The contrast was a very striking one between the sentiment of silent misery, of despairing prostration, of the uselessness of everything that prostrated her, and the almost boundless energy of the Yankee business man. In addition to her sorrow she felt a sort of bewilderment, and she forgot all about Marsh's intention in regard to his niece's marriage.
"Who?" echoed the American, "why Verdier, naturally. I have also my secret service bureau," he went on. This time there was even more energy in his manner. Admiration and covetousness were visible in all his being as he sounded the praises of the Prince's assistant and of his inventions. "I know that he has solved his problem. Has he not spoken to you about it? Well, it is a marvel! You will realize that in a minute.—You know that aluminum is the lightest of metals. It has only one fault; it costs too much. Now, in the first place, Verdier has discovered a process of making it by electrolysis, without the need of any chemical transformations. He can thus get it very cheap. Then, with his aluminum, he has invented a new kind of electric accumulator. It is fifteen times more powerful according to its weight than the accumulators at present in use.—In other words, the electric railway is an assured fact. The secret is discovered!—I want to take Verdier with me to the States, and with the help of his invention we shall wreck the tramway companies in Marionville and Cleveland and Buffalo. It means the death of Jim Davis; it means his end, his destruction, his complete ruin!—You don't know Davis. He is my enemy. You know what it is to have an enemy, to have some one in the world with whom you have been fighting for years; all your life, in fact? Well, in my case that some one is Jim Davis. His affairs are shaky just now. If I can get Verdier's invention, I can crush him into pieces and utterly smash up the Republican party in Ohio at the same time."
"Still," said Madame de Carlsberg, interrupting him, "I cannot go to the laboratory to ask him for his invention."
In spite of her trouble she could not help smiling at the flood of half-political, half-financial confidences that issued pell-mell from Marsh. With his strange mixture of self-possession and excitability, he did not lose sight of his objects for a single moment. He had just rendered a service to the Baroness Ely. His motto was, give and take. It was now her turn to serve him.
"No," he replied eagerly, "but you can find out what the young man has against Flossie. You know that I planned their marriage. Did she not tell you? It is a very good match for both—for all. To him it means a fortune, to her it means happiness, to me, a useful instrument. Ah! what a superb one this genius will be in my hands!" he cried, closing his hands nervously like a workman seizing the levers of an engine that he is starting in motion. "Everything seemed to be going on all right when, suddenly—bang! All came to grief. About five or six days ago I noticed that the girl was very silent, almost sad. I asked her point-blank, 'Are you engaged, Flossie?' 'No, uncle,' she replied, 'and I never shall be.' I talked with her and drew her out—not too much, simply enough to know that some lovers' quarrel is at the bottom of it all. If you would talk to her, Baroness, she would tell you more than she will me, and you can also talk to Verdier. There is no sense in letting the affair drag on in this way when they love each other as they do. For I know that they are both in love. I met Mrs. Marsh—she was then Miss Potts—one Thursday at a bazaar. On the following Saturday we were engaged. There is no time to lose, not a day, not an hour or minute ought to be thrown away. We shall waste enough when we are dead!"
"So you would like me to learn from Florence why she is so sad and why the affair is broken off? I will find out. And I will rearrange the whole thing if you like."
"That's it, Baroness," said Marsh, adding simply, "Ah! if my niece were only like you! I would make you a partner in all my business affairs. You are so intelligent, so quick and matter of fact when it is necessary. You will find Flossie in her room. As to Chésy, it is an understood thing. If you like, I will cable for them."
"Do so," said Ely, as she walked away toward Miss Marsh's cabin.
She had to pass the door of the one she had occupied on that never-to-be-forgotten night. She pushed open the door with a frightful feeling of melancholy. The little cabin, now unoccupied, was so blank, seemed so ready to welcome any passing guest, to afford a refuge for other happiness, other sorrows, other dreams, or other regrets! Was it possible that the joy felt in this place had disappeared forever? Whether it was Marsh's conversation which had communicated some of his energy and confidence to the young woman or that, like the instinct to struggle to the last that animates a drowning man, the soul is moved by a vital energy at a certain point of discouragement, whether it were one or the other motive it is hard to say, but Ely replied, No! to her own question. Standing upon the threshold of the narrow cell that had been for her an hour's paradise, she vowed that she would not surrender, that she would fight for her happiness, that she would again recover it. It was only a minute's respite, but it sufficed to give her courage to compose her features so that Miss Marsh, a keener observer than her uncle, did not notice the marks of a deep sadness imprinted too plainly upon her face. The young American girl was painting. She was copying a magnificent bunch of pinks and roses, of yellow, almost golden pinks, and of blood-red, purple roses, whose deep tints seemed almost black. The harmonious combination of yellow and red had attracted her eye, always sensible to bright colors. Her unskilful brush laid coats of harsh color upon the canvas, but she stuck to her task with an obstinacy and energy and patience equal to that displayed by her uncle in his business. And yet she was a true woman, in spite of all her decision and firm manner. Her emotion upon Ely's entrance was only too visible. She divined that the Baroness, whose villa she had avoided for several days, was going to talk to her about Verdier. She did not employ any artifice with her friend. At her first allusion she replied:—
"I know it is my uncle who has sent you as intermediary. He was quite right. What I would not tell him, what, in fact, I could not tell him, I can tell you. It is quite true, I have quarrelled with Monsieur Verdier. He believed some wicked calumnies that he heard about me. That is all."