The Place of Honeymoons - Page 35/123

But Nora was not recalling the happy scenes of her childhood; indeed, no;

she was still threatening Paris. Once there, she would not lack for

reprisals. To have played on her pity! To have made a lure of her tender

concern for the unfortunate! Never would she forgive such baseness. And

only a little while ago she had been as happy as the nightingale to which

they compared her. Never had she wronged any one; she had been kindness

and thoughtfulness to all with whom she had come in contact. But from now

on!... Her fingers tightened round the bars. She might have posed as Dido

when she learned that the noble Æneas was dead. War, war; woe to the moths

who fluttered about her head hereafter!

Ah, but had she been happy? Her hands slid down the bars. Her expression

changed. The mouth drooped, the eagle-light in her eyes dimmed. From out

the bright morning, somewhere, had come weariness, and with this came

weakness, and finally, tears.

She heard the key turn in the lock. They had never come so early before.

She was astonished to see that her jailer did not close the door as usual.

He put down the breakfast tray on the table. There was tea and toast and

fruit.

"Mademoiselle, there has been a terrible mistake," said the man humbly.

"Ah! So you have found that out?" she cried.

"Yes. You are not the person for whom this room was intended." Which was

half a truth and perfectly true, paradoxical as it may seem. "Eat your

breakfast in peace. You are free, Mademoiselle."

"Free? You will not hinder me if I walk through that door?"

"No, Mademoiselle. On the contrary, I shall be very glad, and so will my

brother, who guards you at night. I repeat, there has been a frightful

mistake. Monsieur Champeaux ..."

"Monsieur Champeaux!" Nora was bewildered. She had never heard this name

before.

"He calls himself that," was the diplomatic answer.

All Nora's suspicions took firm ground again. "Will you describe this

Monsieur Champeaux to me?" asked the actress coming into life.

"He is short, dark, and old, Mademoiselle."

"Rather is he not tall, blond, and young?" ironically.

The jailer concealed what annoyance he felt. In his way he was just as

capable an actor as she was. The accuracy of her description startled him;

for the affair had been carried out so adroitly that he had been positive

that until her real captor appeared she would be totally in the dark

regarding his identity. And here she had hit it off in less than a dozen

words. Oh, well; it did not matter now. She might try to make it

unpleasant for his employer, but he doubted the ultimate success of her

attempts. However, the matter was at an end as far as he was concerned.