VICTORINE

FRANCES PARKINSON KEYES

Julian Messner, Inc.

New York

1'~2blislled by Julian I\lessner
1nC.

  8 West 40 Street, Neu' York
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STA I US OF I\ \I I-; I( A
             
         10
Marie Mouton Nehrbass
A lad! who combines all
Spiritual with all social
graces
Whom I love very dearly
And who, I am proud to
say,
  Has adopted me as
  ('ousin ~nITlCeS
          
Foreword

 (For readers only, reviewers please skip.)
    The LOVE STORY OF PROSPER VILLAC AND
ViCTORINE LABRANCHE WAS

not originally visualised as a book; it was planned as the third
part of a three-generation novel. But when the
author namely myself was well into the second part, two
things became obvious to her: first, that by the time she was
through with the love story of Claude Villac, Fleex Primeaux
and Lavinia Winslow, the book would already be more than
what publishers have a tiresome way of calling "comfortable
trade length"; second, and far more important for authors
should not be too much concerned as to whether the trade is
comfortable or not she realized that any episode, however
dramatic, would seem like an anticlimax after the discovery
of Blue (Camellia. The gilded youth of the 1920'S simply did
not belong in the same category as the pioneers of the ~
880's or the reactionaries of the turn of the century.

 What to do? Fictional characters have a way of coming very
much alive, at least to their creator; you simply cannot
casually kill them off, especially as the more alive they are to
her, the more likely they are to seem alive to readers. The
first fictional character to come alive, in the section dealing
with the twenties, happened to be a dog a huge Dalmatian
named Levvy. Naturally, Lewy needed an owner and
Victorine LaBranche came alive as such. Then she needed a
father, and there was Moise LaBranche. So much for the new
figures on the scene. Prosper Villac, who was eight years old
when difficulties about trade length began to arise, would
soon be grown up; he seemed a logical suitor for Victorine.
And then, there was his pretty little sister Anne Marie, who
would be growing up, too, and entitled to a love story of her
own. How

~ 1' 0 rat E \V () lI D

was I to dispose of all tines people? the beautiful little
porcelain Dalmatian, which had been given me by a
well-wisher for a mascot as soon as Levvy entered my life,
and which, for a long time had appeared to r-cyard me in an
encouraging manner from his station on my desk, 11OW
began to gaze at me banefully. "I have been your faithful
companion for several years," he seemed to be saying, with
justifiable reproach, "are you about to send me to the pond?'

  In my dilemma, I consulted, first my American and then
my English publisher. "Of course I want the story of
Victorine," Mrs. Messner said, almost testily. "My goodness,
you've sent me several chapters, in rough draft, about her
already! What do you expect me to do with them? Tear
them up? You've got to put a whole book in the twenties,
that's all." (She spoke as if a whole book were the merest
trifle publishers have a way of doing that, even when they
know months and maybe years of intensive toil are ahead
of an author. ) Douglas Jerrold, my English publisher, was
less casual, but even more demanding. "I am very much
pleased with your mise-en-scene," he informed me. "However,
I'd like it a little more bloodcurdling. Couldn't you have a
murder in the rice fields?"

  I strive to please. I did not unearth any murders in the
rice fields of my mise-en-scene which, n. cUless to say, is a
real one and where, I am glad to report, crime does not
seem to be rampant or even frequent. But I did discover the
story ol an accident, which occurred elsewhere in Louisiana
and which might have happened in any rice-producing area.
With this the bloodthirsty Englishman declared himself
content and I went ahead.

  The name of Dale Fomenot, which seemed to me suitable
for the young man of fine principles and distinguished
background who figures in my narrative, is used for a
fictional character by special permission of the parents and
widow of the real Lieutenant (j.g.) Dale Fontenot, U.S.N.,
who graduated from the United States Naval Academy in
1953 and was tragically killed in a plane crash, while in flight
training, at Corpus Christi Air Base several years ago. My
fictional character resembles him in personal attributes, but
not in career. It is exactly the opposite in the case of my
fictional character, Brent Winslow, whose achievements were
actually those of Salmon Wright, "the Burbank of the rice
industry," though there is no other resemblance between
them. l hose achievements have been the inspiration for
some of the material in this book, as they were for much of
it in Blue Camellia; and Mr. Wright actually reigned as ~ he
first king of a Rice Carnival Day, with his Laughter, Edith,
now Mrs. Garl Kemmerly, as his queen. I am deeply

1 orrwonD 9

indebted to Mrs. Kemmerly and to her sisters and brother,
Mrs. Thomas A. Warner, Sr. (Lillian Wright), Mrs. Paul C.
Hoffpauir (Rosemary Wright), and Mr. Salmon Wright, Jr.,
for their kind permission to make better known, in fictional
form, the great debt which the entire rice industry owes to
their father. The achievements of Henri Bendel, a native of
Lafayette, were responsible for those attributed to Moise La-
Branche, though, as tmfortunately, unlike my fictional figure,
he never returned there, at least to my knowledge, in the
years since I began spending my winters in Louisiana, I have
not been able to dwell on his career with as much detail as
that of Salmon Wright. Again, as a personality, Mo'ise
LaBranche is entirely fictitious. Dale Fontenot is the only real
name that has been used. except as in Blue Camellia in the
case of well-known characters who are now part of history.
This time, there are only four: Captain l:Lobert Mouton, the
scion of a great family and distinguished in his own right as
an outstanding horticulturist, a gallant soldier and a successful
politician; Georges Armand Martin, noteworthy alike as a
physician and a juri it; W. W. Duson, one of Crowley's found-
ing fathers and chief promoters and, for many years, editor of
the Crowley Signal; his son, W. W. Duson, Jr.; and Huey
Long, who needs no identification to any read r. In every
other case, except these just mentioned, names, achievements
and characteristics are all fictitious.

 The editorials quoted from the Crowley Signal have actually
appeared in it, though not on the dates attributed to them; I
am indebted to Max Thomas, its present owner and publisher,
who has been kindness and co-operation itself in connection
with all my work in Louisiana, for permission to switch the
dates to suit my purpose, and to him and the widow, sons and
daughter of W. W. Duson Mrs. W. W. Duson, Sr., W. W.
Duson, Maxwell Duson, [Icnry C. Duson and Mrs. Mildred
Duson Cossey for permission to make a slight change in the
one which was actually printed in 1929, with the caption, "An
Annual Monument." For my purposes, it was necessary to use
it as a tribute to a man who was still living and to call it
"Perennial Gratitude." I have, at all times, had access to the
files of the Crow~ey Signal and have drawn on them freely,
especially those for 19~6-27, whicll included the accounts of
Rice Carnival Day.

 For editorial advice, I an1 again greatly indebted to
Hermann B. Deutsch, Associate Editor of the New Orleans
Lleyn, and Mary Alice Fontenot, who has served on the
editorial staff of the Lafayette fIdZ7e7-tiser, the Opelousas
L)aily World and the Eunice News. As far as Mr. Deutsch is
conccrncd, I can ``nly repeat what I said in the Foreword to

10 FOREWOrtD

Blue Camellia: "His helpfulness has not been limited to the
editorial field. He is an authority on a greater variety of
subjects than almost anyone else I know, and it is no
exaggeration to say that several chapters in this book could
not possibly have been written by me, if I had not had his
almost inexhaustible fund of information, much of it based
on practical experience, on which to draw. I am glad to
make this public acknowledgment of my great indebtedness."
his research, Mr. Deutsch has had the co-operation of Mr.
Edgar V. Schafer, Jr. and Mr. Gordon T. Schafer,
respectively president and vice president of the Universal
Rice Milling Products Company and Mr. James P. Gaines,
assistant to the president of the Rice Millers' Association, all
of New Orleans. I did not have the privilege of meeting
these gentlemen myself and, as there are apparently some
local differences in the designation of rice mill equipment,
past and present, I have adhered to the terms given me in
and around Crowley, since that is where our fictional rice
mill is located.

 As far as Mary Alice Fontenot is concerned, her
knowledge of local conditions in the rice country is based
not only on lifelong residence and marriage to the manager
of a rice mill, but to the fact that, by heredity, as well as
environment, she is intimately allied to this section of Louisi-
ana. Her almost infallible ear for the nuances of local
speech, her familiarity with all forms of local usage, and her
experience as a journalist and a reviewer have served to
enlarge, still further, her usefulness to me. My gratitude to
her is unbounded.

 Much valuable and varied information has also been given
me by the following persons: Rt. Rev. Albert J. Bacque,
Pastor of St. John's Cathedral, Lafayette; Mr. George
Sabatier, formerly manager of the Superior Rice Mill of
Eunice and now a rice broker in that city; Mr. George
Schlessinger of the Louisiana State Rice Milling Company,
Inc. of Abbeville; Mr. J. Otto ("Chingie") Broussard,
manager of the EdmundsonDuhe Rice Mill in Rayne and
Mr. Edmond D'Aquin, Sr., manager of the rough rice
department in the same mill; Mr. Vincent Riehl of La-
fayette; Mr. Sidney Fontenot of Eunice; Miss Ann
Schuffhausen, secretary to the manager of River Brand Rice
Mill, Eunice; Mr. Frederick J. Nehrbass of Lafayette; Mrs.
Carl Kemmerly of Baton Rouge; Mrs. Sigmund Katz of
Covington; Miss Julia Hutchinson and Miss Pearl Landry,
who are largely responsible for familiarising me with the
territory all the way between I.afayette and Cypremort Point;
Miss Mario Mamalakis, Associate Professor and Circulation
Librarian of Southwestern Louisiana Institute, Dr. Martin
Samson of Crowley, Dr. Robert C. Kelleher of New Orleans
and Dr. Nicholas Chetta of New Orleans.

F O n E W O R D I I

(Incidentally, lest it should strike any reader as strange that
anyone could be committed to an institution for the
criminally insane with no investigation beyond the
examination of the parish coroner, let me state that, at the
time about which we are writing, such examination was all
that was required in Louisiana.)

 Much of the later work on Victorine has been done while
I have been greatly handicapped by serious intermittent
illnesses and constant painful physical disability because of
lameness, which have kept me, for months, in the old slave
quarters, which it seems especially appropriate to me, under
the circumstances, to keep on calling by their original name.
I doubt whether the book could have been finished on
schedule time had it not been for the efficient and loyal
co-operation of my secretary, Deanie Bullock. In fact, as far
as I am concerned, her name should be coupled with that of
Victorinc as the 1ca] heroine of this story.

FRANCES PARKINSON KEYES

 The early part of the work on Victories was done at
Compensation the place acquired ITI Crowley on purpose
to give me a writing center in my mise-en-scene, which I
then thought would be used for only one book. I was the
happy possessor of the house and grounds comprising this
pleasant property for ten years, but sold it under the
mistaken impression that my work in southwestern
Louisiana was practically done; so Blue Camellia was
finishell and Victorine continued in near-by Lafayette, where
I was fortunat. ly able to rent a pied-a-terra. Less fortu-
nately, this nice little [louse was sold over my head and the
major part of the work on Victorine has been done in the
slave quarters connected with Beauregard Hour in New
Orleans, with a brief return to Lafayette and Crowley for
the purpose of checking and rechecking in the interests of
authenticity. The Town ITousc Motel in Lafayette was my
headquarters while this was being done.

F. P. K.

PART ONE
     Sp1~i1lg axial
     Slr111 filer' I 926
     The Gold Slippers
     
Chapter Orate

                      _
WEE1L, THANKS A MIT.T.ION, CABTATN BOB. NO ONE
BUT YOU COWED HAVE

ferreted this out for me."

 "11 n'y a pas de quoi'cher, and after all, it did not take much
ferreting. You talk as if I were the hero of a rowan
policier not just a small-town mayor whose hobby is
horticulture."

 "Lafayette isn't such a small town any more. And I seem to
remember a piece in the paper that said you were equally at
home in banking, education, politics and your garden. At
that, it didn't go into your war record."

 "Oh, people are beginning to forget about the war just as
well, too! As for the rest, des compliments, cher rien Me des
compliments."

 Prosper Villac laughed, but just why he could not have said.
Perhaps it was because he was always amused at Bob
Mouton's complete unconsciousness at switching from
English to French and from French to English, when he was
talking casually; it was something he always had done, and
probably always would do, and it did not matter much in
Lafayette, where almost everyone, except newcomers who did
not count, was bilingual anyway. When he went over to
Crowley on business, which he often had occasion to do, he
sometimes had to stop and translate, because Crowley, with
its more generally Anglo-Saxon background than any other
place in the vicinity, was not predominantly bilingual. But, as
it happened, Prosper Villac, who came from there, was very
nearly so. His father Claude Villac had been an Acadian with
a reasonably good education, and was fluent in both what
was locally known as franpais de l'Academie and the more
typical Cajun dialect. Prosper's mother Lavinia, who had
been graduated with honors at the Academy

18 VICTOR [NE

of the Sacred l-Ieart in Grand Coteau, and taken special
courses at the then recently founded Sophie Newcomb
College in New Orleans, spoke French with a slight accent,
but with complete grammatical precision. She had seen to it
that both Prosper and his younger sister Anne Marie had
been as thoroughly schooled as she was.

  Perhaps it was on account of Anne Marie, and not on
account of Captain Bob's unusual though pleasant manner
of speech that Prosper was laughing now, with a sense of
happy triumph. He had adored his sister from the moment
that the new baby, whose tiny head was haloed with golden
down, and who opened soft blue eyes to stare at him, had
been cautiously put into his arms by their father, who stood
watchfully by, because the three-year-old boy, who was
usually up to some deviltry, could not be trusted to handle
an infant with knowledgeable or tender care. But Prosper
had given his father and everyone else a surprise; he not
only seemed to know by instinct exactly what to do for Anne
Marie, but he loved doing it; and he had gone on loving to
do anything he could for her ever since: he comforted her
when she cried, helped to take care of her when she was
sick, taught her the first lessons she learned, petted her in
and out of season, and showered her with presents, whether
there was any special reason for a gift or not. It did not
need to be Christmas or Easter or her birthday; if he heard
her express a wish, or guessed that she had one that was
unfulfilled, he hastened to see that it was granted if he
possibly could. He had begun by breaking open a piggy bank
to buy her a doll that bleated mah-mah if you turned a key;
he had saved his allowance to give her a turquoise ring
"matching her eyes" before it had occurred to anyone else
that she was old enough to have a ring as indeed their
mother said she was not. He had forestalled fashions in
fancy belt buckles, gold lockets and pearl beads when he
became conscious that girls liked such things; and now he
had succeeded, thanks to Captain Bob, in getting her a fine
specimen of the so-called "Lost Camellia" for which she had
been hankering.

  She had, apparently, inherited her passionate love of
flowers from her maternal grandmother, Mary Winslow,
whose knowledge of them and skill with them were bywords
throughout the countryside and beyond it. His mother
regarded a well-ordered garden as an essential part of any
properly run establishment; but her feeling for one did not
go beyond this. It was Anne Marie who had kept digging
and weeding and watering, and refused to leave any of the
work in her own special corner to the capable old yard man,
Sylvestre, if she could help it; and she trespassed elsewhere
on what he considered his preserve. Moreover, she was not

T 11 E G O L D S L I P P E n s 19

satisfied to have the spacious grounds encircled with golden
day lilies. mauve azaleas, purple iris, pink crepe myrtle and
white chrysanthemums; various other blooms followed each
other in quick succession, so that one or the other was sure
to be blossoming throughout the year, like her roses. She
wanted all sorts of exotic plants in her garden as well; and, as
a matter of course, she wanted every known variety of
camellia. The result was that the Villacs' flower garden was
now far and away the largest and most beautiful in Crowley,
which was saying a great deal; and when it seemed to Prosper
and to their mother that there could not possibly be anything
more Anne Marie would want to add, she had started talking
about this Lost Camellia.

 She had read about it in some book, one of those
ponderous volumes about gardens into which she was
continually sticking her pretty little nose, instead of confining
her reading to light novels and very few of those, like most of
the girls they knew. In this tome, whatever it was, Anne
Marie had read about a camellia that had been imported into
the United States early in the first wave of camellia
popularity, and which had since been lost, to all intents and
purposes, from collectors' knowledge. Even its original
designation had somehow disappeared from view and,
consequently, from commerce; so now there were only
references to it, no available specimens; in the references it
was called the Lost Camellia.

 "It can't really be lost," Anne Marie had insisted. "It was
brought into the United States the book says so. It must be
somewhere."

 "How many kinds of camellias have you got in the garden
now?" Lavinia inquired, looking up from some equally
weighty tome she was reading and which, Prosper guessed,
though he could not see the title, was about rice, for she felt
just the same way about this that Anne Marie did about
camellias.

 "Only sixty. And it wouldn't matter if I had six hundred, as
long as there was one I had heard about that was lost. I'd
want to find it."

 "To change the subject for a moment, have you telephoned
Dale Fontenot yet?"

"No, not yet."

 "He really wants an answer all-out that picnic at Gypremort
Point. You ought to be reasonable and give it to him. I le has
to make his plans."

 "He's welcome to make all the plans he vvants. He can have
a picnic at Cypremort Point without me."

"You know that the whole idea of the picnic is to have you
there."

"Yes, I know, Mother. But I keep telling Dale "

20 V I (] ~ O R I N E

  That was Anne Marie all over. She kept telling Dale
Fontenot, one of the nicest fellows that ever lived, who had
a fine sugar plantation, Sapphira, on Bayou Cypremort, that
she hadn't made up her mind yet. She kept saying the same
thing to Didier Benoit, who was also one of the nicest
fellows that ever lived, and who didn't own a sugar
plantation himself, because his father was still living, but
who, with his brother Maurice, would be heir to Pecan
Grove, just out of Lafayette on the Broussard Road. She
said the same thing to half a dozen other fellows, too. It
seemed to Prosper and he thought it seemed the same way
to Lavinia that every unattached man or boy, and some
that were supposedly already firmly anchored, who looked
at Anne Marie, wanted her to make up her mind to marry
him. What was worse, this had been going on for years and
years already. Here she was, nearly twenty-four, and she
hadn't even reached her teens when Prosper and Lavinia
had been obliged to start brushing boys off the porch. If she
hadn't been the sweet, feminine type she was golden
haired, pink checked, blue eyed, with a disposition as lovely
as her looks people would inevitably have started saying it
was evident she really wanted to be an old maid. But it was
impossible to say that about Anne Marie. She was obviously
made to love and be loved. Only she couldn't make up her
mind....

  Prosper started to tease her about this as she sat, a pink
finger still slipped in the book about camellias she had been
reading, to mark the place. Then he wished he hadn't.

  "You haven't made up your mind yet, either, have you?'
she asked innocently. The innocence was not assumed;
Prosper felt reasonably sure of that. Gossip, however slightly
tinged with malice, was somehow always silenced by Anne
Marie's presence; it did not belong in the same room with
her. As for scandal, he doubted if she had ever connected it
with anyone she knew. But, as he stole a quick glance at his
mother, he saw that her mouth, normally a firm one, had
tightened, which was always a bad sign. If he had been
pinned down, he would have admitted she must have known
that he had been going, with increasing frequency, to the
dance hall over August Scholtze's grocery store, to which
August had given the highfalutin title of Salle ties Tuileries;
but neither Prosper's mother, nor anyone else, had pinned
him down so far. isle eluded such pinning rather well.
However, should anything of the kind happen, he might also
be cornered into admitting that the main reason he went
there was not to dance, but to see Titine, the amusing and
arresting girl who played the accordion, and who did not
always remain with the rest of the band, but wove her way
among the merrvmalicrs

r 1' E G () L D S L I P P E R S 21

when they were taking time off for a drink between dances.
Sometimes she sang droll little Cajun song), interspersed with
still droller commentaries, as she wandered; and sometimes
she stopped to chat for a moment or two with the patrons, at
which times she was wittier still; and the way she laughed at
her own sallies w as very contagious. Besides, she was very
good to look at, and the closer she came, the more alluring
she appeared. Of course, August could not have an open bar
because of that stupid Prohibition law; but there was one of
sorts in a small space partitioned off behind the grocery store
downstairs, and another behind the dance hall upstairs; and
a few little tables were scattered in plain sight around a
cleared space. It was the easiest thing in the world to secure
setups and snacks, but Titine did not serve these. She always
carried her accordion and it was distinctly understood that
such pay as she received was for playing, and that August saw
to that, as he did in the case of the other musicians. It was
perhaps a lime less distinctly understood that Titine was
August's girl, but very few of his patrons would have been
willing to take a chance on a misunderstanding about that,
either. They were careful to keep their side of the badinage
with Titine free from bawdiness, and though they welcomed
her jovially when she stopped beside them, they never
pointedly asked her to do so. She was equally discreet; she
never stayed too long beside any one group, stopped too
often in any one place, or leaned too close to anyone. She
had not done so in Prosper's case. It was really almost as
absurd to imagine that there was, or could be, anything
between them, as to imagine that he and Paula Bennett, the
sheriff's old maid cousin, were having an affair. To be sure,
he and Paula were often alone at the Claudia Rice Mill,
where he was the manager and she the secretary, when their
respective duties kept them overtime; but he knew there had
been gossip about that, also, and that his mother must have
heard it: she was probably already dreaming up some way of
seeing that at least two other employees of the rice mill
would be kept overtime whenever Paula was. Lord, Paula
must be ten years older than he was well, five anyway, and
she was the one woman of his acquaintance who, as far as he
knew, had never had a suitor with either honorable or
dishonorablc intentions. It was a pity that matters of that sort
could not be more evenly proportioned the elderly aunt,
Amanda Eaton, with whom Paula lived, never had to brush
boys off their porch; and Anne Maric, on the other hand, had
so many applicants for her favors that she could not make up
her mind at least not about men, only about camellias. If
she had been thinking of Dale or Didier or any of the others,
she wouldn't have been concentrating on some lost speci

27 VlC'TOBlNE

men; neither would she have been asking awkward
questions, which made Lavinia Villac's mouth tighten; she
would have been too much absorbed in rosy dreams....

 "No, I haven't made up my mind, either," Prosper said
rather shortly, in answer to Anne Marie's question. "Why on
earth should I want to get married and leave home when
I've got a sister like you?" he went on, less shortly, and then
added quickly, "and a mother like ours?"

 "Well, why should I want to get married when I have a
brother like you and a mother like ours?" Anne Marie
responded sweetly. "Haven't I everything in the world could
ask for already?"

 "You don't ask for things. That isn't your way. But
sometimes you want them without asking tot them. Eight
now, you want that Lost Camellia, don't you?"

"Well, rather."

  "In which case I haven't the slightest doubt Prospcr will
find it for you," Lavinia said rather dryly. "Have you two any
idea how late it is? Since, for a wonder, we're all home and
by ourselves no visit to the Tuileries tonight, I take it, and
Dale and Didier both camping beside their telephones
waiting for messages they won't get suppose we go to bed
early, just this once?'

  So his mother did knew about Iitine, Plosper told himself,
tossing with unaccustomed restlessness from one side of his
bed to the other. Not, he repeated mentally, that there was
really anything to know  worse luck! And Anne Marie
wanted that Lost Camellia wanted it bad  and her
birthday was fast approaching. She certainly had a present
coming to her from her brother. It was up to him to find
that camellia, without any more dares from their mother, if
he were to give her anything that would have much meaning
to her.

  His specialty, like his motller's, was not flowers, but rice,
though he did not take his work at th' smaller of the two
family mills very seriously, and never would, as long as she
actually managed the Claudia as well as the Monrovia,
though, nominally, he was in charge of the former. He
admired his sister s garden and sometimes, because he knew
this would please her, offeecd to help her work in it; but,
uncoached by her, the only varieties of camellias in ii that he
could have identified offhand were Alba Plena and Pink
Perlection and Governor Mouton . . . Governor Mouton.

  No longer restless or clr noisy, but delightfully alert,
Prosper sat up in bed with an exclamation i ~ pleasure,
which he did not even attempt to

I It G o L D S r. I P P E 11 S 23

smother. Governor Mouton we, the one which had been
named for an ancestor of Captain Bob's; and Captain Bob
himself now mayor of Lafayette, and one of the most
versatile and agreeable men of Prosper's acquaintance knew
almost everything in the world there was to know about
camellias. The next afternoon, without waiting for the Claudia
to shut down, Prosper left poor Paula still chained to her
typewriter, jumped into his dilapidated Oldsmobile and
chugged away, thanking his lucky stars that there was less
roux than usual at this season, and hardly noticing the great
emerald green stretches of the rice fields through which his
road passed.

 He did not even stop at City Hall when he reached
Lafayette. He figured that Captain 130b would have left by
then for his nursery, and he was right. The mayor, obviously
unoppressed by cares of office, was walking up and down
between neat rows of shrubs when Prosper first caught sight
of him, and had stopped to inspect the leaves of one small
bush with loving care by the time his visitor joined him.
Prosper, who at the moment had only one thing on his mind,
cut his host's cordial greeting short.

 "Captain Bob, did Voll evei hear of some flower called the
Lost Camellia)"

"Pourquoi pas7"

"I didn't ask you why not. 1 asked you if you had."

 Captain Bob straightened up and looked at his caller with
an expression of injured dignity. He was a rather short man,
his figure comfortably rounded by good Cajun food and his
color pleasantly heightened by good homemade wine, which
few right-minded citizens of Lafayette had seen fit to abolish
from their daily fare by anything so unworthy of notice as the
Volstead Act. He v. ore a small mustache and altogether was
far more suggestive of a Gallic bourgeois than an upper-class
American in his appearance. But, like the go, ernor and the
general who were among his progenitors, he could give an
impression of importance whenever it suited him to do so. It
suited hi n now.

 "Of course I have heard of it. The merest amateur in
horticulture has done so. Et mod, je ne suds pas '

 "Look, Captain Bob! You know my sister Anne Marie is
almost as crazy about camellias as you are. She has read
about this damn flower in some book, and she's hell-bent !i)
haYc one in her garden. Besides, she has a birthday coming
up "

 "Et pourquoi to n'a pas dit ccla tout de suited Well, never
mind why you didn't tell me right away instead of asking me
such a question. Let

24 vlc~r()nI NE

me inform yOLI, my friend, that the beautiful specimen is
not lost any more; I found it myself, not so long ago.'

"Where?"

 "In St. Francisville. I recognised it at once, of course, from
the descriptions I had read of it probably in the same book
your sister read. Just how it got to St. Francisville I am not
sure yet. Perhaps no one is. But that does not matter. I
lound it in a neglected old garden last winter. C'est la meme
chose. Only it is not called the Lost Camellia in St.
Francisville. It is called l.andrethii."

"Then if I went to St. Francisville I could buy a plant,
perhaps?"

 Captain Bob's eyes twinkled as he stroked his chin with a
plump hand adorned with a large seal ring. He had ceased
to stand on his dignity. I Ie was his usual genial self again.

 "Of course you may have a plant, but you do not need to
go to St. Francisville or to buy one. Je me feral le plaisir "

 "You have a Lost Gam llia or a Landrethli or whatcvel you
choose to call it right here7"

 Captain Bob sighed in mock distress, while his eves
continued to twinkle. "It has escaped your notice, perhaps,
that I am doing everything I can to beautify the city of
Lafayettc with proper landscape gardening," he said with
mild sarcasm. "You are a nice boy, Prosper, but I have never
thought you were especially observant. Bien sur j'en al; j'en
al deux. It will give me great pleasure to let you present one
of these specimen plants to your sister with my compliments
and your love. I should like to add my love, too, but I have
purposely refrained from permitting myself to become
enthralled in that quarter. Not that I do not appreciate
Anne Marie. But I am afraid of your mother. I know she
would be much too strict to suit me as a belle-mere. Well,
now, let us locate those Landrethiis. If I am not mistaken
they are quite near by, in the second row. On moment, mon
vieux...."

 He whistled shrilly and a strapping Negro gardener
appeared in answer to the summons. Captain Bob pointed
to a plant and spoke swiftly in clipped gumbo French, after
which the workman hastened away to return with
wheelbarrow, I;een-edged shovel, sacking and nails. Under
the captain's supervision, lie sliced away enough of the sandy
soil around the camellia's base to leave its roots encased in
a ball of earth, which was carefully wrapped in sacking, the
latter being pinned securely with a few nails.

 "Ca, c'est bon!' decland (captain Bob. i'Poleet will take it
in the whcelbarroNv to your car, I'rosper. It is to be planted
sack and all, NOU

r H ~ G () L D S L I P P E n s 2)

will of course inform Anne T\larie." Then, after the plant had
been stowed carefully in the back of the rickety Oldsmobile,
he asked: "Is it still only in camellias, then, that your sister's
interest is cantered?"

"Looks that way."

"I hear that Dale Fontenot . 'est an tres bon part), tu sais "
"I know. But Anne Marie says she can't make up her mind."
"And Didier Benoit aussi an joli garponl"

Prosper shrugged. Captain Bob grinned.

 "Well, I shall have to see if I cannot conquer my fear of
your very handsome, very cultured, but alarmingly efficient,
mother. Perhaps that will be the only solution. En attendant,
au revoir, et bonne chance!"

 It was at this point that Prosper had taken his leave and
gone his way, laughing, partly at Captain Bob and partly at
himself. Briefly he toyed with the idea of going on to New
Iberia and Jeanerette and thence to Cypremort, since the
roads were in such unusually good condition. But he
dismissed the tentative plan almost as soon as it occurred to
him. Dale would welcome him warmly at Sapphira, he knew
that; but much as he liked Dale, he did not feel exactly like
having a visit with him just then. Dale, like Anne Marie, had
every amiable quality; but also like her, he lacked a little of
the hearty conviviality that had made the hour with Captain
Bob so enjoyable, and at the moment Prosper was in the
mood for something more, rather than less, exhilarating.
Besides, Dale was certain to take advantage of such a call to
urge his eligibility as a brother-in-law, and there was
absolutely nothing Prosper could do to advance the suit until
Anne Marie made up her mind, for with all her amiability
she had a streak of stubbornness. He would have difficulty in
convincing Dale that he was helpless; and then they would
have an argument, and though they would not quarrel, the
atmosphere would become more and more strained, and
nothing in their surroundings would serve to ease this.
Prosper had always considered the setting of Sapphira
gloomy, not to say weird, located as it was on that dark bayou
which took its name from the moss-hung cypresses, many of
them dead or dying, that shadowed it, along with a jungle
growth of palmetto, swamp myrtle, red gum and a tangle of
muscadine vines. The plantation house itself was a pleasant
one, similar to several in the vicinity Ivanhoe, Louisa and
Sunrise among others. In each, the wide roof spread not
merely over the house proper, but across the spacious gallery
as well, being supported by narrow pillars and pierced by
three dormers, front and back, out from the upper story. In
each, the wide entrance hall was in

~6 vlcl-ol~lNr~

vitinglycool even on the hottest day; but at Sapphira the
rooms on either side of this were more elegantly, if
somewhat more austerely, furnished than in the others. The
situation, despite the expanse of lawn that separated the
house from the bayou, had always seemed to Prosper an
eerie one, though he had been careful not to express this
opinion. It would have hurt Dale's feelings needlessly, and
Dale was inclined to be somewhat oversensitive anyway....

 Of course, he did not need to go as far as Cypremort,
Prosper considered, as he idled along toward New Ibcria. He
could stop instead at August Scholtze's after leaving
Jeanerette well behind. Plenty of people used the spacious
red-painted frame building, with a grocery store downstairs
and the dance hall upstairs, for a place to pass the time of
day, whether or not they came with the idea of buying
anything much and whether or not they intended to stay on
for the evening's entertainment. August encouraged such
visits and sometimes even invited his customers into his
private quarters, which led from the store and which he kept
tidy and cheerful, and which were shared by a dull-witted,
gangling boy named Baer, whose identity August never fully
explained, but who was generally supposed to be an
orphaned nephew, though there were some who believed he
was August's son. While August never bothered to clear up
this mystery, he made no effort to disguise the fact that Baer
was related to him in sonic way and that the two were not
uncongenial. Baer helped to keep the little apartment spick
and span and also helped with the cleaning and odd jobs in
the grocery store and with dishwashing in the cafe. When
visitors came to the private quarters, far from remaining out
of sight, he was the one to bring forth beer and pretzels and
he often joined, in so far as his limited intelligence would
permit, in general conversation. None of this was displeasing
to August; but he did not encourage the visitors to pass the
time of day with Titine indeed, she never appeared on the
scene until the rest of the band assembled; then she arrived
in a disreputable old "tin Lizzie," accompanied by the piano
player, who owned this vehicle and who was immensely
proud of it, as it gave him superior standing among the
possessors of the battered buggies which we re in far more
general use. He was a very old man, but excellent at his job
for all that, and was always addressed as Professor; obviously
he guarded Titine very effectively from all approaches except
August's.

 Anyway, Prosper reflected, it would be hours yet before it
was time for the dancing to begin, which meant that Titine
would not be coming in from wherever she lived for some
time. So far, Prosper had not dis

r 11 IA G o L D S 1. I P P 3 R S 27

covered where she did live, though he had tried. I le had
narrowed down the region to a Toilet somewhere between
Bayou Patou and Bayou Warehouse, and that was the best he
had been able to do. He thought he might have better luck if
he were able to give her something she wanted, and evidently
she was not like Anne Marie in her methods of making her
wants known, any more than she was in other ways. She
asked straight out for things. The last time Prosper had been
at the Salle des Tuileries, she had actually argued with
August, in Prosper's hearing, about some gold slippers....

 The band had been resting between numbers, and Titine
had stayed with it, instead of taking her accordion and going
out among the customers, as usual. She had just stood beside
the piano, looking sulky, which was also out of character; and
finally August had gone up to her and said something under
his breath. Obviously he was displeased at her inaction, which
was costing him trade. Usually he was very agreeable, at least
in public it was his business to be and he was strikingly
handsome in a Teutonic way. But now his rubicund face was
disfigured by a scowl and he looked ugly in every sense of the
word. He was a powerfully built man, and it had occurred to
Prosper more than once that it would be a poor plan to pick
a quarrel with him, or even to risk rousing his wrath. But
Titine did not seem in the least frightened and she showed
that she was displeased, too, as she answered the blond giant
oud3'y enough for Prosper, who vitas lounging near by
enjoying the sight of hers to hear.

"My feels is hurtin' me, tlle3ll. 1 plain got to have new shoes."

 "So why you don't get som' yourself?" August had forgotten,
in his annoyance, to keep his voice down.

 "On account I ain't paid en Hugh, me, to btly new shoes
every time 1 need some, no."

 "Plenty enough you are pai.l. 1 tell you get out on that
Hoor. Only a couple of quarts I sell tonight, no more as that."

 "So you think maybe I care for that, me? Not one p'ti-ptti
damn I give if you don't sell none, no. I tell you frankly, me,
I got no idea to go out around them tables till I get me some
gol' slippers."

 "Such a Naerrisc1:keit yet, about gold slippers! Who wears
them around here, maybe you tell me?"

"Nobody don't wear none. That's why 1 want some, me.

 "So will you tell me please if there is even a place around
here w here you could buy them? See it gives no such
place."

28 vlcTonlNr~

"In N'yawlins, yes, you could buy plenty got' slippers, I
guarantee

you."

 "You maybe think I got time I should travel by Newrleens
every time you get a crazy idea like that? Who will attend to
the business yet, if I do?"

 "Some other peoples might make it their business, them,
yes, to go to N'yawlins if they know 1 want got' slippers."

 The prescribed interval between dances had ended. August
moved away, muttering something half sullen, half menacing
beneath his breath. Then, to Prosper s surprise, the
bootlegger stopped in his tracks and spoke to him.

"How's Paula these days?" he inquired.

 The question was even more surprising than the halt.
Prosper would have said that he was very thoroughly
informed about almost everything that was happening or had
happened during the last ten years in the locality. But he
had never known before that August and Paula were
acquainted.

 "Why she's very well, thank you," he said. He spoke in a
way which he feared betrayed his surprise. August did not
seem to notice it.

"Keeps you company at the mill, don't she?" he inquired.

 There was the hint of a leer in his voice now and this time
Prosper answered more stiffly.

"She works overtime when it's necessary, just as I do," he
said.

 "Ach so! Well, all of US that sometimes must do.
Remember me to her, hein7"

 Prosper's mounting astonishment would probably have
absorbed him for some time, if something else, also totally
unexpected, had not happened which immediately diverted
his thoughts. After August had turned away for good, Titine
looked Prosper full in the face for the first time and
mouthed a word that sounded like "Dangereuse!" At first he
believed it was. Then the thought flashed through his mind
that it might be "Dargereux," which was not an uncommon
surname in the locality. He had never known Titine's
surname, any more than he had known where she lived. If
he had learned it now, it should not be too difficult to locate
that point between Bayou Patou and Bayou Warehouse.

 Then he knew he would not even have to waste time
trying. The look had told him, plainly enough, that if he
would get her a pair of gold slippers she would tell him of
her own accord where she lived.

A week had gone by since then and, meanwhile, Prosper had
not

r H E G () L D S L 1 P P E R S 29

been able to thirll; up any good excuse for going to New
Orleans. A few years earlier it would have Ben simple
enough he would have just gone. That would have been all
there was to it, or all there needed to be. But since the
disastrous skimp in the rice market, which had taken place in
'21, there had so far been only a partial comeback not
enough to justify casual trips to New Orleans or, as far as
that went, to justify casual purchases of gold slippers,
especially as '24 and '25 had both been "salt-water years." To
be sure, he had not spent anything on Anne Marie s birthday
present, thanks to Captain Bob's generosity; but somehow he
did not relish the idea of squandering what he had saved on
his sister!s present in buying one for a gin I he wanted as a
light-o'-love.

 However, he was naturally lighthearted and, without too
much trouble, he dismissed from his mind the question of
how he was to find a pretext for getting to New Orleans.
Turning the car around, he began to hum a song which was
a perennial favorite in the locality:

"Allons a Lafayette, c'` st polar changer ton non',

Pour t'appeler Mona je!n1ne, finis nos fours ense~nZ~le."

  I lalLway through the verse he stopped. Without
forethought, he believed he had provided himself with an
answer. He would go to Lafayette; if not actually on a
romantic mission, at least in the hope anti belief that he
might find sometllillg there that would divert his thoughts
from his problems.

Chapter Two

    PlIOSPBR HAD BEINDRIVING ALONG ALMOST
UNAWAP~ OF HIS SUltROUN~

ings when a vague consciousness of some change in those
familiar to him so familiar that he did not need to watch
where he was going  caused him to glance around. For the
first time within his memory, the great wrought-iron gates
leading to the LaBranche estate, instead of being closed and
padlocked, stood wide open. Moreover, instead of being
discolored by rust and weather, they were gleaming with fresh
black paint. Beyond them, several men were hard at work:
one was washing windows in the lodge, one was weeding the
long-disused drive, and two were pruning the oleanders on
either side of this carriageway. Since receiving any previous
attention, the oleanders had achieved a straggling growth
which had reared them to the height of trees; but in the
process they had lost their air ol luxuriance. Now they were
being ruthlessly shorn into shape again, v bile withered
branches and superfluous shoots were fast falling to the
ground. On a sudden impulse, Prosper stopped the engine
and got out of the car, leaving the dilapidated Oldsmobile
parked beside the road while he went to have a look.

 He now recalled that he had heard rumors to the effect
that the LaBranche estate might be sold and divided into
house lots to form a new subdivision; but he had not heard
that such a sale had actually taken place, and it seemed
unlikely that all this intensive improvement would be going
forward unless there was some special reason for it. None of
the workmen was close enough to the gates to make
interrogations seem like casual questioning, and Prosper,
whose curiosity was now piqued, had begun a mental search
for some pretext to go nearer, when a blackhaired girl,
dressed in scarlet and Icading a coach dog on a leash, ap

T If L D S L I P P E n s 3 I

peered around the bend of the clriveway. This was a figure so
much more arresting than those ol the diligent workmen that
Prosper's momentary hesitation came to an immediate end.
He watched the girl's approach not failing to note the easy
swing of her carriage, the beauty of her build, and the
smartness of the suit which was short enough to reveal a gen-
erous length of slim and shapely legs. Being swift of
perception and not without some experience in these matters,
he recognised that the suit was costly as well as smart, and
that everything worn with it was expensively appropriate: the
frilled blouse, the chain bracelets, the sheer stockings, the
suede pumps. Until the depression following the slump of
'~I, all his mother's and sister's dresses had come from
Sophie's, the best dressmaker in New Orleans, and the
accessories for them from equally expensive places; and
Lavinia still squeezed out the money to buy one or two good
outfits for Anne Marie and herself every year, and to copy,
with characteristic efficiency, others which she could not
afford to buy.

 Somehow Prosper doubted that this girl, who was now
coming down the drive, had ever needed to economise,
though he could not have told why he should have so quickly
decided that the suit she was wearing was not her only really
good one, and that most of her other clothes were not
homemade. At all events, the girl herself, rather than what
she was wearing, had very quickly attracted him. She was
bareheaded, and her black hair, though brushed straight back
from her brow and confined by a narrow red ribbon which
encircled her head, was so thick and curly that it nowhere lay
flat; and when she turned slightly to one side and spoke
briefly to one of the workmen, Prosper saw that her curls
cascaded down to her shoulders. The dog, a magnificent
Dalmatian, tugged at its leash as it: impatient to be on its
way, not through lack of training but through sheer vitality.
The girl quickened her footsteps, adjusting her pace to the
dog's and, presently, was as close to the gate on the inside as
Prosper was on the outside. He hailed her.

"Hi!" he called out. "Where's the fire?"

"Right here!' the girl flashed back. "Take care, you might get
burnt.

 She had stopped, but she hall not turned away. Prosper
grinned and took a step forward.

 "I'm slightly singed already," he said amiably. "And I've
always heard that deep burns aren t as painful as surface
ones, to begin with. So I'll take a chance."

"As far as I'm aware, nobody silicl anything about giving you
a

chalice.''

32 VlCTOr31NE

 "Correct. Tllat's why J said I'd take one. My name's
Prosper Villac. What's yours?!'

 The girl made no immediate answer. She stood still, coolly
looking him over, which gave him an opportunity for looking
her over, too, still more appraisingly than he had before.
Involuntarily, he found himself comparing her with Titine
and, to his surprise, discovering many points of resemblance
between the two. Both had thick, curly black hair, sparkling
black eyes, noticeably red lips, abounding vitality and the
gift of quick give and take. But there the likeness ended.
This girl's cheeks had far more natural coloring than any
Cajun he had ever seen there was a rich glow under tl-re
tan and she was much better built. Titine had stocky legs
and thick ankles; he had told himself more than once that
probably the reason she wore skirts which covered her
calves was not because she was unaware that these were no
longer fashionable, but because she wanted to cr nceal her
less attractive attributes as much as she wanted to
emphasise her more attractive ones. This girl had the most
beautiful legs he had ever seen, slender and shapely, as he
had noticed at once; and he thought she was aware of this,
too, for her skirt vitas even shorter than fashion diet itch.
Titine's hands were chubby and roughened by hard work;
this girl's hands were slim and smooth, and a great ring
glistened on one of her tapering fingers. Prosper doubted
that she had ever done anything u seful in the entire course
of her life. The carriage of the two girls was as different as
their figures. Not that Titine was clumsy; but she lacked the
complete ease, the accomplished grace of this girl. The lack
was nothing to l itine's discredit, he told himself quickly.
Where and how could she have learned to make mere
movement a wonder and a delight to the cyst The poor kid
had never had a chance. Whereas it was obvious that this
girl . . .

 "Has anyone ever told you that you're pretty fresh?" she
now inquired, with a slight shrug of her shoulders.

 "Lots of people. Is that what you're going to tell me
instead of telling me your name? I hoped y you'd be more
original."

 Suddenly she laughed, not in a silly, spasmodic way, but
freely and merrily. "I don't suppose there's any reason why
I shouldn't tell you," she said. "13csides, if I didn't, you'd ask
r,nc of the workmen the minute I was out of sight."

 "Correct again. Only I \vasl1 t Illailrling to let you out of
sight that quick."

 The girl l.~ugEcd again. "NIy ll.UllC'S Victorinc," she
said. "Victorinc Lal,ranche."

T II E G O L D S L I P P E R S 33

"Victorine LaBranche! Moise LaBranche's daughter?"

"'The boy guessed right the very first time."'

  Prosper looked past her toward the worl;men. The man
who had been washing windows at the lodge, and who was
nearer the unabashed intruder and the scarlet-clad girl than
any of the others, had turned to stare at them; when he
caught Prosper's glance, he hastily picked up his cloth and
resumed his polishing. The other workmen were apparently
unconcerned or unobserving.

  "Could you tell me more, as they say on the stage?" Prosper
inquired. "Evidently, you were just starting for a walk and I'd
like very much to join you it doesn't particularly matter to
me in what direction. Does it matter to you?"

  "No, not particularly. I thought I might give my
surroundings the once-over. It looks as if I might be here for
some time, so I suppose I ought to know what they're like.
But there's no hurry. Why don't we go up to the house? We
might have a drink or something."

  "If by something you mean tea or northern coffee, I'd much
rather have a drink."

"You would anyway, wouldn't you?'

  It was his turn to laugh. "Yes. But to be serious for a
moment, just for the hell of it, it doesn't matter to me
whether I have anything in the way of liquid refreshment. I'm
very well satisfied with the situation just as it stands."

  "You mean you're agreeably surprised because you didn't
get thrown out on your ear?"

  "Well, something like that. Of course, I was hopeful, all the
time that you wouldn't misinterpret my innocent interest and
youthful curiosity. But I confess I didn't expect to be invited
into the parlor."

  They had been going up the driveway as they talked, and
the farther along they went, the more signs of reclamation
were visible. Lawns were being mowed, flower beds weeded,
and the work on the road and shrubbery intensified.

  "All this feverish activity looks as if you really did mean to
be here for some time," Prosper continued. "Yes, I know you
said so yourself, but I thought perhaps you were just talking.'

  "When you know me better you'll find out I don't often just
talk. I usually say something."

  "I'm very much gratified at the suggestion that I'm going to
know you better. It would seem to prove that there wasn't
much the matter with my technique after all.'

34 v I cToRINrl

 "I didn't say there was anything the matter with your
technique. I just asked if you'd ever been told you were
fresh and reminded you that nothing had been said about
giving you a chance. But I don't see any sense in quibbling
about just what I said, or just what you said, or what either
of us meant by that, and then hashing it all over again. No
one ever makes any progress Lhat way."

"What do you consider the best way of making progress?"

 "Why, to go ahead anti say something else that does make
sense! . . . Well, here we are at the house. I can't invite you
into the parlor because there isn't any. But you can take
your choice among the living room and the gunroom and the
drawing room and the library while I see about your drink."

 She disappeared, the coach dog, now unleashed, trotting
along beside her. Prosper, thus unceremoniously left in the
entrance hall a somewhat somber apartment of vast
proportions, encircled by life-size figures in armor turned
to the room on his right and was relieved to find it rather
less overpowering. The furniture was still shrouded in its
dust covers of white denim, and there were no books and
flowers scattered about to give it an air of habitual
occupancy; but the sun streamed in warmly through the
uncurtained windows and brightened the bare floor and
paneled walls. Prosper sat down in a deep chair which
proved surprisingly comfortable, looked around in vain for
an ash tray and decided to smoke anyhow, while trying to
piece together the fragments of what he had heard about
Moise LaBranche.

 He seemed to recall that the family name had originally
been Zweig and that, like so many names of German origin,
it had been given its French equivalent by an carly settler in
Louisiana, who, in this instance  again if he were not
mistaken was an Alsatian in any case, and almost as
certainly a Jew, for the given names of Abel, Benjamin and
Moise had appeared and reappeared among his descendants.
They had retained close ties with the homeland from the
beginning and had prospered in their chosen trade as
merchants almost from the beginning; eventually, they
directed the thriving establishments they owned, instead of
selling goods over the counter themselves. But the present
Moise was the first to design as well as direct, and to make
a name for himself in New York, as well as in Louisiana and
in France. He had married rather late, a beautiful woman by
the name of Elortense Duandeau, much younger than
himself, who was alto a Louisianian, but a Christian; and he
had bought this property and built this house for his bride,
hoping to retire and spend his declining years there. E
lowever, she had been dissatisfied,

T H E C. O L D S L I P P E 11 S 35

both with the costly estate and him, and she had found some
sort of a feeble pretext for divorcin, him and for keeping their
little daughter in her custody. Moise had closed the house of
his dreams and had never come back there, but had gone on
to greater and greater fame and fortune in New York, his
creative powers increasing rather than decreasing with age.
Hortense had remarried, not once but several times, each
time imagining that she was mounting higher on the social
ladder. As the years went by, her daughter had become less
of an asset and more of a hindrance to her, a giveaway of her
age, an impediment to extramarital romances. The girl had
been sent abroad to school and, eventually, kept there most
of the time. Now, apparently, her father had succeeded in
reclaiming her; it was also apparent that, after all these years,
he had come home at last perhaps to die. He must, by now,
be a very old man. At all events, it did not look as if the
property were to be sold in the immediate future. Quite the
contrary. The rumors to that effect, which had been the topic
of local gossip, must have been false, as such rumors so often
were. Possibly, in this instance, they had been instigated by
old Moise himself. Somehow Prosper felt that such a man
might not care to have his plans known until they had actually
been put into execution.

 There was a sound of footsteps in the hall and Victorine,
with the coach dog still at her heels, re-cntered the room
where Prosper was waiting. She was carrying a vase of flowers
in one hand and some ash trays in the other, and she was
followed by a butler of formal and forbidding appearance,
charged with a v ell laden tray. When the man put this down
on a near-by table, ProsQcr S.IW that the siphon of soda and
the whisky bottles were fiaIlked by a silver tea service. Up to
this moment, he had not given his looks a thought. Now, at
the sight of the butler, he became uncomfortably aware of his
short-sleeved shirt, open at the throat, his well-worn khaki
trousers and his dilapidated sneakers. He would have given
a good deal for a tie, a coat and a presentable pair of shoes.
The silver service added vaguely to his feeling of discomfiture.

 "Thank you, Gifford," Victorine was saying. "Don't wait for
the biscuits to be done bring in the other things right away.
Oh and you might light the fire . . . I think a fire would be
cheerful, don't you?" she inquired, turning to Prosper. "riot
that it's really cold, but there's something sort of sepulchral
about all these white coverings. I hope to get them off
tomorrow. Meanwhile, a fire might help a little. At that, this
room's a shade less depressing Clean the reception hall. I'm
wondering if Father could possibly be persuaded to do away
with a few of those

36 vlcTor~IN~

knights in armor,or at least to keep them somewhere else.
They seem so much better fitted to a baronial hall in
England, which of course is where they came from, than to
a suburban place in Louisiana. But they're Father's pride
and joy, so I'll have to tread carefully to bring about their
removal! . . . I told him we had company and he'll be down
in a few minutes. He liLt s tea at this hour and, incidentally,
so do I. But I hope that won't cramp your style any. I'm told
this is very good bourbon. It's prewar stock. Not that we
hold with Prohibition, anyway."

 The butler re-entered the room, bringing a muffin stand,
its shelves severally supplied with cucumber sandwiches,
cinnamon toast and a large frosted cake. He went over to
the fire, which was already burning brightly, and moved the
logs about with a poker, gently and quite superfluously.
Then he came back to the tea table and bowed.

 "The biscuits will be ready directly, Chef says. Will there
be anything else just now, miss>"

"No, Gifford, thanks very much."

 The butler bowed again and disappeared. Prosper, who
had risen with the appearance of the tea tray, now came
closer to the table where it had been placed and looked
down at Victorine, who was already seated beside it,
measuring tea leaves from a silver caddy into a small
earthen pot. The supercilious butler had caused him
momentary discomfiture; but he had almost shaken that off,
when Victorine casually announced the impending arrival of
her father upon the scene. Now he felt not only ill at ease
again, but more or less angry. The cockiness with which he
had carried off his encounter with Victorine seemed
destined to deRation and he blamed her for this.

 "The tea won't cramp my style," he said shortly. "But some
of the rest of this act may. You didn't say anything about a
butler when you invited me to the house or tell me your
father sat in on your dates. You'd better put down that
spoon and mix me a good stiff drink."

 "You can mix your own drink," Victorine retorted. "Then
it'll be sure to suit you. I probably couldn't. And don't make
any mistakes. This isn't a date. It's an introduction. You
didn't have one at the gate, you know."

Chapter Three

 BECAUSE, TO HIS INTENSE ANNOYANCE) PROSPER
COULD NOT IMMEDI

ately think of some suitable retort to this statement, he
concentrated on pouring out his highball, in which there was
a very small admixture of soda to the bourbon. Victorinc,
meanwhile, continued to busy herself with her teamaking. Her
guest had hardly taken his first long drink, however, when she
rose, saying, "I think that's Father coming now," and went
toward the door that led into the depressing hall.

 Prosper's first impression of the old man, now slowly and
painfully coming toward them, was that he cut a sorry figure.
He was thin almost to the point of emaciation, and his
stooped shoulders shook slightly with the effort of moving,
though he leaned heavily on a cane. It was not until he had
almost reached the tea table, and stretched out his free hand
for support on the back of a chair, that he straightened up.
The minute Prosper saw his host's face, his whole estimate of
the old man changed. His skin was very dark and looked all
the darker against the abundant white hair and heavy white
eyebrows; his features were clear cut, regular and
unmistakably Semitic; but it was his eyes that dominated
everything else. They were as black as his hair must once
have been and as his daughter's still was, and they were old
eyes, tired and experienced and shrewd; but there was
kindliness in them and there was still fire. The thought
flashed through Prosper's mind that in his youth Eloise La-
Branche must have been an irresistible lover, and that in the
prime of life he must have been a master of women, as well
as men. It was incomprehensible that such a man's wife
should have left him....

 Moise LaBranche extended the wrinkled hand with which
he had briefly supported himself on the near-by chair. It
shook slightly as Prospcr

38 VICTORINE

took it; but almost immediately it steadied itself into a
surprisingly firm handclasp. "It is very kind of you to call so
promptly," the old man said pleasantly. His voice, like his
eyes, was compelling; but, unlike his eyes, his voice still
seemed young; it was the most surprising attribute of all.
"Please sit down," he added, as Victorine helped him to
lower himself into his chosen seat, "we will get acquainted
while we sip our drinks, each of us with one to his own
liking. That is, I trust it was bourbon you wanted, since I see
that is what you have. Now I shall ask Vicky to give me my
tea. If I understood her correctly, she said your name is
Prosper Villac. Your father is perhaps Ursin Villac?"

"No, sir, he was my grandfather."

  "Ah, yes, of course! I Iceep forgetting that most of the
men of my own generation are or alas! were grandfathers.
Many are dead now, as I assume from the way you answer
my question, that yours must be. Is your other grandfather
still living?"

"Yes, sir, I'm glad to say he is. My other grandfather is Brent
Winslow."

  "What, the great pioneer in rice breeding? You are to be
congratulated on such a heritage."

  "Thank you, sir. I think myself that he's the most
wonderful man I ever knew that is, I always have thought
so until now."

  The words were uttered quite spontaneously. Prosper had
not been unmindful of the mild rebuke at his discourtesy in
starting his drink before the appearance ol his host. But it
had been so tactfully and so pleasantly administered that it
had carried no sting with it, and it had evoked admiration
rather than resentment in the visitor's breast. He had now
entirely forgotten again about his short-sleeved shirt, his
worn trousers and his dilapidated sneakers; the butler, being
unimportant himself, had striven to make a guest feel
unimportant, too; the host, who was a man among men, was
restoring the guest's self-confidence. Prosper remembered
having read in school Robert E. Lee's definition of a gentle-
man as one who never consciously or needlessly indicted
pain or even discomfort on another. He thought of this now
as he looked with appreciation at Moise LaBranche and set
the crippled old man down as the greatest gentleman he had
ever met, in which estimate he showed a wisdom beyond his
years. His anger at Victorine had also evaporated the
moment he heard her father say, "It was kind of you to call."
It seemed to him apparent that she had said nothing to him
about the encounter at the gate, nothing that would brand
the visitor as an impudent intruder. If her father asked her
just how she and Prosper Villac happened to meet,
undoubtedly she would inform him there was nothing about
her to

T li E G 0 L D S r I P P E R S 39

suggest the telling of shabby Jittle lies. But for the moment he
was accepted as the courteous resident of good background
and good manners who had come to pay his respects to new
arrivals in the locality and give them a feeling of welcome.

 "You must set me straight about the other members of your
family," Moise LaBranche continued, quietly stirring his tea.
"I have made one mistake already in assuming that you were
Ursin Villac's son instead of his grandson and I should not
like to make another. Your father's name is "

"He was Claude Villac. He's dead, too."

 "My dear boy, I am truly most sorry for the fact itself and
for my second tactless assumption. Please forgive me."

 "It's a long while since you've been here, isn't it, sir? You
couldn't be expected to know everything that's happened
during your absence  especially with all the other things you
must have had on your mind."

 "Well, it's kind of you to put it that way and, as you say, I
have been away a long while. It's been difficult for me to keep
in touch or perhaps I haven't tried as hard as I should have.
And I've been back only a day or two. I haven't had time yet
to make amends for past sins of omission and commission.
You are our first caller. We shall remember your visit with
special pleasure on that account. Shan't we, Vicky?"

 "Yes, Father," Victorine answered with a demureness that
was somewhat startling to Prosper. Then he saw her look
toward her father with laughing eyes and noticed that the old
man's, too, were smiling. Obviously, not only great affection
but complete understanding existed between the two, though
what amused them jointly Prosper could not guess.

 "Let us go back to your family," Moise LaBranche said,
handing his cup to his daughter for refilling and turning again
to Prosper. "Since your maternal grandfather is Brent
Winslow, your mother must be, or must have been let me
forestal] another awkward mistake his daughter, whose
name was, I believe, Lorinda."

 "Lavinia. She's alive and well, I'm glad to say, and very
active. She manages the family rice mills that is, I'm
supposed to manage the Claudia, the new one, but she's
really boss of both. My father was manager of the Monrovia
and when he died she took over. Of course, that's unusual,
for a woman, but she seemed very well fitted for it, and of
course it pleased my grandfather that she was. Since he didn't
have a male heir, the next best thing was to feel that his
daughter would carry on where he left off when he leaves
off, I mean. He's still very active, too."

40 VICTORINE

 "But he's long since stopped making new experiments with
rice breeding, hasn't he? I mean with the tremendous
success he's already achieved, that hardly seems necessary."

 "It isn't necessary, but I suppose he'll go on experimenting
as long as he lives, because he enjoys it. However, of course
his main interest is in the continued promotion of Blue
Camellia."

 "The impossible which he found it possible to achieve! A
well-chosen name for a remarkable product. Do you know
who was first reported to have said, 'If it is possible it can be
done; if it is impossible it must be done'?"

"Yes, sir, Napoleon Bonaparte."

"Your grandfather told you about this slogan?"

 "No, sir, I learned it in school. As a matter of fact, I told
my grandfather; he'd never heard it. He just went ahead and
did it."

 This time, Prosper looked not at Moise, but at Victorine
as he spoke. Nevertheless, he felt sure the old man had
caught the glance and, to his annoyance, he realised that he
was blushing for the first time since he could remember. He
had not been quite so brash as to consider that he, too, had
done the impossible, that he had picked up a lady as easily
as he could have a tramp more easily, as a matter of fact,
than he had been able to pick up Titine and that he had
crowned this feat by getting himself invited to her house and
presented to her famous father or at least he would not
have put it all quite as crudely as that, even to himself. But,
undeniably, his self-satisfied thoughts had been running in
that direction. Now that he became aware of their basic
falsity and incredible presumption, he had the grace to feel
somewhat ashamed of himself.

 "But your grandfather has a male heir now in you," he
heard Moise LaBranche saying pleasantly. "Perhaps he has
others? Or are you an only child, like your mother?"

 "No, sir, I'm not an only child. I have a younger sister,
Anne Marie  named for her two grandmothers. But I
haven't any brothers. So I suppose I am Brent Winslow's
male heir, only I hadn't thought of it that way before. I'd
only thought of myself as his grandson and mighty lucky to
be that."

 He was feeling honest humility now and his blush, to his
increasing annoyance, had deepened; he could feel it
spreading from his cheeks to his neck. Moise LaBranche,
sensing his unwelcome embarrassment, quietly set about to
relieve it.

 "You are, indeed," he said cordially, "and I'm delighted to
hear of your sister. I hope that the next time you call you
will bring her with you.

THE GOLD SLIPPERS 41

Your mother will perhaps forgive me if I do not first pay my
respects to her. The journey was rather tedious and
wearisome, and so is the process of getting settled here
again, after so many years. Of course, Vicky is doing
everything she can to help me, but after all, I am an old man
now  I tire more easily than I once did. And she is young,
she should have companionship of her own age, and not be
condemned to solitary confinement with a septuagenarian
who will soon be an octogenarian. I am sure you can be
helpful in seeing that she is included in your circle of
friends.... Are you still in college?"

 Prosper grinned. "I reckon I'm older than I look, sir," he
said. "I finished at Louisiana State several years ago, and at
that I went to college late, because I made the Cavalry Troop
from Jennings that had the great luck of getting into the
Rainbow Division, so I spent some time abroad. That's about
all the traveling I ve done. My mother meant to give me a
trip around the world for a graduation present, with stops at
many of the great rice-producing centers southern Spain,
Java, the Philippines, China, Japan. But shortly after that the
bottom fell out of the rice market, so "

 "Ah, yes. That is another situation with which I should have
kept in closer touch. But surely there has been a marked
recovery already?"

 "There has been some. I don't know how marked you'd call
it. I suppose that depends on the point of view. We're still
driving the same cars we drove five years ago. Mother used
to give Anne Marie and me each a new one every year and,
of course, she had a new one herself. That was about the
usual scale.... Anne Marie finished at the Sacred Heart
Academy in Grand Coteau ski' didn't want to go to college,
anyway, so it wasn't a hardship for her to give that up, though
I know it vitas a disappointment to my mother. And I don't
think Anne Marie has ever cared about traveling. She's very
contented in Crowley."

"What does she do to keep contented?" Victorine inquired.

 There was no condescension in the way she spoke; it was
merely an interested and courteous inqui y. Yet Prosper
found himself thinking that, when he had ansv, Bred, she
might find the reasons he gave for Anne Marie's contentment
somewhat inadequate.

 "Well she's crazy for gardening. She has a garden at our
place and she spends a lot of time at our gramimother's, too.
Now she's especially gone on camellias. That's how I
happened to come to Lafayette today, to see if Captain
Bob I mean 130b Mouton, tile mayor, who's quite an
authority  could help me locate a rare vat icty she wanted.
He did. I've got it in my

42 VICTORINE

car right now. I'd drive up to the door and let you see it, but
of course it doesn't look like much at this time of year."

 "I'm sure your grandmother and your sister would be of
the greatest help to us in restoring our long-neglected
garden," Moise LaBranche said pleasantly. "That is, if they
would be so kind, and if it wouldn't be an imposition to ask
for their."

 "They'd be very flatters d," Prosper answered
unhesitatingly. Then he glanced at Victorine, who had said
nothing. It was just as he expected. She was waiting to have
the reasons for Anne Marie's contentment explained.

 "Of course, she doesn't spend all her time gardening," he
continued. "The girls get together a lot for morning coffees
and slumber parties and things like that. And then the whole
crowd girls and fellows both go to dances, of course."

"You mean tines dansa~ts or balls?"

 "No I think they have tea dances in New Orleans, but
around here we're in our offices until nearly suppertime,
which is rather early, and then go to dances afterward. At
Elks' Hall and places like that."

"I see."

 "Of course, we do lots of other things, too. Sunday
afternoons, this time of year, we generally go out and shoot
snakes."

"Shoot snakes!"

"Yes at the levee cutoff s, you know, where we go
crawfishing."

"Does Anne Marie do that;"

 "Once in a while. She doesn't really enjoy it the way most
of us do. But she's a good shot. Not quite as good as our
mother, though. She's really a whiz! Learned when she was
a kid. Paula Bennett, our secretary at the Claudia, is mighty
good, too."

 "I see," Victorine said again. But Prosper did not feel at all
sure that she did. "I hope you'll be contented around here,
too," he went on rather lamely. "We have a nice crowd of
young people. I'd be very pleased to have my friends meet
you and to bring my mother and Anne Marie to call. Also,
to come again myself."

 His self-confidence was gradually returning. Maybe
Victorine did not see. But he was quite prepared to make an
effort to show her and he thought he could. Moise
l.aBranche, who had now finished his tea, was reaching for
his cane and Prosper sprang forward to help him before
Victorine, wedged in behind the tea table, could do so. The
old man accepted Prosper's prompt assistance with a smile
and again held out his hand, taking Prosper's in that
surprisingly strong clasp.

THE GOLD SLIPPEBS 43

 "Do so, by all means," he said agreeably. "I have enjoyed
our little chat very mucll, and shall look forward to others.
Just now, if you will excuse me, I shall go to my room for
the short rest that I usually take at this hour. But I hope you
will accept another bourbon and soda from Vicky. Doubtless
you and she can find something to talk about while you
drink it. And then you might enjoy taking a walk together.
I believe that was your plan before you came up to the
house."

Chapter Four

ALTHOUGH HIS ACQTTAINTi NCfi WITII VlCTOr~lNfi
LABRANCH~ HAD APPAn

cntly begun so auspiciously, Prosper was very far from
satisfied with the way in which it Progressed. In the first
place, he could not forgive her for having played a trick on
him. Despite his assumption to the contrary  an assumption
which all appearances seemed to support she had im-
mediately told her father flow she and Prosper happened to
meet; it was the old man's deft handling of the situation and
not Prosper's own effrontery which was responsibl c for its
smooth success. The realisation of this was a considerable
blow to his pride, and Moise was hardly out of hearing when
Prosper, with characteristic rashness, told Victorine that even
if she had no fault to final with his technique, he did not
think mLIc

of hers.

  "If that's the case, perhaps we'd better not go for a walk
after all," she said. "I wouldn't want to irritate you still
further. Evidently, you're verity easily upset. But, of course,
you're welcome to another drink. Shall I pour it for you this
time; I think I know now how you like it."

  The last thing on earth Prosper wanted was to forego the
suggested walk, and he asked himself savagely if he would
ever learn to keep his big mouth shut; then he humbled
himself to apologise and plead. This did no good, either.
Victorine poured the suggested drink and it was very good;
but it was evident that the walk was out, for that day anyhow.
When he could no longer prolong his sipping, Prosper had no
choice but to take his reluctant departure, though he finally
wrung a halfpromise from his hostess that their promenade
was only postponed and, on the strength of this, made a very
definite promise himself that he would return the following
day.

TIlE GOLD SLIPPERS 45

 He had some difficulty in making up his mind whether he
was glad or sorry that he was prevented from doing this.
When he reached home, he found his mother at her piano.
She was an exceptionally fine musician and could easily have
become a professional; as it was, she was generous in
responding to requests for her services at charitable and civic
affairs, though she never took the initiative in offering to
perform; what she really enjoyed was playing in small family
groups, or by herself, as she was doing now. She never
seemed so relaxed or so quietly content as at such times, and
Prosper stood for a few moments on the gallery, looking at
her through a window before he entered the house and made
his arrival known. Everyone considered Lavinia Villac a very
handsome woman, and he shared this general opinion; but it
was only at times like this he realized that she once had been
and, indeed, still could be really beautiful. She had a faultless
figure, golden hair in which the white hairs, if any, did not
show, and soft smooth skin, unmarred by wrinkles; but her
expression, her manner and the severely tailor-made style in
which she habitually dressed at the mill combined to rob her
of the exquisite femininity which Anne Marie possessed to
such a supreme degree, and which made men like Captain
Bob say they were afraid of her and describe her as
"alarmingly efficient," instead of merely as "efficient." From
the photographs taken in her extreme youth, inadequate
though these were, Prosper had been able to judge that she
had not always been characterised by such an expression or
such a manner, nor so addicted to tailor-made clothes. He
had never dared ask her what had brought about the change,
but he had often wondered. As far as he knew, she had had
a happy girlhood and a happy marriage; he could vaguely
remember his father, who had not died until Prosper was
nearly eight years old, and the great devotion of Claude
Villac to his wife had been obvious even to childish eyes. But
his death had not crushed his widow; though he recalled
many other details of early family life, Prosper could not
remember that he had ever seen his mother weep or show
any of the other signs supposedly indicative of being
"prostrated by grief." She had always been calm, collected and
competent too calm, too collected and too competent to
meet the average male standards of beauty rather than
handsomeness, except at such moments as the present one.
Now, as Prosper stood looking at her, seated before her piano
and dressed in one of those Bowing robes d'ir~terie:`r, which
she wore at home in the evenings, she was temporarily
transformed into the type of woman he would have supposed
she might normally be....

As if conscious of another presence, she glanced up from
the keyboard,

46 VICTORINE

rose immediately and, as .oon as she actually caught sight of
him, went out to meet him in the hall. She and Anne Marie
had eaten their supper early, she told him, because Anne
Marie bad gone on schedule to the card party at which he
had evidently forgotten he was also expected to appear. He
would have to snatch a hasty bite some gumbo had been
kept warm for him and then hurry off, explaining his
tardiness as best he could. Lavinia did not 53y any of this
disagreeably, but she did manage to convey to her son that
she thought he was rather irresponsible for a man of
twenty-seven; and though she listened with apparent interest
to the account of his visits v. ith Captain Bob and the
LaBranches, she did not encourage him to go into much
detail about either. It was obvious she thought he should be
on his way to the card party, where annoyed and impatient
guests were doubtless waiting for him to make up a table;
and it was also obvious she had news of her own to break
and that she felt she must do this without delay.

  "Your grandfather Winslow has decided to go to the
meeting of the Rice Millers' Association in New Orleans,"
she told him. "He feels it's very important for planters to act
together with millers and map out some kind of a program
that will convince more people in the North that rice is good
for something be;idcs inexpensive puddings a good many
of them seem to be still labor~ng under that delusion,
instead of recognizing it as a major staple, like wheat. He's
very pleased because he's been asked to make an address
and head a committee for a promotional campaign. I agree
that it all sounds very worth while doubly so now that his
new variety, which he's decided to call Princess Mary, is just
coming on the market. He's invited you to go to New
Orleans with him and I've accepted for you. I felt it was not
only a kind thought on your grandfather's part, but that it
represented a good opportunity for you to do some
promotional work on your own account."

  Prosper repressed, with difficulty, a remark to the effect
that, even if he were irresponsible, he was old enough to
decide for himself whether he should accept or decline
invitations. Moreover, he had long since ceased to be
excited by the new varieties of rice which his grandfather
Winslow's successful experiments put on the market almost
annually and which were generally given some family name,
dressed up with a title. The previous one had been Lady
Lavinia....

  "When does all this good work come off?" he inquired,
between gulps of gumbo.

"You leave on the morning train tomorrow."

T R E G O L D S L I P P E R S 47

  "Like hell I do! I've got a date tomorrow with Victorine
LaBranche, that knockout I ve been telling you about."

  "Anne Marie and I will call," his mother said calmly. "That
would be the proper thing to do in any case especially as I
gather your first approach to the LaBranches was rather
informal, to say the least. I will explain about the importance
of this conference. If she's a sensible girl, Victorine will
understand."

  "I'm not at all sure she is a sensible girl. But she's a damn
amusing and good-looking one about the most amusing and
best looking I ever saw. Listen, Mother "

"Yes?"

  "Nothing. You go ahead and call with Anne Marie. You're
right, that's the next step. You can explain I had to go to
New Orleans with Grandfather.... Well, I'd butter be getting
into a clean shirt on the double, hadn't I?"

  He shoved back his chair, kissed his mother casually on top
of her head and bolted upstairs. Lavinia looked after him
thoughtfully; she had not expected that he would take her
offhand disposal of his time quite so pleasantly, especially
after she heard about Victorine LaBranche. But despite her
suspicions concerning the Salle des Tuileries, she naturally
had not guessed about the gold slippers; and Prosper had
suddenly realized that the opportunity to get these had,
almost miraculously, presented itself. His mother was right;
if Victorine were a sensible girl, she would understand that
is, about the importance of the Rice Millers' Association. If
she were not sensible, that would be just too bad. Because,
greatly attracted as he had been by Victorine LaBranche, he
had no intention of giving up the chance to get the gold
slippers for Titine Dargereux.

  The meeting of the Rice Millers' Association lasted four
days and, after it was over, a buyer from Rotterdam who had
attended the conference, but who said he could not also take
time for a trip to Gowley, succeeded in detaining Prosper for
two days more, because the Dutchman wanted to talk at
Icngth with a representative miller. Thus an entire week was
very effectually used up in ways, which however interesting
they might be to his grandfather, and however important to
the rice industry as a whole, were not particularly intriguing
to Prosper. Moreover, he was annoyed by the questions in
his opinion, unnecessarily prying which his grandfather kept
asking about the contents of a wellwrapped box from Holmes
that, on the third day of their stay in New

48 VICTORINE

Orleans, made its appearance in the room which the two
were sharing at the St. Charles I lotel.

 "It looks like a shoe box," Brent Winslow remarked, after
tipping the bellboy who had brought it to the door, for, by
ill luck, he was closer to it than his grandson when the
parcel was delivered.

 Prosper relieved him of the box and, without making any
direct answer, tried to cram it into his suitcase. The attempt
was unsuccessful because the suitcase was too shallow, and
he was obliged to leave the box out in full sight where, he
knew, it would continue to provoke curiosity.

 "But it isn't large enough to hold shoes for you. Did your
mother ask you to buy some for her t r Anne Marie?"

"No, not exactly."

"I wouldn't have thought so. She likes to make her own
selections."

 Again, Prosper gave no direct answer. He could see that
his grandfather was considering other female relatives for
whom a young man might conceivably have tmdertaken a
commission and dismissing them all as improbable in such
a connection.

 "I suppose you young folks give prizes at your parties
sometimes," Brent said at last.

 "Yes, we do." Prosper spoke promptly this time. After all,
the statement was quite true.

"But shoes seem to me a queer kind of a prize."

 "I don't know that they're any queerer than lots of
others.... Grandfather, I think that Dutchman must be
waiting for us. He said he'd meet us in the lobby around
three and it's five minutes past."

 The appointment with the buyer from Rotterdam was
certainly a godsend. It allayed, though it did not completely
still, Brent Winslow's suspicions, and Prosper managed to
continue the theme of prize-giving at parties without too
much prevarication and without too much interference as far
as his sense of satisfaction was concerned. He felt he had
been extremely fortunate in finding a pair of gold slippers,
which he was sure would appeal to Titine, in the right size.
As far as that went, he had been fortunate in finding out the
size. It had suddenly occurred to him, on his way to the card
party, that he did not know this, and that he would have no
chance to make inquiries himself before his unexpected and
precipitate departure for New Orleans. But he had managed
to corner Maurice Benoit who, like himself, was more or less
an habitue of the Salle des Tuileries and asl; a favor of him.

"Listen, 'Rice! Do me a favor, will you? Tomorrow night."

"Sure. If it won't keep me from going you know where."

TIIE (:OLD SLIPPERS 49

 "No, that's just where I figured you'd be going especially
as you had to come to this damn card party tonight to please
your family. The first time Titine comes around with her
accordion, say something offhand, but rather loud, to one of
the others in our gang about its being a shame I got dragged
off to New Orleal7s by my grandfather, with no notice at all."

"Okay. That's easy."

 "'Course it's easy. Then take a sort of casual look at Titine
and laugh and tell her it's too bad she's slot such big feet."

"Has she got big feet? I never looked at her feet. I've
looked "

 "All right, all right. She hasn't got especially big feet, as a
matter of fact that is, they're short, but they're sort of wide.
Anyhow, say just that and then send me a special delivery
letter to the St. Charles, telling me what she comes back
with."

 Maurice grinned and winked. "I don't quite get you, my
friend, but I'll do like you say. Look, we'd better get back to
our tables, hadn't we? Not that there's really any hurry.
Everybody's got to talking about this scheme someone's
dreamed up of having a carnival next year to celebrate
Crowley's fortieth anniversary. Might be a good idea at that,
don't you think so?"

 Prosper thought it would be a very good idea, especially as
he was confident that, if there were such a festival in '27, and
it was staged along the same lines as other local celebrations
already in existence, Anne Marie would almost certainly be
the Rice Queen that is, if she still had not made up her
mind to marry anyone in the meantime. He joined readily
enough in the talk about decorations, exhibitions, contests,
Boats and parades as visualized for a future festival; but every
now and then, throughout that evening and the next day and
night, his thoughts reverted to the errand he had entrusted to
Maurice; and he was greatly relieved when the special
delivery arrived on schedule.

 It contained only two lines. "What you mean I got big feet,
me? I wear a s-D. That ain't so big, no." Prosper, having
carefully torn up this important communication, slipped away
from the convention long enough to buy a pair of gold
slippers, the high heels studded with rhinestones, the buckle
to the ankle strap similarly ornamented, in size s-D.

Chapter Five

  ON HIS RETIIRN TO CROWLfiY, PROSPER FOUND
THAT A VERY EFFECTIVE

entente forcible had already been established between the
Villacs and the LaBranches. The call which his mother and
sister had made had been very promptly returned; Victorine
and Anne Marie had taken an immediate liking to each other
and were soon visiting back and forth as if they had known
each other for years and it was, therefore, the most natural
thing in the world that they should do so. Moreover, in spite
of her guarded comments, Lavinia made it so obvious that
Victorine was almost exactly the sort of girl most suitable for
her son that the inevitable male reaction took place: Prosper
told himself that no one was going to choose his girl for him.

 He might not have told himself this so frequently or so
forcefully if Titine had not entered the picture, or if Victorine
had given the slightest indication that she had "fallen for
him," or that she might be persuaded to do so. Prosper would
have been only too glad to show her that, favorable as was
the first impression she had made on him, each successive
meeting had made this impression even more favorable, but
Victorine was wholly unhelpful. She did not avoid him on any
of the numerous occasions when they met, but neither did
she create nor even encourage any when he could see her
alone; and though the give and take which he had at first
admired so much actually changed very little in character, he
admired it less and less all the time. It required an effort to
match her in repartee and he was constitutionally easygoing;
besides, he was expending a good deal of energy in a
different direction namely, in trying to find the time and the
place which were both propitious for giving Titine the gold
slippers.

THE GOLD SLIPPERS 51

 So far, he had had no luck at all in that direction. Certainly
he could not present them to her at the Salle des Tuileries;
and though he thought he had located, approximately, the
place where she lived, he was still cautious enough to realize
that it would be extremely unwise to go there without being
perfectly sure that the coast was clear; an encounter with
either August, or August's gumshoe man, the Professor,
would not only get him nowhere; it might have very
unpleasant results all around. Chafing under the delay,
Prosper tried to tell himself that it did not matter, that he
was a fool to hang around Titine anyhow, that Victorine was
in every respect far more desirable company. But these
arguments were unconvincing. Not only were the things she
said hard to cope with; her whole outlook was so alien to his
that he found they did not speak the same language
figuratively any more than they did literally. It was not that
she put on airs; it was simply that her horizons were so much
broader than his, her education so much more liberal, her
background of wealth and culture so much more impressive,
that she constantly betrayed all this. She had been to school
in both Italy and England as well as France; during her
vacations she had apparently traveled to every part of
Europe; and these travels embraced not only major capitals,
all the way from Stockholm to Madrid, and fashionable
resorts like Deauville and the Lido; they included small
out-of-the-way cities and remote islands of which Prosper
knew little or nothing, but to which Victorine referred so
casually and with so little explanation it was evident she
assumed that he did for he was honest enough to confess
that she would not have done so merely to embarrass him.
She had been enraptured with the forest of palms at Elche,
but disappointed in the mosaics at Ravenna; she liked quiet
Ischia better than tourist-ridden Capri, but Cyprus and
Rhodes better still. Her mother's plan of keeping her abroad,
merely to get her out of the way, had resulted in great
opportunities: her father's people those who still lived in
Alsace and who still called themselves Zweig had cordially
offered to consider her one of the family and to give her the
same advantages they gave their own daughters; Hortense,
nee Duandeau, LaBranche en premieres noces, Parkhurst en
secondes, Sturdevant en troisiemes, graciously accepted this
invitation, even before she consented to permit Victorine to
see her father except at stated intervals. The Zweigs were
immensely rich, they kept open house, they went everywhere
and knew everyone, not only in mercantile and banking
circles, but in those allegedly more aristocratic and exclusive.
Victorine thought no more of having a duke for a partner or
visiting a princess than she did of going to a Lance at City
Hall in Crowley or spending

52 VICTORINE

the night with Anne Marie afterward, so that they could talk
it over in the course of a slumber party.

 According to the provisions of the divorce, Moise could
reclaim his daughter for half of every year after she reached
her eighteenth birthday; by then Hortense was quite willing
to extend the time, and Moise and Victorine had profited by
that eagerness. For the last three years before coming to
Lafayette, they had spent their winters in a luxurious New
York penthouse, near the great Fifth Avenue emporium
emblazoned with the LaBranche name, except while they
were traveling in California and the Middle Wcst, where
Moise also owned great mercantile establishments and
maintained pieds-a-terre. Their summers had been spent in
Paris and other c enters of fashion, where Moise had supple-
mented his own designs by selections from the great
couturiers. He still liked to make such selections personally
and Victorine had been delighted to accompany him to the
showings. It was a source of gratification to him that she had
inherited his sense of style; he had never seen a girl who set
off fashionable clothes better herself, or who revealed more
perception and taste in the interpretation of the current
vogue and the forecast of the future one. He was equally
gratified because she was interested in his great
establishments as a whole, and insisted on spending
considerable time in them, instead of going off to college, as
he had sacrificially suggested. She enjoyed their box at the
Metropolitan and seldom missed the opening of an
important play. Her coming-out party at Sherry's had been
a spectacular success and, for that matter, so had all of her
first season in society. Bu. she wanted to know the ropes of
the business, too, she said; and because Moise LaBranche,
like Brent Winslow, had no son, it was a source of pride to
him that his daughter had both the desire and the ability to
carry on where he must eventually leave off. Victorine's
presence at the great emporiums had come to be taken
more or less for granted; she made surprisingly few
mistakes, and the buyers, the models, the sales force and the
credit bureau all came to like her. She and her father began
to make plans which would create not only a title and an
office for her, but a definite responsibility of her own, when
Moise had a sudden heart attack that put an end to the
project. It was absolutely essential, his physicians informed
him, that he should lead a quieter existence and live in a
milder climate that is, if he expected to live at all. It was
then that he had bethought him of his old home and asked
Victorine if she would be willing to go there with him.
Unhesitatingly, she had said she would be delighted to do
so. Her father had no real reason to believe that there had
been mental

T 11 F. C O L D S L I P P E ~ S 53

reservations in her ready acceptance of the complete change
in their mode of ]ifc. Just the same he had not been without
his anxious moments.

 Prosper Noms not anxious so much as he was annoyed; he
did not feel that Victorine fitted into the Louisiana picture
and he blamed this on her rather than on Louisiana It
irritated him to hear her praises sung first by his sister, then
by his mottler, then by his grandfather and grandmother
Winslow and, finally, by his circle of friends which, in a wid-
ening degree, soon became Vi torine's circle, too. From the
first she was popular, and the attriLtltcs which confused or
annoyed him did not seem to confuse or annoy anyone else,
which added to his confusion and annoyance. She was a
beautiful dancer and, at her father's suggestion, the huge
drawing room at their house became the scene of parties
which either supplemented or supplanted those held
elsewhere in the vicinity. The song, Allons d Lafayette, was
heard with increasing frequency in Crow]ey and, when the
singers caroled this, what they really meant was "Let's go to
Vicky's!" Her invitations were eagerly sought and highly
prized, and she herself seemed no less pleased to accept
those extended to her. But quite without conscious malice,
she asked questions which revealed, unmistakably, that tile
latter involved functions that were not Up to the standards of
those which she had hitherto taken as a matter of course.

 The first of these happenect to be a watermelon party, held
at Pecan Grove, the plantation on the outskirts of Lafayette
belonging to the Benoits, whose elder son Didier held a
favored place among Anne Marie's many suitors. The
plantation had changed hands and names several times
before the Benoits acquired it; neither Anne Marie nor
Prosper remembered, until their mother reminded them, that
it had once been Hortense Duandeau's home in fact, that
she had grown up there, and that her wedding reception,
when she married Moise LaBranche, had been he ld there.
By the time Lavinia had recalled this to her son and
daughter, Victorine had already been invited and had
accepted.

"Did you tell her where the party was going to be?" Lavinia
inquired.

"Of course. At the Benoits'.

 Lavinia made a gcsttne of ir.lpaticncc. "Does Victorine
know where the Benoits live?"

"She hasn't been there yet, f that's what you mean."

 "No, it's not what I mean. Does she know that Pecan
Grove, as it's called now, used to be called Bosquet cles Pins
and before that Belle Elermine? Does she know that before
it belonged to the Benoits it be

54 v I cTor~lN~

longed to the Graviers and before that, to the Marchands
and before that, to the Duandeaux?"

 "I don't know. We didn't ask her all that. We only asked
her if she'd like to go to a watermelon party and she said
yes."

 "Sometimes I think I have the stupidest children in C
rowley.You'd better ask her."

 "What do you want us to ask her, for the love of Mike?
She can't very well live in Lafayette and never go near
Pecan Grove, if she's going to see anything of us. Not with
things the way they are between Didier and Anne Marie."

 Prosper spoke angrily. He did not like being called stupid,
and still less did he like being reminded that he had
committed another faux pas in connection with Victorine;
there had been too many already. Anne Marie, amiable and
peace loving as she was, did not like being called stupid,
either, but she might have let this pass; however, with
unwonted vehemence, she inquired what her brother meant,
talking about "the way things are"; nothing at all was
decided, as far as she and Didier were concerned; she still
had not made up her mind, but at the moment she halfway
thought that perhaps Dale Fontenot....

 A tempest in a teapot occurred in the Villac household.
Nevertheless, as matters turned out, there was no
awkwardness about the site of the entertainment. Moise I
aBranche, in this instance, had reasoned in much the same
way Prospcr had: to the effect that Victorine could not live
in Lafayette without ester going near Belle Hermine, alias
Bosquet des Pins, alias Pecan Grove, especially in view of
the fact that she seemed to be seeing a good deal of the
young Villacs and that one of them was believed to have a
rather special interest in the place. He had, therefore,
quietly and without bitterness, enlightened Victorine as to
his own previous association with it and she had taken the
information in her stride. It was later that the awkwardness
arose.

 For Victorine had never been to a watermelon party. She
was utterly unprepared for a feast which consisted solely of
the featured melons and boiled corn, which was served at
long crude tables scattered casually about a rather untidy
yard, and which was lighted by candles in paper bags,
supplemented by a large artificial moon, rigged up among
the pecan trees to take the place of the real one, which was
dark at that time of the month. The effects of her European
upbringing were still strong enough to make her regard corn
as fodder for cattle, rather than as food for gentlefolk; and
the custom of gnawing it off the cob, and then licking one's
fingers to rid these of surplus butter, did nothing to

T IT E (' O 1. D S L I P P E R S 55

lessen her distaste for it. She managed to do away with one
ear, eating it as everyone else did and without visible signs of
shrinking, and she managed somewhat better with the
watermelon, though this seemed to her almost as messy as
the coin and woefully insipid to boot. When at last the
satiated guests rose fro in the long tables and she heard
murmured suggestions about going on to the Bellevue Club
in Opclousas, she drew Prosper aside and whispered to him.

"Will we have supper there ?"

 "Supper!" Prosper exclaimed in astonishment. "Why, we've
just had supper! Six ears of corn and half a watermelon ought
to be enough to keep anyone from going hungry."

 "Maybe you've eaten six ears of corn and half a
watermelon. I haven't."

"It's your own fault then. 1 hey were there to eat."

 "I don't like corn and watermelon very well. I only ate
enough to be polite."

 "You don't like corn and watermelon!" Prosper echoed in
genuine astonishment. "What do you like?"

 "Well, most things. Soup :Ind fish and meat and
vegetables except corn and salads and cheese and sweets
and fruit any kind of fruit except watermelon. Of course,
there are some things I like better than others artichokes as
a vegetal~lc and Pont l'Eveque as a cheese and Barle-Duc
as a jelly and Reine ('laude plunks as a fruit, for instance. But
I don't really care. Anything that goes illtO the making of a
civilized meal."

 "You'd better go b.ZCk to F,ancc," Prospcr said curtly,
turning on his heel.

 Of course, hvo minutes afterward he was sorry. I-Ie knew
that Victorine was not putting on airs, that she was simply
speaking candidly, that she really was hungry. But by the time
he turned back to her, she was talking with Maurice, Didicr's
younger brother, and she danced with him most of the time
they were at Farmer Veltin's, as the Bellevue Club was
generally called. She permitted Prosper to take her home, but
this was only on tile recognised principle that a girl returned
from a party with the same man who tool; her to it, unless, in
the course of thc evening, he had passed beyond the bounds
of what was generally termed fresh to what was termed
beyond the pale. As Prosper had not even been fresh, she
could not possibly have refused to ride with him; ho~vever,
when he deposited her at her front door, and said
sarcastically that since she did not care fair local clelicacies,
served local style, she

56 VICTORINP

probably would not want to go with him Friday night to the
sea food supper at Lake Catahoula, she announced that
there was nothing she liked better than sea food, but that
she had already promised Maurice Benoit she would go to
the party with him.

 Prosper drove home with utter disregard for the state of
the roads. He had no way of guessing that Moise
LaBranche, at this very same time, was admonishing his
daughter in a way which was both wise and soothing. It was
not his habit to stay up for her, since his strength would no
longer permit him to keep such long hours without rest. But,
after retiring to his room, he remained propped high on
pillows in his magnificent Louis XIV bed, clad in silk
pajamas made to his measure by Sulka, and reading one
periodical after another, until she came knocking at his door
to announce her return and tell him about the events of the
evening. Then he put aside his reading material and listened
intently to everything she had to say, meanwhile observing
her with his shrewd and kindly eyes. On this particular
occasion, he spoke with more emphasis than usual.

 "We will have corn and watermelon, turn and turn about,
at our table every day as long as they remain in season. You
will eat just a little each time and stop when it seems to go
against you. But it will not do so for long. You will lo arn to
like it. It is very important that you should."

"I don't see why."

 "Because when in Romc, you should do as Romans do.
There never was a wiser proverb. And it is not based on the
theory that you must be a slave to custom. It is based partly
on the theory that you can get a great deal of additional
pleasure out of life if you learn there is more than one good
way of doing things, and that two or three or even four may
be equally good, though utterly different. It is also based on
the theory that gentlefolk accept hospitality in the spirit in
which it is offered that is to say, with the intent to please
and not to offend and with the hope and belief that this had
been done. I am sure it was the case in this instance. The
Bcnoits are very kind people very fine people."

 "The Benoits don't know I didn't like their silly artificial
moon and their horrible food and their messy service. I was
very careful not to let anyone find that out, except Prosper."

 "And didn't Prosper invite you to go with him to this
party? Wasn't it also his hope, as your escort of the evening,
that you would enjoy yourself?"

THE GOLD SLIPPERS 57

 "Yes, I suppose so. But it won't hurt Prosper to be taken
down a peg. He's terribly cocky over nothing terribly
provincial."

 "Ah! . . . Well now, I confess he has impressed me rather
favorably. I somehow had the idea that he had made the
same sort of an impression on you."

"Oh, I like him! But he needs to be put in his place."

 "What sort of a place, Victorine? The boy has a very good
background. His parents and both his maternal and paternal
grandparents have always been highly respected. His mother
is extremely capable, besides being a woman of fine
character; very few men have made as great a success as she
has in a highly competitive field. And his sister is one of the
loveliest girls I have seen in a long while; I am not at all
surprised that so many young men arc in love with her."
Moise paused for a moment, as if in pleasant contemplation
of Anne Marie's blond beauty, and as if considering that he
might well have been very much in love with her himself, if
she had only been born half a century earlier. "Prosper has
been brought up in a good home," the old gentleman went
on. "And has had a good education; that is, I realize it has
not taken him very far afield, but there is plenty of time for
that still, and in going to a local school and a local college, he
has followed local custom  a custom for which I believe the
closeness of family ties is largely responsible. The various
members of most families hereabouts do not like long
separations from their kith and kin; they form a very closely
knit unit. Such a unit is a valuable part of community
life more valuable, I'm inclined to think, than a contribution
of outstanding scholarship or sophistication. I have always
been very sorry that you were not brought up in the midst of
a devoted family circle, Victorine. If I could have chosen, I
would much rather have seen you reared in the way Prosper
has been than the way you have been."

 He paused again for a moment and Victorine knew that
this time he was thinking that Hortense had left him for
another man, instead of being faithful to her husband as long
as he lived and to his memory after his death, like Lavinia
Villac. Victorine also knew that Lavinia Villac had been a
wonderful mother as well as a wonderful wife; she had not
set her children an example of fickleness, frivolity and
restlessness, but of loyalty, serious purpose and steadfastness.
It was all too true that Prosper had had a good background
and a good home and even certain advantages which she,
Victorine, had lacked, for all her advanced schooling and
extensive travel. Moise, realizing that he had succeeded in
making a point, continued to press it.

58 VICTORINE

 "Perhaps Prosper think!. you need to be put in your place,"
he said mildly. "After all, his mother no doubt mentioned to
him speaking kindly and rather casually that the Villacs
and the Winslows have a good deal to overlook when it
comes to an ah association with the LaBranches."

"Overlook!" Victorine exclaimed, flaring immediately.

 "Yes, my dear. It is distasteful, even painful, for me to
mention this, since your mother was once my wife my
dearly loved wife. But she has created a great deal of
scandal by her conduct, not once, but over and over again,
and this so andal has not been caused by idle and malicious
gossip; it is, alas! founded on sad and sober truth. Families
like the Villacs and perhaps even more particularly the
Winslows do not tolerate such scandal readily and they
have remained untouched by it. I would be willing to take
my oath that the complete chastity of Mary Winslow, Lavinia
Winslow Villac and Anne Marie Villac has never been so
much as questioned; like Caesar's wife, they are above
suspicion. As far as that goes, I have never heard Brent
Winslow's name or Claude Villac's coupled improperly with
that of any woman."

 "What about Prosper Villac's7" inquired Victorine, still
flaring. "I've heard lots of people say that, whenever he stays
overtime at the mill, Paula Bennett, that slab-sided secretary
of his, stays, too not that I can see how she could lure him
into an illicit affair."

 "Neither can I," Moise LaBranche answered mildly.
"Therefore, I can't understand w hy you ! hould pay any
attention to such unintelligent and unjust gossip. It is no' in
character for you to subscribe to the unintelligent or the
unjust."

 "Well, there's plenty of other gossip. Ele goes a lot to a
place called the Salle des Tuileries a c heap dance hall
over a grocery store on the road to Cypremort. Maurice
Benoit goes there a lot and, once in a while, Didier goes
with him not very often though; everyone says he wouldn't
have a prayer of getting anywhere with Anne Marie if he
did. Dale Fontenot does some of his grocery shopping at
August's not much, because he gets most of his supplies
from New Orleans or the plantation store; and he does his
errands in the daytime, unless he's delayed at the sugar mill.
Even then, he doesn't go into the dance hall, except maybe
to say hello to his cronies and have a friendly glass with
them. Anyway, he's so crazy about Anne Marie that I don't
believe he knows there's another girl in the world. But lots
of people think that the reason Prosper goes there is that
he's stuck on a girl there named Titine, a cheap little Cajun
who plays th' accordion, but that he can't get very far,

T H E C. O L D S L I P P E R S 59

because August Scholtze, the bootlegger who runs this joint,
is her 'protector."'

 Moise LaBranche shifted his position slightly; he was very
tired and in considerable pain and he hoped that this change
might relieve him. But his speech betrayed neither suffering
nor exhaustion; in fact, when he next addressed his daughter,
it was with increased emphasis and something akin to
severity.

 "Some such talk has reached me, too," he said. "But I have
not taken it as seriously as you have. Indeed, you may be very
sure that if I had learned anything about Prosper r Villac
which I thought would make him an unsuitable companion
for you, I should not have continued to welcome him to this
house. He is somewhat irresponsible and impetuous, but I
think he will gradually outgrow those youthful
characteristics the very fact that his mother is so
outstandingly capable and his sister so imperturbably amiable
may have had disadvantages, as well as advantages, as far as
he is concerned. Someday he will be jolted into dependability
and prudence. He is high spirited, pleasure loving and
intensely virile; no doubt, he has committed a few follies
along the way. But I should think they would hate about run
their course by now and, in any case, that is not what Wt'
were talking about, my dear. If you are looking for a
Galahad, I think you may have quite a long search and
quite a dull one. Instead of doing that, if you are really
attracted to this young man, and feel reasonably sure that
things have not yet gone very far between him and the dance
hall performer, why do you not make yourself a little more
agreeable and a little more accessible before it is too late?"

 Moise picked up the magazine he had laid aside, as if to
indicate that the conversation was now at an end; but
Victorine knew it was not, for he never actually dismissed her
without a good night kiss and the fondly expressed hope that
she would have sweet dreams. Presently, he laid down the
magazine again.

 "There is another thing, besides those I mentioned a few
moments ago, that may be troubling those good people," he
said, once more speaking mildly. "And that is the question of
religion."

"Mr. and Mrs. Winslow aren't Catholics. Neither is Mrs.
Villac."

 "No, I understand that. Mls. Winslow has always been a
rather strict Presbyterian. Her husband, [ believe, is not a
communicant, but he goes to church with her more or less
regularly and upholds her in all her religious activities in
fact, contributes most generously to the charitable causes in
which she is interested. Moreover, they sent their only
daughter to an excellent Catholic school, recognising that it
was the

60 VICTOIlINE

only good one available in this Vicinity the time, and very
properly putting that consideration above intolerance. Airs.
Villac has remained a Protestant herself, but she is by no
means anti-Catholic, and she has loyally fulfilled her promise
to bring up her children in the Catholic faith, though a
lesser woman might have argued that her husband's early
death released her from such a promise, since she alone was
responsible for directing their upbringing. And Catholic or
not, every member of both these families is a Christian."

 "You mean they millet look down on us socially because
you're  because we're Jews?"

 "Yes, my dear, that is e ;actly what I mean. To be sure,
you were baytized. I kept my promise. also to that extent.
But your mother automatically deserted the Church when
she divorced me and married that poor simpleton,
Parkhurst. Her desertion tools a double form when she
divorced him and married the showy Sturdevant. You have
never made your First Communion or been confirmed; your
mother did not take the trouble to see that you did. The
nearest place to a home you have ever had, until recently,
was given you by my Jewish relatives, the Zweigs, and
naturally they took no such steps, either. I have failed to do
so, not because I did not think of it, but because I reasoned
that I had no further responsibility in the matter, since you
were a grown girl when you came back to live with me, and
never mentioned it yourself. I believe now that I was at
fault. I should have taken the initiative, in order to fulfill my
prenuptial agreement that any children of my marriage
should be brought up Catholics. No age limit was set. And
because of my omission, I think I will let your statement
stand as you amended it. The Winslows and the Villacs may
look down cm us socially not mer ly on me because we
are Jews."

"I think it's outrageous for them even to imagine that they
could!"

 Moise sighed gently. "No, my dear, it's not outrageous, it's
logical as they understand logic. But perhaps I was wrong
to raise quite such a debatable point at this hour." His eyes
strayed toward the clock, whose hands were pointing to four.
"After all, we only started out to talk about corn and
watermelon. By the way, you must learn to like court
bouillon, also, in case you do not take to it naturally. No
doubt, you will be going to court bouillon parties very soon,
too. You may fare somewhat better at those, because you
will get French bread and red wine with your fish stew and
you can always make a meal of those. Still you should take
no chances. Meanwhile, I hope you raided the icebox before
coming upstairs? I'm glad, very glad. Good night, my darling,
and sweet dreams.'

Chapter Six

 ALL THIS, OF PROSPER DID NOT KNOW. IT WOULD
HAVE CALMED

and encouraged him considerably if he had, even though
Victorine did not profit, as promptly as she might have, by
her father's good counsel. Watching her with loving concern,
Mo-ise admitted to himself that perhaps he had made a
mistake in bringing up the question of religion; for, far from
deciding that she would like to talk over her anomalous
position with some sympathetic third person, as he advised,
she went out of her way to proclaim herself a Jewess.

 "Is there any special reason why you named that dog
Levvy?" Prosper asked her one day, when they had gone to
Charenton to the annual Fourth of July swimming party and
she had insisted on taking the Dalmatian with her.

 "Yes, two of them. First, it's an abbreviation of Four
Eleven the firehouse signal. Second, it's just a modified
form of Levi. I wanted to label her as a Dog of a Jew."'

Prosper flushed and did not immediately answer. Victorine
persisted.

"You realize I'm a Jcwess, d''n't you, Prosper?"

 "Well, I reckon I knew, somewhere in the back of my mind,
that your father was a Jew. But I never thought about it
much. He's such a grand person and everything."

"You mean to say you think a Jew can't be a grand person?"

 "No, of course not. Look, Vicky, can't we just sit here on
the beach and sun ourselves? It's such `~ pretty day and
everything. I'm sorry I asked a stupid question about L evvy.
I didn't mean to offend you."

 "You didn't offend me by asking about Levvy. But you do
offend me when you try to shy off from admitting you mind
because I'm a Jewess."

62 VICTORINE

 "Good God, I haven't shied off from admitting any such
thing! Besides, you were baptized,weren't you? The
Duandeaux were good Catholics  at least, so I've heard;
they've all moved away now. Your mother must have been
one."

 "Yes, she was one, but she isn't any more. You must know
that, too. You must know just what she is."

Prosper flushed still more deeply.

  "Vicky, I'm sorry. I keep saying the wrong thing without
intending to. What I tried to say was, you're only half "

  "Half Jewish? Well, thanks for the intended compliment!
But listen to me, Prosper Villac: I'd a lot rather be a Jew
like my father than the kind of Catholic my mother turned
out to be."

  She jumped up and ran off to her dressing room. Prosper
shook his head as he watched her go, and then bent over
and began to pick up shells from the beach, running them
through his fingers with the sand. He felt both baffled and
embittered. Everything had seemed to be going so well
before his unfortunate question. Vicky had fairly taken his
breath away when she first emerged from her dressing room
in her bathing suit. It was bright red, her favorite color, and
vastly becoming; moreover, it was not only much smarter,
but much scantier than any of those the other girls were
wearing. She plunged into the water and swam farther and
faster than any of the others, too, and then she did several
fancy dives which were unfamiliar to most of them. These
were not meant to be in the nature of showing off and no
one took them that way; they evoked widespread admiration
and among the feminine contingent a little awe; Prosper
was puffed up with pride because it was the girl who had
come with him who had created such a sensation. After they
were through swimming and diving, she had flung herself
down on the beach beside him, not bothering to go and take
off her wet bathing suit right away, like the other girls; she
said the sun would dry her off in no time and, anyway, she
wanted to get a good tan. This pleased him, too. It did not
strike him as daring that she should lie there in her wet
bathing suit, which now clung to her lovely figure, revealing
every line of it even more closely than before. By and by she
sat up, shaking out her black curls, which she had not
bothered to confine in a cap and which provided the only
covering there was over her shoulders. All this was
pleasantly provocative. No one else was very near at the
moment, since almost everybody had gone off to dress, and
he wondered what would happen if he reached over and put
his arm around her waist, and then drew her closer and held
her very near him. Only for a minute or two,

THE cot D sr rPPERS 63

of course, even if she would let him do it longer, which was
doubtful; perhaps he could not get away with it at all, but
somehow he thought he could and the very idea of that
minute or two was intoxicating....

 And then that cursed dog, which had been contentedly
digging for nonexistent bones at a comfortable distance, had
come bounding up and Prosper had asked his unfortunate
question. He did not see Victorine alone again in the course
of the outing.

 The next day, he called to tell her the Elks' Wives were
having a dance at their Home in New Iberia and that he
would like to have her go to it with him. Her answer was
inexcusably mocking.

 "The Elks' Wives? I didn't know elks had wives or a home,
either. I thought they lived in forests and that they were quite
promiscuous, that is, when they were what is it called;"

 "I won't tell you what it's called, if you don't know, but I
think you do. And I think you know that the Elks are
members of a very respectable, worthy organisation, whit h
does a lot of good, and that their wives are about the nicest
ladies anywhere around. You've been here long enough to
find out that much, if you hadn't found it out before.... All
right, don't come with me I'll ask someone else."

 "Do, by all means. A nice, refined, intelligent Catholic; not
a vulgar, stupid Jewess like me."

 "Oh, for God's sake! I'll never ask you to another dance as
long as I live!"

 As the weeks went by, she began to think that he meant it.
They met, frequently, of course, at the parties held in
Lafayette and other places in the vicinity, for all the young'
people who made up "the crowd" went gaily and nonchalantly
from one town to another, undeterred by indifferent roads
and stifling heat. 'l~hey went to fish fries at Beau Sejour and
Jolm Broussard's camp on the banks of Bayou Vermilion and
to the home of Mme Plaisance in New Iberia, which was
available for sauces piq7~antes. They attended the road
shows and one-night stands at the Jefferson; they gathered in
groups to watch the trapeze artist who performed on top of
the Royal Movie ~heater, to attract crowds before the show
began, and listened to Frank Meyers as he sang from a box,
to the accompaniment of colored slides, in the course of the
show. They danced to "Papa" Celestin's band or Toot
Johnson's, and to the music of the Black Swan Orchestra,
which was made up of local Negroes who were waiters in the
daytime. Victorine was by no means the only one who had
unlimited spending money. In fact, several of the others, who
had

64 VICTOBINE

suddenly come into unease cted inheritances, threw it about
much more casually than she did. The atmosphere was
carefree, extravagant, pleasure loving. It was easy enough to
say that one person in the crowd did not matter more than
any other, as long as everybody in it had a good time. At
least, it should have been. But Victorine did not succeed in
saying so, even to herself, and she did not try to say so to
her father because she realized he would have known better.
For Prosper did not ask "a nice, refined, intelligent" girl to
go to the Elks' Dance or any other dance with him. He
spent more and more time at the Salle des Tuileries and,
eventually, 1le got the long-awaited chance to give Titine
the gold slippers.

Chapter Seven

AUGUST VERY SEI.DO~I LEFT TIIP PBE)IiSES
DURING BUSINESS IIOURS; BUT as his patronage
increased and, with it, the amount of liquor consumed, he
was occasionally obliged to go down to the Gulf to get fresh
supplies from his friends, the rumrunners. When this
happened, it was his custom to put a presumably trusty
lieutenant in charge of his business, but the wooden steps
leading from the grocery store to the dance hall had been
rickety for a long while and their railing was becoming more
and more insecure. I-le decided that it would be prudent to
have mending done and replacement made before an
accident called overmuch attention to some of his activities;
so he ptlt up a large sign which read, CLOSED FOR
REPAIRS UNTIL SA ruRDAy' and wells off, after making
sure that two carpenters were already at work.

 As he gave no advance notice of his intentions, either to his
customers or to his employees, and expected to be absent
himself only one night, he did not think that much could go
awry in so short a time and, if anything did, he would know
IIONV to mete out justice on his return. If he had caught that
one word, w hich might have been either jangereuse or
Dargcreux, whispered so m lny weeks earlier, he would have
been less confident. But when Prosper arrived at the Salle
des Tuileries Thursday night and read the sign, he was ready
for immediate action; he had kept the slippers concealed
under the back scat of his car ever since he had bought them;
and it did not take him long to locate the shack between
Bayou Warcho1lsc alla Bayou Patou in which he was
interested, because he had already thoroughly explored that
terrain.

 As he drove home just before dawn, ho~N1eve1, it was
with no sense of elation. The gill who had seemed so alluring
as she wove her ;\av

66 vlctonlN~

among tables at the S rlle tics Tuileries, playing her
accordion, singing her little Carom songs and making her
little wisecracks, was almost unbelievably less so when he
had her to himself beside a bayou. Everything had been
extremely easy at the end. Titine had evidently been sure he
would come, for she had been standing where the road or
what passed for a road ended at some distance from her
parents' swamp horlse. E le had not even needed to risk
having the lights of his car shine on it. When she came out
of the shadows and spoke to him, it had not been with
words of welcome, but with questioning greed, and disillu-
sionment had set in then and there. Did he have the gold
slippers with him? E le had no trouble in guessing that, if
his answer had been no, she would have slipped away from
him with a mocking laugh. When he handed them to her,
she insisted that she must put them on immediately, that he
must light a match a succession of matches so that she
could see. Only when she had satisfied herself that the
slippers fitted, that they were in every way what she had
coveted, was she ready for love-making. Love-making; It was
an insult to apply the beautiful word of love to anything that
happened during the rest of the night.

 In addition to the revulsion of feeling that had set in
before he actually started home, Prosper began to be
assailed by tardy anxiety regarding August's reception of the
gold slippers. They v ould do Titine no good if she kept
them hidden at home; and since the bootlegger had not
bought them himself, lie would certainly lose no time in
finding out whence they came, which should not be too hard
for him; then he would vent his wrath both on th' giver and
the recipient, and this might tal;e a very unpleasant form.
Although Prosper's desire for Titine was now as dead as if
it had never existed, he shrank from the thought that she
might suffer abuse of one kind or another because of him;
and though he was no coward, he could not help
remembering how often he had thought it would be a area'
mistake to pick a quarrel with the powerfully built man
whom he had very certainly angered and, in a sense,
wronged. Ike was still preoccupied by these disquieting
reflections when he arrived at the Glaudia; there had been
no point, after he reached Crowley, in going to bed; he had
made himself coffee, taken a quick shower and started, in
clean clothes, for the mill before the servants had arrived at
the house for the day or before his mother was stirring,
though he did not doubt she had heard him come in. Early
as it was, Paula was already at her post, and he suddenly felt
impelled to ask her a question which, previously, he had
never thought worth while putting to her.

r 1I rat (; 0 L D S L I P P E r1 s 6/

 "Paula, August Sclloltze asked me, a while back, to give his
regards to you. I'm sorry, I forgot it at the time.'!

"It doesn't matter at all."

"I didn't realize you knew slim."

 Paula made no answer. She was apparently very busy
getting her desk in order to begin work immediately.

"I never saw you at his place," Prosper persisted.

  Paula stopped shuPi71ing papers. "You never sa\v your
sister there, either, did you;" she inquire? sarcastically. "Or
your new-found friend Victorine LaBranche?"

  "No. But August never sends his regards to either of them,"
Prosper answered shortly. "Ele doesn't know too much, but
he knows better than to do that. I'd be interested to learn
where you did get acquainted with him."

  "I don't particularly like the way you're talking and I don't
think it's really any of your business where I got acquainted
with him. But since I suppose you can fire me for alleged
insubordination if I don't answer and since I need the job, I
may as well tell you it was during the war. You've probably
forgotten I w. s with the Graves Registration Service in
France. August Scholtze was orderly to one of the officers
who used to come on inspection tours. I never sa\v much of
him then and I've never seen anything of him since. I haven't
the least idea why he should send his regards to me, after all
this time. You needn't take mine to him the next time yotl go
to InS joint, which l suppose will be tonight. Appar entry, you
never heard that sat e advice about its being a good thing to
be c7f7t with the old love bcfo7e `7~otl'rc on Judith the
new."

  Patlla had begun to pcytlT1cl her typewriter before Prosper
could frame an adcqtlate reply or, inclccc3, ally sort of a
reply. Ile had meant to ask her, if he found she really did
lcn77v August well, whether or not the bootlegger was
actually violent when he was angry. But she had made
Prosper forget the question. The Graves Registration Service!
Well, he had forgotten, but that was the sort of war job for
which she might have been well suited. And an ol derly to an
o70i7;cer on an inspection tour might well have found time
hanging so heavily on his hands, in I9I8, that even Paula's
unexhilarating company could have been welcome. But she
certainly was as sour as they came now that last crack of
hers about old and new loves! Titine never had been and
never would be his love, even his ligl1to'-love, he km w that,
bclatccZly but with both certainty and shame. Never had he
so fcrvcntly desired that something he had done could be
undone as he did ever!- time he thought about the
happenings

68 VlCTOn INK

of the previous night, and this was most of the day, for he
had great difficulty in dismissing them from his mind, much
to the detriment of his normal occupations. And Victorine
was not his love, either, his true love, for very different rc
~sons. I le thought now that she might have been, if he had
not kept taking offense when no offense was meant, if he
had not quarreled with her, stupidly and senselessly, over
trifles. For the quarrels had been over trillcs, nothing more.
And now he did not see how he could ever try to make up
with her. I le did not see how he could even look her or her
father in the face again....

  When he went home that night, his mother told him that
Victorine had called him up. She had never done this, on
her own initiative, before, but when he returned her call, she
sounded so happy and carefree that he realized she was not
thinking about offences or quarrels. Her tone was friendly
and cordial, almost atEcctionate. She wondered if he would
care to come to dinner on Sunday just the family.

  He hesitated, but it seemed like tcmE>ting fate not to
take advantage of this new propitious mood and all day
Saturday he worked the more buoyantly because of the
prospect that he was to see her again so soon after all. He
put in a long day and worked conscientiously, trying to make
up for lost time, went to bed late and slept late Sunday
morning. Usually, his mother called him for Mass, but this
time she did not do so and he was just about to leave the
house for Lafayette when Maurice Benoit telephoned. It was
evident from his voice that he was very much excited.

"Hi! Have you heard the news?

"I've been asleep . . . w hat news?"

"Titine wasn't at the Tuilcrics last night for the grand
opening."

"She wasn't!"

  "No. It's the first time she's ever missed. So of course that
started everyone talking. But that wasn't the half of it. She
not only didn't show up at the Tuileries, but when they sent
for her, she wasn't at home, either! And what's more, she
hasn't been seen there or anywhere else since!"

"You mean she s disappeared?"

  "Yes. August doesn't Inow wllcrc she is at Icast, he says
so and, somehow, I believe he's telling the truth. And the
Professor doesn't know. Neither does her Jamily. Now
they're getting up search parties find some of our crowd are
going Otlt to help. Don't you want to come along?"

  "I will, this afternoon, if she hasn t turned up by then. But
I bet she will have. She probably just took off for the week
end. I've been asked

T H ~ C O L D S L I P P E n s 69

to the LaBranches' to dinner and I don't like to back out at
the last moment. I'm not really needed, am I?"

"No. I kind of thought well, let's skip it."

"Just as you say. See you later then."

  Perhaps he should have joined the search at once, Prosper
told himself as he drove along toward Lafayette. But he was
so encouraged indeed so elated, by the fact that Victorine, for
the first time, had tried of her own accord to get in touch
with him, that he thought he had a right to follow up this
advantage, on the chance that it really was an advantage.

  It seemed to him there could be no doubt of this when he
got out of his car and found that Victorine herself was
waiting for him at the door, with Levvy, as usual, at her heels,
and no one else in sight. She greeted him so cordially, indeed
so eagerly, that, spontaneously, he did what he had wanted to
do that day at (~harenton Beach and had refrained from
doing unwisely, he had thought ever since. He put his arms
around her waist and drew her nearer until they were very
close together; and then almost before he had time to realise
how it had happened, he was kissing her lovely upturned face
and sue was returning his kisses....

  Somewhere off in the distance, the telephone was ringing.
That cursed telephone, there was no escape from it any
longer, any time, Prosper said to himself, and then
remembered it was to a telephone call he owed his present
overwhelming happiness. Victorine did not seem to feel it
necessary to pay any attention to the ringing and by and by it
stopped. They heard someone answering it and afterward
someone coming in their direction, so then they drew slightly
apart, but they continued to look into each other's eyes, both
laughing a little, from sheer irrepressible happiness because.
at last, they had stopped acting like a couple of young fools
and been true to themselves and to each other.

  When a door opened at the c nd of the hall, they turned
and saw that it was not a servant who was coming toward
them, but Moise LaBranche, leaning Lleavily on his cane.
They ran forward to meet him, hand in hand, with Levitt
barking joyously beside them, and Moise looked at them with
his keen kind glance and then flung his cane aside and laid a
trembling hand on the arm of each.

  "I am the bearer of very bad tidings," he said, speaking
gently and sorrowfully. "You have probably both heard about
the disappearance of the young girl whip played the accordion
at the Tuileries. She has just been found."

"E7ouncl! Where? Is she all rite lit-'

70 VICTORINE

 The questions came simultaneously. Moise shook his head,
and the trembling hands resting on the strong young arms
gripped them more firmly, seeking for support.

 "She is dead. She had fallen into the rough rice bin on the
top floor of the Claudia Mill. Her body was discovered by
the Sunday watchman because one foot protruded from the
rice a foot encased in a gold slipper. Of course, no one
knows as yet when or why she climbed to the third floor of
the mill, and whether or not the fall was accidental. But it
seems that the last person to leave the mill before it closed
last night was you, Prosper."

                       PART TWO
_

             September, 1926
               Dangereuse
                    
Chapter Eight

       THE RESPONSE TO HIS SIIATTElUNG
ANNOUNCEMENT WAS AGAIN IMMEDI

ate and simultaneous, though. this time, his hearers did not
ask the same question.

"Who telephoned?" Prosper demanded quickly.

  "What's the time that he left the mill got to do with such a
horrible accident?" Vicky asked excitedly. Moise answered his
guest first.

  "The sheriff Tobe Bennett. The Sunday watchman had
called your house and your mother answered. She said she'd
notify both the sheriff and the coroner. She told Tobe you'd
gone to Lafayette to spend the rest of the day with us . . .
and he obviously thought you must be notified, too direct
and at once. He must have telephoned here, asking you to
meet him at the mill, while your mother was calling the
coroner. However, he was perfectly willing to talk to me,
when I told him this wasn't a good moment for you to come
to the telephone. After all, Tobe Bennett and I have known
each other a good many years. We understand each other."

  "Father, you haven't answcled my question. What difference
does it make whether or not Prosper was the last person to
leave the mill?"

  The two men exchanged glances. Then Moise answered,
speaking even more gently and kindly than he had at first.

  "It means the authorities want in fact, they
need complete information about everything he saw and did
at the Claudia last night."

  "I never heard of anything so absurd! They must know
perfectly well that, if Prosper'd known where fitine was last
night, he'd have told them of his own accord the first thing
this morning, when people began to find out that her family
was worrying because she hadn't come home."

74 V I C T O n I N r2

 "Yes, of course they realize that. At the same time, there's
been a very strange a very sad accident. At least, we hope
it was an accident that in itself would be bad enough. It's
the duty of public officials to investigate it from every
possible angle. In Prosper's case, this will naturally be a
mere formality. But it's a formality that's got to be observed
immediately."

 "That's right, honey. I've got to beat it back to Crowley as
fast as I can get there."

"You mean without staying to dinner or anything?"

 Again, the two men glanced at each other; despite the
gravity of the situation, they could not help smiling slightly
and, without stopping to consider that Moise might regard
the caress as presumptuous, Prosper put his arm around
Vicky's waist again.

"Yes, honey, that's just what I mean."

"Then I'm coming with you."

"I reckon maybe you hadn't better. Not this time."

 "But we've just got engaged! It isn't fair, ten minutes after
we've got engaged, for some old sheriff to call you up and
say you've got to tell him about every cigarette you smoked
and every cup of coffee you drank and when and where last
night. Of course, it's dreadful about that poor girl. Just the
same, I don't see "

 "Tobe Bennett doesn't know we've just got engaged. In
fact . . . in fact," he repeated, clearing his throat, "I didn't
know it myself until you just said so. But I'm mighty glad
you did. Remembering that will help a lot while I'm talking
to Tobe Bennett." He paused and looked at Moise
LaBranche a third time. "I'd like to be sure though, before
I start out, that your father wouldn't feel better if you hadn't
said it and if it wasn't true."

 As Prosper forced his dilapidated Oldsmobile along the
road between Lafayette and Crowley, he was able,
temporarily, to dismiss from his mind the grim nature of his
errand, while he dwelt with almost equal exultation on the
fervor of Victorine's kisses and the firmness of her father's
handclasp. He had st ored a great triumph, not only in
winning this beautiful, self-willed girl, but in doing so with
unquestioning parental approval. However, the exultation
was pierced by darts of self-questioning, against which it was
not proof. Victorine was, of course, the most wonderful girl
in the world; but he knew, all too well, that she was not slow
to anger, and he could not escape the unwelcome realisation
that she would be roused, quite as easily, to jealousy.
Indeed, he had no doubt that part of the trouble between
them, during the course of their

D it N G E 1t E u s E 75

courtship, lay in the fact that she had heard well-founded
rumors about Titine's attraction for him, and that she had
resented the rivalry which these implied. Her pride would
have been touched by any implication that she needed to
compete with a girl whom she would have considered her
inferior. Vicky was not consciously or voluntarily a snob; she
had quickly proved herself a good mixer and a good
companion in her new environment, and Prosper felt sure that
no one in their immediate circle of friends, besides himself,
knew that her adjustment to it had not been altogether easy,
and that she often longed for the more cosmopolitan mode of
life to which she had hitherto been accustomed. But she set
great store by the standards of sophistication and the code of
conduct natural to one of her background and breeding; also,
by the amenities which were the outward and visible sign of
these standards and this code. It would never have occurred
to her, until she was faced with the present situation, that she
might have as a rival a common and ignorant girl, who, like
her parents before her, had been born and brought up in a
swamp shack. and who earned her living by playing the
accordion in a speak-easy run by the uncouth creature who
was her recognized paramour. Vicky would have deplored the
division of attraction between herself and any of the girls
whom she recognized as an equal, and she would have done
her best to win the race for a man's affection, if she wanted
the man herself. But she would not have felt in any way
degraded by such a rivalry. The case of Titine was altogether
different. The fact that the poor little tramp was dead would
not help. Indeed, all sorts of sordid details, which had
hitherto escaped public notice, would now be dragged into the
open.

 And then, what about Moist ? I le must have heard gossip,
too, but he could not have taken it overset iously;
otherwise as he himself had said, though Prosper did not
know this he would not have continued to welcome at his
house a visitor whom he considered an undesirable suitor for
his daughter. A certain number of indiscretions he would have
taken for granted; a few definite lapses from grace he would
have condoned. However, would he have countenanced the
betrothal of his only and greatly beloved child to a man who
was receiving her ardent but innocent kisses for the first time,
less than a week after such a man had spent the night with a
wanton, and one so easily bought that this could be done with
a pair of gold slippers Prosper did not believe that Moisc
would leniently regard such conduct as a mere lapse from
grace; the old gentleman vv70uld consider it, and rightly, a
dual dishonor, since it involved not only Prosper himself, but
Victorine as well. He would expect

76 VICTORINE.

repentance and atonement before he would be ready to
receive Prosper into his family.

 However, though Prosper could not altogether dismiss
such questions and the probable replies to them from his
tumultuous thoughts, they were soon crowded out by others.
He would have to look at the dead body of a beautiful girl
which, only three nights before, had been warm against his
own; as he came closer and closer to the dreadful scene, the
prospect became more and more appalling. Of course, he
was merely to meet Tobe at the mill, so that they could
proceed together toward Toler's Furniture Store, which
doubled as a mortuary establishment, where the coroner, Dr.
l'imoteo Davila, would be holding his inquest. But why was
the sheriff SO anxious to talk privately with him, and at the
mill? What did Tobe really know, or think he knew? How
much gossip had he heard? Did he have any inkling that the
golden slippers Titine was wearing had been given her by
Prosper? After all, it was one of these slippers which had led
to the discovery that she was dead dead in his mill, shod
with his gift. In the warm sunshine of midafternoon, Prosper
found that he was shivering, and the hands on the wheel of
his car grew so unsteady in their hold that he pulled over to
the side of the road and shut off the motor, while he waited
for his surge of panic to pass and tried to think collectedly,
blind to the beauty of the ripe field beyond the narrow
stretch of still water, which was all that separated him from
it.

 The rice was already partly harvested and the golden
shocks rose symmetrically above the stubble, which was
golden, too. There were no laborers in the field, but, in view
of the glorious weather, which, for weeks, had prevailed, the
great red separator had been left in place over the week
end, so that work could begin at daybreak on Monday.
Plainly visible in adjacent fields, where the rice was still
standing, binders and tractors were also in readiness. Despite
the seeming stillness of the air, this standing rice waved
slightly to and fro and, as it did so, it shimmered in the
sunshine. Above it, the cloudless blue of the summer sky
closed down benignantly. Everything in sight bespoke peace,
abundance and progress.

 As his spasm of nervousness passed, Prosper became
increasingly aware of this, but the consciousness brought him
no comfort. On the contrary, the realisation that such a
goodly heritage was in jeopardy added to his sense of shame
and dread. Setting his teeth grimly, he started his car again
and went on his way.

Except for the bulky figure of the sheriff, tl~e Claudia's
millyard was

D A N G E r; Fit S E 77

deserted when Prosper pulled into the littered enclosure and
stepped out. As Bennett came forward, he extended his hand,
but the usual heartiness was lacking in the firm grip ol his
fingers.

"This is a bad business, Pro Per," he said, shaking his head.

"I'll say it is. I suppose the the body's already been taken to
Toler's?"

 "Yes. Dr. Tim sent a couple of men over with a basket and
asked to have her moved there. It was pretty ugly, because
she'd been dead long enough to be you know what they call
it when a body gets stiff?"

"Rigor mortis?"

 "That's the word. Well, it's plain hell to see a pretty girl in
that condition. They couldn't get her into the basket without
using force."

 Prosper could not repress a shudUcr. "Good Cod, Tobe!
I'm glad I didn't see it!"

 "That's why [ wanted to me ct N'OU here, Prosper. You
might have to see the body. Dr. Tim said he d make up his
mind later on whether to impanel a coroner's jury. If he does
call one, he feels that you, as owner of the mill, ought to be
one of the five jurors."

 "Man, I don't know if I could take that. Oh, I know I was
in the Army and all, but this is differ nt."

 "Well, I figured you ought to have a chance to prepare
yourself  that's why I asked you to meet me here. After all,
even if Tim Davila decides not to impanel a jury, he's going
to be asking a lot of questions."

"Of me?"

 "Of everybody, but of you especially. I\s I understand it, you
were in and out of the mill until all hours last night, because
a car that should have been held for the morning Red Ball to
Beaumont was switched onto an eastbound freight and, unless
something was done to route it back or load another car, the
shipment would miss the boat at Port Arthur. Anyway, I was
told it was something like that."

 "I thought maybe 1 could ba\7e it loaded on another boat
at New Orleans."

 "All right, all right. I'm n it asking you now did you see
Titine Saturday night. If it turns out this was an accidental
death, nobody'll ever have to ask that qucstiom And if not .
. . well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. But I will
ask you this: Do you know anything about those gold slippers
she \vas wearing? It was the shine from one of them, when
the beam from the watchm~n's flashlight hit it, that led to
the finding of the body. 'iorilebody and right now, I
disremember who seemed to feel you could tell us
something about those slippers."

78 v I C T O Tl I N E

 Prosper hesitated for a moment, kicking absently at a clod
of dirt. Then he looked up.

 "Yes, I can tell you something about those gold slippers,
Tobe," he said. "I gave them to her. I heard her asking for
them one night when she was quarrcling with August
Scholtze, that bootlegger Kraut who runs the Tuileries. A
crowd of us were there that night and all of them must have
heard exactly what I did. But I was the one that bought the
slippers, when I went to New Orleans with my grandfather,
a while back. The poor kid never got much pleasure out of
them though; I didn't get a chance to give them to her until
three nights ago."

 Tobe sighed, gustily. 'It'll all come out in the wash, I
guess," he observed. "Well, let's get on over to Toler's.
They'll be waiting for t15."

 It was even worse than Prosper had expected. Titine's
body was laid out on a white enameled mortuary table; a
sheet covered it from neck to ankles, but a bruised chin and
lips were in full view not in the ripe fullness that had made
them so seductive when she was alive, but drawn and
discolored. Eler lower jaw had sagged, so that her stiff
mouth was open, and all the chaff and grains of rice had not
yet been removed from it; a number still clung stickily to her
cold, bluish mouth, while others were matted in the tangled
mass of her hair. Her short, wide feet, still shod in golden
slippers, protruded rigidly from beneath the lower edge of
the sheet, whose surface suggested the outlines of stocky legs
beneath. Her dark, sightless eyes were still open, and
seemed to be staring fixedly into space, though they no
longer held any hint of the terror that must hat e filled them
in her last struggle for life.

 When Tobe and Prosper entered the embalming room at
the rear of Toler's Furniture Store, the coroner was bending
over the rigid figure on the slab and spooning rough rice out
of the open mouth with a shining surgical instrument;
meanwhile, he was making remarks, every now and then, to
Will Duson, the publisher of the Crowley Signal, who was
standing close by and busily jotting down notes. Joe Guerra,
Tobe Bennett's chief deputy, and several other deputy
sheriffs were ranged along one side of the room, talking
together in low tones. On the other side were three of
Prosper's strangely dissimilar relatives: his cousin, Glement
Primeaux, an indigenous Cajun, sturdy and swarthy; his
maternal grandfather, Brent Winslow, a transplanted
midwesterner, lean and tanned, with bright blue eyes and a
shock of snowy hair which seemed all the whiter in contrast
to his weather-beaten skin; and Winslow's father-in-law, Jim
Garland, who was still keen and spry de

DA NGErILUSE 79

spite his great age. It flashed Prosper's mind that his mother
must have telephoned the Primeaux and Winslow farms
immediately after calling the sheriff and the coroner, and he
was touched to see how promptly his kinsmen had responded
by coming to his support. But he hardly stopped to speak to
them now; his attention was riveted on the frozen features,
waxen in the pitiless glare of an overhead light.

 "That bruise on her chin!" Prosper burst out. "Somebody
must have hit her! Some son of a bitch knocked her into that
bin!"

 "Take it easy, son," said Tohe, laying a reassuring hand on
Prosper's shoulder.

"But I tell you "

 Dr. Tim, who had straightened up to greet the newcomers,
intermpted. "That bruise is two-three days old, Prosper," he
said dryly, "as you'd realize in a minute if you'd seen as much
tissue discolored by extravasated blood as I have. The coroner
was plainly aware of his superior knowledge and just as
plainly gratified by his ability to use technical terms casually.
"Sure somebody hit her. Maybe somebody hit her last night.
But not where you see that place on her chin, or the other
one at the corner of her mouth."

 "Are you going to do a post-mortem, Tim?" Bennett asked.
Prosper realized who had put this question, though he had
not looked up. He was still gazing in horrified fascination at
the grotesque form imperfectly covered by the sheet. Dr. Tim
now drew the upper edge of this over the staring eyes.

 "No," he replied. "And I won't be impaneling a jury, either.
First place, a necropsy " I le paused briefly to let the
implied correction of Tobe's "post-mortem" take effect
" won't show anything my examination hasn't disclosed
already. in the second place, as far as we know, there weren't
any witnesses; so a coroner's jury couldn't learn anything
about the case except what I'd tell them. Hence, since the law
leaves me free to decide whether or not to swear in a jury, I'll
just hand down the verdict myself."

 "Okay, Tim," Bennctt said agreeably. "Skip the big words if
you can, but make it officiall and for the record. What's the
verdict?"

 "In the first place, there is no evidence of trauma," Dr. Tim
announced, "aside from those two bruises, which were
definitely not inflicted last night. There are no cuts, bullet
holes or broken bones, so this poor girl did not die from
injuries sustained in the fall into the bin. In the second place,
there is every evidence of cyanosis about the lips and eyes,
which means that practically every drop of blood in her body

80 VlCTOnrNE

was venous blood, which is blue, and that no oxygen had
reached her lungs to turn this blood bright, arterial red."
With the forefinger of his right hand, Dr. Davila was
checking off each point as he came to it on the spread
thumb and fingers of his left hand. He now paused
thoughtfully for a moment, as though musing and, at the
same time, well aware that everyone in the room, especially
Clementrimeaux, Brent Winslow and Jim Garland were
hanging on his words.

 "In the third place," he went on, "her open mouth and her
throat were full of rice grains and chaff, stuff she had
breathed in during her last desperate gasps for air; so we
know with certainty she was alive when she fell into the rice.
The more she struggled to get out, the deeper she sank into
it; it was just by chance that, in her final death throes, she
convulsively thrust one foot above the surface. It was also
just by chance that a gleam from that golden slipper caught
the watchman's flashlight when he made his Sunday round.
By the way, has anyone notified her family? For that matter,
does anyone here know what her last name is and where her
folks live? I never heard her called anything but Titine and
1 never knew where she came from."

 "I can tell you," Prospcr said impulsively. "The family name
is Dargereux and Titine lived with her folks on one of those
patches of high ground scattered through the swamps
between Bayou Patou and Bayou Warehouse. You know,
not far from the Salle des Tuileries, where she worked."

 The coroner eyed him curiously. "That so?" he said.
"Thanks for the information it'll be helpful all around.
Well, naturally, those people wouldn't have a telephone, and
that area's in St. Mary Parish. Tobe, you'd better have
someone from Sheriff Picou's office in Franklin notify the
family and tell them to get in touch with Toler, as soon as
they can, to say what they want done about the funeral, or
else send one of your own deputies to bring them here."

 "But your verdict " Bennett left the sentence unfinished,
on the rising inflection of a query.

"Oh, death from apnea."

"And that's supposed to mean?"

"Inability to breathe. Choking. Asphyxiation."

"So it was an accident?'

 "I fell, no! She didn't go wandering around, picking daisies
or something, until she stumbled into the bin, where she
drowned, as you might say, in rice. She had to climb three
steep and difficult flights of stairs to get onto that top floor.
right under the mill roof. And she didn't do

D,\NGEREUSE 81

that absentmindedly, either. She went up there with
somebody, or to meet somebody, or because somebody lured
her up there: somebody that knew enough about a rice mill
to realize it wasn't necessary to bash her head in. Somebody
who damn well realized it was only necessary to push her
through one of those bin openings, or fix it so she'd fall
through by herself in the dark."

"Then the official coroner's verdict is "

 "Death due to apnea, after victim had been dropped into a
bin of rough rice by person or persons unknown. That means
it's a case for the district attorney Theo Landry and he'll
have to start looking into it right now. Better get in touch
with him today, if he's in town, and start rounding up
everyone who might know anything about this, so he can
begin the interrogation tonight, or tomorrow morning at the
latest. You might start right off with Villac. I don't know
whether he ties in with this thing or not and, if he does, how.
But he obviously knows plenty about what went on at the
Claudia Mill last night."

 "That's my department, isn t it, Tim?" Tobe asked quietly.
"Suppose you let me handle it my own way."

 "Sure, sure. I was just thinking out loud. Well, there's
nothing more for me to do here. I'll be going home, Tobe;
unless I get an emergency call this evening, I'll be available
any time you want me. So long, everybody."

 Dr. Tim closed his black satchel and walked out, closely
followed by Duson and, in a more lingering way, by Clement
Primeaux, Brent Winslow and Jim Garland, who shook hands
with Prosper and said they would be seeing him lat' r. Tobe
turned to Joe Guerra, his chief deputy.

 "Take my car, Joe," he said, 'and drive on down to Bayou
Warehouse. Get hold of this girl's folks and bring them with
you here to Growley, if they have no other means of quick
transportation. I seem to remember that the piano
player that bird they call the Professor lives near by and
has a car of sorts. He must have, because he's the man who
always drove Titine to and from the Tuileries. Very likely
he'd be willing to bring them to town, and he might just as
well, because I want him here for the questioning, too.
Anyway, see that the Dargereux get here. And get hold of
Scholtze, too. Him I'll hold if I have to.... It's common talk
that Titine was his girl, and unless he's got a copper-riveted
alibi to account for where he was last night But never mind
about that. Just see that he gets here."

"Meantime, you gOill' need y our car, no?" the deputy
inquired.

82 VICTOI{INE

 "I'll catch a ride to Pn)sper's house with him and wait
around. I can phone from there to th' other people Theo
Landry'll be wanting to question after we get hold of him.
So bring the car to the Villacs' house when you get back."

 "I thought maybe it'd be easier for us to talk like this than
with all that gang around," ToLc said casually when they
were under way. "I could see that didn't suit Duson, from
the Signal, any too well, but it suited me and I thought it
would suit you."

"It sure does. Just what did you want me to tell you, Tobe?"

 "Well, just what time would you say, offhand, that you left
the mill for good?"

 Prosper considered a minute. "I didn't look at the clock.
But it must have been late close on to two."

"You'd been there all tile evening?"

 "No, just off and on. I had a lot to do. Lil;e you were told
before, we had a car loaded for E,caumont, where it was to
be switched to Port Arthur for shipment to Philadelphia
and, somehow, the car had just vanished. Inter, I found it
had been picked up by an eastbound freight for New
Orleans, and I was trying to find out whether we could issue
new waybills and have it shipped via New Orleans, or
whether the Ess Pee could leave it at Schriever, maybe, to
be picked up by the Red Ball that was supposed to pick it
up here. But the Archers were having a meeting at their
house, to talk over this Rice Carnival everyone's getting
excited about you know, something to celebrate the
fortieth anniversary of Crowley's founding. I suppose it's
more or less of an open secret that Anne Marie's almost
everyone's choice for the first Rice Queen, so of course I'm
pretty interested quite aside from the fact that my
grandparents, on both sides, were among the first settlers.
I spent as much of the evening as I could at the Archers'
house. But I went back and forth to the mill, to check on
that shipment we had to get out."

"I see. I take it, if there was all that to do, Paula stayed late,
too?"

 "Yes. She's awfully good about things like that. I've never
known her to complain about overtime. Her Aunt Amanda
raises a terrible row, though. Well, after all, she's your aunt,
too; you know how she is. She telephones every hour or so,
to see if Paula isn't through, and then comes and sits
outside, in her ramshackle old fiivver and blows her horn."

"She did that last nights"

"Last night and most nights."

"She didn't come in?"

D A N G E R E U S E 83

  "I don't think so. If she did, I didn't see her. Sometimes
Paula does ask her in, just to keep her quiet. They have a cup
of coffee together and then Paula gets rid of Aunt Amanda
for another hour."

"Aunt Amanda doesn't have a key?"

  "No, of course not. Paula go; s to the door and lets her in,
when worst comes to worst.'

"No one has a key except you and Paula and the watchman?"

"That's right."

"And you keep the doors carefully locked back and front
door both?"

  "Yes, always, outside of regular working hours. But I don't
need to tell you that, during harvesting, regular working
hours are from 'can to can't'!"

"But 'can't' comes before midnight, doesn't it?'

"Yes, generally."

  "After that, it wouldn't be possible for anyone to get in who
didn't have a key?"

  "I don't see how, except who n there's a lot of work going
on and lots of people around. For example, last night, I was
considering calling an overtime crew to load another tar, in
case I couldn't arrange to get that shipment reversed. That
takes a lot of preparation and moving back and forth. It
would have been too much of a nuisance to lock and unlock
the door to the loading dock or to the once every time one
of us wanted to pass through it."

  "Then let me ask you this, Prosper: would it have been
possible for anyone to get in who was not normally supposed
to be there?"

  "Anything's possible, of cow set But I'd say it was to the
last degree improbable. Ordinarily, one of us Paula, the
watchman or myself  would be sure to see whoever went in
or out, even if it was only while they were crossing the
millyard or the switch track toward the building."

"But Titine got in."

  "Unfortunately, there's no denying that," Prosper said
ruefully, and paused. "But we don't know v hen or how and,
for that matter " He paused again " for that matter, we
don't know, do we, that she wasn't seen. Has anyone asked
Paula or the watchman about it?"

  "Not yet, of course. Things have been happening too fast.
But all those questions will be asked."

"Someone else saw her, too. Someone who killed her."

To his dismay, Prosper found that he was trembling violently
again,

84 V I C T O rat I N F.

trembling all over. Tobe laid a steadying hand on his arm,
as Moise had done a few hours earlier.

 "Take it easy, son, and if you can't do that, take it as easy
as you can. I only want to ask yotl o ZC or two more
questions. You knew this girl pretty well, didn t you?"

"Yes. '

"Does anyone 1;now how well?"

 "I reckon a good many pcrsoTIs suspected I had a yen for
her. I don't see how anyone could have known how far it
had gone, except that "

 "Go ahead and tell me. Allis is just between us, same as if
you were talking to a priest, almost. I don't mean that
sacrilegiously. I mean it  walk l guess you l\;1C,\~\T
\N7!lat I nlC'3'1. Doodling VOtl tell me now is going any
further.''

 "Except that 1 think m: gnn-lUf.lLller Winslow may
suspect that I gave her a pair of slippers. The shoe box was
delivered to our room and he was terribly curious abotll ;t.
l didn't tel] him anything, but he might

,,

guess.

 "Well, good Lord, youl grallUfatllcr's not going to hold a
little thing like that against you not for long anyway! He's
got too much sense. I didn't mean anyone like B cut
Winslow. I meant someone else who knew Titine as well as
y ou did and might be jealous."

 "I reclcon that would fit August Scholtze. And he's the
kind that would beat her up."

"Gould he have guessed that you g.lVC her the slippers?"

 "I le could have thought I might have done it. Or anyone
else in our crowd that goes to the Salle tics Tuileries
regularly and heard her say she wanted them. Like I told
you before, she did that, right out in public, one night when
August was jumping on her because she hadn't gone around
enough among the tables with her accordion. She said her
feet hurt. She said she vaunted some go]cl slippers. Anyone
could have heard her say it."

"Who, for instance?"

 "Well, both the Benolis were there with me that night and
Dale Fontenot stopped by our table fol a moment. Didier
doesn't go there often and Dale hardly ever does. IIe does
his grocery shopping at August's and that's all, usually. That
day, he'd been delayed, so he came by our table just to pass
th time of day. He never paid Titine any mind though. I'd
put my hand l n the block fin that. 1 le wouldn't have given
her a second look, or even a first one."

"But you thinly there was someone, besides yourself, who
might have

D A N G E R E U S E 85

picked her up on the statement that she wanted some gold
slippers and got her some?"

 "Yes. I know that's what happened. Scholtze might have
given her a pair of gold slippers himself. I le had her pretty
well under wraps  it wasn't easy to get to her. This bird that
played the piano the one everyone calls the
Professor brought Titine to the Tuileries every night and
took her home again. I think he lives somewhere in her
neighborhood, and I'm pretty sure Scho]tze has him keep
watch over her. Anybody who wanted to give her a pair of
slippers or anything else, outside of Scholtze, that is, would
have to get past the Professor some way to do

  ,,

It.

 "The answer to that is pretty obvious, isn't it, son?" Tobe
replied with a hint of throaty chuckle in the words.

"You mean I managed it?"

"Sure enough."

 The sheriff leaned forward, propped his thumb against one
side of his chin and crooked a forefinger against the other
cheek.

 "What in time makes you so all-fired sure, Prosper, that
more than one person gave her gold slippers?" he asked.

 "I'll tell you why," Prosper said in a low voice. "I guess it
never occurs to a man, right away, that any girl he goes for
and who goes for him, is playing the field, even when
she's well, someone like that dead girl back there. But just
at the end, when you were calling me to go, I caught sight of
them and "

"Caught sight of ~vizat7"

 "Her heels. l he gold slippers sticking out from under the
sheet in Toler's back room had plain heels. The shoes she
was wearing when she was killed or leastways, the ones she
had on when her body was found aren't the ones I gave
her."

Chapter Nine

TIIE SllORT DISTANCE BETWEEN TIIE MILL AND THE
VILLACS HOUSE HAD

long since been covered. Prosper had shut off the engine and
the two men had continued to sit in the motionless car,
drawn up beside the curb, as they went on talking. Now the
front door opened and, in the radiant rectangle thus rcvcaled,
they saw Lavinia standing, slender, erect and white clad, with
the Pleasant light behind her.

"Prosper, is that you?" the called. "And is Tobe Bennett with
you?"

"Yes, Mother. We'll be there in just a minute."

 "I thought I heard the car come up. I didn't lilac to disturb
you though, because I thought you might be discussing
something important. However, 'I heo Landry is on the
telephone and he wants to talk with Tobe."

"Straight off, Mrs. Vil!ac," Tobe called in response. "Thanks
a lot."

 Lavinia stepped back into the house, leaving the door open.
Tobe turned to l~rospef.

 "What makes you so all-fired sure those slippers the poor
girl had on aren't the ones you gave her, just from the
heels?"

 "Because, when I did my shopping in New Orleans, I went
the whole hog. I got Titine some slippers that had heels all
set with rhinestones, just the kind of flashy, imitation
eye-catchers I figured she'd be crazy about."

 L.avinia reappeared in the doorway. "ltm sorry to seem
impatient, Tobc," she said.''Tllco tells me it's very urgent."

 "111 right, all right," Tore answered, with his first show of
annoyance. lie got out of the call, muttering something under
his breath, which Prosper cotlid not quite catch, and went
quickly up the walk. There was

D A N G E ret E U S E 87

an extension telephone in the library, at the left of the front
door, and Tobe, who knew the house well and enjoyed the
privileges of an old friend, strode in there without stopping
and closed the door behind him. Prosper walked up to the
house more slowly. Through the open windows of the living
room, across the hall from the library, he could see Dale and
Didier apparently both, as usual, devoting their Sunday
afternoon to the effort of hurrying Anne Marie into making
up her mind; it seemed evident that they had not yet been
told the bad news. He would have to go in and greet his
sister's guests; after all, they were not only her suitors, they
were his own close friends. But he would find some sort of an
excuse to maLc a quick getaway. I lowever, he had just
reached the entrance when Tobe opened the door of the
library and beckoned to him.

"Come in here, will you?"

  The prospect of further conversation with Tobe was even
more unwelcome than the idea of making small talk in
general company. However, Prosper recognized that he had
no choice in the matter. As soon as they were inside, Tobe
closed the library door behind them.

  "Dr. Tim got hold of Landry all right and he's standing by,
all ready to go ahead with the interrogation tomorrow or
even tonight, if we can get started that soon. Of course, there
hasn't been time yet to hear from Joe and August, but it
won't be long now before we do. Meanwhile, I'm going to call
Paula and tell her I want both her and Aunt Amanda to be
available tomorrow. I won't need you at the courthouse
tonight, but I may then and you'd better stay here while I'm
telephoning. I'd like you to listen in, if I can get Paula. After
that, you and I'll talk some more about those gold slippers.
lashings were just getting interesting when we were
interrupted. I'd like to have a clearer idea about who you
think might have given a pair to Titine, besides yourself."

  "I've told you all I know," Pi osper repeated doggedly. "She
said, right out in public, that she wanted them and anyone
who was at the Tuileries that night could have heard her say
so. I also told you that I thought August might have bought
the slippers for her himself. I've pointed out that he's the
only man that can get by the Professor, at any time, without
difficulty. Furthermore, I've told you I'd put my hand on the
block that it wasn't either Dale Fontenot or Didier Benoit
who gave them to her, though both of them were with me
that night."

  "What about Maurice Benoit? Didn't you say that he was
there, too, and that he went there a lot. whereas Dale and
Didier hardly ever went?"

88 VICTORINE
 "Yes, I did. But "

 Prosper hesitated. Without sounding self-righteous, he
could not very well say that Maurice was his friend, just as
much as Dale and Didier were in fact, they were together
more, because he found Maurice more congenial than the
two who never strayed, or seemed to stray, from the straight
and narrow path; and further that, though he did feel it was
within the realm of possibility that Maurice had bought the
second pair of gold slippers, he was not going to voice this
opinion unless he were driven to it, much less volunteer
such information. To his immense relief, Tobe guessed what
was passing in his mind and respected him for it.

 "All right, we'll let Maurice tell his own story of course,
he'll have to be summoned for questioning, too. So will Dale
and Didier, for that matter. I take it you four had a table to
yourselves?"

"Yes, we did."

"And you don't remcml~er who was at the near-by tables?"

 "Maybe I could if I th`:'ugllt hard. I haven't had much time
yet, you know. Seems like they we re mostly out-of-/owners
though no one who would be interested in Titinc, except
that she'd liven up the evening for them."

 "Well, SUppOSt' you think hard overnight and tell me in
the morning. That'll be plenty of time. Scholtze will be
questioned first, if we get hold of him, as I think we can,
and either the Professor or my dear aunt and cousin next.
They ought to be back from their usual Sunday fishing trip
by this time, to "

 "Before you start telephoning, there's something I'd like to
tell you, in confidence. That is, I don't sHpy~yse I'm tile
one to make it public first and I haven't had a chance to tell
even my mother and sister yet. But I might get a call myself,
any minute, and you couldn't help overhearing at least one
side of the ~ onversation, maybe both, and being puzzled,
if you were still here, as ! ou seem likely to be. I'm engaged
to Victorine LaBranche."

"What do you mean, engaged?"

"What do you thins; I mean? I mean engaged to be
married."

 "You're engaged to lie married to Victorine LaBranche and
still you gave a pair of gold slipper s to Titine Dargere~sx
Thursday night?"

 "Yes, and I know what else yotl'rc thinking, even if you
haven't said it yet. I didn't give them to her as a Boy Scout
act I expected to get something out of it for myself The
poor girl!s dead, so I don't suppose we need to go into that
any further, though I don't mind telling you I'm

DANGEREUSE 89

pretty ashamed of the whole damn business. But I didn't
know, Thursday night, that I was going to be engaged to
Victorine LaBranche. I didn't know I was until she said so,
about five minutes after you telephoned her house."

 "Prosper, you've got me going around in circles. If you were
engaged, how could you help knowing it?"

 "I didn't think I had a prayer of getting her. I've been in
love with her from the first moment I ever set eyes on her,
last spring. I'd been over to Lafayette to see Captain Bob
about a camellia Anne Marie wanted, and I'd actually got it.
I was feeling pretty good when I started home, but I didn't
have anything special to do, so when I saw that the gates of
the LaBranche place were open, for the first time in years,
and all sorts of activities going on, i got out of my car and
wandered inside the grounds. Vicky came along, dressed all
in red, with that black hair of hers blowing around her face
and her coach dog tugging at its leash and well, that was it,
as far as I was concerned. But, since I've got to go into all
this, I may as well tell you that we've quarreled a lot. She's
kept making me feel anyway. I have felt that I just wasn't
in her league. I've been pretty discouraged about it. That's
one of the reasons  Lord, I'm not trying to maLc excuses,
but that's one of the reasons I went for a push-over. But
Vicky met me at the door herself today, and the first thing I
knew, we were kissing each other. Then, as soon as you
telephoned about Titine and said I'd got to come over here
on the double, Victorine announced, right in front of her
father, that we were engaged. He didn't raise any objections
and you can bet your bottom dollar I didn't. So I guess we
are, and I guess she'll be calling up to find out how things are
going and how soon I can get back to Lafayette to take up
where we left off, which was pretty suddenly. You wouldn't
expect her to do anything different, would you?"

 Tobe Bennett sat down heavily. "No, I wouldn't expect her
to do anything different," he said slowly. "But I want to be
sure I'm getting the straight of all this. Did Victorine
LaBranche know that while you were getting to feel you
weren't in her league, you went out after something easier?"

"Naturally, I've never told her so. But she must have heard
gossip."

"She's going to hear a lot moo e than gossip now, son."

 "Yes, I kept thinking of that, on my way back to Crowley.
My thoughts didn't take a very happy turn, for a man who's
just got engaged."

 "Maybe you'd better come right out and tell her and her
father  everything that's on your mind You heard Dr. Tim
say it might be a

90 VICTOnlNE

good plan for Theo to start the interrogation with you. I
didn't think much of that idea then, as you must have
guessed, since I didn't follow through on it, and I think still
less of it now. I think you ought to have a chance to make
a clean breast to the LaBranches before you're called on to
testify at the courthouse. Maybe "

"Maybe, after that, I won't be engaged any longer?"

"Well, that's about the long and short of it, isn't it?"

 The telephone rang. Before picking up the receiver,
Prosper looked in a questioning way at Tobe, who nodded.

"Hello," Prosper said dully.

 "Darling!" The one word came through so clearly and
vibrantly that Tobe could hear it as easily as Prosper. "Is
everything all right?"

 "I don't know just what you mean by all right, honey. As
your father and I tried to tell you, this is all pretty grim. I
met Tobe Bennett at the mill, like he asked me to. Then we
went on to to the furniture store. I've only just got home
and Tobe's here with me."

 "Oh.... Can you tel] me now what happened at the
furniture store, or would you rather call me back later?"

 Again Prosper looked at Tobe for directions. "You might
just as well let her have it now," the sheriff muttered,
"without too many details, of course."

 Trying his best to be both brief and lucid, Prosper gave
Victorine the gist of the happenings in the embalming room,
to which they continued to refer, as if by common consent,
as the furniture store. Victorine did not try to interrupt; in
fact, she said almost nothing until he told her, "I guess that's
about all, honey." Then she spoke, more softly than before,
but still very clearly.

 "I think I understand almost everything. Anyway, almost
everything that matters. But I'd like awfully to see you."

 "I'd like awfully to see you, too. But I can't tell you just yet
when I can come back to Lafayette. Perhaps some time
tomorrow...." He looked at Tobe a third time and a third
time the sheriff nodded.

 "I'll be waiting for you all day. I shan't be doing anything
else. Just waiting."

 Prosper found that he bad to clear his throat before trying
to answer, as he had when Victorim announced that they
were engaged. Meanwhile, she spoke again.

 "Perhaps you'll have a chance this evening to tell your
mother and sister about our engagement. And your
grandparents. And anyone else you think might he
interested. Tobe Bennett, for instance."

DANGEREUSE 91

 "I haven't had a chance to talk with any of my relatives yet.
But I will tell them, later this evening, if you're sure you want
me to. I think most of them will be around in fact, I think
I heard my grandfather Winslow and my cousin Clement
come in a few minutes ago, though I haven't seen them yet.
Tobe and I are in the library and I've already told him, in
confidence. Therc were reasons why I thought maybe I'd
better."

 "Of course there were. Especially, as Father would like to
announce the engagement in tomorrow's Advertiser and I'd
like to have him, unless there's some reason why you'd rather
he didn't."

 "Well naturally, in one we>, I'd like to have him tell the
world. But, in another, I think perhaps he'd better not, until
after I've seen you and him tomorrow."

"Why?"

"You might change your mind alter I've talked to you."

"About what?"

"About wanting to be engage d."

"You haven't changed yours, have you?"

"Good Lord, of course not!"

"Then what made you think lid change mine?"

"It's hard to explain, over the telephone. But I will
tomorrow."

 "All right. You can explain all you want to. But I'm never
going to change my mind. Never, never, never I love you. I
don't care what people think you've done. I love you. I don't
even care what you have really done. I love you. And the
sooner everyone knows that, the happier I'll be. I love you."

 The words came through with increasing clarity and force.
Then the connection was broken. Tobe picked up his hat.

 "I reckon 1'11 do my telephoning at home, after all," he
said. And, this time, it was his voice which was husky.

Chapter Ten

AFTER TOsE rEET Him, PROSPER SAT VERY sllrE,
DwErr ING, WITH THr same sense of exultation that had
flooded his being when she announced that they were
engaged, on the way Victorine had said, "I love you, I love
you, I love you." For a few minutes, every other thought and
feeling were crowded Otlt. But, as before, the exultation was
short lived and quickly impaired by other thoughts and
feelings of much graver character. Tobe had shown him every
reasonable consideration; it had been welcome news that he,
Prosper, need not go to the courthouse that night. Now his
temporary solitude, which gave him a chance to pull himself
together, was welcome, too. But Prosper knew this solitude
would not last long. He had been right in believing that he
had heard his grandfatller Winslow and his cousin Clement
coming in; since then he had heard various other footsteps
and many other voices. I lis mother was an only child and he
had moments of being thankful that this was so; he was fond
of his relatives, in a dispassionate way, but he was rather glad
there were no more of them. His father, Claude Villac, had
been one of seven, four boys and three girls, and all except
Claude were living; moreover, with the exception of his uncle
Onezime, who was a priest, all had married and all had
produced children. Prosper had to stop and count the
number of his first cousins. Nor was this the end. His Cajun
grandfather's cousin, Phales Primeaux, had early been left a
widower, and Ursin Villac had joined forces with him, first in
homesteading and then in rice farming; they had lived in the
same house, utilized the same cattle shelters, worked in the
same fields; their children had grown up like brothers and
sisters. Shares' elder daughter klczalee had become a nun and
was a teacher at the Academy of the Sacred Heart in Grand

D A N G rl rat F. U S Rae 93

Coteau; his elder son l lcex 1l id collll2liticd suicide, under
strange and tragic circumstances; they were both far removed
from Prosper's orbit. But Marcelite, the younger daughter,
NVaS married to a very prosperous farmer named Alcee
Bazinet, .md Clement, the younger son, now ran and owned
the place which hall belonged jointly to his father and uncle,
and which he had greatly and profitably enlarged. In addition,
he helped in the supervision of Brent Wins10vi7's adjacent
and highly valuable property. Marcelite and Clement were not
only Prosper's cousins and close friends who, as such, would
rut h to his side in any emclgency; they were among his most
important stations. He could not afford to offend them,
especially at a time live this, wllcll he woLIlcl need every ally
he could get. Yet he dreaded unspeakal ly to see them. In
tact, he did not want to see anyone except Victorin., not even
his mother, not even Anne Marie. . .

 He looliecl around him, lining his wry surroundings
suddenly distasteful. When the house, which was one of Brent
Winslow's wedding presents to his daughter Lavinia, had been
built, there had been two rooms on either side of the long
central entrance hall: a parlor and sitting room on the right,
a library and dining room on the left. Lavinia had been
dissatisfied with this arrangement from the beginning; she had
not wanted a small stiff parlor anal a small nondescriIJt
sitting room, connected with each other only thiougll one
narrow door, but one big comfortable and tasteful living
room, in the same space. I Ier bridegroom had not agreed
with her and she had bowed to his wishes then; however,
before he died, she had won him over to 1lcr way of thinking,
and the pleasant, homelike room, where all the dil-lercut
members of the family were now assembling, was the c July
oile that- Brosper could remember, on that side of the hall.
But the library and dinlilg room had remained unchanged,
largely, he suspected-tllougll Lavirlia had never said so be-
cause she had agreed they should, in return for the concession
about the other arrangement, and becatlsc, with excessive
scrupulosity, she had continued to feel this agreement was
binding. I he library ceiling, which was ornamented by a
design calf golden garlands surrounding crimson squares on
a background of bull, and the plate of wrought iron, which
concealed tile coal grate when it was not in use and which
depicted a domestic scene at a well, had always been very
generally admired; they were even more so, now that they
could be pointed out as features ol household adornment
more than thirty years old, which was venerable for Crowley.
The fact that the clar]` paneling which formed tile dada below
the wallpaper did not leave much room for books, and the
further

94 VICTORINE

fact that only a mahogany fretwork, surmounting velvet
portieres, separated the library from the dining room and
precluded any long period of quiet for reading, had never
loomed large in anyone's consciousness. Lavinia had always
been more interested in music than in books, and her grand
piano, the best that money could buy, dominated one end of
the living room, where the low shelves underneath the
windows accommodated the works of reference on camellias,
which occupied Anne Marie's leisure hours. Prosper, like
most of his friends, read westerns, whodunits and popular
magazines to the exclusion of almost everything else, except
circulars dealing with the breeding and milling of rice, and,
at that, the amount of time he devoted to reading was
negligible, now that he was no longer required to do any in
connection with his studies. It was not until he had seen the
vast book-lined room at the LaBranches', with its galleries,
its sliding ladders designed to reach the upper shelves with
ease, and its treasure trove of first editions and rare prints,
that Prosper realised what a library in a private house could
look like; it was not until he heard Vichy and her father
casually discussing current biographies and histories. written
in three or four different languages, which kept pouring into
the house with almost the same regularity as groceries, and
listened to tile father and daughter as they quoted, with
equal ease and lack of scif-consciotlsness, from classical
works of which he had never even heard, that he had begun
to appreciate the part which books played in some people's
lives.

 Well, it was a mercy that Vicky did love books, and that
reading came to her almost as naturalh. as breathing. That
WAS what she would be doing now, except when sue was
taking Levvy out for a run through the grounds reading,
while she waited to hear from him again. Prosper wished he
could select some volume at random from one of the
sectional bookcases set along the paneled walls under the
scrolled ceiling and bury himself in its contents. I ie rose and
searched restlessly, but could find nothing that seemed likely
to divert his troubled thoughts. Besides, the light was bad,
both because of the dark paneling and the inadequate
fixtures, and Lavinia and Anne Marie would have to start
setting the table for a buffet supper any moment now, to
provide for all those wellmeaning relatives whom Prospcr
could hear, constantly arriving, and whom he ought to go in
and sec. Verna, who had come to the Villacs as cools when
L.avinia was married, awl Callie who had been first Prosper's
nurse and then Annc NIarie's and had stayed on afterward
as house girl, were still in L avini.l's employ. hut they had
Sundav afternoons off, as well as at Ica-t one aftc rnocm
during the week, and When they were

DANGEREUSE 95

out, Lavinia and Anne Marie got supper themselves and
made light of it, no matter how many guests there were. In
this respect also, the Villac house was entirely unlike that of
the LaBranches', where there was not only the formidable
English butler Gifford, who had so upset Prosper the first
time he had gone thel e, but half a dozen other servants of
various nationalities: a chef, a second cook, a valet for Moise,
a personal maid for Victorine, a chambermaid, a parlor maid,
a kitchen maid, even someone who vitas called a stillroom
maid, whose duties had never been made clear to Prosper,
any more than the purpose of a stillroom had been. He had
failed to straighten out the functions of all these servants and
the reasons why it was necessary or desirable to have so
many. But he had discovered that several were always in
attendance. He doubted if Victorine had ever made a Cllp of
tea for herself, much less got supper on the table for ten or
twenty persons. Not that she couldn't of course that girl
could do anything; and maybe, when they were first married,
she would like to, so that they could be by themselves. That
was what he would like. But perhaps, since Moise was so old
and feeble, she would feel she should continue to liVt in his
house. Prosper would understand, if she did. He wouldn't like
it half so well as a little house of their own, but he would
understand. At least, she wouldn't have 'steen uncles and
aunts and cousins butting in all the time.... When they were
married! He'd better make that if they were married! He sat
down and again became the prey to manifold anxieties, to the
exclusion of all joyful thoughts.

 The door of the library opened quietly and his mother came
in and put her arm around his should rs. E Ie was grateful
because she did not at once snap on one of the lights which,
though inadequate for reading, would have been strong
enough to make him blink uncomfortably, just at that
moment. He was also gr lteful because she did not seem to
resent the fact that he had not sprung up, as soon as she
entered, and greeted her with courtesy, if not actually with
cordiality. She spoke with unwonted gentleness.

 "I know you don't feel like talking with anyone, Prosper, or
even seeing anyone. I had a chance, just after you and Tobe
got here, to tell Dale and Didier and Anne Marie about what
had happened. I mean the barest facts of course, I didn't
know more myself then. But now, my father and mother and
grandfather are here and all your Primeaux and Villac
relatives."

"Just as if it were a wake, you mean," he said bitterly.

96 VICTORINE

 "No, dear, I didn't mean that you know I didn't and you
don't mean it, either. You know they ve come from the
kindest motives."

 "I'd much rather they deft me alone. I should think
Grandmother and Grandfather Winslow and Grandpa Jim
would realise that, even if the others don't."

 "I think perhaps they do, but they know the rest don't. I've
never forgotten what my mother-in-law said to me about
Cajun families when I was very young and inexperienced. In
fact, I think I can repeat it almost word for word, after all
these years: 'With us, Calera, it ain't just one man, him, an'
one girl, her, w'at's married with each other, no. It's the
whole family w'at counts all two of the families, an' the
families looks out for everybody that's in the families, them.
That's the way we do, us, an' it's a good way, I guarantee
you, me.' All the Primeaux and Villacs felt that way, and
they still do; they're rallying around because they know
you're in trouble and they want to help. They'd
misunderstand if your grandfather and grandmother and
Grandpa Jim didn't come at a time like this. And it would
be too bad if there were a misunderstanding, wouldn't it?"

"I couldn't care less, on that score."

 "Prosper, you're not acting like yourself at all. That isn't
strange. I know this has been a terrible shock to you. But
you can't stay in here, all alone, the whole eVellinœ,`. You'll
have to come into the living room and show your
appreciation of your family's kindness even if it is mistakell
kindness. Besides, the whole situation's under discussion
now. You'll have to throw any light on it tTtIat you can."

 "I can't throw any light on it at all. You've already told
Dale and Tidier and Anne Marie w hat Tobe told you to
begin with, and Grandfather and Grandpa Jim and Clement
must have told them and all the rest of you what happened
at Toler's. There won't be anything more to say until we
know whether Joe Guerra got hold of August and the Pro-
fessor and the Dargereux family."

 "We ought to be hearing that any moment now, and you
ought to be in the living room to take the message.
Besides "

"Yes?"

 "Well, I think perhaps L'd better tell you this before you
go in. Dale may not be staying much iongcr. E Ic says he
thinks he ought to go cover to Toler's."

"What for?'

"To be there when the ')arycrcux familNT.'rriNes. IIe says
they'll need

use 97

help, that they're terribly poor, that they wouldn't have
enough money to pay for well, you know, the necessary
things."

 "I shouldn't think they'd be as poor as all that. Titine must
have earned some money."

 "Yes, but she didn't share it with her family. She had the
Professor keep it for her. At least, that's w hat Dale says."

"How on earth would he know?"

 "Of course, I didn't ask. I'm only telling you what he says
about it. And he says the Professor wouldn't turn over any of
it to the family, unless he were forced to. So Dale thinks
someone ought to help out and that he's the one to offer. I
Ie says there's bound to be enough trouble about the funeral,
trouble that'll make the family unhappy, without having the
worry about money besides, when he's got plenty."

"What kind of trouble?"

 "Why don't you let him tell you himself? After all, I'm not
a Catholic, I'm not sure I understand everything he's saying.
But I do understand this Anne Marie's terribly upset."

 Prosper winced. That was what hurt more than anything
else. His mother could stand up to trouble, even bad trouble;
he knew she had done it, over and over again. The same was
true of the staunch Winslows, the indestructible Garland and
all the sturdy, earthy tribe of Villacs and Primeaux, as well as
their in-laws and their progeny. So, he was increasingly aware,
could the ] aBranches and, after all, that was not astonishing:
as a child, Moise had seen his family triumph over poverty
and obscurity and he had fought his way up, not only to
actual wealth, but to distinction and power; he had accepted
the wreck of his marriage without bitterness, and had
returned to his homeland to face disability and death with
serenity. Victorine was a fighter, too, and Prosper was tardily
certain that this was all to the good, as far as he was
concerned; she had in her all the elements of strength and
endurance which would make her a conqueror over fate, like
her father. But Anne Marie was different; she had never
wanted or needed to fight; she had always been sheltered,
cherished and beloved. No one had ever said so much as a
harsh word to her. And now he, her brother, who worshiped
the ground she walked on, was responsible for her misery.
Lavinia, divining part of what was passing in his miml, spoke
quickly.

 "Don't take it so hard, Prosp, r. Of course, Anne Marie's
just as sure as I am that you're not responsible for this
terrible accident."

"It's a little early to be sure of that, isn't it?"

"Of course not. Of course we know it's as amazing and
appalling to

98 vIcTonINr~

you as it is to us. When I said Anne Marie was upset, I
wasn't referring to anything you'd done or that anyone might
be stupid enough to think you'd done. I was referring to
what Dale is doing."

"Why he'd rather cut off his right hand than upset her!"

 "That's what I thought, too. And I believe she really had
come to a decision. I believe she W.IS going to tell him
tonight that she'd marry him. She was counting on you to
get Didier away first. Of course, she didn't know, when she
planned all this out, that there was going to be a terrible
tragedy, or that we'd have a crowd of other people in the
house, or anything like that. And now, if Dale insists on
going off to Toler's before anyone else leaves--"

 Prosper got to his feet; if he had sent Tobe going around
in circles an hour or so earlier, his mother was certainly
having that effect on him now. He did not even try to delay
her long enough to tell her his own good news, the only
good news of the day. He opened the door and crossed the
hall with her at his side.

 As he expected, the living room was full. The Winslows
and Jim Garland were sitting at one end of it, the various
Primeaux and Villacs, with their husbands and wives, filled
the center and, at the farther end, near the piano, Anne
Marie was sitting between Dale and Didier. Her eyes were
lowered, her cheeks were flushed and she was twisting her
handkerchief nervously around her pretty pink fingers.
Didier's face was completely expressionless, but, as Prosper
advanced toward this group, after the briefest of greetings to
the others, Didier averted his eyes. Dale, on the other hand,
looked straight at Prosper and rose to meet him. His fine,
sensitive face, always serious of expression, was more than
usually grave. He spoke slowly and with great earnestness.

 "I feel I ought to apologize to everyone for saying and
doing the wrong thing," he said. "I didn't mean to I don't
want to. When I told Anne Marie I felt I ought to go to
Toler's, I thought she'd understand. I thought I'd just slip ou
t quietly and come back by and by, if I could, and that, with
so many others here, no one would notice I'd gone, or
whether I came back--except Anne Marie and Didier, of
course. Now it seems she didn't understand and that,
somehow, everyone's in on this and that everyone s puzzled
and wants an explanation. It's very simple really. I know
something about the Dargereux through kinsfolk of theirs
that have worked at my sugar mill. Titine's mother and
father have always both been terribly shiftless. I don't think
Michel Dargereux ever had a steady job or even tried to do
what he could with the little land he owns. He mostly just
sits and fishes in the bayou and lets the

DANGEREUSE 99

world go by and his wife's just as no-account as he is. They
had two or three other children before Titine, who've all died.
One was drowned, and one had typhoid, and one got kicked
by a horse. They never had much care, I'm afraid. But
somehow, Titine survived and managed to get to school for a
few terms. I'm told she was always good at wisecracking from
the time she was just a little kid and that she could always
carry a tune. Then she had a chance to learn how to play the
accordion and she had enough initiative to go out and get
herself a job. I think we ought to give her credit for
that also, for having enough sense to save what little she
earned and to have it kept where no one could get at it to
waste it. Her folks were sort of proud of her they wouldn't
work themselves, but they had a dim realisation that their
daughter wasn't as lazy as they were and then, she was all
they had left. They're going to grieve over her death, just the
way any of you would if you lost a daughter  more, in a way,
because they know she didn't have a good name, that she
probably can't be 'passed through the church' that is, she
can't be buried in consecrated ground. She wasn't given the
last rites and it must be years since she's been to confession
or Communion and well, I don't need to talk about the rest.
The most her folks can hope for is that the priest will come
to their shack after the wake, wearing ordinary clothes, and
say a few prayers there, and maybe another short one at the
grave, which would have to be somewhere on their land, not
in a regular cemetery and Lord knows most of their land is
swamp. They'll take this harder than anything that's ever
happened to them. Lots of you here know that."

 There was a murmur of assent among some of his hearers.
Others shook their heads, not in denia] of his words, but in
shock or sadness. All waited for him to go on.

 "I didn't mean to make such a speech," Dale said
apologetically and with still greater earnestness than before.
"As I told you in the beginning, I thought I'd just slip out
quietly. I'm sorry I couldn't do it quietly; however, I still
mean to go. And I'm sorry I've had to take up your time by
explaining all this, when you've got lots of other things that
need talking about. It seemed to be necessary though. So I'll
just say again that I want to be at Toler's when the Dargereux
get there, to tell them that I'll meet all the bills for the coffin
and the embalming and that the first thing tomorrow morning
['11 go and talk to our priest and see if there's anything that
can be done about the funeral. I think August would offer to
pay the expenses of that, but he can't get to Toler's before
the Dargereux do he'll have to go straight to the courthouse.
And he's a

loo VICTORIAN

Lutheran, if he's anything, which I doubt, so he wouldn't
have any inRuence with the priest."

 Dale paused for breath, but everyone sat very still, waiting
for him to go on, even expecting, without quite knowing why,
that he would do so. They were not mistaken.

 "There's another reason why I want to go," he said. "Of
course, it has nothing to do, directly, with the girl's death;
but it does have something to do with the way she was
found. The watchman's flashlight picked up the gleam of a
gold slipper. I heard her say, a few weeks back, that she
wanted some gold slippers. She didn't have many pretty
things, the kind girls want every girl, I guess, and I thought
it would give her a sort of lift if she knew someone really
paid enough attention to what she said to do something
about it. Ten days or so ago, I met the Professor on the road
between Cypremort and the Tuileries. He was driving alone
and so was I; I asked him to pass back by my house and
have a drink, as it wouldn't be far out of his way. He said
he'd be glad to and we had a pleasant little visit together. I
gave him a drink and he sat down and played on my piano.
It seemed mighty good to hear music in that room
again there hasn't been any there in a long while. Of
course, you all know I've been hoping there would be more
pretty soon, but . . . well, anyway, I asked the Professor if he
thought it would be all right for someone like me to buy
Titine gold slippers.... I didn't want her to think I was trying
to put her under obligations to me and well, God knows I
didn't want that bruiser Scholtze to think I vitas doing any-
thing . . . well, I guess he needn't go into that, either.
Somehow I felt as if the Professor, who might have been
considered that poor girl!s guardian, in a way, would give me
a straight answer. But he stopped playing with kind of a
musical crash and k~oked at me in a queer way. I realized
I'd got off side somehow. So I handed him a twenty-dollar
bill and said, 'Here. This ought to give you a guarantee I'm
not trying to put anything over. Take this money and the
first chance you get, buy Titine the best gold slippers this
will pay for. And don't even tell her who they're from.' after
that, his whole attitude changed, and he played again for a
while the man really has astonishing talent and we had
another drink or so and he left.

 "I've sort of been waiting to hear from him, but he hasn't
said a word, so I never really knew whether or not he
bought her those slippers. That is, I suppose he did, since
she was wearing gold slippers when her body was found. I've
told you all about it first, because sooner or later it's bound
to come out anyway, and I'd rather you heard it from me
and,

D~NG~Rr use IOI

second, to make you see if anything can why I feel as if I
ought to " He paused and looked about him, first at Anne
Marie, who had averted her face, and then at the others,
noting that Prosper, too, was looking at his sister. Dale
sighed and went on.

 "Well, it can't be long now before the Dargereux get to
Crowley, so I'll ask you to excuse me and be on my way.
There are one or two things I want to talk over with Toler
before the family gets there."

Chapter Eleven

IIE LEANED OVER ANNE A 1 ARIE, AS IF ~ Vv'ERE
ABOUT TO PUT HIS ARKI

around her shoulders anal rest his head against her shining
hair; from the other end of the roorr, it looked as if the act
had been as real as the obvious yearning, but actually, he had
not touched her. After a moment's hesitation, Dale
straightened up and faced the assembled company in the
same direct way that he had looked first at Prosper and,
afterward, at everyone else. Then, in the quiet, controlled
voice that had marked his speech all the time, he said again,
"I'm sorry," and added, "Good-by," before turning away and
starting through the rear door of the living room toward the
back entrance of the house.

 "Holt on one li'l minute, my frien'! I got it in my mind, me,
I'm comin' with you. Yes!"

 Save for the occasional subdued murmurs, everyone had
remained exceptionally silent and motionless all the time
Dale was talking. Now Clement Primeaux had risen and, with
surprising speed and verve for so stocky and stolid a man,
wedged his way among the closely placed chairs, where he
and his Cajun relatives had been sitting, to the more open
space by the piano. Then he, too, turned and faced the
assembled company.

 "I take shame, yes," he said harshly, "that it had to be
somebody outside the fam'ly to show us what's right for
people to do. We been sittin' yuh, us, like we small children
in school, that can't do nothin', no, till the teacher tells them.
I say I take shame...."

 "Hey, wait a minute, Glem," Bazinet protested angrily. "I
don't see how you got any call to talk like so!"

"How much you think I care, me?" retorted Clement,
brushing the

DANGEnEus~Io3

issue aside with a sweep of the hand, its blunt fingers spread
wide. "Those Dargereux peoples gain' have to find some place
to stay, no? That Landry, him, ain't goin' let them take their
young dead girl back tonight and, even if he did, how they
goin' get back by their bayou? So I'm goin' over to Toler's,
me, with Mist' Fontenot, and I'm tellin' those po' peoples
they can stay by my house on my farm long as they need to."

 "That's mighty kind of you, Mr. Primeaux, and it provides
for an emergency that hadn't even occurred to me," said Dale.
"I'll be proud to have you come with me."

 "Those folks is peoples, same as you just said," agreed
Clement. "And it's us, yes, the fam'ly that's got bad trouble,
too, should of thought about that biffo' you did." He swept his
thick arm in an accusatory indictment of the whole gathering.
"If you could wait fo' one li'l minute, Mist' Fontenot, I got
one other piece that's got to get said yuh and now. I'm goin'
tell those peoples, me, that if anybody says they can't bury
that po' li'l dead girl, her, in this c emetery or that cemetery,
they can bury her in my cemetery lot, back of the orange
grove, on the prairie. I guarantee you, me, I ain't forgot how
my maman had to baptize three of her childrens her own self,
or how she and my daddy, him, buried them without no help,
in the ol' days, biflfo' Father Vialleton, him, could get around
to do all like he wanted to for everybody."

 "Oh, I'm sure that won't be necessary," Lavinia began.
"These aren't the old days any more. That poor girl's body
will find a decent resting place somewhere."

 "Sho' will it," Clement continued doggedly. "That's what I'm
sayin'. And, w'ile I'm sayin' it, I got it on my mind, me, to say
what some of you know and some of you don't. After those
three li'l children that was my brothers and sisters got buried
out in the prairie, and after the groun' got consecrate' by
Father Viallcton, it came a hurricane storm one October.
Trees got blown down, chimbleys also, and also the little
crosses on them three graves, yes. So what my daddy did?
After the storm done passed, he put back the crosses where
he figured out they belonged, them, and always he said they
was put back on the consecrate' group'."

 "Clement, why have you got to talk about all those family
things from long back, I ask you?" Marcelite Bazinet
interrupted shrilly. "Besides, what has our family, a
respectable family, got to do with anyone like the Dargereux
girl?"

 "She ain't no worse of a sinner, no, I tell you frankly, than
some I could name; and one of them is buried in my
cemetery lot already," Clement flung at her, his brows drawn
down in a bristling scowl.

104 VICTORINE

"What's more, there's always flowers on his grave. Don't
forget we got a suicide in our fam'ly,what the priest said
couldn't be buried in no consecrate'groun'. But our daddy,
him, stood up and said part of that cemetery lot back of the
orange grove never did get consecrate', he remembered it
real good from that hurr'cane storm, and he would make it
man to man with anybody what had it on his mind to say
Daddy got to throw my po' brother's body in some swamp."
He shot a brief glance, almost of apology, toward Lavinia. "I
ain't tryin' to hurt nobody, me, not now, no. But Daddy and
me, we done bury Fleex our own selves, and his body's
sleepin' peaceful where his po'li'l brothers and sisters got
buried biffo' the groun' ever did get consecrate' at all. So if
no priest won't come to help bury that girl for the
Dargereux, and they want to have her put in our lot where
my dead brothers and sisters is at, them, I not only give
them fief, me, but I'll help them do it. That is what I got on
my mind, and not nobody, no, goin' change it or either stop
me from coin' it, not no more than they could stop my
daddy, him!"

 He turned to Dale. "I got to thank you, yes," he said
quietly, "biccoz you polite enough to wait while I said what
I got to say, me. I'm ready, now."

 The silence which had already been so profound, now took
on a quality of horror. It was true that all Clement's hearers
did not know everything he had laid bare in his rebuke to
Marcelite, though it was easy enough to guess that, in the
latter case, he was referring to some youthful indiscretion of
hers, which she would not have cared to see brought to light.
But most of the persons in the room knew that his father
and mother had buried some of their children themselves,
because there was no one else to do it; also, that later, when
there had been an argument as to how much of the ground
was consecrated, Phares Primeaux had won out about the
burial of his eldest son, Felix. What was more, everyone
knew that Felix had accidentally shot his cousin, Claude
Villac, and that his suicide was the result of his desperation.
The impassioned reference to Felix, by the younger brother
who had adored him, the coupling of past with present
tragedy in the home of persons intimately connected with
both was the more overwhelming, because the outburst was
so definitely not in character: for years, Clement had passed
as a being devoid of any violent emotion; not even his
nearest relatives guessed he had nurtured the greatest grief
of his boyhood to such a degree that it was as poignant as if
the wound had just been inHicted. Now it had found
vehement expression under circumstances which made its
effect doubly tumultuous.

D,\NGEREUSE I05

  The slamming of the back door, as Clement closed it
behind himself and Dale, startled everyone anew.
Nevertheless, the sudden noise lessened the tension in the
overcharged room, and brought the unnatural silence to an
abrupt end. Jim Garland began talking to his daughter and
son-in-law, in a lower voice than usual, but otherwise in his
normal way. The Villacs and Primeaux, obviously still not
united in their feeling about Glement's attitude and action,
began to argue among themselves. Lavinia, the color
completely drained from her face, but her manner as calm as
if one shattering blow had not followed another, leaned over
Anne Marie.

  "Come, dear," she said. "We mustn't let anything that Dale
and Clement have said aml done upset us. They both had
their reasons. Suppose we try to start getting supper?"

  "How could anyone avant any supper after that? I'm sure
I don't. I want to go to my room."

  "I know just how you feel, honey," Prosper said, as
soothingly as he could, considering that he was badly shaken
himself. "I'll go up with you and stay for a few minutes. You
don't mind, do you, Didier?"

  Didier moved uneasily in his chair, but he looked Prosper
in the face, for the first time since Dale had begun talking.
"No, I guess not," he muttered.

  "I'm sure Annette and Ma~celite will help Mother get
started with supper, and I'll help finish, when I come back,"
Prosper went on, speaking with an effort. "But before vile go,
I've got something to say, too. It won't be quite such a long
speech as Dale's, but I hope it'll make more sense to most of
you."

  Anne Marie looked up at her brother. He forced a smile as
he glanced down at her.

  "What's that old cliche about every cloud having a silver
lining? Well, we seem to be surrounded with pretty heavy
clouds, whichever Nay we look. But one of my own special
clouds has got a lining that isn't just silver it's pure gold. ['m
engaged to be married."

  "Good," shouted Jim Garlaml from the other end of the
room. "Hurry up, tell us about it!"

  "That's what I'm trying to do. The most wonderful girl in
the world has told me that well, I'm going to say it right out.
She's told me that she loves me. She's told me so not once,
but over and over again. What's more, she told me not before
we'd heard about this this awful thing at the mill, but
afterward."

106 vIcTonINr:

 "Good for her!" Jim Garland was shouting again and, this
time, there were echoes to his shout. "Go on, Prosper."

 "We were more or less on our way to an understanding of
sorts, but not so far along that she couldn't have backed out,
mighty easily, if she'd wanted to. And she didn't. She said,
right in front of her father, that we were engaged, and then
she called me up here, an hour or so ago, to say a lot more."

 "You're not talking about Vicky, are you?" Anne Marie
asked incredulously.

 "Of course I am. Did you ever hear of anyone else I
wanted to marry? Of course, you haven't! Come on, honey,
I'll go up to your room with you. Excuse us, will you, folks?"

 Anne Marie rose, somewhat reluctantly. The atmosphere
was indeed gloomy, but Prosper's revs ration of a golden
lining had done a good deal to brighten it. She was afraid
that, if she were shut off upstairs, she might miss some other
even more exciting development. But she could not very well
admit a complete about-face; she suffered herself to be led
from the room by the same rear door that Dale and
Clement had taken. After she and Prosper reached her pink
and white bedroom, he helped her settle herself on the
cretonne-covered chaise tongue, patterned in roses, and
arranged its lacy pillows behind her.

 "There!" he said. "Now have a good cry and then go wash
your face and get out of your clothes and climb into bed. I'll
bring you a tray after a while. I know there's some shrimp
gumbo and some peach ice cream and a lady cake; they
ought to taste good to you. But before I barge in with food,
I'll come and make sure you're not asleep. You might feel
like taking a little nap after a while."

 "Oh, Prosper, you really are a dear! You don't think I was
unreasonable just now, do you?"

 He hesitated, torn between complete candor and
unswerving devotion. Then he chose his words carefully.

 "Well, you see, honey, I think it was pretty hard for Dale
to say what he did to do what he did. Of course, he wanted
to stay with you and, of course, he didn't want to stand up
in front of all those people and give a long explanation of
his actions. It would have been a lot easier for him if you
could just have said, 'All right, come back as soon as you
can,' when he told you he thought he'd better slip out for a
few minutes and, if he could have, then Cousin Clement
wouldn't have done what he did."

DANGEREUSF 107

  "That was the worst of all! How could he talk that way
about Fleex, right in front of you and me in our home?
Fleex killed our father!"

  "Accidentally. He loved our father. He wouldn't have done
anything to hurt him for the world. It was his horror over
what he'd done that made him kill himself."

  "You sound as if you were trying to excuse him. And
someone else must be doing that, too, if there are always
flowers on his grave."

  "Yes, that did come as a surprise, as as a shock. But let's
not talk about that now. Let's go on talking about you and
Dale. I can see that it would have been hard for you to let
him go, without asking any questions, when you'd just made
up your mind to marry him."

  "It was terribly hard. How could I understand having him act
like that? You said yourself, just a few minutes ago, that it
didn't make sense."

  "No, honey, I didn't say exam tly that. I said I hoped what
I was saying would make more sense to most of the people
who were listening than what he'd said. Because I got the
feeling you weren't the only one who didn't understand he
was doing the hard thing because he thought it was the right
thing. However, I understood all right. Dale Fontenot was
telling a perfectly straight story, not hiding anything, not
adding anything. Also, he was saying a kind word for a girl
who's dead and to whom no one else is going to grant any
good points at all, because she had got herself a bad name.
And he was going to help some people who are so no-account
he thought no one else would lift a hand for them, even if
they had lost their only child and didn't even know how they
could give her a decent funeral. Of course, Cousin Clement's
taking care of all that now, but Dale had no idea anything
like that would happen. He did all this explaining and then
went away which must have been mighty hard for him. He
had reason to think you were going to tell him, at last, that
you'd marry him, and that was what he wanted more than
anything in the world, just as I want to marry Vicky more
than anything in the world. He's waited years to have you say
a certain thing and then he had to go olf without hearing it.
I've always thought Dale was the finest fellow I knew, but I
never in my life had as much respect for him as I did this
evening."

"Prosper, you're standing up for him just because he's your
friend."

  It was on the tip of his tongue to say, "That's not the only
reason, and you might stand up for him because you're his
sweetheart." But he had never spoken that way to Anne
Marie and he could not quite bring himself to do so now. She
shifted her pillows and went on.

"You know perfectly well he had a guilty conscience! All that
talk

Ion VICTORINE

about paying for the slippers as if it were merely a generous
gesture!" "But that's exactly what it was! Do you suppose, if
he had had a guilty conscience, he would have looked twenty
people straight in the face, the way he did, and made up a
story like that as he went along? Dale's naturally very
sensitive, actually rather shy; he's lived all by himself for
years, in one of the gloomiest places I ever saw in my life,
and that's had its effect on him, too. He's become more and
more withdrawn, less and less self-confident. You must
know that. If he hadn't, he wouldn't have let you kocp him
in suspense all this time. He'd have found some means of
bringing his suit to a head. And, when it comes to a guilty
conscience, I wish I had one as clear as his."

 Anne Marie sat up among the tumbled pillows. "What on
earth do you mean?" she asked excitedly.

 "I mean just what I say. Dale asked the Professor to buy
a pair of gold slippers for Titine because he knew she
wanted them a lot. He didn't even give them to her himself
and he didn't want anything from her in return."

"Do you really believe that?"

"Of course I really believe it."

 "Well, I don't. And I don't know why you say you wish
your conscience was as clear as his."

 "I can't give you all the details now. But try to bear this in
mind: I'm supposed to be the last person that could have
seen this girl alive. Everybody around here knows I used to
hang around the Tuileries. And a lot of things could be
brought out at the interrogation or inquiry or whatever
they'll call this investigation to show why Titine Dargereux
came to my mill Saturday night and died there."

 "You mean anyone might think that you you had
reason to that maybe you killed her?"

 "Yes, a lot of gossipers and tongue waggers are going to
couple my name with that of a dead girl. I can't stop them
from talking. Nobody can."

"Oh, Prosper, this is awful! It's simply awful!"

 "I didn't want to point out all this to you, but you
practically asked for it, with your suspicions about a fine
man like Dale Fontenot. There are going to be just as many
suspicions about me a lot more, in fact  and harbored by
a great many more people. Before you condemn Dale
Fontenot, try to understand that when it comes to being
suspected and regarded as guilty, your brother's in there
forty to the acre!"

Anne Marie was weeping openly now, and Prosper, feeling
the swift

DANGEREUSE IC9

stab of pity for the sister he had idolised so long, bent to put
his arms about her. But she pushed him away.

 "Have you even stopped to think for a moment what a
terrible scandal this will create?"

"I haven't been thinking about much else all the afternoon."

  "Do you realize that the whole family will be involved in it?
Do you realize that I won't have a chance in the world of
being the first Rice Queen, when I'd set my heart on it you
who always said you'd do anything in the world for me!"

  Prosper had been sitting on the edge of the chaise tongue,
close to his sister. Now he rose abruptly and looked down at
her with an expression she had never seen on his face before.
A girl, a girl about her own age, had just died a horrible
death, and the effect of this death on Anne Marie had not
been one of sympathy and shock. It had caused her first to
doubt the good faith of a man who had been her devoted
suitor for years and who, in all that time, had never given her
the slightest reason to question his singleheartedncss; and
then it had caused her to grieve, not because the fair name of
her family would, with reason, be sullied, but because such a
stain would deprive her of an honor she coveted. Ever since
Prosper could remember, Anne Marie had been his idol; and
now, on top of all the other tragic events of the day, he was
discovering that his idol's slim, arched, delicate feet were
made of clay. For a moment, he gazed at her, almost
unbelievingly; then he turned and started out of the room.

  "Prosper, what made you look at me like that? Why are you
going off and leaving me all alone when you know I'm so
unhappy?"

  He paused on the threshold, but only for a moment. "If you
don't know, without being told, I'm afraid it wouldn't do any
good for me to try to tell you," he said. "It didn't do any good
when Dale tried, and he's a lot better at explaining than I am.
Anyway, I've got to go downstairs. The message must have
come in from Joe Guerra by this time."

  It had. Joe telephoned, Prosper's mother told him, almost
as soon as he had gone upstairs with Anne Marie; she
stopped to speak with him in the act of slicing a long loaf of
French bread. Joe had been fortunate in finding everyone he
had been sent after. The Dargereux seemed dazed, rather
than grief stricken; they had said very little and asked almost
no questions; but they had made no objections when Joe told
them they must come to Rowley with the Professor, who,
though naturally very much shocked, was articulate,
co-operative and compara

IIo VICTORINE

lively calm. Joe had seen him start off in his Ford, with the
Dargereux on the back seat, and they should be at Toler's
almost any time now. August had, at first, seemed inclined
to be ugly, but Joe had succeeded in convincing him that it
was to his own best interest not to resist the summons he
had received, and he had consented to go along in Joe's car.
They, too, must be well on their way to (Rowley by this
time. The grocery store and dance hall had been closed and
Baer had been left in charge of the building. Of course, he
was not very intelligent, but, after all, there was not much
that could happen there that night....

 "And you don't have to go to the courthouse while August
is being questioned, as Tobe told you," Lavinia concluded,
as she started slicing bread again. "I wouldn't be surprised
if he didn't require you to go tomorrow, either after all, he
knows you've got a mill to run, and that there'll be even
more than usual for you to do, with Paula out I understand
she's going to be questioned next after August. Anyway,
we've got a reprieve for this evening, so let's make the most
of it. We'll all feel better if we eat a hearty supper and talk
about that good Nevis, which has helped a lot, my dear,
coming in the midst of so much bad news. I'm happy to tell
you that I'd rather have Vicky for a daughterin-law than any
other girl ['ye ever seen."

 "And I'm happy to hear you say that. Especially as I
assume you'd rather have had Dale Fontenot for a
son-in-law than any other man you've ever seen. Perhaps
one gain will make up for another loss."

 "Another loss?" Lavinia echoed, lowering her voice. "There
won't be another loss. Anne Marie's upset now, but that
doesn't mean she'll change her mind in the end, after she's
taken so long to make it up."

 "Perhaps she won't, but you can be mighty sure Dale
will in fact, that he already has. Anne Marie may think she
isn't through with him, but if he isn't through with her, he
isn't half the man I believe he is. And that may hurt Anne
Marie's pride, but I don't believe it'll hurt her much
otherwise. I think Didier will do just as well for her
purposes." To his mother's amazement, Prosper was
speaking scornfully, and his eyes strayed in the direction of
a daintily laid tray, covered with a fine cloth of embroidered
organdy and set with Dresden china. "Why don't you let
Didier take Anne Marie's supper up to her?" he inquired. "It
might be an opportune moment."

Chapter Twelve

    WHILE THE VILLACSAND THEIR STRANGELY
ASSORTED GUESTS WERE STILL

trying to pretend they had good appetites, and resolutely
talking about Vicky, though Titine was uppermost in their
thoughts, August Scholtze was ushered by Guerra from a
dimly lit hallway of the courthouse into a narrow,
high-ceilinged room. The bootlegger blinked his eyes against
the sudden flood of bright illumination from a central
electrolier, surprisingly ornate in the bare chamber's other
lack of decor, and slouched in the direction of a long table,
toward one end of which Guerra directed him. The deputy
immediately joined a group already gathered at the opposite
end: Landry, Bcnnett, Davila and Malvina Walton, the
capable and impassive court stenographer; then, taking a
chair from the other side of the table, he scraped it along the
floor to bring it a little behind Bennett, and leaned forward,
whispering to the sheriff, who tilted his head back and
listened attentively, though without taking his eyes off
Scholtze. When Guerra finished speaking, Bennett nodded in
obvious agreement and told August to sit down. The tone was
noncommittal, but it was clear he had voiced a command
rather than a hospitable invitation.

  "All right, I do it," retorted Scholtze, resting his pawlike
hands on the top of a chair back. "But first, somebody better
tell me what gives. I got rights, you know. And even il you
don't know, I do."

  For a moment, no one spoke. The only sound in the room
was the morose buzz of a mud dauber, futilely trying to fly
through a long windowpane where the blaze of light from the
electrolier was slashingly reflected. The high walls, bare in
their coating of calcimine from chair rail to ceiling, showed
that other wasps had built mud nurseries there

II2 VICTORINE

from time to time; but all the original white pigment had
faded to an indeterminate hue, which eventually turn either
grey or yellow with age. From the chair rail to the floor, the
walls had been painted a scrofulous brindle, marred and
streaked by generations of match scratchers.

 Landry, a short, round bodied, round-faced man, whose
habitual expression, resembling that of a Kewpie doll,
deceived those unfamiliar with his terrier eagerness as a
prosecutor, was the one to break the silence. "This is an
investigation into the circumstances surrounding the death
of one of your employees, Scholtze," he began, "a girl named
Titine Dargereux. And don't try to look surprised. The
whole damn countryside knows by now that she was found
dead in one of the Claudia Mill's rice bins early this
afternoon."

 "I do not feel for looking surprised," Scholtze conceded,
pulling a chair violently toward him and flinging his big
frame into it. "But if I did feel for looking surprised, I would
do it. I would look surprised as hell. You understand tllat?''

 "What's biting you, Gus?" snapped Davila. "There's no call
for you to have a chip on your shoulder. Nobody's done you
anything outside of bringing you here for qut stioning, the
same as lots of others."

 "Oh, so nobody has done me nothing? That's what you
think? Well, I feel for thinking different, see? Maybe when
comes a deputy to arrest you, mir nichts dir nichts, you got a
right to act like it was nice. Not me!"

 "You're not arrested . . . yet," Landry interrupted. "But if
you want to be, you can get prompt service. As Dr. Davila
told you, a number of persons have been called in for
questioning, you among them. In other words, you're here
simply as a witness; a material witness. I'm not even putting
you under oath. But if you're going to be hardheaded, if you
want to obstruct an investigation into what Dr. Tim thinks
might be a murder "

 "Yah, I don't obstruct nothing. It's you, acting like
everybody's guilty already. I hear plenty people say you
would even charge yourself with murder if you think you
could get a jury to say you got to hang."

 Tobe Bennett rose slowly and leaned forward across the
table. "You keep a civil tongue in your head, Scholtze, or I'll
work you over myself, for resisting arrest or something," he
said warningly.

"But I ain't arrested. Dr. Tim just says so."

"You will be, if necessary. I'll think of a charge later. For
wearing

D ANGERBII SE II3

blue silk sleeve garters, maybe. So you be good, and you'll
keep out of trouble for a while, anyhow."

  Scholtze glowered at the sheriff, but relaxed in his chair as
Theo Landry began fumbling among the papers on the table
before him.

  "That typewritten transcript of Dr. Davila's findings at the
inquest is here somewhere," he murmured. "And some of the
reports on what several of those waiting to be examined have
told us informally, though we haven't called them in for
official questioning as yet." He leafed through a file of papers
Mrs. Walton handed him, and then addressed Scholtze
directly. "Now here's the story as we have it so far, Gus. The
Dargereux girl was alive Saturday night when she left her
house about two hours earlier than usual, but not, as usual,
with that piano player called the Professor. With someone
else, and in a flivver; a tin Lizzie like all other tin Lizzies, so
it may be difficult to identify it unless " He paused
significantly and eyed the listening bootlegger with an air of
thoughtful appraisal " unless someone comes forward and
tells us it was his car and where he was driving the girl, and
so forth and so on."

"You mean me, maybe?"

  "Hear me out first. After that, if you want to alter what we
have pieced together, no matter how trivial or how important
the change might be, you can do so.... We know, for example,
that when she left the house she was wearing her old black
shoes, but carrying a paper parcel, which could have held
another pair of shoes a pair of gold slippers, for example.
Her accordion, as usual, was in the Professor's keeping, so it
is natural to conclude she intended to go to your night club,
the Tuileries; but she never got there. She may have come
direct to Crowley, or she may have come here much later; all
we know is that her body was found in the Glaudia Mill. We
don't know who brought her here, or who met her here, but
we'll find that out, sooner or later, and when we do, we'll
learn why she came to Crowley, instead of to the Tuileries
where she "

  "I could tell you that right now, already," Scholtze
interrupted. "She comes to Crowley because I told her plain
she got to give back those gold slippers before she shows her
Iying face in the Tuileries again. I never asked her who she
got them off of, because I didn't feel for knowing him. So the
feller must be somebody which lives in Crowley yet."

"When did you tell her that?"

"Friday. Friday night."

"Your club was closed Friday night, wasn't it?"

"I give you right about that. The carpenters and painters and
Gott

114 VlCTORINr:

weiss wer noch was all over the place to get it finished
already for the grand opening last night."

"So where were you when you talked with her?"

 "In my living quarters. The carpenters and painters didn't
go in there. She didn't come to play her accordion. She
come just for a private visit."

 "I see. And you simply asked her to give back the slippers
on which she had apparently set her heart, and she simply
said yes, she would. Is that your version of it?"

Scholtze gave the district attorney a sullen glance.

"No, I never asked her," he growled. "I told her what she got
to do."

"And she said she would . . . just like that?"

"She says she will do it. ja you bet she says it, after after "

"After you beat her?" suggested the district attorney.

 "Beat nothing. That wasn't no beating. I slapped her
two-timing little face for her, that is all. Did I say
two-timing? I should say three-timing, or maybe four-timing
yet. Gott Weiss how many timing me she is!"

"But you did strike her?"

 "Jawohl, but not beat. You got to let women know who is
boss, and that is all I do. I slap her on the mouth where she
been Iying to me."

"And after that?"

 "After that, she promises me she will give back the slippers
already. I say she better not forget, if she does she will be
sorry like she never been sorry in her life yet, and I gave her
one more little Patsch so she should remember.... And after
a while, she goes home. At least, she says she goes home;
and the Professor, who brought her to my place, says that is
where he took her, after he finished cleaning up last-minute
stuff in the dance hall, so we could be ready for the grand
opening."

"When did the Professor tell you that?"

 "Saturday night he tells me yet, when he shows up early
with no Titine. I say where is this two timing little piece at?
And he says all he knows is that when he gets by her house
to bring her to work like always yet, she is gone. She leaves
word by her folks to say she first got to do something about
some gold slippers before she comes to work or the boss will
be mad with her. She leaves early in this car, and nobody
seen who was driving it."

"Could it by any chance have been your car?"

 "How could it be my car when I am at the Tuileries a
good two-three hours already and never left there until
afterward, like Gott Weiss how many people who seen me
could tell you?"

"Doesn't your nephew sometimes drive your car?"

DANGEREUSE I15

  "Beer, you mean? He don't drive it without I am there, too.
He is a good boy, but nicht ganz beisa''~men, like we say. It
means he ain't crazy like they put people in the
Verrucktenhaus for, but he don't think so fast. So he got
orders to never drive the car lessen I am with him."

"He never disobeyed those orders?"

  "Sure, once in a while, maybe. Boys ain't supposed to be no
angels yet, with wings on. But when I catch him, I give it to
him good, with a switch, where it hurts. I don't spoil no Junge.
So he knows better as to take the car now."

  "In other words, if it was your car, somebody besides you or
Baer was driving it?"

  "Somebody besides me. I got to give you that much. But I
don't use the car early that evening, and since Baer works
downstairs, opening package goods and keeping watch on the
store, I naturally don't see him. But I know what I do see;
when I tell the Professor I'm going by Crowley and see what
is what with this girl maybe with some feller somebody that
gives her gold slippers noch I find my car right where I
always leave it, and it's got plenty gas in the tank, too."

"Then you did go to Crowley last night?"

  "What did you expect from me to do? Here I am, on the
grand opening night yet, and I got no girl singer! You think
maybe I don't feel for wanting to know what gives? How
many Saturday night grand openings do I got to lose?"

  "Please answer the question. Did you or did you not go to
Crowley last night?"

  "All right, all right, all right. So I did went to Crowley. I say
to myself this funny business got to stop and now it is time to
stop it. To the Professor, I say he should watch things until I
get back, so nobody starts nothing and the waiters or either
the customers don't steal me blind yet, and I go to Crowley.'

"In your car?"

"That's right. My car."

"Did you go alone?"

  "Sure! All alone. Nobody comes with me. I want that Baer
he should come, too, and I call him, but with all the Geschrei
and the worry, I don't wait when he don't come. Maybe he is
out making a delivery, and I am going crazy with no singer.
So I tell the Professor he should watch everything until I
come back, and I go in my car to Crowley."

  "Why Crowley? Why not New Iberia, Lafayette, Abbeville,
or some other place?"

16 v I c T O R I N ~

 "Because I think it could be only about two-three persons
that would give her those gold slippers, and out of those the
most likely one got his home and his mill in Crowley. So if
she really goes to give him back the slippers, Crowley would
be where she goes. That is how I feel for it. And where she
goes when she gets here would be to the Claudia Mill."

"Why? Spell it out for us, now."

 "Because that Esel Prosper Villac would let any girl if she
is even halfway pretty talk him Otlt of anything, and I feel
for it that he is the one what gives them to her."

"And so you drove to Crowley? What time would that have
been?"

 "I never looked at no clock, but it must be about nine
o'clock. The Professor could tell you better as me, if you'd
let him in here, by he ain't so excited like I was.

"Did you go back to the club any time after that?"

 "Sure I go back. I go back in time to close up, put away
the cash in the iron box, pay the waiters and musicians."

"And what time did you get back?"

 "This time I dic1 look on the clock. People was still sitting
around and drinking, but no music. I get back ten minutes
behind three."

 "In other words, you were gone about six hours, roughly
from nine to three. How long a trip is it from the Tuileries
to Crowley?"

"How long it takes, you mean?"

 "Yes. Let's see, from the Tuileries to New Iberia is about
a dozen miles, from New Iberia to Lafayette is eighteen, and
from Lafayette here is about twenty-three. Call it right at
fifty-five miles. How long would that take you?"

"Not much more as two and a quarter hours; two and a half,
maybe."

  "Well, call it two and a quarter hours each way. That
would mean you were in Crowley froth a little after eleven
to one o'clock in the morning. Right?"

  "No, it ain't right. A little after eleven, yet, is what you say
when already you got to know it takes me two and a quarter
hours, you say it yourself. So, if I jump in my car out the
second floor of the Tuileries and start punEt nine o'clock, it
is still anyway dock fifteen minutes after eleven when I get
to Crowley; not by the mill, yet, but by the time I start, after
I look to see have I got gasoline enough, and so welter, And
by the time I drive by the mill, where I go on the wrong
street yet and got to come back, it is anyways half-past
eleven, not no little after eleven like you say."

D,~NGEnEusE 117

 "All right, Scholtze, have it your own way. At least you
didn't leave till one, by your own say-so. Now where were
you and what were you doing during that hour and a half?"

 "I go by the mill and I don't find nobody there, only the
watchman. He says Miss Bennett's Tante comes for her twice,
and the first time she raises a Geschrei about it ain't right a
girl got to work all hours in the night. The second time was
after Villac comes back already, and Miss Bennett goes home
with her I ante, and right after that Villac says he got to go
someplace, and after Miss Bennett is gone away, he goes,
too."

"But you did not hear all this yourself?"

"No."

"And you did not sc e Miss Bennett when she went out?"

"No."

 "I take it you know her by sight? You'd recognise her if you
did see her?"

 "Sure, I'd recognize her. I knew Paula Bennett and a lot
better than just by sight, a long time before she was ever
Villac's secretary."

"And you did not see Miss Bcnnett at all last night?"

 For the first time since he entered the room, Scholtze
appeared obviously ill at ease. "I never talked to her like I did
to Ten High, if that's what you mean, and she never didn't
see me," he said defensively.

"But you did see her?"

 "Well, I tell you how it was, Mr. Theo. Ten I ligh tells me
Villac's been there off and on ever since so soon after supper,
before Miss Bennett left and after she has gone yet. Ele says
Villac acts like a crazy man, running in and out, first by the
front, shell by the back where the loading dock is, then by the
office, then back to town, hollering about some carload that
is lost, and running up to look in the bins has he got enough
to load another car right away...."

 "Never mind about what the watchman said," the district
attorney broke in. "We'll find that out from him. What we
want from you is what you did when you found the mill
deserted, except for Ten High."

 "I had it on my mind already to get the whole thing settled,
so I says to Ten High will he let me in to see if nobody is
there, and he says he couldn't do that. Then he changes his
mind and says well, go ahead and look around, but don't tell
nobody and for God's sake don't strike no matches nowheres
at all. So he lends mc a flashlight, and

 "I wonder what made him change his mind?" mused Tobe
Bennett aloud. "It wouldn't be that you crossed his palm with
silver, maybe?"

"I never did!"

118 v I c I o R INK

 "Okay, with paper then? Green paper? And don't go
getting too virtuous on me or I'll have to take steps. Besides,
we've got Ten High outside waiting to be called in for
questioning."

 "No, and since when is a law against giving somebody a
tip? That Titine could have got rich on tips if she wasn't a
tart in her two-timing little heart. I suppose you never give
no waiter a tip or nothing like that?"

 "Nobody said it was against the law," Landry suddenly
snapped. "All we want to know is whether it happened, and
you've already told us it did. So you searched the mill, and
what did you find?"

 "I never found nothings at all. Not one single verdammt
thing! I look good, too, because I got to think even if she
went off with Villac, maybe they leave something behind,
like a paper package with shoes in or something else. But I
s'e nothings, I tell you."

 "When you looked all over, did you by any chance look
into the rice bins?"

 "So crazy I ain't. Rice I am not looking for, but a Dirne
with maybe a feller already."

 A loud knock drew all eyes in the direction of the door. It
opened, and a fat, perspiring man, in belted khaki trousers,
shirt sleeves and tengallon hat entered and then absurdly,
in view of his nearly three hundred pounds of
weight tiptoed toward the group of officials, his shoes
squeaking loudly. They clotted around him attentively as he
whispered in a rumbling monotone; then Bennett nodded
vigorously to his chief deputy, and the fat man followed
Guerra squeakily from the room.

 "Mind if I ask a few questions about what Barousse just
told us?" asked Davila.

"Help yourself," agreed Landry.

"How long do you suppose that search of the mill took you,
Gus?"

"I don't know. I never looked at no clocks."

 "Oh, come on, Gus. I'm not asking for a stop watch report.
Were you there long enough to have made a thorough
search? Or did you just give a quick look around?"

 "I looked good, like already I told you. It don't take so
long. Outside the machinery, it gives nothing except the
wood chutes that the rice goes through, and the bin floor on
top got nothing at all, only the bare, slick floor with holes in
so somebody can look down and see how much rice is in
each one."

"Well, how long did it take you, as near as you can judge?"

 "Ten minutes, maybe. Only long enough to climb the stairs
up and come the stairs down."

DANGEREUSE I19

 "All right. Let's say it took twenty minutes, and ten minutes
more for your conference with Ten High. That's a total of
half an hour. Do you follow me so far?"

"Sure, Doc, but you got it wrong when "

 "Let me finish. It was about nine o'clock when the
Professor told you Titine had disappeared, and you decided
the thing had to be settled, once and for all. At least, that's
what you just said. So it took you a little more than two
hours to get there, half an hour at the mill and a little more
than two hours to get back, which would have brought you
back shortly after one-thirty. Yet you said you didn't get back
until a little after three."

 Scholtze shifted his muscular bulk about on the wooden
chair, moistened his lips and brushed his palm over the bristly
crop-cut of his blond hair.

"I got back just in time to close up," he said at last.

 "In other words, you got back an hour give or take a few
minutes either way after you should have been there, had
you gone right back after looking through the mill. Can you
account for that time, Gus?"

Again the big man fidgeted.

 "I can tell you where I was at and what I was doing, ja," he
said moodily. "But if you mean do I got witnesses to prove
what I say, no, I got not one single verdammt witness. You
just got to believe me."

 "I'll take it from here, Dr. Tim," interrupted Theo. "Be
careful to get every word of this down correct tly, Mrs.
Walton, please." He turned to Scholtze. "All right, Gus. Give
us your account of that hour. Maybe we can dig up some
witnesses you wouldn't be knowing about. If this case ever
comes to trial, Dr. Davila, Sheriff Bennett and Mrs. Walton
will all be in a position to testify to what you tell us now. You
have a right, therefore, not to answer."

 "Come to trial!" echoed Scholtze. "You mean you got the
idea I killed that young girl?"

"She's certainly dead," observed Davila.

 "But I would never kill her. Um Gottes willed, I am crazy
about her! That is why I can't stand it she goes out with
other men, two-timing on me. Villac maybe I could have
killed if I find him with her Saturday night. But not Titine.
This you must got to believe!"

 "That's as it may be, Gus," agreed the district attorney. "On
the basis of all this, do you want to tell us what happened at
about the time Titine was killed? By the way, one thing I
haven't mentioned, and you're en titled to know it now,
before you make up your mind to talk or not to

170 V I C T O R I N E

talk, is that on the basis of his medical examination as
coroner, Dr. Tim here gives it as his opinion that the girl
died sometime around midnight, Saturday, give or take a
couple of hours either way. In other words, she died
sometime between ten o'clock Saturday night and two
o'clock Sunday morning, an interval which includes the very
time when you say you were in Crowley, and more
particularly the hour or so you haven't accounted for. So it's
up to you to decide whether or not you want to tell us
more."

 "Aber gewiss, certainly, sure I talk. I got nothing to hide.
Plenty men already yet made a damn Fool out of themsclf
over a woman, and plenty more men going to do it too, just
so long as it gives men and gives women.... What I did
before I go back by the Tuileries to close up for the night?
I let the w atchman see me drive off, but I park in the next
lane and walk back to' where I can see, but nobody sees me.
Then I wait, because I know like I am sitting here and I
still know it, too  that if she meets Villac by the rice mill
either she is noch isomer there until yet, or they go away
some place together. I ask myself, also, where will that
Schweinhund Vil]ac take the young girl? He is not in the
mill, because I just looked there, niche wahr? He can't take
her home by his mother's house and it's too-too plenty early
to take her home by Cypremort. Anyway, she is sure to work
the late shift by the Tuileries, because that is her biggest
money night in the week. So maybe he will bring her to the
club. But whatever they do, they got to come back to the
mill first."

"Why?"

 "The Professor tells me before 1 Icave the club yet how
she got to have the accordion with her, because he looked
already in his car and it ain't no accordion there, lil;e it has
been since Wednesday. Also, she got that paper bundle with
her noch daze, like her folks said, and I don't see no
accordion and no p lper bundle with shoes wrapped up in
when I looked around the place, but I got sense enough to
know there must be a Haufen of places where they could be
hid. And I know they got to come back to pick up them
things when "

 "What makes you so sure they were left there?" Bennett
suddenly shot the question at him, with the effect of a lunge.
So vivid was this impression, that Scholtze drew back
involuntarily as though from a threatened blow. But he
recovered his composure almost at once.

"I don't like to say things like that in front of no lady," he
parried.

"Go right ahead." snapped Bennett. "I'm sure Mrs. Walton
will make

DANGEnEusE I21

allowances, in view of the fact that your life might depend on
the answer.

 "All right, then, if Mrs. Dalton will excuse the way I say it,"
he replied. "You are a grown man, Tobe, also Mister Theo
and Dr. Tim. I ain't saying you ever done nothing like that,
but if you ever in your life was to take out a Schatzi to make
love, like it was late at night and well, I guess you know
how I mean would you let her carry a big accordion under
one arm and a paper bundle with shoes under the other? Re-
member, you start out from a mill where they got a Haufen
places to hide things. I ask you like any man asks another
man. Don't you got to give me right about it?"

Theo Landry rose and started toward the door.

 "Before I tell you, or let these gentlemen tell you, whether
we might agree with you, let me show you something." He
opened the door, beckoned to someone beyond it and
returned, followed by Ghief Deputy Guerra, who carried with
gingerly care an object fouled and begrimed with all manner
of refuse, through which, nonetheless, flashed an occasional
gleam of ivory and mother of pearl.

 "Recognize it?" asked Theo, holding it up for Scholtze's
better inspection.

 "Na, endlich!'' he exclaimed after one brief moment of
hesitation. "It is her accordion. Where it comes from at last?"

 "It was found under a pile of trash in the back yard of your
home, Scholtze. That was what Barousse came in to tell us a
few minutes ago. And in the light of this find, and your own
statement of what you did between eleven Saturday night and
three Sunday morning, I'm holding you for the grand jury as
a material witness, for the present, and until such time as
they decide whether you're to be indicted on a charge of
murder!"

Chapter Thirteen

  LANDRY S ANNOUNCEhIEN] WAS FOLLOWED BY A
BRIEF CONFUSED INTER

val in which Scholtze so volubly protested his innocence of
any complicity in Titine's death that the tumbled mixture of
accented English and guttural German was almost
incomprehensible. "This here is a gottverdammt Schandhaft,
a verfluchte Schweinerei," he raged. "This here is a free
country, like they were always saying when I buy Liberty
bonds, we got to save the world for democrats, and not do
things like does the Kaiser. Is it this here you make the world
safe for, to put a man what ain't done nothing on the
jailhouse yet? How I know the verdammte accordion got in
my yard? Better you should find out who put it there, maybe,
as take a man to the "

"Pipe down, you!" Guelra admonished him roughly.

  "You don't understand, Gus," explained Landry. "Being
held as a witness doesn't necessarily mean being put in jail.
All we got to do is go see Judge Campbell and have him fix
an appearance bond for you. Then you put up the money,
and agree to come back when you're called before the grand
jury. Either that or you get some property owner to sign your
bond."

  "I put it up mineself, Yost," sputtered Scholtze. "How much
you want for to let me go?"

  "I don't want anything. The judge will decide your bond. I
suppose it will be about three hundred dollars. Do you carry
that much around with you in your pocket?"

  Scholtze grinned. "That is feed for chickens, noch." He dug
into his rousers' pocket and brought out a thick roll of
greenbacks, tightly encircled by a heavy rubber band, which
he stripped off. "Money you

DANGEREUSE 123

want?" he continued, "fifed money you get already. So geEt's
in dieser Welt!" He moistened the ball of his right thumb with
his tongue, peeled off three hundred-dollar bills and tossed
them onto the table. "Drei hundert is a big nothings, I bet-
you. It gives plenty more right here. Now can I go?"

"First we have to see the judge. 1 can't fix your bail, you
know."

 The various technical details were finally achieved and the
other waiting witnesses were released, though notified to
return at nine in the morning, at which time PauLI Bennett
would probably be the first one Mr. Landry would question.
On his way home, Tobe dropped by the Villacs' house and,
beckoning Prosper into the library again, told him he would
not be called for interrogation before Tuesday at the earliest,
most likely not even then.

 "I still think there's a chance it won't be necessary to call
you at all, son," he said. "What I'm hoping is that this case
will break wide open and the real killer be spotted before you
need to speak your piece. Maybe I'm too optimistic, but at
least I've got this much settled with Theo Landry: if there's
any reasonable way to do it, you're to be the last person
questioned."

 "Tobe, I'll never be able to thank you enough," Prosper
assured him feelingly. "I know now, better than ever, why my
dad set such store by you. And you can be sure that when you
want me, I'll be ready to talk."

 Upon returning to the living room, Prosper found that a
number of those who had done more or less justice to
Lavinia's bountiful supper, and then fidgeted through the
restless hours that followed, were still seated in stilted groups.
This was not only because custom decreed they must not "eat
and run," but because they hoped for some reassuring word
about a tragedy whose omen cast a long shadow over the
whole family. Prosper's report of what Bennett had just told
him provided this reassurance and, despite Dale Fontenot's
failure to return, the visitors dispersed in an atmosphere of
general cheerfulness, tempered with decorous recognition of
the sober dignity accorded any death in the community. As
soon as the fait good nights had been said, Lavinia, still very
pale and still completely composed, began to straighten out
the disordered living room, emptying ash trays, putting chairs
back into place and generally restoring order.

 "Can't you let all that go until morning, Mother?" Prosper
inquired. "Callie and Verna can do it for you then. The
dishes, too."

"I know. But I hate to leave a place cluttered up overnight. I
always

124 VICTORINE

have. Somehow it seems even worse the next day, and it
would set Callie and Verna a bad example to find the house
looking like this they'd think they could go off, leaving
things in this state, when it wasn't their night out. Besides,
I imagine we'll be having a good deal of company off and
on, right along, and beginning early in the morning. I
wouldn't want any of our relatives to come into the living
room when it wasn't in order. I'll have to leave for the
Monrovia early, as usual, and there'll be extra cooking to do,
without adding extra cleaning to that."

 "All right then, I'll help you.... By the way, I haven't seen
anything of Didier since he went upstairs. Have you?"

 "No. I think you were probably right this was an
opportune moment for a visit with Anne Marie."

 Prosper glanced at his w rist watch. "The opportune
moment seems to be somewhat extended," hc said rather
dryly. "I believe I'll go up and get the tray. After all, the
dislikes on that have to be washed, too."

 "Let's leave them for the time being and see if he doesn't
come down of his own accord. He may do so before we have
the rest of the work done, and the moment you burst in
might not be so opportune."

 The repressed quality which marked the change in her
voice from natural to unnatural control, and which Prosper
had learned to associate with the further tightening' of her
normally firm lips, was very marked. He felt it wiser not to
attempt an immediate answer, and silently began to wash the
stacked dishes. He had been trained, from childhood, to
make himself useful about the house and he worked with
deftness and dispatch. When the last ol the tableware had
been dried and put back into place, his mother returned to
the living room and motioned him toward a chair beside the
one in which she seated herself.

"I want to talk to you some more about Vicky," she said.

"Aren't you pretty tired? Wouldn't you rather go to bed?"

 "I shan't go anyway until Didier leaves. You know I'm
rather oldfashioned about things like that, Prosper. We'll
give him a few minutes more and then, if he hasn't come
down, I'll take some sort of action. Meanwhile, I hope you
won't mind if I offer you a bit of advice."

 "I don't mind your offering it. That doesn't mean I'm
promising to take it."

 "Of course not. It's only this: if I understood right, you
said, when all the others were here, that Vicky had told you
she loved you, over and over again, not just before you got
the bad news from the mill, but afterward."

"Correct."

DANG~Rr:USrl 1~5

 "In other words, when she knew you were the subject of
scandal and perhaps worse?"

"Grrect again."

 "All right. This is my advice: don't tell her you know you're
not good enough for her. Don't tell her she ought to put you
out of her mind, at least until your name is cleared. Tell her
instead that you hope to be more worthy of her confidence
someday, but that, meanwhile, it means everything in the
world to you to have it now that and her love. Tell her you
know, with her help, you can fight through somehow."

 Prosper looked at his mother in amazement. He could not
remember when he had heard her speak so urgently and, with
sudden clarity, he realised she had known some man who had
failed to do what she was recommending in such deadly
earnest, and that the consequences of this failure had been
tragic. Obviously, he could not ask her to reveal, directly, any
more than she had indirectly. But the hopeful thought that
she might do so someday and that, if she did, they would be
closer together than they had ever previously been, flashed
through his mind.

 "Thanks, Mother," he said quietly. "Like I said before, I'm
not promising to take your advice. But I appreciate it and I'll
think it over carefully. I'll go further than that: I'll promise
not to do anything that's exactly opposite of what you've
suggested until I have thought it over and talked with Vicky
again--I don't mean on the telephone, I mean face to face.
However, I don t seem to feel capable of any more very
coherent thoughts tonight and, of course, I can't see Vicky
until tomorrow evening at the earliest. I believe I'll call her
up, but just to tell her the latest news and say good night,
because I imagine she's waiting to hear from me. Then, if it's
all right by you, I'm going to bed. I'll look in at Anne Marie
and Didicr on my way to my room, and drop a hint as to the
hour. Llnder the circumstances, it's a little late for visiting
and I'm sure he'll want to be at the courthouse early
tomorrow morning, because that's where Mauricc has got to
be, even if he isn't the one called on to testify first."

 The hour fixed for attendance did, indeed, seem
unreasonably early to Didier, especially as the schedule
previously outlined by Landry as probable proved to be the
one that was carried through. The witnesses waited in the
hallway the Benoits stormily, Dale patiently, the Professor
nervously and Amanda stonily, while Paula to whom the
chair occupied by Scholtze the previous night had been
indicated as the one she should now take underwent
questioning in an adjoining room. The

I26 vTcToRINr~

general seating arrangement was much the same as before,
except that Guerra was now stationed outside to summon
the witnesses. The buzz of the mud dauber no longer
sounded through the room; the window had been opened
and it had escaped, unless it had died of exhaustion or been
captured by a spider. The pleasant early morning breeze had
dispelled some of the room's mustiness; otherwise, it was
even less attractive than before, as the overflowing ash trays
were still unemptied and the unswept floor still littered with
paper. Paula, whose appearance was always extremely trim
during working hours, looked almost painfully neat in
contrast to all this clutter. She had never bobbed her hair;
it was brushed smoothly back from her forehead and
gathered into a small round bun at the back; as an added
precaution against untidiness, it was closely confined by a
net. Her spotless shirtwaist dress of grey voile was buttoned
closely at both neck and wrists, and she wore no rings on the
capable-looking hands which she kept quietly clasped; at no
point did she seem disposed to fidget with a pencil or a
piece of paper. Her feet, shod in sensible shoes, were placed
primly side by side, and the length of lisle stockings which
showed above them was considerably shorter even than Mrs.
Walton's, who dressed in somewhat the same general way,
though less pronouncedly so; Malvina had been known to
wear skirts which came only a few inches below her knees;
Paula had never made any such concession to current
fashion, which both she and her aunt Amanda termed
"disgusting."

 "Just for the record, Paula, will you give Mrs. Walton your
full name and tell her where you live?" asked the district
attorney; and when this information had been supplied, he
continued: "Also for the record, you were born here and
have lived here in Crowley all your life. Isn't that correct?"

 "Except for the time when I was overseas with the Graves
Registration Service of the A.E.F.; and of course while I was
going to business college in Lafayette."

"And how long have you worked at the Claudia Mill?"

"It will be six years in I December."

"What are your duties there?"

"I keep the books, type all the letters...."

"From dictation, of course?"

 "Not always," Paula replied, bridling a little. "Any more
than I say 'Claudia Mill' when the telephone rings and then
hand the receiver straight to Mr. Villac. Much of the
correspondence I handle myself. Many inquiries I take care
of without bothering him."

DANGœRLUS~ 127

 "Would you say, then, that you are a sort of assistant
manager at the Claudia?"

"In a way; I am assistant to the manager, I suppose."

 "At any rate, you are thoroughly familiar with the mill, both
in its structure as a building and in its functioning and
operation?"

"I certainly am."

  "Now on last Saturday night . . . by the way, do you often
work late at the mill? By late, I mean at night, of course."

  "Everybody in Crowley knows that, Mr. Theo. You know it
as well as I do. During the harvest, everybody in every rice
mill works early and late and in between times, too."

  "I'm merely trying to establish whether you worked late last
Saturday night and, if so, whether this was customary or
merely an unusual situation on this particular night.'

  "Certainly, I worked late on Saturday night. We're right at
the beginning of our rush season."

"How late would you say, Miss Bennett?"

"I couldn't say for sure. It would be just a guess."

  "That will be good enough. Maybe we can get at it this way.
You went home for supper?"

  "Yes, but sometimes my awlt brings supper to the mill for
me when we really get caught in a squeeze."

  "But this particular night I'm talking about Saturday night
now you went home. About what time?"

"About six o'clock. My aunt called for me in the car."

  "But you do live in what would ordinarily be called walking
distance of the mill?"

  "Yes, but my aunt says it isn't best for a young girl to be
out on the street alone by herself, especially after dark."

  "I'm afraid I didn't think of it as being 'after dark' quite as
early as six in September." He might have added that he did
not think of thirtythree, which he knew to be approximately
Paula's age, as representing such youthfulness as to be in
need of careful vigilance. Wisely, however, he let this pass,
and merely inquired, "So Miss Eaton usually calls for you?"

  "Usually. Sometimes Mr. Villac says that he'll drop me off
at my aunt s house, if he happens to be leaving about that
time; and sometimes Cousin Tobe takes me home. Those
days, I telephone my aunt not to come. But even then, she
sometimes asks me to wait anyhow, so she can come and

128 VICTORINE

get me herself. And she always sees to it that there's a gun
in the door pocket of the car, just for extra precaution."

"Extra precaution against what?"

"Why, anyone with evil designs!"

 Again, Landry decided it was better not to argue a point
and merely said, "So, apparently, Saturday night was one of
the times she decided to come for you herself?"

 "Well, Saturday night, Mr. Villac never said a word about
dropping me off at home, because he was too upset and
busy."

"Upset? Was there any reason for him to be upset?"

 "A whole car of sacked rice would be reason enough, I
should think. It was supposed to be picked up about three
in the morning by the westbound Red Ball, to go to
Beaumont and Port Arthur for the steamer Texas Belle to
Philadelphia. It was all loaded and sealed, and on the siding
by the depot, where the engineer of the mixed local train
spotted it."

"It wasn't on the mill spur then?"

  "No. The engine of the mixed local pulled it off our spur
and spotted it on the depot siding. The big locomotive on
the Red Ball would pick it up on that switch, but naturally,
it wouldn't hunt around for cars on the mill spurs."

"And what happened to it?"

  "One of the eastbound freight trains coupled it on by
mistake, and was taking it on to New Orleans."

"How did you find this out?"

  "Well, all we knew at first was when the depot agent asked
how come the car was gone. I le thought maybe Mr. Villac
had changed the routing for some reason."

"And then?"

  "Well, then everybody w Is rushing around. That was
about six o'clock, when my aunt came to take me to supper.
I told Mr. Villac I would be ever so glad to stay until things
were straightened out, and usually he would have asked me
to do it, because he depends on me a lot, and knows how
glad I am to help him. But he seemed terribly upset and
said 'no, no, you go with your aunt, I can handle whatever's
coming up here, you run along now.' So I went home with
Aunt Amanda."

  "That was about six o'clock. How long before you went
back to the mill?"

"Less than an hour."

"Let me ask you this: as long as Prosper Villac told you he
could

DANG~RPUSE 129

handle anything that might come up in connection with this
situation, and would not need your help, why did you come
back?"

 "Mr. Villac telephoned later and said he would have to
leave the mill for a while, and would I please come back to
catch the phone calls. Sometime after I got back to the mill,
which was before seven, a telephone call came from the
railroad freight office in Lafayette, to say the missing car had
been located. This must have been a little after eight, but I'm
not sure of the exact time. Anyway, the railroad people said
they would spot it at Morgan City, where the Red Ball stops
anyway, so it would be picked up by the same train that was
supposed to take it in the first place; but a lot of new waybills
would have to be made out, deadheading the car to Crowley,
and then putting the original papers back into the file, and "

 "Yes, yes, we can understand that." Theo was getting rather
tired of hearing about the missing car and all the trouble it
had caused. "What I would like to know in fact, what all of
us would like to know very much is whether Mr. Villac told
you why he had to leave the mill at a time of such
emergency?"

Paula hesitated.

"I don't I mean, I can't really remember."

 "Are you sure you can't? II I said, for instance, that he
might have wanted to meet someone, would that refresh your
memory.... Yes, Joe, what is it?"

 Guerra had entered rather hurriedly and, approaching the
end of the table where the group of officials had been
listening to Paula's story, was whispering to Bennett. Tobe
turned to Landry and then to Davila.

 "Sorry to interrupt, Theo, but Toler wants to know whether
Dr. Tim would be willing to release Citing Dargereux's body
for burial? Seems there's a special reason "

 "Oh, hell, yes!" Dr. Tim replied. "Any time. We know she
was alive when she fell or was pushed into that bin, otherwise
there wouldn't have been any rice in the respiratory tract...."

"Meaning . . . ?" asked the district attorney.

 "If she hadn't been breathing, her throat and trachea would
have been clear. But she had breathed in a lot of rice, like a
person drowning in

. ,,

gram.

"And the beating?"

 "Nothing to that; I mean nothing she wouldn't have got
over as soon as the black and blue marks faded. Sure, let
them bury her, if it's going to be any consolation to them."

I30 VICTORIAN

 Guerra hurried from the room. Landry, who had obviously
been displeased at the interruption, repeated, with increasing
emphasis, the question he had asked Paula just before it
occurred and which she had not yet answered.

 "As I was saying, are you sure you can't remember
whether Mr. Villac told you why he had to leave the mill at
a time of such emergency? If I said, for example, that he
might have wanted to meet someone, would that refresh
your memory?"

"I couldn't swear that it would, Mr. Theo."

  "I'm not asking you to. You're not under oath. I mean,
this isn't as if you were testifying in a court, where you could
only say what you actually saw or knew of your own
knowledge. Here, you can tell us what you think, what
someone has told you, what you heard, anything at all. This
is an investigation, you know, not a trial. What we're seeking
is information, not evidence. So try to remember if Mr.
Villac said anything about having to meet somebody."

  "He might have. I know there was a party at the Archers'
to discuss plans for a rice carnival aml he seemed to think
he ought to sit in on the discussion. I believe he expected to
see the Benoits there or maybe somewhere else. It seems to
me he did say something about meeting one of the Benoit
boys, but whether it was Didier or his brother Maurice, or
whether it was at the Archers' or not, I couldn't swear, Mr.
Theo. Honestly, I couldn't."

  "But you're sure that if he did say he had to meet
someone, it was one of the Benoits? It couldn't have been
anyone else? It couldn't have been the Dargereux girl, for
example?"

  "Mr. Villac wouldn't lower himself to meet trash like that!"
flashed Paula. "A strumpet from some shack in the swamps,
a a common little something that sings in night clubs...."

"Easy, there. You're talking about a dead girl."

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Theo. I know we're not supposed to speak
ill of the dead, but that doesn't make her any decent kind of
person that a selfrespecting man would associate with while
she was alive. So I know Mr. Villac wouldn't have had
anything to do with her. Even if he did, he would never
admit it to people, would he? He would never tell me about
it, anyway."

  "Well, let it go at that, for the time being. He telephoned
you, said he had to leave the mill for a while it might have
been to meet one of the Benoit boys, either at the Archerst
or somewhere else. That is, you think so, but you can't be
positive. So you went back to the mill around seven?"

DANGEREUSE I3I

 "That's right, a little before. Aunt Amanda and I hadn't
finished washing the supper dishes when Mr. Villac phoned.
She was rather put out and, while she was driving me back to
the mill, she kept saying, it was a shame the way men treated
women, here was Mr. Villac not even giving me time to
swallow a bite of supper, no consideration, but that was al-
ways the way men treated girls, she remembered when she
was young how "

 "You say you returned to the mill a little before seven. Was
Prosper Villac there when you arrived?"

 "Yes, but he left almost right away. He acted as if he were
glad to see me, saying how now he could get away, and he
wouldn't have bothered me if it hadn't been so dreadfully
important."

 "So you were there alone for a time. Let me ask you this:
during that time could anyone who wanted to slip in
unnoticed and could such a person perhaps have hidden in
some out-of-the-way corner?"

"Oh, no! Besides, I wasn't alone. The watchman was there."

 "But the front door, and the back door the one that leads
to the loading dock and the spur track these were open,
weren't they?"

 "I didn't notice about the back door, but I suppose it was
open. It naturally would have been. If it wasn't that some
hoodlum could get in and damage the machinery or steal
milled rice, it wouldn't really be necessary to lock anything
but the office."

"You had a key to the office, of course?"

"And to the other doors, likewise."

"Did your aunt go in with you?"

 "No. She was still talking about how terrible it was for me
to have to come back to the mill, and how it was just like a
man to make me do it, so she had better go back and finish
the dishes by herself, but she didn't propose to have me stay
at the mill until all hours, while other people were off
gallivanting with God only knows who, and such as that. So
she went back home."

"Did anyone come to the mill while you were there?"

"Mr. Benoit did. Mr. Maurice Benoit, I mean."

"Was he looking for any particular person? Did he say?"

 "Only that he wanted to talk to Mr. Villac, and that it was
important. I said Mr. Villac might be looking for him, too, at
the Archers'. I was going to ask him if he knew whether Mr.
Villac wouldn't go there to find him, but the telephone
started to ring, just then, and I turned back to answer it. It
was the railroad freight office at Lafayette, and when I
finished making notes on everything they said, Mr. Benoit
was gone."

I3Z VICTORIAN

  "Could he have been somewhere in the mill where you
would not ordinarily see him?"

  "There are hundreds of places, at night especially, where
persons would not be seen unless you were making a search
for them."

  "Let me amplify that question. While your back was
turned, answering the phone, and if the watchman at that
time was inspecting the millyard, would it have been possible
for one or two persons, no matter whether the name was
Benoit or Joe Blow, to have slipped into the mill and up to
the top floor, just under the roof where those bin openings
are?"

  "Certainly it would be possible. I had my back turned to
the office door, and all I was paying attention to, anyway,
was what I was writing, so I could leave a memorandum for
Mr. Villac."

  "So much for that. Now who was the next person you saw,
if anyone? You didn't by any chance see August Scholtze,
did you?"

  "August Scholtze!" flashed Paula, almost as angrily as she
had replied when Landry referred to rIitine. "Indeed, I
didn't!"

  "You know August Scholtze, don't you I mean, you know
him by sight?"

  "I met him years ago, in France, when I was with the
Graves Registration Service, and he came to our
headquarters at Romagne, as the orderly of an officer who
was making a tour of inspection through American
cemeteries, Argonne among others. It was a very brief and
casual meeting. I'm not sure I'd recognize him now."

  Landry glanced at Bennctt, who lifted his eyebrows
slightly. Neither had forgotten the contradictory statement
which Scholtze had made the night before, and the
discrepancy in the two replies interested them both.
However, there was nothing in Landry's speech or manner
to indicate that he was conscious of prevarication
somewhere.

  "But if you had seen anyone, unconnected with the mill,
prowling about at this time, you would remember that,
wouldn't you, whether you recognized such a person or
not?"

"Of course I would. And I didn't see any such person."

  "Well, I'll repeat myself, as I did once before: who was the
next person you saw, if anyone?"

"'Zebe Peyronne, the watchman."

"The one everyone calls Ten High?"

  "That's right. The only way I happen to know his real
name is that I keep the pay roll records.'!

"Anything special in his seeing you at that time?"

"No, he was just making his rounds. I remember asking him
why he

DANGER~US~ I33

didn't go upstairs, but just looked around the first fioor. He
said he wouldn't make the whole round until after everybody
had left, that it didn't mean anything right now, unless I
wanted him to look up there for some reason. So I said no,
just to do his work like always. About that time, or a little
later, maybe anyway, the watchman was still there, or he
had come back by the office for a small cup of coffee I
heard my aunt out in the millyard blowing the horn on our
car the way she does when she's out of patience, and Mr. Ten
High was running around to the front of the millyard to see
what was the matter."

Tobe Bennett interrupted tile recital with a chuckle.

 "I sh'd have thought Ten High was used to Aunt Amanda's
carryings on by now. She's been acting like that since Hector
was a dock-tailed pup."

 "Oh, he's used to her all right, Cousin Tobe," Paula
explained, "and he knows the squawk of that horn better than
I do. But he can't take chances at night, and has to go see if
anything is wrong. Anyway, by the time he got to the car, I
was already out there, and telling my aunt I couldn't possibly
leave yet, so if she would come into the office, I would fix
coffee for us. I had put the water on to boil already, and was
making fresh drippings, because I figured Mr. Villac would
want some by the time he got back. Anyway, he likes to have
fresh coffee on hand all the time."

 "Let's go back over that some more, Miss Paula," suggested
the district attorney. "To begin with, did Miss Eaton come
back to the office with you?"

"Yes, she did. So did Mr. l en High."

 "Would that have been right away, as soon as you and Ten
High got to the car where she was sounding the horn?"

 "No, not right away. At first, she always makes like she
won't come in, but in the end she mostly does. She doesn't
have much fun, and one of the things she likes is to be
coaxed. So for maybe five minutes just a little while,
anyway she made Mr. Ten High and me tease her to come
in and have some coffee, and maybe wait in the office until
I was ready to go."

 "Five minutes or so, eh? And was anyone watching the mill
during that time?"

"Why, we were all right out front in the millyard!"

 "But would it not have been possible while you were there
in front for someone to have slipped in through the back
door from the loading dock without you knowing it?"

I34 VICTORIAN
 "Maybe they could have done it, but "

 "And what is even more to the point, would it not have
been possible for someone, who was already in the mill, to
have slipped out through that back door and to have
disappeared without being seen by anyone?"

"We-e-ell, I suppose so. But nobody did."

 "Nobody that you know of, you or the watchman, either,
for that matter. However, we'll come back to that later. As
I understand it, Miss Eaton finally did come into the mill
with you, into the office, that is, where you were making or
preparing to make coffee. I suppose you all had coffee
then?"

 "When it was finished, Aunt Amanda and Mr. Ten High
and I each had a cup of coffee."

"Then the watchman lel t on his usual rounds?"

"That's correct, Mr. Theo."

"And your aunt did she stay until you were ready to
leave?"

 "Oh, no! Right after she finished her coffee she wanted
me to go home with her, but I told her I could not go yet,
that Mr. Villac had left everything in my hands, and she
sniffed and said I was a fool to be doing his work while he
W;15 gallivanting around the countryside wining and
wenching...."

Again Sheriff Bennett chuckled.

 "That's Amanda for you, every time," he grinned. "Can you
imagine folks actually talking like that? If I'd heard that
business about wining and wenching in darkest Africa, I'd
look around the corner of the nearest elephant to see where
my aunt Amanda Eaton was."

 "Anyway," Paula continued, "she went away, and I tended
to my work until Mr. Villac came back."

"How long after your aunt Amanda left was that?"

  "Right about half-past ten, maybe ten forty-five. He had
telephoned once before then, and I had given him the
memoranda. He already knew about finding the car, but said
he'd alerted a loading crew, and arranged for another car to
be spotted on our spur, just in case the Red Ball failed to
pick up the first car at Morgan City, but he had checked,
and the car was now on the Red Ball."

  "You said earlier in the evening that, when you first got
back to the mill after supper, Prosper looked upset. Did he
still impress you as looking upset when he came back about
ten-thirty?"

  "Not upset, no, but tired like somebody that is just used
up until nothing's left."

"Did he say anything special?"

DA NGERE U SE I35

 "No, only how tuckered out he felt, and how old Dupre at
the depot had said the car had been located and left at
Morgan City, and how I had been notified and could tell him
all about it. He thanked me for helping out, and then said for
one to call up Aunt Amanda and go home, that he would
wait there until the Red Ball came through, when he would
double check to make sure our missing car was really on it.
I started to say he was too tired to wait there until three or
four o'clock in the morning, but he said it would be all right,
the next day would be Sunday and he could rest. So I called
Aunt Amanda to see if she was still up, and she said she
would come right over and get me. I expect I was gone
shortly after eleven."

"You went straight to your aunt's home?"

"That is what I did."

"You saw no one, stopped to see no one, talked to no one on
the way?"

 "Not a soul. But, as our car left the millyard, an automobile
passed us going toward the Claudia siding, then turned and
followed us a piece."

"Anyone you knew or recognised?"

 "No. We were quite frightened at first, and hurried to get
out in front of our house. As we did so, the other car turned
again and left. I thought that perhaps "

"Yes? You thought that perhaps ?"

 "Perhaps it might have been someone to see Mr. Villac,
someone who thought he might just be leaving the mill, and
when he saw he was mistaken "

"You're sure it was 'he'?"

 "Well, I must say! I didn't see who was driving, certainly.
But I shouldn't think . . . I mean, I don't know any women
who would be driving around by themselves that time of
night."

"You and your aunt were."

 "But that's different. We were just driving from the mill
home, not following cars."

 "All right, then. Until the contrary is proved, we'll assume
it was a 'he' that followed your aunt's car Saturday night.
What did she say to it?"

 "She just kept telling me, 'See, Paula? That's why I'm
always saying a girl can't be too careful. If you had been by
yourself, that creature would not have turned back, I'll
venture to say! But when he saw there were two of us, he
gave up his evil designs."'

"Wining and wenching!" murmured Tobe Bennett.

"And then?" asked the district attorney.

"We went into the house as fast as we could, and locked the
door.

I36VICTORIN~

Aunt Amanda wanted to phone Cousin Tobe to have the
'creature,' as she called him, locked up. But I asked her how
she would tell Cousin Tobe what the car or the man in it
looked like, so she decided to let it go at that."

 Paula's narrative was once more interrupted by a knock,
which again heralded the entry of Joe Guerra. He remained
just within the door, carefully closing it behind him.

 "This Professor . . ." he began, and then paused as if
uncertain what to say next.

"What about him, Joe?" asked the sheriff.

"He says he can't wait no more. He says he's got to go."

 "You tell him he'll wait until we get good and ready to
give him leave to go. Who's he think he is?"

 The door behind Guerra opened suddenly and the
Professor's lean figure squeezed past Guerra's bulk.

 "I'm nobody," he said, his wrinkled countenance without
emotion. "Just nobody. But you try to keep me here, Mr.
Bennett, and I'll put a bad mouth on you from Mermcntau
to Lafourche."

"You'll do what7" asked Tobe, rising.

 "I'll fix it so folkstll cross the road to keep from passing
the time of day with you. Lookee here! I don't live in this
parish and I don't vote here. But you'd be surprised how
many folks know me. And if you try to keep me from that
funeral "

Bennett slapped his forehead.

 "By God, I'd plumb forgot. That Dargereux girl . . . so she
is being buried today!"

"She is, and right in your parish, Mr. Bennett."

"What do you mean, in my parish?"

 "I mean on the Primeaux farm. Clement Primeaux told the
folks they could bury her in his family graveyard out yonder,
and that if anybody didn't like to come by, he'd help dig the
grave and lower the coffin his own self, as he and his father
did for that brother of his. And, Mr. Bennett, you might be
the high sheriff, and you and this goon here are big enough
to hold me, but if you keep me from going to that poor little
girl's funeral and showing a lot of poison-tongue gossips that
some persons have respect for the dead "

 "Ah, hush your talking, man," said Bennett, flapping his
large hand in dismissal. "Of course, you can go to the
funeral. You don't mind adjourning this inquiry for the rest
of the day, do you, Theo?" Then,

DANGl3R~usr: I37

in a whisper inaudible to the other, he added, "I don't
need to tell you how many Primeaux and Villacs there are
in that part of the prairie, or what would happen once they
all got on the warpath as I think they may have already!"

Chapter Fourteen

   THOUGH HE HAD NOW HAD ENOUGH EXPERIENCE
AT THE MILL TO KNOW

better, it did not seem possible to Prosper that Monday could
present as many problems as Saturday, all requiring
immediate solution. Moreover, Paula's absence inevitably
made a great difference in the speed with which routine work
could proceed. Finally, when this difficulty was surmounted
and most emergencies had, apparently, been met, Ervin
Stacy, the expert grader who was receiving rice coming in
from the fields, called Prosper to say that an immediate
conference was needed with Howard Lokes, one of the
largest rice-producing farmers in the area, who was a steady
patron and who was threshing that day. It was extremely im-
portant that Lokes should be kept satisfied, since he was
good for approximately fifteen thousand barrels of rice and,
normally, no better grade was received at the Glaudia. This
season, however, the crop was not up to scratch, much to the
surprise of everyone at the mill; and because of the various
important aspects of the case, Stacy naturally felt that the
proprietor should be the one to decide what action must be
taken. Prosper, inwardly cursing the delay this would entail,
nevertheless agreed and called in Wayland Foster, his
cautious buyer. After consultation, a call was put through to
Lokes, and both grader and buyer waited with Prosper in his
office until the farmer could join them there. A sample of
each load was then brought in for examination, and it was
obvious to all, though Lola s would not admit this, that the
rice was very poor grade. As courteously and as patiently as
he could, Prosper explained though actually l.okes needed
no such explanation that the Claudia would lose a large
sum of money if five dollars a barrel the market price for
grade one were paid for such an inferior product.

DANGEREUSE 139

Lokes argued hotly that his tenants could not and would not
stand for a reduction, since their expenses were as high as
ever; if the Claudia would not meet the maximum price, the
rice would be taken elsewhere. He did not actually say there,
was any other reason why he would not have been sorry to
seize a pretext for doing this; but, from his manner, it was not
difficult for Prosper to guess what was in the farmer's mind,
and he hastened to agree that, since this was the first time
that their product had not come up to standard, Lokes and
his tenants deserved some consideration; perhaps a
compromise could be found, satisfactory to both sides. In
principle, Lokes replied, he might consider some such
arrangement; but the afternoon wore on and still no definite
figures had been fixed. Foster finally rose, glancing at the
clock, and said perhaps he had better see about some more
coffee. As soon as the prudent buyer was out of the room,
Prosper offend Lokes four dollars and a half per barrel; it
was better, in his opinion, for the Claudia to take a loss than
to forfeit the support of Lokes and his tenant farmers,
especially in view of what might be taking place at the
courthouse. Lokes continued to raise objections, but when
Foster reappeared, accompanied by a colored boy carrying a
coffee tray, he grudgingly said that, perhaps, they had better
settle on something like that, rather than to stay there all
night. Prosper could not have agreed more wholeheartedly.

  Earlier he had checked with his mother, who had already
left the Monrovia, and spoke to him from home, where his
uncle Onezime and his uncle Odey had now arrived; the
former had found another priest to look after his parish in
the Delta for a few days, the latter a teacher who was willing
to take over his classes at the university. She was then on the
point of going out to the family farm with them. She had
waited to give Prosper an account of the day's happenings,
but now she thought that she would be on her way. Did she
want him to come with her, Prosper asked. No, that was not
necessary. He had better be on his way to Lafayette. He did
not wait for the suggestion to be made a second time.

  Vicky was watching for him at the front door and opened
it for him herself, just as she had the day before. But this
time she did not wait for him to put his arms around her
waist and draw her toward him. She instantly placed her
hands on his shoulders and kissed him, not as if this were just
the natural way in which to greet him, but as if it were the
only way; and, so swiftly that it seemed miraculous, the
tension of his troubled thoughts was eased, the confusion
clarified, the tumult stilled. He could not have told why the
thought had flashed through

140 VICTORINE

his mind that this was the kind of kiss a devoted wife would
give an equally devoted husband, when he came home, tired
and worried, at the end of a day's work: not the casual kiss
of indifferent habit, depleted of ardor because it had been
too often and too carelessly given, in the course of a long
humdrum married life; not the kiss, either, of avid hunger
for passionate experience, devoid of any sensation beyond
unfulfilled physical craving; but a kiss of tenderness, of faith,
of lovingkindness and of confidence that all these feelings
were returned in full measure. The conviction of this was so
strong that he yearned, unutterably, to put it into words, and
deplored his inability to do so; then he realized this was not
necessary, that Vicky knew it anyway, that she had intended
her kiss to be like that. An almost overwhelming sense of
undeserved privilege, together with one of boundless
gratitude, swept over him; he raised his hands and, taking
hers from his shoulders, turned the palms upward and kissed
them, lingeringly, almost reverently, before he embraced her.

 "Wouldn't you like to come and see my sitting room?" she
asked when he released her. "You've never been off this
floor, and I think it's really pleasanter on the second story,
and we'll be all by ourselves there. Not that I think anyone
would burst in on us, if we went to the library. But somehow
the other seems well, a little more intimate. At least it
does to me. Does it to you?"

 "It sure does. And I'd like very much to see your sitting
room anyway. That is, unless your father might feel I
was well, presuming a little, if I let you take me up there.'

 "Father suggested it himself. He wants to see you later on,
too, of course. But he knew we'd want to be alone for a
while first."

 She led the way up a massive staircase, elaborately carved,
which gave Prosper the impression it had been imported
from some medieval castle, like the armorial figures in the
great entrance hall. However, there was nothing oppressive
about tile atmosphere of the room into which Vicky ushered
him, though the radiant sunshine which must have Hooded
it earlier in the day had now faded to the quiet light of "first
evening." A gentle breeze stirred the curtains of fine Indian
muslin that hung, in straight simplicity, at the open
windows in fact, there was a conspicuous absence of frills
and furbelows everywhere. The walls were unpapered, but
their cream-tinted surface served as an effective background
for some fine flower prints and water colors of picturesque
faraway places. And there was no lack of color in the room.
The comfortable chairs were upholstered in quaintly figured
toile de Jony, and the one

DANGr3RI:USI] I4I

large rug, which covered most of the hardwood floor,
repeated the glowing shades of the chintz. Well-filled, open
bookcases flanked the fireplace and on the upper shelves of
these were numerous signed photographs, not enough to give
a cluttered look, but sufficient to indicate that Vicky had
friends in many parts of the world and that some of these had
illustrious names. A flat-topped desk, spacious enough to be
serviceable, but neither so large nor so severe of outline as
to suggest the needs of a man's office, rather than those of a
young girl's private sanctum, stood at one end of the room;
on this desk was only one silver framed photograph that of
Moise LaBranche, taken when he was in the prime of life. At
the other end of the room, beside a half-opened door which
gave a glimpse of a bedchamber beyond, was a gate-legged
table, on which current magazines had been set to one side,
in order to allow room for a well-laden tray. Vicky walked
over to this and began pouring out bourbon.

  "I know how you like your drink now," she said smiling.
"And I'm sure you need one, coming straight from the mill.
I've got sandwiches here, too caviar, smoked turkey, ham.
I wanted to give you a special treat, but I'm not so certain
about your taste when it comes to things like that."

  "The drink will sure go to the right spot. But I really don't
need anything to eat, Vicky."

  "You may, before you get your dinner we're planning it
rather late. And I was brought up on the theory that drink,
like ink, needs a blotter."

  "All right then caviar. I'm not sure what a caviar sandwich
is like, but I'll be glad to find out. Are you eating and
drinking with me? And can't I help you get things ready?"

  "I'll eat and drink with you. if it will make you feel any
better. But it would make me feel better if y ou'd go and sit
down over there and light a cigarette while you wait for me
to join you."

  Ordinarily, he would have protested; but he was at one and
the same time too tired for argument, and too grateful for
the rest and the refreshment which were offered him as if
they were now his right, in this house. Vicky mixed his
highball quickly and expertly, set it on a small round tray
with a couple of caviar sandwiches, and brought it halfway
across the room to him, setting it down on a small side table
where he could conveniently serve himself. Then she returned
to her source of supplies, mixed her own highball, and came
back.

  "What makes you try to talk until you've had your first
drink?" she inquired. "You can start telling me things with
your second. You'll feel

I42 vIcTor~Ix~

better by then. Meanwhile, I think it's pleasant to sit here
together, don't you?"

 He could not tell her how pleasant, and again he realised
he did not need to explain the way he felt, that somehow
she knew it already. They had managed to establish a
companionship so complete that it required no words to give
it meaning at a time like this, no caresses to give it warmth.
He quickly drained his glass of half its contents and gulped
down one sandwich in short order. Then, already more
relaxed, he began to drink slowly and to nibble at his second
sandwich instead of devouring it. Vicky had thrown a
cushion down in front of his chair, and had seated herself on
it, leaning her head against his knees. She did not say
anything at all, and she took only an occasional sip from the
small glass she had provided for herself. When she saw that
Prosper was almost ready for a refill, she rose, smiling but
still without saying a word, and took his glass from him. On
her return, she saw that he was smiling, too.

 "This chair has nice broad arms," he said. "Couldn't you
come and sit beside me now, and let me put one of my arms
around you? I don't need both to handle this highball, and
you don't seem to be doing much with yours anyway."

"I think that's a very sound suggestion."

 She moved the cushion out of the way, dispensed with her
drink altogether, and seated herself as he had indicated. The
companionable silence continued until he had emptied his
second glass. Then he set that down on the little table and
stubbed out his cigarette.

"Are you comfortable where you are?" he inquired.

"Very."

 "Would you be more comfortable or less, do you think, if
you were sitting on my lap?"

`'More."

 He laughed. For twenty~four hours it had not seemed to
him possible that he would ever laugh again. He drew Vicky
onto his knees and she nestled against him as if she had
always known this was the way and the place that she
wanted to come to rest.

 "I think I can talk quite rationally now," he said. "Perhaps
a little less rationally and with more frequent interruption
than if you were on the other side of the room. But I
wouldn't have you go there on that account or any other.
Do you want to hear what's happened since I telephoned
last night?"

"Yes, in substance. Then I'd like to talk about us."

DANGEREUSE I43

"All right, I'll keep the news flashes brief."

 Nevertheless, once started, he found the same sense of
relief in speech that he had previously found in silence. The
only items he omitted from his recital concerned Anne
Nlarie;he could not bring himself to say anything about his
sister which would be a reflection on her, even to Vicky. But
he did tell her of Dale's help to the Dargereux, and of the
former's departure from the Villacs' house, when it would
have been to his advantage to stay. Then Prosper interrupted
his narrative to make an observation.

"You ought to have fallen for Dale, instead of me."

 "Much good it would have done! To all practical purposes,
Dale doesn't know I exist! Anyhow, why?"

"Well, he's got everything you ought to have."

  "You mean his father was an ambassador and his mother
was an F.F.V. and he went to La Rosee and Princeton and
has a huge gloomy house filled with antiques and ghosts at
least, I suppose his mother, being a Virginian, wouldn't have
thought Cypremort was complete without just the right kind
of a ghost. And I never saw a place where a whole flock of
them ought to feel more at home!"

  Prosper laughed again. "Those are some of the
reasons not the ghosts, but the rest of what you said."

  "But, Prosper, I've known any number of ambassadors and
F.F.V.'s and Princeton graduates! If that was all I was
looking for, I'd have been married ages ago."

  "No, I didn't think that was all you were looking for. But
Dale has a lot more than that to offer.""

  "Maybe. To Anne Marie. And I might have given her a run
for her money, if I'd been interested. But I was looking for
someone like you. Go on with your story. What happened
next?"

  Feeling wonderfully encouraged and a little lightheaded,
Prosper continued. He did not stop to make any more
observations and Vicky did not interrupt him, either. At last
he heaved a sigh.

  "That's the gist of everything. Now what did you want to
say about us?"

  "You didn't make me any direct answer, last night, when I
said I'd like to have our engagement announced publicly right
away and that Father agreed it should be."

  "Well...." Prosper hesitated for a moment, but despite the
fact that he had not committed himself to a promise about
his course of action, neither had he neglected to think over
his mother's advice, with in

144 VICTORINE

creasingly favorable results. "I'd rather it weren't, until all
this mess is cleared up," he said slowly, "but I suppose
there's no real reason why it shouldn't be. I took you at
your word and told the assembled family last night. So the
news will be all over both Acadia and Lafayette parishes by
this time anyway. I don't suppose it matters if it spreads
farther, that being the case."

 "All right. Then Fathertll send the announcement to the
Advertiser tomorrow.... And, of course, I'd like a ring. I don't
mean because I want you to spend a lot ol money on jewelry
for me. I mean well, you know that famous line in the
Book of Common Prayer, don't you?  the one about 'an
outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace."'

 "I'm afraid I didn't know the line, but it's a good-sounding
one and I'm very much touched that you think it applies in
this case. Also, I'd like very much to give you a ring, and my
credit must still be sufficiently good so that I can get you
almost any kind, in reason, that you want, even if there isn't
much money in the cash drawer. Have you thought what
stone or stones you'd prefer?"

 "Only that I'd like a circlet of some sort, what some
people call a gypsy ring, not a solitaire. And colored stones,
some anyway, rather than just diamonds."

 "That shouldn't be too hard to manage. I might even get
you one right here in Lafayette, if you want it straight off.
I could get you another, handsomer, later on."

 "I shan't want anything handsomer. I just want a present
from you a present that will show everyone what it means."

 "All right, honey. I'll measure your finger and get you a
ring tomorrow. I'll bring it with me the next time I come to
see you. What else?"

 "I'm afraid you're going to make more difficulties about
the next thing. I'd like to get married right away."

 He straightened up so suddenly that he dislodged her
from her comfortable position. "In the midst of this mess!"
he exclaimed, repeating the unpleasant word he had used
before. "Why, honey, you must be crazy!"

 "I'm in love. I suppose all people in love are more or less
crazy. But I think I'm as sane as most."

 "I don't, if you'd marry a man who's involved in a murder
case! It's bad enough to admit you're engaged to a man like
that. It's unthinkable that you should marry him."

 "I don't see why. I should think it should go a long way to
proving I know you're innocent."

DANGEREUSE I45

"But you don't know anything of the sort!"

  "Of course I do! Of course, I know what Father said
yesterday is true  that you'll be called as a mere formality."

  "Vicky, you're an angel, and all that, to have so much
confidence in me, but "

  "It isn't so long ago you thought I was a perfect devil, just
because I didn't like corn and watermelon and didn't know
about Elks' wives and things like that."

"I never thought you were a devil. I'll admit that
sometimes "

"I made you so mad you couldn't see straight?"

  "I've been a bad-tempered fool, I know that, honey, but I'm
not so much of a fool that I'd let you t,

  "I wish you'd lean back in your chair again, the way you did
before  there, that's much better. But you needn't argue
with me. You even got so mad about Levvy you couldn't see
straight."

  "By the way, where is Le\vy? I've just realized I haven't
seen her today."

  "It's about time. Levvy has gone visiting at the fire
department. I'm hoping the visit will be productive. I thought
that this winter would be a fine time for her to have puppies.
It hasn't been easy to plan for that, while we were wandering
around from one place to another, but I never meant to have
her a thwarted old maid, any more than I mean to be one
myself."

  "Vicky, you are the limit. You're not going to be a thwarted
old maid simply because I won't let you marry a man who
may be tried for murder."

  "Oh, we've got as far as a trial now, have we? A few
moments ago, we were just talking about being involved. I see
I'll have to work fast. Well, I'm working as fast as I can.
When I found you couldn't get here until late afternoon, I
went to see the Bishop and "

"Vicky, you didn't!"

  "Yes, I did. Father went with me he and the Bishop are
old friends. He was just as nice as he could be the Bishop,
I mean, of course  Father's always just as nice as he can be.
Father explained that I'd been baptized in the Church and he
blamed himself because I'd never made my First Communion
or been confirmed he shouldn't, really, because it was all my
mother's fault. Anyway, the Bishop said that as long as I'd
been baptized and you were a practicing Catholic there
wouldn't be any real difficulty. I could be married at home or
in the Rectory any time. Of course, if I wanted to be married
in the Cathedral, I'd have to wait

I46 VICTORIAN

until after I'd made my First Communion, and it would take
about six weeks to arrange for that I wouldn't have to wait
to be confirmed, because the intention would be evident. So,
if you're bound and determined to put me off, we'll wait six
weeks and then we'll have a great big elaborate wedding and
invite everybody. I'd enjoy that in a way. Most girls do. But
I want so much to marry you that I'd be willing to give up
all those extra trimmings. What do they amount to anyhow?
What counts is being married! Darling, you don't know how
much I wish you didn't have to go away, that you could stay
here all night, so that before morning every bit of me would
belong to you. Then no matter what happened afterward,
they couldn't take that away from me. I'd be your wife. I
might even have your child!"

 Suddenly she buried her face on his shoulder. He was not
sure, but he thought she was crying, not senselessly or
hysterically, but as quietly as possible, from the very depths
of pent-up and profound emotion. He was too shaken
himself to answer her, just as earlier he had been too much
touched to do so; but again, he realized she did not need or
expect an answer, that she had poured out her heart to him
in the belief that he would understand and that, having done
so, she would presently be relieved from stress and strain.
As soon as that happened, she would face him again with a
confident smile. Meantime, he sat very still, holding her
close and, presently, he began to murmur words of
endearment that he had never uttered or wanted to utter
before. He could not even be sure that she heard him, but
that did not matter, either. What mattered was that his
moving lips were against her soft dark hair and that she was
in his arms.

Chapter Fifteen

    HOW LONG AFTERWARD LED C'AME BOUNDING
INTO THE ROOM, NEITHh'R

Prosper nor Vicky knew. Except for the light that came
streaming through the open door, leading into the upper
hallway, the sitting room had long been in darkness. The
great dog rushed straight toward the armchair where her
mistress was ensconced and, leaping up, tried to lick the
hidden face, meanwhile making sounds of mingled uneasiness
and affection. Vicky sat up and shook back her tumbled curls.

 "It's all right, Levvy," she said soothingly. "Lie down!" And,
as the dog did not immediately obey, she repeated the order,
more emphatically. "You see!" she went on, turning to
Prosper, "Lewy's in such high spirits, she won't listen to me.
And, as you know, she's generally docile as a lamb.... If you
want to see me in high spirits, instead of having me sob on
your shoulder "

 "Oh, for God's sake, Vicky! Don't start joking about this
again. It's  it's a serious situation. And as for having you sob
on my shoulder well, that was the grandest thing that ever
happened to me, coming on top of what you'd just said. I'll
never forget it as long as I live. But it won't make me change
my mind."

 "Something will," Vicky retorted, still speaking lightly.
"Something will make you forget those damn scruples of
yours." She slid from Prosper's knees and stood in front of
him, straightening out her dress. "Meanwhile, it must be long
past dinnertime. I suppose we ought to go down and see
Father. We've left him alone for hours."

 "I beg pardon, Miss Vicky. Mr. LaBranche isn't alone and
he said I wasn't to disturb you, but that if you did send for
me to say that you were not to feel hurried on his account,
because he had congenial com

I48 VICTORINE

pany. You didn't send for me, to be sure, and I'm sorry
Lewy got away from me. But you know how it is when
she's separated from you for any length of time, it's hard
holding her back."

 The speaker was standing on the threshold and, as Vicky
snapped on the nearest light, Prosper saw a solidly built,
elderly woman, whose large, steel-rimmed spectacles
overshadowed, but could not obscure, the ruddiness of her
face or its cheerful and affectionate expression. Her grey
hair, parted in the middle, had the crisp look of natural
waves that had been arbitrarily smoothed down, and the
same attempt at severity had obviously been made in respect
to her clothes. The high collar of her white blouse parted to
disclose a small neat black bow, and a starched white apron
almost concealed the plain black skirt which came nearly to
her ankles. As Prosper rose, a little stiff from sitting so long
in the same position, Vicky took his hand and led him in the
direction of the doorway.

 "It's high time you two knew each other," she said happily,
"in fact, it's long past time. Nannie, this is Mr. Prosper
Villac my fiance. I'm sure you've heard Gifford and other
members of the staff talking about him. Prosper, this is Mrs.
Sarah Donovan, mostly called Donovan. She was my nurse
when I was little, so she's still Nannie to me, and I think
that's what she'd like to have you call her. She was the best
nurse any naughty child ever had. Now she runs the house
for me and still tries to run me. You know from personal
experience that no one has had very good luck trying to do
that. I know she's been vainly wishing, for ages, that she
could come through here so that she could draw my bath
and then get me into clothes that she considers suitable for
dinner. I think she's been very forbearing, don't you?
Suppose we give her a break! She'll turn you over to Gifford
and I'll join you downstairs in a few minutes  well, maybe
not a few, but twenty anwway."

 Donovan came forward, hugged Vicky hard and kissed her
resoundingly, first on one cheek and then on the other. "You
know I'm wishing you every happiness in the world, lovey,"
she said heartily. Then she turned toward Prosper and
bobbed. "You've got yourself a prize, I don't need to tell you
that, sir," she said, with equal heartiness. "It's a long time
I've been hoping to have a chance to say so to your face.
But my duties don't take me much in the part of the house
where you've been up to now. That is, of course I go
through all the downstairs rooms the first thing after
breakfast, to make sure the maids didn't overlook anything
they ought to have done they're well-meaning girls, you
understand, sir, but they're all young and some haven't had
much experience

DANGERI1USE I49

before. After I'm sure everything's tidy, I go over menus with
Chef, while I wait around until Miss Vicky rings for her
breakfast tray. Levw,'s right there with me, listening for that
bell, too. Do you know, sir, I've never known this dog to
make a mistake? There's half a dozen bells in the house and
some of the maids can't tell them apart to this day. But Lewy
knows which is Miss Vicky's and she doesn't stir from my side
till she hears it, and goes off with a bound, though it might be
almost ten o'clock before "

 "Go on, Nannie, don't give me a bad name with Mr. Villac!
If he thinks I'm such a sleepyhead as all that, he might get
the idea I wouldn't make a good wife for a man who's at his
rice mill by seven every morning. And we mustn't brag too
much about Levvy. Of course, we know she's the most
wonderful dog in the world, but he doesn't appreciate her."

 "I'll warrant there's nothing I could say, or anyone else,
would make him feel you wouldn't be the best wife in the
world for him, Miss Vicky. And if he doesn't know yet that
Levvy's the most wonderful dog in the world, the day'll come
yet when he will, you mark my words. So stop your chatter
for now.... If you'll come with me, Mr. Prosper, I'll have you
shown whcrc you can get yourself a good wash and then I'll
be back to this bad baby of mine."

 Ten minutes later, Prosper, having been duly fumed over to
Gifford, who still regarded him with almost as much
condescension as on the occasion of the former's first visit,
entered the library to find Moise immaculate in dinner
jacket and gleaming shirt front deep in conversation with
"Bedon" Martin, whose tall hat, from which he derived his
nickname, lay on the table beside him and who was clad in
formal dress. This costume, unlike his host's, had nothing to
do with any compulsion toward changing for the evening, and
neither was it immaculate; it was his habitual garb, worn
morning, noon and night, and, as the same outfit had served
him for many years, it had inevitably long since begun to
show signs not only of wear awl tear, but of soil. It was not
perhaps the original, which he had sold all his other clothes
to buy, long before, in order to appear clad like his
classmates at Johns Hopkins for their graduation; even so, it
bore so close a resemblance to the one which he regarded as
responsible for much of his subsequent success that he had
never worn anything different While he was on his way home
from Baltimore, there had been an attempt at robbery in the
train, and Georges Armand Martin had been the "hero" who
prevented the holdup. Several newspapers had printed an
account of this daring deed, together with

I50 VICTORINE

Martin's picture complete in Prince Albert and high hat.
When he reached his native Breaux Bridge, after his long
absence, he was primarily recognized as "the doctor who had
caught the robber"; and since, as a young physician just out
of college, he needed all the recognition he could get, he
decided to remain faithful to his representation in the paper.
In some communities, this might have caused him to be
unfavorably labeled as an eccentric; where he lived and
practiced, it added to his prestige and his popularity; and
when he ceased to devote much time to medicine, in order
to devote more to politics, he maintained that politicians,
like doctors, needed to be easily identified. If there were
ever any dispute on this score, he had stilled it; he had long
been a successful officeholder, serving several times in the
state legislature, and was now city judge in Lafayette.

 Like everyone else in the vicinity, Prosper knew the judge,
Dr. Bedon Martin, as well as he knew the mayor, Captain
Bob Mouton, and held him in the same affectionate, if
somewhat amused, regard. Ordinarily, he would have been
as delighted to see the one as the other. Just now, he would
have much preferred to see Captain Bob. True, the mayor,
not infrequently, made lighthearted references to "la chair,
la chair" in referring to those peccadilloes of his own which
he confessed with unfailing regularity and, under different
circumstances, might well have made some reference to the
fleshly attributes which had given la pasture Titine such
irresistible alhlre; but Prosper knew he would not have done
so now. Captain Bob was kind and tactful and essentially
religious; he would have been sensitive to the fact that any
kind of a jest on this subject would be ill timed, and would
have confined his comments largely to civic improvements
and to camellias. Prosper was less easy in his mind about the
topics Bedon might have chosen. Of course, as city judge, he
had no association with and no power in the district court;
but he and Moise might very well have been discussing
Titine's death from legal angles, and the thought of this
made Prosper uncomfortable. He was immensely relieved
when Martin rose with alacrity and shook him warmly by the
hand.

 "My old friend Moise here has been telling me some very
good news about you, Prosper," he said cordially. "You're
greatly to be congratulated. Of course, I'm aware there's
some bad news which concerns you closely, too. But the
good news affects you much more closely. Don't forget that."

"I'll try not to, Judge."

"Try not to? What do you mean, try7 Look here, I know
what kind of

DANGURLUSF I5I

stock you come from. You mustn't be the maverick of the
herd, as one of our distinguished statesmen said about an
equally distinguished cousin of his with whom he happened
to disagree politically. I want your assurance that you won't
forget."

"All right, Judge. You've got it."

 Martin picked up his tall hat and Moise stirred in his chair,
reaching for his cane. "You're sure you won't change your
mind and stay for dinner with us, Bedon?"

 "For dinner? At this hour? I had mine long ago! But thanks
for the invitation, Moise, just the same, and for the good visit
we've had. Don't you forget, either."

 The two older men exchanged meaning glances, but there
was no explanation of what Moise ought to forget. "Couldn't
I take you home, Judge?" Prosper asked. "Or have you your
car?"

 "No, you can't take me home and I don't have my car. I
have my horse and buggy. From the clouds, I thought a
storm might be blowing up, and you know I don't ever use an
automobile in bad weather. What's more, I have my own way
of using a hitching post. No offence, my boy. I'm obliged to
you, just as I am to Moise for his dinner invitation, and
decline it in the same spirit."

"At least let me go to the door with you."

 "Why yes, I'll let you do that. I'd rather have you than
Gifford and I see Moise is just getting ready to ring for that
Admirable Crichton."

 The visit closed on a note that was friendly all around.
Prosper stood in the open doorway, watching the judge as the
latter plodded down the drive toward the old hitching post,
his coattails swaying slightly behind his tall slim figure, the
long locks of his white hair visible beneath his high hat. The
grandfather's clock in the corner of the library was chiming
as Prosper re-entered, and Moise waited until after it had
struck nine before saying anything. then he spoke more
forcefully than was his habit.

 "Dinner won't be announced until I ring, and I think we
can be sure of a quarter hour to ourselves before Vicky
comes down. In fact, I've given orders to Donovan about
delaying her a little, which I believe will be understood by
them both. I've given you a chance for an undisturbed talk
with my daughter. Now I want my chance."

 Again, Prosper felt uncomfortable, as he had when he first
caught sight of Judge Martin; but though this time his anxiety
was not assuaged, neither did it take the turn he expected.

"My old friend the judge doesn't meddle much with medicine
any

152 VICTORIAN

more," Moise said. "He's too busy with his affairs of state .
. . you know about the only time he was ever beaten when
he ran for office, don't you?"

 "I think so, sir. He advanced two hundred dollars toward
campaign expenses to a 'coming young fellow,' didn't he,
because he was tired of not having any opposition? Then
this coming young fellow up and got elected mayor! That's
the story, isn't it?"

 "Yes, and I guess it's true, for Martin told it to me himself
again today. 'I'll never pay another man's expenses to have
him beat me,' he said, roaring with laughter and slapping his
knee, as if it were the greatest joke in the world.... Well, that
isn't what I started out to tell you, and I must be getting
garrulous in my old age, or I'd have come to the point
faster especially when I know I've got to talk against time.
As I said, and as you doubtless knew anyway, Bedon doesn't
meddle much with medical matters any more. Everyone
thinks of him as Judge Martin instead of Dr. Martin, and if
he hadn't gone broke in Baltimore and figured in a train
robbery when he didn't have a thing in his pockets but his
ticket home, he wouldn't have attracted much attention
either way. But he's a mighty sound physician just the same
and, every now and then, for old time's sake, he'll visit a
former patient or a good friend. He was here today because
I'm both. I asked him to come and have a look at me. I
wanted to find out whether he'd say the same thing that all
these specialists, with their newfangled methods and notions,
have been telling me. Well, he did."

 "I knew you weren't well, sir, but I didn't realize the
trouble was serious. I hope "

 "It is serious. Vicky doesn't know that, either she must
think Bedon's visit was purely social. But I've had several
slight heart attacks and one that wasn't so slight. It was that
one which decided me I'd better come home. Because
Lafayette is my home. All the other places have been just
way stations. But this is the place where I was born and the
place where I want to die."

"Some time! Not for a long while!"

 "Some time, yes. And that some time might be almost any
time now, my boy."

 Prosper tried to find an adequate answer, and discovered
that he was only muttering incoherent sentences,
compounded almost equally of genuine concern and genuine
affection. Moise held up his hand.

"That's all right. I know how you feel without your saying so.
At least,

DANGEROUS I53

I know how you feel about me under the conditions I've just
outlined. I don't believe you've considered how they'd affect
Vicky."

"No, I haven't. I'm not quite sure "

 "You're not quite sure what I mean) Well, that doesn't
surprise me. There's no reason why you should have tried to
figure it out. But I'll explain. If I should die that is tO say,
when I die she'll be very much alone. She won't go back to
her mother there's a breach that'll never be closed again. If
she were still fancy free, she might return to the nearest
relatives we have the Zweigs in Alsace-Lorraine. They've
been very good to her, they're very fond of her and she's very
fond of them. But Vicky's head over heels in love with you
and you're in trouble; nothing on earth would persuade her
to leave Lafayette."

 "Yes, I reckon that's so," Prosper murmured, vividly
recalling the recent scene in Vicky's sitting room.

 "I think you met her old nurse today for the first
time Sarah Donovan. A very respectable, very trustworthy,
very efficient woman and devoted to Vicky. She can hardly be
classed as a servant, in the usual sense of the word. But, after
all, that's what she is. She'll have enormous responsibility
when I die and practically no authority. Legally, Vicky's of
age. She hasn't any guardian but me. Her fortune isn't tied up
in any trust fund. What's a good deal more to the point, she
hasn't a watchdog. Oh, yes, in the literal sense, and Lewy's a
good one. But this is a case for a watchdog in the figurative
sense, which happens to be much more important, under the
circumst;mces. She needs a man in the house a man who
has authority as well as responsibility a man who loves her
as much as she loves him. In other words, she needs you,
Prosper."

"But " he began and stopped.

 "I'll be completely candid. Perhaps you'll think I'm being
brutally frank, though I don't mean to be. However, this is a
time for plain speaking. I wouldn't have chosen you for a
son-in-law, even before the present scandal arose. I won't go
into all the reasons. Some of them you'd probably guess
anyway and some of them don't matter greatly. But I knew
Vicky had chosen you and, whether you believe it or not,
she's a one-man girl. There are such girls. In fact " He
stopped short and Prosper had the impression that Moise had
caught himself just in time to prevent saying something he
would have regretted. "I preferred to abide by her choice,
rather than to have her marry the wrong man I mean, the
wrong man for her," Moise went on. "She believes with all her
heart and soul that you are the right man for her. Hence you
are. Since this is so, I cannot too strongly second what I know
Vicky has said to you herself:

154 VICTORINE

don't delay your marriage to her. The engagement will be
announced tomorrow. Marry her here in this house, quietly,
as soon thereafter as you can arrange to do so. Let me have
the privilege of giving my only daughter in marriage."

 Not allowing Prosper time to frame an answer, Mo-ise
struggled to his feet and touched a bell. With an immediacy
which suggested that Vicky, as well as Gifford, had been
listening for it, she came into the room. There was a
freshness and a fragrance about her which suggested that
she had, indeed, stepped from a scented bath only a few
minutes before; her dark hair was still damp around her
temples and, this time, she had tied it back with a white
ribbon. She had discarded her tumbled dress for another,
and the one she had on now was made of white lace; it
floated softly around her in cloudlike folds. She came over
and stood between the two men, looking attentively first at
one and then the other. But it was to Prosper that she
spoke.

 "I believe something has happened already to make you
change your mind," she said joyfully.

 Moise did not permit Dr. Martin's verdict, of which Vicky
was still unaware, to cast a gloom over the rest of the
evening. Plans had already been made to have a festive little
dinner, at which the finest porcelain and crystal should be
used and vintage champagne served; although there were
only three at table, it had the gala effect of a party given to
celebrate panpailles. Later that week, Moise said, they must
have a real party Prosper's mother and sister, his
grandmother and grandfather and great-grandfather and as
many of his Villac and Primeaux cousins as he'd like to
invite.

 "You don't know what y ou're saying, sir," Prosper replied,
grinning in spite of himself.

 "I have an idea, and they'd all be very welcome. But if you
like, we'll wait and ask them to the wedding and confine this
next dinner to the immediate family. Perhaps that would be
better. What do you think, Vicky?"

 Vicky thought perhaps it would. They discussed these and
other plans, but not for long. Eloise confessed to fatigue
and, though he did not admit it, Prosper found that he was
practically dead on his feet. There was no lack of ardor in
the way he said good night, but, for all that, his farewells
were not prolonged; and it was with a sense of relief that he
found, when he reached home that, except for the lights at
the rear entrance, in the hallway and on his bedside table,
the house was in

DANGEREUSE I55

complete darkness. That meant that his mother and Anne
Marie and the various visiting relatives must already have
gone to their rooms. There would be no more explanations,
no more arguments, no more disclosures, no more emotional
upheavals that night.

 A note from Anne Marie was pinned to his pillow. She had
gone to a slumber party and would not be back until
breakfast time, if then. Mother was not coming back from the
farm and neither were Uncle Onezime and Uncle Odey.
Titine Dargereux had been buried at Cousin Clement's that
afternoon and there had been a terrible scene at the funeral.
Everyone there was still fiery much upset, and all sorts of
new wild rumors were hying around. It was just as well
Prosper had been in Lafayette and had known nothing about
this.

Chapter Sixteen

   CLEMENT PRIMEi\UX, STANDING WELL BELOW
GROUND LEVEL IN THE

excavation he was working to deepen still further, looked up
from his labors, seeking to read the portent of the low scud
of clouds fleeing northward. Sometimes the breezes, blowing
steadily from the south across the prairie, where there was no
windbreak, not only marshaled legions of such small clouds,
but presaged hurricanes. This possibility was by no means to
be discounted at the end of a long hot summer, like the one
just drawing to a close. When it happened, it brought destruc-
tion to everything in its path, as it had when it ripped into
splinters the crosses which marked the graves of his little
brothers and sisters, and scattered the fragments far and
wide. However, Clement felt confident there would be no
such devastating storm today; every now and then the fleeing
clouds revealed ragged patches of clear blue, through which
areas of sunlight streamed to the ground. Probably there
would not even be rain just wind, rippling the crops which
were still standing, but not shattering the bearded heads of
the rice in the golden fields as yet unharvested. Reassured, he
bent again to his task, the blade of his ditching shovel, bright
from use, flashing as he stopped every now and then to
smooth the rectangular sides of the low wall with which he
was surrounded. When he resumed his digging, he deepened,
with each powerful downward thrust of the blade, the grave
he was preparing for Titine Dargereux.

 Once he paused to refresh himself from a vacuum bottle of
strong, highly sugared black coffee, pouring it into the metal
top which served as a cup, and sipping it gratefully. While he
stood resting after this draft, he noticed the hurtling approach
of an automobile on the road from

ruse I57

Crowley a road whose straight course along the meridian
was broken only by sharp right and left jogs at township lines,
as these narrowed to allow for an eventual meeting of all
meridians at the poles. The speeding speck grew and took
recognisable form as one of the Benoits' blue Reo Flying
Clouds. With a wrench that made the tires scream as they
scraped over the graveled roadbed, the car careened in at the
Primeaux cattle gap and came to a halt in the lane where the
driver, dismounting, became recognisable as Maurice 13enoit.
Clement regarded the visitor with dispassionate gravity,
neither welcoming nor forbidding.

 "I think, me," he observed, "this could be the very firs' time
I see you drivin' like hell without you be racing, yes, with you'
brother Didier, him. Nothin' ain't wrong, maybe?"

 "No. I just found out how you'd offered to have Titine
buried in your family plot here. You ask me, it's a lot of
jibber-jabber, this business of saying she hasn't been to
confession and didn't have the last rites and so on. How
could she have the last rites when she was murdered? Any-
way, the poor kid's dead, and God help the son of a bitch
that killed her. But in the meantime, I came out to help, if
there's anything you want me to do, or anything I can do."

 "The's surely good of you, yes," Clement replied quietly,
"but there ain't nothin' to do outside of clig, an' I guarantee
you, me, I can do it faster as you, an' two people in a place
like this just gets in each other's way. You wouldn't know,
maybe, when they comin' out yuh with the  the coffin,
them, heir?"

 "No, but it won't be too long," Maurice said. "They still have
to polish a lot of brass, with Dr. Davila filling out papers sixty
to the acre, and making those two Dargereux neither one of
them with sense enough to figure out how much twice two is,
unless somebody gives them the answer sign statements that
the body can be exhumed if it has to be for the trial, and all
that."

"You got maybe an ide-yuh, no, how many's comin' out?"

 "No way of telling. Of course there'll be the hearse; Toler
said they could use that and he'd even furnish the driver
without charging Dale Fontenot for it. Dale paid for tile coon
and the embalming, you know. Scholtze went to Toler's as
soon as he had been released on bond and offered to do that;
but Dale had got ahead of him, and that made Scholtze
madder than he was already, if such a thing's possible.
Today's hearing was adjourned after nobody but Paula
Bennett had been questioned, so I'm reasonably sure the
Professor's coming out. In fact, I

I58VICTORIN~

understand he as good as dared Theo Landry to keep him
at the courthouse."

 "I expec', me, I better make plenny-plenny hurry then,"
said Clement, putting up his vacuum bottle. "I got no other
cup out yuh, Mist' Benoit, no, or you could have some of
this coffee; but you go by the kitchen, my wife Laurelle got
coffee ready. At leas', I tot' her to keep on drippin' it till she
got plenny-plenny more'n enough, her, by I didn't know how
many was comin' out. She got cush-c7~sh et caille an'
biscuits an' syrup, too, so if you' hungry, just help you'self
while I keep goin', me. Maybe by this time, Laurelle got
extra gumbo made, too, but she got nobody, no, for to help,
not outside our li'l girl, Ad'line; an' that stuck-up sister of
mine, Marcelite, ain't been near us, her, no, so I can tell you
someone w'at ain't comin' the's Marcelite an' her husband.
Her an' me don't see this yuh funeral with the same eyes,
no. But I'll get along all right without no Marcelite, nor
neither her husband. An' anyway, you' plenny welcome to
w'at we got for to eat an' drink."

 "Thanks a lot. Some coffee and a biscuit will taste mighty
good. After I've had them, I'll duck over to the Winslow
place and see if we can't rustle up some flowers there. I
know they always have loads I'm sure of coral vine and
roses and zinnias anyway, and Mrs. Winslow might even
have a few early camellias. She's a wizard when it comes to
raising those. I'll be back with blossoms of some kind in no
time."

 Maurice took himself off, leaving Clement deep in thought
as he continued to dig, placing the dirt taken from the
excavation in neat mounds at the head and foot of the
steadily deepening rectangle; in this way, he was assured that
those who lowered the coffin, standing at the sides, would
have level, dry footing and he took pride in the
consciousness that he was providing this. At the same time,
he could not help wondering why Maurice Benoit seemed so
eager to make a public display of sympathy for a girl to
whom he had never shown any consideration in her lifetime.
This was especially astonishing to Clement, since Maurice's
brother Didier was taking no part, public or private, in
seeing that some decent show of dignity attended the burial.
The night before, he had let Dale Fontenot leave the
Villacs' house without making any offer of assistance;
indeed, Clement had been given the impression that Didier
took an unseemly advantage of Dale's departure and Anne
Marie's apparent resentment, to press his own suit. To be
sure, Maurice had not been among those present at the
time, and though he had once been among Anne Marie's
many suitors, Victorine LaBranche had attracted his
attention almost immediately after her arrival in Lafayette
and, since

DANGERS I59

then, Maurice had not interfered materially with Didier's
courtship. Yet the Benoit brothers were keen rivals in
practically everything else and always had been. Their father
had been obliged to give each of them identical automobiles;
disputes over whose turn it was to drive, or to use a single
extra car on a given night, would otherwise have led to blows.
Ordinarily, they drove from point to point, at breakneck
speed, racing one another. Throughout the autumn, each
pitted his bird dog against the other's in a sort of two-man
field trial. It was even said that, during the war years, their
commanding officer had been forced to ground them, and
finally to assign them to separate air service commands, since
otherwise each would try to outdo the other in aerobatics.
And now, abruptly, one was making a show of readiness to be
of assistance to the afflicted, while the other was holding
himself just as ostentatiously aloof. Why?

 Clement was still asking himself this question, when he
became aware that another car had turned from the highway
into the lane and was approaching the house. It was moving
at a moderate rate of speed, but without halting, which
suggested that its driver knew the lay of the land. Though he
was temporarily lost to sight as he passed on the farther side
of the orange grove, even the first brief glimpse had given
Clement the feeling that there was something familiar about
him. The feeling was intensified when he heard the
newcomer's voice, responding to cries of welcome from
Laurelle, Adeline and Happy, the youngest member of the
family, who had been named for his dead uncle, Felix; and, a
few minutes later, Clement recognized his cousin Onezime
Villac, as the priest from the Delta came through the trees
and opened the gate of the little cemetery. Clement threw
down his shovel and hastened forward.

 "How I am glad to see you, me, yes!" he exclaimed, gripping
his cousin's hand hard. "I never had no ide-yuh you could be
comin'!"

 "I never thought of anything else from the moment Lavinia
telephoned, yesterday. I got hold of Father Gubler at
Barataria and started asking him to take over for me; before
I'd finished the first sentence, he interrupted to say that of
course he would. Then I drove straight to Baton Rouge, and
when I got to Odey's, I found he'd already got someone to
substitute for him in his classes. I spent the night at his house,
and then he and I hit the road for Crowley together, as soon
as I'd said Mass this morning. I haven't seen Prosper or
talked with him yet Lavinia seemed to think it might be just
as well if I didn't, until tomorrow; he's having all kinds of
trouble at the Claudia and there were pressing

160 VICTORINE

reasons why he needed to get off for Lafayette. But Lavinia
came straight over to the house from the Monrovia, as soon
as I telephoned, and she had rooms all readied up for
company and a good hot meal just waiting to be dished out.
You can count on her every time."

 "You got it in you' min', then, how she is pretty she', her,
to come out yuh today?"

 "Of course. She and Annette will be along a little later,
with Odey. As far as my other sisters and my other brother
are concerned, Odile and Pauline haven't had time to get
here, but they both telephoned, and we've even heard from
Olin, for the first time in years. Annette's husband is away
at some bankers" convention, so he can't come, but Annette
said to tell Laurelle she'd be on hand to help, as soon as
she'd made sure there was someone to stay with the children
when they got home from school. Mrs. Winslow's coming to
help, too she's been baking pies all the morning, and she
sent some over by me I stopped at the Winslows' first,
because I thought maybe I could do some such errand along
the way. Young Benoit had just got there, asking for flowers.
How does he come in on this, anyway?'

 "The's the extactlies' thing I been askin' my own self, me.
I got to admit, yes, how him an' Prosper been good-good
frien's for the longes', an' maybe he got it in his min' how
this yuh is the right time to show it, so everybody, them, can
see plain. Just the same, I tell you frankly, me, it ain't like
he's in the fam'ly, him, an' standin' by his blood relations the
way you an' me an' Odey is Join'."

 "Well, I suppose it doesn't matter what his motives are,
does it? Anyway, he needn't have bothered about the
Winslows' flowers. They were already being loaded into a
truck, enough to decorate the salle and cover the coffin, and
Mr. Winslow and Mr. Garland are bringing them over. I
suggested they go to the house first. I wanted to have a
chance to talk to you alone if I could."

"You go right ahead, Onezime, and say w'at you want."

 "Well, it's this way, Clement. Of course, I wanted to stand
by Prosper, just as any member of the family would, when
he's in trouble. But that isn't the only reason I almost broke
my neck to get here quickly." Onezime paused and looked
across the open grave which Clement had not quite finished
digging, toward the tombstone on the grave beyond it. "You
know that when Fleex died, I didn't come," he said in a low
voice. "And I've always been sorry sorry because I didn't
help you and None, when you were grief stricken, and sorry
I didn't stand up for Fleex, whatever he'd done. After all, we
were raised together, and he was

DANGEREUSE I6I

a lot more like my brother than my cousin. But then Claude
was really my brother and Fleex had killed him before he
killed himself . . . oh I know " he went on hastily, aware of
an attempt at angry interruption, "it was an accident, a
terrible accident. But just the same, it had happened. And I
was a young priest then young and intolerant. Even if it
hadn't been for the rule of the Ghurch about suicide, I'd
have felt "

  "Titine Dargereux wasn't no suicide, her," Clement said
harshly, "an' just the same, the Church "

  "I know, I know. The rulings of the Church must seem
unduly severe sometimes to laymen, but I must ask you to
believe that there's a reason for every one of them, though we
can't take time to go into those now. What I started to say
was, I've learned to have a good deal more tolerance toward
sinners, whatever their sin was, than I had when I was
younger. And when I found I'd be permitted to say a few
short prayers at the services here, I wanted to do it more
than I've wanted to do anything since I can remember. I felt
in a way it would make up for what I didn't do what I
couldn't do for Fleex."

  "Not nobody ain't never goin' make up to me, no, for all
w'at happen' when Fleex died," Clement said, still harshly.
Then he added, with less brusqueness, "But at leas' I got to
admit it was real-real kin' for you to come yuh, an' I put my
hand on the book, me, Lavinia feels the same, en' prosper,
too, when he hears how you done come. I'm too-too glad, me,
yes, you with us, Onezime; that I would swear to, on my dead
papa and mama's grave, I would swear to it. Yes, an' I'm
plenny glad Mitz Winslow comin', an' also Annette, her, not
just for to help Laurelle with all she got to do, but to help
that po' Mitz Dargereux, too.... Bien! Now you done had you'
say, en' I done had mine, yes; So you better go up by my
house. The women mus' be needin' a man to at leas' watch,
I bet you. Me I'll be comin', too, so soon like I get this yuh
finished right."

  He watched his cousin out of sight and went to work again.
Fifteen minutes later, placing his hands on the turf at the
grave's side the broad, calloused hands with short blunt
fingers Clement muscled himself out of the excavation. It
was finished. There should be time before the cortege arrived
for him to clean up and don his best suit and uncomfortable
shiny shoes, much as he and his father had done before they
lowered the coffin that held Eleex's body into the newly made
grave close by the one he had just dug for Titine.

  When Clement reached the house, there were two more
cars in the yard besides the truck which had brought the
flowers that Mrs. Winslow was now arranging in the salle.
Lavinia and Annette had brought flowers,

I62 VICTORINE

too, she told him, although and there was a touch of
pardonable pride in her pleasant voice as she said
it neither of them had quite as many to bring as she did.
Onezime and Odey had both offered to go to the cemetery
with her to finish the arrangements. Lavinia and Annette
were helping Laurelle in the kitchen. Everything was under
control. And, oh, yes Maurice Benoit was back, and
Grandfather Jim had suggested that he and Brent and
Maurice should go with Adeline and Happy, whose clothes
had already been changed, to look at the colts. She
supposed that the children would have to see something of
the funeral. But she thought perhaps the less, the better.

  Clement nodded and went into the big bedroom which,
like the adjoining salle, had its own f rout door. When he
came out, dressed in his best clothes, the others were
already on the gallery and the pitifully small cortege was just
entering the yard. Directly behind the hearse was Dale
Fontenot's handsome Packard, with Dale driving, and
Michel and Clarie Dargereux, both still in a daze, but both
decently clad in black, in the back seat. After that, came
Bennett's shrieval Ford, in which the Professor was,
somewhat surprisingly, riding beside Tobe; and, bringing up
the rear, another Ford whose occupants Clement did not
immediately recognise. Then he realized that one of them
was Baer Scholtze, whom he had seen the night before in
the group of witnesses waiting to be called before the
coroner and the district attorney while August Scholtze was
being interrogated, and whom Dale Fontenot had identified
for him. It was therefore not difficult to decide that the
driver, beside whom Baer was seated, must be August
Scholtze. Clement's heavy brows instantly drew down in a
scowl and, a moment later, to the stupefaction of everyone
in sight, he had gone stamping off the gallery and striding to
the rear of the cortege.

"W'at you coin' yuh on this place, hein?" he demanded
truculently.

  "Ain't this here where the funeral is going to be at?" asked
Scholtze, his tone matching Clement's in belligerency. "I am
here because I feel for attending the funeral. The girl she
works for me."

  "I already hear, me, w'at that young girl does fo' you, yes,"
replied Clement, in mounting rage. "An' I guarantee you,
nobody who got on his conscience w'at you boom' to have
is goin' make good character, no, by showint off how he
comes to this funeral. So I tell you plain, me, get out. I
mean right now you got to get out."

  "What the hell itches you, Dummiarl ~ Everybody should
feel for showing respect for the dead. So have sense already.
I don't know what crazy idea you got in the foolish head yet,
but nobody ain't asked you you

D ANGEREUSE I63

should invite me by the house. I brought some flowers and
want to stand by the grave from a girl what works for me
since more as two years." He nodded to the otherwise
unoccupied back of the tonneau, where a cross of white
tuberoses and carnations fastened to a moss-stuffed frame-
work of wire had been laid.

 "You get you' goddam' car an' you' goddam' flowers away
from yuh, you hear me, yes?" grated Clc meet. "This ain't no
public cimetiere, no, like you makin' out, no, not fo' one
small-small minute. This yuh's my proppity, an' I tell you once
mo', me, an' for the las' time, you got to get off my proppity."

"But for Sweet Christ, why?"

 "It ain't no law fo' me to tell nobody, no, why they got to
get off my proppity. But if you so goddam' anxious to know,
it's biccoz I think, me, from all w'at I hear, if anyone kill that
po' young girl, it would be you. So all you tryin' to do, I
expec', is make like you got only kin' ideas 'bout her, an'
maybe stand by the grave an' let people see you cry, cry, cry
fo' the sorrow in you' rotten heart!"

Furious, Scholtze turned toward the boy beside him.

 "Get out, D?`mmhopf," he snapped. "Get out so I could get
out, too, and show Herr Loud-talker a good lesson yet." When
Baer made no move to comply, Scholtze, whose old model
touring car had no door in the driver's side, wrenchecl his big
body from under the wheel to climb over the solid panel.

 "Don't do it, Onkel," he urged. "Look!" He pointed to the
priest who, in his turn, had left the gallery and was now
approaching Scholtze's car.

 "What the hell I care how many priests they got?" Scholtze
said through clenched teeth, struggling to free his big body
from its confinement. "It ain't no cop cop gonna say I kill
Titine, not when he's got standing on his gallery a bastard
what's been running around with her till it's a scandal for the
snakes already. Benoit is good enough to invite, but me,
August Scholtze, I ain t. Wait! I show you who is good
enough, cop-cop!"

 "But he got a right to make you get off his land, Onkel,"
protested Baer, as Onezime stood quietly beside them,
waiting for the right moment in which to speak a soothing
word. "I know you never kill nobody already. But if you go for
trespass and hit him when he says git off from his land, they
throw you on the jailhouse sure and maybe yet send you by
Angola."

 Slowly, grudgingly, Scholtzc squirmed his big body back into
position behind the wheel. "Get out n~d crank the handle,
Baer," he said.

164 VICTORINE

"We go." He turned to Lace the still glowering Clement and
the quiet priest. "But I don't go on account I feel for being
afraid of no cop-cop, verstehst? You and the Army couldn't
to scare me into running off." The motor sputtered into life
as Baer expertly spun the crank handle, and August raised
his voice to make sure his words were audible. "It's got
something else I tell you, cinch. I go just on the outside of
your gate on the public road. I stay there, too. Und if there
you feel for making me move on, Kleiner, there you will find
me."

 He shifted the gear pedals expertly with his feet, reversed,
spun into the opposite direction, fragments of crushed shell
spurting sideways from beneath his tires, and guided his
vehicle on its asthmatic course out to the highway. There he
drew up by the side of the road, just outside the gate,
switched off the ignition and watched to see what would
happen next. Clement, with Onezime, still completely calm,
at his side, turned back toward the gallery where everyone
else was still waiting.

 "Who we got fo' pallbearers, us, outside of me an' Odey7"
asked Clement. Maurice and Dale both raised their hands in
a gesture of acceptance. "The's two mo'," Clement noted.
"Mist' Fontenot an' Mist' Benoit. Now we got to have two
mo'."

 Sheriff Bennett stepped forward. "if you'll let me, I'll
consider it a privilege to be of service. I'm not a Catholic,
but I understand this is not a strictly formal burial service...."

 "Thanks, Mist' Tobe," replied Clemcnt. "An' 1 guess it's no
use askin' Mist' - " He paused uncertainly.

 "They call me Professor," explained that individual. "No,
I'm very much afraid I'll have to say no. It's not the sort of
service one is happy to render in any case, but since I was
Titine Dargereux's neighbor and friend, I, too, would
consider it a privilege to render this final service to her
mortal body. Elowever. it's all I can do to stand without
some sort of support. I twisted my ankle going down the
courthouse steps, and didn't even wait to have it strapped up
before coming out here."

 "I know it mus' be hurtin' you plenny bad," Clement said,
not unsympathetically. "An' Mist' Dargereux, him, he's the
father, he got to be a mourner, yes, an' not no pallbearer."
He glanced uncertainly at Brent Winslow. "I know good we
got no right to ask some ol' gentlemens like you, to help
carry the coffin, but it's only a few steps, an' we would
appreciate it so much if "

 "Of course, I'll act as pallbearer," interrupted Winslow.
"For a short distance, and with five such stalwart
companions, I imagine I am still equal to the demands of the
occasion."

DANGEREUSE ~65

 The hearse driver pulled out the coffin, his practicedhands
finding a hold beneath the end nearest the hearse door, until
the first pair of handles came into view. Clement and Odey,
ranging themselves alongside the casket, grasped these and
moved forward until the middle handles could be reached.
Tobe Bennett took hold of one, motioning Brent Winslow to
take the other; this would be the one bearing least weight;
Dale and Maurice took the last two handles and, lifting the
burden clear, walked to the gallery steps, mounted them and
thus proceeded to the salle. Directly behind them came the
Dargereux, hand in hand, each clinging to the other as the
sole familiar concept amid this bewildering concatenation of
strange happenings. When the solemn little procession had
reached its destination, the hearse driver opened the casket
and stood respectfully to one side while Onezime sprinkled
with holy water the body thus revealed. Then, as the Catholic
participants in the gathering, led by the priest, began the
recitation of the Rosary, the driver returned to his somber
black vehicle, with its glossy plumes of carved wood, closed
the door, mounted to his seat and started briskly back for
Crowley, feeling that he had discharged his obligations.
Meanwhile, Onezime, suppressing his lack of ease at
officiating when not permitted to wear the vestments usual
for such an occasion, proceeded with the solemn recital of the
antiphon and De Profundis.

 Brent Winslow had obviously been thankful to sink into one
of the waiting chairs as soon as the coffin had been put in
place. With chagrin, he recognized that he had been unequal
to the effort he had just made. This was not only because of
his advanced years; the sedentary life he had led, while
making experiments to improve the quality of rice, instead of
working in the fields. had taken heavy toll of his physical en-
durance. Holding a hand over his eyes, he did his best to hide
from the others the rapidity of his shallow breathing; but this
did not go unnoticed by Clement, who turned to Odoy as
soon as the prayers were ended and the Dargereux went
forward to kiss their daughter's dead face, before the coffin
was closed.

 "We got to fin' us another pallbearer some place, us," he
murmured. "The ol' gentleman hardly made it up to yuh, no,
so how he's gain' carry the coffin over that ground through
the yard an' to the other side of the orange trees, him? We
got to wait a li'l minute, us." He looked toward the Professor,
who shrugged helplessly.

 "It would be no problem ii only I had not met with this
unhappy mischance. But with the best will in the world, I
would prove a broken reed."

I66 VICTORINE

 "Wait, now," Clement spoke up with sudden decision. "I
got an ideyuh, me. I be right back."

 He hurried out and across the gallery to the gate, where
the Scholtze car was still indomitably parked. August was
standing beside it.

 "Goof. This is aussgezeichnet, I bet you my life yet!" he
exclaimed as Clement approached. "Here it got no trespass
law neither, so if you got something to say, say it, And I take
it from there. Ganz gewiss I take it from there."

 "I got this to say, me, en' I hate like hell to say it, this I
must tell you. We got only five people as could be
pallbearers an' we need one more, yes, fot to carry it from
the house to the place where my people is buried, them."

 "And so, after you order me off your property like I was
a Schweinhund of a hobo what asks for a handout, you got
to come ask August Scholtze to help, ja?"

 "No ja, never," Clement burst out. "You I still won't let on
my proppity, not if the house is on fire en' you got the only
water fo' to put it out. But the boy, the young boy, he could
help; him I ask, me, will he help so a young girl has a decent
enterrement?"

 Eagerly, Baer moved to comply, but a sweep of August's
thick arm sent him back against the c ar.

"Beer I don't allow to go," he announced with finality.

"Aber Onkel, bitte dock!"

"Halt's Maull"

Clement puckered his lips and spat noisily into the roadway.

 "It ain't no name fit to call you, now," he flung over his
shoulder as he turned back toward the gate. "So you can put
it on you' rotten conscience, fo' true, how you kept the
young girl from havin' a pallbearer to carry the coffin, on
top of everything else you done her. I got too much riss-peck
fo' dogs, me, to call you son of a bitch."

 "Hey wait, you," Scholtze called after him. "I make you one
trade. To a Schaiskopf like you [ couldn't explain nothings,
you already feel for having your mind made up, yet. So I do
this: I let Baer go with you, but only if he can take my
flowers and put them on the grave. I don't do no good to try
to tell you why; you couldn't understand it."

For a moment Clement paused, considering.

"All right, so come, yes, an' bring the flower cross," he
agreed.

Chapter Seventeen

  PROSPER HAD TUMBLED INTO BED MONDAY NIGnT
WITnOUT A TnouGnT

about the fresh impetus which the press must, by this time,
have given to the widespread excitement roused by Titine
Dargereux's tragic death. The various items in Anne Marie's
note had more than sufficed to increase his perturbation: the
funeral, which had taken place at his cousin Clement's, had
been the occasion of "a terrible scene"; Prosper's mother and
Onezime and Odey must be staying overnight at the farm
because "everyone was very much upset . . . all sorts of new
wild rumors were flying around." Lavinia had said nothing
about the funeral when Prosper had talked with her, over the
telephone, the previous afternoon; he had not even known
that the tentative plans for it had actually gone through,
much less that his mother had attended. He could understand
why she had done this: it was her way of showing the world
that she did not consider there had been anything shameful
about her only son's association with the dead girl, or that he
was even remotely connected with Titine's untimely end. To
a lesser but also to a very significant degree, it was her way
of showing that she believed in the Cajun principles of
solidarity and that, as her mother-in-law had emphasized,
these held that a woman accepted her husband's relatives as
her own and that he did the same with hers; therefore, since
Clement Primeaux had taken a certain stand, Lavinia Villac
v. ould take it, too, or at least uphold him in it. Of course,
similar motives had prompted the immediate appearance on
the scene of Onezime and Odey; Onezime would have
officiated at the funeral as a priest, Odey as a pallbearer. But
who on earth Prosper asked himself would have created
"a terrible scene" amid such unity of purpose and action?
What were the "new wild rumors flying around,"

168 VICTORINE

which the group of lighthearted young girls, foregathered for
the festivities so erroneously labeled a slumber party, would
doubtless discuss with avidity throughout most of the night?

 Prosper did not sleep very much himself and, when he
dropped off into fitful slumber, this was riddled with
agitated dreams. At the first sign of dawn, he gave up the
idea of getting any rest and, having showered and shaved,
flung on his clothes and went down to the kitchen and made
coffee for himself. Anxious as he was to learn more about
what had happened at the Primeaux farm the day before, he
was thankful that he still had the house to himself.

 The telephone was still silent, the house still empty, except
for himself, when he left for the mill. Paula was there before
him and the Monday afternoon papers had already been laid
neatly on his desk. He snatched up the Crowley Signal and
took in the headlines at a glance:

             TO SIFT DEATH OF
             GIRL ENTERTAINER
              AT THE CLAUDIA
Landry Promises Relentless Search for Slayer
           of Swamp Singer Last
              Saturday Night

 Without reading any further, he tossed the Signal aside
and picked up the Lafayette Advertiser:

             S()CIALITE TO BE
             QUIZZED ON DEATH
              Ol ENTERTAINER
        Dist. Atty. Landry Promises
          Sensational Development
                 in Probe

 He threw down the second paper and called to Paula.
"You've seen these, haven't you?" he inquired abruptly, as
she came into the office, notebook in hand.

"Yes, of course."

"Is that all you have to say? Can't you tell me what you
think of them?"

 Paula pursed her lips slightly. "Well, I suppose they're only
what we've got to expect. Of course, newspapers always go
out of their way to be sensational; even when a publisher's
friends are involved, it doesn't seem

D ~ N G E R E U S E 169

to make any difference. I do think, though, that the least the
Advertiser could do would have been to say 'Socialises,'
instead of 'Socialite."'

"Why?"

 "Well, Dale Fontenot certainly is a socialite. But I suppose
the Benoits would be considered in that category, too, don't
you?"

 It had not occurred to Prosper that the reference could be
to anyone except himself. Somewhat to his chagrin, he felt a
wave of relief upon learning that Paula had interpreted the
reference as applying only to Dale.

 "Not that I ever thought Maurice and Didier really
belonged there myself," Paula went on. "Especially, Maurice.
And of course, after yesterday "

"What do you mean, after yesterday?'

"Haven't you heard?"

"I sure haven't. What did he do?"

 "He went out to your grandfather's place and then to your
cousin's," Paula said primly. "He asked Mrs. Winslow for
flowers. He offered to make himself useful in any way he
could at the the services. He even acted as a as a
pallbearer. Afterward, though, he made a holy show of
himself. He went back to Lafayette and got drunk and
babbled to everyone who would listen to him. Several of my
friends who live there called me up and told me some of the
things he'd said, but they're very coarse and I'd rather not
repeat them to you, if you don't mind."

 "No, I don't mind. I can hear them later. Anyway, I think I
can guess what they were." So Maurice had made a great
display of sympathy! He had not gone to Titine's funeral like
Lavinia and Onezime and Odey, to bear witness to their faith
in someone near and dear to them. He had gone with the
idea that such an action on his part would indicate that he
was in the clear and thereby cast more suspicion on others!
Prosper felt reasonably sure that, as far as the family was
concerned, this beau geste would be a boomerang. Whether
the authorities would regard it in the same light was
something else again....

 "According to Malvina Walton, Maurice has such a dreadful
hangover that he can't come to the courthouse today," Paula
was continuing. "At least, Didier says he's sick, but of course
everyone knows what that really means. Probably he is sick,
disgustingly sick. What's more, Mr. Benoit has been to Tobe
and said he didn't see any reason why Maurice and Didier
should be required to hang around in the courthouse, waiting
to be called, when you're allowed to come to the Claudia as
usual. Mr. Benoit says they're needed at Pecan Grove just as
much as you're

170 VICTORINE

needed here. Of course, that isn't so. We're at the very
height of the rice season and cane grinding doesn't begin for
six weeks yet. Besides, you can get to the courthouse from
the Claudia in five minutes, if they want you, and it takes
the Benoits a good half hour or more, even driving the way
they do, to get there from Pecan Grove. Tobe pointed all
that out to Mr. Benoit. But he said Mr. Landry would
excuse Maurice for today anyhow. I understand they're
going to start in on the Professor, in just a few minutes now.
In fact, I think they may have already begun. They wanted
to get under way earlier than usual, because they didn't get
as far as they expected yesterday, and they feel they must
make up for that. After all, as they say, this isn't just some
minor crime they're investigating. It's a possible murder."

 Paula was right; the grapevine was almost infallible. The
interrogation had already begun and the Professor was now
seated, as Scholtze and Paula had been on Sunday evening
and Monday morning, at the end of a long table, facing
Thco Landry and Tobe Bennett, who were ensconced at the
other end. The witness' appearance was bizarre. His rusty
garments hung about his skinny frame as though they had
been draped on a mannequin made of jointed broomsticks;
yet somehow there was nothing about this animated clothes
rack which suggested physical weakness; on the contrary, it
gave the impression of wiry strength. His clean-shaven face
was a network of wrinkles, and the brows above his deep-set
eyes were wispy. A sparse fringe of grey hair encircled the
tonsurelike baldness of his finely modeled head. His hands
were surprisingly smooth, and the knuckles of his long
tapering fingers were unknotted. Unlike Paula, he did not
keep them clasped as he responded to questioning; he
tapped noiselessly on the table and, from time to time, lifted
his hands lightly; the well-correlated movement was
suggestive of imaginary piano playing. Despite this finger
play, however, he was courteously attentive to his
questioners; not once did he burst into violent speech, as he
had the day before, when he forced his way into the room
and announced that nothing would keep him in the
courthouse. Moreover, his diction was as meticulous as if he
had been the dean of a New England college, though the
accent was unmistakably that of the Middle West.

 "I live in what is known as the Stewpan Cove Community,
between Bayou Warehouse and Bayou Patou, not far from
Cypremort in the parish of St. Mary," he said with precision,
in answer to the first question put to him.

D,tNGEREUSE I7I

"And your name?"

 "I am called the Professor. I hat is the only name by which
I am known hereabouts."

"I realize that. But for the record we must have your legal
name."

  "The only name I have in fact, the only name I've had for
more years than you might credit is 'Professor,' and that is
the only name I will give."

"I'm afraid I must insist."

  Countless wrinkles sprang into being as the Professor
smiled in high humor. "That, sir, is assuredly your prerogative.
I can no more stop you from insisting than you, in your turn,
can stop me from withholding from you any other name than
the one I have already given. The rack and thumbscrew went
out of fashion with the Great Charter of Runnymede; and the
rubber truncheon or piece of garden hose which some urban
police departments stir] employ in what is known as the third
degree...."

  "You seem to forget that cor tempt of court is punishable
by imprisonment or fine or both."

  "But this is not a court, is it? No one has put me under
oath. And, even if it were a court, my dear sir, no one "

  "Soon or late this case will come before the courts, if you'll
stop your speechmaking long enough to let me get in a word
or two. Then you'll be called as a witness and put under
oath."

  "And if I refuse to give any other name at the outset of
your questioning, I'll be sent to jail for a few hours or
possibly even a few days, and you'll have no chance to
question me further about certain matters vital to your case
of which it is conceivable I might have presential knowledge."

  Theo Landry chuckled. "I give up," he conceded. "After all,
I don't care two hoots in hell what your real name is and I do
care a great deal, and so does Sheriff Bennett, about learning
what you know concerning the goings-on of Saturday night."
He turned to AIrs. Walton. "Put him down for the time being
simply as 'Professor,' identifying him also as pianist among
the musicians employed by August Scholtze at the Salle des
Tuileries cabaret." He faced the Professor once more. "I
assume you do know something about what happened last
Saturday night in connection with this girl, Titine Dargereux?"

  "I do, indeed. It was my custom to call for her each evening
about half after eight, and as they say hereabouts carry her
to the Tuileries."

I72 VICTORIAN

 "When you say 'call for her,' do you mean at her door?
That is to say, at the house where she lived?"

 "That would be quite impossible, Mr. Landry, as you would
realise if you were more familiar with the area. Stewpan
Cove is on what is known throughout this section of the
country as an 'island.' This does not mean, as I was taught
in school, a body of land entirely surrounded by water, but
a section raised far enough above the level of the encircling
swamp or marsh to be habitable. Sometimes it is known as
a cheniere, because oak trees can find there a footing which
is denied them elsewhere in the surroundings. It may be a
large area of high ground, like Avery Island or Weeks Island;
or it may be barely large enough for half a dozen cottages
where dwell the trappers, fishermen and moss-pickers who
find their livelihood in "

 "Spare us the rest of your lecture, if you will. All of us live
in this part of Louisiana and are familiar with its physical
aspect. Let's not lose sight of the question I asked, which
was whether you called for Titine at her door."

 "And as I said before, that would be quite impossible.
There is no wheel road indeed, there could be none to
Stewpan Clove. I always waited for her at the point where
the main road crosses over Bayou Mauvais Bois. During dry
spells, she would walk out along the footpath beside the
bayou; if not, she would paddle out to the road in her
pirogue. She would change to other shoes at Scholtze's."

"And you would meet her there at about eight-thirty?"

"That is correct, sir."

 "Did you so meet her on every evening during the latter
half of last week?"

 "No. On Thursday and Friday there vitas no need; the
Salle des Tuileries was closed because it was being
redecorated, and even more barbarously in garish scarlet and
silvery radiator paint than before. And, on Saturday night "

 "Yes, on Saturday night ?" Landry prompted at last, when
there seemed to be no indication the Professor would
continue of his own accord.

"On Saturday night on Saturday night she was not there."

"Do you know why she was not there;"

"Not of my own knowledge, sir. No."

"Was any explanation given you by anyone at all?"

"Yes, but I am unable to vouch for its truth, nor can I call
it false."

DANGEriEUSE I73

 "Well, for Pete's sake, get on with it. What was this
explanation and from whom did you get it?"

"From Clarie Dargereux."

"Who is she?"

"Titine Dargereux's mother."

"Well, out with it. What WAS it she told you?"

 "Titine should have been waiting by the roadside when I
drove up, for this has been a long, dry spell, and not only the
bayou bank, but many otherwise impassable parts of the
swamp were high and dry. After a few minutes' wait, when
there was still no sign of the girl, I walked along the bayou
bank to the section of Stewpan where Titine lived and, though
the house was dark, I knocked on the door...."

"How did you know which house it was?"

 "I had been there often. As a matter of fact, when I was
wont to bring her home, after work after the cabaret closed,
that is I would walk from the road to her home with her.
She was not afraid, to be sure; but in the dead of night, like
that, it was reassuring to have someone along."

 Landry chuckled, and the Professor, raising his eyes,
regarded him with something that might have been
compassion.

 "You laugh because I am no man of brawn, no manner of
protector against perils of the night, no Caesar whose word
but yesterday might well have stood against the world, though
there be now none so poor " He paused a moment, as
though savoring the expression " so poor to do me
reverence? That is not seemly, Mr. Landry. It is not worthy of
you."

 "Of course, I didn't mean it that way, Professor. On the
other hand, you must admit "

 "It is you who now stray from the course of your questions,"
the old man reminded him. "You asked how I knew the
house, and I told you."

Landry looked at Bennett and Davila and shrugged.

 "Don't pass that buck to me," grinned the coroner. "You're
the D.A., and questioning witnesses is your pidgin. Get on
with it."

 "Perhaps we'll come back to the other part later," Landry
observed. "For the moment, we'll hew to the line. You said
you knocked at the door, though the house was dark?"

"I did, indeed."

"And what happened then?'

 "Mrs. Dargereux opened the door a crack. The family had
already retired, as is the custom in that part of the country,
where the mosquito bar over the bed affords the only
protection from the minute vampires. And Mrs. Dargereux
said Titine had left early, more than two hours

174 VICTORINE

before, saying she needed much time to make ready for the
grand opening. The girl's parents had assumed, quite
naturally, that she was going to meet me, and were
surprised though not alarmed, as I understood it  that
this had not been the case. She had carried a paper-wrapped
bundle in which she said there was a pair of gold slippers
she must return."

"That was all she said by way of explanation?"

 "That was all her mother told me, sir. Titine did not make
this explanation to me."

 "All she took then, according to her mother, was a paper
wrapped bundle in which slippers were wrapped. What
about her accordion?"

 "Normally, it was kept in the back of my car, well wrapped
in oilcloth, to spare her the necessity ol carrying it back and
forth between the roadway and the house. It is both bulky
and "

 "All right, we know what an accordion looks like. Was the
accordion in the back of your car at the time?"

"I am unable to say, sir."

"What do you mean, unable?"

 "Precisely that. I assumed it was there, and so did not
look. Yet later, just before August Scholtze left for (Rowley,
saying something to the effect that this matter must be
settled, I went down to bring up the accordion, and it was
not in the back of my car, though its oilcloth covering was."

"When had it been removed?"

 "Ah, that is precisely what I cannot say. All I am prepared
to vouch for is that the accordion was not in my car at
approximately nine o'clock that night; but whether it had
been removed before I ever called for Titine, about an hour
earlier in the evening, or after I parked the vehicle at the
Salle des Tuileries, I am in no position to assert."

 "We'll come back to that later if need be. Meantime, after
Mrs. Dargereux told you what she knew about the girl's
early departure, what did you do next?"

 "I apologised for my intrusion, bade Mrs. Dargereux a
good night and walked back to my car, after which I drove
directly to the Salle des Tuileries."

"Was Titine there when you arrived?"

 "No, sir. She was not. But this did not surprise me. I knew,
of course, that no arrangements for an early rehearsal had
been made and that if Titine left her home at about six
o'clock, as her mother said, it was not to come straight to
the Tuileries. As I came in through the grocery, I saw Baer
wrapping some bulky package or other, and asked him if
Titine

DANGEREUSE I75

had arrived, and he shook his head in denial. So I hurried up
the stairs, and when Gus saw me, he asked where Titine was.
I had to tell him I had no idea. To tell you the truth,
gentlemen, I had assumed she was with him. They had had a
very violent quarrel the night before Friday night, that
is and these quarrels between them were usually followed by
equally stormy reconciliations, so I thought "

  "We may come to what you thought in a little while. For
the present, we're anxious to establish, first of all, what
actually happened. So I ask you now, what did Scholtze say
or do when you told him you did not know where Titine
was?"

  "He flew into a rage, of course. Everyone who knows
August Scholtze at all, knows he is of a choleric bent. He was
apparently swearing a great deal in German, but as I am not
familiar with the Teutonic idiom of profanity, I am unable to
report exactly what he said. When his first fury had spent
itself, he said opening night or no opening night, something
had to be settled once and for all, it could no longer go on
like this. He then directed me to take charge in his absence,
to see that, even without a vocalist, the orchestra played
music, to keep my eye on both the waiters and the customers,
so as to prevent the small peculations to which some persons
are prone when exposed to temptation naturally, that was
not what he said; his words were something to the effect that
I should watch out lest any of these steal him blind. He also
said that if anybody made trouble, I was to call Elaer; he
would tell Baer himself to come upstairs and be bouncer if a
bouncer were needed, and then he left, saying he would drive
to Crowley and return as soon as possible."

  "Did he say why he was driving to Crowley, rather than to
some other destination?"

"No, sir. He did not."

  "Was it at this time, or about this time, that you went down
to look for the accordion which you assumed to be in the
back of your car?"

"It was, indeed."

  "Have you heard anything from any source that might
suggest why Crowley was the place he had in mind?"

  "I have heard many things from many sources, most of them
contradictory and different."

  "But there must be one of them which, more than the
others, strikes you as being nearest to the truth?"

  "As Pontius Pilate said to the mild Saviour: 'What is truth?'
. . . indeed, there are many truths. There is an old French
battle epic, a chanson de geste, about one of the victories of
the Duke of Marlborough.

I76 vlcTonINr:

If you played the music ol its simple melody and asked me
the name of the piece, I might say 'Malbrook s'en Ha t'en
Merge.' I might say 'We Won't Go Home Until Morning,' I
might say, 'For He's a Jolly Good Fellow,' I might say, 'The
Bear (:ame Over the Mountain,' and every one of these
seemingly contradictory answers would be the truth. The
same musical jingle has been used in all the songs whose
names I have given you."

 "Oh, for the love of Mike and all the other archangels,
spare us your lectures! This will have to be another of the
points we'll take up later, if we don't die of old age or be
eak our necks tripping over our beards before we get to it....
If I understood you correctly, you said you ordinarily called
for Titine every evening and brought her back home after
the Tuileries had closed. That is about what you said, isn't
it?"

 "Every night when the club was open, not when it was shut
down for renovation, or for such holidays as Good Friday
and the like."

 "Every night when she was working. Was this her idea, or
was it yours?"

 "Originally, it was August Scholtze's idea. At least, he was
the first one who asked me if I would sce to it that Titine
was brought to work from her home, and got back safely
when the night's work was finished."

"Why should he ask you particularly to do that?"

 "He knew I lived in the same general neighborhood.
Would that not be reason enough?"

"How long have you lived there?"

"A little more than a year."

"Where did you live before that?"

 "In a little house on Bayou Sally, as it is called, though I
understand the correct pronunciation would be Sale."

"And before that?"

"In New Orleans. That was before the war."

"You were a pianist then?"

 "I was; and, anticipating your next question, I was still
called only Professor. I went by no oilier name."

"Where were you employed then?"

"In various cabarets. In what are now called night clubs."

"And in brothels?"

 "At times, but not often. May I call your attention to the
fact that most of those establishments had mechanical
pianos quarter-in-the-slot abominations and did not
encourage their clientele to sit about listening to music?"

DANGEREUSE I77

"And how long have you been in the employ of Scholtze?"

 "Ever since the war. During the war, the old Tenderloin in
New Orleans was closed and, after prohibition, the
speak-easies did not go in for Boor shows, even the more
luxurious ones like Tony Denapolis' Little Club on Dryades
Street. I had known Scholtze in the old days, when he was a
bouncer at The Vineyard, before he set up on his own out
here in the country."

 "The Vineyard . . . The Vineyard . . . were you employed
there for some time?"

 "From time to time; off and on. Those places didn't want to
keep the same people, and they were always looking for some
new sensation like Armstrong and Bunk Johnson on the
trumpet, and Papa Celestin on the piano. Then, in between
times, they would call on me until some other craze took
over. I didn't mind, because even when I wasn't working, they
would let me come there in the forenoon and practice
music real music, I mean, and not the horrible 'Smiles' and
'Everything Is Peaches Down in Georgia' and stuff like that,
which was all they would permit me to play at night."

"Why did you leave there?"

 "They put the lid on, as the saying goes, during the war,
when Washington decided the Tenderloin was bad for the
soldiers. And, after the war, as I told you, the speak-easies
were not interested in music. Scholtze had saved a little
money, and made a lot of money out of it by laying in a stock
of good whisky before Prohibition went into effect. He cut
this and sold it for fabulous prices and, through the
connections he had made as a bouncer for The Vineyard, he
arranged for other sources of supply. I met him one day on
Basin Street, and he said he was starting a night club of his
own, but not in New Orleans; he said the competition was too
keen, and too many people had to be paid off. He had found
this place not too far from Cypremort, a grocery and former
liquor store with a second story that used to be a dance hall,
and said if I would get up a small band for him, so that he
could have dancing and music every night, he would offer me
the job."

"And that is how you came to St. Mary Parish?"

"That is how, sir."

 "But you moved from Bayou Sally to the Stewpan Cove
Community, you told us."

 "That was after August had found Titine. I never was told
where or when they met, but he saw at once she would be a
splendid drawing card, and he bought her a fine, beautifully
inlaid accordion, instead of

178 VICTORINE

the battered old instrument she had been using; and he
bought me the little house where I am living now, so I could
bring her to work and take her home.... He said he didn't
want the Tuileries to get a bad name a really bad name,
you understand and so Titine must continue to live with
her parents, even though, after a while, she had a very nice
room in his living quarters, too."

"So that, in effect, you were a sort of guardian for her in his
behalf?" "I think perhaps chaperon would be the better
term, sir."

"Were there ever nights when you did not bring her home
from work?" The Professor looked down at his tapping
fingers and then lifted his eyes to let his glance pass from
one member of the group at the far end of the table to
another.

 "The girl is dead now,' he said gently. "Perhaps she has
been done evilly to death through some deed of darkness.
In any case, the words I speak can harm her no longer. Yes,
there were nights when she did not return to Stewpan
Cove."

"Where did she stay on those nights?"

 "Of my own knowledge, I would not know. August would
simply tell me not to wait for Titine, and I would leave in
some bitterness, thinking of what was written in Poor
Richard's Almariac of Samson, that he had a strong body but
a weak head, or he would not have laid it in a harlot's lap....
They were not really in love, those two. They had merely en-
snared one another so that neither could escape from the
other's jealous possessiveness.... That, sir, is one of the
truths which I believe implicitly."

 "Let us get back to Saturday night. Scholtze left the
Tuileries, telling you, or at least letting it be known, he was
going to Crowley. What time was it that he left?"

"Approximately nine o'clock."

"And he returned?"

"A little after three. There were still quite a few patrons at
the tables." "Did he say whether or not he had seen Titine?"

"He did not."

"You did not ask?"

 "It was none of my business to ask. If she was coming and
he wanted me to take her to her home, he would tell me."

"And he did not tell you?"

"As I told you a moment ago, he did not."

"Did he mention meeting anyone else?"

"No, sir.'

DANGEREUSE I79

"Did he tell you to go home alone?"

 "Quite a bit later he told me not to wait for anyone, but to
go to my house."

"And you did?"

"Yes, sir."

 "One more question on this point. Before leaving, he said
he would send Baer up to you in case you needed the young
man's services as a bouncer. Did he do so?"

 "I must assume so, since August had hardly left the place
when Baer came to the desk where his uncle usually sat, and
took a chair which he leaned against the wall. He said
nothing about having seen his uncle. But in any case, it was
not unusual for him to come upstairs as a sort of ex officio
guardian of the peace on his own volition."

 "Was he called on to eject anyone or otherwise carry out
whatever a bouncer might be called on to do?"

 "No, sir. Everyone was very orderly, considering the amount
of liquor that was being consumed. From that aspect, it was
more like a family beer garden in a German settlement than
a speak-easy night club."

"Were there any ladies among those present?"

 "No. Just some women who were in and out during the
course of the night."

"In your opinion, could Baer have functioned as a bouncer?"

 "Oh, indeed yes! He's only a youngster, eighteen or
nineteen, but he is tremendously strong. You should see him
lift a cask of needled beer to his shoulders and walk upstairs
with it. He would have had little difficulty on that score in
quelling almost any disturbance that might occur at the
Tuileries. Besides. his uncle had taught him some of the tricks
of the trade, such as wrapping a salt cellar in a napkin and
wielding this as a weapon."

"Was his behavior perfectly normal throughout the night?"

 "Ye-e-es, except . . . actually, I cannot be sure of this, but
once he excused himself and said he would be right back.
Without Titine to sing any songs, one of the Jourdain boys
sang a number now and then. He hasn't much of a voice, but
we were hard put to it, you see, to offer entertainment
without Titine's vivid presence as she walked among the
tables, singing in that husky sweet voice and accompanying
herself on the accordion. He had just sung 'Aupres de Ma
Blonde' in French, with some Cajun variations in the way of
extra verses. Even in the original French, the last line goes
'Qu'il fait bon dormir.' And while the Jourdain boy was
singing about this, Baer asked if he could be excused and, of

180 VICTORINE

course, I told him to go ahead; nobody was likely to make
trouble while that song was being sung they were all
joining in on the refrain. So he went and, when he came
back, he kept his face turned away from me; naturally that
piqued my curiosity, and I made it my business to get a
clear view of his features two or three times before he could
turn away."

 "And what did you see? Were there any evidences of his
having been in a fight?"

 "Oh, no, nothing at all like that, sir. On the contrary.
Though his eyes were puffy and red, I would almost be
willing to take a Bible oath the boy had been weeping
uncontrollably, weeping as though his heart would break,
weeping so that he could not erase from his features the
plain evidence of a tearing, devouring grief."

Chapter Eighteen

.

  TO PrlBVIOUS APTEP'NOON S CL()UD-SCUD HAD
COAGULATED INTO AN UN

broken, sullen overcast. By morning, a weeping drizzle of rain
had begun, increasing in volume and fury as the day wore on.
Crowley's streets were all but deserted, the only figures visible
being those of pedestrians hastening toward indoor shelter.
Occasionally, small automobiles went splattering along, their
isinglass curtains securely fastened, but obviously inadequate
to shield the wayfarers from wind-lashed sheets of rain.

 Within the crowded courthouse corridors, where those who
ordinarily would have lounged about the sunlit square had
taken refuge, yellow incandescent lights accentuated, rather
than relieved, the gloom whose somber semidarkness matched
the all-pervading smell of mildew given off by damp walls,
damp clothing, stale tobacco remnants of discarded quids and
stubs, and close-packed humanity.

 Booted farmers, drovers and others, clad in streaming oilskin
raincoats, stamped the clinging mud from their feet and tilted
their heads forward to let rivulets of water run from broad
hatbrims in minuscule cascades; then they went about their
normal occupations. Some wandered down to the parish
agricultural agent's offices, others to the clerk of court's office,
where they rubbed elbows with attorneys who were filing
divers documents, most of them typed on long foolscap and
bound with eyelets into powder-blue covers.

 Still others sought the sheriff's staff of assistants, or the
assessor, while the remainder simply lounged in groups of
tobacco chewers or smokers, silent for the most part, except
for an occasional eruption of plaintive profanity about the
weather which would delay the harvest, possibly long

182 V I C T O R I N E

enough to let overripe heads of grain shatter in the field,
bringing an entire year of toil and planning to nought.

  Only one or two troubled to walk up to the second floor,
where the witnesses, who had been summoned for
interrogation about Titine Dargereux, were waiting in the
corridor outside the room ordinarily used by the jury.
Within, beyond the closed door, were District Attorney
Landry, Dr. Davila and Malvina Walton; but the sheriff's
office was represented only by Chief Deputy Guerra.
Despite the inclement weather, Tobe Bennett had left, after
the interrogation of the Professor, for a tour of the Iota area
with the parish registrar, to give those who lived there an
opportunity to register and pay poll taxes without having to
take time out from harvest labors to journey to Crowley for
this purpose. The guardian at the door was Deputy
Barousse, who wore shoes that still creaked despite the
dampness that seeped into everything.

  Joe, after receiving whispered instructions from Landry,
called to his subordinate.

  "Get Baer Scholtze in here," he ordered. "The boy's out
there somewhere. I saw him earlier this morning."

  "On second thought, let's recess for a few minutes first,"
Landry suggested. "Mrs. Walton's got a right to rest and lid
like to stretch my legs and have a small black."

  During the quarter hour that followed, Baer sat
uncomfortably alone in the single chair at his end of the
long table, with Barousse watching him ponderously from
the door. At the end of this time, Landry, Davila, Mrs.
Walton and Guerra returned, filing in and taking their
places. Landry picked up a sheaf of legal-length paper,
leafed through it to the point where he came to tile
transcript of Scholtze's testimony and rapped out a sharp
question.

  "Can you account for everything you did and everywhere
you went last Saturday night?"

  Baer ducked his bullet-shaped, close-cropped head and
squirmed miserably.

  "I ask you excuse," he rejoined. "Please. I do not
understand so good. Please explain me how you mean, yes-'

  "I mean can you tell us where you were and what you did
Saturday night;"

"Sure, I work by my Owkel August's store."

"Anybody see you there?"

Baer beamed in obvious pride. "Everybody sees me," he
replied.

DANG~R~USE ~83

"Did you go anywhere else on Saturday?"

"Not after I come to work again."

"What do you mean 'again'?"

 "Nu, the store is open in the afternoon, nicht wahr7 So I
work in the afternoon. I work also in the night, when the
dance hall is open, and I got to carry the cases up the stairs;
sometimes I got to help Onkel August stop a fight. So I
work."

"And between the afternoon and night jobs, what do you do?"

"So I sleep, ain't it? I sleep."

 "That figures, all right. And on Saturday, when you left the
store in the afternoon and before you came back at night,
you slept, and I assume this was in your uncle's quarters
which are connected with the grocery store and the Tuileries
night club. Plight?"

"No, that ain't right."

"You mean that's not where your uncle and you live?"

"No, I mean Saturday I do not sleep."

"Oh?"

 "Saturday Titine asks me would I take her to the Tuileries
early because she says she got to practice or Gott Weiss was.
She come on the store with her mama like lots of peoples do
on Saturday morning to buy groceries, flour, coffee, sugar, tin
cow, and everything for the week. So somebody has a car,
and everybody what can piles in so they come shop, nicht
wahr? She comes with her mama and she says the Professor
is gone, that is why she can't ask him, when she finds she
must got to come early, so will I come by the bridge six
o'clock and wait for her, so she can come early by the club
and practice."

 "So it was you! You're the unknown swain who called for
her early. Have you got a car?"

"Nein. But I drive my Onkel August, his car."

"Did he know about it?"

  "Wer Weiss? He never ask, and I never told him. It is
nothing new I should use his car, but not on no long rides,
no. Just for short trips."

"Where was your uncle all this while?"

  "He sleeps. He always sleeps before he has to open up the
club, the Tuileries, so he can stay up all night."

  "So while he slept, you took the car, and you drove to the
bridge where the Professor usually meets Titine about
eight-thirty, but you got there about six; and then what?"

"And then I wait until she comes out."

'Wait long?"

84 vlctor{IN~

 "Not long. I even say, already, she must got to have
been walking for the road before I come there, so soon
she comes after I get the car turned

~ ,,

around.

"And then you drove her to the club?"

Baer's delft blue eyes became cloudy with querulous
bewilderment.

"Aber vein!" he said. "Ganz gewiss nicht!"

"Does that mean you did not take her to the club?"

Baer nodded in dumb misery.

"Well, where did you take her then?"

 "I didn't took her novv-heres," the boy mumbled. "She
jumps in the car with her bundle "

"What bundle?"

 "How I know? It is a bundle, wrapped around in paper
about so long und so big around, and it is tied with a white
string."

"Could it have been her accordion?"

 "No, no, it was too little. I even ask where is her accordion
and she said she left it in the Pr`>fessor's car Wednesday
night like she always does, and he will bring it. auch like
always."

"Well, you did drive olE somewhere, didn't you?"

 Again the boy's eyes clouded and he wrung his big hands,
the fingers interlaced, until the knuckles cracked.

 "We drive maybe a couple miles, and all from a sudden
she says she loses her pocketbook, it must of fell in the road
when she got in my car. She says she will get out and I must
drive back fast like everything, before it gets too dark, and
bring it to her. So I do it."

"You mean you found the pocketbook?"

 "I never found nothings," he complained, still wretchedly
bewildered by this complex of events. "I turn around and
hurry back, but what you think? When I am yet half a mile
away already, I see how comes another car from up the road
to where Titine stands, and the car turns around and Titine
jumps in, and the car goes away hut! like the wind! I think
well maybe it is some customer what knows her and he gives
her a ride on tile club, but she never got to the Tuileries all
night."

"I-low about the bundle she brought with her?"

 "That also she takes out when she sends me back for the
pocketbook I can't find."

"You never saw her after that?"

 "Never, never. Only I help carry the coffin yesterday, and
I put a cross out of white flowers on the grave. Aver Rein
Herz ist schemer even before the funeral. She i; such a pretty
girl, and when she says will I

DANGEREUSE 185

come get her Saturday evening I am so happy, I think maybe
she might want to be my Schatzi, maybe I could put my arm
around her, kiss her even, und then she runs away. Why she
runs away? I never done her nothings, not nothings at all, but
mir nichts dir nichts she runs away."

 Theo Landry regarded the boy curiously, the wide
shoulders and thick arms, the deep chest and the great hands,
and yet the mien was that of a woebegone baby, about to
burst into tears when it realizes the moon is beyond reach.

 While the others watched this play of naked emotion, a
child's tantrum in what had the physical aspects of fully
developed manhood, Baer's expression abruptly changed. The
pale, straw-colored eyebrows contracted in a berserk scowl;
one of the big fists knotted and was brought down on the
table with a crash that caused Mrs. Walton to flinch away,
and brought Guerra half out of his chair.

 "But someday I show them, ja' I show them all; most
special of all I show that Hnudsvieh what comes up in his car.
Oh, I hear all about those gold slippers, and I stuff one gold
slipper down his goozle and one I stuff down hers. I could
wait till I find out who he is, him and his gottrerdammt noch
a'mal gold slippers!"

Chapter Nineteen

THE BAD WEATHER HADINCREASED,RATHER THAN DIMINISHED,THE NUM

ber of rough rice buyers, farmers, brokers, bag salesmen and
others who frequented the small and dingy wooden structure,
situated between the office of the Crowley Signal and
Forshag's Filling Station, which served as local headquarters
for the Southern Rice Growers' Association. The manager
had announced that approximately five thousand barrels of
rice would be offered for sale that day some of it the new
long grain variety just perfected by Brent Winslow and, for
the most part, the habitues were merely killing time until the
bidding opened. Three o'clock was the hour set for this and,
as it approached, more buyers and farmers drifted in.

 Sacked samples of the sale rice stood in rows on the
counters along the walls, and interested buyers examined
these samples, critically watching handfuls of the grain as it
trickled back into the paper bags, and taking note of the
items marked on each bag: the lot number, the variety and
quantity offered for sale, the producer's name and the area
where the rice was grown. Meanwhile, the current market and
the bad weather were the main topics of conversation,
coupled with the usual hard luck tales of the farmers', whose
hopes for a good crop and high market were, apparently,
never realised. ("Juanette had been waiting for her new piano
since last year, but the poor child realised, of course, that
such a thing was impossible with the price of rice what it was
then; now I had to pay all that money for a new tractor and,
unless the price is right now, my rice is gonna stay in that
warehouse. I said I was gonna hold it and I am. I don't have
to take the high bid unless I want to.")

The interminable game of dominoes that went on at
Association head

DANGEREUSE 187

quarters, sale or no sale, was also in full swing. No one could
say hove long this had been progressing; the players changed,
but the plaques never remained idle as long as the office was
open. The men gathered around the tables were talking less
of the market and the weather and more about the cause
celebre now under investigation at the courthouse.

 "I'll lay six, two and even," offered a wide-shouldered,
fiat-stomached Texan, looking up from beneath the brim of
his Stetson, "they catch the guy that killed that babe I've
forgot her name; six they get him by tonight; two they tap
him by tomorrow night, and even they corral him this week.
Any takers? . . . Hell, there goes my only play. Now I got to
go to the bone yard again."

 "Too bad, too bad," commented one of the other players.
"I'll bleed for your hard luck. No, I won't take you.
Everybody's got a hell of a good idea it's bound to have been
one of two people. One'd be that bootlegger that's been
keeping her. If I was betting, I'd make him favorite in running
for the rope. And the other "

"Yes, go on. What about the other?"

 "The other'd be this Villac party that runs the mill where
they found her Sunday."

 "You crazy lak a poule mean, talkie' like cat, I guarantee
you, me," a bystander scoffed. "The's a decent riss-peckable
famille, an' if it wasn't for M'sieu Winslow, Villac's gran'pere,
we could all of us be starvin', us, an' you, too. W'y? Account
if we ain't got that Blue Camellia, all we'd have 'round here,
us, would be red rice, or either rice w'at wouldn't stand up,
no, in the kin' of weather we got today; and if we got no rice
you couldn't come 'round yuh, cheatin' us on the price, an'
gettin' you' own self hr-r-rich like a bastard, no."

 "Nuts to you, copain. That fine family stuff is what makes
me sure he's the one got most to gain. Ain't he fixin' to go up
the middle aisle with the doll from Lafayette whose daddy is
a New York billionaire or something? And I hear how he's in
some kind of a bind with Little Miss Round Heels. What's
the one sure way to fix things so she won't mess up his new
play-pretty deal? Put her out of the way for keeps.... Well, at
last, a play. Three at the other end and this double six makes
a sweet and sassy fifteen, don't it?" He slapped down the tile
with a sharp clack.

 An altercation at the rice sampling counter switched the
interest of those present into a new channel, while some of
the jostling crowd broke away, stepped into the streaming
rain and joined more congenial ac

I8g VICTORINB

quaintances at the courthouse where, in the jury room,
District Attorney Landry had just begun to question Ten
High.

 "Let me ask you again," he was saying, "how many times
you made a 'complete kiver-to-kIver round,' as you call it, of
the Claudia Mill Saturday night?"

 "When I first come on, Mist' Theo, I went from the top to
the bottom; I even looked under the loading dock and the
office floor joists from outside. And, like I told you, I never
seen nothing out the way. After that, right at two in the
morning, I made another round just like it, from the top
floor to underneath the loading dock, and I never seen a
thing out the way then, neither."

"But you did make other rounds?"

 "Just walking through, sure, like everybody does, and
punching in at the station boxes, every hour, after Mist'
Prosper called it a night and went home. I did that on the
hour, every hour, till Old Man Hector Ashford, the Sunday
watchman, relieved me."

"And what time would that have been?"

"Like always, eight o'clock straight up!"

 "While you were on the top floor, either in your two
thorough inspection trips or during your hourly rounds, did
you at any time look into any of the four bin openings?"

"No, Mist' Theo, I didn't."

 "Why not? You did say, didn't you, that ordinarily you
trashed your light into the bins on your last round to check
up on how much rice was in each?"

 "That's weekday nights. There wouldn't be no reason for
me to do it on Saddy nights, seeing as how the mill would be
closed Sundays. There wouldn't be nobody working there, or
either unloading rice or anything. So it's the Sunday
watchman who checks the bins and marks on the board how
much about is in each one, so the foreman, coming in on
Monday to start work for the week, knows how he stands.
The Sunday watchman could do this any time during the day
or either the night. Old Man Ashford done it about noon,
las' Sunday, and that's how come he seen that got' slipper
stickin' out."

 "At any time during or between your thorough or routine
tours did you notice anything out of the ordinary going on
at the mill?"

 "Well, sure, they was all running'round in circles about
some missing carload that got picked up by the wrong train
or something before I come on, and "

"We know about that. Was there anything else?"

DANGEREUSE I89

"Not that I know of."

 "Better think about that. Remember, we've talked to other
people who were there. Miss Bennett for one."

 "There wasn't nothing out the ordinary about her being
there. She works in the place; this time of year she's there at
night right often; matter of fact, she's there oftener than not."

"What about her aunt, Miss Eaton?"

 "That's not out the way, neither, Mist' Theo. Miss Eaton
don't hardly ever miss comin' when Miss Paula's workin' late."

 "But you and Miss Paula did both go out to the millyard
where Miss Eaton was blowing the horn of her car sometime
between nine and ten on Saturday night, didn't you?'

"Sure we did, but "

 "And while you were all out there in front, talking to Miss
Eaton in her car, anybody in this living world could have
slipped into the mill through the back entrance, the one from
the loading dock, and hidden, without your knowing the first
thing about it. Isn't that right, Ten High?"

 "We-e-ell, yes, 1 reckon they could have, but it don't seem
like anybody'd want to do a "

 "Somebody did, though.'' The district attorney's expression
had become grim. "Either Titine Dargereux went into that
mill by herself, got up to the top floor and stumbled into one
of the bin openings in the dark, or someone took her up
there and pushed her in. One way or the other, one or more
persons got into that mill Saturday night, the mill you were
supposed to be guarding as watchman, and you didn't know
beans about it. Those are the facts!"

 "But it wasn't the way you make it sound, Mist' Theo. I did
like 1 always do. Sure, I stopped in for a cup coffee, and
while I'd be sitting in the office, till Mist' Prosper come back
and closed everything up, anybody could have sneaked up the
re or in there. But I'm the watchman. I'm supposed to keep
my eye out for fires and see nobody don't steal nothing. I give
you my affidavit nobody couldn't have got in there and toted
off nothing!'

 "But you do admit which isn't really necessary, since it is
obvious one or more persons did so that others might have
got into the mill without your knowledge?"

"We-e-ell, it ain't right, the way you make it sound."

"However it sounds, those ar. the facts. Now one more
question:

190 VICTORINE

was there anything else about that night that you know, and
that you think we should know)"

"No, Mist' Theo. Not that I know of."

"You're positives"

"Positive."

  "Then let me refresh your memory." He fumed to Mrs.
Walton. "Be sure you get every word of this question, and
every word of Ten High's answer," he directed. "I'll speak
very slowly, so you can't miss. Ten High, is it or is it not a
fact, that some time in the neighborhood of eleventhirty or
very shortly thereafter, Gus Scholtze came to you in the mill-
yard and asked you to let him look through the mill, that he
slipped you some money a bribe, mind you to let him do
so, and that you did in fact lend him a flashlight so that he
could go through the mill, unwatched and unattended?"

  The watchman started to speak, but the gobbling sound
that he emitted was quite unintelligible. He swallowed
convulsively and finally said, in a croaking half-whisper, "I
never thought there was nothing wrong about it, Mist' Theo,
and he wasn't in there moretn five-six minutes, so help me
Christ!"

  "But you evidently meant to conceal this vital bit of
information from us. Why?"

  "Oh, you know why, good's me. It wasn't what I was
supposed to do, but men been doing things they wasn't
supposed to do ever since that apple business with Eve in
the Bible. I bet you done plenty little things like that you
wasn't supposed to do, when you was younger and raising
hell with the other students at L.S.U."

  "Whatever your opinion of my conduct may or may not be,
I have never admitted an unauthorised person to premises
where, within twelve hours, the body of a dead girl was
found. Now tell me exactly and this is the part I want Mrs.
Walton to be certain of, so speak slowly and distinctly what
happened."

  "Well, this was about twenty-thirty minutes after Miss
Paula and her auntie went home, Saddy night, near's I can
remember. I seen this here car drive into the millyard, and
I could tell by the sound even it wasn't Mist' Prosper's Olds
and, anyway, that was still parked where he left it when he
went to the Archers' house I think that was where he said
he was going to meet one `,f the Benoit boys. Anyway, I went
out to see who it was coming in at that hour of night, and it
was this Scholtze."

"You recognized him;"

DANGERE'US~ I91

 "Yeah. He's got plenty customers he serves right here in
Crowley. I seen him lots of times."

 "Tell us what happened and what was said after he got out
at the mill Saturday night."

 "He asked for Mist' Prosper, saying was he here and so on.
I told Scholtze no and he asked did I know where Mist'
Prosper would be, and I told Scholtze, like I just told you,
how Mist' Prosper had gone to the Archers' to see could he
meet one of the Benoits; I didn't know which one, but I was
pretty sure it was Maurice. So Scholtze asked how long
before Mist' Prosper'd be back, and I told him nobody could
say that, account he was also trying to chase down this stray
carload of rice, and so then he asked had anyone else come
to see him that evening, and I said no, not's far's I knew."

"And you still say that, as I understand it?"

 "Yes, sir, and I'll say it forever, because it's true. He asked
me next, as near as I can rectlect, was I certain sure nobody
wasn't in the mill waiting for him, and fares that went, I
could swear on a stack of Bibles there wasn't nobody waiting
for him. Then he says did I care if he looked around, just to
make sure, and I said,'You're goddamn right' excuse me,
Miz' Walton, I wouldn't go to cuss in front of you, but that's
what I said 'you're goddamn right I mind. Nobody ain't
supposed to go through the mill!"'

"Yet your objections were overcome, weren't they?"

 "We-e-ell, it was like this, Mist' Theo. He says he just wants
to make sure this girl that was supposed to sing for his big
opening night show wasn't hiding here. He says he and this
girl had a big bust-up, and she's trying to get back at him; he
thinks she's gone off the deep end for Mist' Prosper, by she's
always sayin' why can't he be more like Prosper Villac, and
what a kind gentleman he is and such as that. So he thinks
she's come here maybe, to get Prosper to either hide her or
either help her get away. Well, I knew good's anything she
ain't there, and when he says it's worth ten bucks for him to
go through and see for himself, I said go ahead, if that's what
it takes to get you in the groove.... Like I said before, he
wasn't in the mill more'n five or six minutes, just long enough
to give a quick look around, and then he comes barreling
back out, a mile a minute, and says I'm right, it ain't nobody
up there now, and to don't tell nobody he went to look. So I
said hell, I won't tell nobody, but for him to be sure not to
tell nobody, else I'd get in trouble. And that was all."

"You saw no one or talked to no one else that night?"

I92 VICTORINE

 "Oh, sure. Mist' Prosper come back it musta been gettin'
on to'rds 'leven, near's I can reckon it, and he said for Miss
Paula to go home. So she telephoned to her auntie and,
while they was waiting for Miss Eaton to come get Miss
Paula, I heard Mist' Prosper say something about double
checking later that night to make sure the stray rice car
really was on the westbound Rcd Ball, and Miss Paula says
she would take some papers with her and work at home on
them the next day, which was Sunday. She had a bundle of
papers, at least that's what it musta been, by I couldn't see
what they were, wrapped up in paper and tied with a string
like that, awl soon's ever her auntie come by, she got into
the car with her and drove off. This musta been not too long
past 'leven, close as a body could cipher it."

"That was the last time you saw her that night?"

 "I never seen her again, not till Monday evening when I
come on, by I don't work Sundays."

"And how long did Mr. Prosper stay at the mill after that?"

"I couldn't rightly say."

"Why not?"

 "Well, it was like this, near's I rec'lect. He said something
about it was sure a relief to have found that missing car, or
some such, and that he had telephoned Miss Paula about it
earlier. I expect he did, too, that bein' the natural thing to
do, but I got to admit I never heard no phone ring, or
nothing, nor neither did Miss Paula say ary word about
having got no phone calls. But it 'pears to me, she hadn't
hardly moretn got out of sight at least the lights of her
auntie's car hadn't got out of sight, I sh'd say when Mist'
Prosper says he's plum out of cigarettes, and would I take
his car and run up to Keller's and get him a couple of packs.
I done it."

 "Then, after you got back, how long was it before Mr.
Prosper left the mill?"

 "That's the funny part, Mist' Theo. He was done gone by
the time I got back, so I put the cigarettes on his desk and
locked the office door. I knew he'd be back sometime, by his
car, that I had used, was standing where he always parked it
in the millyard."

"Well, did you see him after that?"

 "No, but he sure Lord did come back sometime whilst I
was making my two o'clock round."

"How do you know?"

"His car was gone, when I come back to the ground to look
under

D A N G E R E U S rat 193

the floor joists and such like, and when I unlocked the office
to see, I saw the cigarettes was gone from his desk, too."

 "Is it possible he might have remained somewhere in the
mill till you made your kiver-to-kiver two o'clock round?"

 Ten High shrugged. "Anything's possible," he conceded.
"Just like you said, that young girl got into the mill without
I saw her, and Miss Paula got at least one phone call without
I heard no ringing, so it could be he was looking 'round the
loading spur when I come back with the cigarettes, and
seeing his car back, sat in it, napping kind of, till sometime
between two and two-thirty it takes me near about half an
hour to make that round when he lit out to check on his
car. I wouldn't know. But I'd bet a purty he never done it."

 '3lery well then. That will lie all the questions I'll ask you
for now. But bear in mind you're still under subpoena, so
don't leave the jurisdiction of this court until you're formally
released."

"What's all that mean?"

 "It means don't leave town until this case is over. I might
want to call you again, when the grand jury meets, and later
when court's in session maybe. It means if you do decide to
leave, you'll be a fugitive, and can be arrested and brought
back. It means "

 "Okay, okay. I understand, Mist' Theo. And I ain't leavin'.
I got a job, I make a living, and I ain't lost nothin' nowhere's
else."

 He rose, nodded and left by the door which Barousse
opened for him. Landry shuffled his papers and looked at
Guerra.

 "Now that we've got Scholtze's visit to the mill checked and
rechecked," he said, "I think we might look a little nnore
thoroughly into the difference between Scholtze's statement
and Paula's about the degree of their acquaintance. Get one
or the other back here whichever you can locate first. I
should think it would probably be Paula. Maurice Benoit has
been excused because he's 'sick.' Do we need anyone else
here?"

Chapter Twenty

 IN WELCOME CONTRAST TO THE TURMOIL V`'HICH
HAD PERVADED IT SATUR

day and Monday, comparative quiet reigned at the mill on
Tuesday morning. No cars went astray, no dissatisfied patrons
argued about prices and Paula was back at her post, her
usual efficient self. She had managed to meet Malvina
Walton during her coffee break, and gleaned a few more
stray bits of gossip, none of them particularly disturbing; as
a matter of fact, once she had told Prosper about the
disgusting behavior of Maurice in Lafayette tht night before,
she seemed disposed to work, rather than to chatter, which
suited Prosper perfectly; he would ask his mother to tell him
about the "terrible scene" at Cousin Clement's, when he went
home to dinner; he knew she would do this dispassionately
and accurately.

 As it turned out, Onezime was the one to do it. The
morning had not been as uneventful at the Monrovia as it
had at the Claudia, and Lavinia had been delayed by foreign
visitors from Spain and Java, whom, ordinarily, she would
have brought home with her to share the midday meal. This
time, Henry Blanchard, her right-hand man, recognising the
various handicaps under which she was operating, had
stepped into the breach and asked them to his house; she had
telephoned to say she would be along presently, and that they
could either begin dinner without her or have it a little late.
Onezime and Odoy had decided on the latter course and
were seated in the living room, enjoying a leisurely drink and
a brotherly visit, when Prosper came in. Anne Marie was
nowhere to be seem; presumably, she was oB to an early card
party, but Prosper could not entirely still the suspicion that
she was avoiding him, not altogether by accident.

DANGEr~EnSE 195

 "I found a note from Anne Marie pinned to my pillow when
I came in last night," he said without preamble. "I've already
filled in some of the gaps that it left wide open. But not all
of them. She referred to a 'terrible scene' that took place at
Clement's yesterday afternoon. Can either of you explain just
what she meant by that?"

 The priest and the teacher exchanged glances and the
former set down his glass. "Why, yes, I think I c an," he said
quietly. "When the cortege  a very short one, of
course came into the yard, Clement recognised the
occupants of the last car as August Scholtze and his nephew
Baer. He left the gallery, walked straight past the hearse and
the other cars and asked Scholtze what he was doing there.
Scholtze was civil enough at first; he said he hadn't expected
to be invited to the house, but he wanted to go to the
grave he had brought an enormous cross of white flowers to
put on it. Clement ordered him off the premises by that
time, both men were so angry that they had raised their
voices and we couldn't help hearing everything they said.
Scholtze went out to the highway and parked there and, later
on, Clcment had to eat humble pie, because we were one
pallbearer short; he went out and asked to have Baer fill in
the breach. At first, Scholtze refused his permission, but
finally gave it on condition that the 'flower cross' could be
put on the grave."

 "You've left out something very interesting, Onezime,"
Odey interposed. "Of course, you can't quote everything
Clement and Scholtze said, word for word. In the first place,
it would take too long. In the second place, some of the
expressions they used would be unbecoming to your cloth. In
the third place, I doubt if any of us, except Clement, could
revert successfully to the patois we spoke when we were
children. Indeed, it's a source of surprise to me that Clement,
who did go to high school, under protest at least, he didn't
actually graduate, but still "

 "Uncle Odey, do stop talking like a professor and tell me
what Clement and Scholtze said that you thought was very
interesting," Prosper interrupted.

 "Well, Clement said he had too much respect for dogs to
call Scholtze a son of a bitch and Scholtze said he thought
Clement was inconsistent, to say the least, in ordering him,
Scholtze, off the property, on the ground that he was the
probable killer of Titine, when Clement had 'standing on his
gallery a bastard what's been running around with her till it's
a scandal for the snakes, already.' . . . A scandal for the
snakes!  that's a very disagreeable expression, but it's a very
effective one. I'm not sure that in one of my Englisll
classes for the older students, of course I couldn't suggest
its use to telling advantage."

196 v I c r o R 1 N ~

 "Scholtze was referring to your friend Maurice Benoit,
Prosper,' Onezime said mildly. "As a matter of fact, Clement
and Odey had already remarked that his presence, at such
a time, was rather surprising under all the circumstam es.
But of course we know he's a very good friend of yours and,
doubtless, he was just taking the occasion to stand by you,
like the rest of us."

 "It wasn't in the least like the rest of us," Odey said
impatiently. "I low can you say such a thing, Onezime? None
of the rest of us ever saw Titine Dargereux, much less had
an association with her that was a scandal to "

 "Listen! I think Mother came in just then," Prosper
interrupted. "1 don't believe she wants to hear any more
about this she probably had about all she could take
yesterday. And I've heard enough now to fill in all the gaps
that hadn't been taken care of already this morning."

 There was no doubt of it, Maurice had laid himself open
to very grave suspicions, and Prosper felt guilty because he
was not sorrier for this. Moreover, while he knew that the
unseemly happenings of the day before must have been very
trying to anyone whose code reacquired that everything
should be done "decently and in order," he realized that his
mother's recoil from them would be less violent than if it
had not been tempered by the realization that the more
guilty Maurice appeared, the less fixedly the finger of
suspicion pointed in the direction of her only son. Making
every allowance for this feeling on her part, however, and
for the fact that her powers of self-control enabled her to
appear calm and collected under almost any circumstances,
he did not expect her to look actually happy when she
entered the living room. But the smile which now illumined
her face gave it that rare beauty which he so seldom
glimpsed; and, after briefly and joyously greeting her two
guests, she came over to Prosper and kissed him.

 "Captain Bob telephoned just as I was leaving the
Monrovia," she said. "That's why I'm even later than I
expected to be. The first copies of the Advertiser were just
coming off the press and one had been delivered to his
office at City Hall. You didn't tell me your engagement was
going to be announced this afternoon, Prosper. Captain Bob
says there's a beautiful picture of Vicky in the society section
and the finest kind of an article with it--a long one, telling
not only about her education and so on, but about her
father's pre-eminence in the field of design and my father's
successful experiments with rice breeding. Of course it's
always the girl, rather than her fiance, who's featured in such
announcements, but you're mentioned as having served 'with
distinction

DANGEF`EUSE 197

in the Rainbow Division as an officer of the C avalry Troop
from Jennings and graduated with honors from L.S.U., and
being the co-owner witli me of the Monrovia and the
Cllaudia and the 'highly efficient manager of the latter.'
There's not a word about about the recent trouble. C,aptain
Bob is sending over half a dozen copies right away by
messenger, so that we won't have to wait for the regular
delivery. And he said that, just as soon as he'd finished
telephoning, he was going to start making a flower
arrangement and take it personally to Vicky."

 "I'm sorry I forgot to tell you about the announcement in
the A`ivertiser," Prosper answered, returning her kiss. "Vicky
told me, over the telephone, Sunday night, that sue wanted
it to come out the next day, and I persuaded her to wait. l
hat is, I thought I did. But if it's given all that prominence, I
bet the little scamp wrote it herself and got it to the
Advertiser office with her picture yesterday, before she wrung
a con sent out of me to have it appear today. They couldn't
have spared so much space without some advance notice."

 "Well, however it happened it's out now and I'm delighted,"
Lavinia went on. "I waited to ask whether you and Vicky have
any other plans before calling her, but if you haven't, I'd like
very much to invite her and her father here for supper
tonight. And my father and mother and Grandfather Jim. I
hoped," she added, turning to Onezime and Odey, "that you'd
both stay over. I heard you saying something about leaving
right after dinner."

 "Well, yes, we did," Onezimc admitted. "I fccl, in a way, I
ought to get back to my parish as soon as I can. But it would
be very late now before I could get to tile Delta. and I've
already told Father Gubler that I'd let him know when I did
act back. I don't suppose one more day . . . how about you,
Odey?"

 "Oh, I took the precaution of arranging for a replacement
for the entire week," Odoy said rather smugly. "I'd like very
much to meet the LaBranches, father and daughter both. I
never have. I've thought that, possibly, I might interest Moist
LaBranchc in starting a scholarship."

 "I wouldn't be at all surprised if you could. Well, everything
seems to be working out just as I holJed. Go on in to dinner,
the rest of you. I'll be with you directly. But I want to call
Father and Mother right away."

"Just a minute "

"Oh, Prosper, you don't mean to say that you ciid have other
plans!"

 It had been on the tip of his tongue to tell her he had
meant to get away from the mill early, since everything there
was rmlning so smoothly

~ 98 v I c T O Et I N E

again, and to go to Krauss's Jewelry Store in Lafayette
before closing time and buy Vicky the ring he had promised
her. But when he saw the swift darkening of the radiance in
his mother's face, he could not bring himself to do so. He
would explain to Vicky and Vicky would understand. That
was one of the most wonderful things about her she
understood, so readily and so pleasantly, with so little
explanation.

 "None that can't be changed," he told his mother. "Go right
ahead and make yours, any way you want to."

 The little party was a complete success from everyone's
point of view. Lavinia suffered a momentary disappointment
when Anne Marie came in, after her bridge party, and said
she was staying just long enough to change her clothes. She
was going to the Benoits' and, no, she didn't think she
should break the engagement, that late. Break the
engagement, Lavinia inquired with lifted eyebrows. Oh,
Mother shouldn't take things so literally. Anne Marie didn't
mean she was engaged to be married. She meant she had a
date. She thought Mother objected to that new term,
"dating" that was why Anne Marie had talked about an
engagement. And this was to be a formal occasion, with
guests from New Orleans, not just a supper that had been
dreamed up on the spur of the moment, for a lot of
relatives. Yes, she knew the LaBranches weren't relatives
yet. But they were going to be, and Vicky had been at the
Villacs' to supper, dozens of times already. There was
nothing very exciting about that. As far as the real
engagement went, Anne Marie didn't think that was exciting,
either; under the circumstances, she thought it was very poor
taste to announce it just then. No, of course Mr. LaBranche
hadn't been to the house before, Anne Marie knew that.
But, after all, he was just a doddering old man and probably
a snob into the bargain. He would look down his nose at
everyone else....

 "You're not by any chance a little out of sorts, are you,
Anne Marie?" Lavinia asked quietly.

"Of course not. Why should I be out of sorts?"

  "You didn't behave very well Sunday night, you know,
either to Dale or to Prosper. I think you're sorry now, on
both scores. Being out of sorts might be your way of
betraying it. Because it isn't like you. Everyone's always
admired and envied your lovely disposition. I have myself.
Well, run along, dear, and have a good time at the Benoits'.
I hope Maurice has sufficiently recovered, by this time, not
to embarrass his parents in front of their guests from New
Orleans. And that nothing

DANGEREUSE I99

will be revealed in the interrogation at the courthouse
tomorrow that will give them and him any cause for anxiety."

 It was very seldom that mother and daughter spoke to each
other in this vein. Such clashes as occurred in the
household and these were, fortunately, few and far
between were generally between Prosper and Lavinia. After
a rather disrespectful retort, Anne Marie left the pantry,
where her mother was getting out the best china, and Lavinia
did not see her again until she had slammed the back door
behind her and was running out of the house toward her
parked car, looking, as she always did, like a beautiful young
angel who had strayed into an exclusive dress shop and
emerged wearing the latest fashions instead of flowing white
robes, complete with halo and wings. Evidently, she was
driving to Pecan Grove herself, instead of being escorted to
the party, which was as uncharacteristic as her ill temper. But
Lavinia did not give the matter much thought, nor did she
feel troubled, though it crossed her mind that Anne Marie
was leaving very early and that the girl should have put on a
wrap to protect her better from the rain, which was still
falling. Lavinia was too happy and too busy, with her
preparations for the family supper, to think of much else; and
when Prosper came home, his good spirits would have been
contagious, even if his mother's had been low. The fact that
Paula had been recalled to the courthouse was not troubling
him; she had not been gone more than half an hour, and
nothing had gone wrong during her absence. On her return,
she said she had not been asked any disturbing questions. He
attached even less importance to the fact that Scholtze had
also been recalled, later in the afternoon, and that Dale had
been summoned, too; this could all be shrugged off as
inconsequential, according to the grapevine. What really
mattered to Prosper was that he had talked with Vicky and
she had confessed that his suspicions about the
announcement were correct. Was he going to scold her? He
could hear her catching her breath, with a little laugh, as she
asked the question over the wire, and he laughed, too, and
said he would probably not only scold her when they next
met, but shake her until her teeth chattered; then they had
laughed together. She had been wonderful about the ring,
too; of course, she did not mind waiting for it; in fact, she
thought it would be fun for them to choose it together. Iter
father was a little sorry Mrs. Villac had got ahead of him; as
Prosper knew, he had meant to have the first family party
himself. But he would have one later in the week and,
meanwhile, he was delighted to accept Mrs. Villac's kind
invitation. The Winslows

200 VICTORINE

and Grandfather Jim were also delighted. Mary Winslow
wondered if Vicky would like some rooted cuttings of rare
flower specimens; of course, she knew the LaBranches could
buy anything they chose, but they might feel pleased with a
gift, even though Captain Bob had probably forestalled her
with anything she could offer. Brent thought the next variety
of rice, which he hoped to have on the market by spring,
should be called Princess Victorine; he would make the
suggestion that evening and see if it were pleasing to Vicky.
Grandpa Jim wanted to know if she rode; it was her huge
Dalmatian that he seemed to hear people talking about, but
a girl with her background surely knew how to ride. He had
just the mount for her and he would like to offer her that.
. . .

  The good will which preceded the party pervaded it
throughout. Anne Marie's prediction that Moise LaBranche
would act like a snob, which Lavinia had not believed for a
minute, was unfulfilled. Completely at ease in any kind of
gathering himself, he had the happy faculty of putting
everyone else at ease, also, without any effort whatsoever.
He selected topics of conversation congenial to all his fellow
guests. Vicky was equally adaptable and equally
co-operative. She was genuinely delighted with the offer of
the cuttings, even more delighted with the prospect of
having a new variety of rice named for her, and most
delighted of all with the offer of a horse. Yes, she had
ridden from time to time, most of her life, until she came to
Lafayette; but with so many other things to do, she had not
ridden there yet; could she come out to the Winslow farm,
the very next day, and try her mount? She had no inhibitions
about showing her pleasure; she threw her arms about both
Winslows and then about Grandfather Jim as she voiced it.
With equal enthusiasm, she talked to Onezime about the
Delta and with Odey about L.S.U. She had never been south
of New Orleans and only once or twice to Baton Rouge, on
which occasions she had seen nothing of the University; they
must plan for some trips. And, by the way, why couldn't she
and Prosper be married then and there? What was the good
of having a priest in the family if you didn't make use of
him? Oh, very well then, not tonight! But he could come
back, couldn't he?

  By the time Callie, whose style in serving did not bear
close comparison with her faithfulness and general
efficiency, announced that soup was on, everyone was in a
mellow mood. Vicky herself fairly radiated happiness and
Prosper was beside himself with pride at the favorable
impression his sweetheart was malting. They gathered
around the

D A N G E R E tJ S E 201

hospitable board and stood silent while Onezime said
grace, asking God's blessing upon a happy betrothal.

 A few blocks away from the Villacs', August Scholtze
rang the bell of a small neat white house and waited
impatiently for admittance.

Chapter Twenty-one

  THERE WAS ALWAYS GENERAL REJOICING AT THE
CLAUDIA AND, INDEED,

at all the rice mills in the locality, when circumstances
permitted closing at a reasonably early hour during the busy
season. The days that this happened were few and far
between, which made it seem even more of a blessing to
everybody than if it had been a frequent occurrence. But, on
the Tuesday when his engagement was announced, there was
probably no one, except Prosper himself, who was as pleased
at the prospect of an evening free from such responsibilities
as Amanda Eaton. The Foreign Missionary Society of the
Third Evangelical Church, an organization of which she was
President, was holding a special meeting, preceded by a
spaghetti suppc r that evening, and it was very important that
she should preside. Nevertheless, her feeling of responsibility
toward her niece would not have permitted her to attend this
important event, if she had not seen Paula safely home first.

 Paula was equally glad that she was going to have an
evening to herself. She worked long hard hours and did a
conscientious job; when she could really relax, she enjoyed
doing so. Her idea of really relaxing was to get out of the
simple serviceable clothes she had worn all day, take a hot
bath into which bath salts had been liberally sprinkled, and
put on lounging pajamas, the vogue for which had just
reached Crowley and which she had been among the first to
embrace. Anyone who had not seen her in her hours of ease
would have been amazed at the extravagant lengths to whit
h a woman, normally as conservative and frugal as Paula,
would carry such a taste. Once rid of her workaday garments
and refreshed by a leisurely, hot, scented bath, she wanted a
drink and a cigarette in fact, several drinks and several
cigarettes.

DANGEREUSE 203

Amanda accepted the idea of the daily baths, though she had
been brought up to believe that one or, at the utmost, two a
week were plenty, and would have approved more
wholeheartedly if it had not been perfumed. Somewhat more
reluctantly, she accepted the idea of the lounging pajamas,
though she would have preferred what she still called a
wrapper rather than a negligee. But she disapproved so highly
of the drink and the cigarettes that only when she went out
could Paula remove her bootleg gin from hiding and open a
whole package of Lucky Strikes. To be sure, her breath
betrayed her secret weaknesses on less propitious occasions,
and Amanda scolded, or merely sniffed, according to her own
mood at the time. Both habits annoyed Paula intensely; she
was thankful that the missionary meeting would spare her
such irritation.

 Because of Amanda's urgent wish to arrive at the vestry in
time for the spaghetti supper, she did not even insist, as she
usually did, on seeing Paula through supper before she left
the house. Her niece was therefore free to soak in the tub
with a gin and orange where she could reach it easily and,
when she was attired in her latest and most extreme creation,
to stretch out at ease on the living room sofa with the
makings for further drinks, an ample supply of cigarettes and
sandwiches, and her favorite magazine, True Confessions, on
a near-by table. She was deep in an especially lurid
Confession when the doorbell rang.

 Callers were very rare and almost invariably unwelcome.
Paula concealed the bottles of gin and Mission Orange under
one of the sofa cushions, put the plate of sandwiches, the ash
tray and the cigarettes under the sofa itself, and walked
rather hesitantly across the living room; then, in a gingerly
fashion, she opened the front door, which led directly into
this. Though the opening was hardly more than a crack, it
sufficed for her to identify her caller, and she threw her
weight against the panels, in an attempt at quick closing and
bolting. But August Scholtze had foreseen that something like
this would happen and he was too quick for her; he had
already thrust a foot into the opening and the next instant he
was inside.

 "That is not the sort of welcome you gave me in France,
already, Liel)7chen," he rumbled down at her with a wry grin.
"But now you could shut the door. I'm here and your Tante
ain't. That I know."

 "What do you want of me?" Paula demanded with what she
hoped was businesslike crispness. Sometimes, the gin affected
her speech very quickly; at other times, this did not happen
so soon and, fortunately. tonight was one of those times. Her
severe manner was strangely at vari

zo4v I C T O R I N E

ance with her appearance and Scholtze did not immediately
answer. He was looking her over from head to foot,
genuinely puzzled at the radical departure from what he
believed to be her normal mode of dress. He had not
forgotten how impeccably neat she had always looked in the
uniform she wore abroad while in the Graves Registration
Service; and he knew, as did almost everyone, about her
complete "correctness" as a secretary a correctness by no
means limited to her skill as a stenographer or to her
general efficiency in assisting the manager of the Claudia in
the mill's administration. But the woman who confronted
him, as she stood with her back to the door, was wearing
black satin lounging pajamas, lavishly embroidered in gold.
An array of gold bracelets, which clanked at her slightest
movement, encircled her lower arms and her wrists, and
large gold loops hung from her ears. Her loosened hair was
confined in a tom' red snood, and her bare feet were thrust
into scarlet sandals.

 "Maybe it disappoints you, but I don't want nothings from
you except to talk a hischen," he said after a considerable
pause.

 "We have nothing to talk about, you and I. So please be
good enough to leave at once. I mean act out!"

 "Aber we do got something to talk about, and I don't feel
for standing up while I talk. So if you feel for it, stand by
the door yet, dressed up like you was a Dirne waiting to see
if comes any callers. Go ahead and stand by it. But not me.
Ich nehm' Plate, gnadiges Fraulein. Mit ErlauLniss.''

 He was already walking across the living room toward the
"mission" sofa of fumed oak, upholstered in dun-colored
leather, and flung the closing words over his shoulder.

 "Will you get out, you hulking beast?" Paula called after
him. "Or shall I telephone my cousin, the sheriff?"

 "Call him all you feel for. I got no feelings against him
listening to what we got to say."

"I haven't anything to say to you."

  "Maybe yes, maybe no. But I got somethings to say to you,
and till I say them, I don't get out. Maybe I don't get out
even then, yet. Maybe I stay till comes your Tanie back by
her house, so she can hear what I got to say, too. So
anyhow, you could just as easy be sitting dovvn as standing
up already, nicht wahr7"

  "If it will make you leave sooner, I'll sit down. Too bad I
can't send N70U back to your swampish girl, but you saw to
that, didn't you? And that's all I've got to say to you."

D A N G E R E U S E 205

 Scholtze shifted his relaxed pose to lean forward, his elbows
on his knees, his big hands clasped so that the thick,
sausage-shaped fingers were interlaced.

 "To me you got nothings to say, but you already said too
verdammt much when they question you by the courthouse
yesterday and also today. You got it in your Iying mouth to
say you couldn't even swear yet as you would know me if you
seen me! You got the un~'erschamt gall yet to say we ain't
never had nothings but the barest acquaintance."

 "I was ashamed to admit even that much, if you must know.
And what of it?"

 "This of it. When I was ill that room, the night before I
already told them I know you; I said [ know you a lot better
as only by sight barely. So when you tell them difference,
what happens? They call us both back, and again already you
tell them the same thing. I stick by my story, too, but the
difference is 1 am telling truth. And I got this much to say to
you, Schatzi "

"Don't you dare call me that!"

 "Aver warum nicht? You was my Schatzi once . . . but never
mind." For a moment, he ruminated on the idea of telling her
that she never would have been that, but for the sad dearth
of more attractive possibilities in the available personnel of
the Graves Registration Service. Then he remembered that
she had, in her way, tried to be kind, besides being
conveniently complacent. There had been others at her
headquarters who sneered at him, saying he had strayed into
the wrong army, that his place should have been on the other
side of the trenches; and Paula had patiently explained, more
than once, that he was the son of a brewmaster, that he had
grown up in the section of Cincinnati still known as "Over the
Rhine," where German was more nearly the daily speech of
the residents than English. It was as unfair to condemn him
for the thick guttural overlay of patois in his speech as for his
close cropped bristle of blond hair, pale lashes and a
generally Teutonic cast of countenance; he had been among
the first of those whose numbers were drawn in the famous
goldfish bowl, and he had seen twice as much service as those
who were deriding him.... " All I got to say to you is Ten
High never got by trying to lie, rind you won't get by, not
neither," he went on. "The only one as will get by is me,
because I felt for telling truth."

 "Rubbish! You might have told the truth about something
that happened long ago in France, but you didn't tell the
Ruth about what happened to Titine Dargereux Saturday
night, or how it happened that girl's accordion was hidden at
y our hotlse.''

206 V I C T O R I N E

"How should you know about the verdammt accordion yet?"

 "As far as that goes, how do you know what I said or
didn't say when I was questioned by the district attorney?"

 "I find things out when I feel for knowing them. How I do
it das ist keine grosse Sache. Maybe you do feel for being
sorry now, about how you was a push-over that time in
France, but you didn't feel for being sorry then; you felt for
being glad when it happened already. Ganz gewiss! Und you
been feeling for having it to happen again, only here you are
too scared somebody finds out about it. Look what you got
on, making out as vielleicht wer weiss7 somebody is
coming, and dock scared to have somebody to come. Even
me, you would take right now, if you wasn't scared, but
ohnehin you won't let yourself think even the truth yet, by
the truth is more bitter as gall, the truth that you know
nobody ain't coming. Only a fool would even try to fool
hisself."

 "You tell the same old lies you tell every girl you defile by
even looking at her," Paula flung back. "Oh, you could fool
me in France. Gould? You actually did. But not here, not
where I meet men whose shoes you aren't fit to lick, men
who are courteous and considerate and kind, even if they
can be bewitched by the scarlet temptations of a vampire
like the Dargereux girl. Only to you, she wasn't a low
creature, because you are one yourself. To you, she was "

 "Shut the mouth, already. You are saying more as you
want to say. Es macht nichts aus what you feel for to think.
All I am saying is don't lie no more. You are too dumm to
lie. Even smart people can't get away with they should lie to
the law, and you ain't smart. Also, if you lie you get caught
worser and worser yet. So I come here to tell you to don't
lie. Suppose you do tell them 1 know you from France
already. So who feels for caring? Not me! And ganz gewiss
nicht your fine gentleman from a boss of a Prosper Villac.
Not by he is too particular. If, like I think, he is the one give
Titine those gold shoes, yet, which I make her give back
already, I bet you anything he don't give them for nothing.
So he don't take it too particular, this fine, good gentleman.
But it stands on the Advertiser this afternoon how he is going
to marry with Moise LaBranche's daughter. So now he is
glad to have Titine out of the way to put her out of the
way. Why not? I-le can't have no swamp girl mixed up with
no fine marriage yet."

 "Shut up and beat it! I tell you again I would die before I
would admit having ever known you intimately. They can
kill me, they can charge me with whatever they want. But
you can't and they can't make me admit that."

D A N G E R E U S E 20~/

 Scholtze heaved his massive bulk upright. As he did so, he
dislodged one of the cushions on the sofa and the bottles of
gin and Mission Orange were revealed. He picked up the
former and inspected it disdainfully.

 "I already knowed real good something stinks, something
that ain't no Kolnisches Wasser by a hell of a sight," he said,
"but never in my whole life yet would I feel for finding rotgut
what is made in bathtubs around your house. Ain't you got
no Schande at all? Couldn't you know this here is poison,
what them Italienishe alky cookers makes in stables? If you
got to drink, drink dock something as is anyways clean, even
if it is cut with water, which is likewise ouch clean. If you feel
for having some, I even give you all you can sauf. I would
bring it when your Tante ain't by the house, like tonight. That
you would like, nicht wahr7"

 Paula wavered. She would, indeed, have liked reliable gin
very much and, despite his violence and his insults, Scholtze
had come uncomfortably close to the truth when he said that
maybe she was disappointed! but that all he wanted was to
talk to her; she would have revered in a chance to repel
improper adv~mces. If he came again, even once, she might
have such a chance. If he came several times . . . well, of
course, that was not to be thought of. Again, she ordered him
to get out, though less vehemently than before.

 "All right, I don't come myself, I send Baer with the
booze," he said, not unpleasantly. But when she shook her
head, though she tried not to do so too decisively, he
shrugged his shoulders.

 "Schon gut, LieLchen. Wie do willst. I already done what I
come for," he spoke with an air that was little short of casual.
"I try all as I knov. how to keep you out from trouble like
you gonna have if you try to lie. Wenn's dir nicht passt, kannst
mir am Buckel steigen. From what I hear they got a party at
Villacs' house tonight. Somebody says to me how the old man
feels for having his daughter get married with Prosper real
soon, by his heart has got a Fehler the old man's heart, I
mean, ganz naturlich  and he feels for seeing her settled
down. So your fine gentleman had to work quick. Watch what
I tell you, you with your black and gold dress like a Dirne
waiting for company and your grossartig talk about fine
gentleman bosses yet. I bet you they get married by each
other inside a week.... A cow, yet, would have more sense as
to lie when it stands like that! Also, Fuss' die Hand, gna'
Fraulein. Cab' die Ehre!"

 The pleasant atmosphere which pervaded the Villacs'
dining room throughout supper continued the rest of the
evening. Lavinia was asked

ZOO V I C T O R I N E

to play and, once seated at the piano, went readily from one
selection to another, among them Debussy's "Clair de Lune"
and Mendelssohn's "On Wings of Song." Then, turning on
her bench, she reminded Odey and Onezime of the songs
they and their cousins had sung when she had first known
them as children: "Caillette" and "Hier Apres Midi" and "O Ma
Petite Bergere." Did they remember these still? They
admitted that they did; both were music lovers, both had
good voices, and both were well versed in Cajun lore;
without too much persuasion, they began to sing and,
presently, everyone was taking part in the choruses. Grandpa
Jim was the next to indulge in reminiscences; at the first
boucherie his family had attended, he had entertained the
other guests with some rollicking ballads about Paul Bunyan;
of course, his voice was gone now, but perhaps some of
those who were present on that occasion and who were
present again now would substitute for him. Not only his
obliging neighbors, who had quickly and delightedly learned
the ballad long before, but his son-in-law and daughter, who
had known it before, and his granddaughter and his
great-grandson, who had learned it since, all joined in. It
was the turn of the LaBranches, who had contributed so
much to the earlier part of the evening, to be listeners now;
everyone felt the balance to be a happy one. It was not until
the time had come to say good night that regrets about
anything were voiced. Then Vicky did so, with sincerity, but
without any loss of the lightness which had characterized her
mood throughout the evening.

 "I'm sorry Anne Marie c ouldn't have been here,
too Anne Marie and Dale, and that this couldn't have been
the time that they announced their engagement, too. But of
course this party at the Benoits'.... You know, Father says
he's heard old New Yorkers insist there was a strict rule
that, once you had accepted an invitation to a seated dinner,
there was only one valid excuse for breaking the
engagement your death; and, in that case, your family had
to supply a satisfactory substitute."

 "I don't think we take dinner parties quite so seriously
here. But thank you, Vicky, for being so understanding
about it."

"That's one of her strong points, understanding," Prosper
said proudly.

 "Now, maybe. But it took me a while to learn, didn't it? I
didn't understand Louisiana or you, either! And now I love
you both better than anything in the world except Father,
of course. But then he is part of Louisiana and Louisiana is
part of him. He remembered that just in time to teach me!"

 She distributed good night kisses impartially and went
down the steps to the waiting car with her father and
Prosper. Then, quite without self

DANGEREUSE 209

consciousness, she embraced Prosper before she and
Moise drove away. Beaming, Prosper went back to the
assembled family.

 "Didn't I tell you she was wonderful7" he asked. "But
she's right if only Anne Marie and Dale "

 And happily, none of them guessed that Anne Marie and
Dale had also been together that evening or how or where.

Chapter Twenty-two

     ANNE MARIE IIAD NOT ACTUALLY TOLD A
FALSEHOOD ABOUT HER ENCAGE

ment at the Benoits'; they were giving a formal dinner that
night, in honor of friends from New Orleans, to which she
had been invited. But she had omitted to state that this
dinner was to take place fashionably late; and her mother's
passing impression that she had left the house unnecessarily
early was even closer to the mark than Lavinia suspected:
Anne Marie had allowed time to drive to SaE,phira before
turning back and going to Pecan Grove.

 She had covered the ground countless times already, of
course, but usually in someone else's car and almost never
when she was at the wheel; she was not an especially good
driver, nor did she enjoy handling an automobile. The rain
was now falling in torrents and she was having trouble with
the windshield wiper; more than once, she was obliged to
draw up beside the road and try to tinker with it. She was not
very successful with things like that and, every now and then,
she gave up the effort and simply sat still, hoping that the
downpour would abate. Since it did not, and since she had
made no allowance for delays of this sort, eventually, she had
no choice but to go ahead more or less blindly, hoping that
she would not miss any of the turns she should take or get
stuck in the mud. She was thankful when she recognised the
familiar landmark of the Salle des I uileries, though never
before had she looked at it, in passing, without extreme
distaste; and she was tremendously relieved when she saw the
great bulk of the Louisa sugarhouse looming up before her.
Sapphira's sugarhouse would be next and, though she still
could not see her way clearly, she knew she must now turn to
the left, not to the right, toward (:ypremort Point. But the
private bridges which

DANGEREUSE 211

spanned the bayou were very close together, and several of
the plantations on the farther side shared a bridge among
them; moreover, the approaches to all these passages were so
rank with palmetto, and the bridges so overhung with the
mossy branches of dead and dying cypress, the tangle of
muscadine and the jungle growth of swamp myrtle that, even
at high noon on a sunny day, they were obscured. She was
taking a bold step in going alone to Dale's house and she was
all too well aware of this; if, bv mistake, she strayed into a
neighbor's yard instead of his by herself at dusk in the
pouring rain her presence might very well arouse unwel-
come curiosity.

 It was not until she reached the clearing which constituted
a yard, beyond the growth of palmetto, and recognized it as
being unmistakably Dale's, that she was relieved of her major
anxieties. She drove her car straight up to the side of the
dripping gallery and leaped out as quickly as possible.
Nevertheless, the water from an overflowing eaves trough
streamed down on her before she could get under cover,
drenching her head and the upper part of her light wrap and
spattering her tulle skirt. As she lifted her hand to the
old-fashioned knocker, it was with the acute realization that
she was very far from presenting the glamorous figure which
she had sought to achieve while she dressed, and which
usually represented so little effort on her part.

 No light was burning on the gallery and only two or three
dim ones in the house. She had, of course, reckoned on the
possibility that Dale might not be at home, but she had
decided that this was a slight one. Increasingly, as his
courtship dragged on without success, he had become
something of a recluse; unless he knew that Anne Marie was
to be one of a party, he was apt: to remain at home, reading
until all hours, rather than spending those same hours in
dancing, drinking and playing cards. She had taken the
precaution of inquiring whether he had been invited to the
Benoits' party, and found that he had not; now that Didier
felt he was making some progress with his suit, he did not
voluntarily invite competition from his most formidable rival.
Moreover, Anne Marie felt almost equally certain that, if
Dale were at home, he would be alone; when he entertained,
she was always included among the guests and he did not
encourage "droppers-in." He had good servants: an ebony
giant of a man named Tiger, his bright-skinned wife, who
Dale had insisted should be called Leona, and their
numerous offspring, to whom they always referred as "so
many head"; but excellent quarters were provided for them
at the rear of the back yard, which was a large one; when not
on duty, they were at some distance from the Big House, and
Dale fol

212 VICTORINE

lowed the local custom of having his main meal in the
middle of the day, letting the servants leave after they had
prepared a light supper and put it in the refrigerator, where
he could help himself to it, whenever he felt so inclined.
Very possibly, he might be doing that now, which would ac-
count for his delay in snapping on more lights and coming
to the door. Nevertheless, the delay was so long that Anne
Marie raised the knocker again and rapped harder. This
time, from one of the dormer windows, a voice, which she
thankfully identified as Dale's, called to her out of the
darkness.

"Just a minute! I'll be down as soon as I can!'

 The longed-for lights began to appear, first in the upper
and then in the lower hall, next in the double parlors and,
finally, on the gallery. Then the heavy, old-fashioned bolts of
the front door were drawn back, and it opened to reveal
Doyle, wearing a crimson dressing gown of brocaded silk,
hastily thrown over his pajamas. As he recognized his sur-
prising visitor, he instinctively drew the dressing gown a little
more closely around him.

 "For heaven's sake, Annc Marie! What on earth are you
doing here? Is anything wrong?"

 "No, nothing's wrong except that I had an awful time
getting here and I'm wet through."

"Well, how did you happen to come in the first place?"

"Because I wanted to see you, that's all. Aren't you going to
let me in?"

 "Why, of course! But you see, I wasn't expecting anyone
and, as I didn't feel very well, I thought I'd spend the
evening reading in bed. I'll light a fire right away, so you can
get dried off while I go back upstairs and dress."

 "What do you mean, you're not feeling well? You re not
really sick, are you?"

 "No, no! Just a little tired and well, rather low in my
mind. Not that I ought to be, but sometimes I am and, very
often, when I feel that way, I go to bed early and read. I can
get into another world quickly like that and forget all my
own problems. Good Lord, you are wet through! I didn't
think you really meant it! I thought you'd just got caught in
the rain for a moment and were talking figuratively."

 She had stepped inside as soon as he opened the door and
was stand ing beside him, rivulets streaming from her curls,
her drenched wrap clinging to her shoulders. She looked up
at him, pathetically.

 "Just put your hand on my head and you'll see whether I
really meant it. My hair's as wet as if I'd been in s\vimming
with no cap on. (::ouldn't

D A N G E rot E 11 S E 213

you give me a towel, or something, that I could dry it with?
We can hang my wrap up by the fire, as soon as you've built
one; but my dress is wet, too, and I'm on my way to a dinner
party. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to lend me something
else to put on, so that I can get that dry, too."

 Somewhat to Anne Marie's surprise, Dale did not follow
the suggestion that he should put his Rand on her head. If he
had only done that, everything would have been very simple;
because next he would have raised his other hand, also, and
they would have rested on either side of the central part, and
then they would have slid gently down to her cheeks and
tilted up her face, and the next minute he and she would
have kissed and made up. Instead, he turned away rather
abruptly, walked the entire length of the hall and threw open
a door at the end of it.

 "I don't believe you've ever been in this room," he said.
"I've kept it closed, since my mother died. But if there's
anything in the house you could put on, while your own
clothes are drying, it would be here. You're welcome to look
in the chests and armoires. I think the fireplace still works all
right, but I'll make sure. It's been cleaned out, though. I'll
have to get some kindling and coal and then I'll be right
back."

 He left, carefully closing the door behind him. Anne Marie
took our her wet wrap, hung it over the back of a chair, and
opened the door of a huge armoire a glare. It was full of
clothes, in such orderly array that they might have been
prepared for speedy selection among all the different kinds
available afternoon dresses, evening dresses, springtime
prints, summer muslins, autumn tailleurs, winter woolens. The
robes d'interieur were grouped together at one end; Anne
Marie took a lacetrimmed challis, figured in small bright
flowers, from its padded hanger and, standing in front of the
cheval glass, held it up to herself to judge its size. It would fit
very well, she decided not perfectly, but then a robe
d'interieur was meant to be I`,ose and flowing. She had just
struggled out of her blue tulle and was getting into the
sprigged challis, when Dale knocked at the door.

 "Here we are," he said, entering the room with a bundle of
kindling in the crook of his left arm, and the handle of a well
filled coal scuttle in his right hand. "You'll be fixed up in no
time now." With hardly a glance at her, he went straight to
the hearth and, bending over it, laid a fire with the ease of
long practice and watched it until he was sure it would burn
brightly and not merely smolder. Then he brushed his hands
to "ether and straightened up.

"I'll be back in a few minutes and take a second look at it,"
he said.

214 v I c r 0 R I N E

'Meanwhile, I'll start another fire in the front parlor and get
dressed. Did you find a towel all right? No, I don't suppose
you knew where to look for one, since there's no connecting
bathroom." He walked over to an old-fashioned washstand
and opened a deep drawer below the marble shelf
dominated by an enormous bowl and pitcher, which, in turn,
were Hanked by a smaller pitcher, a mug, a soap dish and
a toothbrush holder, all in matching, highly ornamented
china. From the drawer, he extracted two huckaback towels,
heavily fringed and embroidered in large initials outlined in
red. "I can get you something more modern, if you prefer,"
he said. "There arc plenty of Turkish towels in the house.
But I thought maybe you'd like to use these they're very
soft."

 "I'd love to use them. But, Dale, why do you have to light
another fire? It's warm, anyway, and this one's burning
beautifully. And why do you have to go and dress? We can
talk while I'm drying my hair. I've got to be on my way just
as soon as I can, or I'll be late for my dinner party. And it
won't take me long to say what I want to that I'm sorry
about Sunday night."

"I'm sorry, too. So why don't Nve let it go at that?"

"You're sorry about what?"

 "Sorry I displeased you. Idiot sorry for what I did. I'd do
the same thing right over again."

 "I wasn't talking about what you did. I'm talking about
what I did. I'm sorry I displeased you, sorry that you
thought I was unreasonable."

"You didn't displease me. You disappointed me."

"Well, whatever I did that you didn't like, I'm sorry about."

 "Anne Marie, it isn't a question of whether I liked it or
not. It's a lot more basic than that. I'd rather not talk about
it, if you don't mind. And if the only reason you've come all
the way out here, by yourself, in the pouring rain, was to tell
me you're sorry you displeased me Sunday night, I don't see
why we need to settle down for explanations and arguments
anywhere. In fact, I shouldn't think, since you're in a hurry
to get to your party, that you'd v ant to be bothered with me
while you're *yin" your hair. I'm sure you can do it much
faster if you don't try to talk at the same

time."

 I le had started across the room as soon as he handed
her the towels. Now, he was already at the door, with his
hand on the knob. Anne Marie spoke almost desperately.

 "It wasn't the only thing I wanted to say to you. It was
the first thing. There's something else, a lot more
important."

"Well, what is it? I'm listening."

D,\NGEREUSE 215

 "Dale, I've made up my mind. I want to be engaged to
you right away. I'll be happy to marry y ou as soon as you
like."

 This time, Anne Marie was sure, there could not possibly
be any doubt as to what he would do. He would rush to her
side and take her in his arms. Instead, he continued to stand
beside the door with his hand on the knob.

 "I don't believe you really mean that," he said steadily.
"Perhaps you haven't heard that I was called to the
courthouse this afternoon, to tell Landry and Davila and
Bennctt what I told your family Sunday night  of course, it
was no more of a secret after that than if I'd stood on a
street corner with a megaphone. I'm a suspect in this case,
which may very well be a murder case, just as much as
anyone else who's been called in  or who's going to be
called in. In other words, I'm in the same category as August
Scholtze and as your brother. The only person who's
completely in the clear is Didier. He's the man for you."

"But, Dale, you weren't even at the mill Saturday night!"

 "That's true enough. But, as far as I know, it hasn't yet
been proved, to the satisfaction of the authorities, that I
wasn't there. Of course, I've told them that I was at home,
reading. But I don't know whether or not they believed me.
It's rumorecl that they've caught two witnesses in lies already.
If that's so, they're doubly suspicious of everything that's said
to them and taking extra care to check and recheck."

 "Well, I think it's very insulting, if they're doing it in your
case, and I think it will be very insulting if they call in
Prosper as a witness. But that wouldn't make any difference
in what I've just said about having made up my mind and
wanting to get engaged to you. Why should it? Vicky's father
has announced her engagement to Prosper."

 "Yes, and Vicky telephoned Prosper Sunday night, to tell
him that, whatever he'd done, she loved him and that she
wanted the whole world to know it. If you'd told me
something like that Sunday night "

"I'd planned to tell you Sunday night!"

 "You planned to tell me before you heard about the gold
slippers. And then, you changed your mind "

 "Oh, Dale, I'm sorry, I'm awfully sorry! Do you think if I
weren't, I'd have come out here to tell you so and ask you to
forgive me?"

 "No. And I don't want to say anything unkind, Anne Marie.
I've loved you very much, for a long time. But I haven't quite
figured out why you changed your mind either the first time
or the second time, the first time being Sunday and the
second today. If you loved me so much that you wanted the
whole world to know it, whatever I'd done, the

216 v I c T O R I N F

way Vicky loves Prosper, you wouldn't have let a little thing
like a pair of gold slippers get in your way. You didn't love
me that much you know you didn't. And I don't believe
you love me that much now. How could you, with only two
days in between what you did Sunday and what you're doing
tonight? You couldn't change that fast."

 "I've thought it over, I've realized what a terrible fool I
was. Dale, please! Oh, what's that noise}"

 Her plea ended in something very like a scream. Someone
else was pounding at the front door, banging the knocker
harder than she had less than an hour earlier. Dale crossed
the room quickly and put his hand over her mouth.

 "Keep quiet!" he said compellingly. "If you scream like
that, someone will think you're being murdered. Someone
else is at the door, that's all. I'll have to go and see who it
is. Perhaps there's an emergency of some kind. Or, perhaps,
it s just a neighbor dropping in for a visit. In any case,
there's no reason why you should be frightened and no one
needs to know you're here. Lock the door after me, when
I leave, if you want to, and turn out the lights. The fire'll
keep the room from being completely dark. But don't try to
come out or call. I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

 The knocking had begun again, louder than ever. Dale
dropped his hand to Anne Marie's shoulder and pressed it
reassuringly. Then, before she could stop him, he was gone.
He heard her whimper, "Oh, Dale, I am frightened!" as he
hurried to the door. But he did not hear her lock it, because
the knocking was drowning out every other sound and, since
there was no transom, he could not see whether she had
turned out the light. Calling, "Just a minute!" as he had
before, he ran toward the front door and opened it.

 The Professor, wrapped in a long black cloak, was
standing on the threshold.

Chapter Twenty-three

I TRUST NIY VISIT IS NOT INOI'PORTUNE, HE SAlD'
WITH HIS USUAL FOR

mality. "Had you already retired for the night; When I saw
another car outside, my first impulse was to withdraw. But
then I recognized the Oldsmobile of our mutual friend,
Prosper Villac, and I realized that he would not consider my
visit an intrusion. In any case, I wished to take this
opportunity to return the twenty dollars which you so kindly
entrusted to me. I kept hoping for a chance to make the
purchase you had in mind, but I was neither able to go to
Nevv Orleans myself nor commission anyone I could trust to
do the delicate errand for me and now, of course, the chance
is gone forever."

 He stepped inside the door, shedding his long cloak as he
did so; evidently it was not raining as hard as it had been, for,
though this was damp, it was not drenched, as Anne Marie's
had been. Having folded it carefully, he felt for his wallet,
removed this from his hip pocket and extracted a
twenty-dollar bill which he proffered to Dale. This done, he
glanced in the direction of the double parlors as if hopefully
expecting that he would be invited to enter, that he would
find Prosper ensconced somewhere thereabouts with a drink
in his hand and that when he, tile Professor, had enjoyed one,
also, they might have a little classical music, as had been the
case when he called on Dale before.

 Dale accepted the twenty-dollar bill mechanically, assured
the Professor there had been no hurry about returning it and,
leading the we\ into the front parlor, invited his unwelcome
guest to be seated. Meanwhile, he was wondering what on
earth he should say or do next. He inwardly cursed the local
custom which encouraged parents to give their offspring
identical or almost identical cars, if they could afford to do

218 VICTOR1NE

so. I le had stopped in to see Vicky that afternoon, after
leaving the courthouse and reading the announcement in the
Advertiser, to take her Bowers and extend his best wishes in
person. She had told him there was to be a family party at
the Villacs' that night, and Dale did not dare pretend that
the car parked beside the gallery was Prosper's. If he did,
sooner or later sooner. rather than later the Professor
would learn about the celebration of the engagement,
wonder why on earth Dale had deceived him, and attribute
some wholly incorrect and, doubtless, damaging significance
to the deception. Besides, if Prosper had been in the house,
he would presently have put in an appearance; his failure to
do so would have meant other misconstructions. Dale must
try to explain the car in some other way. But, even if he
could think of something plausible, that still would not help
Anne Marie. She could not remain locked up in a dart;
room and Dale had no delusions about the probable length
of the Professor's visit; the poor lonely old man would stay
as long as he could. Meanwhile, Anne Marie would not be
getting to her party, the Benoits would telephone the Villacs
to ask what had become of her, both families would be
thrown into a state of consternation when it was discovered
that she was missing and there would be the devil to pay,
generally. Somehow, he must get Anne Marie out of the
back door and on her way to Lafayette, unbeknownst to the
Professor. He might be able to manage it when he went for
the drinks on the other hand, he might not. The Professor
was almost sure to hear footsteps, subdued voices, the
sudden starting of an unexplained car; it was even possible
that he might follow Dale to the rear of the house and ask
if he might be of any help in getting the drinks.

 While all this was passing through Dale's agitated mind, it
also suddenly occurred to him that the Professor would
consider him dressed unconventionally, to say the least, to
act as host for a young lady whose reputation was not only
unsullied, but unassailable. Even more violently than he had
inwardly cursed the identical cars, Dale cursed himself for
not having managed, somehow, to get back upstairs and fling
on some clothes, any kind of clothes, rather than pajamas
and a brocade dressing gown. He could not imagine any
kind of a costume more likely to suggest a secret and
shameful assignation to a suspicious mind, and he did not
see how the Professor could help having a suspicious mind,
after his experience in dance halls, night clubs and orse. As
far as that went, Anne Marie's costume world not help any,
if she burst upon the scene  which Dale believed her quite
capable of doing if she lost her head  still wearing the
challis negligee. She might, conceivably, get back into

D A N G E R E U S E 219

her dress, which was only damp, for, being low cut, it had
escaped the worst of the deluge; but Dale had an
uncomfortable feeling that it was one of those mysterious
feminine garments which no girl could get into without some
help, since it fastened in the back. Her cloak must still be
soaking wet. Her appearance in her own dress, inadequately
hooked or snapped or buttoned or whatever was done to
make two sides of it come together, would be almost as
damaging as the challis.

 He had, however, underestimated Anne Marie's
resourcefulness, once she had recovered from her chagrin and
fright. The door of the longdisused room opened, as he had
been afraid it might, just as he started for the pantry, with the
Professor in his wake. But when this happened, it disclosed
the vision of a beautiful girl, clothed in the height of
fashion of some thirty or forty years earlier. She had on a
stiff pinl satin *fess made with a many-gored skirt reaching to
the ground, a tightfitting bodice, a decolletage which was
discreet, though generous, and enormous puff sleeves. Her
hair was gathered into a great golden knot on top of her
head, and this was surmounted by a quivering upright bow of
velvet ribbon. In one hand, she carried a gauzy painted fan,
and over one arm was hung, with apparent nonchalance, a
narrow velvet cape with a high shirred collar. She came
forward, wreathed in smiles, and without the slightest sign of
embarrassment.

 "I just don't know how to thank you enough, Dale," she said
sweetly. "It was really most inconsiderate of my host to
suggest, at the very last moment, that he thought it would be
fun to have his guests *fess up for a Gay Nineties party.
There wasn't a thing in our house I could use. Mother never
went in much for elaborate evening clothes, I'm afraid, and
anyhow, she's slimmer than I am, to this day. If I hadn't
remembered what you'd told me about that armoire full of
beautiful old dresses, I'd have been simply lost! I'm a little
late, so I've just left my own clothes scattered around,
wherever they happened to fall, but I'll send for them
tomorrow. They won't be in your way till then, will they? The
only thing I feel badly about is getting you out of bed when
you're coming down with the grippe." She turned toward
Dale's startled companion and included him in her charming
smile. "Don't keep Dale up long, will you?" she entreated.
"He's got oh, I don't know how many degrees of fever!
You're the Professor, aren't you? I know once he starts
listening to your playing, Dale won't want you to stop. I
haven't had the pleasure of meeting you before, but I'Ve
heard that no one, absolutely no one can make a piano sing
the way you do. I'm so sorry I can't stay to hear you tonight.
Some other time very soon, I hope!"

220 V I C T O rat I N E

 She was gone, i n a rustle of silk and a flash of buckled
slippers. The Professor looked after her with mingled
admiration and amazement. Then he drew a deep sigh.

 "What an apparition of elegance and charm!" he
exclaimed. "It is not often, nowadays, that we see its like
anywhere. She should have come in a golden coach! But I
assume that the Oldsmobile I saw outside is hers and, if this
is the case, that she is Prosper Villac's sister."

"Yes."

  "She does not in the least resemble him," the Professor
said thoughtfully.

  "No, she looks like her mother or rather, as her mother
must have looked once, only, I believe, even lovelier.
Prosper takes after his father's family that is, there's a
general resemblance. I haven't a very clear recollection of
Claude Villac I was still a small boy when he died and we
weren't here much in those days. I never saw his cousin
Felix, as far as I can remember. But I've heard that he was
the best looking of the Villac-Primeaux tribe slender,
instead of stocky like the rest of them, and merry instead of
stolid, with very fine teeth and eyes and what's generally
known as 'a way with him.' All that would add up to a de-
scription of Prosper, too."

  "Yes, yes. He and his sister share the quality of charm, if
nothing else. A pity that Prosper should be involved in such
a dreadful scandal, and just at the time when he is about to
be married."

  "It's worse than a pity, it's a tragedy. But his fiancee and
his mother are standing up very well under it." Dale realised
that he had not included Anne Marie in this statement, but
it was now too late to rectify the omission. "Shall we sit
down and have our drink?" he asked. "And perhaps you'd
play for me, too, before you leave."

  "Nothing would give me greater pleasure. But ltm afraid
I must confine myself to one selection. My employer has
again gone to Crowley on some private business and
especially charged me not to be late in arriving at my post."

  "Will it delay you too much or seem like an
impertinence if I ask you one or two questions? dust for
my own information, of course."

  "Permit me to say, Mr. Fontenot, that I do not believe you
could ever do or say anything that would seem like an
impertinence. I shall be happy to answer whatever questions
you may see fit to put to me. And while doing so, let me
drinl; to your health and happiness!"

  file leaned back in a large armchair and began to saver his
bourbon in Icisurely, appreciative sips. Dale sat down
opposite him.

D ~ N G E R ~ U S E 221

 "I couldn't help wondering whether, in your testimony
yesterday, you said anything about my offer of twenty dollars
with which to buy a pair of gold slippers?"

 "Positively nothing. No question was asked me concerning
them and I saw no reason for introducing the subject on my
own initiative. Toward the end of my interrogation, I
mentioned the fact that, on the fatal night, Baer had burst
into uncontrollable weeping. After that, all the questions
asked me concerned him, though there was nothing I could
say that threw any light on the sad subject under discussion."

 "Then I'm afraid you may be recalled. As you must have
heard, I told the Villacs and Primeaux Sunday night, at a
private gathering, about my offer. I did so with the best
possible motives."

 "Of course, of course. You do not need to assure me of
that. You reasoned, and quite rightly, that if it were known
you were making the gift, indirectly, through an elderly man
who stood in loco parentis, so to speak, that neither you nor
anyone else would be suspected of an ulterior motive."

 "That is the way I reasoned. But, as I told Anne Marie a
few minutes ago, we don't know that the authorities are
going to reason the same way. I was called to the Crowley
courthouse this afternoon and told to return tomorrow
morning. Doubtless, you'll be called, as soon as you get to
the Tuileries, telling you to go back there tomorrow morning,
too."

 "And, if I am, I shall simply tell the truth, as I have
consistently done so far. I shall corroborate everything you
have said. And that will be the end of the matter."

 "I'm afraid not. If Bennett and Landry and Davila believe
you and me, as I'm rather hopeful they will, they'll naturally
go on searching for the person who did give Titine the gold
slippers and under what circumstances. They won't rest until
they find out. And, when they do, it may be very unpleasant."

 "Yes, you're probably right.' The Professor sighed again
and took a last draft of his drink.

 "Well, I regret that there seems nothing you and I can do
to alter such unpleasantness. And I must be getting back to
my work, though I have little heart for it now.... Shall I play
Chopin's "Raindrop Prelude" for you before I leave? It seems
appropriate for a night like this."

 Anne Marie's feelings, as she made her hurried trip from
Sapphira to Pecan Grove, were compounded almost equally
of chagrin and relief. Dale's cool reception of her and his
distant attitude throughout her stay

22~ VlCTOnINr~

in his house had, of course, been a great blow to her pride;
but she did not believe for a minute that he would remain
aloof for long and, meanwhile, she thought she had
considerable cause for self-congratulation in the adroit way
she had managed to extricate herself from what might have
looked like a compromising situation and, at the same time,
to provide herself with a costume which was sure to cause
a sensation at the Benoitst party. Of course, she would not
tell quite the same story there that she had at Sapphira; she
would say she had had a sudden yen for dressing up and
that, when she found these beautiful clothes, she simply
could not resist the temptation to gratify it then and there.
The inference would be that the pink satin had belonged to
her mother, and that she had discovered it hidden away,
though perfectly preserved, in some obscure corner of a
closet of the Villacs' house. But there would be no real
falsehood involved, because she would not actually say this....

 The rain had abated and she was able to make good time.
She would be a little late, but the Benoits had no scruples
about serving cocktails and the consumption of these could
be counted on to take up the greater part of an hour. As
she never drank spirits and this was well known among her
friends, her tardiness could, and doubtless would, be attrib-
uted largely to the fact that she found it both pointless and
tiresome to sit around while everyone else enjoyed them.
Besides, in urging Didier not to come for her, she had told
him she wanted to do one or two errands on her way to the
party, and that it would make her nervous to think he was
sitting around outside while she did them; he could take her
home in his car and send hers back to Crowley the next day.
He had not welcomed the suggestion, because he wanted
two rides with her, not one, but he had accepted it. Now he
could easily be imagining and telling others that her errands
had taken longer than she expected.

 Unfortunately, the cow se of events at Pecan Grove was
no smoother than it had been at Sapphira. Anne Marie
made her grand entrance with all the eclat she had planned.
But she was hardly inside the lining room where, as she had
anticipated, the other guests were all contentedly sipping
cocktails, when a handsome elderly woman, obviously one of
the guests from Ncw Orleans, since she was a complete
stranger to Anne Marie, set down her drink and looked
fixedly at the newcomer. Then she gave a scream which was
half admiration and half sharp surprise.

 "Oh am I seeing a ghost or something? My dear child,
where did those clothes come from?"

D A N G E n E U S E 223

 "Why I just happened to find them, that's all," Anne Marie
answered, startled in her turn.

 "Yes, but where? Because I ~ ould swear that dress you're
wearing was in Lily Brockenborough's trousseau! She was the
one who had the fortune, you know," the speaker went on,
fuming to address the company at large. "All her clothes were
made in Paris, by Worth, and when she came from Virginia
to New Orleans as Eugene Fontenot's bride, she caused a
sensation! She had a different dress for every occasion every
luncheon, every dinner, every ball and each appearance she
made seemed to eclipse the one before it. She was the talk of
the town. If I'm not mistaken, the dress this pretty child has
on is the very one she wore to Comus in '94 or maybe it
vitas '95. Yes, it must have been '95, because I was in the
Court that year and had an unobstructed view of everyone
who came on the floor. Lily lirockenborough! Why, she was
the toast of the town, just as she had been in Richmond!"

 A buzz of interested comment followed this announcement.
It soon appeared that the handsome elderly woman who
spoke first was not the only person present to remember the
beautiful Virginian who had married Dale Fontenot's father;
several others recalled her with equal vividness and, now that
they were reminded, thought that the pink satin dress looked
familiar to them, too. In the midst of this general chitchat,
Didier, who had met Anne Marie affectionately at the door
and was standing beside her, spoke to her in a way that
seemed to her rather heated, despite the fact that he had
lowered his voice.

"Is that really one of Mrs. Fontenot's dresses?"

"Why well, yes, it is."

"How on earth did you happen to wear it tonight?"

 "Didn't you or Maurice or someone say something about
making this a Gay Nineties party?"

 "I never did, and ff 'Rice had, I'd be sure to know it.
Obviously, Mother didn't, either otherwise, you wouldn't be
the only one here in such an outfit. When did you get it?"

"Just this afternoon."

 "You mean you called Dale, after I'd told you he wasn't
invited to this party, and asked him to bring you one of his
mother's dresses?"

"No, it wasn't exactly like that."

"Well, what was it like?"

 "Didier, can't we talk about this on the ride home, if you
think vile have to? Your mother's signaling that she wants
everyone to go in to dinner."

224 VICTORIAN

 The dinner was excellent, but Anne Marie was not able to
do it justice. Didier dropped the subject of the borrowed
dress, but she realized he was doing this only temporarily
and she began to dread the ride home. Maurice was in no
mood to add to the gaiety of the occasion, either: his
hang-over had been a bad one, he still had a raging
headache, and he had received an unwelcome message from
the assistant district attorney to the effect that he would not
be excused a second time from coming to the courthouse; he
was expected to be there promptly at nine the following
morning. This summons was not calculated to improve
general malaise. With the younger element so little disposed
to add to the gaiety of the occasion, it was natural that the
elders should take over and, once started on the subject of
the fabulous Lily Brockenborough, for the Orleanians to go
on and on talking about her and the period when she and
other belles had reigned. To Anne Marie this was not only
very annoying, but very dull. Since she could tell by Didier's
glowering expression that she could not avoid a scene with
him sooner or later, she decided that it might just as well be
soon. She did not, however, realize how far gone he was in
anger, until she was actually in the car with him on the road
to Crowley.

 "Did you go all the way to Sapphira this afternoon and get
that dress?" he demanded.

"Don't take that tone with me, Didier."

"Never mind about my tone. Answer my question!"

 "I don't know that I'm obliged to account to you for my
actions and I don't propose to make a habit of it. But I'll
answer you this one time. Yes, I did."

 "You went all the way trom Crowley to Cypremort in the
pouring rain, to borrow a dress that you didn't need any
more than a cat needs two tails? You've got more dresses
already than you know what to do with, more than any other
girl around here, unless it's Vicky."

 "I told you I somehow got the idea that this was to be a
fancy dress party."

 "Yes, and I've told you that you imagined that. I'm giving
you the benefit of the doubt. I'm not saying that you told a
deliberate lie."

"Don't you dare talk that way to me, Didier Benoit!"

 "I won't, if you stick to the truth. You went to Cypremort
because you wanted to see Dale }:ontenot, and you knew
perfectly well he wouldn't come to see you after the way you
acted Sunday night."

"Well, what if I did?"

"Just this: Sunday night you as good as told me, after I
brought you

DAN GERE U S E 225

your supper and we were by ourselves, that you were ready
to be engaged to me. I ought to have known that this was
only to spite Dale, that it was Dale you really wanted. But I
didn't. I thought right along I had a fighting chance, and
Sunday night I went home, thinking I'd won out. If you'd
been playing fair, you would have let me know, the next
morning, that you were afraid you'd given me the wrong
impression. But you didn't do anything of the sort. The only
word I've had from you was to ask whether Dale W.IS invited
to our house tonight and then to say you had some errands
to do on your way there. Errands! A trip to Cypremort to
make up with Dale on the trumped-up excuse of borrowing
a dress!"

 "There wasn't any trumped-up excuse. Since you're so
bound to hear the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the
truth, I'll tell you that I went to Cypremort to let Dale know
I was sorry I hadn't behaved very well on Sunday. But I
arrived there soaked to the skin, and he took me into his
mother's room and told me to help myself to anything I could
find there. The idea was just a negligee of some sort, while
my own clothes were drying. But I realized how late it was
getting, so, instead "

 "A negligee of some sort! And I suppose he built a fire for
you and that you and he had a nice cozy visit together! It's a
lucky thing for you Dale hadn't already gone to bed with the
birds, the way he does lots of times! Or that someone else
didn't arrive and find you and him, both more or less en
neglige, with no one else in the house!"

 Anne Marie pressed her lips together hard. She realized it
was quite likely that Didier might find out that something
very like this had happened. But she was determined not to
tell him this now.

 "So you ended up all safely engaged to Dale?" Didier asked
sarcasti cally. This time, she had no choice but to answer.

"No, I didn't."

"You mean to say "

 She knew only too well what Didier guessed she would
have to say, if she said anything. She continued to keep her
lips pressed together, wondering if they would ever reach
Crowley. Scott and Duson were behind them now, but they
had not even reached Rayne. They had at least eight miles
more to go. Didier give a short ugly laugh.

 "If anyone had told me, Sunday afternoon, that you couldn't
have either of two men who've been in love with you for
years, just by lifting your little finger, I'd have latched in his
face. And now, forty-eight hours later, here you are without
either one of them in reach. Dale won t forgive you because
you didn't trust him and I don't blame him. And

226 vlcTortlNE

I shan't forgive you, because it's evident I can't trust you. If
you start two-timing me at this stage of the game, there's no
telling what you'd do later on. I can't very well let you out
by the side of the road, looking as if you'd come from some
kind of fancy house ball. But I can tell you right here and
now, this is our last ride together!"

 It was very late when they finally drew up before the
"prettiest house in Crowley." As Lavinia had reminded
Prosper, she was "old-fashioned about such things"; she did
not actually sit up until her daughter was in for the night,
but, on the other hand, she did not turn out her light or go
to sleep and she always left her bedroom door open. Anne
Marie was not required to go in and give her mother an
accounting of the evening's outing, but it was her habit to
do so, and both of them enjoyed these intimate visits,
regardless of the hour. This time, however, Anne Marie
simply called to Lavinia from the hall; it was late, she was
terribly tired, they'd see each other in the morning....

 "Oh, do come in, dear! I want to tell you about our family
supper. It's a shame you missed it. We all had the best time!
And we're all in love with Vicky."

 "All right, I'll be back in just a minute. My shoes are
killing me. I'll have to get some slippers."

 She would have to go back, she would have to tell her
mother something, she would have to think of a way to get
the pink satin dress back to Dale before it was discovered.
But, after all, what would be the use in trying? Lavinia u
ould hear all about the Benoits' party within twenty-four
hours, and it would not be much longer before she realized
that both Dale and Didier had stopped coming to the house.
Anne Marie might just as well tell the whole story herself.
She flung herself down beside her mother's bed and sobbed
her heart out.

Chapter Twenty-four

.

NErTHER DALE NOn THE PROPESSOR WAS DETAINED LONG FOR INTERROGA

tion Wednesday morning. Dale was questioned first; his
straightforward story, repeated almost word for word at the
courthouse as he had told it at the Villacs' Sunday night, rang
so incontestably true from beginning to end, that the
Professor's was not really needed to confirm it, except for the
record. As soon as he had finished, he drove over to the
Villacs', where he was warmly welcomed by Callie, who
opened the door for him.

 "Miss Anne Marie, she goin' be powerful glad to see you,
Mistuh Dale," Callie announced, ushering him into the living
room. "Seems like she all upstirred this morning. She in the
bed still, she say she done cotched a bad cold. Her eyes, they
runnin' all right, but look to me more like she cryin' than like
they streamin', 'count of sickness. She don't sneeze, she don't
cough, she just cries."

 "Do you think she'd feel able to come down and see me for
a few minutes? I wouldn't want her to, if it wouldn't be good
for her. Mrs. Villac's at the mill, I suppose, so I can't consult
her."

 "Ain't no need you should consult Miss Lavinia, Mistuh
Dale. Us can tell you it won't do her no harm to see you. It'll
do her a heap of good."

 Dale had been prepared for at least a half hour's wait, but
inside of ten minutes, Anne Marie was on the threshold of the
living room. She looked at him doubtfully, almost timidly, as
if uncertain how she ought to greet him. Without hesitation,
he came forward and took her hand.

 "Let's sit down and talk for a few minutes, Anne Marie,
shall we?" he said quietly. And when she nodded, her lips
trembling a little, he

2~8 VICTORINE

put his arm around her waist and guided her to the nearest
sofa. Then, still encircling her with his arm, he went on
spearing in the same quiet way. "I've been thinking about
last night," he said. "And I'm very much ashamed of the way
I acted."

 "Oh, Dale, you you haven't anything to be ashamed of!
I've treated you very, very badly and-"

 "Let me do the talking for just a minute or two, will you,
dear? You made a great effort to come all the way to
Gypremort to tell me you were sorry for what happened
Sunday and, instead of welcoming you, I repulsed you. I told
you I wasn't displeased with you, I was disappointed in you.
I can't take that back, because it's true, any more than I can
truthfully say I might have acted differently Sunday night; I
know I couldn't have. But I'm afraid most people, no matter
how much they love each other, disappoint each other
sometimes. You must have been terribly disappointed in me
yesterday. So I'd like to suggest that we go back to where we
were Slmday afternoon, before the news of Titine's death
reached us, and carry on from there. Wouldn't you like to?"

 "You know I'd love to, more than anything in the world.
But I can t, until I tell you what happened after I left
Cypremort."

"All right, tell me, if it'll make you feel any better."

"It'll be terribly hard, but I'll try."

 It was not as hard, after all, as she had expected, not
nearly as hard as it had been to tell her mother both what
had happened at Cypremort and what had happened at
Pecan Grove. And all the time she was telling him, Dale sat
with his arm around her, every now and then pressing her
waist a little, in a way which somehow gave her great
encouragement. It was not until she quoted Didier's final
taunt that he interrupted her.

 "Didier's a good friend of mine and he does love you, too,
Anne Marie," Dale said. "Don't make any mistake about
that. However, he and [ don't always look at things the same
way we never have and probably we never shall. Of course,
I think mine is the right way and his is the wrong way, but
that's just my opinion. Anyhow, I want you to forget not
only what happened Sunday night here, after we heard
Titine was dead, but what happened last night, at Sapphira
and Pecan Grove. Will you, to please me?"

"I'll try," Anne Marie said again.

 "All right. I don't want you to say anything more now. But,
next Sunday, I'll come to see you again. That'll give you
several days to think things over. And, perhaps, you'll have
something more to say to me then

D .\ N G E R E U S E 229

 something I'll be awfully glad to hear and that I hope you'll
be glad to say."

 He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Meantime," he said,
"I wouldn't be in the least surprised if you saw Didier again
after all. He's thinking things over, too don't you believe for
a minute that he isn't. And he was quite right in assuming
that he had a fighting chance until now. I hope I'm not
being unfair when I say I consider that he forfeited that last
night. And if you don't think I'm presuming too much, I'd
like to ask you not to give him another."

"Of course I shan't give him another."

 "Another thing the Fontenots don't go in much for what
my mother used to call lavender lies and I don't believe that,
by and large, the Villacs do, either. I understand about the
jam you were in last night. But, again, I hope you won't think
I'm presuming too much if I say "

"You're not presuming about anything. You're a perfect
angel, Dale."

 "Oh, no! Don't say that! If for no other reason than because
angels belong in heaven, where there s no marrying or giving
in marriage. That wouldn't suit me at all."

 He kissed her again, this time on her mouth, but quickly
and lightly. Then, after tightening the pressure on her waist
again, barely long enough to make her conscious of it, he rose
and smiled down at her.

"Good-by until Sunday, darling."

"Good-by and and I don't know how to say the rest."

"This time, you mustn't try. And I must be on my way."

 He was gone before she could protest, out of sight before
she could believe that at least part of what had occurred was
not a happy dream, coming after a nightmare. As he
approached the courthouse, he saw that the Professor was
just coming down the steps. Dale stopped his car and called
to the forlorn old man.

"You didn't run into any unpleasantness, did you?"

 "None at all. It was just as you said you hoped it would be.
The authorities did not doubt my word about the unspent
money for the slippers, any more than they doubted yours. At
least, that was my impression. Of course, I did not hear their
opinion voiced, nor did I see the transcript. They're still
pursuing the subject of the accordion. I'm not so sure they
believe my story about that, though it's quite as true as the
other: I did not see it from the time Titine last performed at
the Tuileries, namely a week ago tonight, when, as usual, she
left it in my car, until it was produced in a battered condition
during the course of an interrogation. But that question's in
abeyance for the moment."

23o VICTORINE

"So you're free for the rest of the day?"

"Completely."

 "Then why not come and spend it with me at Sapphira?
We could have lots of music and as much bourbon as you
feel like consuming."

 "I cannot imagine anything more agreeable. I might say in
passing, however, that our young friend, who is now
undergoing interrogation, may not get off as easily as we
did. But then, perhaps, he did not face questioning with as
clear a conscience or in as confident a mood. He was
summoned by Guerra just as I was leaving, and his
countenance was marked by that false flippancy which, in
itself, is usually a giveaway."

 The Professor had formed a correct estimate, regarding
both the impression which he and Dale had made and that
which Maurice Benoit was now making. His general air of
jauntiness and the manner in which he answered the first
routine questions did nothing to predispose Landry and
Bennett in his favor.

 "Let's get on with the hog-sticking, Theo," he said breezily,
in response to the warning that any e flfort to withhold
information was a serious offence. "I'm not about to hide
anything I know."

 "I thought it fair to acquaint you with all the situation
implies," foundry said stiffly. "But we will now proceed with
the hog-sticking, as you so elegantly term it.... Were you or
were you not acquainted with the late Titine Dargcreux?"

"I was acquainted with her."

"Slightly or fairly well?"

"Fairly well."

"One might, perhaps, say very well?"

"One might, of course."

 "I asked that question s riously. I should like to have you
reply to it in the same way."

"All right. I knew her very well."

"When did you last see her?"

"On Saturday."

"About what time?"

"About six in the evening.,'

"Was that the only time you saw her Saturday?'

"No, I'd seen her earlier in the day, too."

"By chance or by a prey ions appointment?"

  'The second time was by previous appointment. Earlier
that day I'd driven down to Stewpan Cove to give her a
present I knew I couldn't

D ,~ N G E R E U S E 231

give her that night, or any other night for the matter of that.
Not without having this big hood Scholtze blowing his stack."

"What kind of a present?"

 Maurice hesitated. "I know it sounds dopey," he said at
length. "It was a pair of high-heeled gold slippers, the same
ones she was wearing when her body was found. I suppose
she was buried in them, if they put shoes on people's bodies
in a coffin."

"Wouldn't you consider that a rather unusual sort of gift?"

 "Not if that was what a person wanted. She wanted them
more than anything, she said."

"Was that declaration made to you personally?"

 "Hell, no! The time I heard her say it, a dozen others must
have heard it, too. Of course, for all I know, she might have
said it at other times to maybe just one person."

 "Are we to understand, then, that, having heard this girl
make what apparently was a public declaration of her desire
to possess gold slippers, you simply decided without further
ado to gratify her wishes in this respect?"

 "That's a potful of fancy-Dan wordage. If it means did I
send off to a mail-order house for a pair of the damn things,
so as to give them to her, the answer is, 'Yes, I did."'

 "And you delivered them Saturday morning at Stewpan
Cove, or in that general vicinity?"

"I did, with all the herein a!oresaids and whereases you'd like
to put

ill.'

 "Don't take this down," Landry said in an aside to the
stenographer, and then turned toward Maurice. "Look, my
fine friend, if you think this is an occasion for airy persiflage,
let me disabuse you of the notion right here and now. A girl
has been murdered; at least she has come to a violent end.
We are trying to find the last person to have seen her alive.
At this moment, so far as we know, that last person was you,
when she got into your car on the Cypremort Road. At least,
we have not yet found anyone who will admit to having seen
her after that moment. If you think that to be a laughing
matter, a topic for jests, keep the notion to yourself. That's
not a request. that's a direction, even if it is unofficial." To
the stenographer, he added: "From here on, take notes
again."

 "Of course, I realize everything you've said. That's why I'm
whistling in the dark. No one knows better how dark it is.
Sorry. I'll be good."

 Mollified, Landry turned to the male stenographer, who
had now been substituted For Mrs. Walton, because the
nature of the investigation

232 VICTORINE

seemed increasingly to indicate that such a change should be
made. "Take down everything from here on again, Bob," he
said. Then, facing Maurice, he asked, "Then it was Saturday
morning when you delivered your gift? Incidentally, about
what time?"

 "About eleven. I was on my way to Dale Fontenot's place
to look at some young bird dogs. He'd promised me a puppy
and I was picking one out to have Sullivan Brock, up in
Mississippi, train for me."

 "And was it when you gave her the slippers, about eleven
that morning, that you and she arranged to meet that same
evening in the manner in which this was finally done?"

 "That's right. She said she simply had to go to Crowley
before she went to work at the Tuileries grand opening that
night, and there was nobody she could trust to take her
there without a lot of explanations. Would I do her this one
more favor?"

"And you said?"

 "I told her sure I would. All right, so I was on the make.
Who isn't? Who, outside of some monk like Dale Fontenot,
maybe. I wasn't trying to ruin some innocent li'l prairie
flower, growing wilder by the hour. Everybody knew she
could be had, if she liked you, and I was figuring, if I did her
a favor, on top of giving her a pair of cheap gold slippers,
she'd like me. That's plain enough."

 "Did she say why she did not want you to call for her at
the Stewpan crossing in the first place?"

 "I don't remember if she said that in so many words, but
I know 1 got the idea from what she did say she wanted no
one to know where she'd gone, or who with. So she'd get
this lunkhead Baer to call for her, and she'd get rid of him,
and I would pick her up and drive her to Crowley. She said
she'd take it from there."

"And so that evening ?"

 "I waited at the bend of the road where she had told me
to, and where I could see that fliwer of Scholtze's coming.
When it stopped and she got out, I waited till it turned
around and got out of sight down the road, then started my
Reo and drove to where she was with this bundle wrapped
in paper in her arms, and she jumped in and I drove off to
New Iberia and from there to Lafayette and Crowley."

 "At any time, did you ask or did she volunteer the
information as to what was in this bundle?"

"Yes. I asked, and she said."

"Well?"

"Well, it seems like I wasn't the only one, by a hell of a
ways, to get

DANGEREUSE 233

the idea of booning her with a pair of gold slippers; you
know here's your heart's desire, so now you give. All but
Dale. I give him credit. He wanted her to have the damn
things just because that's what she wanted, and he gave the
Professor the money to buy them for her. I heard all about
how he said this, in front of a houseful of people, at the
Villacs' Sunday night, from my brother Didier and, what's
more, I'd bet the last button off Gabriel's coat he made the
Professor promise not to tell her who the slippers were from.
That's the way he is."

"But the Professor didn't buy those."

"I know. By that time she already had another pair."

"From ?"

"Why ask me? Don't you know?"

 Tobe Bennett spoke up, interrupting. "Hold on, Theo. I
know about the other pair, and I haven't said anything
because, if we can find out what became of them, we'll know
who killed Titine. I've been keeping that quiet in the hope
somebody'd make a slip."

 "Naturally, all I know was what she told me while we were
driving to Crowley," said Maurice. "['d seen that morning
she'd been cuffed around by somebody; she had a swollen lip
and a bruise on her chin, but I pretended not to notice. After
all, you don't say to a girl, 'Who's been beating you up?' or
'Where'd you get that shiner, baby?' But when I asked her
what's with the bundle she's lugging around, she said it was
another pair of gold slippers she was taking back to the the
one who gave them to her."

"Did she say who it was and why she was returning them?"

 "Yes. She said it was Prosper Villac, and she was bringing
them back because this big gorilla Scholtze said he would kill
her if she didn't. He was the one that beat her up on Friday
night, and she was scared witless what he'd do to her if sue
didn't give back the slippers. Also, that was why she was so
glad to act the pair I gave her, Saturday morning, because
Scholtze didn't know about those, and she'd damn well see he
never found out, or words to that effect. I felt pretty relieved
to hear that, I can tell you. Scholtze is one guy I wouldn't
choose any part of."

 "So she was coming to Crowley to see Prosper Villac and
return the slippers he had given her. Did she do so?"

 "How would I know? I asked her did she want to go to his
house and she said no, that would make trouble for him and
she did not want to do that, when he had been nice to her.
So I said if she went to the mill, she might not see him at all,
because he might not come in there that night I didn't know
then what I heard later, that there was some

234 v I c T 0 R 1 N E

sort of foul-up about a carload of rice. By this time, we were
coming into Crowley, on the old Spanish Trail Route. As
you probably know, there's a little grocery store right there
and Titine said if I'd stop, she could telephone and find out,
right then, the best place to meet Prosper, so she could be
on her way back to the club pronto. She went into the
grocery store and, when she came out, she was all nerved up
and jittery and said maybe I'd better take her back to the
Tuileries, if I could, because she wasn't going to be able to
meet him before ten."

"Prosper told her that?"

"I suppose so, but she didn't say and I didn't ask her "

"And what happened next?"

 "I told her I couldn't take her back to the Tuileries then,
because I had to put in an appearance at the Archers'; but
I would try and take her back later if she wanted me to. She
said no, she guessed she'd better get rid of the slippers
before she went back to the club, even if it would make her
that much later. Scholtze was going to be wild, anyhow, but
it would be worse if she still had the shoes when she did get
there. So she asked me to drop her about three blocks from
the mill."

"And you parted there? You did not see her again?"

 "I did not see her after I left her on that little dirt road
about three blocks from the mill gate. I asked her if she was
sure she'd be all right by herself and she laughed. She got
out of the car and said in that funny way she had, 'Thanks
for the buggy rice,' end that's the last I saw of her."

 "Just one or two questions more, Maurice. Did you see
Prosper Villac at the Archers'?"

 "Sure, I did. After I let Titine out, I went by the mill to
see if he was there. He wasn't, so L went on to the Archers'.
He came in late, with apologies all over the place, telling
everybody about this car of rice that had got itself lost and
then found. It was actually kind of ridiculous the way he
kept explaining about that car of rice to show why he was
late. Oh, it was important to him, of course; I expect if it
had been my car of rice, I'd have been in a sweat, too; but
I think telling about it once or twice would have been all I'd
do, even then."

"Did you mention Titine to him?"

"Yes, after I got him outside, where nobody'd hear us."

"What did you tell him?"

 "That I knew about the slippers be had given her and that
Scholtze had told her she had to give them back."

"What was his reaction to that?''

"He said something like, 'My God, 1 wonder how many
more she's

DANGEREUSE 235

told about those goddamn slippers?' and how he sure picked
a fine time to get himself tangled up with a tramp like Titine.
So I told him to take it easy, how there hadn't been any time,
from the Golden Age of Babylon on, when most men didn't
go overboard, sooner or later, for one of Titine's kind. Of
course, I didn't know then that he was right on the verge of
getting engaged to Victorine LaBranche, or I'd have under-
stood better why he was so hot and bothered though, as a
matter of fact, I don't think he actually knew it himself; he
was just hoping, because he'd had an encouraging telephone
message. Anyway, I tried to calm him down and he finally
told me to say he'd been called away, and he would see what
he could do about getting this Titine out of town to her job
at the Tuileries."

 "You didn't tell him you knew Titine had arranged to meet
him at ten?"

 "No, I thought if he wanted to play it cagey and not let on
that he had a definite date with her, that was his business."

Bennett interrupted again.

 "If Theo doesn't mind, there are a couple of questions I'd
like you to clear up. First, was Titine wearing those slippers
you gave her when she got into your car?"

 "No, she wasn't. She was wearing black shoes and not new
ones, either."

"Did she change at any time while she was in the car?"

 "Just before I let her out. She said she was going to get as
much pleasure out of them as she could, because she'd have
to change back to her old ones before she showed up for
work, or Scholtze would raise the roof again."

"So that bundle she was cat tying did have two pairs of
slippers in it?"

 "It most certainly did. First, two pairs of gold ones, and
then a pair of gold ones and a pair of black ones."

 "Well, that's all I wanted to ask," the sheriff said, with a
sigh, turning to the district attorney.

 "In that case, Maurice, you can leave," Landry informed his
witness. "Naturally, I want you to repeat what you told us to
the grand jury, if we ever ask for an indictment, and at the
time of a trial, should it come to that."

 "Like I said," Maurice agreed, with a hint of renewed
jauntiness. "I have nothing to hide. Call me any time."

 "The last person known to have seen her alive," Bennett
said musingly. after Guerra had closed the door behind the
departing witness.

236 VICTORINE

 "Now hold it a minute, Lobe," protested Landry. "You
know as well as I do he couldn't have been that."

 "Not if he smuggled that girl into the mill while Ten High
and Paula and Aunt Amanda w ere all out in front at the
Eaton car?"

 "In that case, yes. But I don't believe he did, and neither,
I suspect, do you. Lookie here, Tobe. I've gone along with
you this far in not calling Prosper Villac to testify, even if I
don't buy this notion that you're doing it only to see if that
other pair of gold slippers can be traced, but that string's
run out, now. We know the girl came here to Crowley to
give the slippers back to Villac; at least, we know she said
that was her purpose in coming; and the next thing we know
for sure is that her body was found the next day in Villac's
rice mill. How the hell can you expect me now to pass up an
interrogation of the man?'

 "All right," agreed the sheriff heavily. "All I ever told him
was I d have it put off as long as possible I owe his family
at least that much, even if I didn't feel in my bones he's not
a killer. Don't forget, his daddy got himself killed doing
something I asked him to do something I'd have got killed
doing if Claude hadn't gone out in my stead. I'll step down
to my office and phone Prosper to come over. It won't take
him five minutes."

 "Let's adjourn for fifteen minutes. I could do with a small
black. I 11 wait here for you and send across the street.
You'll have some, too, of course."

Chapter Twenty-hve

Jl~l GAr~LAND WAS WHAT WAs KNOWN LocALLY
As A CHAr~ACTrir~. He Her) not accompanied his
daughter and son-in-law, Mary and Brent Winslow, when they
first pioneered on the prairie; but he had joined them shortly
afterward, bringing two immigrant cars, filled with purebred
cattle and horses, far superior to any hitherto introduced to
the region. If he had not been so genial of temperament, envy
might have outweighed the admiration these evoked, but he
very quickly made himself a general favorite and, as the years
went by, his popularity increased rather than diminished. In
his younger days, before coming south, he had gone in for
harness racing; and when Crowley achieved a race track,
shortly before the World War, he was one of the prime
movers in the undertaking. Though he handled a car well
enough, from preference he still drove a dashing horse
hitched to a light and elegant sulky and this outfit was as
familiar a sight in the locality as he was himself. Though the
Winslows had always kept a good deal to themselves, hardly
a day passed that he was not seen here and there about town;
he had any number of irons in the fire and countless cronies.
It was said that he had tucked away a very tidy fortune, what
with his blooded stock and other business ventures, not to
mention his phenomenal luck or skill at poker and
dominoes. He spent almost nothing. living in a small house
on the Winslows' property, which he had steadfastly declined
to enlarge or elaborate, though they had done both with
theirs. Someday, he would leave a good deal of money; the
miracle was that this day had not come long before.

 He had been greatly pleased with Vicky's enthusiastic
acceptance of the mount he offered her, and eagerly
anticipated her promised visit.

z38 v I c T O n I N E

I le had heard Prosper teasing her, jokingly, about her lazy
habits and, therefore, he did not expect her much before
noon on the day following the party; to his surprise and
delight, she drove up to his door shortly after nine, her great
dog leaping out of her smart little car in her wake. She was
carrying a crop and wearing a white shirt, open at the throat,
boots and dark riding breeches. Her appearance, like
everything else about her, was intensely pleasing to the old
man.

 "Am I too early?" she inquired gaily, as she went up the
short walk. "I was so excited about the horse, I couldn't
wait! And am I dressed right? I have everything to complete
this outfit, and I'll put it all on sometime, so you can see
how I look that way. But it's such a lovely warm day and I
thought, out here on the prairie "

 "You couldn't be too early to suit me and you're dressed
exactly right. You're one of those girls that always is, aren't
you? Come along, we'll go straight out to the stable s or
would you rather stop in and see Marv and Brent first?"

 "It would be nice to do ~hat, wouldn't it? I mean,
perhaps, they'd be expecting me to."

 He noticed that she had not given him a direct answer, but
that was not displeasing to him, either. Of course, she would
rather have gone straight to see her horse, but she knew
that, out of courtesy, she should say good morning to
Prosper's grandparents first. It would have been a
disappointment to Mary, Jim Garland realised, when he saw
the coffee service all ready on the living room table, if the
girl had not done so, and if she had not reminded Mary
about the rooted cuttings which, it presently appeared, were
prepared for her; and she listened with attention, and with
interest which in nowise seemed feigned, while Mary ex-
plained that it was in this very room Brent had made the
experiments in the breeding of rice using his wife's sewing
table as a testing board  which, after long discouraging
years, had brought him fame. He worked in a separate room
now, which he would like to show her some other time the
room where the new variety named for her was under ob-
servation. Perhaps, after she came back from her ride.... She
hesitated, hut only for a moment. Yes, of course she would
like to see that, too; and she had thought, as long as she was
out this way, she would go to the Primeaux farm, too. She
had not met them yet and she wanted to. They would not
mind, would they, if she made the first call?

"They'd be very much honored. But you know "

 Mary stopped, flushing. She could not say of her nearest
neighbors, who were also among her dearest friends, "But
you know, they haven't

D A N G E R E U S E 239

had your advantages." She could not explain that Clement,
hard working, honest, and so shrewd in his own way that he
had become extremely prosperous, was the only one of the
cousins definitely to resist education, and that he had married
a girl who had even less schooling than he did. She
wondered, momentarily, if Vicky's adaptability, of which she
had already received a favorable impression, would be equal
to making such a visit a success. Then, very quickly, she
decided that it would.

 "I'll ring them up and tell them you'd like to come over as
soon as you've had your ride," she said, and stood in the back
doorway, her arm linked in her husband's, to watch Jim
Garland and Vicky, with Lewy beside them, as they walked
toward the stables and disappeared among the trees. When
she caught sight of them again, the girl was already on
horseback, and the old man was observing her, with obvious
satisfaction, as she put her mount through its paces. After
that, Vicky galloped away, out of sight and, half an hour
later, reappeared and drew up beside the kitchen door,
flushed and merry.

 "He's marvelous," she told Mary, leaning over to pat the
horse's neck. "I suppose I ought to take him back to Grandpa
Jim now, but I can hardly bear to leave him. I'll have to, of
course, until we can get a box stall ready for him. It never
occurred to either Father or me that anyone would give me
a present like this, and we haven't done anything about
renovating our old stable. Naturally, we will, right away now.
Meanwhile, I'll have an excuse, won't I? for coming out
here every day to ride that is, every day I feel easy about
leaving Father. He enjoyed his outing last night very much,
but he was pretty tired this morning. He said he'd really
rather spend the day in bed, resting quietly, and I knew he
meant that. But if he'd felt like having me keep him
company, or if he'd been in any pain, of course I wouldn't
have left him.... Would you and Mr. Winslow help me think
up the right name for this prize winner? I hear you're awfully
good at things like that and I'm very bad. Prosper doesn't like
I.ewy's name at all, and I wouldn't want to make a second
mistake.... Well. I'll be back from the stables to get my
cuttings and see the workroom and then I'll be on my way to
the Primeaux'. The next time I come, I hope you'll let me go
through your Rower garden, bed by bed. C'ardening's another
thing I'm very stupid about. I've never been in one place long
enough at a time to have one of my own. But all that's going
to be different now."

 "I'd like to have you stay, and if there's anything I can teach
you about gardening, of course, I'd be very pleased and
proud. But I know Laurelle and Clement are waiting for you,
and my flower beds will he

240 V I C T O R I N E

prettier a few weeks from now, when I have more
chrysanthemums ready for Toussaint."

  Again Mary watched the girl out of sight, with a deep
feeling of relief and contentment. Whatever else happened
to Prosper, he would find joy and fulfillmentin his love. To
Mary, as to most women, that was more important than
everything else put together....

  Her momentary uneasiness about Vicky's visit to the
adjoining farm had found its counterpart there, but this had
been quickly dispelled. Vicky did not seem to notice that the
salle had not been especially prepared for company; she was
outspoken in her admiration of the grass rug that almost
covered the wide boards of the Qoor, the large wooden rings
from which the heavy draperies were hung and the typical
early Acadian furnishings which she had never before seen
put to practical everyday use and adapted for the adornment
of a house that was still lived in. Encouraged and delighted
by her enthusiasm, Laurelle and Clement took her into the
best bedroom as well, then to the kitchen and, finally, to the
small separate room dominated by the great loom.

  "Yuh is where my sister Mezalee, her, the one w'at's a
religieuse, use' to weave," Clement said proudly. "Maybe you
know 'bout Mezalee bein' at the Sacre'Coeur at
Gran'Coteau, no?"

  "Yes, I know. I've had the sweetest letter from her and I'm
going to see her tomorrow.... But you still use this, don't
you?" Vicky inquired, turning to Laurelle.

  "Some I do, me, but not like Mezalee, no, not so much nor
neither so good like her," Laurelle told her. "Could I show
you how it works? I mean this here loom, how it goes?"

"I'd love to have you."

  Again Vicky watched an unfamiliar practice with eager
attention as Laurelle shuttled the weft thread through from
one side to the other. "That's something else I have to learn
how to do," the visitor said, "when I come out to the
Winslows' to learn about gardening, I'll come on over here
and learn how to weave. Is it a bargain?"

  "We would be so proud, us, fo' to have you do it," Laurelle
and Clement assured her together, and Laurelle added, "I
ain't but just the other day got finish' with one striped
blanket, like we always gives to a bride. I made it, me, fo'
one cousine w'at live in Breaux Bridge, her, but she don't get
married up till nex' spring, no. I could easy make another
one biffo spring, and Mary, her, she been tellin' me how vou
fix it up to get married with Prosper right away soon, yes. So
you got to take that blanket, so soon like I get it out of the
chest where it's put

DANGERE II SE 241

away, just like it was made special fo' you. You will take it
for a bride blanket, won't you, yes?"

 "I'd be thrilled to have it. May I really take it with
me right now' I think perhaps I ought to be getting back to
Crowley."

 "We been hopin', me an' C'lement, how maybe you stay by
our house to' dinner. It's mos' cooked by now, en' we got a
big blackbird jambalaya with tomato-paste gravy, so we can
all pass a good time when the children, them, comes home
from school. Anyway, I would love it, an' also Glement, fo'
them to meet with you, yes."

 "And I'd love to. Well " Vicky had concealed her
disappointment, the previous day, when Prosper telephoned
that he would not have time to come to Lafayette, and still
fall in with his mother's plan for a family party; this had
meant a postponement in buying the multicolored ring and
they had decided to select one in Crowley, today, during his
dinner hour. She had expected to be back from her visits to
the two farms by then indeed, her early arrival had been
timed with this in view. But, as she looked from Laurelle to
Clement, she realized that her refusal to stay would mean
more than disappointment to them; it would mean she
thought their dinner would not be worthy of her.

 "Of course I'll stay," she said quickly. "I can telephone, can't
I, to say I'll be a little delayed?" Yes, indeed, she was
assured, and taken to the old-fashioned wall instrument,
which she had to be shown how to use, thereby giving them
all a good laugh. Prosper was not available just then, Paula
told her briefly when the connection had been put through,
and hung up without any further comment. Vicky tried the
house next and Lavinia answered; Prosper had not come in
yet; some urgent business that he had not found time to tell
her about must have called him away temporarily; but she
was sure he would be back soon and, as soon as he came, she
would give him Vicky's message. She hoped Vicky could stop
in to see her and Anne Marie later in the day. Had the
morning been pleasant? Lavinia was delighted to hear it....

 "Everything's all right," Vicky said, hanging up the receiver.
"Could I help with dinner, Laurelled Cooking's still another
thing I don't know much about and I'm badly in need of
lessons!"

 "This yuh ain't no day fo' no lessons. Comes some other
day, yes, you can learn. But this yuh day is fo' pleasure, I
guarantee you, me. You done seen the house, an' the big
loom, them, an' we ain't got no fine stock en' no fine horses,
not like they got by the Winslow place. W'at we do got,
though, us, is one fine orange orchard w'at is bigger an' even
better as the one they got by Winslovvs," Laurelle said with
pride.

242 VICTORINE

"Clement, why you don't take our new cousine, her, out by
the orange trees? An' while you gone, I'll be finishin' up this
yuh dinner we goin'

have."

 "If it wouldn't take up too much of your time, Glement. I
know I've broken into a working day."

 "I would like it plenny--plenny, me, if I got mo' workin'
days interrup' this yuh way," Clement assured her with
complete sincerity. "So come on, an' we go see them orange
trees."

 They left the kitchen and went through the yard, with
Levvy still patiently tagging along. But the morning had not
been as exciting for her as for her mistress, and she was
beginning to feel the urge for more freedom of action. They
had hardly reached the grove when she bolted suddenly, and
then bounded away through the laden orange trees to the
unseen space beyond, in pursuit of a cottontail's bobbing
white powder puff.. Vicky called her repeatedly and with
increasing sternness; then, as the errant dog was still lost to
view, sue spoke apologetically to Clement.

 "She hasn't been a bit dike herself these last few days. I'm
afraid I'll have to chase after her. Will that be all right?"

 "Sho' enough will it, but I think maybe we better both go,
account on the other side of the trees is our li'l ci~netiere,
yes. I never meant fo'us to go over to it, but now "

 They ran ahead, side by side. Levvy had already lunged
through the open gate of the picket fence which surrounded
the small enclosure when Vicky caught up with her, clutched
at her collar and snapped on the leash which had hitherto
seemed superfluous, but which, nevertheless, had been
prudently kept in the pocket of the riding breeches. After
speaking still more severely to the Dalmatian, Vicky looked
up apologetically at Clement.

 "I'm awfully sorry. I didn't mean to intrude, I wouldn't
have for the world."

 "I know, en' it ain't no need fo' you to say nothin' 'bout it.
You ain't w'at you say intrude, no, by you like you was in
the fam'ly already. It's just only " Involuntarily, his eyes
strayed in the direction of the raw grave which he had dug
only two days before, and on which the white tuberoses of
the great cross Baer had put there were now brown and
wilted. Then, still involuntarily, he looked past this to the
urn filled with beautiful flowers which stood in front of an
adjacent tombstone. Vicky followed his gaze and faced him
squarely; if she flinched inwardly, her expression revealed no
such shrinking.

"You mean because Titine Dargereux is buried here?" she
asked. "I

D A 1~ G E n E U S E 243

heard all about that, of course. And I hope you won't mind
if I tell you I think it was a wonderful thing for you to do to
give her a grave beside the brother you loved so much,
because some of the circumstances surrounding their deaths
were similar. That is, I understand she wasn't entitled to
burial in consecrated ground because she'd been well,
remiss about her obligations to the Church; and your brother
Felix was a suicide, wasn't he? So he wasn't entitled to such
burial, either. It's all tragic and a little mysterious to me
still. But when you enter a family, you share its tragedies and
its mysteries, don't you? And you've been good enough to say
I belong to your family now. So, since I'm here anyway,
would it be all right if I went with you to see the rest of the
graves?"

 "You got no idee, never, no, how I feel good when I think
you do this, like you really was one of us, the same as the
fam'ly would be from a child. See them three leas' li l
crosses? Tha's where we think an' believe, us, are graves from
my two li'l brothers, an' also a li'l sister. 1 think maybe you
already know why nobody can't be certain sure, no, how the's
where they were buried. On the other side, where those fine
big tombstones is at, my maman an' my daddy is buried,
where we knowed good, us, it was consecrate' ground. We got
to tell you about maman someday, us, account she was a real
fine lady w'at give up fine clo'es, an' fine houses an' fine
people an' fine mos' ever'thing else, to come out yuh on the
prairie with my daddy, biccoz she love him so much, her, she
never cared, no, how it wasn't no other house fot nobody
knows how many miles, nor no roads an' neither no good
crops, with wild ponies an' scrubby ol' range cattle runnin'
every place. An' I got to tell you frankly, me, she also never
was sorry she give up them things fo' w'at she got, no."

 "I'm sure she wasn't. I'm sure he made up to her for
everything she left behind. I know Prosper would to me.
There's no tragedy about them, is there? Or any mystery,
either? But your brother wasn't there anyone who loved
him, wasn't there anyone who'd have given up everything for
his sake . . . or shouldn't I have asked?" she added quickly,
as she noticed the masklike look which had suddenly
banished all expression from Clement's pleasant face.

 They had passed Titine's new-made grave and were
standing in front of the plain neat tombstone, marked only
with the simple lettering:

               INFIX PRIMEAUX
                  1871-19 5
                      
244 v I c T O R I N E

but saved from starkness by the fragrant flowers in front of
it. Clement glanced down at the flows rs instead of meeting
Vicky's direct gaze. "I expec', me, the time was bound to
come when you would be wonderin' in you' mind 'bout that,"
he said. "So it's good, yes, you ask me instead of maybe
some other peoples. I got to admit, me, how somebody
loved him enough fo' true, to lotget 'bout fine closes, fine
houses an' mos' ever'thing, her, to marry with him. But he
wasn't like my daddy, him; he got his mind made up like a
stone, yes, he wasn't good enough fo' her, no. Tha's w'at her
folks thought, too, them. An' I tell you frankly, even if I hate
like the devil, him, hates holy water, to admit it, that I
expec' Fleex wasn't good enough for her. Don't make no
mistakes, no, bout how I feel, me. I loved him, too, better as
I loved maman or either my daddy, them. I even had my
own lid boy baptize' Fleex, after my brother, yes. But the
truth's true, en' nothint else ain't so. Anyway, Fleex, he went
off, an' I expec' she was thinkin', her, how he wasn't never
comin' back, no, so, after a long, long while, she married up
with somebody else, her, a good man, I got to admit, an'
also he loved her plennyplenny, too, him."

"And was she happy with this other man? I wouldn't have
been."

 Clement raised his head at last and regarded Vicky
thoughtfully. "I guarantee you, me, you wouldn't. Not you,
no. My mind keeps tellin' me you' plenny like my maman,
plenny mo' as this other lady we been talkie' 'bout, us.
Again I got to ask you to please don't make no mistake," he
went on, obviously choosing his words with great care. "She's
a fine-fine lady, her. I got no idee to say one li'l word
against her, by she is so good, like the angels wouldn't be no
better, them. Why I say that, me? I tell you frankly, you'
bound to guess an' maybe you done guess already who she
is, that fine lady. An' if you know, you, who we talkie' 'bout,
I got it in my mind as it wouldn't be too bad, no; it could
even be good . . . but we better be gettin' back by the house,
us. Laurelle might have ever'thing on the table, an' she don't
like it, no, to let the food get cold when she been workin' to
cook it."

"May I ask you just one more question?"

 "Sho'. Ask so many like you want. But I ain't sayin', me,
no, I promise to answer."

 "Someone told me there are always fresh flowers on your
brother's grave. Is it all right to ask who puts them there?"

 "Well, like I tol' you, I never promised to answer, me, an'
that there one is like that. I got no answer fo' it, no."

"I'm sorry. Forget it, won't you please?"

D A 14 G E n E U S E 245

 They walked slowly back toward the house, Levvy, now
thoroughly subdued, held firmly on her leash. They had not
quite reached the yard from the orange grove when Laurelle
came rushing out to meet them.

 "Judge Martin, him, been callin' you two-three times, not
only yuh, but plenny other places, too, yes," she said. "Ele say
to tell you frankly you better go home by VOU' papa's
house, account he ain't fee]in so good, no.

Chapter Twenty-six

    AFTER RECEIVING BENNETT S TELEPEIONE
MESSAGE, PROSPER SAT VERY

still for a few moments, staring straight in front of him. No
other call upon his courage not even the one he had
answered that black night beyond the wire at Saint
Mihiel had evoked such dread as this one. It was easy
enough for a decent man like Tobe to say cheerfully, "Just
stick to the truth. Nobody's ever made a lie stand without
some clever lawyer tripped him up in it, sooner or later."
Tobe had never done anything which would force him to
confess to a tawdry liaison with an even more tawdry wench,
almost on the eve of his betrothal to a fine girl. Vicky would
stand IJY him; of that Prosper was as certain as he was of his
own name; but even this conviction gave him scant solace
now. For she, too, would be mired by his shabby surrender to
lust; he could not dignify it by any other name, he could not
dismiss it lightly, as Maurice had done, by telling himself that
almost every man yielded, sooner or later, to elemental
desire. In his abject misery, he could liken himself only to
some common traveling salesman, out on the road and
registering at a cheap, small-town hotel, who commissioned
a grinning bellboy to "dig up a pint of hooch and a woman."
It would be at Vicky, even more than at him, that the
Pharisees would leer, Vicky about whom it would be
whispered along the bayous that she sho' had to be easy
satisfied, her, with a shopworn article, to marry with Prosper
Villac, him, yes....

 Vicky . . . he must get hold of her before he went to the
courthouse, he must tell her that he could not meet her, at
his dinner hour, and go with her to choose the multicolored
ring, as they had so buoyantly planned. By now, she would be
out on the prairie, trying the new mount which Grandpa Jim
had given her, happy, carefree, delighted with her

DAI~GEREUSE 247

present and giving delight to those who watched her as she
put the horse through its paces. This meant that, when he
telephoned the Winslow farm, he would not get her direct; he
would have to speak first with either his grandfather or his
grandmother, whichever one answered the telephone; and,
even if he did not actually say so, they would know he was on
his way to the courthouse, the minute he explained that he
would not be able to meet Vicky; as matters stood, nothing
less urgent would cause him to cancel such an appointment....

 It was his grandfather who happened to be nearest the
telephone when it rang, and Brent Winslow was normally a
man of few words; but the silence with which he listened to
the message was unnatural, and Prosper knew that he was
stricken, for the moment stricken beyond all speech, at the
knowledge that his only grandson, the only male heir to his
kingdom of discovery, was so suspect that interrogation had
proved unavoidable.

 "I'm sorry, I can't give Vicky your message myself," Brent
said at last. "She's had her ride, and she left, about half an
hour ago, for the Primeaux'. She said that, as long as she was
out in this direction, anyway, she'd like to pay them a visit.
You'll have to call her at their house. Or I'll do it for you, if
you'd rather."

 "No, I'll do it myself. Thanks, Grandfather. And I don't
need to tell you that "

"No, you don't. You better get hold of Vicky, right away."

 But he could not. I Iappy, who had just that minute come
in from school, and who regarded the telephone as a bauble
provided for his special amusement, seized it before his sister
could stop him and further delayed matters. When Adeline
had summoned their mother, Laurelle said that Clement and
Vicky had just gone out to the orange grove for a minute, but
she was sure they would be right back. She would have Vicky
telephone Prosper as soon as they came in.

 Laurelle, of course, had not reckoned on the unexpected
visit to the cemetery, precipitated by Lewy's mad dash after
a rabbit. The call which came through to the Claudia almost
immediately was not from Vicky, as Prosper had anticipated,
but from Tobe.

 "I'm sorry to hurry you, son, but Theo's getting impatient.
He did take a fifteen-minute recess to give you plenty of time
to get over here. But it's most half an hour since "

 "I know. I apologize. I wanted to get in touch with Vicky
and I thought I could do it quickly. But I'll leave the message
with Paula."

Well, here was one more thing that Vicky would have to
understand,

248 VICTORINE

if she could. The purchase of her ring had been delayed and
she had been nice about that; nova it would have to be
delayed again, and she would not even receive a direct
message about it; she would have to hear, impersonally,
from his secretary, and of course she would know what had
caused this second delay, whether Paula told her or not.
And he would have no way of explaining, with terms of
endearment, no means of comforting her.

 "I was expecting Miss LaBranche to meet me here at
dinnertime," he told Paula, as he left the office. Paula
interrupted him.

 "She telephoned, while you were out at the rough rice
warehouse with Wayland Foster, to say she'd be late. I told
her you weren't available just then."

 "I'm sorry you did that-I'd have come a-running. Anyway,
now I've tried to reach her' to tell her I can't keep the
appointment at all. But she's left my grandfather's and gone
over to the Primeaux'. According to Mrs. Primeaux, she's
out around the place somewhere. When she returns my call,
will you please tell her I'm terribly sorry, but I've had to
change my plans? Or, just in case there's some slip-up and
Mrs. Primeaux didn't understand what I was trying to get
over the connection wasn't very good would you mind
waiting here until either you've heard from Miss LaBranche
or she just arrives?"

"Don't worry, Mr. Villac. I'll take care of the situation."

 "Thanks. I know you will. And, by the way, you may have
more than one situation to take care of. I don't expect to be
back here this afternoon.

 The sense of dread which had been so strong when he
received Bennett's first call was even more overpowering
now. But if Paula noticed anything unnatural in his voice or
manner, she gave no indication of it. She had scarcely
glanced up from her machine when Prosper spoke to her
and she answered; now, she went on quietly typing. The
telephone rang several times and, each time, when she
picked up the receiver, she was prepared to hear Vicky's
voice and give her Prosper's message. Then, half an hour
later, Laurelle telephoned.

"Could I speak with Mr. Villac?"

"He isn't here just now. I'll take a message."

 "Miss LaBranche can't meet him like she' supposed to, no.
She been call' to Lafayette by her papa done had
another how you call it?  heart attack, him."

 "I'm sorry to hear that. I'll see to it that the message is
delivered  both messages. Mr. Villac left one for Miss
LaBranche, too."

DANGEREUSE 249

 Paula finished the letter she was writing, stamped its
envelope and folded it neatly over the top of the typed sheet,
and laid it, with precision, on top of the others she had done
that morning. Then she sharpened the pencils she had been
using when she took dictation, covered her typewriter and
rose. As she did so, Wayland Foster, the rough rice buyer,
came toward her with a slip of paper in his hand, on which
was written the high bid of the rough rice sale which he had
attended that morning.

 "Here's something Mr. Prosper needs to know," he said,
handing it to her. She glanced at the notation, saw that the
Claudia had been overbid and handed the paper back.

 "I'm afraid we'll have to tell him that tomorrow, Wayland,"
she said. "Mr. Prosper doesn't expect to return to the mill
today. And I've had an urgent message from him that he
wants me to give Miss LaBranche in person. I'm starting for
Lafayette immediately. I don't know just what time I'll be
back."

 Prosper, facing his inquisitors along the length of the
scarred jury table, mechanically answered the routine
questions about his name, age, citizenship and occupation,
each of these, to him, represented a form of reprieve,
because each delayed, a moment longer, the ones that he
knew must follow. Then came another short delay, in the
form of the customary assurance that this was not a trial but
an investigation an assurance so carefully worded that he
had the impression this was being unnecessarily prolonged,
out of mistaken kindness. It would be better to have the
whole miserable business over with, to tell how long and how
well he had known Titine Dargereux, what he had given her,
when and why, the hour at which he had last seen her. It had
all taken on something of a nightmarish quality, the only
difference being that this was real, all too real, whereas a
nightmare was only a phantasy, from which, sooner or later,
there was a safe awakening.

 "I gave her the gold slippers with rhinestones on the heels
Thursday night," he heard himself saying. "She seemed to be
very pleased with them. She tried them on to malve sure they
fitted."

"And you left her as soon as you had made her this generous
gift?"

"No."

"When did you leave her?"

  He swallowed hard. "It must have been about four o'clock
Fridav morning. I don't know exactly. It was still dark. But
there was a little light in the sky by the time I reached Bayou
Warehouse."

"This was last Friday morning?"

250 V I C T O R I N E

"Yes."

"But you made a proposal of marriage to Victoria
LaBranche Sunday?"

 "Yes no." He hadn't proposed to Vicky. She hadn't given
him time. But how could he explain her generous and
impetuous action to his questioners? "That is, she'd known
for a long time I wanted to marry her and "

"Such a marriage would be very advantageous to you,
wouldn't it?"

  Prosper's shame was suddenly engulfed in anger. "If you
mean I wanted to marry her for her money "

  "She is very rich, isn't she? And these last few years
haven't been so good for rice."

  "I never thought about her being rich. I wanted to marry
her because I fell in love with her."

  "That statement seems rather at variance with the ones
you made a few minutes ago. But we'll let that pass for the
moment. She knew you wanted to marry her, whatever your
reasons were, and you began to believe she would consent.
When was this?"

  "Saturday, when she telephoned me, asking me to family
dinner Sunday."

  "And, apparently, it was Saturday night that Titine
Dargereux came to the mill?"

"Apparently."

  "It would, of course, have been extremely awkward for you
to continue any kind of an association with her if you
became engaged to Miss LaBranche."

"Yes, but "

  Some kind of disturbance was taking place in the hall,
outside the closed door. Above the indefinable sounds of
commotion, a woman's shrill voice rang out clearly.

  "But I must talk to those men this instant, before this
hearing goes any further. I've got to tell them "

  Without even looking at Landry, much less stopping to
speak to him, Bennett sprang up, strode to the door and
flung it open, brushing its protesting guardian aside. "Come
right in, Aunt Amanda," he said soothingly. "You bet we'll
let you have your say. Here, take this chair."

  Amanda Eaton, clutching an untidy bundle, sank into the
proffered seat. Like her niece, she was usually the
personification of neatness, but in her case, this trait was e
ven more marked; with advancing years, she had become
more and more prim in appearance, manner and speech.
Now her hair and her drc ss were both in disarray, and she
was so dis

D A N G E R E U S E z5 1

fraught that she spoke haltingly, a word or two at a time.
"Ever since  Saturday night, I've been worrying," she
gasped. "And here it is  Wednesday!"

 "Take it easy, Aunt Amanda. You don't have to hurry to
tell us what s on your mind. We can wait. 'lichen you can tell
us what happened to worry you Saturday night."

 'When I went to get Paula,' Amanda said at last, "she had
a bundle in her hands. I didn't ask her what was in it. We
were both tired and it was late and, to tell you the truth, I I
sort of dreaded to ask. I thought maybe it was more of that
bootleg gin she's been getting and drinking, over my protests,
and I didn't want to start an argument at that hour of the
night. But Sunday, in church, I got to thinking about it and I
realized it didn't look like the other par kages she's been
bringing to the house. So, after we got home, I asked her
what was in that bundle, and she was cross and said I must be
imagining things, she didn't have any bundle. I knew she was
lying to me it wouldn't be the first time and, as soon as
she'd gone to the mill Monday, I started searching. I searched
in every place I could think of all that day and all day
yesterday, without finding anything. Yesterday night I went
out, but not until I'd seen her safely home. I always see her
safely home in the evening, Tobe, you know that. It isn't
because I think she's a young girl any more, or needs
protection at six o'clock. It's because " She looked
pathetically at her nephew. Tobe cleared his throat.

 "What Aunt Amanda means." he explained, iiis that Paula
has hallucinations sometimes. Harmless ', nough ones, we've
always thought. An`.l they didn't interfere at all with her
efficiency in her work. You'll bear me out in that, won't you,
Prosper?"

 "I sure will. No one could ask for a better assistant than
she's been to me for years."

"What form did these hallucinations take?" Landry inquired
sharply.

Tobe and Amanda exchanged glances.

 "Well," Tobe said slowly, "she had some kind of a love affair
that she was half ashamed of and half proud of, when she was
in France, same as a good many others did. We never
heard I never did, anyway  who the man was, but I've got
a pretty strong suspicion now who it may have been, and I
think you have, too, Theo. After that, she never had another.
But she would have liked to. She even went so far as to
pretend she did. She'd get all dolled up when she got home
from work and make believe she was waiting for someone.
Like I said, we thought that was harmless enough. She didn't
indulge in fancies like that during working

252 V I C T O K I N r.

hours. At least ' I-le looked across the table at the witness
whose questioning had been so abruptly curtailed " she
thought an awful lot of Prosper. I don't mean just as an
employer or a friend. She was jealous of every other woman
he looked at. I think she had a secret hope that someday
he'd be her sweetheart."

 "Did she ever give you any such impression, Prosper?"
Landry inquired.

"Lord, no!'

"And she never gave you the impression she was jealous of
anyone?'

 "Lord, no!" Prosper said again. "She did make a
disagreeable remark one time, but it didn't sound jealous,
just spiteful."

 "Well, if you think it has any bearing on this situation, tell
us what it was and when."

 "It was last Friday. I suddenly remembered that I'd never
given her a message which Scholtze had asked me to deliver
some time before. I told her I was sorry I hadn't done it
sooner and she said it didn't matter at all; then. when I said
I didn't realize she knew him, because I'd never seen her at
his place, she grew quite sarcastic. She said I'd never seen
my sister there, either, or my 'new-found friend Victorine
LaBranche.' My retort wasn't very polite and neither was
hers, the next time."

 "I think that does throw some light on the general
situation," Landry said dryly. "I may want more details about
your retort and hers later. Right now, I'd like to have Miss
Eaton go on with what she was telling us before we learned
about her niece's hallucinations."

 "I looked and looked," Amanda said pathetically. "And I
kept getting more and more upset. I knew I hadn't imagined
that bundle and still I didn't see, in a four-room house,
where Paula could have hidden it, SO that I couldn't find it
when I'd ransacked the place all the way from the recess
under the front steps to the rooftree and been through the
shed and even the trash cans into the bargain. Finally, I
decided to take one last look at her closet, and I noticed
that the shoe bag on the door you know, the kind made of
chintz that has a separate pocket for every pair of
shoes looked fuller than usual. Paula keeps her clothes in
beautiful order, especially the ones she wears when she's
waiting I mean hoping for company. Her best
dresses and lounging pajamas are all bagged in
cheesecloth and anything that might tarnish is wrapped in
black tissue paper. I'm not naturally a prying woman, I hope
you don't think so "

 "No, of course we don't, Miss Eaton. We think you acted
very wisely. 1 gather you noticed that the shoe bag looked
uncommonly full; you

D A N G E R E U S E 753

couldn't remember that your niece had quite so many Fairs
of slippers that would require protection from tarnish, so you
started unwrapping all those done up in black paper and "

 "Yes, yes, that's exactly what I did," Amanda said, her
words coming with a rush at last. "And I found a pair of gold
slippers with rhinestones on the heels, done up with a pair of
shabby old black shoes. I suppose Paula wanted the gold
slippers herself, and meant to wear them when I went to
church meetings, after the excitement about Titine Dargereux
had quieted down, and that she hadn't had a chance to throw
away the old black ones, because I'd been watching her so
closely. So I wrapped them up together again, as nearly as I
could the way they'd been before, and started for the mill. I
thought maybe Paula could give me some explanation. Of
course, it was lust a forlorn hope, but I clung to it. And. when
I got there, I found she'd left, that she'd gone to Lafayette.
She told Wayland Foster she had some kind of a message for
Miss LaBranche from Prosper and that Prosper wanted her
to deliver it in perso1q-."

 "I never told her anything of the kind," Prosper interrupted
vehemently.

 "All right, we'll hear about what you did tell her presently.
But let s hear the rest of Miss Eaton's story first."

 "I meant to come on here, anyway, to talk to Tobe, and see
if Paula couldn't be taken to a medical examiner and put in
an institution, before she was charged with with anything,"
Amanda went on. "I hurried as fast as I could, but Paula has
the car she took it this morning, the way she always does,
because she leaves before I get up. Then she drives back for
dinner and, after dinner, I bring her to the mill, so that I can
use the car durmg the afternoon before I call for her at night.
But you see today she didn't come home to dinner and I had
to get here on foot  that's why it took me so long. But there
are the slippers you can see them for yourselves!"

 With a sudden movement, the Hung the bundle which she
had been clutching onto the table in front of her. Out of it
rolled the two pairs of shoes which told the whole story. "By
now, Paula must be almost to Lafayette and I'm worried
about that message she said she had to deliver in person," the
distraught woman said.

 Without waiting to see or hear anything further, Prosper
leaped tip and dashed toward the door. Landry shouted, "Let
him through, Joe!

and sprang to his feet while the sheriff reached for the
telephone, as Amanda finally finished what she had come to
say.

"You know, Tobe, we always carry a gun in the car.!

Chapter Twenty-seven

  WHEN VICKY TORE UP THE FRONT STEPS, AFTER
HER FRANTIC DRIVE FROM

the Primeaux farm, she found Dr. Martin waiting for her,
with a reassuring smile, in a house that was hushed, but in no
way suggestive of sudden tragedy.

 "Don't worry, honey, everything's under control and, as far
as I can see, likely to remain so," he told her without
preamble. "Your father's heart attack was sudden, but I don't
believe it's serious and, fortunately, Gifford was able to get
hold of me at once. When he took up your father's luncheon
tray, he found him leaning over the bathroom basin Moise
had gone in there to wash his hands and gasping for breath.
I could hear the sound of the gasps myself when Gifford
telephoned and I was here inside of five minutes. I saw there
wasn't an instant to lose, so I played my trump card injected
morphine directly into a vein. It's a risky process, but there
are times when it's worth the risk and this was one of them.
Next, I administered digitalis by mouth, before Moise was too
drowsy to take it and, of course, got him right to bed. He
doesn't seem to be having any more trouble with his
breathing, so I haven't thought it necessary to put him under
an oxygen tent, but all the necessary preparations have been
made. I shan't leave the house for the present and one of the
two nurses I've sent for has already arrived and is sitting in
his room."

"May I go in and see him7'

 "I'd rather you didn't just yet. By the time the morphine has
really taken hold, a slight noise--even a fairly loud
one won't disturb him, because he won't hear it. But I don't
want to take any chances yet I've even had the telephone
temporarily shut off and I've told Donovan to

D A ~ G E n ~ u s E 255

keep Levvy with her as I've said, I don't want to risk
disturbance of any kind. You may go into his sitting room
and look in on him if you want to the door's open from
there into his bedroom, and I'm going back there myself, now
that I've spoken to you, but, of course, he mustn't do any
talking tonight. I'll go up with you and let you satisfy yourself
that everything's all right. Then I'd like to close the door into
the upper hall. Why don't you go to your own sitting room on
the other side of the stair well? It wouldn't take but a minute
to reach you there, if there's any reason to do so. But I must
ask you to believe that the quieter your father's kept, for the
next few hours, the better his chances are for a rapid
recovery. Also, that I'm telling you the truth when I say I
think he is going to recover this time. However, I think the
moment has come to let you know that someday, perhaps
before very long, he'll have a more severe attack and that will
be the end."

 Vicky nodded, her eyes filling with tears. "I know," she said
steadily. "He never told me so himself, but I realised, from
the beginning, that he wanted to come home to die. And
then, he's been in such a hurry to see me married you don't
think that's impossible, do you?"

 "Of course I don't. If you were married very quietly, it
might even be possible within a week. That is, unless "

 He could not very well say to her " unless something that
comes out in the investigation, which is taking place in
Crowley right now, should cause Prosper Villac to be kept in
custody on a charge of murder." But she nodded again, and
he knew she was facing up to that, also.

 "All right, you've told me everything I need to know," she
said. "Let's go upstairs, shall we? I would like to look in on
Father, since you think that's all right. Then I'll go across the
hall to my own quarters and stay there until you tell me I
should come back either because everything's cleared
up or because it hasn t. As you say, it won't take but a
minute to get me. And I can have my meals served in my
sitting room."

 There was nothing disturbing in her long-range view of her
father who was, indeed, sleeping quite peacefully, with a
white-clad nurse sitting close to his bedside. Without protest,
Vicky herself closed the door leading from his sitting room
into the hallway and then skirted the great stair well to her
own side of the house. Once there, she found it harder to
retain her composure. She did not dare completely shed her
clothes and take a bath, for fear she might suddenly be
called. But she pulled off her rumpled shirt and, before
putting on a fresh one, hastily sponged off the upper part of
her body. Then she sat down and tried, without much success,
to read. If she could only have heard from Prosper and

~56 v I C TO R I N E

learned that all was well with him, the wait would not have
seemed so long. But the unbroken silence, without even the
comforting presence of Lewy, was almost unendurable.

 Though the dragging minutes seemed like hours, it was
actually only a short time before Donovan knocked and
came in. Vicky started up in alarm. "Come, come, lovey.
there's nothing to be afraid of," Donovan said soothingly.
"Your father's sleeping like a baby the doctor opened the
door and told me so as I went by. He heard my footsteps,
quiet as 1 thought I'd kept them, but your father won't hear
those or anything else this night and, in the morning, he'll
wake up almost his own self again. But there's a young
person downstairs, says she wants to see you. When Gifford
let her in, he thought it was that second nurse we're ex-
pecting. But it seems not. It seems she's a Miss Bennett, Mr.
Villac's secretary, and that she's come to you with a special
message from him."

 "Oh, Donovan! I want to see her, quick, quick, quick! I've
been hoping for a message!"

 In her eagemess, she started toward the door. Then she
remembered her promise to stay where she could be
summoned within a minute, if necessary. But she went to the
threshold of her sitting room and waited to greet her visitor
warmly.

"Miss Bennett, how very kind of you! Do come right in,
won't you?"

 Paula was looking around her with unabashed curiosity. So
this was the way a girl lived, a rich girl with the world at her
feet! In a huge house, with half a dozen servants running
around to do her bidding and an upstairs sitting room of her
own! She did not need to run any risk of discovery if she
wanted to take a surreptitious drink or receive callers
privately; she was not exposed to the prying gaze of anyone
who chose to ring the front doorbell! And she could dress in
well-fitted black breeches and a white shirt open halfway
down the front and no one would think any the worse of her
for it! Paula was so absorbed in what she saw and in the
thoughts that these sights evoked, that she did not instantly
answer Vicky's next question.

 "You've brought me a message from Prosper, haven't you?
Do tell me what it is of course, I'm dying to know!"

"Mr. Villac's at the courthouse now."

"But that isn't all you came to tell me, is it'"

 "No. He said he couldn't keep an appointment he had with
you. He said I was to tell you so."

 "But you didn't need to come all the way to Lafayette to
tell me that! Of course, it was nice of you, but I'm sorry
you've been At to so much

DANGEREUSE 257

trouble. As far as that goes, I had to break the
appointment or rather, I had to ask Mrs. Primeaux to do it
for me. I had to hurry back to Lafayette because of my
father's heart attack. Didn't she tell you that he was very ill?"

 "Yes, Mrs. Primeaux told me so. And then that man at the
entrance. And then that woman at the head of the stairs."
Paula turned and looked out of the sitting room door, which
still stood open. "But she's gone now that woman, I mean."

 "Donovan? She was my nurse when 1 was little and
now well, she's practically my right hand. Would you like me
to ring for her to come back? You might enjoy talking to her.
She's quite amusing sometimes. And perhaps you'd like tea
or something?"

 "No, I don't want to talk to her or anyone but you. I don't
want tea, either.... And so your lather's sick, very sick? That
means you won't be going on with your plans for getting
married."

 "Oh, yes, I shall. Father was very anxious to have me
married quickly. And Dr. Martin's told me, since I came in,
that the heart attack isn't as serious as he feared at first, that
he thought possibly I could be married, very quietly, within a
week."

 "You won't be married, quietly or any other way, within a
week. You won't be married at all."

 "You mean something's happened to Prosper you haven't
told me about?"

 For some moments, the feeling had been growing on Vicky
that there was something about her visitor which did not
seem quite normal. At first, she thought this must be her own
imagination. She knew she was upset and excited, that it
would be easy for her to delude herself in such a way. But
when Paula, instead of answering, came very close, her face
thrust upward and forward, Vicky was convinced that her
instinct was not playing her false. She knew she must be on
her guard, though against what she still did not feel sure.

 "Prosper Villac isn't in love with you," Paula was now
hissing at her. "He's in love with me. He has been for a long
time, but that dirty little slut, that swampish vampire, lured
him away for a while. Well, she's where she won't lead him
or anyone else into sin again. And you thought you could
steal him from me, with your moneybags and your bold for-
eign ways and your sick father to help you out. But you can't.
If you'd come to the mill today, the same thing would have
happened to you that happened to Titine Dargereux. You'd
have been taken up to the top floor to see Prosper, who
wasn't there, although you'd have been told that he

z58 VTCTORINE

was, and then have been pushed over into a rice bin; and,
this time, there wouldn't have been any telltale slipper
sticking out. But you didn't come to the mill. So I came
here. And you'll come with me, quietly, out of this house
and get into my car with me and we'll ride out into the
swamps together. Then I'll ride back alone. The chances are
that what's left of you won't ever be found."

 Vicky managed to continue looking steadily into the face
that was thrust so near her own, and to keep her voice
under control as she answered.

 "You're mistaken. l m not going to Icave this house. I m
not even going to leave this room."

 "Oh, yes, you are. I've g ot a pistol in my handbag. I can
fire it into the door and explain that it went off accidentally.
The sound of the gunshot would kill your father."

 "It might, if he could hear it. But he won't hear it, not
when he's heavily drugged, and there are two rooms and two
closed doors and a large hallway between the place where
we are and the place where he's quietly sleeping. On the
other hand, the shock would certainly kill him if he found I
were missing' when he came out of his drugged sleep. And
you would be left with the very awkward necessity of
explaining why you had a pistol in your handbag when you
came to bring a message from your employer to his fiancee,
and what became of her after you'd been admitted to her
presence in a room she'd promised her father's physician she
wouldn't leave.... Just a minute," Vicky said imperiously, as
Paula attempted to break in. "All this is supposing we could
get from here to your car without being seen by Donovan,
who's on the alert even if you think she's well out of the
way, and Gifford, who's waiting near the front door, to let
in a second nurse, not to mention my dog Levvy, who may
come bounding in at any moment. She's apt to do that when
she's kept away from me too long."

 While she was talking, Vicky had gradually retreated, as
Paula kept steadily advancing, her face still thrust close to
that of her intended victim, her fingers already groping
toward the catch of her handbag. When they reached the
flat-topped desk, Vicky leaned back against it, her hands
plainly visible at her sides, but one foot pressed on the push
button underneath the rug, which made no sound in her
sitting room, but which rang a bell in the service quarters. It
was this signal that Donovan and Levvy alway s awaited, the
signal that Vicky wanted them. Paula was still fumbling at
the catch of her bag when the faithful servant and the great
dog came rushing together across the room.

DANGERFUSE 259

 The huge house was again hushed and its stillness was one
of even greater quietude than when Vicky had dashed up the
front steps, with a fast-beating heart, six hours earlier.

 This quietude had been disturbed only temporarily and, in
the sickroom, the peaceful sleep of the stricken man had
been unbroken; he was mercifully unaware of what happened
elsewhere. Dr. Martin, from his post on the opposite side of
the stair well, had heard the precipitate arrival of Donovan
and Lewy and instantly recognized the existence of some
emergency; he had reached Vicky's sitting room almost as
soon as they did. Levvy, in her joyful Icap to greet her
mistress, had not injured Paula, but had knocked her over;
and Vicky was giving terse orders to both servant and dog,
and both were obeying with swift, unquestioning obedience.
When the physician strode forward, the dog was standing over
the prostrate woman and the maid had wrenched away her
handbag; thanks to a hypodermic needle, her screams were
quickly silenced, and it required few words of explanation to
let the experienced doctor know what had happened.
Meanwhile, Captain Bob, whom Tobe had called at the City
Hall, even before finding that the LaBranches' telephone had
been temporarily shut off, had responded by arriving in per-
son, heading a detachment of city police. Between them, the
mayor, and the physician, who was also a city judge, had the
situation under control, even before Prosper's car came
tearing up the driveway. When Landry and Bennett arrived,
ten minutes later, it was to find their work practically done
for them, as far as its immediate necessities were concerned.

 Vicky was still standing, her back to her desk, when Prosper
dashed into the room. She had shaken her head, showing that
she did not even want to be spoken to, much less to speak
herself, when Donovan began to murmur comforting words,
and she gave no sign that she was aware of Levvy's continued
presence She was trembling now, from head to foot, and her
face was deadly pale; but she had not once cried out, and
when Prosper took her cold hands in his warm ones, and
smiled down at her without a word, she looked up at him
with eyes of love. The next instant, she had flung her arms
around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder.

 "You won't be needing me here any more for the present,
sir," Donovan said quietly. "And if you should want anythir~g
later, you can always ring thank the good Lord! Come,
Levvy!"

 The dog looked anxiously toward her mistress, bewildered
because Vicky did not issue an order hi rself. For the first
time, Prosper did it in her stead.

260 VICTORIN r

 "Why not let Lewy stay, Donovan?" he asked. "it can't do
any harm, can it? I'm sure she'll just lie down quietly as
soon as she sees Miss Vicky doesn't want anything. And
you're right, I don't need you at present. But it looks to me
as if you and Levvy had come when you were both very
much needed, and later on I'd like to thank you properly. I
will ring, but just now--"

 He gathered Vicky into his arms and carried her to the big
armchair, where, two nights before, she had sat so
contentedly in his lap. Two nights before was that really all
it was? In the space of a few days he had lived a lifetime, a
lifetime made up mostly of nightmares, or so it had seemed,
as he tossed restlessly about in his bed and faced his
inquisitors at the jury table. At last the nightmares were
over, and what was happening now was not a dream, even
a happy dream. It was reality, reality for him and little as
he deserved it for his love....

 Little by little, Vicky stopped trembling and only stirred
slightly, from time to time. Then she nestled down again.
When she finally spoke, her words were muffled because her
face was still half hidden against his shoulder. "I'm beginning
to feel like myself," she whispered. "I'm sorry to have acted
like such a fool, but "

 "Acted like such a fool! You're the bravest girl I ever
knew and the best and the dearest!"

 "We really don't need to argue about it, do we? We've
quarreled so many times that I think we ought to have got
that out of our systems, by now!"

 "If we haven't, we wouldn't deserve all the happiness that's
ahead of us. Not that I deserve it, anyhow. But I'm going to
have it."

 "Then you won't keep on making objections, when I say
I'd like to get married right away?"

"What do you think?"

 She slid from his knees and went back to her desk, where
she pretended to consult a calendar. "This is Wednesday,"
she announced, as if imparting a startling piece of news. "Dr.
Martin says that, if everything goes the way he expects, I'll
be able to talk to Father sometime tomorrow and I'll consult
him then. That will be Thursday. Do you think that if he and
Bedon agree, that by Saturday Of course, we can't have
any honeymoon...."

 "Can't we though? You mean we can t go away for a
honeymoon! But what's the matter with a honeymoon right
here? I thought, the first time I came in this room, it was
the pleasantest one I'd ever seen in my life. I still think so.
I don't see why we need to look for anything better

DANGEREUSE 261

in fact, there couldn't be anything better. I'm entitled to a
week end off once in a while, even if this is the busy season."
To his surprise and hers, he found he could speak almost
jestingly. "Maybe I could actually get a few days
extra Mother could look after both mills and she'd be glad
to." Fleetingly, he remembered that Paula would not be there
to help, as she had been for so many years, and the dreadful
reason for this; but he dismissed the thought. "And after
we're married, darling," he added, "remember you won't have
to send me home nights. I'll never forget the way you said,
Monday, that you wished you didn't have to."

"I still wish I didn't have to."

"Well Wednesday Thursday Friday that's only three
more."

"I'll be counting them oil, too. And, meanwhile "

"Yes?"

"Meanwhile, E erhaps I could have that multicolored ring."

 Sapphira, instead of being hushed like the Great House,
echoed to joyous music.

 When Dale went home, after his session at the courthouse
and his visit to Anne Marie, he stopped his car on the bridge
that spanned Bayou Cypremort and looked thoughtfully
around him. It was a beautiful bright day, and still the bridge
was shadowed by the mossy branches of dead cypress that
overhung it. the tangle of muscadine and swamp myrtle; he
would put men to work, that very afternoon, cutting all this
back, so that, henceforth, light would stream over the bridge.
The growth of palmetto on the farth'r side had also spread
beyond all reasonable limits; that space must be cleared
completely. Anne Marie would not want an unkempt yard
with no other border than this jungle growth; she would want
a flower garden. Uprooting, levering, beautifying must begin
at once; there was not a moment to lose.

 When he crossed the gallery, Dale flung open the front
door and realized that only this simple act was necessary to
flood the long central hall with sunshine. Then he went on
and on, fastening back the shutters. Everywhere, the result
was the same. The house, which for so long had been
shrouded in gloom, emerged as a dwelling place of light.
When he approached the rear, he stopped at the room which
had been his mother's, to do there what he bad done in the
hall and the parlors. He had thought this never would be
used again; it had seemed the very abode of death. Now he
visualized its archaic equipment modernised, its dulled
draperies renovated, its darkness dispelled, but its essential

262 V I C T O R I N e

beauty unchanged. It could be made into a bridal chamber
worthy of a fairy princess....

 I le stepped out into the hall again and wall;ed rapidly
through the dining room to the rear gallery, calling as he
went, "Tiger! Tiger! Where are you?"

 "Heah I is, Mistuh Dale." Tiger, who had not been more
than two yards away, answered heartily, looking up from the
wood he was

chopping.

 "Let that go for a while. C;et a crew of men to work. 1
want all those dead branches and tangled vines cut away
from the bridge. Just because you're a tiger, married to a
Iioness, there's no reason why vre should live in a jungle. I
want the yard cleared, too. I don't mean next month or even
next week. 1 mean right now, today."

 "Yessuh, Mistuh Dale.' Tiger's chony comltcnance revealed
surprise, but no reluctance. "You's expectin' company?"

 "Yes, a guest for dinner. I'll have a word with Leona. And
more company lots and lots of it, later on."

"Yessuh. We sho'v`'ill be proud to see all them fine folks at
Sapphira."

 Dale went on to the kitchen and frowned as he looked
around him. It was bad enough that he had not realized,
long before, that the cubicle connecting with his mother's
chamber, where he had slept as a child, should have been
converted into a bathroom and dressing room; why on earth
had he not also realized that the kitchen should be
modernised, that the stove and sink and refrigerator should
all be white and gleaming, that there should be linoleum
instead of rough bricks on the floor? Not that Leona had
ever complained or that her cooking had ever left anything
to be desired; and the place was impregnated with the
fragrance of good food in preparation for the table. But he
must not let Anne Marie into this kitchen until everything
in it had been torn out and properly replaced. Neither Anne
Marie nor Lavinia. He shuddered to think what Lavinia,
whose standards for equipment permitted no compromise
with the obsolete, would think of this kitchen....

"What are you giving me for dinner, Leona?" he inquired.

  She turned from the big black stove, a stocky, turbaned,
brightaproned figure and flashed him a friendly smile,
showing beautiful white teeth. "I got you some shrimp," she
told him, "just come over, fresh, from the Point this mornin'.
Crabs, too, iffen you want 'em. An' a fryer an mirlitons an'
yams an' hot rolls I just finished bakin'. An' a pecan pie. Us
can freeze you a peach cream, too, Mistuh Dale."

"It sounds as if there might be plenty without. But let's get
a bottle of

DANGEREIISE 263

champagne on ice right away, shall we? And put the best
china and glass on the table, as if we were going to have a big
party. I'm expecting only one guest today. But I want it to
seem like a great occasion. It is a great occasion."

 Leona watched him out of sight with the same puzzlement
her husband had regarded him a few minutes earlier, but with
equal good will. Dale's servants were fond of him. Indeed,
before he had finished his critical tour of the house, Tiger s
first recruits were already hacking away at the palmetto, and
Dale could see two men, with axes over their shoulders,
trudging off toward the bridge. There had been no question
of waiting until the next month or the next week to begin
doing what the Boss Man wanted, whether the reason for it
were clear or not.

 If he had not been so absorbed with inspection and plans,
Dale might have wondered why the Professor did not arrive
more promptly; as it was, he was unaware of the length of
time that had elapsed since they parted at the courthouse.
After he had visited every room in the house, he opened a
small safe, theoretically concealed in the wall behind his
headboard, though, of course, Tiger and Leona knew it was
there and were, doubtless, not unfamilial- with its contents.
From it, he took, one by one, small boxes covered in faded
velvet, with lids which sprang up when a spring was touched.
Inside, on satin beddings, printed in gold letters with the
names of such famous firms as Tiffany and Cartier, every
conceivable kind of old-fashioned jewelry came to light:
bracelets, necklaces, earrings, brooches, some in individual
designs, some in complete parures which included all the
different pieces. His plantation, which had originally been
given another name, was rechristened Sapphira because his
mother was so fond of sapphires; and these stones, he
thought, would be especially becoming to Anne Marie, since
they matched her beautiful eyes. There were plenty of them,
very fine ones. And, somehow, pearls seemed suitable, too.
There were several ropes of those. He wondered whether or
not, when he went back to see her the next Sunday, he might
take her pearls one of the smaller strings, perhaps, to begin
with....

 The sound of the piano, announcing the Professor's arrival,
brought him back to the immediate present. He let the pearls
slide once more through his fingers, for the mere pleasure of
feeling their smoothness, then put them back in the velvet
case and returned all the little boxes to their hiding place.
When he entered the parlor, the Professor looked up with a
smile, but finished the serenade he was playing before he rose
to greet his host.

264 VICTORINE

"I hope my tardiness hasn't inconvenienced you, Mr.
Fontenot."

 "I wasn't even aware that you were tardy. I've been having
a look around my house with a view to making a few
improvements." As he spoke, Dale noticed that the large
Persian rug, which covered most of the floor, was frayed on
one side. The damage had not showed when the room was
in semidarkness. Now that light was pouring in, it was
obvious that he must send the rug away for repairs at once.

 The Professor bowed. 'Nothing could give it greater
distinction than it had already. But, perhaps, you've decided
to admit more sunshine."

"Yes, that's the idea."

 Dale's glance was already roving about the room. Some
flower prints, perhaps, instead of quite so many ancestral
portraits. He would keep his mother's picture, of course,
over the mantel his mother, painted by Sargent, in the very
dress Anne Marie had worn the night before and wearing
the pearls he intended to give his sweetheart. He must have
Anne Marie painted, too, and her portrait would go over
another mantel, the one in the dining room, perhaps. But
surely some of these colonial governors, some of these
generals in a series of wars, could be allocated to spaces
where they would seem less overpowering than when they
were grouped so closely together.

 "I was delayed," continued the Professor, who seemed bent
on apolo gies and explanations, "because I stopped at the
Tuileries. As I told you, I felt that Mr. Landry and Mr.
Bennett, though they accepted my story of the unspent
money for the gold slippers, still seemed to believe that I
might be withholding information in regard to the accordion,
despite the fact that I had told the truth about that, also: I
had not seen it from the time poor little Titine left it in my
car, a week ago, until it was produced, in a battered
condition, during the course of the investigation. I knew
that, although the question was in abeyance for the moment,
it was not closed. And I felt that, possibly, I might secure
some light on the subject at the Tuileries."

 "And did you?" Dale inquired, mentally removing another
picture ancestor from his place ON er the parlor sofa and
relegating him to the upper hall.

 "I did, indeed. Not from Scholtze. Whatever his
faults and I would be the first to acknowledge that these
are many he is not a liar. I knew he had told Landry and
Bcnnett that he had no idea how the accordion came to be
found under a trash pile in his back yard and I believed he
was telling the truth. But I still felt Baer might be able to
tell a different story.

D A N C E n E U S E z65

 "I hope he could, if it would help to clear Maurice not
that I have anything against Baer or that I think he's guilty.
But I don't think Maurice is, either. And the Benoits have
been lifelong friends of mine, so, naturally "

 "Well, I gathered the plan was to call Baer for a second
questioning, after the interrogation of Mr. Maurice Benoit.
Of course, I knew that schedule might be subject to change.
But I thought, if I could get to Baer first, and he could or
would tell me anything of import, it might not only clarify,
but ease the situation all around. And I was fortunate. ]
found Baer alone. Scholtze had driven into Jeanerette to fill
a special order he has a number of regular patrons there,
and of course, after his recent trip to the Gulf, he was in an
excellent position to meet their needs. Baer broke down and
told me the whole story of his 'stealment,' as he calls it, of
Titine's accordion. He had taken it out of my car Saturday
night in the hope that she would guess he had done exactly
that, and be forced to appeal to him for its return, to make
up for the shabby trick she had played him. Then, when he
heard she was dead, he was so frightened by the thought that
he still had the accordion in his possession that he hid it in
the nearest place of concealment which suggested itself to
him."

"His uncle's trash pile?"

 "Exactly. I persuaded him that he should either go to
Landry and tell this story without waiting to be summoned,
or that he should let me do so. Obviously, he could not go
immediately, himself, since Scholtze had the car. So I offered
to take him in mine. But, when we got as far as Lafayette, we
found that pleasant and peaceful city in an uproar "

"You found Lafayette in an uproar! What about?"

 Dale was no longer contemplating the frayed rug and the
ancestral portraits. He had not been vitally interested in the
accordion; it had not seemed to him of primary importance.
But what the Professor was at last getting around to tell him
was something else again.

"Well, it appears "

 And so the whole story, or most of it, came out. Dinner was
a long, leisurely meal. Leona had made the peach ice cream
after all. Somehow, she had learned, in that roundabout way
which is even more infallible among blacks than among
whites, that this was the kind Mr. Dale's sweetheart especially
favored; and, though Anne Marie's name had not been
mentioned that day, in I Bona's hearing, she and Tiger were
both convinced that it was at last certain she vitas to be their
new Boss Lady.

266 v I c T O R I N E

The champagne was beautifully iced and the glasses were
filled and then refilled over and over again. And finally, Mr.
Dale and his guest went back to the parlor, and Tiger took
in coffee and, later on, bourbon, and the music man sat at
the piano and played and played and played. The sunshine
was gone now, but the moonlight that was streaming in was
almost as bright. Some folks said there was ghostes at
Sapphira, but they didn't have good knowledge. Wasn't no
ghostes at Sapphira. Magic, maybe. That was different. The
music man, he was making magic right now, on that old
piano. And when the new Boss Lady came, she'd make
more, of different kinds. T hey sure was lucky, Tiger and
Leona, to live in a place like Sapphira.

 Anne Marie was peacefully sleeping in her frilly pink and
white room, having told her mother that everything was all
right, after all. Dale had been a perfect angel. As far as that
went, Didier had been back to see her that afternoon, also,
and had apologized for his conduct the night before and
begged to be forgiven. But it was too late to do him any
good. She had made up her mind at last. Lavinia had said
she was glad and Anne Marie had gone blissfully off to bed,
prepared for happy dreams.

 Now Lavinia was standing by the window in another room:
the same window at which she had stood the night her
husband Claude had been accidentally shot by his cousin
Fleex, who had brought him home to die and then gone
forth to kill himself.

 She had seen Fleex as he went down the garden walk, for
dawn was just breaking, but after that he was swallowed up
in the shadow of the trees. However, she had continued to
stand at the window, as if she were instinctively waiting for
the shot she would not hear, but which she knew would
crackle through the still air of the prairie before daylight
really came. She had known it from the moment Fleex had
said good-by to her, after a last farewelHo the dead man in
the room beyond the man he had loved better than anyone
in the world, except Lavinia herself.

 "I've killed him and ruined your life. I told you once
before it was the end. That time, I didn't mean it. This time,
I do."

 "I know," she said. And then he had left her, and what he
had said was true: life had never been the same again.

 But, strangely enough, it was not of that night when
Claude had died and Fleex had shot himself that she was
thinking now. It was of the other time, the first time Fleex
had told her this was the end and had not meant it; the time
she had thought he did, instead of knowing he did. Everyone
had said he was not good enough for her and he had

D A ~ G E R E U S E 267

gone away, nobody knew where. And before he came back,
never doubting that she would have waited for him, she had
yielded to persuasion and married Claude. So Fleex had gone
away a second time, and she had been a good wife and a
good mother and had made a proud place for herself in the
community. Everyone said there was not a finer woman in the
state than Lavinia Villac and, for once, everyone was right.
But there were many happier women, though this was
something that everyone did not know. And if Fleex had only
not told her, that first time, this was the end, he was never
coming back, he was not good enough for her....

  Well, she had clone what ski. could with her life, and she
had tried, conscientiously, not to think of what it might have
been, if he had not said that, if she had not believed it. She
had faced the world with fortitude, she had never been
afraid-that is, she had never been afraid until Titine
Dargereux had been found dead in the rough rice bin, the
night that Prosper had been the last to leave the mill. Then
she had been frightened, so frightened she could not believe
she had successfully con coaled her terror. Not because. for
one moment, she believed her son guilty of murder, or ever
would believe it, whatever the evidence against him; but
because she knew be had been guilty of lust, almost at the
moment when love was within his grasp, and she vitas
consumed with fear lest he might lose his love because of his
lust....

  So she had pled with Prosper. "Vicky has told you, over and
over again, that she loves you, even though she knows you're
the subject of scandal and perhaps worse. She s told you she
loves you, no matter what you've done or Splat anyone else
thinks you've done. Don't tell her you know you're not good
enough for her. Don't tell her to put you out of her mind.
Tell her instead that you hope to be more worthy of her
someday, but that, meanwhile, it means everything in the
world to you to have her confidence and her love." He had
looked at his mother in amazement, he had not promised to
do as she asked; she knew how strong had been the instinct
that he should confess his unworthiness to his beloved, then
and there, and tell her that he could no longer hope that
there could be any place for him in her life. Lavinia's terror
had continued until she herself hail seen Vicky, until she
realized that no matter what Prosper had said or anyone else
had said, Vicky would never let him go. I le WAS her man
and she knew it. What he confessed and when did not matter;
what mattered was not what he had done in the past, but
what he would do in the future. He would not even need
ever, to confess his repentance and his shame and his sense
of unworthi

z68 vIcTonINr

ness for her to recognise them; she understood how he felt,
without having it put into words. He had sinned and she
would always hate the sin, and recoil from the thought of it.
But she would still love the sinner. And she would know
that he would not fail her again. He was hers forever, just
as she was his forever....

 And now the danger was past and Lavinia did not need to
be afraid any more. Prosper and Vicky were together, both
safe and both happy and, in a few days, they would be man
and wife. Lavinia's son would never lose the glory which she
had missed. Again, she could face the world with fortitude.
She Stolid try to believe that, after all, this was what
mattered most in life.

EPILOGUE
         ..
         ~eyte117:er 2
         1, 1 9 27
         Rice Carnival
         Day
         
   A YEAR AFTER THE TRAGIC DEATH OF TITINE
DARGEREUX, TIIIS AND TIIE

events most closely connected with it had receded from the
forefront of community consciousness. Tile Primeaux' family
cemetery was still carefully tended and, having given the
poor girl her last resting place, they would no more have
neglected her grave than any other in the little enclosure;
but, since Toussaint, it had not been visited by her parents,
whom the Professor had brought to it at that time, and he
himself had been back only once since then, on this second
occasion accompanied by Baer. Paula, after examination by
Dr. Davila, had been committed to the East Louisiana State
Hospital at Jackson, and Amanda and Tobe paid her
periodic visits; but they did not talk about her much, even in
the family circle; hers was certainly one of those cases when
the less said, the better.

 Soon after the new vear, the first formal carnival
celebration was organized in Lafayette by a lady from New
Orleans who missed the seasonal festivities of her native city,
and a gala ball was held which became the talk of the town,
to the exclusion of grimmer subjects, which were dropped
almost completely. During Lent, when there were fewer
dances, the younger set drove 'round and 'round Parkerson
Avenue still the only paved street waving to each other,
and went, in gay groups, to the movies. The girls could not
decide who gave them the greater thrill Ronald Colman in
Beau Geste or Rudolph Valentino in The Sheik; the young
men were almost unanimous in their admiration for Douglas
Fairbanks in The Black Pirate and Red Grange in One
Minute to Play; both men and girls were equally enthusiastic
over two operettas The Chimes of Normandy and
BlOssof7Itime which came to Lafayette. After Easter, eve

272 VICTORINE

nings there were largely devoted to dancing; the Black Swan
Orchestra had achieved tremendous vogue, and "Allons d
Lafayette" became almost a theme song among the gilded
youth of Crowley. They had stopped singing "Valencia" and
"The Desert Song" and had begun to sing "Old Man River"
and "Mississippi Mud." The latter had caught on with
surprising swiftness, considering that it was first sung by an
unknown youngster named Bing Crosby; it was a very
general favorite; still it did not displace "Allons a Lafayette."

 In May, the terrible floods which inundated the entire
region in and around both Crowley and Lafayette, crowding
the latter with thousands of refugees from sections even
more affected, and lasting, in varying degrees of damage and
disaster, for nearly a month, were naturally the main
preoccupation of the countryside and displaced its gaiety
with gloom. Even Lindbergh's nonstop flight to Paris, made
just as the local outlook was at its worst, failed to rouse the
depressed and distressed citizenry to the pitch ol excitement
which prevailed everywhere else throughout the country.
When the waters at last receded, and the grumbling over the
alleged mismanagement of the emergency had begun to
subside, a fresh grievance arose: in a booklet, issued by the
Southern Pacific Lines, Lake Charles, instead of Crowley,
had been publicly acclaimed as the birthplace of the rice
industry; and though the misstatement was afterward
corrected, with apologies, community pride had been cut to
the quick. Of course, the floods had been bad for the crops,
too; several farmers reported a yield of only eight bags of
rice to an acre, instead of the customary ten or eleven. On
the whole, however, conditions were not as discouraging as
had been feared a few months earlier; one editorial in the
Signal even lightheartedly defined an expert in the rice
business as "a man who can look at a field" presumably a
field that was yielding only eight bags! - "and tell how much
gravy it would take to eat that much rice." Brent Winslow's
new variety "Princess Victorine" came up to expectations and
brought a good price; and, before the end of August, the
predominant feeling was no longer one of resentment and
discouragement. The major topic of conversation was the
coming "Rice Carnival Day." A "Rice King" and a "Rice
Queen" would preside over this festival, which would be
celebrated in late September, with a flower show and a baby
show, a pageant and a parade and a ball, a gala luncheon for
distinguished guests, and a "joint political meeting" at which
the gubernatorial candidates would deliver addresses, among
them that forceful brilliant, uncouth young lawyer from
Winniield, whose star seemed to be steadily rising, despite
his defeat three

RICE CARNIVAL DAY 273

years earlier Hucy P. Long. That was the man whom
everyone really wanted to see and to hear.

  It had long been a foregone conclusion that Brent Winslow
would be the unanimous choice of the official
committee which, in turn, reflected the unanimous choice of
the community as the king who would reign over this
carnival. The feeling was almost equally strong and united in
regard to the prospective queen unquestionably, this should
be Winslow's only granddaughter, Anne Marie Villac; but the
committee had some difficulty in persuading Brent to accept
so public an honor. Despite his growing fame and fortune, he
had remained withdrawn and reticent, disparaging his own
achievements and generously giving credit for them to both
his collaborators and his rivals. Mary, his wife, was equally
unassuming and equally reserved, though she had achieved al-
most as much distinction in horticulture as he had in
agronomy; and Lavinia Villac, their only daughter, had never
tried to persuade them to abandon their quiet and retiring
way of life. It remained for Lavinia's children, aided and
abetted by Anne Marie's fiance and Prosper's young wife, to
batter down the elderly gentleman's resistance.

  Anne Marie, to be sure, might not have been considered
entirely disinterested, if there had been detractors of her
merits or even serious rivals for the role. It was well known
that she had hoped for this honor, not only because she was
Brent Winslow's granddaughter, and for this reason logically
entitled to it; but because her wedding day was already fixed
and she would never have another chance to reign, since
there was an unwritten law that, except for Mystic, Carnival
queens, in New Orleans, should be unmarried and Crowley
was now setting a precedent for regional festivals. But her
sweet and even disposition, which almost no one had ever
seen ruffled, had made her a general favorite since her
babyhood, and her blond beauty and gracious manners were
so patently unequaled that no one thought of disputing her
prerogative. However, vanity was not among her faults; and
it was on the basis of her relationship to Brent that she
wheedled her grandfather.

  "Some other girl might get lo be queen if you wouldn't be
king," she told him, beguilingly. "It's natural for the
committee to take kinship into consideration at a time like
this. And then I'd never have a chance to wear a crown and
wear a beautiful long white train and everything that goes
with them."

  "From what I hear, you're going to wear a beautiful white
train, not to mention a crown, a couple of months from now,"
Brent told her rather dryly.

274 VICTOUINE

 "But the crown won't be made of rice! It'll be made of
orange blossoms. And the train won t be a queen's train! It'll
be just a bride's train."

 "Dale wouldn't thank you for that word 'just' and I
wouldn't blame him," Brent said, still dryly. "Well, you'd
make a beautiful queen, there's no denying that, just as you
ll make a beautiful bride. You take naturally to crowns and
silks and satins and that sort of thing. I don't. I'd feel like a
fool, all decked out in doublet and knee breeches."

 "You might, if you'd got fat like so many men your age,"
Anne Marie said sweetly. "But you've got a wonderful figure.
I don't believe you've gained an ounce since you were
twenty-five, and Grandmother's always said you were the
best-built man she ever saw, when she married you. Of
course, she has a wonderful figure herself, so she's in a
position to appreciate yours. And so has Mother in fact, I
think we've all got pretty good figures. At least, Dalt's
forever paying me compliments on mine. Don't you think I'd
look nice in royal regalia, Grandfather?"

"Very nice. I've told you that already."

 "Well, just think how much more effective ply outfit would
be if I had you, dressed to match, beside me on that first
float, with our pages, all in white, too, and my maids and
your knights in pastel colors, like a living rainbow."

 Anne Marie's voice, lily her language, vvas becoming
dreamy with joyful anticipation. Mary, who, so far, had taken
no part in the discussion, now interposed a mild comment.

"Anne Marie's right, Brent," she said quietly.

"About what?"

 "About everything. it's natural for her to want to be the
queen of the first rice carnival and it wouldn't be half so
logical for her to be chosen unless you were the king. It's
also true that you've got the figure and the bearing to wear
the costume which would be suitable for such an oc-
casion most men your age would look ridiculous in it, just
as she said, but you could carry it off. Furthermore, it's true
that she'd be seen to much better advantage if she were
seated beside you, instead of some fat old man always
provided she'd be on the royal float instead of the fat old
man's grant/daughter, if you don't listen to reason."

 "'Et to Brute!'" Brent said, glancing sideways at his wife,
who returned the glance in a startled way. She had never
heard him quote Shakespeare before indeecl, she would
have said, offhand, that he did not know any to quote,
though she had learned, after nearly fifty years of married
life, not to be too sure what Brent might or might not know.
"Suppose we talk about something else for a while?" he now
inquired.

RICE CARNIVAL DAY 275

But he did not say it curtly, arid Mary knew he was not
offended by her championship of Anne Marie or, as far as
that went, with anything Anne Marie herself had saicl. Mary
was even hopeful that he might think the matter over, as a
result of this conversation, and eventually regard it in a more
favorablc light. But she did not dare try to hurry him, despite
her realisation that it would be necessary for the committee
to have his final answer within the next few days. With this in
mind, she telephoned Vicky and asked if there were any
likelihood that Prosper and his wife might be coming out to
the farm within the next day or two.

 "Why, yes," Vicky responded, without hesitation. "We can
come this evening, if you want us to."

 "That would be fine. We really haven't heard much about
your trip yet, you know. Prosper's grandfather's especially
interested in hearing more about the rice paddies in Java.
Incidentally . . . you knew he hadn't actually consented to
serving as king of the rice carnival, didn't you?"

 "No! And Pm sure Prospcr didn't, either. We'll be out right
after supper or would you like us to come to supper?"

 "I'm sure that would please my husband very much. You
haven't been here to a meal, you know, since you came back."

 "We're a couple of wretches. But we'll mend our ways,
starting tonight."

 Mary hung up the receiver with a smile of pleasure her
first favorable impressions of Victorine had been confirmed
and strengthened every time she had seen the girl; it would
be good to see her again tonight. Having set the wheels in
motion for a festive supper, Mary took her sewing and went
out to the arbor, overhung with wild grapevine, in the garden
where roses bloomed all the year round and other flowers in
swift succession. Then, seated at ease, she dwelt with
contentment on the successive steps of this ripening
acquaintance.

 First, there had been that party at Lavinia's when Prosper
was under a terrible cloud, and Vicky had won the hearts of
everyone by her staunch and gallant refusal to admit that
such a cloud existed or could exist, as far as he was
concerned. Then there had been the morning she had come
out to try the horse Grandpa Jim had given her and had put
it gaily and expertly through its paces, before going on to
delight the Primeaux with a visit, too-a visit which had ended
in her swift recall to her stricken father's side. He had rallied,
temporarily, but that same day Vicky's life had been
threatened by a maniac, and it was only

:76 v I c T O n i N E

her own presence of mind in the face of sudden danger
which had saved her. Yet she had shown no traces of the
shock this shattering experience must have given her when,
three days later, she was married to Prosper in the presence
of his immediate family. Moise LaBranche was not even able
to rise tram the sofa, to which he had been lifted from his
bed in the adjoining room, when he gave his daughter away;
but, again, Vicky had betrayed no qualms as to her course.
She was a grave bride, rather than a gay one, but her gravity
became her; Mary would never forget the way she had
pronounced her marriage vows, or the way she looked at
Prosper as she said, "'For better, for worse, for richer, for
poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do us part."'

  A month later, her father's temporary improvement
permitted him to have the wedding feast on the lavish and
expansive scale which he had originally planned, and all the
relatives, near and far, were present on this festive occasion.
That night, Vicky was radiant. It was obvious that, to her,
union with her beloved had meant rapture; there had been
no doubts, no fears, no reservations of any kind; and
because she had given herself with such joyous
self-abandonment to her bridegroom, he had been able to
make her transition from maidenhood to wifehood one of
triumph for them both. Mary's own marriage had been
happy, but, almost from the beginning, it had been one of
devotion, rather than of passion, and she knew this was true
in Lavinia's case, also. For herself, she had no regrets; for
her daughter, she had stifled them. Now, in the girl who had
chosen Prosper for a mate, she recognised, for the first time,
the glory of what she had never previously missed and of
which Lavinia had been robbed....

  Mary next saw Vicky at the funeral of Moise LaBranche,
only a few weeks later. Throughout the services, the girl was
completely composed. That she must have wept, Mary could
not doubt; but her countenance was not disfigured with tears
in the presence of the hosts who came to pay a final tribute
to one of the finest men their state had given to the world;
and later, when Marry and Lavinia sa\v her by themselves,
she was still calm and, in a sense, even content.

  "He wanted very much to come home," she told them. "I
mean, to die. He knew that he did not have long to live and
the only dread he expressed about death was that it might
overtake him while he was 'amid the alien com.' that's the
w ay he always spoke of it. So he had his wish. He did get
home in time to avoid what, to him, would have been the
greatest tragedy. Then he was afraid he might leave me
unprotected. I le wanted to live long enough to see me
happily married. And this

RICE CARNIVAL DAY 277

wish was fulfilled, too. After that, he was ready to go. He was
old and tired and I'm afraid he suffered a great deal. Now he
is at peace."

 "You don't think it hastened the end making the effort to
have that big family party?" Mary asked solicitously.

 Vicky smiled. She had continued to be calm, but this was
the first time she had smiled. "I don't think so. But, if it did,
that wouldn't matter, either. He wanted very mucl, to have
that big family party, to see me among Prosper's kinsfolk,
since I didn't have any of my own who could be here. That
wasn't such a serious wish as the others, of course, but it was
an important one, too. It made him very happy to feel it had
been granted. He joked sometimes about a fairy godmother
who had said he might make three wishes anct that they'd all
come true. He said she'd kept her word. But later, toward the
end, he didn't talk about fairies. He talked about divine
loving-kindness. He said the Eternal Father had been very
good to him. I know he felt that way. I know that he wasn't
afraid to die, that he believed in immortality. Some Jews
don't, you know." She made the pronouncement quite without
self-consciousness and went on in the same quiet voice in
which she had spoken before. "He quoted something else to
me, quite often, just as he did that line about the alien corn.
'The enct of birth is death, the end of death is life, and
wherefore mournest thou?' That's an inscription on a
tombstone in Rock Creek Park Cemetery. E le took me to
see it, the last time we were in Washington. He told me never
to forget what it said. I never shall."

 "I'm sure you won't," Lavinia told her warmly. Among the
many reasons why Mary rejoiced over Prosper's marriage was
the consciousness that his choice had made Lavinia so happy.
"But, my dear, isn't this house going to seem very strange
and well, empty to you without your father? Wouldn't it be
a good idea, perhaps, for you and Prosper to come and stay
with me for a little while?"

 "Thank you, Mother." Vicky had called Lavinia Mother
from the beginning and had, in fact, addressed all Prosper's
relatives as if they were hers, too, which had delighted them.
"As a matter of fact, Prosper and I have been talking about
what we'd better do next. He was going to talk to you about
it, too, himself, but I may as well, since the subject's come up.
I'm sure he wouldn't mind. The house does seem a little
strange and empty you're right about that. So we thought,
if it wouldn't mean too much work for you to handle both
mills if you wouldn't feel we were imposing on you we
might take a trip around the world. He reminded me you'd
wanted him to have one, after he graduated from
college he'd told Father and me about this plan the very
first time he

278 VICTOItINE

came to see us and I knew things hadn't come just right for
it then; but they do seem to be just right for it now and we
thought you might like to have us go together, on a wedding
journey. I think it's bothered Prosper a little, not on his
account, but on mine, because he felt I was missing
something I was entitled to when we couldn't have one as
soon as we were married. It shouldn't have. I've been
traveling most of my life and I was glad enough to stay in
one place for a while; anyway, all I wanted was Prosper.
He's still all I need to make me happy. But I'll be glad to go
anywhere with him, just as I'm glad to stay anywhere with
him. So, if you approve "

"My dear, of course I approve. That is, unless "

"Unless what, Mother?"

 "Unless you're expecting a baby. You haven't said you
were and I'm not trying to force your confidence, but I'd be
sorry to have you take any chances. You see I I miscarried
the first time I was pregnant. I've never spoken about it
much. I think most people believe it wasn't a great blow to
me. But they're mistaken. I wouldn't want you to have a
tragic loss like that."

 Mary looked at her daughter in amazement. More than
thirty years had passed since the mishap to which Lavinia
had just referred and she had never mentioned it before; as
she had just said, everyone, even her mother, had assumed
it had not been a severe blow. Lavinia certainly knew how to
keep secret anything she did not choose to reveal. But now
she had chosen to disclose a sorrow which, all this time, had
been locked in her heart, because she hoped that no such
calamity would be risked again. Vicky looked intently at her
husband's mother and spoke in the same grave way that had
so impressed Mary when the girl pronounced her marriage
vows.

 "I'm terribly sorry," she said. "No one ever told me about
that before. I promise, Mother, that I'll be very careful when
I'm expecting a baby. But I'm not, yet. In a way, ['d have
been glad if it had happened right off. It must be wonderful
when it does, when a girl feels that the man she loves has
given her a child at the same time that she's given herself to
him conception has a double meaning then, doesn't it? I
don't mind telling you I've been a little disappointed,
because I'd have loved to have that double meaning a part
of my marriage. And then, of course, it would have meant a
lot to Father to know . . . but, perhaps, it's better this way.
Because Prosper really has his heart set on that trip, and
now I know it would have worried you to have me take it
and why, if I were pregnant, I wouldn't have gone."

RICEnNIVAL DAY 279

 "Thank you, darling," Lavinia said in a hushed voice. Then,
speaking more naturally, she continual, "Of course, I'll be
glad to take charge of both mills. You and Prosper should be
on your way as soon as possible."

 Vicky nodded. "Before I do get pregnant," she said and
smiled again. "But please don't worry, Mother. I promise, if
it happens while we're gone, I'll be very, very careful and
even come straight home if you'd feel any better about it.
When we do...." She hesitated a moment and then plunged
ahead. "We thought perhaps it would be better if we came to
Crowley to live. Of course, this isn't far off.. But the com-
muting does add up to a long day for Prosper, especially
when he's kept late at the mill and, besides, if we were in
Crowley, we'd have that much more time together. I haven't
any special sentiment about this house, now that Father's
dead. It was his pride and joy and I'm glad to have lived here
with him for that reason. But it isn't the kind I'd build myself,
if I had my choice, and I'm pretty sure Prosper feels the same
way, though he hasn't said so he wouldn't, of course, so
soon, for fear of hurting my feelings. But we'd both like one
more like yours and nearer you."

 It was not often that Mary had seen tears in her daughter's
eyes. But she saw them then, as Lavinia rose and walked over
to Vicky and put her arms around her son's wife.

 So Vicky and Prosper had started off on their trip, leaving
the great house and the great dog in charge of Donovan and,
periodically, letters came back, addressed to first one member
of the family and then to another, telling about the wonderful
things they were seeing and the wonderful things they were
doing. These letters were shared by their recipients, so Mary
had seen them all. Prosper and Vicky were in Hollywood,
making the rounds of the studios. They were in Hawaii,
bathing from the beach at Waikiki. They were in Japan,
overawed by the Daibutsu. They were in Hong Kong, buying
silks and riding in rickshas. They were in Java, staying at a
tea plantation. They were in Colombo, going crazy over the
jewels that were poured out like so many grains of rice for
them to choose among. They were in Egypt, going on camel
back to see the Sphinx. They were in Athens, spending the
night of the full moon on the Acropolis. They were in Venice,
floating down the Grand Canal in a gondola. They were in
Paris, revering in the opera. They were in Strasbourg, visiting
the Zweigs. They were in London, bidden to a Royal Garden
Party....

230 VICTOIlINE

 "And now," Vicky had written Lavinia, "we're coming
home. It's been simply grand, every moment of it, and I
hope you all enjoyed reading our letters. But here's the
really big piece of news. Last week, I started losing my
breakfast, and the first two or three times I thought it was
just the English food. (Coffee you wouldn't even recognize
as such, toast served on silver racks so it will be nice and
cold, rice relegated to pasty puddings, horrid little fish called
plaice.) But a night or so ago, I passed out cold no, I
hadn't had too much to drink, I just fainted. So our
ambassador got me an appointment with one of those
topflight TT larley Street specialists, and the pompous old
boy said there wasn't the slightest doubt.... We've got
passage on the Leviathan and we'll be home in Augtlst, early
enough for Prosper to help with the worst of the rush season
and N70tl and Gralldma and I can start right in making baby
clothes!"

 Lavinia had brought the letter straight out to the farm and
she and Mary had read it and reread it together. And now,
so opportunely that it seemed to Nlary providential, Vicky
and Prosper were back again and could be counted on to
aid and abet Anne Marie and Dale in urging Brent Winslow
to serve as lying on Rice Carnival Day.... Why, that must be
the young couple driving into the passage this very minute!
Mary folded her sewing and rose, taking the flower-bordered
walk that led from the arbor toward the house, as she went
forward to greet them.

 Prosper no longer drove a dilapidated Oldsmobile. (For
that matter, neither did Anne Marie. Dale had insisted on
giving her a new car for one of her engagement presents and
had made sure that it was neither the same make nor the
same model as the one belonging to his future
brother-in-law, or even the same colon) The jade-green
Chrysler convertible, equipped with a French horn the
travelers had brought back with them, was the last word in
chic and had been affectionately nicknamed "The Green
Apple"; from this, they alighted at the passage gate which led
to the flower garden. Prosper held out his hand to Vicky
and she took it, descending with deliberation, instead of
leaping lightly from the car as she once would have done;
but, except for the slightly rounded and very becoming
contour) which had displaced her extreme slenderness, her
figure sho\ved no change and her face glowed with health.
She threw her arms around Mary and then stood back to
spread out the newspaper she had hitherto kept folded in
one hand.

 "Where's Grandfather?" she inquired eagerly. "I ve got to
get hold of him right away! He hasn't seen this, has he'
Well, there's something in it I've got to show him!"

1\ I C E C A R N I V A L D A Y 281

  Brent, as usual, was in his workroom. Vicky invaded it
without a qualm and the others followed her. She embraced
him in the same joyous way that she had Mary and then laid
the evening paper before him.

  "Look at that!" she said excitedly, pointing to an editorial
with tht heading, "Perennial Gratitudc." Then, slowly and
expressively, she read aloud the article that appeared beneath
these words:

  "'To attempt to set a value on Brent Winslow's
contribution to the rice industry and Southwest
Louisiana would be like putting a price mark on the soil,
the sunshine or the elements that go into a crop; for the
rices he has developed have been brought out at a time
when old varieties seemed to have worn out and when
the very condition of the business called for remedy.

  "'Every market report, every warehouse receipt book
and every article on rice carries words that are in
themselves testimonials to the importance of the man.
His perseverance and his determination have
demonstrated the effectiveness of his method of
approaching his labors and undertaking his quest for
something better.

  "'His achievements will be perpetuated each year
when the fields turn green, then bend for the harvest.'"

  "You see what people think of you, Grandfather!" she said
happily. "Prosper and I are so proud of you we're nearly
bursting."

  Brent removed the strong glasses which he had begun to
use for work, in addition to a microscope, during the past few
years, and wiped them carefully; somehow, they had gathered
moisture. "That's young Will Duson's writing," he said. "I lis
father was always a good friend of mine  one of my first,
when I came here, and it's been a friendship that's lasted into
the next generation. I'd expect my family to be pleased, even
if Will did exaggerate some. Ilut that's not saying everyone "

  "Father always said a man wouldn't be worth his salt if he
didn't make a few enemies, along with a host of friends,"
Vicky said swiftly. "Someone's always going to be jealous,
someone's always going to be mean, someone's always going
to be crooked. But you wouldn't give one or two spiteful,
envious persons the satisfaction of seeing you disappoint
thousands, would you the thousands Mr. Duson's speaking
for when he writes about 'Perennial (gratitude'? That
wouldn't be reasonable Grandfather, it wouldn't even be fair.
It isn't just your family to whom this means a lot it's the
neighborhood, the town, the parish, the state in a way, the
whole country. What Mr. Duson says is true to try to set a

282 VICTORINE

value on your contribution would be like trying to put a
price mark on soil and sunshine."

 "If it is true I'm not saying whether it is or not it
wouldn't be any truer just because I went in for play acting."

 "It wouldn't be play acting! It would be interpreting the
truth, so that everyone who still doesn't understand what it
means to say you're the Rice King would know it! It would
be making those who do know it happy to see that you
appreciate their understanding and their affection! They're
offering vou the greatest honor they know how to be-
stow even if you don't like the form it's taking, you must
realise that. You can't be so ungracious as to spurn their
offering."

 Brent sat very still for a moment and then he put his
glasses on again and reread the editorial quietly to himself.
Vicky did not speak while he was doing so and neither did
the others; they all remained very still.

 "'Every year when the fields turn green and then bend to
the harvest,"' Brent said at last. "That's the greatest tribute
I could ask for. If people think of me at those seasons, after
I'm gone, their memory will be the monument I'd want,
above all others. And it does a man good, every now and
then, to have such words spoken while he can still hear
them. You're right, Vicky, 1 can't be so ungracious and seem
so ungrateful as not to do what's asked of me. With all of
you to help me, I guess I can see it through."

 After that, there was no more hesitation; preparations for
the great event went buoyantly forward. The king and the
queen were to ride in a float at the head of the parade in
which the rice industry, all the way from seed propagation to
consumption, would be fittingly represented. It was to be the
most ambitious display of its kind ever undertaken in
Southwest Louisiana and the floats were to be followed by
private passenger cars, similarly decorated. All this involved
endless activity on the part of the committee and the
prospective participants. Dale grumbled that he could never
snatch an uninterrupted moment with Anne Marie; she was
either endlessly talking on the telephone or she was
endlessly trying on clothes. Brent Winslow came into town
as regularly and mingled with as many people as
Grandfather Jim, and the nonagenarian insisted this was the
first time his son-in-law ever got around. From now on,
Garland insisted, there would be a change; Brent had
learned how to have a good time and the next thing they
knew, he would be playing dominoes" Lavinia and Prosper
were both overworked. After all, the season was in full
swing; they could not stop superintend

RICE CARNIVAL DAY' 283

ing operations at the Monro\ ia and the Claudia because of
the carnival, and yet, they must do their share in making that
a success. Vicky offered to move over to Crowley for the time
being; it would save Prosper the fatigue of commuting. But
both he and Lavinia vetoed the suggestion. Her visit should
come afterward, when things had quieted down; mean while,
she must save her strength for the great day.

 Privately, Vicky thought she had strength to spare, but she
did not argue about it. She was very happy and she saw no
reason why she should add to the burdens of her husband
and his mother by causing them anxiety, however
unnecessarily. It had now definitely been decided that, after
the baby was born, she and Prosper would build a house of
their own near Crowley, about halfway between Lavinia's and
the farm, so that they would be equally accessible to both.
The land was family property and architectural drawings had
already been made. During the daytime, Vicky pored over
these, so that she would be able to discuss possible changes
for the better with Prosper when he came home at night.
Captain Bob had been consulted about the landscape
gardening and plans for that were also under way; Vicky had
no idea of trying to rival either Mary Winslow or Anne Marie
in her flower garden, but she did want something that would
seem adequate and suitable to these experts. The LaBranche
house was to be converted into a museum, which would
perpetuate the memory of Moise, and the grounds would be
used for a park which would be open to the public. Some of
the servants, who had never been really contented in
Lafayette, though they had not deserted their posts, would be
dismissed with good references and substantial farewell gifts
of money; some would remain in the museum and park as
caretakers; Donovan, who was delighted at the prospect of
being a Nannie again, and at least two others would move to
Crowley with the young couple. The reorganisation of all
these lives was not without its problems and they could not
be solved hastily; but none of them involved hard feelings or
financial difficulties. Vicky settled down contentedly to
dealing with them. She would enjoy the great day when it
arrived, but she did not share Anne Marie's impatience for it,
any more than she had Lavinia's feeling that she would be
thankful when it was ovc r.

 It finally dawned, bright and clc ar and warm. The streets
were festooned with the carnival c<'lors, pennants floated
from the wires suspended across the avenue and all the
pillars were wrapped in gay bunting. Crowds from the
neighboring tOWIls and surrounding countryside milled
about, mingling jovially with the citizenry which was out in
full

z84 vIcTonINE

{orce and which was expressing itself with gusto. "My
daddy's tractor's gonna pull the float the king and queen
ride on...." "Wish the stores was open. I'd buy something for
my kids that was too young to bring along. Maybe there'll be
a chance after the parade...." "Did you know Pathe News
was taking pictures? I tell you it won't be long before the
whole country knows this is its rice capitak . . ." "it don't
look a hell of a lot like six years ago when rice that cost us
moron three dollars a pocket to plant had to be sold for
less'n a dollar and a half...." "Long'll sweep the state, you'll
see; he damn near did it four years ago." All the shops had
gone in for special displays, many of them ingenious,
symbolic or really beautiful. The largest crowd was gathered
around Brandt's Furniture Store, where an enormous
plate-glass window revealed a bed of snowy rice, on which
Brent Winslow's name, captioned with the words, A
GREAT MAN, had been traced in golden grains. Standing
sheaves of rice formed the lower part of the background for
this base and, above them, a central portrait of Brent was
panted on either side with the names he had given the
varieties of rice for which he was responsible. To make this
display even more convincing and complete were two
placards. one at the lower left and the other at the lower
right. The former was inscribed:

             7> % OF THE 19~7
             I l.S. RICE CROP
      WAS GnOWN TO GRAIN DEVELOPED BY
               BRENT WINSLOW
            5o : BLUE CAMELLIA
            I 5co PRINCESS MARY
            I o % LADY LAVINIA
        Or IS CONFIDENTLY EXPECTED
            PRrNCESS VICTORINE
       WILL BuisG THE TOTAL TO 80 /0

The right-hand placard W.15 inscribed.

              1;URBANK OF IHE

 ] LICE INDUSTRY
BRENT WINSLOW

 ISIS ACIIIEVE~IENTS WILL BE PERPETUATED
EACH YEAR WHEN THE FIELDS TURN GREEN,
THEN BEND FOR THE HARVEST.

 THE SiaiZal

RICE CARNIVAL DAY 285

 This window also called forth its quota of conversation:
"Neat, I call it...." "No moretnhe deserves, him. Say, look at
the picture, will you? That's made of rice, too...." "I'll be
thinking about that piece from the Signal and about Brcnt
Winslow both whenever I harvest my crops. . . ."

 More and more people stopped before this display, more
and more voiced their enthusiasm for it; meanwhile, the
milling throngs kept on increasing in volume. By noon, the
streets were already so crowded that it was hard to clear the
way for the distinguished guests who were to attend the
luncheon at the Egan Hotel; as it was strictly "stag," Lavinia
and Vicky and Anne Marie had to get their impression of it
through their menfolk, and Anne Marie was not much
interested, anyhow. She was preoccupied with her beautiful
white dress and her rice crown and her long train, and
Lavinia, who would gladly have heard an account of the
speeches, was kept busy helping her. But Vicky listened with
absorption to the details Prosper brought them.

 "That's enough for now," he said at last, "we must get going
or they'll think we're not coming and someone else will steal
the seats that have been saved for us."

 They were not actually late in taking their appointed places;
on the other hand, they certainly had no time to spare. The
music of the ap preaching band could already be heard, and
the mayor, the city clerk  who was acting as grand
marshal and the chief of police, all mounted on fine spirited
horses, were swinging into sight with their escort. Next came
the royal float, surmounted by the throne. Vicky leaned
forward eagerly to get an immediate ~ few of it; then she
felt impelled to glance back at her husband and his mother
and grandmother and found it was their faces that she wanted
to watch, even more than the two regal figures. For this was
their great day, too; Mary's pride in her husband, Prosper's
in his sister, Lavinia's in her daughter, illumined their counte-
nances. Vicky had seen exultation in Prosper's expression
before, but she was seeing it for the first time in the
expression of the others. It held her fascinated and a little
awed at its underlying meaning, different in each case, but, in
each, equally strong, equally moving. Mary, she knew, was
thinking that this celebration was a symbol of the goal to
which the hardships of pioneering, the discouragements of
futile experimentation, the hopes long delayed before
fulfillment had, all the time, been leading. Prosper w as
forgetting that Anne Marie had lacked strength and faith in
a crisis, he was telling himself that he had expected too much
of her and that their temporary friction had been all his fault.

286 vlCTor~lNE

I le was beginning to under stand that, if she had possessed
their mother's fortitude, she would have lacked something of
her infinite appeal; he was remembering that he lead adored
her from the day of her birth and was convinced that the
adulation she was now receiving was only her just due. And
Lavinia? It was tenderness, rather than pride, that she felt
for her daughter. Perhaps she, like Vicky, recognized Anne
Marie's limitations better than Prosper did; perhaps she
loved the girl more because she knew that, all her life, Anne
Marie must be shielded and cherished, and was rejoicing
because she knew marriage with Dale would assure such
shielding and such cherishing. The pride, Vicky decided, was
not in Anne Marie, but in Brent Winslow. Lavinia, like
Mary, had shared his struggle and, even more actively than
Mary, the fruits of his success. He and she had harvested
these together. Now, she, too, was having her special reward.

 "Don't look at us, honey, look at the float," Vicky heard
Prosper saying and, obediently, she turned in its direction. It
was almost opposite them now; this was, indeed, the moment
when she would see it to best advantage. The throne was
placed high, in order to permit grouping the
ladies-in-waiting, the knights and pages on the steps leading
up to it; their rainbow-colored costumes formed a radiant
contrast to the dazzling white worn by the king and queen,
as Anne Marie had predicted. Also, according to prediction,
Brcnt wore his royal robes well; he had, indeed, the figure
and bearing which permitted him to carry them with dignity,
even with distinction. However, he took his honors seriously;
he bowed responsibly to the cheering multitude, and when
the float halted briefly opposite the place where his family
was stationed, he looked straight at his wife and gave her a
grave personal salute. For him, this was a momentous, rather
than a festive, occasion; like Mary, he saw in it the symbol
of the goal they had so long striven to reach and, like her,
he felt that its meaning was fraught with solemnity. It was
Anne Marie who dimpled and smiled, who threw kisses to
her family and friends, who, every now and then, laughed
softly in response to a gay greeting. The farther the float
progressed, the louder grew the applause; she had captured
the hearts of everyone in the milling crowds; she was their
sweetheart, their darling, their treasure.

 On and on came the other floats. One, dominated by a
beaming farmer, carried specimens of everything he might
hope to raise in the region not only rice, but cotton, corn,
sugar, fruits, dairy products. Another bore a wagon loaded
with rice in the shock, surrounded by colored laborers
carrying their pitchforks, as if ready for work. Still an

PlCE CARNIVAL DAY 287

other was surmounted by a miniature field of rice with some
land under cultivation and scattered models of tractors made
to scale; the effect of active farming operations which this
produced was very realistic. Vicky, clapping her hands,
announced she was sure this would be the prize winner.

 "I think you're probably right," Prosper told her. The last of
the floats was in sight now and the private pleasure cars,
almost covered with sheaves, were following in its wake.
"Look, when the way's clear, what do you say we go back to
h~lothcr's?" he continued. "If you're bound and determined
to go to the hall tonight, I think you ought to have a little
rest first."

 "I'm not bound and determined to go to the ball. You're
the one that's really hankering to do that. You know you
wouldn't miss feasting your eyes again on Anne Marie in all
her glory. I'm perfectly willing to go back to the house and
rest, if you want me to. However, why don't you say right out,
meanwhile, you d like to go to that political meeting that's
going to be held under the shade trees on the east lawn of
the courthouse right after the parade, and that you'll feel
easier about me if you see me tucked into bed first? I know
you're dying to hear Huey Long talk some more and light
into the other candidates, which he couldn't do at luncheon."

 Prosper laughed. "All right 1 do want to see Anne Marie
again in all her glory and I would liLc to hear Hucy Long
talk again. No use trying to fool you, honey. Just the same,
even if I didn't and even if I weren't, I think you ought to
rest. So be a good girl and come along. The 'Green Apple's'
parked right around the corner. What about you, Mother?
Are you ready to leave, too, or do you want to stay a little
longer?"

"I guess we're all ready to IC eve. We've seen what we really
came for."

 When they reached Lavinia s house, they found that the
entire court and most of the family had reached there before
them. The living room was full of merrymakers. Anne Marie
and Brent Winslow were standing in front of the fireplace,
receiving congratulations, Dale was hovering near by, and
Millie and Verna were serving sandwiches and something that
looked suspiciously like champagne. Lavinia seemed pleased,
rather than otherwise, that the others had not waited for her
in order to begin this celebration. Nevertheless, she
immediately took over, guiding her mother to a seat on the
most comfortable sofa and whispering to Vicky that she need
not stay in such a crowd any longer than she felt like it.

288 VICTORINI!

Vicky was enjoying tile crowd and she had never thought of
such a thing as a daytime rest until it had been foisted upon
her; but, because that would give Prosper a chance to slip
out to the political meeting, she good-naturedly agreed that,
perhaps, she would go upstairs for a while.

 "I never would have thought, a year ago last spring, that
you'd be so tractable," he told her, when they had reached
their room and she had taken off her dress and was reaching
for a negligee.

 "I am entirely cowed by my husband and his family," she
replied demurely. "Besides, I thought that possibly just
possibly if I came up here, you might find time for a little
love-making, which I confess I should enjoy, between the
political meeting and the ball."

 "You young devil! You know perfectly well that, if I start
making love to you, I won't get to the political meeting at all
and, possibly, not to the ball."

 "Oh, you'd get to the loll! Mother and Anne Marie would
see to that. They'd come and pound on the door if we lost
track of the time. I'd want them to. After all, this is Anne
Marie's great day hers and your grandfather's. We mustn't
forget that or begrudge it to them. Because all our days are
great days--aren't they, darling?"

 He came and put his arms around her, suddenly grave.
"Yes. And they always will be. 'As long as fields turn green
and bend for the harvest.' That goes for us as well as for
Grandfather. And you can't put a value on the way we feel
about each other, either, any more than you can on the sun
and the soil. It's as priceless as they are."

 For a moment, they stood still, enfolded in each other's
embrace. Then, as Prosper's arm tightened around her waist
and she felt the rising tide of his desire, Vicky gently freed
herself and shook her head.

 "If I didn't believe that was true, I'd keep you here now,"
she saicl. "I'd snatch at every moment I could have with you,
because I'd be afraid there couldn't be enough of them. But
I know there will be. So I want you to go, to take your place
with other men, to do your share in the things they're
doing and then come back to me. I know you always will.
Good-by, darling."