Chapter 34. Sunrise

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_ CHAPTER XXXIV. SUNRISE

When the taxicab carrying Captain Sengoun and the unknown Russian girl had finally disappeared far away down the Boulevard in the thin grey haze of early morning, Neeland looked around him; and it was a scene unfamiliar, unreal, that met his anxious eyes.

The sun had not yet gilded the chimney tops; east and west, as far as he could see, the Boulevard stretched away under its double line of trees between ranks of closed and silent houses, lying still and mysterious in the misty, bluish-grey light.

Except for police and municipal guards, and two ambulances moving slowly away from the ruined cafe, across the street, the vast Boulevard was deserted; no taxicabs remained; no omnibuses moved; no early workmen passed, no slow-moving farm wagons and milk wains from the suburbs; no _chiffoniers_ with scrap-filled sacks on their curved backs, and steel-hooked staves, furtively sorting and picking among the night's debris on sidewalk and in gutter.

Here and there in front of half a dozen wrecked cafes little knots of policemen stood on the glass-littered sidewalk, in low-voiced consultation; far down the Boulevard, helmets gleamed dully through the haze where municipal cavalry were quietly riding off the mobs and gradually pushing them back toward the Montmartre and Villette quarters, whence they had arrived.

Mounted Municipals still sat their beautiful horses in double line across the corner of the rue Vilna and parallel streets, closing that entire quarter where, to judge from a few fitful and far-away pistol shots, the methodical apache hunt was still in progress.

And it was a strange and sinister phase of Paris that Neeland now gazed upon through the misty stillness of early morning. For there was something terrible in the sudden quiet, where the swift and shadowy fury of earliest dawn had passed: and the wrecked buildings sagged like corpses, stark and disembowelled, spilling out their dead intestines indecently under the whitening sky.

Save for the echoes of distant shots, no louder than the breaking of a splinter--save for the deadened stamp and stir of horses, a low-voiced order, the fainter clash of spurs and scabbards--an intense stillness brooded now over the city, ominously prophetic of what fateful awakening the coming sunrise threatened for the sleeping capital.

Neeland turned and looked at Ilse Dumont. She stood motionless on the sidewalk, in the clear, colourless light, staring fixedly across the street at the debris of the gaping, shattered Cafe des Bulgars. Her evening gown hung in filmy tinted shreds; her thick, dark hair in lustrous disorder shadowed her white shoulders; a streak of dry blood striped one delicate bare arm.

To see her standing there on the sidewalk in the full, unshadowed morning light, silent, dishevelled, scarcely clothed, seemed to him part of the ghastly unreality of this sombre and menacing vision, from which he ought to rouse himself.

She turned her head slowly; her haggard eyes met his without expression; and he found his tongue with the effort of a man who strives for utterance through a threatening dream:

"We can't stay here," he said. The sound of his own voice steadied and cleared his senses. He glanced down at his own attire, blood-stained, and ragged; felt for the loose end of his collar, rebuttoned it, and knotted the draggled white tie with the unconscious indifference of habit.

"What a nightmare!" he muttered to himself. "The world has been turned upside down over night." He looked up at her: "We can't stay here," he repeated. "Where do you live?"

She did not appear to hear him. She had already started to move toward the rue Vilna, where the troopers barring that street still sat their restive horses. They were watching her and her dishevelled companion with the sophisticated amusement of men who, by clean daylight, encounter fagged-out revellers of a riotous night.

Neeland spoke to her again, then followed her and took her arm.

"Where are you going?" he repeated, uneasily.

"I shall give myself up," she replied in a dull voice.

"To whom?"

"To the Municipals over there."

"Give yourself up!" he repeated. "Why?"

She passed a slender hand over her eyes as though unutterably weary:

"Neeland," she said, "I am lost already.... And I am very tired."

"What do you mean?" he demanded, drawing her back under a _porte-cochere_. "You live somewhere, don't you? If it's safe for you to go back to your lodgings, I'll take you there. Is it?"

"No."

"Well, then, I'll take you somewhere else. I'll find somewhere to take you----"

She shook her head:

"It is useless, Neeland. There is no chance of my leaving the city now--no chance left--no hope. It is simpler for me to end the matter this way----"

"Can't you go to the Turkish Embassy!"

She looked up at him in a surprised, hopeless way:

"Do you suppose that any Embassy ever receives a spy in trouble? Do you really imagine that any government ever admits employing secret agents, or stirs a finger to aid them when they are in need?"

"I told you I'd stand by you," he reminded her bluntly.

"You have been--kind--Neeland."

"And you have been very loyal to me, Scheherazade. I shall not abandon you."

"How can you help me? I can't get out of this city. Wherever I go, now, it will be only a matter of a few hours before I am arrested."

"The American Embassy. There is a _man_ there," he reminded her.

She shrugged her naked shoulders:

"I cannot get within sight of the Trocadero before the secret police arrest me. Where shall I go? I have no passport, no papers, not even false ones. If I go to the lodgings where I expected to find shelter it means my arrest, court martial, and execution in a _caserne_ within twenty-four hours. And it would involve others who trust me--condemn them instantly to a firing squad--if I am found by the police in their company!... No, Neeland. There's no hope for me. Too many know me in Paris. I took a risk in coming here when war was almost certain. I took my chances, and lost. It's too late to whimper now."

As he stared at her something suddenly brightened above them; and he looked up and saw the first sunbeam painting a chimney top with palest gold.

"Come," he said, "we've got to get out of this! We've got to go somewhere--find a taxicab and get under shelter----"

She yielded to the pressure of his arm and moved forward beside him. He halted for a moment on the curb, looking up and down the empty streets for a cab of any sort, then, with the instinct of a man for whom the Latin Quarter had once been a refuge and a home, he started across the Boulevard, his arm clasping hers.

All the housetops were glittering with the sun as they passed the ranks of the Municipal cavalry.

A young officer looked down mischievously as they traversed the Boulevard--the only moving objects in that vast and still perspective.

"_Mon Dieu!_" he murmured. "A night like that is something to remember in the winter of old age!"

Neeland heard him. The gay, bantering, irresponsible Gallic wit awoke him to himself; the rising sun, tipping the city's spires with fire, seemed to relight a little, long-forgotten flame within him. His sombre features cleared; he said confidently to the girl beside him:

"Don't worry; we'll get you out of it somehow or other. It's been a rather frightful dream, Scheherazade, nothing worse----"

Her arm suddenly tightened against his and he turned to look at the shattered Cafe des Bulgars which they were passing, where two policemen stood looking at a cat which was picking its way over the mass of debris, mewing dismally.

One of the policemen, noticing them, smiled sympathetically at their battered appearance.

"Would you like to have a cat for your lively _menage_?" he said, pointing to the melancholy animal which Neeland recognised as the dignified property of the Cercle Extranationale.

The other policeman, more suspicious, eyed Ilse Dumont closely as she knelt impulsively and picked up the homeless cat.

"Where are you going in such a state?" he asked, moving over the heaps of splintered glass toward her.

"Back to the Latin Quarter," said Neeland, so cheerfully that suspicion vanished and a faint grin replaced the official frown.

"_Allons, mes enfants_," he muttered. "_Faut pas s'attrouper dans la rue_. Also you both are a scandal. _Allons! Filez! Houp!_ The sun is up already!"

They went out across the rue Royale toward the Place de la Concorde, which spread away before them in deserted immensity and beauty.

There were no taxicabs in sight. Ilse, carrying the cat in her arms, moved beside Neeland through the deathly stillness of the city, as though she were walking in a dream. Everywhere in the pale blue sky above them steeple and dome glittered with the sun; there were no sounds from _quai_ or river; no breeze stirred the trees; nothing moved on esplanade or bridge; the pale blue August sky grew bluer; the gilded tip of the obelisk glittered like a living flame.

Neeland turned and looked up the Champs Elysees.

Far away on the surface of the immense avenue a tiny dark speck was speeding--increasing in size, coming nearer.

"A taxi," he said with a quick breath of relief. "We'll be all right now."

Nearer and nearer came the speeding vehicle, rushing toward them between the motionless green ranks of trees. Neeland walked forward across the square to signal it, waited, watching its approach with a slight uneasiness.

Now it sped between the rearing stone horses, and now, swerving, swung to the left toward the rue Royale. And to his disgust and disappointment he saw it was a private automobile.

"The devil!" he muttered, turning on his heel.

At the same moment, as though the chauffeur had suddenly caught an order from within the limousine, the car swung directly toward him once more.

As he rejoined Ilse, who stood clasping the homeless cat to her breast, listlessly regarding the approaching automobile, the car swept in a swift circle around the fountain where they stood, stopped short beside them; and a woman flung open the door and sprang out to the pavement.

And Ilse Dumont, standing there in the rags of her frail gown, cuddling to her breast the purring cat, looked up to meet her doom in the steady gaze of the Princess Naia Mistchenka.

Every atom of colour left her face, and her ashy lips parted. Otherwise, she made no sign of fear, no movement.

There was a second's absolute silence; then the dark eyes of the Princess turned on Neeland.

"Good heavens, James!" she said. "What has happened to you?"

"Nothing," he said gaily, "thanks to Miss Dumont----"

"To _whom_?" interrupted the Princess sharply.

"To Miss Dumont. We got into a silly place where it began to look as though we'd get our heads knocked off, Sengoun and I. I'm really quite serious, Princess. If it hadn't been for Miss Dumont--" he shrugged; "--and that is twice she has saved my idiotic head for me," he added cheerfully.

The Princess Naia's dark eyes reverted to Ilse Dumont, and the pallid girl met them steadily enough. There was no supplication in her own eyes, no shrinking, only the hopeless tranquillity that looks Destiny in the face--the gaze riveted unflinchingly upon the descending blow.

"What are _you_ doing in Paris at such a time as this?" said the Princess.

The girl's white lips parted stiffly:

"Do you need to ask?"

For a full minute the Princess bent a menacing gaze on her in silence; then:

"What do you expect from _me_?" she demanded in a low voice. And, stepping nearer: "What have you to expect from anyone in France on such a day as this?"

Ilse Dumont did not answer. After a moment she dropped her head and fumbled with the rags of her bodice, as though trying to cover the delicately rounded shoulders. A shaft of sunlight, reflected from the obelisk to the fountain, played in golden ripples across her hair.

Neeland looked at the Princess Naia:

"What you do is none of my business," he said pleasantly, "but--" he smiled at her and stepped back beside Ilse Dumont, and passed his arm through hers: "I'm a grateful beast," he added lightly, "and if I've nine lives to lose, perhaps Miss Dumont will save seven more of them before I'm entirely done for."

The girl gently disengaged his arm.

"You'll only get yourself into serious trouble," she murmured, "and you can't help me, dear Neeland."

The Princess Naia, flushed and exasperated, bit her lip.

"James," she said, "you are behaving absurdly. That woman has nothing to fear from me now, and she ought to know it!" And, as Ilse lifted her head and stared at her: "Yes, you ought to know it!" she repeated. "Your work is ended. It ended today at sunrise. And so did mine. War is here. There is nothing further for you to do; nothing for me. The end of everything is beginning. What would your death or mine signify now, when the dawn of such a day as this is the death warrant for millions? What do we count for now, Mademoiselle Minna Minti?"

"Do you not mean to give me up, madame?"

"Give you up? No. I mean to get you out of Paris if I can. Give me your cat, mademoiselle. Please help her, James----"

"You--offer me your limousine?" stammered Ilse.

"Give that cat to me. Of course I do! Do you suppose I mean to leave you in rags with your cat on the pavement here?" And, to Neeland: "Where is Alak?"

"Gone home as fit as a fiddle. Am I to receive the hospitality of your limousine also, dear lady? Look at the state I'm in to travel with two ladies!"

The Princess Naia's dark eyes glimmered; she tucked the cat comfortably against her shoulder and motioned Ilse into the car.

"I'm afraid I'll have to take you, James. What on earth has happened to you?" she added, as he put her into the car, nodded to the chauffeur, and, springing in beside her, slammed the door.

"I'll tell you in two words," he explained gaily. "Prince Erlik and I started for a stroll and landed, ultimately, in the Cafe des Bulgars. And presently a number of gentlemen began to shoot up the place, and Miss Dumont stood by us like a brick."

The Princess Mistchenka lifted the cat from her lap and placed it in the arms of Ilse Dumont.

"That ought to win our gratitude, I'm sure," she said politely to the girl. "We Russians never forget such pleasant obligations. There is a Cossack jingle:

"To those who befriend our friends
Our duty never ends."

Ilse Dumont bent low over the purring cat in her lap; the Princess watched her askance from moment to moment, and Neeland furtively noted the contrast between these women--one in rags and haggard disorder; the other so trim, pretty, and fresh in her morning walking suit.

"James," she said abruptly, "we've had a most horrid night, Ruhannah and I. The child waited up for you, it seems--I thought she'd gone to bed--and she came to my room about two in the morning--the little goose--as though men didn't stay out all night!"

"I'm terribly sorry," he said contritely.

"You ought to be.... And Ruhannah was so disturbed that I put on something and got out of bed. And after a while"--the Princess glanced sardonically at Ilse Dumont--"I telephoned to various sources of information and was informed concerning the rather lively episodes of your nocturnal career with Sengoun. And when I learned that you and he had been seen to enter the Cafe des Bulgars, I became sufficiently alarmed to notify several people who might be interested in the matter."

"One of those people," said Neeland, smiling, "was escorted to her home by Captain Sengoun, I think."

The Princess glanced out of the window where the early morning sun glimmered on the trees as the car flew swiftly through the Champs Elysees.

"I heard that there were some men killed there last night," she said without turning.

"Several, I believe," admitted Neeland.

"Were _you_ there, then?"

"Yes," he replied, uncomfortably.

"Did you know anybody who was killed, James?"

"Yes, by sight."

She turned to him:

"Who?"

"There was a man named Kestner; another named Weishelm. Three American gamblers were killed also."

"And Karl Breslau?" inquired the Princess coolly.

There was a moment's silence.

"No. I think he got away across the roofs of the houses," replied Neeland.

Ilse Dumont, bent over the cat in her lap, stared absently into its green eyes where it lay playfully patting the rags that hung from her torn bodice.

Perhaps she was thinking of the dead man where he lay in the crowded cafe--the dead man who had confronted her with bloodshot eyes and lifted pistol--whose voice, thick with rage, had denounced her--whose stammering, untaught tongue stumbled over the foreign words with which he meant to send her to her death--this dead man who once had been _her_ man--long ago--very, very long ago when there was no bitterness in life, no pain, no treachery--when life was young in the Western World, and Fate gaily beckoned her, wearing a smiling mask and crowned with flowers.

"I hope," remarked the Princess Mistchenka, "that it is sufficiently early in the morning for you to escape observation, James."

"I'm a scandal; I know it," he admitted, as the car swung into the rue Soleil d'Or.

The Princess turned to the drooping girl beside her and laid a gloved hand lightly on her shoulder.

"My dear," she said gently, "there is only one chance for you, and if we let it pass it will not come again--under military law."

Ilse lifted her head, held it high, even tilted back a little.

The Princess said:

"Twenty-four hours will be given for all Germans to leave France. But--you took your nationality from the man you married. You are American."

The girl flushed painfully:

"I do not care to take shelter under his name," she said.

"It is the only way. And you must get to the coast in my car. There is no time to lose. Every vehicle, private and public, will be seized for military uses this morning. Every train will be crowded; every foot of room occupied on the Channel boats. There is only one thing for you to do--travel with me to Havre as my American maid."

"Madame--would you do that--for me?"

"Why, I've got to," said the Princess Mistchenka with a shrug. "I am not a barbarian to leave you to a firing squad, I hope."

The car had stopped; the chauffeur descended and came around to open the door.

"Caron," said the Princess, "no servants are stirring yet. Take my key, find a cloak and bring it out--and a coat for Monsieur Neeland--the one that Captain Sengoun left the other evening. Have you plenty of gasoline?"

"Plenty, madame."

"Good. We leave for Havre in five minutes. Bring the cloak and coat quickly."

The chauffeur hastened to the door, unlocked it, disappeared, then came out carrying a voluminous wrap and a man's opera cloak. The Princess threw the one over Ilse Dumont; Neeland enveloped himself in the other.

"Now," murmured the Princess Naia, "it will look more like a late automobile party than an ambulance after a free fight--if any early servants are watching us."

She descended from the car; Ilse Dumont followed, still clasping the cat under her cloak; and Neeland followed her.

"Be very quiet," whispered the Princess. "There is no necessity for servants to observe what we do----"

A small and tremulous voice from the head of the stairs interrupted her:

"Naia! Is it you?"

"Hush, Ruhannah! Yes, darling, it is I. Everything is all right and you may go back to bed----"

"Naia! Where is Mr. Neeland?" continued the voice, fearfully.

"He is here, Rue! He is all right. Go back to your room, dear. I have a reason for asking you."

Listening, she heard a door close above; then she touched Ilse on the shoulder and motioned her to follow up the stairs. Halfway up the Princess halted, bent swiftly over the banisters:

"James!" she called softly.

"Yes?"

"Go into the pantry and find a fruit basket and fill it with whatever food you can find. Hurry, please."

He discovered the pantry presently, and a basket of fruit there. Poking about he contrived to disinter from various tins and ice-boxes some cold chicken and biscuits and a bottle of claret. These he wrapped hastily in a napkin which he found there, placed them in the basket of fruit, and came out into the hall just as Ilse Dumont, in the collar and cuffs and travelling coat of a servant, descended, carrying a satchel and a suitcase.

"Good business!" he whispered, delighted. "You're all right now, Scheherazade! And for heaven's sake, keep out of France hereafter. Do you promise?"

He had taken the satchel and bag from her and handed both, and the fruit basket, to Caron, who stood outside the door.

In the shadowy hall those two confronted each other now, probably for the last time. He took both her hands in his.

"Good-bye, Scheherazade dear," he said, with a new seriousness in his voice which made the tone of it almost tender.

"G-good-bye----" The girl's voice choked; she bent her head and rested her face on the hands he held clasped in his.

He felt her hot tears falling, felt the slender fingers within his own tighten convulsively; felt her lips against his hand--an instant only; then she turned and slipped through the open door.

A moment later the Princess Naia appeared on the stairs, descending lightly and swiftly, her motor coat over her arm.

"Jim," she said in a low voice, "it's the wretched girl's only chance. They know about her; they're looking for her now. But I am trusted by my Ambassador; I shall have what papers I ask for; I shall get her through to an American steamer."

"Princess Naia, you are splendid!"

"You don't think so, Jim; you never did.... Be nice to Rue. The child has been dreadfully frightened about you.... And," added the Princess Mistchenka with a gaily forced smile, resting her hand on Neeland's shoulder for an instant, "don't ever kiss Rue Carew unless you mean it with every atom of your heart and soul.... I know the child.... And I know you. Be generous to her, James. All women need it, I think, from such men as you--such men as you," she added laughingly, "who know not what they do."

If there was a subtle constraint in her pretty laughter, if her gay gesture lacked spontaneity, he did not perceive it. His face had flushed a trifle under her sudden badinage.

"Good-bye," he said. "You _are_ splendid, and I _do_ think so. I know you'll win through."

"I shall. I always do--except with you," she added audaciously. And "Look for me tomorrow!" she called back to him through the open door; and slammed it behind her, leaving him standing there alone in the dark and curtained house. _

Read next: Chapter 35. The First Day

Read previous: Chapter 33. A Rat Hunt

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