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For Paul Deulin's gayety always rose to the emergency of the moment. He came of a stock that had made jests on the guillotine steps. He was suddenly pressed for time, and had scarcely a moment in which to bid his old friend good-bye, and no leisure to make those farewell speeches which are nearly always better left unsaid.
My father and Wanda are out at a ball, or something, so I am afraid you will not see them." "Do it," whispered Deulin's voice from behind. And Cartoner followed Martin up the narrow passage that led to the garden of the Bukaty Palace. Martin led the way without speaking. He opened the door with a key, and passed through first.
"I did not intend to," replied Deulin, "when I came out of my room this morning." "But you and Mr. Cartoner have Polish friends, have you not?" asked Netty. "Not in Warsaw," was the reply. "Suppose we shall meet again," broke in Joseph Mangles at this moment, halting on the threshold of the gorgeous apartment. He tapped the number on the door in order to draw Deulin's attention to it.
Wanda came into the room a few minutes later. She was, of course, in mourning for Martin now, as well as for Poland. But she still carried her head high and faced the world with unshrinking eyes. Cartoner followed her into the room, his thoughtful glance reading Deulin's face. "You have news?" "I have heard from your father at last."
The careless word seized the attention of one man who happened to hear it Reginald Cartoner, a listener, not a talker and made that man Paul Deulin's friend for the rest of his life. As there is point de culte sans mystere, so also there can be no lasting friendship without reserve.
Cartoner went away so suddenly. The people in the streets are so odd and quiet. And down stairs in the restaurant, at dinner, I see them exchange glances when the Russian officers come into the room. I distrust the quietness of the people, and uncle Mr. Deulin's gayety I distrust that, too. And then, you; you so often ask us to go away and leave you here alone."
There were tears in the woman's eyes. But Deulin's smile was sadder. "And this is the end," he said "the end!" "No," said Lady Orlay; "it is not. It cannot be. I have never known a great happiness yet that was not built upon the wreckage of other happinesses. That is why happy people are never gay. It is not the end, Paul. Heaven is kind." "Sometimes," answered Deulin, grudgingly.
For we all have friends whom we are content to see pass by on the other side. Deulin's duty was, moreover, such that it got strangely mixed up with his pleasure, and it often happens that discretion must needs overcome a natural sociability.
Wanda mounted the stairs along the huge corridor. She passed Netty's room, and ascended to the second story. All fell out as she had wished. At the head of the second staircase there is a little glass-partitioned room, where the servants sit when they are unemployed. In this room, reading a French newspaper, she found Paul Deulin's servant, a well-trained person.
And Miss Cahere's eyelids fluttered, but she did not actually raise her eyes towards her interlocutor. An odd smile flickered for an instant on Deulin's lips. "Ah!" he said, with a sharp sigh and that was all. He bowed, and turned away to speak to a man who had been waiting at his elbow for some minutes.
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