Cheraw chronicle. (Cheraw, S.C.) 1896-2005, April 23, 1914, Page Page Six, Image 6
"THE PLACE OF HONEYMOOX.V
" Continued from page 2
waft right: What fools these mortals
bei She was very glad that she possessed
a true sense of humor, spiced
with harmless audacity, What a dreary
world it must be to those who did not
know how and when to laugh! Tter
talked of the daring of the American
woman; who but a Frenchwoman
would have dared what she had this
night? The taxicab! She laughed.
And this man was wax in the hands of
any pretty woman who came along!
So rumor had it. But she knew that
"imnr u'ns nnlv the attenuated ghost
of Ananias, doomed forever to remain
on eartb for the propagation of inaccurate
whispers. Wax! Why, she
would have trusted herself in any situation
with a man with those eyes and
that angfe of jaw. It was all very
mystifying. "Follow him; see where
he goes." The frank discussion, then,
and the calm dismissal were but a
woman's dissimulation. And he had
gone to Flora Desiraone's.
The carriage stopped before a handsome
apartment house in the Avenue
de Wagram. The unknown got out,
gave the driver his fare, and rang the
concierge's bell. The sleepy guardian
opened the door, touched his goldbraided
cap in recognition, and led the
way to the small electric lift. The
young woman entered and familiarly
pushed the button. The apartment in
' * which she lived was on the second
floor; and there was luxrry everywhere,
but luxury subcued and
charmed by taste.
She threw aside her hat and wraps
with that manner of inconsequence
which distinguishes the artistic temperament
from the thrifty one, and
passed on into the cozy dining room.
The maid had arranged some sandwiches
and a bottle of light wine. She I
ate and drank, while intermittent
emilee played across her merry face.
Having satisfied her hunger, she
opened her purse and extracted the ,
banknote. She smoothed it out and ;
laughed aloud.
"Oh, if only he had taken me for a
ride in the taxicab!" She bubbled
again with merriment.
Suddenly she sprang up, as if inspired,
and dashed into another room,
a study. She came back with pen and
Ink, and with a celerity that came of
long practice, drew five straight lines
across the laint violet face of the banknote.
Within these lines she made little
dots at the top and bottom of
stubby perpendicular strokes, and
strange interlineal hieroglyphics, and
sweeping curves, all of which would
have puzzled au Egyptologist if he
? * lit "Loused to the ways of musicians.
Carefully she dried the composition,
and then put the note away. Some
day she would confound him by returning
it.
A little later her fingers were moving
softly over the piano keys; melodies
in minor, sad and haunting and
elusive, melodies that had never been
put on paper and would always be her
own; in them she might leap from
comedy to tragedy, from laughter to
tears, and only she would know. The
midnight adventure was forgotten, and
the hero of it. too. With her eyes
closed and her lithe body swaying
gently, she let the old weary pain in
her heart take hold again.
CHAPTER III.
The Beautiful Tigress.
Flora Desimone had been born in a
Calabrian peasant's hut, and she had
rolled in the dust outside, yelling vigorously
at all times. Specialists de
clare that the reason for all great
singers coming from lowly origin is
found in this early development of the
throat. Parents of means employ
nurses or sedatives to suppress or at
least to smother these infantile protests
against being thrust inconsiderately
into the turmoil of human beings.
Flora yelled or slept, as the
case might be; her parents were
equally indifferent. They were too
busily concerned with the getting of
bread and wine. Moreover, Flora was
one among many. The gods are always
playing with the Calabrian peninsula.
heaving it up here or throwing
it down there; il terremoto, the earthquake,
the terror. Here nature tinkers
vicariously with souls; and she seldom
has time to (oinplete her work.
Constant communion with death
makes for callosity of feeling; and the
Calabrians and the Sicilians are tht
cruelest among the civilized peoples.
Flora was ruthless.
She lived amazingly well in the premier
of an apartment-hotel in the
Champs-Elysees. In England and
America she had amassed a fortune.
Given the warm beauty of the southern
Italian,' the passion, the temperament,
the love of mischief, the natural
cruelty, the inordinate craving for attention
and flattery, she enlivened the
nations with her affairs. And she never
put a single beat of her heart into
any of them. That is why her voice is
still splendid and her beauty unchanging.
She did not dissipate; calculation
always barred her inclination;
rather, she loitered about the Forbidden
Tree and played that she had
plucked the Apple. She bad an example
to follow; Eve had none.
Men scattered fortunes at her feet
as foolish Greeks scattered floral offerings
at the feet of their marble
gode?without provoking the sense of
reciprocity or generosity or mercy.
She had worked; ah, no one would
ever know how hard. She had been
crushed, beaten, cursed, starved. That
she had risen to the heights in spite of
these bruising verbs in no manner enlarged
her pity, but dulled and vitiated
the little there was of it. Her mental
attitude toward humanity was childish;
as. when the parent strikes, the
child blindly strikes back. She was
determined to play, to enjoy life, to
give back blow for blow, nor caring
where she struck. She was going to
press the juice from every grape. A
thousand odd years gone, she would
have led tne cry in nome? ureau aim
the circus!" or "To the lions!" She
j would h".ve disturbed Nero's cnmpla|
cency, and he would have played an
obbligato instead of a solo at the burning.
And she was malice Incarnate.
They came from all climes?her lovers?
with roubles and lire and francs
and shillings and dollars; and those
who finally escaped her enchantment
did so involuntarily, for lack of further
funds. They called her villas Circe'e
isles. She hated but two things in the
world; the man she could have loved
and the woman she could not surpass.
Some one was at the speaking-tube.
The singer crossed the room impatiently.
"What is it?" she asked in
French.
The voice below answered with a
query in English. "Is this the Signorina
DeBimone?"
"Yes. And now that my identity Is
established, who are you and what do
you want at this time of night?"
"I am Edward Courtlandt."
"Well, what is it you wish?" amiably.
"You once did me an ill turn," came
up the tube. "I desire that you make
some reparation."
"Sainted Mother! But it has taken
you a long time to find out that I have
injured you," she mocked.
"Will you give me her addrees,
please? Your messenger gave me
your address, inferring that you
wished to see me."
"I?" There was no impeaching her
astonishment.
"Yes, madame."
"My dear Mr. Courtlandt, you are
the last man in all the wide world I
yHcVi in coo Anrt I Hn nnt nnite like
the way you are making your request."
"Do you not think, madame, that
you owe me something?"
"No. What I owe I pay. Think, Mr.
Courtlandt; think well."
"I do not understand," impatiently.
, "Ebbene, I owe you nothing. Once
I heard you ?ay?'I do not like to see
you with the Calabrian; she is?well,
you know.' I stood behind you at another
time when you said that I was a
fool."
"Madame, I do not forget that, that
is pure invention. You are mistaken."
"No. You were. I am no fool." A
light laugh drifted down the tube.
"Madame. I begin to see."
"Ah!"
"You believe what you wish to believe."
"I think not."
"I never even noticed you," carelessly.
"It is easy to forget." cried the diva.
furiously. "It is easy for you to forKet,
but not 'or me."
"Madame, I do not forget that you
entered my room that night. . .
"I shall give you her address," interrupted
the diva, hastily. The play
had gone far enough, much as she
would have liked to continue it. This
was going deeper than she cared to
go. She gave the address and added:
"Tonight she sings at the Austrian ambassador's.
1 give you this information
gladly because I know that it will be
of no use to you."
"Then T shall dispense with the formality
of thanking you. I add that I
wish you two-fold the mtsery you have
carelessly and gratuitously cost me.
Good night!" Click! went the little
covering of the tube.
With the same inward bitterness
that attends the mental processes of a
performing tiger on being sent back to
its cage, Courtlandt returned to his
taxicab. He wanted to roar and lash
and devour something. Instead, he
could only twist the ends of his mus
tache savagely. It did not seem possible
that any woman could be so full
of malice, lie simply could not understand.
It was essentially the Italian
spirit: doubtless, till she heard his
voice, she had forgotten all about the
episode that had foundered his ship
of happiness.
Her statement as to the primal cause
was purely inventive. There was not
a grain of truth in it. He could not
posribly have been so rude. He had
been too indifferent. Too indifferent!
The repetition of the phrase made him
sit straighter. Pshaw! It could not
be that. He possessed a little vanity;
if he had not, his history would not
have been worth a scrawl. Hut he denied
the possession vehemently, as
men are wont to do..
Two indifferent! Was it possible
that he had roused her enmity simply
because he had made it evident that
her charms did not interest him? Beyond
lifting his hat to her, perhaps exchanging
a comment on the weather,
his courtesies had not been extended,
i Courtlandt was peculiar in some re;
epects. A woman attracted him, or
The Beautiful Tigress.
she did not. Tn the one case he was
aiTable, winnlrg, pleaaint, full of those
agreeable little surprises that in turn
attract a woman. In the other case,
he passed on, for his Impressions were
instant and did not require the usual
6klrmishing.
Oh, stubborn Dutchman that he had
been! Blind fool! To have run away
Instead of fighting to the last ditch for
his happiness! The Desimone woman
was right; it had taken him a long
time to come to the conclusion that
Bhe done him an ill turn. His jaw set,
and the pressure of his lips broke the
sweep of hie mustache, converting it
into bristling tufts, warlike and resolute.
What of the pretty woman in the
| Taverne Royale? What about her? At
whose bidding had she followed him?
One or the other of them had not told
the truth, and he was inclinedi to believe
that the prevarication nad its
source in the pomegranate lips of the
Calabrian. To give the old barb one
more twist, to learn if its venomous
point still held ana nurt; notning
would have afforded the diva more delight.
When the taxicab joined the long
line of carriages and automobiles opposite
the Austrian ambassador's.
Courtlandt awoke to the dismal and
disquieting fact that he had formulated
no plan of action. He had done J
no more than to give the driver his
directions; and now that he had arrived,
he had the choice of two alterj
natives. He could wait to see her
! come out or return at once to his hotel,
which, as subsequent events affirmed,
would have been the more sensible
course. He would have been confronted
with small difficulty in gaining admission
to the house. He knew enough
of these general receptions; the announcing
of his name would have conveyed
nothing to the host, who knew
perhaps a third of his guests, and
many of these but slightly. Rut such
an adventure was distasteful to Courtlandt.
He could not everstep certain
| recognized boundaries of convention,
and to enter a man's house unasked
was colossal impudence. Beyond this,
he realized that he could have accom-1
plished nothing; the advantage would
have been hers. Nor could he meet
| her as she came out, for again the
: odds would have been largely in her
, favor. No. the encounter must be
I when thev two were alone. She must |
be surprised. She must have no time
to use her ready wit. An idea pre- j
sented itself. It appealed to him at
that moment as quite clever and
feasible.
"Walt!" he called to the driver
He dived among the carriages and
! cars, and presently he found what he
| sought?her limousine. He had taken
I the number into his mind too keenly
| to be mistaken. He saw the end of his
difficulties; and he went about the affair
with his usual directness. It was
' only at rare times that he ran his head
i j into a cul-de-sac. If her chauffeur was
! regularly employed in her service, he
i would have to return to the hotel; but
. j if he came from the garage, there was
, j hope. Every man is said to have his
I price, and a French chauffeur might
prove no notable exception to the rule,
i "Are you driver for Madame da Toscana?"
Courtlandt asked of the man
lounging in the forward seat.
The chauffeur looked hard at his
I questioner, and on finding that he satisfied
the requirements of a gentleman,
grumbled an affirmative. The
Continued on page 3 J
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