The Secret of Toni

by Molly Elliot Seawell

He took the short way back to his lodgings. In the same street, only a few doors off, was a small church. The lights in most of the houses were out. All was quiet—the church and houses, as well as the people, seemed asleep. Toni’s pious instincts rose up and possessed him. He must go into that church and thank God for himself, for Denise, for Paul and for Lucie. He crept up the steps and quietly tried the door, but it was locked. Toni had a jack-knife in his pocket, and the lock on the church door not being worth much, he deliberately pried it open, and stepped softly into the church. It was dark and damp, and the flagstones were very cold, but far-off before the little altar the sanctuary lamp glowed brightly. A sudden remembrance overcame Toni of Madame Ravenel not daring to go far in the church, and he honestly reckoned himself a much worse person than Madame Ravenel, so he fell down on the cold stones of the aisle, just within the door, not on his knees, but on his face, and thanked God and all the saints that Pierre and Nicolas were dead. He recalled with an agony of remorse that when he was a boy he used to run away on Sundays instead of going to church, and felt himself the chief of sinners because he had not listened with the strictest attention and the deepest satisfaction to long-winded sermons. He began to sob and pray aloud in his ecstasy of gratitude, and promised more things to the Most High than the greatest saint that ever lived could have performed. He repeated every prayer he knew, but as his repertory was not extensive, he had to say them over again many times. The stones were hard and cold as most stones are, but Toni thought them a bed of roses. He did not know how long he had lain there, but presently sheer fatigue brought him to his senses. It occurred to him that Denise might be anxious about him, but he was in that exaltation of piety which made him rather exult in being uncomfortable himself and making Denise uncomfortable, too—a not uncommon condition in natures like Toni’s. He had been there more than an hour when he heard a light step behind him and turned. There was Denise with her hat and jacket on. She tiptoed up to him and whispered in his ear:

“I went out in the street to look for you, Toni, and I saw the church door open and you lying here. What are you doing?”

“Thanking God!” responded Toni out loud. “Down on your knees, Denise.”

Denise, very much astounded at this newly-developed piety of Toni’s, did as she was bid, having been piously brought up. At the end of a few minutes she rose, but Toni was obstinate. He wanted to stay in the church all night on his knees. Denise, determined to find out what ailed him, spoke to him with that tone of gentle authority which he had never resisted since they were little children together, walking hand in hand at Bienville. She dragged Toni out of the church, stumbling along in the darkness, and he shut the door carefully. They were only a step or two from their lodgings, and climbing up to their two little rooms, Toni took Denise in his arms and poured out the whole story of Nicolas and Pierre, sobbing between times, and laughing, like one possessed. Denise wept—she saw nothing to laugh at—and actually expressed some pity for the two lost souls of Nicolas and Pierre. This seemed really impious to Toni.

The recital did not take long, and then Toni, taking his cap, said:

“I must run now, as fast as I can, to the Château Bernard. Monsieur Paul must know this.”

Denise did not detain him and he ran softly down stairs and took his way through the dark streets and along the deserted highway until he reached the park of the Château Bernard. He climbed the wall and walked swiftly through the park until he got to the château, standing white and stately upon its broad terraces. It was then quite one o’clock in the morning. The sky had cleared and a great hobgoblin moon was looking down on the church steeples of the town, visible afar off. Toni knew the window of Paul’s room. It was on the first floor above the ground floor, and at a corner. He knew the only way to awaken Paul, without alarming the house, was to throw pebbles at his window, but there were no pebbles to be found. He remembered, however, that Paul was a light sleeper, and going under the window Toni called out softly a dozen times—“Paul—Paul—Monsieur.” Presently the window of the room came open, and he heard Paul’s voice asking softly:

“Who is that?”

“It is I,” whispered Toni, creeping under the window. “Come down.”

In a few moments a small door under the window opened noiselessly, and Paul came out in his trousers and shirt. Toni caught him around the neck and whispered in his ear: