# Terence O'Rourke/Part 1/Chapter 7

CHAPTER VII
HE CONSIDERS THE GREAT SCHEME
Bandied back and forth by the four walls of the study the report crashed and echoed, reverberating, like a peal of thunder. When it died out, there was absolute silence for a space, during which all three actors of the litte drama stood almost as though stricken motionless.
O'Rourke saw Chambret slowly lower the revolver, the whites of his eyes gleaming in the lamplight; while from the muzzle of the weapon a thin, grayish spiral of smoke trickled up to join the heavier, pungent cloud that hovered near the ceiling. He saw Madame la Princesse standing, swaying ever so slightly, her hands clasped before her, her lips a-quiver with mute inquiry, her eyes, horror filled, fixed upon his face.
Chambret stepped back and cast the revolver upon the desk, whereon it fell with a heavy thud, shattering the silence and quickening the tableau simultaneously.
Madame started toward O'Rourke with a low cry.
"A good shot!" said the latter composedly. "A very good shot, Monsieur Chambret; for which pray accept me congratulations."
He held out the card in a hand that was steadiness itself.
"Observe, madame," he said unperturbed, "the bullet penetrated the precise center of the ace—and in this half-light!"
She was near enough to him now to snatch the card from his fingers, not rudely but in an agony of suspense. Holding ​it up to the light she verified his statement; and he saw that her own hand was shaking.
A vague sense of triumph caused him to look toward Chambret; who bowed ironically.
"But—but you are not injured, monsieur?"
It was the princess who addressed him; O'Rourke dared to smile at her—a smile that was at once bright with his consciousness of his triumph, and itself a triumph of dissimulation.
"Not in the least," he hastened to reassure her; "Monsieur Chambret is too skilful a shot to have chanced a mistake."
"You are satisfied as to my skill, then, monsieur?" inquired Chambret.
"Quite—and shall be so for a long time to come." He remembered his rôle in the deception which they were united in practising upon madame, and laughed again. "I yield the point, monsieur," he added, "and likewise the palm. Ye are a finer shot than I, be long odds."
But it is a question as to whether or not they were successful in deceiving the princess; the glance that she shifted from the one to the other was filled with dubiety.
She felt instinctively, perhaps, that here was something deeper than appeared upon the surface; but she might not probe it courteously nor with any propriety, since both seemed to desire her to believe that the affair had been nothing more than a test of Monsieur Chambret's mastery of the weapon.
"In the future, messieurs," she announced frowning, "I trust that you will confine your exhibitions to more appropriate hours and localities. Moreover, I do not like it. At best it is dangerous and proves little. Colonel O'Rourke, your arm."
She gathered up the train of her evening gown, and moved ​away with the Irishman; who by now was so far recovered that he could not repress his elation. This, he felt, was in some way a distinct triumph over his saturnine rival; for as such he already chose to consider Chambret. And he ventured to turn and wink roguishly at the Frenchman as they left the room.
As for Chambret, it seemed that he was not bidden to the conference with the brother of Madame la Princesse; they left him staring glumly at the floor and twisting his mustache, in a mood that seemed far from one of self-satisfaction.
"Now, 'tis strange to me," volunteered O'Rourke, "that the shot startled no one—the servants, or your brother and his guests."
"The servants," explained madame, "are trained to ignore the unusual in this house; besides, their presence is not desired above stairs at this hour. As for my brother, he is closeted with his friends in another wing of the building."
Thereafter she lapsed into a meditation, from which he made no attempt to rouse her; he kept the comer of his eye upon her fair, finely modeled head that was bowed so near to his shoulder; and he recalled jubilantly the look of keen anxiety that had been hers when she had fancied him wounded. To be able to think of that, and to be in her company, O'Rourke felt, were happiness enough for him—enough and far beyond his deserts.
Thus quietly they traversed a series of broad, dimly lighted corridors, meeting no one; but, after some time, his princess stopped with O'Rourke outside a certain door.
"Monsieur," she said softly, nor raised her eyes, "it is here that I leave you to return to my home. Within this door you will meet my brother, Monsieur Lemercier; my husband, Monsieur le Prince de Grandlieu, and—and others. You ​may—I fancy you will—find them uncongenial; I could almost hope that you would. I can only trust that you will be able to endure them, monsieur. You know what I—I expect of you; and will presently learn what other duties will be yours to perform. I think I may rely upon you to play your part."
"Madame," he returned lightly, yet with earnestness underlying his tone, "I realize that I am, in a way, a forlorn hope. But ye may trust me."
"I believe so," she said soberly. "I shall not—may not see you again for some time. You—you will—?"
"I will do all that ye wish me to, madame, so far as lies in me power—and a trifle further, perhaps."
She smiled, amused by the gallant boast, and gave him her hand.
"Then," she breathed,—"then, good-night, my friend."
"Madame!" cried O'Rourke.
For the tenth part of a second her fingers rested in his, then were withdrawn. He sighed; but she merely turned and knocked gently upon the panels.
Almost immediately the door was opened; a man peered out, and, recognizing the princess, emerged, closing the door behind him.
"Oh, it's you, Beatrix," he greeted her languidly.
"Yes, Leopold. I have brought you the gentleman of whom I spoke: Colonel O'Rourke, Chevalier of the Legion of Honor, once of the Foreign Legion in the Soudan—my brother, Monsieur Leopold Lemercier."
The young man turned to O'Rourke, offering his hand with a ready, feebly good-humored smile.
"Colonel O'Rourke!" he cried, with a vapid laugh. "The very man! I'm glad to meet you, monsieur; I have heard of you before."
​"The divvle!" thought O'Rourke. "And, by that token, I've heard of ye—ye little scamp!" But aloud he returned the greeting blandly.
"Thank you, Beatrix," continued Lemercier. "And—"
"I am going home," she replied. "Good-night, messieurs. Monsieur le Colonel O'Rourke, au revoir."
Lemercier, rather than at once returning with O'Rourke to his companions, lingered until his sister was out of earshot, with the manner of one who has something on his mind.
He was very youthful in appearance,—a mere slip of a boy, attired a trifle too exquisitely in the positive extreme of the fashion. No force of character was to be seen charted upon his smooth, lineless countenance—just then somewhat flushed; though whether from alcohol or excitement, O'Rourke could not determine.
His eyes, which were small, were of a vague and indefinite gray, his hair light, of a neutral tint, and inclined to fall across his forehead in a stringy bang. His mouth was weak, lacking character, his nose a smooth arch, conveying no impression of mental strength. As a rule, he kept his hands uneasily in his pockets; at other times they were constantly busy with some object—his watch chain, or the heavy, gem-encrusted rings with which his slight fingers were laden.
O'Rourke was inclined to take his measure thoroughly, not only because of the strange and interesting manner in which they had been thrown together, but also because "le petit Lemercier" was a national character of France—or the national laughing stock.
For some years this weakling, the enormously wealthy son of a rich chocolate manufacturer recently deceased, had kept Paris agape with his harebrained pranks, his sybaritic enter​tainments, his lavish disbursement of the money which he had inherited.
Rumor had it that already, in the four years that had elapsed since he had come into his fortune, he had not only expended all of his income, huge as that was known to be, but had made serious inroads upon his capital.
This was undoubtedly due to his incapacity and dissipation; "the little Lemercier" maintained constantly a circle of scheming flatterers and panderers, who had always some fresh scheme ready to assist in the separation of the young fool from his money.
And now that he knew whom he was to protect, O'Rourke felt as if a blindfolding bandage had suddenly dropped from his eyes; not only did he realize that the fears of Madame la Princesse for the welfare of le petit Lemercier were well grounded, but he had no difficulty in identifying that lady with the young girl, who, fresh from the seclusion of a convent, had been persuaded by this same brother, Leopold, to contract a marriage with Prince Felix, the debauched head of the insignificant and impoverished principality of Grandlieu.
He recalled quite distinctly the sensation that marriage had created, a year or so back; as well as the public indignation and sympathy for the ignorant and unsophisticated girl who had given her hand and her immense fortune into the keeping of the most notorious roué in Europe.
A sudden rage welled in O'Rourke's heart, as he thought of this, and a faint disgust stirred him as he gazed upon this enfeebled, weak-eyed, self-complacent stripling who was negatively responsible for the degradation of his sister.
But le petit Lemercier put an end to the meditations of the Irishman.
​"One moment, monsieur, before we enter," he stipulated. "You understand what circumstances have induced me to accede to Beatrix's absurd notion? Well," he went on, without waiting for a reply, "it is absurd, anyway; and, just to keep my word with her, I've had to tell them inside that I've known you for a long time, and sent for you on purpose for the work in hand. I couldn't insult my friends by telling them the real reason why I'm employing you."
"Very well," assented O'Rourke, between his teeth, his blood seeming to boil in resentment of the assumption of superiority with which le petit Lemercier was treating him.
"Yes, monsieur; since that's understood, and you won't be making any blunders, we'll go inside, if you please."
He turned the handle of the door, and his back insolently to O'Rourke, and stalked stiffly into the room; the Irishman swallowed his rage at the other's impertinence, and followed.
The room which he entered was almost a duplicate of the one wherein he had conferred with his princess, save that it was somewhat smaller, and, instead of the desk, a huge table occupied the center of the floor.
Round it were ranged armchairs, wherein lounged four men, who rose at the entrance of the stranger.
Lemercier marched to the head of the table, and sat down.
"Messieurs," he said, with a negligent flirt of his white, pudgy hand, "you will permit me to introduce Monsieur le Colonel O'Rourke, of the Foreign Legion—the gentleman of whom I have spoken, as the future commander-in-chief of the imperial army. Colonel O'Rourke, I have the honor to make you known to Monsieur le Prince de Grandlieu, and Messieurs Valliant, Mouchon, and D'Ervy."
The messieurs bowed ceremoniously—and most coldly, apparently resenting this intrusion upon their charmed circle; ​on the principle, possibly, of the more birds of prey, the less gorging of each individual crop.
As for O'Rourke, he returned their greetings with scarcely less frigidity of manner. He constrained himself to bare civility, but was unable to feign any considerable pleasure because of the association in which he found himself.
Lemercier indicated a chair, into which the Irishman dropped unwillingly; had he followed his own inclinations he would have delayed not one moment ere leaving before he knew more, before pledging himself and his sword to the service of this gathering of blackguards.
But he recognized that he was, as he put it, "in for it"; he had given his word to his princess, and the desire to serve her outweighed his personal tastes in the matter.
Le petit Lemercier invited the Irishman to help himself to the wine and cigars which were set out upon a convenient buffet, then concerned himself no more for the comfort of his guest. He got upon his feet unsteadily—it became momentarily more apparent that he was drinking too deeply for the clearness of his brain—and began to talk in a halting fashion, leaving the half of his sentences unfinished and inconclusive.
But the attention he received was flattering; with the possible exception of the prince, his sycophants hung upon his words with breathless interest. Only O'Rourke permitted, his eyes to stray from the face of his host to the countenances of the others, mentally inventorying their characters, cataloguing them for future reference.
Monsieur le Prince de Grandlieu he had not expected to like; what he saw of him did not tend to remove the prejudice—a slim, tall figure of a man, ridiculously padded at every possible point, and corseted so that his figure resembled a ​woman's more nearly than a man's; he was hatchet-faced and dark, with evasive eyes of a saturnine, sneering cast; impeccable as to dress, an elegant; ostentatiously rakish.
Apparently returning O'Rourke's disdain with interest, he sat slouched in an armchair, airily twirling an end of his black mustache, occasionally eying the intruder with no friendly glance.
As for the others, they were ordinary types of Parisians: Valliant, a heavy, swaggering growth of the boulevards, red-faced and loud-voiced; Mouchon, pasty of complexion, nervous, slinking, and apologetic in manner; D'Ervy, a vice-marked nonenity of Lemercier's grade, pimply, heavy-eyed, ungracious, and vacuous.
Meanwhile, le petit Lemercier was talking—rambling on in an aimless, inconsequential fashion, chiefly in praise of his own wonderful sagacities and abilities in planning an enterprise which he as yet had not named. Suddenly, however, he broke off, flushed his throat with a glass of champagne; and the conversation took on a complexion which commanded O'Rourke's undivided interest.
"Messieurs," said Lemercier, puffing with importance, "we are assembled on the eve of a movement which will astonish and compel the admiration not only of all Europe, but of the civilized world as well."
He paused, and turned to the Irishman.
"O'Rourke, mon ami," he continued, with abrupt familiarity, "these, my comrades, are already intimate with my project. For months we have been planning and perfecting it; latterly we have waited only for you, mon brave, a soldier tried and proven, to work with us for glory and for—empire!"
"The divvle ye say!" interjected the disgusted O'Rourke to himself.
​"In a week, monsieur, we start upon our expedition. In two weeks or less the Empire of the Sahara will be inaugurated—in a month it will be a fact accomplished."
He gestured toward the wall, and D'Ervy sprang from his chair, to unrol an immense map of Northern Africa which hung thereon. Le petit Lemercier, swelling with pride, went to it and indicated his points as he talked.
"Here," he said, drawing O'Rourke's attention to a spot on the west coast of the continent, "is Cape Bojador. Here, again," moving his finger a foot north upon the coast line, "is Cape Juby. To the north lies Morocco; to the south he the Spanish Rio de Oro possessions. But between the two capes is unclaimed land. There, messieurs, lies the land that shall be our Empire of the Sahara. There shall we establish and build up a country greater even than our France!"
Valliant rapped his applause upon the table; Mouchon cheered weakly. O'Rourke looked dubious.
"Pardon," he said, "but is not that the coast of the Sahara? Is it not desert land,—waste, arid?"
"Ah, yes, monsieur; that is the general impression. But you shall see what we shall do in this No-man's Land which the grasping English have overlooked, which France disdains, which Spain forgets! In the first place, the land is not arid; to my personal knowledge there is a large and fertile oasis a short distance inland from the coast, in one spot; and beyond doubt there be others."
"Undoubtedly!" affirmed the prince.
"Here, monsieur," Lemercier continued enthusiastically, pointing to an indefinite, ragged line winding inland a little distance below Cape Juby, "is the Wadi Saglat el Hamra—the dry bed of an ancient stream—"
​"Dry?" queried O'Rourke, beginning to be interested in spite of himself.
"Now dry, mon ami; but wait—wait until we have discovered its former sources, wait until Science has reopened and made them to flow again. Then shall the Wadi Saglat make its majestic way to the ocean—a mighty stream, fertilizing and irrigating the surrounding territory. Moreover, artesian wells shall be sunk wherever practicable; around them oases shall spring to life, rejuvenating the desert. We—we, messieurs!—shall be the vanguards of empire, the reclaimers of the waste lands of the world, making the desert to blossom as a garden!
"Cities shall be built, colonists shall flock to us, homes shall be established for thousands of families. The sands of the desert will yield up their gold to us. A port will be established as a terminus for the thousands of desert caravans who now take their goods to the Senegal. Messieurs, the Empire of the Sahara, within two years, shall obtain recognition from the Powers of the world. Within five it shall be a Power itself. And I—I, messieurs!—shall be Emperor!"
The ardor of le petit Lemercier was pitiable^ yet infectious; the Irishman found himself listening eagerly.
"There's something in it!" he whispered. "Me faith, I do believe it might be done!" His adventurous spirit kindled, flashing from his eyes. "There'll be fighting," he considered shrewdly.
Lemercier turned to him, breathing quickly with excitement, carried away by his own schoolboy eloquence.
"Colonel O'Rourke," he announced pompously, "you are to be Commander-in-chief of my forces, with the pay of a corps commander of the French Army. Do you accept?"
​"Faith," said O'Rourke rising, "I do that. 'Tis a great scheme ye have, monsieur."
He filled him a glass of champagne, turning to the others.
"Messieurs," he said, "I give ye the health of Monsieur Lemercier!"
"No!" interposed the prince, also rising with his glass. "You forget, Colonel O'Rourke. The health we drink is the health of Leopold le Premier, l'Empereur du Sahara!"
He flashed a hinting glance to the others; they, too, rose, with bravos, and drank standing.
O'Rourke's gaze fell upon the stripling, wine-flushed and staggering, complacent and conceited—a mere vain child, dreaming of empire as a plaything for his vanity.
And then the eyes of the Irishman turned to the others—the motley, self-centered crew of leeches, who, to this vapid youth of a multi-millionaire, bent "the pregnant hinges of the knee, that thrift might follow fawning."
It nauseated him; he put down his glass, and for a moment watched the cold, calculating, sardonic Prince de Grandlieu, who was, with meaning glances, showing the way to his associates to half madden le petit Lemercier with flattery. And the warning of that man's wife, of the princess, recurred to the Irishman. Again disgust stirred him.
"The divvle!" he muttered. "I'm in for it. Sure, there will be fighting, or I'm no O'Rourke!"
But his thoughts were concerning themselves with Chambret and Felix of Grandlieu. The more that he had occasion to consider them, at that time, the more thoroughly he became convinced that there would be much fighting ere he was done with them.