As a young man he had been too absorbed in his profession to be a lady’s man; and of love he had reckoned little until he had met the Lucille Charltrain with whom half the world was in love. And she doubtless, like many a spoiled beauty, was a little piqued that the professor did not join the throng of her courtiers. In Birnier’s mind there had ever been associated with love the fear that the woman would demand too much, that no woman could understand that a man’s profession must of necessity come before [pg 88] all things. Lucille was the first woman whom he had met who really seemed to understand this point of view, as she, too, was devoted to her art. This had grown to be the biggest bond and attraction between them. Most men wished to make of love a nuisance, as Lucille once put it. So the good-looking professor had won the beauty. They were married on the mutual understanding that each should pursue their respective professions. Shortly afterwards Birnier was offered a special mission to go to Africa for the purpose of studying the customs and superstitions of the natives. Lucille had consented, forbidden, relented, and laughed.
So Lucille sang from musical height to height and her husband sped from depth to depth in the seas of human fatuity. Whenever he took a furlough he went, of course, straight to her, wheresoever she was, in Berlin, New York, or Paris. To Birnier the situation was ideal. He had never dreamed of any other woman. Indeed the tracts of his mind were so filled with statistics of anthropology and Lucille that there was little or no room for any one else. The delight and satisfaction in Birnier’s mind were so sincere that he never had dreamed of questioning whether Lucille’s point of view had remained the same. But now?
That “à toi” stung and baited him into the unprecedented realisation that after all women had been known to change their opinions. Perhaps pride had prevented her from ever openly demanding other ways. Lucille was young and beautiful, courted and flattered on every hand. Perhaps he had been wrong to leave her for years at a stretch. Of her loyalty he had had [pg 89] no doubt, but for the first time in his marital life the professor’s profound knowledge of human nature was shot like a spot-light on to his own affairs. Yet his erudition did not in the least relieve him from the laws of emotional reaction.
Perhaps in an emotional moment.… That knowledge of the frailties of genus homo was too deep for comfort in such actuation.
“À toi, Lucille! À toi, Lucille!” rang and echoed as he paced that room, striving for control.… And—and—why else should zu Pfeiffer have gone crazy?—why had he exclaimed: “Das ist der Schweinhünd”? The husband, of course, whom he wanted out of the way, and he had immediately seized the opportunity to secure that end, seemingly indifferent to consequences—symptomatic of the state of “being in love.”
Around and about, about and around a field of weeds which had sprung from that seed “à toi,” had paced the professor all night. When the green was creeping through the high barred window, Sergeant Schneider had brought to him some coffee and biscuits. Birnier had drunk the coffee thirstily, and as the sergeant had no English nor French, had tried in broken German to extract some information. But the sergeant had merely grunted and retired. At seven he had returned again and escorted Birnier to the Court House. He returned from the mock trial a little more in touch with reality, and more impressed with the malignity of zu Pfeiffer. Yet the gratuitous insults, the laboured farce of the registering of an alleged Swiss trader, Birnier saw through, and was relieved, for it argued that zu Pfeiffer’s intention was to make Lucille a widow. No [pg 90] other reason could account for the homicidal intentions displayed.
At the glow of dawn next day he was aroused by the big corporal who ordered him out. The tone of the man’s voice naturally stimulated a violent reaction. But Birnier realised that his sole chance lay in controlling himself to accept stoically whatever treatment was offered; for he saw instantly that any protest or indignation would be interpreted as insubordination and possibly be made an excuse to shoot him down.
Outside in the grey light he saw under the guard of six native soldiers, the five others of his party. Mungongo, his personal “boy,” cried out at the sight of him, asking what was the meaning of these strange happenings. Before Birnier could reply, the big corporal struck the man savagely with a kiboko, bidding him to be silent. In spite of his resolution, the reaction made Birnier turn angrily upon the soldier, who deliberately repeated the order, and struck the white man across the face. As Birnier raised his fist the man lowered his bayonet and grinned, adding, apparently for the benefit of his men, that now the white would learn what it was to be a slave.
Furiously Birnier looked around for Sergeant Schneider: but no white man was in sight.… He turned to Mungongo and said quickly: “Take no heed. Do as they bid thee for the moment.”
“Be silent!” shouted the corporal, but as he raised his kiboko, Birnier looked him quietly straight in the eyes. The black hand was lowered; the man turned away, ordering the party in general to march.