The Temptress

“You!” she gasped, jumping to her feet and turning pale.

“Yes,” he replied, leaning against the edge of the table and thrusting his hands into his pockets with an easy, nonchalant air. “You scarcely expected this meeting, – did you, eh? Well, although it is a long time ago since you took it into your head to leave me, you see I haven’t quite lost sight of you. And, after all, it is but natural that I should be solicitous of your welfare since you are my wife,” he added grimly.

“Wretch! Why have you come here?” she asked in ill-concealed alarm.

“To see you, pretty one,” he answered. “Three years is rather a long period to be absent from one’s wife, you’ll admit.”

“Wife!” she cried in a tone of disgust. “Why not call me by my proper name? I was your slave, Captain Willoughby. You used me to decoy young men to your house so that you might fleece them at cards, and when I refused any longer to participate in your schemes you used brute force towards me. See!” she continued, unbuttoning the sleeve of her bodice, and exposing her bare arm – “see, I still bear a mark of your ill-treatment.”

He smiled at her indignation.

“It’s very pleasant to talk in this strain, no doubt,” he observed, “but you have apparently overlooked one rather disagreeable fact – that when leaving Cannes, you took twenty thousand francs belonging to me.”

“And what if I did, pray? I left you because of your cruelty, and I’ve not since applied to you for maintenance, nor even sought a divorce.”

“That’s true. But now you’ve had your fling, perhaps you won’t object to return to your lawful husband.”

“You must be an imbecile to think that I would.”

“What! You will not?” he cried angrily.

“No, never. I hate and loathe you.”

“That makes but little difference,” said he coolly. “Nevertheless, as a wife would be of assistance to me just now, I mean that you shall return to me.”

“But I tell you I will never do so,” she declared emphatically.

“Then I shall simply compel you, that’s all.”

“You! Sapristi! Surely I’m my own mistress; therefore, do you think it probable that I should ever return to be the tool of a miserable cardsharper? No; I left you in the hope that I should never look upon your hateful face again, and if you think it possible that we could ever bury the past and become reconciled, I can at once disabuse your mind. If I were a sentimental schoolgirl it might be different, but I think you’ll find me too clever for you this time,” she said indignantly.

“Don’t anticipate that I desire a reconciliation,” he remarked in an indifferent tone. “Valérie Duvauchel – or whatever you now call yourself – is too well-known to be a desirable companion for long – ”

“You need say no more,” she cried in anger. “I understand. You want me again to entice men to their ruin. It is true that I am your wife. I curse the day when I took the idiotic step of marrying you, but I tell you once and for all that I’ll never return to you.”

“You shall,” he cried, grasping her roughly by the wrist. “You shall – I’ll compel you By heaven! I will!”

There was a look in his eyes that she did not like. She was cowed for a few moments, but her timidity was not of long duration.

“I defy you!” she screamed. “Do your worst. I’m perfectly able to defend myself.”

“Then perhaps you’ll defend yourself when you are arrested for the little affair at Carqueiranne. There’s a warrant still out, and a reward offered for your apprehension – remember that.”

In a moment she became confused, and her physiognomy, usually so lively, lost all its lightning glances. Her whole person seemed influenced by this unexpected and embarrassing announcement.

“Ah, I see!” she said in a husky voice. “Those are your tactics, are they? You would give me up to the police? Nevertheless, if you have no love for me, as you assert, why should you desire me to return to you?”

“I know my own business best,” was the abrupt reply.

“That I don’t doubt; yet you admit that it is best for us to be apart, although you are inclined to resort to the extremity of which you speak.”

“Who are the men staying here?” he asked sharply. “Friends.”

“Not very desirable ones, eh? I fancy I’ve met Victor Bérard somewhere before. If my memory doesn’t fail me it was in Paris only shortly before the affair of the Boulevard – ”

“Enough,” she said hoarsely, for she understood that he knew of her alliance with the pair. “What does it matter to you who my associates are? We both have to seek our fortunes.”

“True, but I like to look after my wife’s welfare,” declared he, with a sarcastic smile.

Captain Percy Willoughby was a jovial ne’er-do-weel who smiled at his lot, and gave himself up to it heedlessly. Weariness, anxiety, neediness took no hold upon him, and when a gloomy thought came to him, he would turn away his head, snap his fingers, and, raising his right arm towards heaven in caricature of a Spanish dancer, send his melancholy over his shoulder.

“I can do without your attentions, although I’m prepared to negotiate with you upon fair terms,” she exclaimed, for she saw that it was only by skilful diplomacy that she could extricate herself from the ugly situation.

“What do you mean?” asked he in surprise.

“Business purely,” she replied calmly. “It was unfortunate that I married you, still there is no reason why the world should know it; and, moreover, as there is no affection between us, I am willing to pay you to release me from my bond.”

Willoughby knit his brows thoughtfully. He was not prepared for such a bold proposal.

“You have some scheme of your own in hand, I suppose?”

“That’s my business.”

“Well, how much are you willing to pay?” he asked, smiling at her suggestion.

“Twenty-five thousand francs – not a centime more. For that sum I require a written undertaking that you’ll commence a suit for divorce against me forthwith. You understand?”

She recognised that if she failed to conciliate her husband’s demands all her schemes would be irretrievably ruined, but her tact at such moments never deserted her, and she was determined that he should not levy blackmail upon her without strengthening her position thereby.

“You hesitate,” she continued. “Why, the whole thing is simple enough. I will supply you with evidence and witnesses, and upon the day the decree is pronounced the money shall be yours.”

“You must have some good fortune. Where will you get the money from?” asked he incredulously.

“What does that matter, as long as you have it? We shall then both be free.”

“What guarantee shall I have that you will pay me after I have obtained the divorce?”

“I will give you a written one if you desire it, so that if I depart from my word you will still possess power over me,” she explained, beating an impatient tattoo upon the carpet with her tiny slipper.

“Twenty-five thousand francs,” he repeated. “You want me to sell you your liberty for that, do you?”

“Yes, if it pleases you to put it in that way.” Then, with an air of unconcern, she added: “I merely suggest a bargain which you can either accept or reject. After all, it is, perhaps, immaterial.”

“Your freedom must be worth a good deal to you if you are prepared to pay that price for it,” her husband observed shrewdly.

“I desire to sever the tie, that’s all.”

“You enjoy perfect liberty,” remarked the captain. “What more can you desire?”