A frown darkened the soldier’s face, but he replied quickly: “Need any one know? The land baron has not been seen with her.”
“No; but you have,” returned the manager, suddenly pausing and looking down at the other.
The silence between them lasted for some moments. Barnes stood with his hands in his pockets, his face downcast and moody. He felt that events were happening over which he had no control, but which were shaping the destiny of all he loved best. In the dim light the rugged lines of his countenance were strongly, decisively outlined. Turning to the trunk, with a quick, nervous step, he filled a pipe himself. After he had lighted it, he once more contemplated the soldier, thinking deeply, reviewing the past.
“We have been together for some time, Mr. Saint-Prosper,” he said, at length. “We have gone through fair and rough weather, and”––he paused a moment before continuing––“should understand each other. You asked me when you came in if you were interrupting me, and I told you that you were not. As a matter of fact, you were.”
And, walking to a table, Barnes took up the notebook.
“A garrulous, single man must tell his little secrets somewhere,” he continued. “Will you look at the pages I was writing when you came in?”
Saint-Prosper took the book, and, while he was turning the leaves that were hardly dry, the manager relighted his pipe, over which he glanced nervously from time to time at his companion. Finally, when the soldier had finished the perusal of the diary, Barnes turned to him expectantly, but the other silently laid down the little volume, and, after waiting some moments for him to speak, the manager, as though disappointed by his reticence, breathed a sigh. Then, clearing his throat, in a voice somewhat husky, he went on, simply:
“You will understand now why she is so much to me. I have always wanted to keep her from the world as much as possible; to have her world, her art! I have tried to keep the shadow of the past from her. An actress has a pretty face; and there’s a hue and cry! It is not notoriety she seeks, but fame; fame, bright and pure as sunlight!”
“The land baron will not cry abroad the cause of the meeting,” said the soldier, gravely. “These fashionable affairs need but flimsy pretexts.”