Evening Star Newspaper, March 10, 1935, Page 75

““It was not so much the performance,”” he confided, ‘‘although I thought that was won- derful. It was the girl's likeness to someone I once knew."’ “Am | to feel jealous?” Besserley shook his head. “The woman of whom she reminded me,"” he told her, ‘*had one foot in heaven.” The toilers were scarcely at work in the fields on the following morning when General Besserley was knocking at the door of the farmhouse next to the padlocked barn. The woman who answered his summons was voluble but discouraging. Mademoiselle and her maid and the strange young man who plaved the music had taken their things away after midnight. She did not know their address. She did not even know their names. Besserley spoke to others, who lived nearby or in the village. They knew nothing. They cared less. He left the district in a disappoint- ment which amounted to disgust. Fortune came to him that night, however. As he glanced round the restaurant of the casino for a supper table, a curtain by the side of the stage only a few feet away was lifted for a moment and he found himself looking straight into the eyes of the girl whom he was seeking! Besserley took his seat, ordered wine and supper, which he had little intention of eating, and waited. Presently the usual signal for a turn was given by the orchestra. The guests who were dancing left the floor. The girl and a young man came through the curtains and commenced their evolutions. Besserley glanced at a programme which had been placed upon his table and stared at it. The names of the dancers were Josephine and Raymond. . . . The man danced well enough. The girl re- sembled a marionette more than a human being. It was obvious that some antagonism existed between them. She seemed frozen by his touch. She looked over his shoulder even when they were performing the most com- plicated evolutions. The dance was skillful, but it awoke no enthusiasm. They left the floor to a very feeble display of applause. They disappeared behind the curtain, and almost before it dropped Besserley heard the man’'s voice raised in anger. He touched a maitre d'hétel upon the shoulder and sent for the manager, who hurried up. “‘Everything is all right, I hope, General?" the latter asked anxiously. “Perfectly,”” was the brief reply, ‘‘but 1 wish to ask you something I have never asked before. | should like an introduction to the two who have been dancing."” The manager hesitated. “General Besserley,” he said earnestly, | have never had performers here who would not have considered such a suggestion an honor. As for these two, Miss Josephine at any rate - well, I can only tell you this- 1 am not going to keep them longer than a week."” “You do not consider them capable?” “Oh, they are capable enough, but they are not trying, at least the girl is not. She is a beautiful danseuse. 1 engaged her once before but she made it a condition that she dance alone. Nowadays people won't look at that sort of thing and I had to insist upon it that she took a part- ner. He does all right, except that he is furious, and 1 don’t blame him. The girl is like a piece of ice. I will introduce you, if you wish, but I warn you I won’t answer for their “I'll take my risk,” Bes- serley decided. He followed the manager behind the curtains. The two occupants of the room looked round angrily. “You young people do not seem to have been doing your best to-night,’’ their employer said austerely. ‘‘This gentle- man is one of our most valued patrons — General Besserley. I have promised to preserit him to you and I keep my word. If the General is satis- fied with your performance to-night, I am afraid he is the only one amongst my patrons who is.” The manager slipped away without another word. Bes- serley bowed to the girl and nodded to the man in friendly fashion. I feel a terrible intruder,”’ he said genially, ‘“‘but so much of your dancing to- night was good that it aston- ished me to realize how bad the rest was. Some little lllustrations by George Howe THIS trouble, 1 imagine. I wondered whether I might be of any service.” The girl looked up. “No one,” she said, ‘“could be of the slightest service.” ‘‘Mademoiselle is crazy,” the young man explained. ‘‘As for me — she is ruining my chances.” “Would it be too much to ask you if you would join me in a bottle of wine and perhaps a little supper?” the General invited. “Thank you,” the girl replied. ‘I do not drink wine and I do not wish for any supper.” “You won't even tell me what is wrong?" “I will,” Raymond declared, suddenly. “‘Listen. We have a contract. We are supposed to be partners. I have a wonderful offer to dance at Nice and at Monte Carlo. She will not go.”’ “Nothing would induce me to dance at either place,” the girl said. “Furthermore,”’ Raymond went on, ‘‘people on the Riviera nowadays are more particular than they were. They like dancing partners to be married. 1 wish to marry Miss Jose- phine and she refuses.” There was a bitter smile upon the girl's lips. “Well, would not anyone?” She picked up her cloak. ‘“You will be so kind as to excuse me, sir,”’ she said turning to Besserley. He held the curtain in his hand but barred the way for a moment. “I should like to talk to you about your future,” he said. “For two or three days I shall be on my boat, the Echo, in Garoupe Bay. You would be welcome at any time you chose to pay me a call. Permit me.”’ He drew aside the curtain. The girl passed swiftly out without speech or thanks and disappeared. The owner of the yacht, at sound of the splash, dropped his pipe on the deck and peered into the darkness. *‘Hello,” he called out, ‘‘anyone there?”’ There was no direct response but he fancied that he caught the sound of a cry of terror partly suppressed. He turned on the electric light which hung over his head. Not twenty yards away was an overturned rowing boat and the shadow of some dark object in the water. He tore off his coat and kicked off his slippers. “Bring the dinghy round, Auguste,” he shouted through the open galley. ‘‘Someone is in trouble out there.”’ He stepped over the rail and dived in, swimming with long powerful strokes towards the boat. At first there was nothing to be seen, then to his horror he caught a glimpse of a white face, the slim body of a girl just below the surface. He swam round and got his hand underneath her neck. “Don't struggle, please,”’ he begged. ‘‘Lie on your back and float if you can.” There were no signs that the person whom WEEK he was gripping either heard or understood. Her inertness, however, made Besserley's task easier. Auguste brought round the dinghy and together they lifted her on board the yacht and down into Besserley’s cabin. He bent over her. ‘‘She was only in the sea a few minutes,” he declared. ‘“Get me a blanket. That's right.” He chafed the girl's hands, drew off her soaking shoes and stockings and rubbed her feet gently. “Now then, young lady,” he enjoined, ‘‘open your eyes, please. You will have to get rid of those clothes.” She obeyed and Besserley knew that this strange thing had indeed happened. Her face was deathly pale, her hair was dripping and her deeply set eyes had not lost that dull gaze of despair. Nevertheless, she was easily recognizable. “You are the monsieur who asked me to pay him a visit?"’ she murmured drearily. *‘I have come." *‘What made you fall out of the boat?"” he asked. “I jumped out.” “Can you swim?"’ “NO." He gave Auguste an order and busied him- self rummaging in his wardrobe. Presently he produced a huge coat and a couple of sweaters. Auguste reappeared with a tumblerful of cherry whisky. } “Drink half of that slowly,” Besserley ordered. ‘“Then replace your clothes with these things. When you are well wrapped, call out. I shall be in the little salon beyond."’ Besserley sat in the salon and gazed out of the opposite porthole. For a time his efforts to concentrate upon the immediate situation were hopeless. He could see only that strangely beautiful old lady with the unearthly light in her eyes, as she looked towards eternity; the girl in the barn gazing through its white- washed walls; the danseuse at the casino with her scornful indrawn lips and eyes wilfully averted from the business of the moment. Once more, when he was summoned into his cabin, he saw those eyes turned towards him from the heap of the crumpled blankets upon the bed. He pulled himself together with an effort. ‘‘Well?”* he enquired. ‘‘Do you feel yourself again?”’ ‘“Yes,” she answered, with a voice unex- pectedly strong. ‘I am sorry to have been so troublesome. Still, you had better let me drown. It would have been kinder."” He took her delicate fingers in his. “Look here,” he expostulated, and this time his tone was kindlier, though still a trifle gruff. “There is nothing about me to be afraid of. Take another sip of that stuff and tell me why you tried to do this thing.”’ She reflected for a moment. Then she raised 5 herself on her elbow and looked steadily at her rescuer. “I will tell you,’’ she promised, ‘‘why I have lost hope in the world.” *‘Little fool,” he exclaimed kindly. ‘At your age you have not learnt yet what there may be to live for.” ‘I have learnt,’’ she answered sadly, ‘‘why death is more desirable. My mother was a singer and a danseuse in Paris. Two years ago she died and I was left alone. I had hardly been outside a convent school. The only per- son I knew was the man who procured engagements for my mother. I went to him — I became a professional danseuse.” “And a very good one, I should think, when you try,"” he remarked. ‘ You were not trying at Cannes the night before last.” *“I loathe that sort of dancing,” she told him. “I have found something better to do, dancing that I love, but with it I cannot keep a roof over my head.” *“Why did you refuse to dance at Nice or Monte Carlo?” “‘Because my mother begged me, if I ever earned my living dancing, never to dance at those places. They were near my ther’s home. We were all so alike that she was afraid I might be recognized.” ‘‘And your name is Josephine?’ ‘‘Yes, My other name — well, that does not matter. My mother was treated cruelly by her family. I would never approach them.” ‘“Who helped you dance, produce what you feel so wonderfully, as you did the other night?” ‘It is someone, alas, who is as poor as I am. His name is Pierre Rostard. All that we had the other night he made himself and he wrote the music. All the technique that I have he taught me.” “It was a marvelous performance.” There was a sudden light in her eyes. **You really thought that?"’ I really thought it,”” he assured her. *'So did others whose opinions were worth any- thing. Now about this trouble with your partner Raymond?"’ - I have told him that I wiit dance no more,” she explained. ‘‘I would rather starve than live in such a banal way. My mother's agent found him for me, Raymond, whom I loathe, who first tried — oh, horrible, impossible things and now wants to marry me. I would sooner die. I would sooner even listen to the rich men whom he would love me to be friendly with. It seems to me I must either starve or give up the work I love and live ignobly with Raymond. After you spoke last night 1 suddenly had a gleam of hope. I thought you were different. ] made up my mind to ask you for help. Raymond olny sneered. He told me what 1 hated to hear. To-night, though, I was desperate. I thought if I had to have that sort of help from anvone ( Continued on Page 13) ““You Had Better Have Let Me Drown,” She Said. ‘It Would Have Been Simpler.”