　was　needed　of　her。　　She　had　the　consciousness　that　by　the　mere　exercise　of　her　will　she　could　sway　the　thoughts　and　actions　of　these　men：　that　sovereignty　had　been　given　to　her。　　It　reflected　itself　in　her　slightly　heightened　colour；　in　the　increased　brilliance　of　her　eyes；　in　the　confident　case　of　all　her　movements。　　It　added　a　compelling　softness　to　her　voice。

She　never　quite　remembered　what　the　talk　was　about。　　Men　were　brought　up　and　presented　to　her；　and　hung　about　her　words；　and　sought　to　please　her。　　She　had　spoken　her　own　thoughts；　indifferent　whether　they　expressed　agreement　or　not；　and　the　argument　had　invariably　taken　another　plane。　　It　seemed　so　important　that　she　should　be　convinced。　　Some　had　succeeded；　and　had　been　strengthened。　　Others　had　failed；　and　had　departed　sorrowful；　conscious　of　the　necessity　of　〃thinking　it　out　again。〃

Guests　with　other　engagements　were　taking　their　leave。　　A　piquante　little　woman；　outrageously　but　effectively　dressedshe　looked　like　a　drawing　by　Beardsleydrew　her　aside。　　〃I've　always　wished　I　were　a　man；〃　she　said。　　〃It　seemed　to　me　that　they　had　all　the　power。　From　this　afternoon；　I　shall　be　proud　of　belonging　to　the　governing　sex。〃

She　laughed　and　slipped　away。

Phillips　was　waiting　for　her　in　the　vestibule。　　She　had　forgotten　him；　but　now　she　felt　glad　of　his　humble　request　to　be　allowed　to　see　her　home。　　It　would　have　been　such　a　big　drop　from　her　crowded　hour　of　triumph　to　the　long　lonely　cab　ride　and　the　solitude　of　the　hotel。　　She　resolved　to　be　gracious；　feeling　a　little　sorry　for　her　neglect　of　himbut　reflecting　with　satisfaction　that　he　had　probably　been　watching　her　the　whole　time。

〃What's　the　matter　with　my　tie？〃　he　asked。　　〃Wrong　colour？〃

She　laughed。　　〃Yes；〃　she　answered。　　〃It　ought　to　be　grey　to　match　your　suit。　　And　so　ought　your　socks。〃

〃I　didn't　know　it　was　going　to　be　such　a　swell　affair；　or　I　shouldn't　have　come；〃　he　said。

She　touched　his　hand　lightly。

〃I　want　you　to　get　used　to　it；〃　she　said。　　〃It's　part　of　your　work。　Put　your　brain　into　it；　and　don't　be　afraid。〃

〃I'll　try；〃　he　said。

He　was　sitting　on　the　front　seat；　facing　her。　　〃I'm　glad　I　went；〃　he　said　with　sudden　vehemence。　　〃I　loved　watching　you；　moving　about　among　all　those　people。　　I　never　knew　before　how　beautiful　you　are。〃

Something　in　his　eyes　sent　a　slight　thrill　of　fear　through　her。　　It　was　not　an　unpleasant　sensationrather　exhilarating。　　She　watched　the　passing　street　till　she　felt　that　his　eyes　were　no　longer　devouring　her。

〃You're　not　offended？〃　he　asked。　　〃At　my　thinking　you　beautiful？〃　he　added；　in　case　she　hadn't　understood。

She　laughed。　　Her　confidence　had　returned　to　her。　　〃It　doesn't　generally　offend　a　woman；〃　she　answered。

He　seemed　relieved。　　〃That's　what's　so　wonderful　about　you；〃　he　said。　　〃I've　met　plenty　of　clever；　brilliant　women；　but　one　could　forget　that　they　were　women。　　You're　everything。〃

He　pleaded；　standing　below　her　on　the　steps　of　the　hotel；　that　she　would　dine　with　him。　　But　she　shook　her　head。　　She　had　her　packing　to　do。　　She　could　have　managed　it；　but　something　prudent　and　absurd　had　suddenly　got　hold　of　her；　and　he　went　away　with　much　the　same　look　in　his　eyes　that　comes　to　a　dog　when　he　finds　that　his　master　cannot　be　persuaded　into　an　excursion。

She　went　up　to　her　room。　　There　really　was　not　much　to　do。　　She　could　quite　well　finish　her　packing　in　the　morning。　　She　sat　down　at　the　desk　and　set　to　work　to　arrange　her　papers。　　It　was　a　warm　spring　evening；　and　the　window　was　open。　　A　crowd　of　noisy　sparrows　seemed　to　be　delighted　about　something。　　From　somewhere；　unseen；　a　blackbird　was　singing。　　She　read　over　her　report　for　Mrs。　Denton。　The　blackbird　seemed　never　to　have　heard　of　war。　　He　sang　as　if　the　whole　world　were　a　garden　of　languor　and　love。　　Joan　looked　at　her　watch。　　The　first　gong　would　sound　in　a　few　minutes。　　She　pictured　the　dreary；　silent　dining…room　with　its　few　scattered　occupants；　and　her　heart　sank　at　the　prospect。　　To　her　relief　came　remembrance　of　a　cheerful　but　entirely　respectable　restaurant　near　to　the　Louvre　to　which　she　had　been　taken　a　few　nights　before。　　She　had　noticed　quite　a　number　of　women　dining　there　alone。　　She　closed　her　dispatch　case　with　a　snap　and　gave　a　glance　at　herself　in　the　great　mirror。　　The　blackbird　was　still　singing。

She　walked　up　the　Rue　des　Sts。　Peres；　enjoying　the　delicious　air。　Half　way　across　the　bridge　she　overtook　a　man；　strolling　listlessly　in　front　of　her。　　There　was　something　familiar　about　him。　　He　was　wearing　a　grey　suit　and　had　his　hands　in　his　pockets。　　Suddenly　the　truth　flashed　upon　her。　　She　stopped。　　If　he　strolled　on；　she　would　be　able　to　slip　back。　　Instead　of　which　he　abruptly　turned　to　look　down　at　a　passing　steamer；　and　they　were　face　to　face。

It　made　her　mad；　the　look　of　delight　that　came　into　his　eyes。　　She　could　have　boxed　his　ears。　　Hadn't　he　anything　else　to　do　but　hang　about　the　streets。

He　explained　that　he　had　been　listening　to　the　band　in　the　gardens；　returning　by　the　Quai　d'Orsay。

〃Do　let　me　come　with　you；〃　he　said。　　〃I　kept　myself　free　this　evening；　hoping。　　And　I'm　feeling　so　lonesome。〃

Poor　fellow！　　She　had　come　to　understand　that　feeling。　　After　all；　it　wasn't　altogether　his　fault　that　they　had　met。　　And　she　had　been　so　cross　to　him！

He　was　reading　every　expression　on　her　face。

〃It's　such　a　lovely　evening；〃　he　said。　　〃Couldn't　we　go　somewhere　and　dine　under　a　tree？〃

It　would　be　rather　pleasant。　　There　was　a　little　place　at　Meudon；　she　remembered。　　The　plane　trees　would　just　be　in　full　leaf。

A　passing　cab　had　drawn　up　close　to　them。　　The　chauffeur　was　lighting　his　pipe。

Even　Mrs。　Grundy　herself　couldn't　object　to　a　journalist　dining　with　a　politician！

The　stars　came　out　before　they　had　ended　dinner。　　She　had　made　him　talk　about　himself。　　It　was　marvellous　what　he　had　accomplished　with　his　opportunities。　　Ten　hours　a　day　in　the　mines　had　earned　for　him　his　living；　and　the　night　had　given　him　his　leisure。　　An　attic；　lighted　by　a　tallow　candle；　with　a　shelf　of　books　that　left　him　hardly　enough　for　bread；　had　been　his　Alma　Mater。　　History　was　his　chief　study。　　There　was　hardly　an　authority　Joan　could　think　of　with　which　he　was　not　familiar。　　Julius　Caesar　was　his　favourite　play。　　He　seemed　to　know　it　by　heart。　　At　twenty…three　he　had　been　elected　a　delegate；　and　had　entered　Parliament　at　twenty…eight。　　It　had　been　a　life　of　hardship；　of　privation；　of　constant　strain；　but　she　found　herself　unable　to　pity　him。　　It　was　a　tale　of　strength；　of　struggle；　of　victory；　that　he　told　her。

Strength！　　The　shaded　lamplight　fell　upon　his　fearless　kindly　face　with　its　flashing　eyes　and　its　humorous　mouth。　　He　ought　to　have　been　drinking　out　of　a　horn；　not　a　wine　glass　that　his　well…shaped　hand　could　have　crushed　by　a　careless　pressure。　　In　a　winged　helmet　and　a　coat　of　mail　he　would　have　looked　so　much　more　fitly　dressed　than　in　that　soft　felt　hat　and　ridiculous　blue　tie。

She　led　him　to　talk　on　about　the　future。　　She　loved　to　hear　his　clear；　confident　voice　with　its　touch　of　boyish　boastfulness。　　What　was　there　to　stop　him？　　Why　should　he　not　climb　from　power　to　power　till　he　had　reached　the　end！

And　as　he　talked　and　dreamed　there　grew　up　in　her　heart　a　fierce　anger。　　What　would　her　own　future　be？　　She　would　marry　probably　some　man　of　her　own　class；　settle　down　to　the　average　woman's　〃life〃；　be　allowed；　like　a　spoilt　child；　to　still　〃take　an　interest〃　in　public　affairs：　　hold　〃drawing…rooms〃　attended　by　cranks　and　political　nonentities：　　be　President；　perhaps；　of　the　local　Woman's　Liberal　League。　　The　alternative：　　to　spend　her　days　glued　to　a　desk；　penning　ex