The Man Upstairs and Other Stories
that she is adorable. I forget those who stand by. I forget that the
parrot has bitten me in the 'and. I forget even that I am standing
there in pyjamas, with on my feet nothing. I can only gaze at her and
worship.
I have found words.
'Mademoiselle,' I have said, 'I am rejoiced that I have been the means
of restoring to you your bird.'
She has thanked me with her eyes, and then with words also. I am
bewitched. She is divine. I care not that my feet are cold. I could
wish to stand there talking all night.
She has given a cry of dismay.
'Your 'and! It is wounded!'
I look at my 'and. Yes, it is bleeding, where the bird 'ave bitten it.
'Tchut, mademoiselle,' I have said. 'It is a bagatelle.'
But no. She is distressed. She is what your poet Scott 'ave said, a
ministering angel thou. She 'ave torn her 'andkerchief and is binding
up my wound. I am enchanted. Such beauty! Such kindness! 'Ardly can I
resist to fall on my knees before 'er and declare my passion.
We are twin souls. She has thanked me again. She has scolded the
parrot. She has smiled upon me as she retires to her room. It is
enough. Nothing is said, but I am a man of sensibility and discernment,
and I understand that she will not be offended if I seek to renew our
friendship on a more suitable occasion.
The doors shut. The guests have returned to bed, the hotel servants to
their duties. And I go back to my room. But not to sleep. It is very
late, but I do not sleep. I lie awake and think of 'er.
You will conceive, Monsieur, with what mixed feelings I descend next
morning. On the one 'and, I must keep the sharp look-out for my uncle,
for 'im I must avoid till he shall have--what do you say in your
idiom? Yes, I have it--simmered down and tucked in his shirt. On the
other 'and, I must watch for my lady of the parrot. I count the minutes
till we shall meet again.
I avoid my uncle with success, and I see 'er about the hour of
_dejeuner_. She is talking to old gentleman. I have bowed. She
have smiled and motioned me to approach.
'Father,' she has said, 'this is the gentleman who caught Polly.'
We have shaken hands. He is indulgent papa. He has smiled and thanked
me also. We have confided to each other our names. He is English. He
owns much land in England. He has been staying in Paris. He is rich.
His name is 'Enderson. He addresses his daughter, and call her Marion.
In my 'eart I also call her Marion. You will perceive that I am, as you
say, pretty far gone.
The hour of _dejeuner_ has arrived. I entreat them to be my
guests. I can run to it, you understand, for there are still in my
pockets plenty of my uncle's francs. They consent. I am in 'eaven.
All is well. Our friendship has progressed with marvellous speed. The
old gentleman and I are swiftly the dear old pals. I 'ave confided to
'im my dreams of artistic fame, and he has told me 'ow much he dislikes
your Lloyd George. He has mentioned that he and Miss Marion depart for
London that day. I am desolate. My face tumbles. He has observed my
despair. He has invited me to visit them in London.
Imagine my chagrin. To visit them in London is the one thing I desire
to do. But how? I accept gratefully, but I ask myself how it is to be
done? I am poor blighter with no profession and nine 'undred francs. He
'as taken it for granted that I am wealthy.
What shall I do? I spend the afternoon trying to form a plan. And then
I am resolved. I will go to my uncle and say: 'Uncle, I have the
magnificent chance to marry the daughter of wealthy English landowner.
Already I 'ave her gratitude. Soon--for I am young, 'andsome,
debonair--I shall 'ave her love. Give me one more chance, uncle. Be
decent old buck, and put up the money for this affair.'
These words I have resolved to say to my uncle.
I go back to the hotel. I enter his private office. I reveal no secret
when I say that he is not cordial.
'Ten thousand devils!' he has cried. 'What do you here?'
I 'asten to tell him all, and plead with him to be decent old buck. He
does not believe.
Who is he? he asks. This English landowner? How did I meet him? And
where?
I tell him. He is amazed.
'You 'ad the infernal impudence to take room in my hotel?' he has
cried.
I am crafty. I am diplomat.
'Where else, dear uncle?' I say. 'In all Paris there is no such 'ome
from 'ome. The cuisine--marvellous! The beds--of rose-leaves! The
attendance--superb! If only for one night, I have said to myself, I
must stay in this of all hotels.'
I 'ave--what do you say?--touched the spot.
'In what you say,' he has said, more calmly, 'there is certainly
something. It is a good hotel, this of mine!'
The only hotel, I have assured him. The Meurice? _Chut!_ I snap my
fingers. The Ritz? Bah! Once again I snap my fingers. 'In all Paris
there is no hotel like this.'
He 'as simmered down. His shirt is tucked in. 'Tell me again this plan
of yours, Jean.'
When I leave 'im we have come to an understanding. It is agreed between
us that I am to 'ave one last chance. He will not spoil this promising
ship for the 'a'porth of tar. He will give me money for my purpose. But
he has said, as we part, if I fail, his 'ands shall be washed of me. He
cannot now forget that I am his dear brother's child; but if I fail to
accomplish the conquest of the divine Miss Marion, he thinks he will be
able to.
It is well. A week later I follow the 'Endersons to London.
For the next few days, monsieur, I am in Paradise. My 'ost has much
nice 'ouse in Eaton Square. He is rich, popular. There is much society.
And I--I have the _succes fou_. I am young, 'andsome, debonair. I
cannot speak the English very well--not so well as I now speak 'im--but
I manage. I get along. I am intelligent, amiable. Everyone loves me.
No, not everyone. Captain Bassett, he does not love me. And why?
Because he loves the charming Miss Marion, and observes that already I
am succeeding with her like a 'ouse on fire. He is _ami de
famille_. He is captain in your Garde Ecossais, and my 'ost told me
'e has distinguished himself as soldier pretty much. It may be so. As
soldier, per'aps. But at conversation he is not so good. He is quite
nice fellow, you understand--'andsome, yes; distinguished, yes. But he
does not sparkle. He has not my _verve_, my _elan_. I--how do
you say?--I make the rings round him.
But, _Chut_! At that moment I would have made the rings round the
'ole British Army. Yes, and also the Corps Diplomatique. For I am
inspired. Love 'as inspired me. I am conqueror.
But I will not weary you, monsieur, with the details of my wooing. You
are sympathetic, but I must not weary you. Let us say that I 'ave in
four days or five made progress the most remarkable, and proceed to the
tragic end.
Almost could I tell it in four words. In them one would say that it is
set forth. There was in London at that time popular a song, a comic,
vulgar song of the 'Alls, 'The Cat Came Back'. You 'ave 'eard it? Yes?
I 'eard it myself, and without emotion. It had no sinister warning for
me. It did not strike me as omen. Yet, in those four words, monsieur,
is my tragedy.
How? I shall tell you. Every word is a sword twisted in my 'eart, but I
shall tell you.
One afternoon we are at tea. All is well. I am vivacious, gay; Miss
Marion, charming, gracious. There is present also an aunt, Mr
'Enderson's sister; but 'er I do not much notice. It is to Marion I
speak--both with my lips and also with my eyes.
As we sit, Captain Bassett is announced.
He has entered. We have greeted each other politely but coldly, for we
are rivals. There is in his manner also a something which I do not much
like--a species of suppressed triumph, of elation.
I am uneasy--but only yet vaguely, you will understand. I have not the
foreboding that he is about to speak my death-sentence.
He addresses Miss Marion. There is joy in his voice. 'Miss 'Enderson,'
he has said, 'I have for you the bally good news. You will remember,
isn't it, the cat belonging to the American woman in the hotel at
Paris, of which you have spoken to me? Last night at dinner I have been
seated beside her. At first I am not certain is it she. Then I say that
there cannot be two Mrs Balderstone Rockmettlers in Europe, so I
mention to her the cat. And, to cut the long story short, I have
ventured to purchase for you as a little present the cat Alexander.'
I have uttered a cry of horror, but it is not 'eard because of Miss
Marion's cry of joy.
'Oh, Captain Bassett,' she has said, 'how very splendid of you! Ever
since I first saw him have I loved Alexander. I cannot tell you how
grateful I am. But it amazes me that you should have been able to
induce her to part with 'im. In Paris she has refused all my offers.'
He has paused, embarrassed.
'The fact is,' he has said, 'there is between her and Alexander a
certain coolness. He 'as deceived 'er, and she loves him no more.
Immediately upon arrival in London, he had the misfortune to 'ave six
fine kittens. 'Owever, out of evil cometh good, and I have thus been
able to secure 'im for you. 'E is downstairs in a basket!'
Miss Marion 'as rung the bell and commanded for him to be brought
instantly.
I will not describe the meeting, monsieur. You are sympathetic. You
will understand my feelings. Let us 'urry on.
Figure yourself, monsieur, to what extent I was now 'arassed. I am
artist. I am a man of nerves. I cannot be gay, brilliant, debonair in
the presence of a cat. Yet always the cat is there. It is terrible.
I feel that I am falling behind in the race. 'Er gratitude has made her
the more gracious to Captain Bassett. She smiles upon him. And, like
Chanticleer at the sight of the sun, he flaps his wings and crows. He
is no longer the silent listener. It is I who have become the silent
listener.
I have said to myself that something must be done.
Chance has shown me the way. One afternoon I am by fortune alone in the
'all. In his cage the parrot Polly is 'opping. I address him through
the bars.
'Move and I shoot I' he has cried.
The tears have filled my eyes. 'Ow it has brought the 'ole scene back
to me!
As I weep, I perceive the cat Alexander approaching.
I have formed a plan. I have opened the cage-door and released the
parrot. The cat, I think, will attack the parrot of which Miss
'Enderson is so fond. She will love him no more. He will be expelled.
* * * * *
He paused. I suppose my face must have lost some of its alleged
sympathy as he set forth this fiendish plot. Even Percy the bluebottle
seemed shocked. He had settled on the sugar-bowl, but at these words he
rose in a marked manner and left the table.
'You do not approve?' he said.
I shrugged my shoulders.
'It's no business of mine,' I said. 'But don't you think yourself it
was playing it a bit low down? Didn't the thought present itself to you
in a shadowy way that it was rather rough on the bird?'
'It did, monsieur. But what would you? It is necessary to break eggs in
order to make an omelette. All is fair, you say, in love and war, and
this was both. Moreover, you must understand, I do not dictate his
movements to the parrot. He is free agent. I do but open the cage-door.
Should he 'op out and proceed to the floor where is the cat, that is
his affair. I shall continue, yes?'
* * * * *
_Alors!_ I open the cage-door and disappear discreetly. It is not
politic that I remain to witness what shall transpire. It is for me to
establish an alibi. I go to the drawing-room, where I remain.
At dinner that night Mr 'Enderson has laughed.
'In the 'all this afternoon,' he has said, 'I have seen by chance the
dickens of a funny occurrence. That parrot of yours, Marion, had