16 
THE GUEST 
OF QUESNAY 
By Booth Tarkington 
Copyright, 1908, by the McClure Company 
Copyright, 1907, 1908, by the Ridgway Company 
rT [CONTINUED.] 
YP have heard Ward use an oatn only 
two or three times in my life, and this 
was one of them. 
“Oh, by ——!” he cried, starting to 
his feet. “I should like to meet Pro- 
fessor Keredec.” 
“IT am at your service, my dear sir,” 
said a deep voice from the veranda 
And, opening the door, the professor 
walked into the room. 
CHAPTER XII. 
SAID eavalierly: “This is Mr. 
Ward, Professor Keredec. He is 
Mrs. Harman’s cousin and close 
friend. We were speaking of 
your reasons for bringing Mr. Harman 
to this place. Frankly, we were ques- 
tioning your motives.” 
“My motives? I have wished to re- 
store to two young people the paradise 
which they had losed.” 
Ward uttered an exclamation none 
the less violent because it was half 
suppressed. 
“We should be glad of an explana- 
tion,” he said, resting his arms on my 
table and leaning across it toward 
Keredec. 
“Tt is simple,” began the professor. 
“T learned my poor boy’s history well 
from those who could tell me, from his 
papers—yes, and from the bundles of 
old time letters which were given me. 
From all these } learned what a beau- 
tiful soul was thr lad) who loved him 
s0 much that she ran away from her 
home for his sake. Helas! He was al- 
ready the slave of what was bad ard 
foolish; he had gone too far from him- 
self, was overlaid with the habit of 
evil, and she could not s;:1ve him then. 
The spirit was dying in him, although 
it was there, and it was good”— 
Ward’s acrid laughter rang out in 
the room. 
“The taconceivable selfishness, the 
@evilish brutality of it!’ Ward’s face 
was scarlet. “You didn’t care how you 
sacrificed her”’— 
“Sacrificed!’ The professor sudder- 
ly released the huge volume of his 
voice. “Sacrificed!” he thundered. “If 
I could give him back to her as he is 
now it wvuld be restoring to her all 
that she had loved in him, the real self 
pf him! It would be the greatest gift 
in her life.” 
“Then, my dear Keredec,” I answer- 
ed, “either you are really insane or I 
eam! Youn knew that this poor, unfor- 
NORTH SHORE BREEZE 
tunate devil of a Harman was tea to 
that hyenic prowler yonder who means 
to fatten on him and will never re- 
lease him; you knew that. Then why 
@id you bring him down here to fall 
in love with a woman he can never 
have?” 
“My dear fellow,” interposed George 
quickly, “you underrate Professor Ker- 
edec’s shrewdness. He knows that 
my cousin Louise never obtained a di- 
vorce from her husband.” 
“What?” I said, amazed. 
“I say Mrs. Harman never obtained 
a divorce.” 
“I saw notices of it at the time,” I 
gasped. 
“No. What you saw was that she 
had made an application for divorce. 
Her family got her that far and then 
She revolted. The suit was dropped.” 
“Tt is true, indeed,” said Keredec. 
“The poor boy was on the other side 
of the world. and he thought it was 
granted.” 
I turned upon him sharply. 
knew it?” A, 
“It is a year that I have known it.“ 
‘Do you not understand.” George in- 
terposed, “that what Professor Ker- 
edec risked for his ‘poor boy’ in re- 
turning to France was a trial on the 
charge of bigamy?” 
The professor recoiled from the defi- 
nite brutality. 
“T conceive it very likely to happen,” 
said George, “unless you get him out 
of the country before the lady now in- 
stalled here as his wife discovers the 
truth.” 
“But she must not!” Keredec lifted 
both hands toward Ward appealingly. 
They trembled. “She cannot! There 
is nothing that could make her suspect 
it!” 
“One particular thing would be my 
telling her,’ said Ward quietly. 
“Never!” cried the professor. 
would not do that!’ 
“JT will, unless you get him out of 
the country, and quickly.” 
“George!” I exclaimed, coming for- 
ward between them. “This won't do 
at all! You can’t’”— 
“That’s enough,” he said, waving 
me back, and I saw that Bis hand was 
shaking, too, like Kereftlec’s. His face 
had grown very white. “Il know what 
you think,’ he went on, addressing 
me, “but you’re wrong. It isn’t for 
myself. When I sailed for New York 
I thought there was a chance that she 
would carry out the action she began 
four years ago and rid herself of him 
definitely—that is, I thought until to- 
day there was some hope for me. If 
she’s seen him again and he’s peen 
anything except literally unbearable 
it’s all over with me. From the ‘first 
I never had a chance against him. 
He was a hard rival, even when he’d 
become only a cruel memory.’ His 
voice rose. “Heaven knows why it is. 
It isn’t because of anything he’s done 
or has—it’s just because it’s him, | 
suppose—but I know my chance is 
gone for good. ‘That leaves me free 
to act for her. No one can accuse me 
of doing it for myself. And | swear 
“You 
“You 
Sne sounut gv tnruugu car sivugu us 
despond again while I have breath in 
my body!” 
“George, for pity’s sake!” I shouted, 
throwing my arm about his shoulders, 
for his voice had risen to a pitch of 
excitement and fury that I feared 
must bring the whole place upon us. 
Some one was already knocking for 
admission. 
I crossed the room and opened the 
door. Miss Elizabeth stood there, red 
faced and flustered, and behind her 
stood Mr. Cresson Ingle, who looked 
dubiously amused. 
Miss Elizabeth eut short a rather 
embarrassed handshake which her be- 
trothed and I exchanged. 
“This morning I learned the true sit- 
uation over here, and I’m _ afraid 
Louise has heard. At least she’s not 
at Quesnay. I got into a panic for 
fear she had come here; but, thank 
heaven, she does not seem to— Good 
gracious! What’s that?” 
It was the discordant voice of Mari- 
ana la Mursiana. My door was still 
open. I turned to look and saw her, 
hot faced, tousle haired, insufficiently 
wrapped, striving to ascend the gal- 
lery steps, but valiantly opposed by 
Mme. Brossard. 
“But no, madame,” insisted Mme. 
Brossard. ‘You cannot ascend. There 
is nothing on the upper floor except 
the apartment of Professor Keredec.” 
“Name of a dog!” shrilled the other. 
“Tt is my husband’s apartment, I tell 
you. Il y a une femme avec lui!’ 
“It is Mme. Harman who is there,” 
said Keredee hoarsely in my ear. “I 
came away and left them together.” 
“Come,” I said, and, letting the oth- 
ers think what they would, sprang 
across the veranda, the professor be- 
side me, and ran toward the two wo- 
men, who were beginning to struggle 
‘with more than their tongues. I leap- 
ed by them and up the steps, but 
Keredee thrust himself between our 
hostess and her opponent, planting his 
great bulk on the lowest step. Glanc- 
ing hurriedly over my shoulder, 1 saw 
the Spanish woman strike him furi- 
ously upon the breast with both hands, 
but I knew she would never pass him. 
I entered the salon of the “grande 
suite” and closed the door quickly be- 
hind me. 
Louise Harmmwn was standing at the 
other end of the room. Her husband 
was kneeling beside her. He held one 
of her hands in both of his. Her other 
rested upon his head, and something 
in their attitudes made me know I had 
ecme in upon their leave taking. But 
from the face he lifted toward her all 
trace of his tragedy had passed. The 
wonder and worship written there left 
no room for anything else. 
“Mrs. Harman,” I began. 
“Yes?” she said. “I am coming.” 
“But I don’t want you to. I’ve come 
for fear you would, and you—you must 
not.” I stammered.. “You must wait. 
There is a scene” — 
“J know,” she said quietly. 
must be, of course.” 
Harman rose. and she took both his 
“That 
bands inst ner 
breast che gaid gently, 
‘ Pay, Will you 
aken,” the quiet 
suit was with- 
ors groan of de- 
spair, but wied in the wild 
shriek of} You tell 
me that? If what 
ou say isMmhall pay bitterly! 
ie shall had died by fire! 
What? YomMie can marry me, 
Icannot dance 
fr and then go 
Woman like you 
there are prisons 
Who marry two 
fay for it in suf- 
tto an incredible 
“and you, you 
can't come steal- 
isbands like that. 
in France] 
like that! 
fering”—he 
b XIII, 
)Siy what Mari- 
(done had there 
& } 
3 hat, but only 
4 Spy managed 
to Urden across 
, “? own door. 
, ‘its. Harman 
iraing to the 
“Ob, 1 MP '90!” sig wn 
. th « ; iss 
eet Nothing coul@ 
Jed t 
“ eae 8 the Pavilion, 
peer to pbed the 
ats he but, will 
know this before dinner! They’ll hear 
the whole thing within two hours.” 
“There is nothing they shouldn’t 
know,” said Mrs. Harman. 
George turned to her with a smile 
so bravely managed that 1 was proud 
of him. “Oh, yes, there is,’ he said. 
“We're going to get you out of all 
this.” 
“All this!’ she repeated. 
“All this mire!” he answered. ‘“‘We’re 
going to get you out of it. I don’t 
know whether your revelation to the 
Spanish woman will make that easier 
or harder, but I do know that it makes 
the mire deeper.” 
Her anxious eyes grew wider. “How 
have I made it deeper for him? Wasn’t 
it necessary that the poor woman 
should be told the truth?” 
She turned to Keredec with a fright- 
ened gesture and an unintelligible word 
of appeal. 
“It was because,” he repeated, run- 
ning a nervous hand through his 
beard—“because the knowledge would 
put us so utterly in this people’s pow- 
er. Already they demand more than 
we could give them; now they can do 
still more.” 
George intervened, and he spoke with- 
out sarcasm. “To put it roughly, these 
people have been asking more than 
the Harman estate is worth—that was 
on the strength of the woman’s claim 
as a wife—but now they know she is 
not one her position is immensely 
strengthened, for she has only to go 
before the nearest commissaire de po- 
lice.” 
“Oh, no!’ Mrs. Harman cried pas- 
Bionately. “I haven’t done that!’ 
“Never!” he answered. “There could 
not be a greater lie than to say you 
have done it. The responsibility is 
with the wretched and vicious boy 
who brought the catastrophe upon 
himself. But don’t you see that you’ve 
got to keep out of it, that we’ve got 
to take you out of it?” 
“You can’t! I’m part of it. Better 
or worse, it’s as much mine as his. 
My separation from my husband is 
over. I shall be with him now for’— 
“TI won’t listen to you!” Miss Bliza- 
beth lifted her wet face from George’s 
shoulder, and there was a note of deep 
anger in her voice. “You haven’t the 
faintest idea of what a hideous situa- 
tion that creature has made for him- 
self. Don’t you know that that awful 
woman was right? You talk of being 
with him! Do you imagine they en- 
courage family housekeeping in French 
prisons?’ 
“You’re going much too far,’’ Cres- 
son Ingle said, tewching his betrothed 
upon the arm. “My dear Elizabeth, 
there is no use exaggerating. The case 
is unpleasant enough just as it is.” 
“In what have I exaggerated?” she 
~ demanded. 
“Why, I knew Larrabee Harman,” 
he returned. “I knew him fairly well. 
I went as far as Honolulu with him, 
and I remember that papers were 
served on him in San Francisco. He 
was traveling continually. and I don’t 
- LOR?” 
NORTH SHORE BREEZE 
think he knew much of what was go- 
ing on, even right around him, most of 
the time. He began with cognac and 
absinth in the morning, you know. 
For myself, I always supposed the suit 
had been carried through. So did peo- 
ple generally, I think. He’ll probably 
have to stand trial, and of course he’s 
technically guilty, but I don’t believe 
he’d be convicted, though I must say 
it would have been a most devilish 
good thing for him if he could have 
been got out of France before la Mur- 
siana heard the truth.” 
“Nothing is changed,’ Louise Har- 
man said finally, her eyes still fixed 
gravely on Miss Elizabeth’s. 
At that the other’s face flamed up, 
and she uttered a half choked excla- 
mation. “Oh,” she cried, “‘you’ve fall- 
en in love with playing the martyr! 
It’s self love! No one on earth could 
make me believe you’re in love with 
this degraded imbecile. It’s because 
you want to make a shining example 
of yourself. You want to get down on 
your knees and wash off the vileness 
from this befouled creature. You 
want’— 
“Madame,” Keredec interrupted trem- 
ulously, “you speak out of no knowl- 
edge! There is no vileness. No one 
who is clean remains befouled because 
of the things that are gone.” 
“They do not?’ She laughed hys- 
terically. 
“The soul that stands clean and pure 
today is clean and pure,” insisted the 
professor. da 
“But a soul with evil tendencies,” 
Ward began impatiently. : 
“Ha, my dear sir, those evil tenden- 
cies would be in the soiling memories, 
and my boy is free from them.” 
“Surely you can't pretend he may 
not take that direction again?” 
“That,” returned the professor quick- 
ly, ‘is his to choose. If this lady can 
be with him now he will choose right.” 
“So! cried Miss Elizabeth. ‘First 
she is to be his companion through a 
trial for bigamy and if he is acquitted 
his nurse, teacher and moral precep- 
She turned swiftly to her cousin. 
“That’s your conception of a woman’s 
mission?” 
“T haven’t any mission,” Mrs. Har- 
man answered quietly. “I only know 
I belong to him; that’s all I ever 
thought about it. I don’t pretend to 
explain it. And when I met him again 
here it was—it was—it was proved to 
me.” 
“Will you tell us?” 
It was I who asked the question. I 
spoke involuntarily. 
“Oh, when I first met him,’’ she said 
tremulously, “I was frightened, but it 
was not he who frightened me. It was 
the rush of my own feeling. I did not 
know what I felt, but I thought I 
might die, and he was so like himself 
as I had first known him, but so chang- 
ed too. There was something so won- 
derful about him, something that must 
make any stranger feel sorry for him, 
and yet it is beautiful.” She stopped 
for a moment and wiped her eyes, then 
17 
went on bravely: “And the next day 
he came and waited for me—I should 
have come here for him if he hadn’t— 
and I fell in with the mistake he had 
made about my name. You see, he’d 
heard I was called e. d’'Armand, 
and I wanted him to keep on thinking 
that, for 1 thought if he knew I was 
Mrs. Harman he might find out’— 
She paused, her lip beginning to trem- 
ble. “Cb, don’t you see why I didn’t 
want him to know? | didn’t want him 
to suffer as he would—as he does now, 
poor child—but most of all I wanted—l 
wanted to see if he would fall in love 
with me again! I kept him from know- 
ing because if he thought I was a 
stranger and the same thing happened 
again—his caring for me, | mean”— 
She had began to weep now, freely and 
openly, but not from grief. “Oh,” she 
cried, “don't you see how it’s all 
proved to me?” 
Later I went into the garden to think 
over the perplexing situation of the 
Harmanbs. 
I sank down again in a wicker chair 
and contemplated the stars. But the 
short reverie into which I then fell 
was interrupted by Mr. Percy, who, 
sauntering leisurely about the garden, 
paused to address me. 
“You folks thinks you was all to the 
gud gittin’ them trunks off, what?” 
“You speak in mysterious numbers,” 
I returned, having no comprehension 
of his meaning. 
“J suppose you don’ know nothin’ 
about it,” he laughed satirically. “You 
didn’ go over to Lisieux ’s aft’noon to 
ship ’em? Oh, no, not you!” 
“I went for a long walk this after- 
noon, Mr. Perey. Naturally I couldn’t 
have walked so far as Lisieux and 
back.” 
“Tuk here, m’ friend,” he said sharp- 
ly; “do you think you got any chanst 
t’ git that feller off t’ Paris?” 
“Do you think it will rain tonight?’ 
I inquired. 
In simple dignity he turned his back 
upon me and strolled to the other end 
of the courtyard. 
I Observed him in the act of saluting, 
with a gracious nod, some one who 
was approaching from the road. Im- 
mediately after—anrd altogether with 
the air of a person merely ‘‘happening 
in”’—a slight figure clad in a long coat, 
a short skirt and a broad: brimmed, 
veil bound brown hat came into full 
view in the light of the reflector. 
I sprang to my feet and started to- 
ward her, uttering an exckamation. 
“Good evening, Mr, Perey,’”’ she said 
cheerily. “It’s the most exuberant 
night. You’re quite bearty, 1 hope?” 
“Takin’ a walk, I sea, little lady,’ 
he observed with genial patronage. 
My visitor paused upon my veranda, 
humming “Quand lAmour Meurt,” 
while I went within and lit a lamp. 
“Shall I bring the light out there?” 
I asked, but, turning, found that she 
was already in the room. 
{ro BE CONTINUED.] 
A clever man never lets it be known 
how really clever he can be lest he 
discount his own ability. 
