The Secret of Toni

by Molly Elliot Seawell

As Toni stood there, his arms crossed, and leaning on the stone wall, he heard the clatter of horses’ hoofs, and down the avenue came three riders, a young girl and her escort in front and a groom behind. As they dashed past Toni, he recognized, in the slight, willowy figure in the close-fitting black habit and coquettish hat, Lucie Bernard, a young lady now, but the same beautiful, joyous sprite she had been ten years before in the park at Bienville. The cavalier riding with her was, like Toni, below middle size, but, unlike Toni, light-haired and blue-eyed, not handsome, but better than handsome—manly, intelligent, clear of eye, firm of seat, full of life and energy, and with an unstained youth. It was—it was—Paul Verney.

As the two flashed past, followed by the groom, Toni almost cried aloud in his agony of joy and pain, but he dared not run after them and call to them. They, of course, knew that he had run away from Bienville because he was a thief. That theft of a franc was perpetually gnawing at Toni’s heart. The sight of Paul Verney seemed to show him the gulf between them. Toni stood, leaning on the wall, his head hanging down, his mind and soul in a tumult, for a long time, until presently the sound of a clock striking through the open window of the keeper’s house aroused him to the knowledge that it was almost time for the circus to begin. He ran nearly all the way to Beaupré, for he worked as honestly at his trade of a circus rider—only it did not seem like work to Toni—as Paul Verney did at his as a sublieutenant of cavalry.

But all that day, through the performance, during the intermission, and at the afternoon performance and in the evening, when Toni went back to his little lodging in the village, the vision haunted him. Lucie and Paul looked so young, so happy, so fresh, so innocent! They had not behind them anything terrifying. Neither one of them had ever stolen anything, unless it was the other’s heart. They had no Nicolas and Pierre to make them stand watch while thefts were being committed—to make them lie in order to shield rascally proceedings—always to be threatening them with exposure.

Toni was so tormented by these thoughts that he lay on his hard little bed in his garret lodging, wide-awake, until midnight and then he was roused from his first light sleep by a pebble thrown at his window. Toni waked, started up in his bed and shuddered. That was the sign that Nicolas and Pierre wanted him. They were his masters; he knew it and they knew it. He got up obediently, however, slipped on his clothes, and went down the narrow stair noiselessly. Outside were his two friends.

“Come along,” said Nicolas.

“Where are you going?” weakly asked Toni.

“We will tell you when we get there,” replied Pierre, with a grin.

There was no moon, and the night was warm and sultry, although it was only May. Toni followed his two friends along the highroad. Nicolas and Pierre spoke to each other in low voices, and Toni easily made out that they were engaged on a scheme of robbery. At that his soul turned sick with horror. He had never robbed anybody of a single centime except that one solitary franc which he had taken from his mother, but he knew more about robberies than most people. The bare thought of them always frightened him inexpressibly, but he continued trudging along without making any protest.

Presently they came to the stone wall around the park of the Château Bernard, over which they all scrambled and made straight for the château. Everything was quiet about it and apparently every one was asleep, except in one room on the ground floor. There were some gigantic, luxuriant lilac bushes, now in all their glory of bloom and perfume, and under these the three crept. Never again could Toni smell the lilac blooms without being overcome by a sickening recollection. The window was open, and within the small and luxuriously-furnished room they could see an old lady, very splendidly dressed, and a man of middle age. Toni at once recognized her from the description which Paul and Lucie had given him so many years before. Madame Bernard was very large, tall and handsome, and sterner in aspect than both old Marie, who sat by the monument at Bienville, and the monument itself. She was by far the grandest-looking person Toni had ever seen, and he did not suspect that she was as great a coward in her way as he was in his. Courage is a very variable quantity and subject to mysterious ebbs and tides.

Some gold and bank-notes were on a table before them, and the old lady was saying, weeping a little as she spoke: