Louisiana Lou. A Western Story. Winter William West

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      “It is a strange thing I have to propose, perhaps. But it is a hazard game that monsieur may be interested in playing, an adventure that he may find relaxing. And, as monsieur is poor, the chance that it may be profitable will, no doubt, be worthy of consideration.”

      De Launay had to revise his ideas again. “You say that Doolittle gave you your information?” She agreed with a nod of the head.

      “Just what did he tell you?”

      Mademoiselle briefly related how Doolittle, coming from his interview with De Launay to hear her own plea for help, had laughed at her crazy idea, had said that it was impossible to aid her, and had finally, in exasperation at both of them, told her that the only way she could accomplish her designs was by the help of another fool like herself, and that De Launay was the only one he knew who could qualify for that description. He – De Launay – was reckless enough, gambler enough, ass enough, to do the thing necessary to aid her, but no one else was.

      “And what,” said De Launay, “is this thing that one must do to help you?” It seemed evident that Doolittle, while he had told something, had not told all.

      She hesitated and finally blurted it out at once while De Launay saw the flush creep down under the mask to the cheeks and chin below it. “It is to marry me,” she said.

      Then, observing his stupefaction and the return of doubt to his mind, she hurried on. “Not to marry me in seriousness,” she said. “Merely a marriage of a temporary nature – one that the American courts will end as soon as the need is over. I must get to America, monsieur, and I cannot go alone. Nor can I get a passport and passage unaided. If one tries, one is told that the boats are jammed with returning troops and diplomats, and that it is out of the question to secure passage for months even though one would pay liberally for it.

      “But monsieur still has prestige – influence – in spite of that.” Her nod indicated the stack of saucers. “He is still the general of France, and he is also an American. It is undoubtedly true that he will have no difficulty in securing passage, nor will it be denied him to take his wife with him. Therefore it is that I suggest the marriage to monsieur. It was Monsieur Doolittle that gave me the idea.”

      De Launay was swept with a desire to laugh. “What on earth did he tell you?” he asked.

      “That the only way I could go was to go as the wife of an American soldier,” said mademoiselle. “He added that he knew of none I could marry – unless, he said, I tried Monsieur de Launay. You, he informed me, had just told him that the only marriage you would consider would be one entered into in the spirit of the gambler. Now, that is the kind of marriage I have to offer.”

      De Launay laughed, recalling his unfortunate words with the banker to the effect that the only reason he’d ever marry would be as a result of a bet. Mademoiselle’s ascendency was vanishing rapidly. Her naïve assumption swept away the last vestiges of his awe.

      “Why do you wear that veil?” he asked abruptly.

      She raised her hand to it doubtfully. “Why?” she echoed.

      “If I am to marry you, is it to be sight unseen?”

      “It is merely because – it is because there is something that causes comment and makes it embarrassing to me. It is nothing – nothing repulsive, monsieur,” she was pleading, now. “At least, I think not. But it makes the soldiers call me – ”

      “Morgan la fée?”

      “Yes. Then you must know?” There was relief in her words.

      “No. I have merely wondered why they called you that.”

      “It is on account of my eyes. They are – queer, perhaps. And my hair, which I also hide under the cap. The poor soldiers ascribe all sorts of – of virtues to them. Magic qualities, which, of course, is silly. And others – are not so kind.”

      In De Launay’s mind was running a verse from William Morris’ “Earthly Paradise.” He quoted it, in English:

      “The fairest of all creatures did she seem;

      So fresh and delicate you well might deem

      That scarce for eighteen summers had she blessed

      The happy, longing earth; yet, for the rest

      Within her glorious eyes such wisdom dwelt

      A child before her had the wise man felt.”

      “Is that it?” he murmured to himself. To his surprise, for he had not thought that she spoke English, she answered him.

      “It is not. It is my eyes; yes, but they are not to be described so flatteringly.” Yet she was smiling and the blush had spread again to cheeks and chin, flushing them delightfully. “It is a superstition of these ignorant poilus. And of others, also. In fact, there are some who are afraid.”

      “Well,” said De Launay, “I have never had the reputation of being either ignorant or afraid. Also – there is Ogier?”

      “What?”

      “Who plays the rôle of the Danish Paladin?”

      Mademoiselle blushed again. “He is not in the story this time,” she said.

      “I hardly qualify, you would say. Perhaps not. But there is more. Where is Avalon and what other names have you? You remember

      “Know thou, that thou art come to Avalon,

      That is both thine and mine; and as for me,

      Morgan le Fay men call me commonly

      Within the world, but fairer names than this

      I have —

      “What are they?”

      “I am Solange d’Albret, monsieur. I am from the Basses Pyrenees. A Basque, if you please. If my name is distinguished, I am not. On the contrary, I am very poor, having but enough to finance this trip to America and the search that is to follow.”

      “And Avalon – where is that? Where is the place that you go to in America?”

      She opened a small hand bag and took from it a notebook which she consulted.

      “America is a big place. It is not likely that you would know it, or the man that I must look for. Here it is. The place is called ‘Twin Forks,’ and it is near the town of Sulphur Falls, in the State of Idaho. The man is Monsieur Isaac Brandon.”

      In the silence, she looked up, alarmed to see De Launay, who was clutching the edge of the table and staring at her as though she had struck him.

      “Why, what is the matter?” she cried.

      De Launay laughed out loud. “Twin Forks! Ike Brandon! Mademoiselle, what do you seek in Twin Forks and from old Ike Brandon?”

      Mademoiselle, puzzled and alarmed, answered slowly.

      “I seek a mine that my father found – a gold mine that will make us rich. And I seek also the name of the man that shot my father down like a dog. I wish to kill that man!”

      CHAPTER IV

      HEADS! I WIN!

      De Launay turned and called the waiter, СКАЧАТЬ