"Extraordinary, you may call him, Monsieur. And he had a way with women, so it is said--even his captives came to admire him in time, so generous and bold was he."
"A daredevil fellow I doubt not, Jean?"
"You may say that. But of great good and many kindnesses to all the folk in the lower parts of this state in times gone by. Now--say it not aloud, Monsieur--scarce a family in all Acadia but has map and key to some buried treasure of Jean Lafitte. Why, Monsieur, here in this very cafe, once worked a negro boy. He, being sick, I help him as a gentleman does those negro, to be sure, and he was of heart enough to thank me for that. So one day he came to me and told me a story of a treasure of a descendant of Lafitte. He himself, this negro, had helped his master to bury that same treasure."
"And does he know the place now? Could he point it out?"
"Assuredly, and the master who buried it now is dead."
"Then why does not the negro boy go and dig it up again, very naturally?"
"Ah, for the best reasons. That old Frenchman, descendant of Jean Lafitte, was no fool. What does he in this burial of treasure? Ah! He takes him a white parrot, a black cat and a live monkey, and these three, all of them, he buries on top of the treasure-box and covers all with earth and grass above the earth. And then above the grave he says such a malediction upon any who may disturb it as would alone frighten to the death any person coming there and braving such a curse. I suggested to the negro boy that he should show me the spot.
Monsieur, he grew pale in terror. Not for a million pounds of solid gold would he go near that place, him."
"That also is a most extraordinary story, Jean. Taken with this other fairy tale which you have told me to-night, you almost make me feel that we are back in the great old days which this country once saw.
But alas!"
"As you say, Monsieur, alas!"
"Now as to that ruffian who stole the gentleman's yacht," I resumed.
"Has he reflected? Has he indeed made his way to the Gulf? Why, he might even be hiding here in the city somewhere."
"Ah, hardly that, and if so, he well may look out for the law."
"I think a sherbet would be excellent for the lady now, Jean," I ventured, whereat he departed. I turned over the paper and showed Helena her own portrait on the front page, four columns deep and set in such framing of blackfaced scare type as made me blush for my own sins.
"It is an adventure, Helena!" said I. "Had you not been far the most beautiful woman in this restaurant to-night, and had not Jean been all eyes for you, he otherwise would have looked at this paper rather than at you. Then he would have looked at us both and must have seen the truth."
"It is an adventure," said she slowly, her color heightening; and later, "You carried it off well, Harry."
I bowed to her across the table. "Need was to act quickly, for even this vile newspaper cut is a likeness of you. One glance from Jean, which may come at any moment later, Helena, and your parole will be needless further."
"I confess I wished to test you. It was wrong, foolish of me, Harry."
"You have been tested no less, Helena, to-night. And I have found you a gentle high-born lady, as I had always known you to be. _Noblesse oblige_, my dear, and you have proved it so to-night. Any time from now until twelve you need no more than raise a finger--I might not even see you do so--and you might go free. Why do you not?"
"If the woodcock is as good as the canvasback," was her somewhat irrelevant reply, "I shall call the evening a success, after all."
But Helena scarcely more than tasted her bird, and pushed back after a time the broiled mushroom which Jean offered her gently.
"Does not your appetite remain?" I inquired. "Come, you must not break Jean's heart doubly."
She only pushed back her chair. "I am sorry," said she, "but I want to go back to the boat."
"Back to the boat! You astonish me. I thought escape from the _Belle Helene_ was the one wish of your heart these days."
"And so it is."
"Then, Helena, why not escape here and now?"
"What do you mean?"
"I do not mean for you to break your parole--I know you too well for that. But give me additional parole, my dear girl. Give me your word.
Say that one word. Then we can rise here and announce to Mr. Davidson and all the world and its newspapers that no crime has been done and only a honeymoon has been begun. Come, Helena, all the world loves a lover. All New Orleans will love us if you will raise your finger and say the word."
I looked toward her. Her head was bent and tears were dropping from her eyes, tears faithfully concealed by her kerchief. But she said no word to me, and at her silence my own heart sank--sank until my courage was quite gone, until I felt the return of a cold brutality.
Still I endeavored to be gentle with one who deserved naught of gentleness.
"Do not hurry, Helena," I said. "We can return when you like. But the salad--and the coffee! And see, you have not touched your wine."
"Take me back," she said, her voice low. "I hate you. Till the end of the world I'll hate you."
"If I could believe that, Helena, it would matter nothing to me to go a mile farther on any voyage, a foot farther to shield myself or you."
"Take me back," she said to me again. "I want to go to Aunt Lucinda."
"Jean," said I, a moment later when he reappeared. "Mademoiselle wishes to see one more ice-box in the kitchen. We are in search of something. May we go again?"
Jean spread out his arms in surprise, but pushed open the green door.
We thus passed, shielded by our screen and unobserved. Once within, I grasped Jean firmly by the shoulder and pressed a ten dollar bill into his hand, with other money for the reckoning.
"Take this, Jean, for yourself. We do not care to pass out at the front, for certain reasons--do you comprehend? It is of Mademoiselle."
"It is of Mademoiselle? Ah, depend upon me. What can I do?"
"This. Leave us here, and we will walk about. Meantime go out the back way to the alley, Jean, and have a taxicab ready at the mouth of the alley. Come quick when it is arranged and let us go, because we must go at once. At another time, Jean, we will return, I trust more happily. Then we shall order such a dinner as will take Luigi himself a day to prepare, my friend!"
"For Mademoiselle?"
"For Madame, Jean, as I hope." And now I showed him the portrait on the front page of the newspaper he had brought me. "Quick," I said, "and since you have been faithful, some day I will explain all this to you--with Madame, as I hope."
CHAPTER XXVI
IN WHICH WE BURN ALL BRIDGES
"But, Monsieur," began Jean, a few moments later, as he entered from the alley door.
"_Eh bien?_ What then, Jean?" I demanded hastily, already leading Helena toward the door.
"This! This!" And he waved in my face a copy of the same paper which had lain on our table. "The streets are full of it. And I see, I behold--I recognize! It is Mademoiselle--that is to be Madame!"
My face flushed hotly. "As I hope, Jean." That was all I said. "Now, please, out of our way. Is the taxi there?"
He stepped aside. I heard his voice, eager, apologetic, but knew that now no time must be lost. Vague sounds of voices came to us from the main room of the cafe, ordinarily so quiet. I felt, rather than knew, that soon the news would be about town. The throb of the taxi was music to my ears when I found it in the dark.