"I'm glad of that," said I with satisfaction.
"Of course," she remarked, "that would have been the climax of absurdity."
"Would it?"
"Certainly."
"Why?"
"Fancy such a nice young man kissing his cook in the cellar."
"That isn't what you meant."
"Isn't it?" she asked airily.
"No."
"What did I mean then, Mr. O'Ryan?"
"I don't know," said I thoughtfully.
She gave me one of her smiling but searching looks, in which there seemed a hint of apprehension. Then, apparently satisfied by her scrutiny, she favored me with a bewitching smile in which I thought to detect a slight trace of relief.
"You will keep me, then?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Thank you!"
She stretched out her beautiful hand impulsively: I took it.
"Thanks – and good-by," she said a trifle gravely, Then, with a shadow of the smile still lingering: "Good-by: because, from now on, it is to be master and servant. We must both remember that."
I was silent.
"You will remember, won't you?" she said – the laughter flashed in her eyes: – "especially if we ever happen to be in the cellar together?"
I said, forcing a smile and my voice not quite steady: "Suppose we finish that scene, now, Thusis?"
"Good heavens!" she said: – "and the Admiral watching us!" She drew her hand from mine and pointed at the picture over my mantel.
"I'm afraid of that man," she said. "The cellar is less terrifying – "
"Thusis!"
But she laughed and slipped through the door. "Good-by, Don Michael!" she called back softly from the stairs.
I walked back slowly to the center of my room and for a long time I stood there quite motionless, staring fixedly at the Admiral.
V
AN ODD SONG
"There's one thing certain," thought I; "my household personnel is altogether too pulchritudinous for a man like Smith, and it begins to worry me."
Considerably disturbed in my mind I reconnoitered Smith's rooms, and found him, as I suspected, loitering there on pretense of re-arranging the contents of his bureau-drawers.
Now Smith had no legitimate business there; it was Clelia's hour to do his rooms. But, as I say, I already had noticed his artless way of hanging about at that hour, and several times during the last two weeks I had encountered him conversing with the girl while she, her blonde hair bound up in a beguiling dust-cap, and otherwise undeniably fetching, leaned at ease on her broom and appeared quite willing to be cornered and conversed with.
My advent always galvanized this situation; Clelia instantly became busy with her broom and duster, and Smith usually pretended he had been inquiring of Clelia where I might be found.
He attempted the same dishonesty now, and, with every symptom of delight, cordially hailed me and inquired where I'd been keeping myself since breakfast.
"I've been out doors," said I coldly, "where I hoped – if I did not really expect – to find you."
This sarcasm put a slight crimp in his assurance, and he accompanied me out with docile alacrity, which touched me.
"It's too good a household to spoil," said I. "A little innocent gaiety – a bit of persiflage en passant – that doesn't interfere with discipline. But this loitering about the vicinity of little Clelia's too brief skirts is almost becoming a habit with you."
"She's a nice girl," returned Smith, vaguely.
"Surely. And you're a very nice young man; but you know as well as I do that we can't arrange our social life to include the circle below stairs."
"You mean, in the event of travelers arriving, they might misconstrue such a democracy?"
"Certainly, they'd misjudge it. We couldn't explain why our cook was playing the piano in the living-room or why Clelia laid aside her dust-pan for a cup of tea with us at five, could we?"
"Or why Thusis and you went trout fishing together," he added pleasantly.
A violent blush possessed my countenance. So he was aware of that incident! He had gone to Zurich that day. I hadn't mentioned it.
"Smith," said I, "these are war times. To catch fish is to conserve food. Under no other circumstances – "
"I understand, of course! Two can catch more fish than one. Which caught it?"
"Thusis," I admitted. "Thusis happened to know where these Swiss trout hide and how to catch them. Naturally I was glad to avail myself of her knowledge."
"Very interesting. You need no further instruction, I fancy."
"To become proficient," said I, "another lesson or two – possibly – " I paused out near the fountain to stoop over and break off a daisy. From which innocent blossom, absent-mindedly, I plucked the snowy petals one by one as I sauntered along beside Smith.
Presently he began to mutter to himself. At first I remained sublimely unconscious of what he was murmuring, then I caught the outrageous words: "Elle m'aime – un peu – beaucoup – passablement – pas-du-tout – "
"What's that?" I demanded, glaring at him. "What are you gabbling about?"
He seemed surprised at my warmth. I hurled the daisy from me; we turned and strode back in hostile silence toward the bottling house.
My farmer, Raoul Despres, was inside and the door stood open. We could hear the humming of the dynamo. Evidently, obeying my orders of yesterday, he had gone in to look over and report upon the condition of the plant with a view to resuming business where my recent uncle had left off.
We could see his curly black head, and athletic figure inside the low building. As he prowled hither and thither investigating the machinery he was singing blithely to himself:
"Crack-brain-cripple-arm
You have done a heap of harm —
You and yours and all your friends!
Now you'll have to make amends."
Smith and I looked at each other in blank perplexity.
"That's a remarkable song," I said at last.
"Very," said Smith. We halted. The dynamo droned on like a giant bee.
Raoul continued to sing as he moved around in the bottling house, and the words he sang came to us quite plainly:
"Crack-brain-cripple-arm
Sacking city, town and farm!
You, your children and your friends,
All will come to rotten ends!"
"Smith," said I, "who on earth do you suppose he means by 'Crack-brain-cripple-arm'?"
"Surely," mused Smith, "he could not be referring to the All-highest of Hunland… Could he?"
"Impossible," said I. We went into the bottling house. And the song of Raoul ceased.
It struck me, as he turned and came toward us with his frank, quick smile and his gay and slightly jaunty bearing, that he had about him something of that nameless allure of a soldier of France.
"But of course you are Swiss," I said to him with a trace of a grin