“BERTHE”
“... Brought down the ponderous knocker so terrifically that it
abashed her, for all her present agitation”
221“Name of a name, what does she want him killed for? Why is this drôle of a Lopez in such a hurry?–See here, child, you know something more. What did you mean by my regretting––”
“Because, because everybody seemed to think that the poor brave American had come with an offer of aid for Maximilian, and as you need more troops, I thought––”
“Who, in all mercy, is this American?”
“A Confederate officer, monsieur.”
Not one man, but two, paced the floor because of Jacqueline that evening. The second was the marshal of France, and he went at it now, on hearing of the first man. “A Confederate officer?” There were twin creases over his straight nose, furrows of vexed and intense thinking. The lone Southerner was linked intimately in his reflections with the parliament of a great nation. The people of France had never warmed to the Mexican dream, and the Chambers already were clamoring for the return of the troops. And now, for every Confederate enlisted, a pantalon rouge could be sent back home. But why–name of a name–should Jacqueline try to prevent?
“Did she,” he asked, but not very hopefully, “did she have any cause to dislike this American?”
“Oh, monsieur!” The cry was pained surprise. That her mistress could or would pay a grudge! “On the contrary,” she protested vehemently, “I have never seen her so moved, never, and if you had seen her, monsieur, as we left Tuxtla! I thought she must surely lose her mind. One cannot imagine her terror. She cried to the driver, to the outriders, to lash the mules, harder, faster, till it’s a miracle we did not crash over a cliff. And all the time she would look back, and at every sound she would clap her hands over her ears and cry out to know if that was shooting. And then she would pound at the window to them to go faster. She wanted to get out of hearing, monsieur. It was only when we were really here in the City that she quieted, but that was worse. She lay and moaned. I cried, I could not help it, hearing her. She would 222 mutter things, too. ‘France, France!’ she said once, and it made me shudder. One almost thought she had a dagger in her hand––”