"Yes. And until I give you further orders never speak my name. Always call me madame. Be on your guard about this. I'm very fond of you, and I've let you have your way often. It may be a matter of life and death. We shall dine here in the room. Have a carriage at the curb at six-thirty. Fortunately our heavy luggage went on. When you pack the steamer-trunk, lay all the darker and heavier things on top. And the box of make-up where I can reach it handily. I have decided to grow old quickly. I understand, Sarah. You are becoming bewildered. No less so am I."
"Madame's nerves...."
"They happen to be steel now. Don't worry about me. Only, be sure always to obey me ... if you love me!"
"If I love you! Oh, madame, a mother could not love her daughter more than I love you! You left America so gaily and happily to see this Orient. The sea voyage built you up. And then, that dreadful night in Shanghai. You came and woke me and clung to me all night, and you would not speak. And then it began. We move from one place to another, not like persons touring—like people who have done something wrong. And I know that you have done nothing wrong. Ah, madame, what is happening to us?"
"So strange a thing, Sarah, that your poor brain would not accept the facts if I told them. Be patient with me."
"Oh, madame, who would not be patient with you? I am French; we know what the word gratitude means. Command me; I obey. But yes! Here is a cable for you, madame. I will go order the dinner and the carriage."
Her mistress took the cablegram absently. She was not at all excited over the receipt of it, for the simple reason she knew exactly what it would contain—a single word. Hurry. Once a week, often twice, this same distracted word. Hurry. It was always at Cook's or at the American Express. The poor man! He would soon be pulling his hair. When she heard the door close behind the maid, instinctively she picked out a channel 'twixt the bed and chairs and proceeded to navigate it back and forth.
The Yellow Typhoon! They called her that, strange men, in Yokohama, Tokio, Hong-Kong, Shanghai; and always with that air men use toward women of a certain type. Everything in her called out wildly for vengeance, reprisal; and she was bound tragically, inconceivably, like a dreamer in the mesh of some monstrous nightmare.... To stamp on her as he would a cobra, if he found her! Helpless; all she could do to defend herself would be to move on, hide. That was what galled her; she could not retaliate. But one thing she could do—forestall, anticipate, nullify. And oh! she would do that with all the strength and cunning she possessed.
Horrible as it was, that meeting in the Gardens was fortunate. She now possessed hand hold. Hallowell, a naval inventor, living in a villa out in San Miguel, on the Pasig. Blue-prints. There was sense to all those broken sentences which had come through yonder door a few days gone. Danish words—her own blood-tongue! She had not seen the man, so she could not describe him. But his companion!
She stopped before the mirror and studied her face carefully. What an incredible thing it was! Mirrors, once so pleasant to gaze into, had now become chambers of horror. She no longer saw herself—she saw a grave open and the dead arise. After eight years! And to stumble upon the truth through the agency of strange men addressing her familiarly! The Yellow Typhoon! Drawn by instinct, repelled by intellect and breeding, she felt as if invisible wild horses were rending her.