"Her oath would be no better than her word--"

"Good Lord!" the colonel cried, testily. "Has this young imp completely hypnotized you women? The Kirby girl is frightened to death, and the Countess--well, she told me herself that her husband's jealousy was at the bottom of the whole thing. Laure, in spite of what she said to Rock, is behaving like a mad person. I dropped in at the Rialto this evening and she asked me what was the worst Pierce could expect. I made it strong, purposely, and I thought she'd faint. No, it's a nasty affair, all through. And, by Jove! to cap the climax, you and Josephine take part in it! I flatter myself that I'm democratic, but--have him here to dine!

Gad! That's playing democracy pretty strong."

"It isn't fair to imply that he's nothing more than a ladies' man.

They're detestable. The men like Phillips, too."

"True," Cavendish admitted. "He has the G.o.d-given faculty of making friends, and for that alone I can forgive him almost anything. It's a wonderful faculty--better than being born lucky or rich or handsome. I'm fond of him, but I've favored him all I can. If I thought Josephine were seriously interested in him-- well, I wouldn't feel so friendly." The speaker laughed shortly, "No. The man who claims that girl's attention must be clean through and through. He must stand the acid test."

When his wife silently approved this sentiment the colonel picked up Ms paper and resumed his reading.

Pierce's friends were indeed uniformly indignant, and without exception they maintained their faith in his innocence; most of them, in fact, actually applied themselves to the task of clearing him of Courteau's charge. But of the latter the one who applied herself the most thoughtfully, the most seriously, was the Countess Courteau. Having reasoned that she herself was indirectly responsible for his plight, she set about aiding him in a thoroughly feminine and indirect manner. It was an unpleasant undertaking; she took it up with intense abhorrence; it required her utmost determination to carry it on. Her plan had formed itself immediately she had learned what had happened; her meeting with the Count that evening and her unexpected solicitude, her unbidden attention to his injury, were a part of it. As time went on she a.s.sumed an air that amazed the man. She meekly accepted his reproaches, she submitted to his abuse; cautiously, patiently she paved the way to a reconciliation.

It was by no means easy, for she and Henri had long lived in what was little better than a state of open hostility, and she had been at no pains to conceal the utter disregard and contempt she felt for him. He, of course, had resented it; her change of demeanor now awoke his suspicion. He was a vain and shallow person, however; his conceit was thoroughly Latin, and Hilda's perseverance was in a way rewarded. Slowly, grudgingly he gave ground before her subtle advances--they were, in fact, less advances on her part than opportunities for him--he experienced a feeling of triumph and began to a.s.sume a masterful air that was indeed trying to one of her disposition. Before his friends he boasted that his energetic defense of his honor had worked a marvel in his home; in her presence he made bold to take on a swagger and an authority hitherto unknown.

Hilda stood it, with what cost no one could possibly understand.

In some manner she managed to convey the idea that he dominated her and that she cringed spiritually before him. She permitted him occasionally to surprise a look of bewilderment, almost of fright, in her eyes, and this tickled the man immensely. With a fatuous complacency, thoroughly typical, he told himself that she feared and respected him--was actually falling in love with him all over again. When he felt the impulse to scout this idea he went to his mirror and examined himself critically, Why not? he asked himself.

He was very pleasing. Women had always been wax in his hands; he had a personality, an air, an irresistible something that had won him many conquests. It seemed not unlikely that Hilda had been shocked into a new and keener realization of his many admirable qualities and was ready to make up, if, or when, he graciously chose to permit her.

On the very evening that Colonel Cavendish and his wife were discussing Pierce Phillips' affair, Courteau, feeling in a particularly jubilant mood, decided to put the matter to a test; therefore he surprised his wife by walking into her room unannounced.

"My dear," he began, "it's high time we had a talk."

"Indeed!" said she. "What about?"

"About you, about me, about our affairs. Are we husband and wife or are we not? I ask you."

With a queer flicker of her eyelids she answered: "Why--of course.

You have appeared to forget it sometimes, but--"

"No reproaches, please. The past is gone. Neither of us is without blame. You've had your fling, too, but I've shown you that I'm made of stern stuff and will tolerate no further foolishness. I am a different Courteau than you ever knew. I've had my rebirth. Now then, our present mode of life is not pleasing to me, for I'm a fellow of spirit. Think of me--in the att.i.tude of a dependent!"

"I share generously with you. I give you money--"

"The very point,' he broke in, excitedly. "You give; I accept. You direct; I obey. It must end now, at once. I cannot play the accompaniment while you sing. Either I close my eyes to your folly and forgive, utterly--either we become man and wife again and I a.s.sume leadership--or I make different plans for the future."

"Just what do you propose, Henri?"

The fellow shrugged. "I offer you a reconciliation; that, to begin with. You've had your lesson and I flatter myself that you see me in a new light. The brave can afford to be generous. I--well, I've always had a feeling for you; I've never been blind to your attractions, my dear. Lately I've even experienced something of the--er--the old spell. Understand me? It's a fact.' I'm actually taken with you, Hilda; I have the fire of an impetuous lover."

Courteau's eyes gleamed; there was an unusual warmth to his gaze and a vibrance to his tone. He curled his mustache, he swelled his chest, he laughed lightly but deeply. "What do you say, eh? I'm not altogether displeasing. No? You see something in me to admire?

I thrill you? Confess."

The wife lowered her eyes. "You have some power--" she murmured.

"Power! Precisely." The Count nodded and there was a growing vivacity and sparkle to him. "That is my quality--a power to charm, a power to achieve, a power to triumph. Well, I choose now to win you again for myself. It is my whim. To rekindle a love which one has lost is a test of any man's power, n'est-ce pas? You are fond of me. I see it. Am I not right, my sweet?"

He laid his soft white hands upon his wife's shoulders and bent an ardent gaze upon her. Hilda faced him with an odd smile; her cheeks were white, her ice-blue eyes were very wide and bright and they held a curious expression.

"Come! A kiss!" he persisted. "Oho! You tremble, you shrink like a maiden. I, too, am exhilarated, but--" With a chuckle he folded her in his embrace and she did not resist. After a moment he resumed: "This is quite too amusing. I wish my friends to see and to understand. Put on your prettiest dress--"

"What for?"

"We are going down-town. We shall celebrate our reunion--we shall drink to it publicly. All Dawson shall take note. They have said, 'Courteau is a loafer, a ne'er-do-well, and he permits another to win his wife away from him.' I propose to show them."

"You mean you propose to show me off. Is that it? Another conquest, eh?"

"Have it as you will. I--"

"I won't go," Hilda cried, furiously. She freed herself from his arms. "You know I won't go. You'd like to parade me in the places you frequent--saloons, dance-halls, gambling-houses. The idea!"

"You won't? Tut, tut! What is this?" Courteau cried, angrily.

"Rebellious so soon? Is this recent change of demeanor a.s.sumed?

Have you been fooling me?"

"What change?" the woman parried. "I don't know--"

"Oh yes, you do! For the first time in years you have treated me as a husband should be treated; half-measures will no longer satisfy me. We have arrived at the show-up. Are you a miserable Delilah or--"

"Please don't ask me to go out with you, Henri," the woman pleaded, in genuine distress, now that she saw he was in earnest.

"To be paraded like an animal on a chain! Think of my feelings."

"Indeed! Think of mine," he cried. "This is my hour, my triumph; I propose to make it complete. Now that I carefully consider it, I will put you to the test. You've had a fine time; if you pay a price for it, whose fault is that? No! One must be cruel to be kind."

"Cruel! Kind!" Hilda sneered. "It merely pleases you to humiliate me."

"Very well!" blazed the Count. "If it pleases me, so be it. That is my att.i.tude now and henceforth--my will is to be law. Come!

Your prettiest dress and your prettiest smile, for we celebrate.

Yes, and money, too; I'm as poverty-ridden as usual. We will treat my friends, we will gamble here and there, we will watch the shows to an accompaniment of popping corks so that every one shall see us and say: 'Yonder is Courteau and his wife. They have made up and she adores him like a mistress. Parbleu! The man has a way with women, eh!' It shall be a great night for me."

"Are you really serious?"

Courteau stamped his felt-shod foot. "Anger me no more."

Hilda's face was colorless, her eyes were still glowing with that peculiar light of defiance, of desperation, of curiosity; nevertheless, she turned away and began to dress herself.

Courteau was not disappointed. His appearance in the river-front resorts, accompanied by his wife, created a sensation indeed. And Hilda's bearing, under the circ.u.mstances, added to his gratification, for, now that the die was cast, she surrendered completely, she clung to him as if feeling a new dependence, and this filled his cup to overflowing. It was an outrageous thing to do; no one save a Courteau would have thought of subjecting the woman who bore his name to such a humiliation. But he was a perverse individual; his mind ran in crooked courses; he took a bizarre delight in the unusual, and morality of the common sort he knew not. To smirch her, even a little bit, to subject her to seeming disgrace, not only taught her a lesson, but also united them more closely, so he told himself. That he had the ability to compel her to do anything against her will immensely tickled his vanity, for her stubborn independence had always been a trial to him. He knew that her social status was not of the highest; nevertheless, her reputation was far better than his, and among all except the newest arrivals in Dawson she bore a splendid name.

To be, himself, the cause of blackening that name, in order to match his own, gratified his feelings of resentment. All in all, it was a night of nights for him and he was at no pains to conceal his satisfaction. From one place to another he led her, taking malicious enjoyment from the distress he caused.

Courteau was not loud nor blatant; nevertheless, his triumphant demeanor, his proprietary air, fairly shouted the fact that he had tamed this woman and was exhibiting her against her inclinations.

At every bar he forced her to drink with him and with his friends; he even called up barroom loafers whom he did not know and introduced them with an elaborate flourish. The money he spent was hers, of course, but he squandered it royally, leaving a trail of empty champagne-bottles behind. Champagne, at this time, sold for twenty dollars a quart and, although Hilda saw her earnings melting away with appalling rapidity, she offered no protest.

Together they flung their chips broadcast upon the gambling- tables, and their winnings, which were few, went to buy more popularity with the satellites who trailed them.

As time pa.s.sed and Hilda continued to meet the test, her husband's satisfaction gained a keener edge. He beamed, he strutted, he twisted his mustache to needle-points. She was a thoroughbred, that he a.s.sured himself. But, after all, why shouldn't she do this for him? The women with whom he was accustomed to a.s.sociate would not have counted such an evening as this a sacrifice, and, even had they so considered it, he was in the habit of exacting sacrifices from women. They liked it; it proved their devotion.

Her subjugation was made complete when he led her into a box at the Rialto Theater and insisted upon the two McCaskeys joining them. The brothers at first declined, but by this time Courteau's determination carried all before it.

Joe halted him outside the box door, however, to inquire into the meaning of the affair.