Major Hawke was mystified at the daring personal independence of the sprightly young heiress. She was a social revelation to him, and the sunny afternoon was not altogether thrown away, for they carelessly rambled over the proud old town together, doing all the sights. They visited the stately National Monument, the Jardin Anglais, the Hotel de Ville, the a.r.s.enal, the Muse'e Foy, the Botanic Gardens, and the Athende. He gazed upon the fresh face of the rebellious young American social mutineer with an increasing wonder as they wandered alone on the Promenade des Bastions, and was simply astounded when he vainly tried to take advantage of a shady corner in the Musee Ariana to steal a kiss from the wayward girl's rosy lips. Miss Genie "formed herself into a hollow square" and calmly, but energetically, repulsed him.

"See here! Major Hawke!" she coolly said, "get off the perch! I don't care for any soft sawder! I'm a pretty good fellow in my way, but I know how to take care of myself!"

In fact, Major Alan Hawke at last recognized the existence of a species of womanhood which he had never before met. Miss Genie was frankly unconventional, and yet she was both hard-headed and hardhearted. When he carefully dressed himself for the intellectual feast of Mademoiselle Delande's "refined collation," he dimly became aware that the role of unpaid bear leader to the Chicago girl simply amounted to being an unsalaried valet de place! "As for compromising that devil of a girl,"

he growled, "she could have given the snake in the Garden of Eden long odds and beaten him hollow, in subtlety." This view of the impeccability of the Chicago epidermis was confirmed later when Hawke returned from the "Inst.i.tute" at the decorous hour of ten that evening. He was thoroughly happy, for the sly Francois was ready to meet him at the door, whispering:

"I will be at your rooms at ten, and bring you the photographs. I have a couple of hours of freedom then."

Mademoiselle Euphrosyne's pale, anemic nature had bloomed out under the graceful attentions of the gallant officer, and gradually she expanded, little by little unfolding the desiccated leaves of her tranquil past, and, yielding, as of old, to the charm of youth and good looks, the faded spinster told him all.

"I will sell my precious knowledge, bit by bit, to Madame Berthe," he ruminated. "Evidently the Louison dares not face this stony-faced Swiss Medusa. The felites histoires of Francois will fill up my mental notebook." Major Hawke then sat down at ease in the cafe of the Hotel National to indite a dispatch of spartan brevity to "Madame Louison" at the Hotel Faucon, Lausanne. "The Cook's Agency tell me that the London draft will be paid to-morrow. Francois will deliver me the photographs, and relate his selected historical excerpts, and then I will be ready to have a duel of wits with Madame Berthe." So he simply telegraphed to Lausanne:

"Successful--arrive to-morrow night." He then dispatched the head porter with the telegram, and while enjoying his parting brandy and soda, was suddenly made aware of the near proximity of Mr. Phineas Forbes of Chicago, who was anxiously drinking c.o.c.ktail after c.o.c.ktail in a moody unrest. The lank Chicago capitalist waved his tufted chin beard dejectedly as he answered the Briton's casual salutation. "I'm worried about the girls," he simply said. "They're off on the lake, with the Marquis de Santa Marina and that French chap, the Count de Roquefort. I don't more than half like it." The hour was late, and the heavy father glued his eyes upon the darkened window pane. "Is Madame Forbes with them?" murmured the Englishman.

"Oh, Lord, no!" simply said the Illinois capitalist. "The girls are used to going out alone with their gentlemen friends, but I'm afraid that these two d.a.m.ned useless foreigners will upset the boat and drown my two girls. I wouldn't care a rap if they were alone. But these Dago n.o.blemen are no good--at least that's my experience. I indorsed a draft for one of them that Mommer and the girls dragged up to the house last year.

Came back marked 'N. G.'--I wish to G.o.d the girls wouldn't pick up these fellows."

Alan Hawke hazarded the inquiry "Why do you permit it?"

The Chicago pork jammer thrust his hand in his pockets and whistled reflectively. "How the deuce can I help it?" he reflectively answered, "Mother and the girls go in for high society. What'll you have? You can talk French to this fellow. Now, order up the best in the house," Alan Hawke laughed and charitably divided the hour of long waiting with the simple-hearted old father. At half-past twelve, with a rush and a flutter, the two young falcons sailed into the main hallway and effusively bade adieu to their limp cavaliers, who slunk away, in different directions, when they observed the disgruntled parent and the heartily amused Briton.

"So they brought you home safely?" calmly remarked Hawke, as he watched the happy father gathering his chickens unto his wing.

"We brought them home safe," cutely remarked Miss Phenie. "Those fellows are heavenly dancers, but they are not worth shucks in a boat. I wish we had had you out with us. I like Englishmen!" with which frank declaration Miss Phenie and Miss Genie whisked themselves away to bed, Miss Genie leaning over the banister to jovially cry out:

"Don't you go away till we fix up that Chillon trip." Major Hawke and Phineas Forbes, Esq., drank a last libation to the friendly G.o.d Neptune, the old man huskily remarking:

"Say, Major, those are two fine girls, and they will have a million apiece. I want 'em to be sensible and marry Chicago men, but, they both go in for coronets and all that humbug." The laughing Major extricated himself from the social tentacles of the honest old boy, mentally deciding to play off Miss Genie against Mad-ame Berthe Louison.

"I will give these strange girls 'a day out.' It may reduce the nez retrousseeoi my mysterious employer." And so he dreamed that night that he was an a.s.sistant presiding genius of the great pig Golgotha, where Phineas Forbes was the monarch of the meat ax. "Right smart girls, and you bet they can take care of themselves," was the last encomium of their self-denying parent which rang in Alan Hawke's ears as he wandered away into the Land of Nod.

"They are a queer lot," laughed the happy schemer, as he woke next day to his closing labors at Geneva. "Now, for my check cashing, then, Monsieur Francois, a farewell visit to Miss Euphrosyne, and a secret council with the fair Genie," He merrily breakfasted, and was more than rewarded for his Mephistophelian entertainment of Francois. The sly Figaro "parted freely," and when he slunk back to the "Inst.i.tute" he was the richer by fifty francs. Major Hawke was the happy possessor of the coveted photographs, and a private address of Francois, artfully informing that person that he was going to London, and on his return, in a few months, desired a cicerone in the hypocritically placid town.

Francois's eyes gleamed in a happy antic.i.p.ation of more Cognac and many easily earned francs. "Now, Madame Berthe, I think I have the key of the enigma! I see a year's a.s.sured comfort before me, for I can play the part of the Saxon troops at Leipzig," the schemer joyously ruminated.

His farewell to Miss Delande impressed that thrifty dame with the golden fortunes which had descended upon her sister. "Should you return to India, Major," she sibillated, "I will give you a confidential letter to Justine, for I know there is no one more fitted to remain in charge of sweet Nadine than my dear sister!" The Major blushingly accepted the honor, and directed the letter to be sent at once to Morley's Hotel, for, as he mysteriously whispered,

"The Foreign office may send me back to India--in fact, I may be telegraphed for at any moment, and your sister will surely find a fast friend in me."

"Easily gulled!" laughed Alan Hawke. "I will sweeten' upon Miss Justine; those thin lips indicate the auri sacra fames. These miserly Swiss sisters may aid me to approach the veiled Rose Bird." His delight at fingering the crisp proceeds of Anstruther's check sent him to the Ouchy steamer in the very happiest of moods, and, his cup was running over when the birdlike Miss Genie Forbes descended upon him to announce a meeting on the morrow at Montreux.

"We can do the castle, and essay the airy railroad at Territet Glion, have a jolly dinner on the hill, and come home on the last boat! You be sure to meet Phenie and me." The astounded Major murmured his delight and surprise. "Oh! Popper will let us go up there. He likes you--he says that you are a thoroughbred. So, we'll cut the other fellows and come alone. Say, can't you scare up another fellow like yourself for Phenie?"

Whereat Alan Hawke laughed, and promised to secure an eligible "fellow"

among the migratory Englishmen hovering around Lausanne-Ouchy, and he pledged a future friendship with the patient Phineas Forbes, who lingered in the cafe, engulfing c.o.c.ktails, while "Mother and Phenie were out shopping." The vivacious Genie had confided to her callous swain that she had watched him as he lingered on Rousseau's Island.

"I rather thought that you were sick and distressed, you looked so peaked like, and I was mighty near speaking to you. I was just bound to meet you." And upon this frank declaration, Alan Hawke kissed her firm white hand, agreeing to her plans, and the glow of prosperity shone out upon his impa.s.sive face, as he glided away to meet the strange woman whom he distrusted. "I hold the trump cards now, my lady!" he cried, as he watched Miss Genie's handkerchief fluttering on the quay. Major Alan Hawke wasted no time in his three hours' voyage to Lausanne-Ouchy in carefully preparing for his interview with Madame Berthe Louison. He abandoned the idea of trying the "whip hand," remembering how suddenly he had descended from the "high horse." "Bah! She is about as sentimental as a rat-tail file. However, she is good for my pa.s.sage to India, at any rate, and, the nearer I am to old Johnstone and this pretty heiress to be, the better my all-round chances are." So, he contented himself with watching the pictured sh.o.r.es of Lake Leman glide by, and wondering if he might not turn aside safely to the chase of the bright-eyed, sharp-featured, Miss Genie Forbes. He had profited by Phineas Forbes's frank disclosures, and yet the Madame Sans Gene manners of the heiresses rather frightened him. He was aware from the amatory failure in the dim old cathedral that Miss Genie was armed cap-a-fie.

"Those American girls, apparently so approachable, are all ready to stand to arms at a moment's notice." And so, he drifted back in his day dreams toward the Land of the PaG.o.da Tree, with Ouchy and Chillon. He studied the beautiful face of the lonely child from the school-girl photograph, and decided, in spite of hideous frocks and a lack of conventional war paint, that she was a rare beauty.

"Yes! She will do--with the money. All she needs is the art to show off her points, and that is easily gained. The recruits in Vanity Fair easily pick up the tricks of society, and old Hugh's money and prospective elevation will surely draw suitors around like flies swarming near the honey." The boat gracefully glided in to the port of Ouchy before Major Hawke's day dream faded away.

A flattering dream which led him on to a future gilded by Sir Hugh Johnstone's money. He longed to ruffle it bravely with the best. To hold up his head once more in official circles, and to smother the ugly floating memories ef a renegade who had served those English guns under the fierce Sikkim hill tribes against his one-time fellow soldiers. "I must have that money, with or without the girl! There must be a way to it! I will cut through the barriers to get it!" There was a steely glitter in his blue eyes as he murmured: "Now for the fox's hide! She shall have her way--for a time! My play comes on later, when the deal is with me!"

He sprang lightly ash.o.r.e, and was chatting with the gold-banded porter of the Hotel Faucon, when a lovely face, thrilling in its awakened emotion, met his glance at the window of a carriage. He dispatched his luggage to the Faucon, and sprang lightly in the carriage when the omnibuses had departed for the Lausanne plateau. Alan Hawke was carefully differential in his greeting and he meekly answered all the rapid queries of his mysterious employer.

"You have closed up your own private affairs?" she briskly queried.

"All is ready for the road in one day more. I have a private social engagement for to-morrow," he replied. "But I brought you all the sailing dates and the detailed information you requested."

"You obtained the pictures safely, then, and with a prudent caution,"

anxiously demanded Madame Louison.

"You shall know all soon. I hope that I have satisfied you!" he said, handing her a packet, failing to tell her that he had kept two pictures of the far-away girl for his own private use. They were now near the plateau where the Hotel Faucon shows its semi-circular front to the splendid panorama unrolled before its windows.

An afternoon concert was in progress at the Casino, near the local museum. "We will stop here for a few moments," said the excited woman.

"You can go on alone, and walk over to the hotel and secure your own rooms. Then send your card up to me in the usual manner. To-night we will go out separately and meet for a conference. We can arrange all our business." The Major bowed submissively, and a.s.sisted the lady to alight.

Madame Louison dismissed her carriage, and the confederates-to-be entered the afternoon concert room. A superb orchestra was playing the finishing bars of the last number on the program, and the audience had dwindled away to a few knots of demure residents. Following his pa.s.sive policy, the adventurer sat silently, stealing oblique glances at his companion as she nervously unfolded the wrappings of the coveted pictures. There was a gasp, a low moan, as the woman's head fell back.

Alan Hawke's strong arms were clasped round her, as she leaned back helplessly in her fauteuil. But a smile of secret triumph was on his face as he quickly bore the helpless form to an anteroom at once opened by the frightened ushers. Berthe Louison's face was corpse-like in its pallor, as she lay there upon a divan, her fingers still clutching the photograph.

"There is a physician near by," hazarded a sympathetic woman who had crowded into the room. The music had stopped with a crash.

"Summon him at once!" energetically ordered Hawke. "Some brandy--quick!"

he cried, listening to her agonized words, "Valerie! My G.o.d! It is Valerie herself! My poor sister!" In a few moments an elderly man parted the a.s.sembling loiterers. His bustling air of command soon dispelled the loiterers. A woman attendant was bending over the still senseless woman as the spectacled medico seized Alan Hawke's arm. "Has your wife ever had a previous heart attack?" he gravely asked, as he opened his lancet case. Major Hawke shook his head, and gazed pityingly upon the beautiful pallid face before him.

"Can I be of any use to Monsieur?" demanded the chef d'orchestre in evening grand tenue, his baton still in his hand.

There was a glance of wondering astonishment as the Englishman faced the speaker. "Wieniawski--Casimir, you here?" The other dropped his voice as the physician ripped up the sleeve of the patient's gown.

"Major Hawke, I thought you were still in Delhi? Your wife--" faltered the artist, as he listened to a low moan when the lancet blade entered the ivory arm of the sufferer. Then, with a backward step, he pressed his hands to his brows. "My G.o.d! It is Alixe Delavigne!" he brokenly said. But Hawke sprang to his side and quickly drew him from the room.

"Not a word! Not a single word to any one! Where are you stopping? I will come to you tonight!" the excited man sternly said, his firm hand still clutching the musician's arm.

"Here, at the Casino! Come in after ten! I will await you! But where did you meet her?" the Polish violinist cried, speaking as if in a dream.

"You shall know all later! I must get her to the hotel!" He returned to the physician's side, who authoritatively cried, "Now an easy carriage and to the Faucon, you said?" In half an hour, Berthe Louison was sleeping, a nurse at her side, while Alan Hawke counted the moments crawling on till ten o'clock.

CHAPTER III. AND AT DELHI WHAT AM I TO DO?

Major Alan Hawke was the "observed of all observers," in the cosy salon of the Grand Hotel Faucon, when the sympathetic hotel manager interrupted a colloquy between the handsome Briton and the Doctor.

"A mere syncope, my dear sir. Perhaps--even only the result of tight lacing, or inaction. Perhaps some sudden nerve crisis. These are the results of the easy luxury of an enervating high-life. All these social habits are weakening elements. Now, fortunately, your wife has a singularly strong vital nature. You may safely dismiss all your fears.

Madame will be entirely herself in the morning."

"Can I be of any service?" demanded the genial host, secretly urged on by a coterie of curious, womanly sympathizers in silk and muslin.