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diff --git a/1083-h/1083-h.htm b/1083-h/1083-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..debcd61 --- /dev/null +++ b/1083-h/1083-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11814 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Arrow of Gold, by Joseph Conrad</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + color: gray; + } + + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 30%; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Arrow of Gold, by Joseph Conrad + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Arrow of Gold + a story between two notes + + +Author: Joseph Conrad + + + +Release Date: August 3, 2009 [eBook #1083] +[This file last updated December 27, 2010] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ARROW OF GOLD*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1921 T. Fisher Unwin by David Price, +email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<h1>THE<br /> +ARROW OF GOLD</h1> +<p style="text-align: center">A STORY BETWEEN TWO NOTES</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">by</span><br /> +JOSEPH CONRAD</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">Celui qui n’a +connu que des hommes<br /> +polis et raisonnables, ou ne connait pas<br /> +l’homme, ou ne le connait qu’a demi.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Caracteres</span>.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">T. FISHER UNWIN, LTD.<br /> +LONDON: ADELPHI TERRACE</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p><i>First published</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>August</i> 1919</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>Reprinted</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>December</i> 1919</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>Reprinted</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>October</i> 1921</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">all rights +reserved</span></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">to</span><br /> +RICHARD CURLE</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<h2>FIRST NOTE</h2> +<p>The pages which follow have been extracted from a pile of +manuscript which was apparently meant for the eye of one woman +only. She seems to have been the writer’s +childhood’s friend. They had parted as children, or +very little more than children. Years passed. Then +something recalled to the woman the companion of her young days +and she wrote to him: “I have been hearing of you +lately. I know where life has brought you. You +certainly selected your own road. But to us, left behind, +it always looked as if you had struck out into a pathless +desert. We always regarded you as a person that must be +given up for lost. But you have turned up again; and though +we may never see each other, my memory welcomes you and I confess +to you I should like to know the incidents on the road which has +led you to where you are now.”</p> +<p>And he answers her: “I believe you are the only one now +alive who remembers me as a child. I have heard of you from +time to time, but I wonder what sort of person you are now. +Perhaps if I did know I wouldn’t dare put pen to +paper. But I don’t know. I only remember that +we were great chums. In fact, I chummed with you even more +than with your brothers. But I am like the pigeon that went +away in the fable of the Two Pigeons. If I once start to +tell you I would want you to feel that you have been there +yourself. I may overtax your patience with the story of my +life so different from yours, not only in all the facts but +altogether in spirit. You may not understand. You may +even be shocked. I say all this to myself; but I know I +shall succumb! I have a distinct recollection that in the +old days, when you were about fifteen, you always could make me +do whatever you liked.”</p> +<p>He succumbed. He begins his story for her with the +minute narration of this adventure which took about twelve months +to develop. In the form in which it is presented here it +has been pruned of all allusions to their common past, of all +asides, disquisitions, and explanations addressed directly to the +friend of his childhood. And even as it is the whole thing +is of considerable length. It seems that he had not only a +memory but that he also knew how to remember. But as to +that opinions may differ.</p> +<p>This, his first great adventure, as he calls it, begins in +Marseilles. It ends there, too. Yet it might have +happened anywhere. This does not mean that the people +concerned could have come together in pure space. The +locality had a definite importance. As to the time, it is +easily fixed by the events at about the middle years of the +seventies, when Don Carlos de Bourbon, encouraged by the general +reaction of all Europe against the excesses of communistic +Republicanism, made his attempt for the throne of Spain, arms in +hand, amongst the hills and gorges of Guipuzcoa. It is +perhaps the last instance of a Pretender’s adventure for a +Crown that History will have to record with the usual grave moral +disapproval tinged by a shamefaced regret for the departing +romance. Historians are very much like other people.</p> +<p>However, History has nothing to do with this tale. +Neither is the moral justification or condemnation of conduct +aimed at here. If anything it is perhaps a little sympathy +that the writer expects for his buried youth, as he lives it over +again at the end of his insignificant course on this earth. +Strange person—yet perhaps not so very different from +ourselves.</p> +<p>A few words as to certain facts may be added.</p> +<p>It may seem that he was plunged very abruptly into this long +adventure. But from certain passages (suppressed here +because mixed up with irrelevant matter) it appears clearly that +at the time of the meeting in the café, Mills had already +gathered, in various quarters, a definite view of the eager youth +who had been introduced to him in that ultra-legitimist +salon. What Mills had learned represented him as a young +gentleman who had arrived furnished with proper credentials and +who apparently was doing his best to waste his life in an +eccentric fashion, with a bohemian set (one poet, at least, +emerged out of it later) on one side, and on the other making +friends with the people of the Old Town, pilots, coasters, +sailors, workers of all sorts. He pretended rather absurdly +to be a seaman himself and was already credited with an +ill-defined and vaguely illegal enterprise in the Gulf of +Mexico. At once it occurred to Mills that this eccentric +youngster was the very person for what the legitimist +sympathizers had very much at heart just then: to organize a +supply by sea of arms and ammunition to the Carlist detachments +in the South. It was precisely to confer on that matter +with Doña Rita that Captain Blunt had been despatched from +Headquarters.</p> +<p>Mills got in touch with Blunt at once and put the suggestion +before him. The Captain thought this the very thing. +As a matter of fact, on that evening of Carnival, those two, +Mills and Blunt, had been actually looking everywhere for our +man. They had decided that he should be drawn into the +affair if it could be done. Blunt naturally wanted to see +him first. He must have estimated him a promising person, +but, from another point of view, not dangerous. Thus +lightly was the notorious (and at the same time mysterious) +Monsieur George brought into the world; out of the contact of two +minds which did not give a single thought to his flesh and +blood.</p> +<p>Their purpose explains the intimate tone given to their first +conversation and the sudden introduction of Doña +Rita’s history. Mills, of course, wanted to hear all +about it. As to Captain Blunt—I suspect that, at the +time, he was thinking of nothing else. In addition it was +Doña Rita who would have to do the persuading; for, after +all, such an enterprise with its ugly and desperate risks was not +a trifle to put before a man—however young.</p> +<p>It cannot be denied that Mills seems to have acted somewhat +unscrupulously. He himself appears to have had some doubt +about it, at a given moment, as they were driving to the +Prado. But perhaps Mills, with his penetration, understood +very well the nature he was dealing with. He might even +have envied it. But it’s not my business to excuse +Mills. As to him whom we may regard as Mills’ victim +it is obvious that he has never harboured a single reproachful +thought. For him Mills is not to be criticized. A +remarkable instance of the great power of mere individuality over +the young.</p> +<h2>PART ONE</h2> +<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> +<p>Certain streets have an atmosphere of their own, a sort of +universal fame and the particular affection of their +citizens. One of such streets is the Cannebière, and +the jest: “If Paris had a Cannebière it would be a +little Marseilles” is the jocular expression of municipal +pride. I, too, I have been under the spell. For me it +has been a street leading into the unknown.</p> +<p>There was a part of it where one could see as many as five big +cafés in a resplendent row. That evening I strolled +into one of them. It was by no means full. It looked +deserted, in fact, festal and overlighted, but cheerful. +The wonderful street was distinctly cold (it was an evening of +carnival), I was very idle, and I was feeling a little +lonely. So I went in and sat down.</p> +<p>The carnival time was drawing to an end. Everybody, high +and low, was anxious to have the last fling. Companies of +masks with linked arms and whooping like red Indians swept the +streets in crazy rushes while gusts of cold mistral swayed the +gas lights as far as the eye could reach. There was a touch +of bedlam in all this.</p> +<p>Perhaps it was that which made me feel lonely, since I was +neither masked, nor disguised, nor yelling, nor in any other way +in harmony with the bedlam element of life. But I was not +sad. I was merely in a state of sobriety. I had just +returned from my second West Indies voyage. My eyes were +still full of tropical splendour, my memory of my experiences, +lawful and lawless, which had their charm and their thrill; for +they had startled me a little and had amused me +considerably. But they had left me untouched. Indeed +they were other men’s adventures, not mine. Except +for a little habit of responsibility which I had acquired they +had not matured me. I was as young as before. +Inconceivably young—still beautifully +unthinking—infinitely receptive.</p> +<p>You may believe that I was not thinking of Don Carlos and his +fight for a kingdom. Why should I? You don’t +want to think of things which you meet every day in the +newspapers and in conversation. I had paid some calls since +my return and most of my acquaintance were legitimists and +intensely interested in the events of the frontier of Spain, for +political, religious, or romantic reasons. But I was not +interested. Apparently I was not romantic enough. Or +was it that I was even more romantic than all those good +people? The affair seemed to me commonplace. That man +was attending to his business of a Pretender.</p> +<p>On the front page of the illustrated paper I saw lying on a +table near me, he looked picturesque enough, seated on a boulder, +a big strong man with a square-cut beard, his hands resting on +the hilt of a cavalry sabre—and all around him a landscape +of savage mountains. He caught my eye on that spiritedly +composed woodcut. (There were no inane +snapshot-reproductions in those days.) It was the obvious +romance for the use of royalists but it arrested my +attention.</p> +<p>Just then some masks from outside invaded the café, +dancing hand in hand in a single file led by a burly man with a +cardboard nose. He gambolled in wildly and behind him +twenty others perhaps, mostly Pierrots and Pierrettes holding +each other by the hand and winding in and out between the chairs +and tables: eyes shining in the holes of cardboard faces, breasts +panting; but all preserving a mysterious silence.</p> +<p>They were people of the poorer sort (white calico with red +spots, costumes), but amongst them there was a girl in a black +dress sewn over with gold half moons, very high in the neck and +very short in the skirt. Most of the ordinary clients of +the café didn’t even look up from their games or +papers. I, being alone and idle, stared abstractedly. +The girl costumed as Night wore a small black velvet mask, what +is called in French a “<i>loup</i>.” What made +her daintiness join that obviously rough lot I can’t +imagine. Her uncovered mouth and chin suggested refined +prettiness.</p> +<p>They filed past my table; the Night noticed perhaps my fixed +gaze and throwing her body forward out of the wriggling chain +shot out at me a slender tongue like a pink dart. I was not +prepared for this, not even to the extent of an appreciative +“<i>Très foli</i>,” before she wriggled and +hopped away. But having been thus distinguished I could do +no less than follow her with my eyes to the door where the chain +of hands being broken all the masks were trying to get out at +once. Two gentlemen coming in out of the street stood +arrested in the crush. The Night (it must have been her +idiosyncrasy) put her tongue out at them, too. The taller +of the two (he was in evening clothes under a light wide-open +overcoat) with great presence of mind chucked her under the chin, +giving me the view at the same time of a flash of white teeth in +his dark, lean face. The other man was very different; +fair, with smooth, ruddy cheeks and burly shoulders. He was +wearing a grey suit, obviously bought ready-made, for it seemed +too tight for his powerful frame.</p> +<p>That man was not altogether a stranger to me. For the +last week or so I had been rather on the look-out for him in all +the public places where in a provincial town men may expect to +meet each other. I saw him for the first time (wearing that +same grey ready-made suit) in a legitimist drawing-room where, +clearly, he was an object of interest, especially to the +women. I had caught his name as Monsieur Mills. The +lady who had introduced me took the earliest opportunity to +murmur into my ear: “A relation of Lord X.” +(<i>Un proche parent de Lord X</i>.) And then she added, +casting up her eyes: “A good friend of the +King.” Meaning Don Carlos of course.</p> +<p>I looked at the <i>proche parent</i>; not on account of the +parentage but marvelling at his air of ease in that cumbrous body +and in such tight clothes, too. But presently the same lady +informed me further: “He has come here amongst us <i>un +naufragé</i>.”</p> +<p>I became then really interested. I had never seen a +shipwrecked person before. All the boyishness in me was +aroused. I considered a shipwreck as an unavoidable event +sooner or later in my future.</p> +<p>Meantime the man thus distinguished in my eyes glanced quietly +about and never spoke unless addressed directly by one of the +ladies present. There were more than a dozen people in that +drawing-room, mostly women eating fine pastry and talking +passionately. It might have been a Carlist committee +meeting of a particularly fatuous character. Even my youth +and inexperience were aware of that. And I was by a long +way the youngest person in the room. That quiet Monsieur +Mills intimidated me a little by his age (I suppose he was +thirty-five), his massive tranquillity, his clear, watchful +eyes. But the temptation was too great—and I +addressed him impulsively on the subject of that shipwreck.</p> +<p>He turned his big fair face towards me with surprise in his +keen glance, which (as though he had seen through me in an +instant and found nothing objectionable) changed subtly into +friendliness. On the matter of the shipwreck he did not say +much. He only told me that it had not occurred in the +Mediterranean, but on the other side of Southern France—in +the Bay of Biscay. “But this is hardly the place to +enter on a story of that kind,” he observed, looking round +at the room with a faint smile as attractive as the rest of his +rustic but well-bred personality.</p> +<p>I expressed my regret. I should have liked to hear all +about it. To this he said that it was not a secret and that +perhaps next time we met. . .</p> +<p>“But where can we meet?” I cried. “I +don’t come often to this house, you know.”</p> +<p>“Where? Why on the Cannebière to be +sure. Everybody meets everybody else at least once a day on +the pavement opposite the <i>Bourse</i>.”</p> +<p>This was absolutely true. But though I looked for him on +each succeeding day he was nowhere to be seen at the usual +times. The companions of my idle hours (and all my hours +were idle just then) noticed my preoccupation and chaffed me +about it in a rather obvious way. They wanted to know +whether she, whom I expected to see, was dark or fair; whether +that fascination which kept me on tenterhooks of expectation was +one of my aristocrats or one of my marine beauties: for they knew +I had a footing in both these—shall we say circles? +As to themselves they were the bohemian circle, not very +wide—half a dozen of us led by a sculptor whom we called +Prax for short. My own nick-name was “Young +Ulysses.”</p> +<p>I liked it.</p> +<p>But chaff or no chaff they would have been surprised to see me +leave them for the burly and sympathetic Mills. I was ready +to drop any easy company of equals to approach that interesting +man with every mental deference. It was not precisely +because of that shipwreck. He attracted and interested me +the more because he was not to be seen. The fear that he +might have departed suddenly for England—(or for +Spain)—caused me a sort of ridiculous depression as though +I had missed a unique opportunity. And it was a joyful +reaction which emboldened me to signal to him with a raised arm +across that café.</p> +<p>I was abashed immediately afterwards, when I saw him advance +towards my table with his friend. The latter was eminently +elegant. He was exactly like one of those figures one can +see of a fine May evening in the neighbourhood of the Opera-house +in Paris. Very Parisian indeed. And yet he struck me +as not so perfectly French as he ought to have been, as if +one’s nationality were an accomplishment with varying +degrees of excellence. As to Mills, he was perfectly +insular. There could be no doubt about him. They were +both smiling faintly at me. The burly Mills attended to the +introduction: “Captain Blunt.”</p> +<p>We shook hands. The name didn’t tell me +much. What surprised me was that Mills should have +remembered mine so well. I don’t want to boast of my +modesty but it seemed to me that two or three days was more than +enough for a man like Mills to forget my very existence. As +to the Captain, I was struck on closer view by the perfect +correctness of his personality. Clothes, slight figure, +clear-cut, thin, sun-tanned face, pose, all this was so good that +it was saved from the danger of banality only by the mobile black +eyes of a keenness that one doesn’t meet every day in the +south of France and still less in Italy. Another thing was +that, viewed as an officer in mufti, he did not look sufficiently +professional. That imperfection was interesting, too.</p> +<p>You may think that I am subtilizing my impressions on purpose, +but you may take it from a man who has lived a rough, a very +rough life, that it is the subtleties of personalities, and +contacts, and events, that count for interest and +memory—and pretty well nothing else. This—you +see—is the last evening of that part of my life in which I +did not know that woman. These are like the last hours of a +previous existence. It isn’t my fault that they are +associated with nothing better at the decisive moment than the +banal splendours of a gilded café and the bedlamite yells +of carnival in the street.</p> +<p>We three, however (almost complete strangers to each other), +had assumed attitudes of serious amiability round our +table. A waiter approached for orders and it was then, in +relation to my order for coffee, that the absolutely first thing +I learned of Captain Blunt was the fact that he was a sufferer +from insomnia. In his immovable way Mills began charging +his pipe. I felt extremely embarrassed all at once, but +became positively annoyed when I saw our Prax enter the +café in a sort of mediaeval costume very much like what +Faust wears in the third act. I have no doubt it was meant +for a purely operatic Faust. A light mantle floated from +his shoulders. He strode theatrically up to our table and +addressing me as “Young Ulysses” proposed I should go +outside on the fields of asphalt and help him gather a few +marguerites to decorate a truly infernal supper which was being +organized across the road at the Maison +Dorée—upstairs. With expostulatory shakes of +the head and indignant glances I called his attention to the fact +that I was not alone. He stepped back a pace as if +astonished by the discovery, took off his plumed velvet toque +with a low obeisance so that the feathers swept the floor, and +swaggered off the stage with his left hand resting on the hilt of +the property dagger at his belt.</p> +<p>Meantime the well-connected but rustic Mills had been busy +lighting his briar and the distinguished Captain sat smiling to +himself. I was horribly vexed and apologized for that +intrusion, saying that the fellow was a future great sculptor and +perfectly harmless; but he had been swallowing lots of night air +which had got into his head apparently.</p> +<p>Mills peered at me with his friendly but awfully searching +blue eyes through the cloud of smoke he had wreathed about his +big head. The slim, dark Captain’s smile took on an +amiable expression. Might he know why I was addressed as +“Young Ulysses” by my friend? and immediately he +added the remark with urbane playfulness that Ulysses was an +astute person. Mills did not give me time for a +reply. He struck in: “That old Greek was famed as a +wanderer—the first historical seaman.” He waved +his pipe vaguely at me.</p> +<p>“Ah! <i>Vraiment</i>!” The polite +Captain seemed incredulous and as if weary. “Are you +a seaman? In what sense, pray?” We were talking +French and he used the term <i>homme de mer</i>.</p> +<p>Again Mills interfered quietly. “In the same sense +in which you are a military man.” (<i>Homme de +guerre</i>.)</p> +<p>It was then that I heard Captain Blunt produce one of his +striking declarations. He had two of them, and this was the +first.</p> +<p>“I live by my sword.”</p> +<p>It was said in an extraordinary dandified manner which in +conjunction with the matter made me forget my tongue in my +head. I could only stare at him. He added more +naturally: “2nd Reg. Castille, Cavalry.” +Then with marked stress in Spanish, “<i>En las filas +legitimas</i>.”</p> +<p>Mills was heard, unmoved, like Jove in his cloud: +“He’s on leave here.”</p> +<p>“Of course I don’t shout that fact on the +housetops,” the Captain addressed me pointedly, “any +more than our friend his shipwreck adventure. We must not +strain the toleration of the French authorities too much! +It wouldn’t be correct—and not very safe +either.”</p> +<p>I became suddenly extremely delighted with my company. A +man who “lived by his sword,” before my eyes, close +at my elbow! So such people did exist in the world +yet! I had not been born too late! And across the +table with his air of watchful, unmoved benevolence, enough in +itself to arouse one’s interest, there was the man with the +story of a shipwreck that mustn’t be shouted on +housetops. Why?</p> +<p>I understood very well why, when he told me that he had joined +in the Clyde a small steamer chartered by a relative of his, +“a very wealthy man,” he observed (probably Lord X, I +thought), to carry arms and other supplies to the Carlist +army. And it was not a shipwreck in the ordinary +sense. Everything went perfectly well to the last moment +when suddenly the <i>Numancia</i> (a Republican ironclad) had +appeared and chased them ashore on the French coast below +Bayonne. In a few words, but with evident appreciation of +the adventure, Mills described to us how he swam to the beach +clad simply in a money belt and a pair of trousers. Shells +were falling all round till a tiny French gunboat came out of +Bayonne and shooed the <i>Numancia</i> away out of territorial +waters.</p> +<p>He was very amusing and I was fascinated by the mental picture +of that tranquil man rolling in the surf and emerging breathless, +in the costume you know, on the fair land of France, in the +character of a smuggler of war material. However, they had +never arrested or expelled him, since he was there before my +eyes. But how and why did he get so far from the scene of +his sea adventure was an interesting question. And I put it +to him with most naïve indiscretion which did not shock him +visibly. He told me that the ship being only stranded, not +sunk, the contraband cargo aboard was doubtless in good +condition. The French custom-house men were guarding the +wreck. If their vigilance could +be—h’m—removed by some means, or even merely +reduced, a lot of these rifles and cartridges could be taken off +quietly at night by certain Spanish fishing boats. In fact, +salved for the Carlists, after all. He thought it could be +done. . . .</p> +<p>I said with professional gravity that given a few perfectly +quiet nights (rare on that coast) it could certainly be done.</p> +<p>Mr. Mills was not afraid of the elements. It was the +highly inconvenient zeal of the French custom-house people that +had to be dealt with in some way.</p> +<p>“Heavens!” I cried, astonished. “You +can’t bribe the French Customs. This isn’t a +South-American republic.”</p> +<p>“Is it a republic?” he murmured, very absorbed in +smoking his wooden pipe.</p> +<p>“Well, isn’t it?”</p> +<p>He murmured again, “Oh, so little.” At this +I laughed, and a faintly humorous expression passed over +Mills’ face. No. Bribes were out of the +question, he admitted. But there were many legitimist +sympathies in Paris. A proper person could set them in +motion and a mere hint from high quarters to the officials on the +spot not to worry over-much about that wreck. . . .</p> +<p>What was most amusing was the cool, reasonable tone of this +amazing project. Mr. Blunt sat by very detached, his eyes +roamed here and there all over the café; and it was while +looking upward at the pink foot of a fleshy and very much +foreshortened goddess of some sort depicted on the ceiling in an +enormous composition in the Italian style that he let fall +casually the words, “She will manage it for you quite +easily.”</p> +<p>“Every Carlist agent in Bayonne assured me of +that,” said Mr. Mills. “I would have gone +straight to Paris only I was told she had fled here for a rest; +tired, discontented. Not a very encouraging +report.”</p> +<p>“These flights are well known,” muttered Mr. +Blunt. “You shall see her all right.”</p> +<p>“Yes. They told me that you . . . ”</p> +<p>I broke in: “You mean to say that you expect a woman to +arrange that sort of thing for you?”</p> +<p>“A trifle, for her,” Mr. Blunt remarked +indifferently. “At that sort of thing women are +best. They have less scruples.”</p> +<p>“More audacity,” interjected Mr. Mills almost in a +whisper.</p> +<p>Mr. Blunt kept quiet for a moment, then: “You +see,” he addressed me in a most refined tone, “a mere +man may suddenly find himself being kicked down the +stairs.”</p> +<p>I don’t know why I should have felt shocked by that +statement. It could not be because it was untrue. The +other did not give me time to offer any remark. He inquired +with extreme politeness what did I know of South American +republics? I confessed that I knew very little of +them. Wandering about the Gulf of Mexico I had a look-in +here and there; and amongst others I had a few days in Haiti +which was of course unique, being a negro republic. On this +Captain Blunt began to talk of negroes at large. He talked +of them with knowledge, intelligence, and a sort of contemptuous +affection. He generalized, he particularized about the +blacks; he told anecdotes. I was interested, a little +incredulous, and considerably surprised. What could this +man with such a boulevardier exterior that he looked positively +like, an exile in a provincial town, and with his drawing-room +manner—what could he know of negroes?</p> +<p>Mills, sitting silent with his air of watchful intelligence, +seemed to read my thoughts, waved his pipe slightly and +explained: “The Captain is from South Carolina.”</p> +<p>“Oh,” I murmured, and then after the slightest of +pauses I heard the second of Mr. J. K. Blunt’s +declarations.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said. “<i>Je suis +Américain</i>, <i>catholique et gentil-homme</i>,” +in a tone contrasting so strongly with the smile, which, as it +were, underlined the uttered words, that I was at a loss whether +to return the smile in kind or acknowledge the words with a grave +little bow. Of course I did neither and there fell on us an +odd, equivocal silence. It marked our final abandonment of +the French language. I was the one to speak first, +proposing that my companions should sup with me, not across the +way, which would be riotous with more than one +“infernal” supper, but in another much more select +establishment in a side street away from the +Cannebière. It flattered my vanity a little to be +able to say that I had a corner table always reserved in the +Salon des Palmiers, otherwise Salon Blanc, where the atmosphere +was legitimist and extremely decorous besides—even in +Carnival time. “Nine tenths of the people +there,” I said, “would be of your political opinions, +if that’s an inducement. Come along. +Let’s be festive,” I encouraged them.</p> +<p>I didn’t feel particularly festive. What I wanted +was to remain in my company and break an inexplicable feeling of +constraint of which I was aware. Mills looked at me +steadily with a faint, kind smile.</p> +<p>“No,” said Blunt. “Why should we go +there? They will be only turning us out in the small hours, +to go home and face insomnia. Can you imagine anything more +disgusting?”</p> +<p>He was smiling all the time, but his deep-set eyes did not +lend themselves to the expression of whimsical politeness which +he tried to achieve. He had another suggestion to +offer. Why shouldn’t we adjourn to his rooms? +He had there materials for a dish of his own invention for which +he was famous all along the line of the Royal Cavalry outposts, +and he would cook it for us. There were also a few bottles +of some white wine, quite possible, which we could drink out of +Venetian cut-glass goblets. A <i>bivouac</i> feast, in +fact. And he wouldn’t turn us out in the small +hours. Not he. He couldn’t sleep.</p> +<p>Need I say I was fascinated by the idea? Well, +yes. But somehow I hesitated and looked towards Mills, so +much my senior. He got up without a word. This was +decisive; for no obscure premonition, and of something indefinite +at that, could stand against the example of his tranquil +personality.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER II</h3> +<p>The street in which Mr. Blunt lived presented itself to our +eyes, narrow, silent, empty, and dark, but with enough gas-lamps +in it to disclose its most striking feature: a quantity of +flag-poles sticking out above many of its closed portals. +It was the street of Consuls and I remarked to Mr. Blunt that +coming out in the morning he could survey the flags of all +nations almost—except his own. (The U. S. consulate +was on the other side of the town.) He mumbled through his +teeth that he took good care to keep clear of his own +consulate.</p> +<p>“Are you afraid of the consul’s dog?” I +asked jocularly. The consul’s dog weighed about a +pound and a half and was known to the whole town as exhibited on +the consular fore-arm in all places, at all hours, but mainly at +the hour of the fashionable promenade on the Prado.</p> +<p>But I felt my jest misplaced when Mills growled low in my ear: +“They are all Yankees there.”</p> +<p>I murmured a confused “Of course.”</p> +<p>Books are nothing. I discovered that I had never been +aware before that the Civil War in America was not printed matter +but a fact only about ten years old. Of course. He +was a South Carolinian gentleman. I was a little ashamed of +my want of tact. Meantime, looking like the conventional +conception of a fashionable reveller, with his opera-hat pushed +off his forehead, Captain Blunt was having some slight difficulty +with his latch-key; for the house before which we had stopped was +not one of those many-storied houses that made up the greater +part of the street. It had only one row of windows above +the ground floor. Dead walls abutting on to it indicated +that it had a garden. Its dark front presented no marked +architectural character, and in the flickering light of a street +lamp it looked a little as though it had gone down in the +world. The greater then was my surprise to enter a hall +paved in black and white marble and in its dimness appearing of +palatial proportions. Mr. Blunt did not turn up the small +solitary gas-jet, but led the way across the black and white +pavement past the end of the staircase, past a door of gleaming +dark wood with a heavy bronze handle. It gave access to his +rooms he said; but he took us straight on to the studio at the +end of the passage.</p> +<p>It was rather a small place tacked on in the manner of a +lean-to to the garden side of the house. A large lamp was +burning brightly there. The floor was of mere flag-stones +but the few rugs scattered about though extremely worn were very +costly. There was also there a beautiful sofa upholstered +in pink figured silk, an enormous divan with many cushions, some +splendid arm-chairs of various shapes (but all very shabby), a +round table, and in the midst of these fine things a small common +iron stove. Somebody must have been attending it lately, +for the fire roared and the warmth of the place was very grateful +after the bone-searching cold blasts of mistral outside.</p> +<p>Mills without a word flung himself on the divan and, propped +on his arm, gazed thoughtfully at a distant corner where in the +shadow of a monumental carved wardrobe an articulated dummy +without head or hands but with beautifully shaped limbs composed +in a shrinking attitude, seemed to be embarrassed by his +stare.</p> +<p>As we sat enjoying the <i>bivouac</i> hospitality (the dish +was really excellent and our host in a shabby grey jacket still +looked the accomplished man-about-town) my eyes kept on straying +towards that corner. Blunt noticed this and remarked that I +seemed to be attracted by the Empress.</p> +<p>“It’s disagreeable,” I said. “It +seems to lurk there like a shy skeleton at the feast. But +why do you give the name of Empress to that dummy?”</p> +<p>“Because it sat for days and days in the robes of a +Byzantine Empress to a painter. . . I wonder where he discovered +these priceless stuffs. . . You knew him, I believe?”</p> +<p>Mills lowered his head slowly, then tossed down his throat +some wine out of a Venetian goblet.</p> +<p>“This house is full of costly objects. So are all +his other houses, so is his place in Paris—that mysterious +Pavilion hidden away in Passy somewhere.”</p> +<p>Mills knew the Pavilion. The wine had, I suppose, +loosened his tongue. Blunt, too, lost something of his +reserve. From their talk I gathered the notion of an +eccentric personality, a man of great wealth, not so much +solitary as difficult of access, a collector of fine things, a +painter known only to very few people and not at all to the +public market. But as meantime I had been emptying my +Venetian goblet with a certain regularity (the amount of heat +given out by that iron stove was amazing; it parched one’s +throat, and the straw-coloured wine didn’t seem much +stronger than so much pleasantly flavoured water) the voices and +the impressions they conveyed acquired something fantastic to my +mind. Suddenly I perceived that Mills was sitting in his +shirt-sleeves. I had not noticed him taking off his +coat. Blunt had unbuttoned his shabby jacket, exposing a +lot of starched shirt-front with the white tie under his dark +shaved chin. He had a strange air of insolence—or so +it seemed to me. I addressed him much louder than I +intended really.</p> +<p>“Did you know that extraordinary man?”</p> +<p>“To know him personally one had to be either very +distinguished or very lucky. Mr. Mills here . . +.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I have been lucky,” Mills struck in. +“It was my cousin who was distinguished. That’s +how I managed to enter his house in Paris—it was called the +Pavilion—twice.”</p> +<p>“And saw Doña Rita twice, too?” asked Blunt +with an indefinite smile and a marked emphasis. Mills was +also emphatic in his reply but with a serious face.</p> +<p>“I am not an easy enthusiast where women are concerned, +but she was without doubt the most admirable find of his amongst +all the priceless items he had accumulated in that +house—the most admirable. . . ”</p> +<p>“Ah! But, you see, of all the objects there she +was the only one that was alive,” pointed out Blunt with +the slightest possible flavour of sarcasm.</p> +<p>“Immensely so,” affirmed Mills. “Not +because she was restless, indeed she hardly ever moved from that +couch between the windows—you know.”</p> +<p>“No. I don’t know. I’ve never +been in there,” announced Blunt with that flash of white +teeth so strangely without any character of its own that it was +merely disturbing.</p> +<p>“But she radiated life,” continued Mills. +“She had plenty of it, and it had a quality. My +cousin and Henry Allègre had a lot to say to each other +and so I was free to talk to her. At the second visit we +were like old friends, which was absurd considering that all the +chances were that we would never meet again in this world or in +the next. I am not meddling with theology but it seems to +me that in the Elysian fields she’ll have her place in a +very special company.”</p> +<p>All this in a sympathetic voice and in his unmoved +manner. Blunt produced another disturbing white flash and +muttered:</p> +<p>“I should say mixed.” Then louder: “As +for instance . . . ”</p> +<p>“As for instance Cleopatra,” answered Mills +quietly. He added after a pause: “Who was not exactly +pretty.”</p> +<p>“I should have thought rather a La +Vallière,” Blunt dropped with an indifference of +which one did not know what to make. He may have begun to +be bored with the subject. But it may have been put on, for +the whole personality was not clearly definable. I, +however, was not indifferent. A woman is always an +interesting subject and I was thoroughly awake to that +interest. Mills pondered for a while with a sort of +dispassionate benevolence, at last:</p> +<p>“Yes, Doña Rita as far as I know her is so varied +in her simplicity that even that is possible,” he +said. “Yes. A romantic resigned La +Vallière . . . who had a big mouth.”</p> +<p>I felt moved to make myself heard.</p> +<p>“Did you know La Vallière, too?” I asked +impertinently.</p> +<p>Mills only smiled at me. “No. I am not quite +so old as that,” he said. “But it’s not +very difficult to know facts of that kind about a historical +personage. There were some ribald verses made at the time, +and Louis XIV was congratulated on the possession—I really +don’t remember how it goes—on the possession of:</p> +<p class="poetry">“. . . de ce bec amoureux<br /> +Qui d’une oreille à l’autre va,<br /> +Tra là là.</p> +<p>or something of the sort. It needn’t be from ear +to ear, but it’s a fact that a big mouth is often a sign of +a certain generosity of mind and feeling. Young man, beware +of women with small mouths. Beware of the others, too, of +course; but a small mouth is a fatal sign. Well, the +royalist sympathizers can’t charge Doña Rita with +any lack of generosity from what I hear. Why should I judge +her? I have known her for, say, six hours altogether. +It was enough to feel the seduction of her native intelligence +and of her splendid physique. And all that was brought home +to me so quickly,” he concluded, “because she had +what some Frenchman has called the ‘terrible gift of +familiarity’.”</p> +<p>Blunt had been listening moodily. He nodded assent.</p> +<p>“Yes!” Mills’ thoughts were still +dwelling in the past. “And when saying good-bye she +could put in an instant an immense distance between herself and +you. A slight stiffening of that perfect figure, a change +of the physiognomy: it was like being dismissed by a person born +in the purple. Even if she did offer you her hand—as +she did to me—it was as if across a broad river. +Trick of manner or a bit of truth peeping out? Perhaps +she’s really one of those inaccessible beings. What +do you think, Blunt?”</p> +<p>It was a direct question which for some reason (as if my range +of sensitiveness had been increased already) displeased or rather +disturbed me strangely. Blunt seemed not to have heard +it. But after a while he turned to me.</p> +<p>“That thick man,” he said in a tone of perfect +urbanity, “is as fine as a needle. All these +statements about the seduction and then this final doubt +expressed after only two visits which could not have included +more than six hours altogether and this some three years +ago! But it is Henry Allègre that you should ask +this question, Mr. Mills.”</p> +<p>“I haven’t the secret of raising the dead,” +answered Mills good humouredly. “And if I had I would +hesitate. It would seem such a liberty to take with a +person one had known so slightly in life.”</p> +<p>“And yet Henry Allègre is the only person to ask +about her, after all this uninterrupted companionship of years, +ever since he discovered her; all the time, every breathing +moment of it, till, literally, his very last breath. I +don’t mean to say she nursed him. He had his +confidential man for that. He couldn’t bear women +about his person. But then apparently he couldn’t +bear this one out of his sight. She’s the only woman +who ever sat to him, for he would never suffer a model inside his +house. That’s why the ‘Girl in the Hat’ +and the ‘Byzantine Empress’ have that family air, +though neither of them is really a likeness of Doña Rita. +. . You know my mother?”</p> +<p>Mills inclined his body slightly and a fugitive smile vanished +from his lips. Blunt’s eyes were fastened on the very +centre of his empty plate.</p> +<p>“Then perhaps you know my mother’s artistic and +literary associations,” Blunt went on in a subtly changed +tone. “My mother has been writing verse since she was +a girl of fifteen. She’s still writing verse. +She’s still fifteen—a spoiled girl of genius. +So she requested one of her poet friends—no less than +Versoy himself—to arrange for a visit to Henry +Allègre’s house. At first he thought he +hadn’t heard aright. You must know that for my mother +a man that doesn’t jump out of his skin for any +woman’s caprice is not chivalrous. But perhaps you do +know? . . .”</p> +<p>Mills shook his head with an amused air. Blunt, who had +raised his eyes from his plate to look at him, started afresh +with great deliberation.</p> +<p>“She gives no peace to herself or her friends. My +mother’s exquisitely absurd. You understand that all +these painters, poets, art collectors (and dealers in +bric-à-brac, he interjected through his teeth) of my +mother are not in my way; but Versoy lives more like a man of the +world. One day I met him at the fencing school. He +was furious. He asked me to tell my mother that this was +the last effort of his chivalry. The jobs she gave him to +do were too difficult. But I daresay he had been pleased +enough to show the influence he had in that quarter. He +knew my mother would tell the world’s wife all about +it. He’s a spiteful, gingery little wretch. The +top of his head shines like a billiard ball. I believe he +polishes it every morning with a cloth. Of course they +didn’t get further than the big drawing-room on the first +floor, an enormous drawing-room with three pairs of columns in +the middle. The double doors on the top of the staircase +had been thrown wide open, as if for a visit from royalty. +You can picture to yourself my mother, with her white hair done +in some 18th century fashion and her sparkling black eyes, +penetrating into those splendours attended by a sort of +bald-headed, vexed squirrel—and Henry Allègre coming +forward to meet them like a severe prince with the face of a +tombstone Crusader, big white hands, muffled silken voice, +half-shut eyes, as if looking down at them from a balcony. +You remember that trick of his, Mills?”</p> +<p>Mills emitted an enormous cloud of smoke out of his distended +cheeks.</p> +<p>“I daresay he was furious, too,” Blunt +continued dispassionately. “But he was extremely +civil. He showed her all the ‘treasures’ in the +room, ivories, enamels, miniatures, all sorts of monstrosities +from Japan, from India, from Timbuctoo . . . for all I know. . . +He pushed his condescension so far as to have the ‘Girl in +the Hat’ brought down into the drawing-room—half +length, unframed. They put her on a chair for my mother to +look at. The ‘Byzantine Empress’ was already +there, hung on the end wall—full length, gold frame +weighing half a ton. My mother first overwhelms the +‘Master’ with thanks, and then absorbs herself in the +adoration of the ‘Girl in the Hat.’ Then she +sighs out: ‘It should be called Diaphanéité, +if there is such a word. Ah! This is the last +expression of modernity!’ She puts up suddenly her +face-à-main and looks towards the end wall. +‘And that—Byzantium itself! Who was she, this +sullen and beautiful Empress?’</p> +<p>“‘The one I had in my mind was +Theodosia!’ Allègre consented to answer. +‘Originally a slave girl—from somewhere.’</p> +<p>“My mother can be marvellously indiscreet when the whim +takes her. She finds nothing better to do than to ask the +‘Master’ why he took his inspiration for those two +faces from the same model. No doubt she was proud of her +discerning eye. It was really clever of her. +Allègre, however, looked on it as a colossal impertinence; +but he answered in his silkiest tones:</p> +<p>“‘Perhaps it is because I saw in that woman +something of the women of all time.’</p> +<p>“My mother might have guessed that she was on thin ice +there. She is extremely intelligent. Moreover, she +ought to have known. But women can be miraculously dense +sometimes. So she exclaims, ‘Then she is a +wonder!’ And with some notion of being complimentary +goes on to say that only the eyes of the discoverer of so many +wonders of art could have discovered something so marvellous in +life. I suppose Allègre lost his temper altogether +then; or perhaps he only wanted to pay my mother out, for all +these ‘Masters’ she had been throwing at his head for +the last two hours. He insinuates with the utmost +politeness:</p> +<p>“‘As you are honouring my poor collection with a +visit you may like to judge for yourself as to the inspiration of +these two pictures. She is upstairs changing her dress +after our morning ride. But she wouldn’t be very +long. She might be a little surprised at first to be called +down like this, but with a few words of preparation and purely as +a matter of art . . .’</p> +<p>“There were never two people more taken aback. +Versoy himself confesses that he dropped his tall hat with a +crash. I am a dutiful son, I hope, but I must say I should +have liked to have seen the retreat down the great +staircase. Ha! Ha! Ha!”</p> +<p>He laughed most undutifully and then his face twitched +grimly.</p> +<p>“That implacable brute Allègre followed them down +ceremoniously and put my mother into the fiacre at the door with +the greatest deference. He didn’t open his lips +though, and made a great bow as the fiacre drove away. My +mother didn’t recover from her consternation for three +days. I lunch with her almost daily and I couldn’t +imagine what was the matter. Then one day . . .”</p> +<p>He glanced round the table, jumped up and with a word of +excuse left the studio by a small door in a corner. This +startled me into the consciousness that I had been as if I had +not existed for these two men. With his elbows propped on +the table Mills had his hands in front of his face clasping the +pipe from which he extracted now and then a puff of smoke, +staring stolidly across the room.</p> +<p>I was moved to ask in a whisper:</p> +<p>“Do you know him well?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know what he is driving at,” he +answered drily. “But as to his mother she is not as +volatile as all that. I suspect it was business. It +may have been a deep plot to get a picture out of Allègre +for somebody. My cousin as likely as not. Or simply +to discover what he had. The Blunts lost all their property +and in Paris there are various ways of making a little money, +without actually breaking anything. Not even the law. +And Mrs. Blunt really had a position once—in the days of +the Second Empire—and so. . .”</p> +<p>I listened open-mouthed to these things into which my +West-Indian experiences could not have given me an insight. +But Mills checked himself and ended in a changed tone.</p> +<p>“It’s not easy to know what she would be at, +either, in any given instance. For the rest, spotlessly +honourable. A delightful, aristocratic old lady. Only +poor.”</p> +<p>A bump at the door silenced him and immediately Mr. John +Blunt, Captain of Cavalry in the Army of Legitimity, first-rate +cook (as to one dish at least), and generous host, entered +clutching the necks of four more bottles between the fingers of +his hand.</p> +<p>“I stumbled and nearly smashed the lot,” he +remarked casually. But even I, with all my innocence, never +for a moment believed he had stumbled accidentally. During +the uncorking and the filling up of glasses a profound silence +reigned; but neither of us took it seriously—any more than +his stumble.</p> +<p>“One day,” he went on again in that curiously +flavoured voice of his, “my mother took a heroic decision +and made up her mind to get up in the middle of the night. +You must understand my mother’s phraseology. It meant +that she would be up and dressed by nine o’clock. +This time it was not Versoy that was commanded for attendance, +but I. You may imagine how delighted I was. . . +.”</p> +<p>It was very plain to me that Blunt was addressing himself +exclusively to Mills: Mills the mind, even more than Mills the +man. It was as if Mills represented something initiated and +to be reckoned with. I, of course, could have no such +pretensions. If I represented anything it was a perfect +freshness of sensations and a refreshing ignorance, not so much +of what life may give one (as to that I had some ideas at least) +but of what it really contains. I knew very well that I was +utterly insignificant in these men’s eyes. Yet my +attention was not checked by that knowledge. It’s +true they were talking of a woman, but I was yet at the age when +this subject by itself is not of overwhelming interest. My +imagination would have been more stimulated probably by the +adventures and fortunes of a man. What kept my interest +from flagging was Mr. Blunt himself. The play of the white +gleams of his smile round the suspicion of grimness of his tone +fascinated me like a moral incongruity.</p> +<p>So at the age when one sleeps well indeed but does feel +sometimes as if the need of sleep were a mere weakness of a +distant old age, I kept easily awake; and in my freshness I was +kept amused by the contrast of personalities, of the disclosed +facts and moral outlook with the rough initiations of my +West-Indian experience. And all these things were dominated +by a feminine figure which to my imagination had only a floating +outline, now invested with the grace of girlhood, now with the +prestige of a woman; and indistinct in both these +characters. For these two men had <i>seen</i> her, while to +me she was only being “presented,” elusively, in +vanishing words, in the shifting tones of an unfamiliar +voice.</p> +<p>She was being presented to me now in the Bois de Boulogne at +the early hour of the ultra-fashionable world (so I understood), +on a light bay “bit of blood” attended on the off +side by that Henry Allègre mounted on a dark brown +powerful weight carrier; and on the other by one of +Allègre’s acquaintances (the man had no real +friends), distinguished frequenters of that mysterious +Pavilion. And so that side of the frame in which that woman +appeared to one down the perspective of the great Allée +was not permanent. That morning when Mr. Blunt had to +escort his mother there for the gratification of her irresistible +curiosity (of which he highly disapproved) there appeared in +succession, at that woman’s or girl’s bridle-hand, a +cavalry general in red breeches, on whom she was smiling; a +rising politician in a grey suit, who talked to her with great +animation but left her side abruptly to join a personage in a red +fez and mounted on a white horse; and then, some time afterwards, +the vexed Mr. Blunt and his indiscreet mother (though I really +couldn’t see where the harm was) had one more chance of a +good stare. The third party that time was the Royal +Pretender (Allègre had been painting his portrait lately), +whose hearty, sonorous laugh was heard long before the mounted +trio came riding very slowly abreast of the Blunts. There +was colour in the girl’s face. She was not +laughing. Her expression was serious and her eyes +thoughtfully downcast. Blunt admitted that on that occasion +the charm, brilliance, and force of her personality was +adequately framed between those magnificently mounted, +paladin-like attendants, one older than the other but the two +composing together admirably in the different stages of their +manhood. Mr. Blunt had never before seen Henry +Allègre so close. Allègre was riding nearest +to the path on which Blunt was dutifully giving his arm to his +mother (they had got out of their fiacre) and wondering if that +confounded fellow would have the impudence to take off his +hat. But he did not. Perhaps he didn’t +notice. Allègre was not a man of wandering +glances. There were silver hairs in his beard but he looked +as solid as a statue. Less than three months afterwards he +was gone.</p> +<p>“What was it?” asked Mills, who had not changed +his pose for a very long time.</p> +<p>“Oh, an accident. But he lingered. They were +on their way to Corsica. A yearly pilgrimage. +Sentimental perhaps. It was to Corsica that he carried her +off—I mean first of all.”</p> +<p>There was the slightest contraction of Mr. Blunt’s +facial muscles. Very slight; but I, staring at the narrator +after the manner of all simple souls, noticed it; the twitch of a +pain which surely must have been mental. There was also a +suggestion of effort before he went on: “I suppose you know +how he got hold of her?” in a tone of ease which was +astonishingly ill-assumed for such a worldly, self-controlled, +drawing-room person.</p> +<p>Mills changed his attitude to look at him fixedly for a +moment. Then he leaned back in his chair and with +interest—I don’t mean curiosity, I mean interest: +“Does anybody know besides the two parties +concerned?” he asked, with something as it were renewed (or +was it refreshed?) in his unmoved quietness. “I ask +because one has never heard any tales. I remember one +evening in a restaurant seeing a man come in with a lady—a +beautiful lady—very particularly beautiful, as though she +had been stolen out of Mahomet’s paradise. With +Doña Rita it can’t be anything as definite as +that. But speaking of her in the same strain, I’ve +always felt that she looked as though Allègre had caught +her in the precincts of some temple . . . in the +mountains.”</p> +<p>I was delighted. I had never heard before a woman spoken +about in that way, a real live woman that is, not a woman in a +book. For this was no poetry and yet it seemed to put her +in the category of visions. And I would have lost myself in +it if Mr. Blunt had not, most unexpectedly, addressed himself to +me.</p> +<p>“I told you that man was as fine as a needle.”</p> +<p>And then to Mills: “Out of a temple? We know what +that means.” His dark eyes flashed: “And must +it be really in the mountains?” he added.</p> +<p>“Or in a desert,” conceded Mills, “if you +prefer that. There have been temples in deserts, you +know.”</p> +<p>Blunt had calmed down suddenly and assumed a nonchalant +pose.</p> +<p>“As a matter of fact, Henry Allègre caught her +very early one morning in his own old garden full of thrushes and +other small birds. She was sitting on a stone, a fragment +of some old balustrade, with her feet in the damp grass, and +reading a tattered book of some kind. She had on a short, +black, two-penny frock (<i>une petite robe de deux sous</i>) and +there was a hole in one of her stockings. She raised her +eyes and saw him looking down at her thoughtfully over that +ambrosian beard of his, like Jove at a mortal. They +exchanged a good long stare, for at first she was too startled to +move; and then he murmured, “<i>Restez +donc</i>.” She lowered her eyes again on her book and +after a while heard him walk away on the path. Her heart +thumped while she listened to the little birds filling the air +with their noise. She was not frightened. I am +telling you this positively because she has told me the tale +herself. What better authority can you have . . .?” +Blunt paused.</p> +<p>“That’s true. She’s not the sort of +person to lie about her own sensations,” murmured Mills +above his clasped hands.</p> +<p>“Nothing can escape his penetration,” Blunt +remarked to me with that equivocal urbanity which made me always +feel uncomfortable on Mills’ account. +“Positively nothing.” He turned to Mills +again. “After some minutes of immobility—she +told me—she arose from her stone and walked slowly on the +track of that apparition. Allègre was nowhere to be +seen by that time. Under the gateway of the extremely ugly +tenement house, which hides the Pavilion and the garden from the +street, the wife of the porter was waiting with her arms +akimbo. At once she cried out to Rita: ‘You were +caught by our gentleman.’</p> +<p>“As a matter of fact, that old woman, being a friend of +Rita’s aunt, allowed the girl to come into the garden +whenever Allègre was away. But +Allègre’s goings and comings were sudden and +unannounced; and that morning, Rita, crossing the narrow, +thronged street, had slipped in through the gateway in ignorance +of Allègre’s return and unseen by the porter’s +wife.</p> +<p>“The child, she was but little more than that then, +expressed her regret of having perhaps got the kind +porter’s wife into trouble.</p> +<p>“The old woman said with a peculiar smile: ‘Your +face is not of the sort that gets other people into +trouble. My gentleman wasn’t angry. He says you +may come in any morning you like.’</p> +<p>“Rita, without saying anything to this, crossed the +street back again to the warehouse full of oranges where she +spent most of her waking hours. Her dreaming, empty, idle, +thoughtless, unperturbed hours, she calls them. She crossed +the street with a hole in her stocking. She had a hole in +her stocking not because her uncle and aunt were poor (they had +around them never less than eight thousand oranges, mostly in +cases) but because she was then careless and untidy and totally +unconscious of her personal appearance. She told me herself +that she was not even conscious then of her personal +existence. She was a mere adjunct in the twilight life of +her aunt, a Frenchwoman, and her uncle, the orange merchant, a +Basque peasant, to whom her other uncle, the great man of the +family, the priest of some parish in the hills near Tolosa, had +sent her up at the age of thirteen or thereabouts for safe +keeping. She is of peasant stock, you know. This is +the true origin of the ‘Girl in the Hat’ and of the +‘Byzantine Empress’ which excited my dear mother so +much; of the mysterious girl that the privileged personalities +great in art, in letters, in politics, or simply in the world, +could see on the big sofa during the gatherings in +Allègre’s exclusive Pavilion: the Doña Rita +of their respectful addresses, manifest and mysterious, like an +object of art from some unknown period; the Doña Rita of +the initiated Paris. Doña Rita and nothing +more—unique and indefinable.” He stopped with a +disagreeable smile.</p> +<p>“And of peasant stock?” I exclaimed in the +strangely conscious silence that fell between Mills and +Blunt.</p> +<p>“Oh! All these Basques have been ennobled by Don +Sanche II,” said Captain Blunt moodily. “You +see coats of arms carved over the doorways of the most miserable +<i>caserios</i>. As far as that goes she’s +Doña Rita right enough whatever else she is or is not in +herself or in the eyes of others. In your eyes, for +instance, Mills. Eh?”</p> +<p>For a time Mills preserved that conscious silence.</p> +<p>“Why think about it at all?” he murmured coldly at +last. “A strange bird is hatched sometimes in a nest +in an unaccountable way and then the fate of such a bird is bound +to be ill-defined, uncertain, questionable. And so that is +how Henry Allègre saw her first? And what happened +next?”</p> +<p>“What happened next?” repeated Mr. Blunt, with an +affected surprise in his tone. “Is it necessary to +ask that question? If you had asked <i>how</i> the next +happened. . . But as you may imagine she hasn’t told +me anything about that. She didn’t,” he +continued with polite sarcasm, “enlarge upon the +facts. That confounded Allègre, with his impudent +assumption of princely airs, must have (I shouldn’t wonder) +made the fact of his notice appear as a sort of favour dropped +from Olympus. I really can’t tell how the minds and +the imaginations of such aunts and uncles are affected by such +rare visitations. Mythology may give us a hint. There +is the story of Danae, for instance.”</p> +<p>“There is,” remarked Mills calmly, “but I +don’t remember any aunt or uncle in that +connection.”</p> +<p>“And there are also certain stories of the discovery and +acquisition of some unique objects of art. The sly +approaches, the astute negotiations, the lying and the +circumventing . . . for the love of beauty, you know.”</p> +<p>With his dark face and with the perpetual smiles playing about +his grimness, Mr. Blunt appeared to me positively satanic. +Mills’ hand was toying absently with an empty glass. +Again they had forgotten my existence altogether.</p> +<p>“I don’t know how an object of art would +feel,” went on Blunt, in an unexpectedly grating voice, +which, however, recovered its tone immediately. “I +don’t know. But I do know that Rita herself was not a +Danae, never, not at any time of her life. She didn’t +mind the holes in her stockings. She wouldn’t mind +holes in her stockings now. . . That is if she manages to keep +any stockings at all,” he added, with a sort of suppressed +fury so funnily unexpected that I would have burst into a laugh +if I hadn’t been lost in astonishment of the simplest +kind.</p> +<p>“No—really!” There was a flash of +interest from the quiet Mills.</p> +<p>“Yes, really,” Blunt nodded and knitted his +brows very devilishly indeed. “She may yet be left +without a single pair of stockings.”</p> +<p>“The world’s a thief,” declared Mills, with +the utmost composure. “It wouldn’t mind robbing +a lonely traveller.”</p> +<p>“He is so subtle.” Blunt remembered my +existence for the purpose of that remark and as usual it made me +very uncomfortable. “Perfectly true. A lonely +traveller. They are all in the scramble from the lowest to +the highest. Heavens! What a gang! There was +even an Archbishop in it.”</p> +<p>“<i>Vous plaisantez</i>,” said Mills, but without +any marked show of incredulity.</p> +<p>“I joke very seldom,” Blunt protested +earnestly. “That’s why I haven’t +mentioned His Majesty—whom God preserve. That would +have been an exaggeration. . . However, the end is not yet. +We were talking about the beginning. I have heard that some +dealers in fine objects, quite mercenary people of course (my +mother has an experience in that world), show sometimes an +astonishing reluctance to part with some specimens, even at a +good price. It must be very funny. It’s just +possible that the uncle and the aunt have been rolling in tears +on the floor, amongst their oranges, or beating their heads +against the walls from rage and despair. But I doubt +it. And in any case Allègre is not the sort of +person that gets into any vulgar trouble. And it’s +just possible that those people stood open-mouthed at all that +magnificence. They weren’t poor, you know; therefore +it wasn’t incumbent on them to be honest. They are +still there in the old respectable warehouse, I understand. +They have kept their position in their <i>quartier</i>, I +believe. But they didn’t keep their niece. It +might have been an act of sacrifice! For I seem to remember +hearing that after attending for a while some school round the +corner the child had been set to keep the books of that orange +business. However it might have been, the first fact in +Rita’s and Allègre’s common history is a +journey to Italy, and then to Corsica. You know +Allègre had a house in Corsica somewhere. She has it +now as she has everything he ever had; and that Corsican palace +is the portion that will stick the longest to Doña Rita, I +imagine. Who would want to buy a place like that? I +suppose nobody would take it for a gift. The fellow was +having houses built all over the place. This very house +where we are sitting belonged to him. Doña Rita has +given it to her sister, I understand. Or at any rate the +sister runs it. She is my landlady . . .”</p> +<p>“Her sister here!” I exclaimed. “Her +sister!”</p> +<p>Blunt turned to me politely, but only for a long mute +gaze. His eyes were in deep shadow and it struck me for the +first time then that there was something fatal in that +man’s aspect as soon as he fell silent. I think the +effect was purely physical, but in consequence whatever he said +seemed inadequate and as if produced by a commonplace, if uneasy, +soul.</p> +<p>“Doña Rita brought her down from her mountains on +purpose. She is asleep somewhere in this house, in one of +the vacant rooms. She lets them, you know, at extortionate +prices, that is, if people will pay them, for she is easily +intimidated. You see, she has never seen such an enormous +town before in her life, nor yet so many strange people. +She has been keeping house for the uncle-priest in some mountain +gorge for years and years. It’s extraordinary he +should have let her go. There is something mysterious +there, some reason or other. It’s either theology or +Family. The saintly uncle in his wild parish would know +nothing of any other reasons. She wears a rosary at her +waist. Directly she had seen some real money she developed +a love of it. If you stay with me long enough, and I hope +you will (I really can’t sleep), you will see her going out +to mass at half-past six; but there is nothing remarkable in her; +just a peasant woman of thirty-four or so. A rustic nun. . +. .”</p> +<p>I may as well say at once that we didn’t stay as long as +that. It was not that morning that I saw for the first time +Therese of the whispering lips and downcast eyes slipping out to +an early mass from the house of iniquity into the early winter +murk of the city of perdition, in a world steeped in sin. +No. It was not on that morning that I saw Doña +Rita’s incredible sister with her brown, dry face, her +gliding motion, and her really nun-like dress, with a black +handkerchief enfolding her head tightly, with the two pointed +ends hanging down her back. Yes, nun-like enough. And +yet not altogether. People would have turned round after +her if those dartings out to the half-past six mass hadn’t +been the only occasion on which she ventured into the impious +streets. She was frightened of the streets, but in a +particular way, not as if of a danger but as if of a +contamination. Yet she didn’t fly back to her +mountains because at bottom she had an indomitable character, a +peasant tenacity of purpose, predatory instincts. . . .</p> +<p>No, we didn’t remain long enough with Mr. Blunt to see +even as much as her back glide out of the house on her prayerful +errand. She was prayerful. She was terrible. +Her one-idead peasant mind was as inaccessible as a closed iron +safe. She was fatal. . . It’s perfectly ridiculous to +confess that they all seem fatal to me now; but writing to you +like this in all sincerity I don’t mind appearing +ridiculous. I suppose fatality must be expressed, embodied, +like other forces of this earth; and if so why not in such people +as well as in other more glorious or more frightful figures?</p> +<p>We remained, however, long enough to let Mr. Blunt’s +half-hidden acrimony develop itself or prey on itself in further +talk about the man Allègre and the girl Rita. Mr. +Blunt, still addressing Mills with that story, passed on to what +he called the second act, the disclosure, with, what he called, +the characteristic Allègre impudence—which surpassed +the impudence of kings, millionaires, or tramps, by many +degrees—the revelation of Rita’s existence to the +world at large. It wasn’t a very large world, but +then it was most choicely composed. How is one to describe +it shortly? In a sentence it was the world that rides in +the morning in the Bois.</p> +<p>In something less than a year and a half from the time he +found her sitting on a broken fragment of stone work buried in +the grass of his wild garden, full of thrushes, starlings, and +other innocent creatures of the air, he had given her amongst +other accomplishments the art of sitting admirably on a horse, +and directly they returned to Paris he took her out with him for +their first morning ride.</p> +<p>“I leave you to judge of the sensation,” continued +Mr. Blunt, with a faint grimace, as though the words had an acrid +taste in his mouth. “And the consternation,” he +added venomously. “Many of those men on that great +morning had some one of their womankind with them. But +their hats had to go off all the same, especially the hats of the +fellows who were under some sort of obligation to +Allègre. You would be astonished to hear the names +of people, of real personalities in the world, who, not to mince +matters, owed money to Allègre. And I don’t +mean in the world of art only. In the first rout of the +surprise some story of an adopted daughter was set abroad +hastily, I believe. You know ‘adopted’ with a +peculiar accent on the word—and it was plausible +enough. I have been told that at that time she looked +extremely youthful by his side, I mean extremely youthful in +expression, in the eyes, in the smile. She must have been . +. .”</p> +<p>Blunt pulled himself up short, but not so short as not to let +the confused murmur of the word “adorable” reach our +attentive ears.</p> +<p>The heavy Mills made a slight movement in his chair. The +effect on me was more inward, a strange emotion which left me +perfectly still; and for the moment of silence Blunt looked more +fatal than ever.</p> +<p>“I understand it didn’t last very long,” he +addressed us politely again. “And no wonder! +The sort of talk she would have heard during that first +springtime in Paris would have put an impress on a much less +receptive personality; for of course Allègre didn’t +close his doors to his friends and this new apparition was not of +the sort to make them keep away. After that first morning +she always had somebody to ride at her bridle hand. Old +Doyen, the sculptor, was the first to approach them. At +that age a man may venture on anything. He rides a strange +animal like a circus horse. Rita had spotted him out of the +corner of her eye as he passed them, putting up his enormous paw +in a still more enormous glove, airily, you know, like +this” (Blunt waved his hand above his head), “to +Allègre. He passes on. All at once he wheels +his fantastic animal round and comes trotting after them. +With the merest casual ‘<i>Bonjour</i>, +Allègre’ he ranges close to her on the other side +and addresses her, hat in hand, in that booming voice of his like +a deferential roar of the sea very far away. His +articulation is not good, and the first words she really made out +were ‘I am an old sculptor. . . Of course there is that +habit. . . But I can see you through all that. . . ’</p> +<p>He put his hat on very much on one side. ‘I am a +great sculptor of women,’ he declared. ‘I gave +up my life to them, poor unfortunate creatures, the most +beautiful, the wealthiest, the most loved. . . Two generations of +them. . . Just look at me full in the eyes, <i>mon +enfant</i>.’</p> +<p>“They stared at each other. Doña Rita +confessed to me that the old fellow made her heart beat with such +force that she couldn’t manage to smile at him. And +she saw his eyes run full of tears. He wiped them simply +with the back of his hand and went on booming faintly. +‘Thought so. You are enough to make one cry. I +thought my artist’s life was finished, and here you come +along from devil knows where with this young friend of mine, who +isn’t a bad smearer of canvases—but it’s marble +and bronze that you want. . . I shall finish my artist’s +life with your face; but I shall want a bit of those shoulders, +too. . . You hear, Allègre, I must have a bit of her +shoulders, too. I can see through the cloth that they are +divine. If they aren’t divine I will eat my +hat. Yes, I will do your head and then—<i>nunc +dimittis</i>.’</p> +<p>“These were the first words with which the world greeted +her, or should I say civilization did; already both her native +mountains and the cavern of oranges belonged to a prehistoric +age. ‘Why don’t you ask him to come this +afternoon?’ Allègre’s voice suggested +gently. ‘He knows the way to the house.’</p> +<p>“The old man said with extraordinary fervour, ‘Oh, +yes I will,’ pulled up his horse and they went on. +She told me that she could feel her heart-beats for a long +time. The remote power of that voice, those old eyes full +of tears, that noble and ruined face, had affected her +extraordinarily she said. But perhaps what affected her was +the shadow, the still living shadow of a great passion in the +man’s heart.</p> +<p>“Allègre remarked to her calmly: ‘He has +been a little mad all his life.’”</p> +<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> +<p>Mills lowered the hands holding the extinct and even cold pipe +before his big face.</p> +<p>“H’m, shoot an arrow into that old man’s +heart like this? But was there anything done?”</p> +<p>“A terra-cotta bust, I believe. Good? I +don’t know. I rather think it’s in this +house. A lot of things have been sent down from Paris here, +when she gave up the Pavilion. When she goes up now she +stays in hotels, you know. I imagine it is locked up in one +of these things,” went on Blunt, pointing towards the end +of the studio where amongst the monumental presses of dark oak +lurked the shy dummy which had worn the stiff robes of the +Byzantine Empress and the amazing hat of the “Girl,” +rakishly. I wondered whether that dummy had travelled from +Paris, too, and whether with or without its head. Perhaps +that head had been left behind, having rolled into a corner of +some empty room in the dismantled Pavilion. I represented +it to myself very lonely, without features, like a turnip, with a +mere peg sticking out where the neck should have been. And +Mr. Blunt was talking on.</p> +<p>“There are treasures behind these locked doors, +brocades, old jewels, unframed pictures, bronzes, chinoiseries, +Japoneries.”</p> +<p>He growled as much as a man of his accomplished manner and +voice could growl. “I don’t suppose she gave +away all that to her sister, but I shouldn’t be surprised +if that timid rustic didn’t lay a claim to the lot for the +love of God and the good of the Church. . .</p> +<p>“And held on with her teeth, too,” he added +graphically.</p> +<p>Mills’ face remained grave. Very grave. I +was amused at those little venomous outbreaks of the fatal Mr. +Blunt. Again I knew myself utterly forgotten. But I +didn’t feel dull and I didn’t even feel sleepy. +That last strikes me as strange at this distance of time, in +regard of my tender years and of the depressing hour which +precedes the dawn. We had been drinking that straw-coloured +wine, too, I won’t say like water (nobody would have drunk +water like that) but, well . . . and the haze of tobacco smoke +was like the blue mist of great distances seen in dreams.</p> +<p>Yes, that old sculptor was the first who joined them in the +sight of all Paris. It was that old glory that opened the +series of companions of those morning rides; a series which +extended through three successive Parisian spring-times and +comprised a famous physiologist, a fellow who seemed to hint that +mankind could be made immortal or at least everlastingly old; a +fashionable philosopher and psychologist who used to lecture to +enormous audiences of women with his tongue in his cheek (but +never permitted himself anything of the kind when talking to +Rita); that surly dandy Cabanel (but he only once, from mere +vanity), and everybody else at all distinguished including also a +celebrated person who turned out later to be a swindler. +But he was really a genius. . . All this according to Mr. Blunt, +who gave us all those details with a sort of languid zest +covering a secret irritation.</p> +<p>“Apart from that, you know,” went on Mr. Blunt, +“all she knew of the world of men and women (I mean till +Allègre’s death) was what she had seen of it from +the saddle two hours every morning during four months of the year +or so. Absolutely all, with Allègre self-denyingly +on her right hand, with that impenetrable air of +guardianship. Don’t touch! He didn’t like +his treasures to be touched unless he actually put some unique +object into your hands with a sort of triumphant murmur, +‘Look close at that.’ Of course I only have +heard all this. I am much too small a person, you +understand, to even . . .”</p> +<p>He flashed his white teeth at us most agreeably, but the upper +part of his face, the shadowed setting of his eyes, and the +slight drawing in of his eyebrows gave a fatal suggestion. +I thought suddenly of the definition he applied to himself: +“<i>Américain</i>, <i>catholique et +gentil-homme</i>” completed by that startling “I live +by my sword” uttered in a light drawing-room tone tinged by +a flavour of mockery lighter even than air.</p> +<p>He insisted to us that the first and only time he had seen +Allègre a little close was that morning in the Bois with +his mother. His Majesty (whom God preserve), then not even +an active Pretender, flanked the girl, still a girl, on the other +side, the usual companion for a month past or so. +Allègre had suddenly taken it into his head to paint his +portrait. A sort of intimacy had sprung up. Mrs. +Blunt’s remark was that of the two striking horsemen +Allègre looked the more kingly.</p> +<p>“The son of a confounded millionaire soap-boiler,” +commented Mr. Blunt through his clenched teeth. “A +man absolutely without parentage. Without a single relation +in the world. Just a freak.”</p> +<p>“That explains why he could leave all his fortune to +her,” said Mills.</p> +<p>“The will, I believe,” said Mr. Blunt moodily, +“was written on a half sheet of paper, with his device of +an Assyrian bull at the head. What the devil did he mean by +it? Anyway it was the last time that she surveyed the world +of men and women from the saddle. Less than three months +later. . .”</p> +<p>“Allègre died and. . . ” murmured Mills in +an interested manner.</p> +<p>“And she had to dismount,” broke in Mr. Blunt +grimly. “Dismount right into the middle of it. +Down to the very ground, you understand. I suppose you can +guess what that would mean. She didn’t know what to +do with herself. She had never been on the ground. +She . . . ”</p> +<p>“Aha!” said Mills.</p> +<p>“Even eh! eh! if you like,” retorted Mr. Blunt, in +an unrefined tone, that made me open my eyes, which were well +opened before, still wider.</p> +<p>He turned to me with that horrible trick of his of commenting +upon Mills as though that quiet man whom I admired, whom I +trusted, and for whom I had already something resembling +affection had been as much of a dummy as that other one lurking +in the shadows, pitiful and headless in its attitude of alarmed +chastity.</p> +<p>“Nothing escapes his penetration. He can perceive +a haystack at an enormous distance when he is +interested.”</p> +<p>I thought this was going rather too far, even to the borders +of vulgarity; but Mills remained untroubled and only reached for +his tobacco pouch.</p> +<p>“But that’s nothing to my mother’s +interest. She can never see a haystack, therefore she is +always so surprised and excited. Of course Doña Rita +was not a woman about whom the newspapers insert little +paragraphs. But Allègre was the sort of man. A +lot came out in print about him and a lot was talked in the world +about her; and at once my dear mother perceived a haystack and +naturally became unreasonably absorbed in it. I thought her +interest would wear out. But it didn’t. She had +received a shock and had received an impression by means of that +girl. My mother has never been treated with impertinence +before, and the aesthetic impression must have been of +extraordinary strength. I must suppose that it amounted to +a sort of moral revolution, I can’t account for her +proceedings in any other way. When Rita turned up in Paris +a year and a half after Allègre’s death some shabby +journalist (smart creature) hit upon the notion of alluding to +her as the heiress of Mr. Allègre. ‘The +heiress of Mr. Allègre has taken up her residence again +amongst the treasures of art in that Pavilion so well known to +the élite of the artistic, scientific, and political +world, not to speak of the members of aristocratic and even royal +families. . . ’ You know the sort of thing. It +appeared first in the <i>Figaro</i>, I believe. And then at +the end a little phrase: ‘She is alone.’ She +was in a fair way of becoming a celebrity of a sort. Daily +little allusions and that sort of thing. Heaven only knows +who stopped it. There was a rush of ‘old +friends’ into that garden, enough to scare all the little +birds away. I suppose one or several of them, having +influence with the press, did it. But the gossip +didn’t stop, and the name stuck, too, since it conveyed a +very certain and very significant sort of fact, and of course the +Venetian episode was talked about in the houses frequented by my +mother. It was talked about from a royalist point of view +with a kind of respect. It was even said that the +inspiration and the resolution of the war going on now over the +Pyrenees had come out from that head. . . Some of them talked as +if she were the guardian angel of Legitimacy. You know what +royalist gush is like.”</p> +<p>Mr. Blunt’s face expressed sarcastic disgust. +Mills moved his head the least little bit. Apparently he +knew.</p> +<p>“Well, speaking with all possible respect, it seems to +have affected my mother’s brain. I was already with +the royal army and of course there could be no question of +regular postal communications with France. My mother hears +or overhears somewhere that the heiress of Mr. Allègre is +contemplating a secret journey. All the noble Salons were +full of chatter about that secret naturally. So she sits +down and pens an autograph: ‘Madame, Informed that you are +proceeding to the place on which the hopes of all the right +thinking people are fixed, I trust to your womanly sympathy with +a mother’s anxious feelings, etc., etc.,’ and ending +with a request to take messages to me and bring news of me. . . +The coolness of my mother!”</p> +<p>Most unexpectedly Mills was heard murmuring a question which +seemed to me very odd.</p> +<p>“I wonder how your mother addressed that +note?”</p> +<p>A moment of silence ensued.</p> +<p>“Hardly in the newspaper style, I should think,” +retorted Mr. Blunt, with one of his grins that made me doubt the +stability of his feelings and the consistency of his outlook in +regard to his whole tale. “My mother’s maid +took it in a fiacre very late one evening to the Pavilion and +brought an answer scrawled on a scrap of paper: ‘Write your +messages at once’ and signed with a big capital R. So +my mother sat down again to her charming writing desk and the +maid made another journey in a fiacre just before midnight; and +ten days later or so I got a letter thrust into my hand at the +<i>avanzadas</i> just as I was about to start on a night patrol, +together with a note asking me to call on the writer so that she +might allay my mother’s anxieties by telling her how I +looked.</p> +<p>“It was signed R only, but I guessed at once and nearly +fell off my horse with surprise.”</p> +<p>“You mean to say that Doña Rita was actually at +the Royal Headquarters lately?” exclaimed Mills, with +evident surprise. “Why, +we—everybody—thought that all this affair was over +and done with.”</p> +<p>“Absolutely. Nothing in the world could be more +done with than that episode. Of course the rooms in the +hotel at Tolosa were retained for her by an order from Royal +Headquarters. Two garret-rooms, the place was so full of +all sorts of court people; but I can assure you that for the +three days she was there she never put her head outside the +door. General Mongroviejo called on her officially from the +King. A general, not anybody of the household, you +see. That’s a distinct shade of the present +relation. He stayed just five minutes. Some personage +from the Foreign department at Headquarters was closeted for +about a couple of hours. That was of course business. +Then two officers from the staff came together with some +explanations or instructions to her. Then Baron H., a +fellow with a pretty wife, who had made so many sacrifices for +the cause, raised a great to-do about seeing her and she +consented to receive him for a moment. They say he was very +much frightened by her arrival, but after the interview went away +all smiles. Who else? Yes, the Archbishop came. +Half an hour. This is more than is necessary to give a +blessing, and I can’t conceive what else he had to give +her. But I am sure he got something out of her. Two +peasants from the upper valley were sent for by military +authorities and she saw them, too. That friar who hangs +about the court has been in and out several times. Well, +and lastly, I myself. I got leave from the outposts. +That was the first time I talked to her. I would have gone +that evening back to the regiment, but the friar met me in the +corridor and informed me that I would be ordered to escort that +most loyal and noble lady back to the French frontier as a +personal mission of the highest honour. I was inclined to +laugh at him. He himself is a cheery and jovial person and +he laughed with me quite readily—but I got the order before +dark all right. It was rather a job, as the Alphonsists +were attacking the right flank of our whole front and there was +some considerable disorder there. I mounted her on a mule +and her maid on another. We spent one night in a ruined old +tower occupied by some of our infantry and got away at daybreak +under the Alphonsist shells. The maid nearly died of fright +and one of the troopers with us was wounded. To smuggle her +back across the frontier was another job but it wasn’t my +job. It wouldn’t have done for her to appear in sight +of French frontier posts in the company of Carlist +uniforms. She seems to have a fearless streak in her +nature. At one time as we were climbing a slope absolutely +exposed to artillery fire I asked her on purpose, being provoked +by the way she looked about at the scenery, ‘A little +emotion, eh?’ And she answered me in a low voice: +‘Oh, yes! I am moved. I used to run about these +hills when I was little.’ And note, just then the +trooper close behind us had been wounded by a shell +fragment. He was swearing awfully and fighting with his +horse. The shells were falling around us about two to the +minute.</p> +<p>“Luckily the Alphonsist shells are not much better than +our own. But women are funny. I was afraid the maid +would jump down and clear out amongst the rocks, in which case we +should have had to dismount and catch her. But she +didn’t do that; she sat perfectly still on her mule and +shrieked. Just simply shrieked. Ultimately we came to +a curiously shaped rock at the end of a short wooded +valley. It was very still there and the sunshine was +brilliant. I said to Doña Rita: ‘We will have +to part in a few minutes. I understand that my mission ends +at this rock.’ And she said: ‘I know this rock +well. This is my country.’</p> +<p>“Then she thanked me for bringing her there and +presently three peasants appeared, waiting for us, two youths and +one shaven old man, with a thin nose like a sword blade and +perfectly round eyes, a character well known to the whole Carlist +army. The two youths stopped under the trees at a distance, +but the old fellow came quite close up and gazed at her, screwing +up his eyes as if looking at the sun. Then he raised his +arm very slowly and took his red <i>boina</i> off his bald +head. I watched her smiling at him all the time. I +daresay she knew him as well as she knew the old rock. Very +old rock. The rock of ages—and the aged +man—landmarks of her youth. Then the mules started +walking smartly forward, with the three peasants striding +alongside of them, and vanished between the trees. These +fellows were most likely sent out by her uncle the Cura.</p> +<p>“It was a peaceful scene, the morning light, the bit of +open country framed in steep stony slopes, a high peak or two in +the distance, the thin smoke of some invisible <i>caserios</i>, +rising straight up here and there. Far away behind us the +guns had ceased and the echoes in the gorges had died out. +I never knew what peace meant before. . .</p> +<p>“Nor since,” muttered Mr. Blunt after a pause and +then went on. “The little stone church of her uncle, +the holy man of the family, might have been round the corner of +the next spur of the nearest hill. I dismounted to bandage +the shoulder of my trooper. It was only a nasty long +scratch. While I was busy about it a bell began to ring in +the distance. The sound fell deliciously on the ear, clear +like the morning light. But it stopped all at once. +You know how a distant bell stops suddenly. I never knew +before what stillness meant. While I was wondering at it +the fellow holding our horses was moved to uplift his +voice. He was a Spaniard, not a Basque, and he trolled out +in Castilian that song you know,</p> +<p class="poetry">“‘Oh bells of my native village,<br +/> +I am going away . . . good-bye!’</p> +<p>He had a good voice. When the last note had floated away +I remounted, but there was a charm in the spot, something +particular and individual because while we were looking at it +before turning our horses’ heads away the singer said: +‘I wonder what is the name of this place,’ and the +other man remarked: ‘Why, there is no village here,’ +and the first one insisted: ‘No, I mean this spot, this +very place.’ The wounded trooper decided that it had +no name probably. But he was wrong. It had a +name. The hill, or the rock, or the wood, or the whole had +a name. I heard of it by chance later. It +was—Lastaola.”</p> +<p>A cloud of tobacco smoke from Mills’ pipe drove between +my head and the head of Mr. Blunt, who, strange to say, yawned +slightly. It seemed to me an obvious affectation on the +part of that man of perfect manners, and, moreover, suffering +from distressing insomnia.</p> +<p>“This is how we first met and how we first +parted,” he said in a weary, indifferent tone. +“It’s quite possible that she did see her uncle on +the way. It’s perhaps on this occasion that she got +her sister to come out of the wilderness. I have no doubt +she had a pass from the French Government giving her the +completest freedom of action. She must have got it in Paris +before leaving.”</p> +<p>Mr. Blunt broke out into worldly, slightly cynical smiles.</p> +<p>“She can get anything she likes in Paris. She +could get a whole army over the frontier if she liked. She +could get herself admitted into the Foreign Office at one +o’clock in the morning if it so pleased her. Doors +fly open before the heiress of Mr. Allègre. She has +inherited the old friends, the old connections . . . Of course, +if she were a toothless old woman . . . But, you see, she +isn’t. The ushers in all the ministries bow down to +the ground therefore, and voices from the innermost sanctums take +on an eager tone when they say, ‘<i>Faites +entrer</i>.’ My mother knows something about +it. She has followed her career with the greatest +attention. And Rita herself is not even surprised. +She accomplishes most extraordinary things, as naturally as +buying a pair of gloves. People in the shops are very +polite and people in the world are like people in the +shops. What did she know of the world? She had seen +it only from the saddle. Oh, she will get your cargo +released for you all right. How will she do it? . . Well, +when it’s done—you follow me, Mills?—when +it’s done she will hardly know herself.”</p> +<p>“It’s hardly possible that she shouldn’t be +aware,” Mills pronounced calmly.</p> +<p>“No, she isn’t an idiot,” admitted Mr. +Blunt, in the same matter-of-fact voice. “But she +confessed to myself only the other day that she suffered from a +sense of unreality. I told her that at any rate she had her +own feelings surely. And she said to me: Yes, there was one +of them at least about which she had no doubt; and you will never +guess what it was. Don’t try. I happen to know, +because we are pretty good friends.”</p> +<p>At that moment we all changed our attitude slightly. +Mills’ staring eyes moved for a glance towards Blunt, I, +who was occupying the divan, raised myself on the cushions a +little and Mr. Blunt, with half a turn, put his elbow on the +table.</p> +<p>“I asked her what it was. I don’t +see,” went on Mr. Blunt, with a perfectly horrible +gentleness, “why I should have shown particular +consideration to the heiress of Mr. Allègre. I +don’t mean to that particular mood of hers. It was +the mood of weariness. And so she told me. It’s +fear. I will say it once again: Fear. . . .”</p> +<p>He added after a pause, “There can be not the slightest +doubt of her courage. But she distinctly uttered the word +fear.”</p> +<p>There was under the table the noise of Mills stretching his +legs.</p> +<p>“A person of imagination,” he began, “a +young, virgin intelligence, steeped for nearly five years in the +talk of Allègre’s studio, where every hard truth had +been cracked and every belief had been worried into shreds. +They were like a lot of intellectual dogs, you know . . +.”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes, of course,” Blunt interrupted hastily, +“the intellectual personality altogether adrift, a soul +without a home . . . but I, who am neither very fine nor very +deep, I am convinced that the fear is material.”</p> +<p>“Because she confessed to it being that?” +insinuated Mills.</p> +<p>“No, because she didn’t,” contradicted +Blunt, with an angry frown and in an extremely suave voice. +“In fact, she bit her tongue. And considering what +good friends we are (under fire together and all that) I conclude +that there is nothing there to boast of. Neither is my +friendship, as a matter of fact.”</p> +<p>Mills’ face was the very perfection of +indifference. But I who was looking at him, in my +innocence, to discover what it all might mean, I had a notion +that it was perhaps a shade too perfect.</p> +<p>“My leave is a farce,” Captain Blunt burst out, +with a most unexpected exasperation. “As an officer +of Don Carlos, I have no more standing than a bandit. I +ought to have been interned in those filthy old barracks in +Avignon a long time ago. . . Why am I not? Because +Doña Rita exists and for no other reason on earth. +Of course it’s known that I am about. She has only to +whisper over the wires to the Minister of the Interior, +‘Put that bird in a cage for me,’ and the thing would +be done without any more formalities than that. . . Sad world +this,” he commented in a changed tone. +“Nowadays a gentleman who lives by his sword is exposed to +that sort of thing.”</p> +<p>It was then for the first time I heard Mr. Mills laugh. +It was a deep, pleasant, kindly note, not very loud and +altogether free from that quality of derision that spoils so many +laughs and gives away the secret hardness of hearts. But +neither was it a very joyous laugh.</p> +<p>“But the truth of the matter is that I am ‘<i>en +mission</i>,’” continued Captain Blunt. +“I have been instructed to settle some things, to set other +things going, and, by my instructions, Doña Rita is to be +the intermediary for all those objects. And why? +Because every bald head in this Republican Government gets pink +at the top whenever her dress rustles outside the door. +They bow with immense deference when the door opens, but the bow +conceals a smirk because of those Venetian days. That +confounded Versoy shoved his nose into that business; he says +accidentally. He saw them together on the Lido and (those +writing fellows are horrible) he wrote what he calls a vignette +(I suppose accidentally, too) under that very title. There +was in it a Prince and a lady and a big dog. He described +how the Prince on landing from the gondola emptied his purse into +the hands of a picturesque old beggar, while the lady, a little +way off, stood gazing back at Venice with the dog romantically +stretched at her feet. One of Versoy’s beautiful +prose vignettes in a great daily that has a literary +column. But some other papers that didn’t care a cent +for literature rehashed the mere fact. And that’s the +sort of fact that impresses your political man, especially if the +lady is, well, such as she is . . .”</p> +<p>He paused. His dark eyes flashed fatally, away from us, +in the direction of the shy dummy; and then he went on with +cultivated cynicism.</p> +<p>“So she rushes down here. Overdone, weary, rest +for her nerves. Nonsense. I assure you she has no +more nerves than I have.”</p> +<p>I don’t know how he meant it, but at that moment, slim +and elegant, he seemed a mere bundle of nerves himself, with the +flitting expressions on his thin, well-bred face, with the +restlessness of his meagre brown hands amongst the objects on the +table. With some pipe ash amongst a little spilt wine his +forefinger traced a capital R. Then he looked into an empty +glass profoundly. I have a notion that I sat there staring +and listening like a yokel at a play. Mills’ pipe was +lying quite a foot away in front of him, empty, cold. +Perhaps he had no more tobacco. Mr. Blunt assumed his +dandified air—nervously.</p> +<p>“Of course her movements are commented on in the most +exclusive drawing-rooms and also in other places, also exclusive, +but where the gossip takes on another tone. There they are +probably saying that she has got a ‘<i>coup de +coeur</i>’ for some one. Whereas I think she is +utterly incapable of that sort of thing. That Venetian +affair, the beginning of it and the end of it, was nothing but a +<i>coup de tête</i>, and all those activities in which I am +involved, as you see (by order of Headquarters, ha, ha, ha!), are +nothing but that, all this connection, all this intimacy into +which I have dropped . . . Not to speak of my mother, who is +delightful, but as irresponsible as one of those crazy princesses +that shock their Royal families. . . ”</p> +<p>He seemed to bite his tongue and I observed that Mills’ +eyes seemed to have grown wider than I had ever seen them +before. In that tranquil face it was a great play of +feature. “An intimacy,” began Mr. Blunt, with +an extremely refined grimness of tone, “an intimacy with +the heiress of Mr. Allègre on the part of . . . on my +part, well, it isn’t exactly . . . it’s open . . . +well, I leave it to you, what does it look like?”</p> +<p>“Is there anybody looking on?” Mills let fall, +gently, through his kindly lips.</p> +<p>“Not actually, perhaps, at this moment. But I +don’t need to tell a man of the world, like you, that such +things cannot remain unseen. And that they are, well, +compromising, because of the mere fact of the fortune.”</p> +<p>Mills got on his feet, looked for his jacket and after getting +into it made himself heard while he looked for his hat.</p> +<p>“Whereas the woman herself is, so to speak, +priceless.”</p> +<p>Mr. Blunt muttered the word “Obviously.”</p> +<p>By then we were all on our feet. The iron stove glowed +no longer and the lamp, surrounded by empty bottles and empty +glasses, had grown dimmer.</p> +<p>I know that I had a great shiver on getting away from the +cushions of the divan.</p> +<p>“We will meet again in a few hours,” said Mr. +Blunt.</p> +<p>“Don’t forget to come,” he said, addressing +me. “Oh, yes, do. Have no scruples. I am +authorized to make invitations.”</p> +<p>He must have noticed my shyness, my surprise, my +embarrassment. And indeed I didn’t know what to +say.</p> +<p>“I assure you there isn’t anything incorrect in +your coming,” he insisted, with the greatest +civility. “You will be introduced by two good +friends, Mills and myself. Surely you are not afraid of a +very charming woman. . . .”</p> +<p>I was not afraid, but my head swam a little and I only looked +at him mutely.</p> +<p>“Lunch precisely at midday. Mills will bring you +along. I am sorry you two are going. I shall throw +myself on the bed for an hour or two, but I am sure I won’t +sleep.”</p> +<p>He accompanied us along the passage into the black-and-white +hall, where the low gas flame glimmered forlornly. When he +opened the front door the cold blast of the mistral rushing down +the street of the Consuls made me shiver to the very marrow of my +bones.</p> +<p>Mills and I exchanged but a few words as we walked down +towards the centre of the town. In the chill tempestuous +dawn he strolled along musingly, disregarding the discomfort of +the cold, the depressing influence of the hour, the desolation of +the empty streets in which the dry dust rose in whirls in front +of us, behind us, flew upon us from the side streets. The +masks had gone home and our footsteps echoed on the flagstones +with unequal sound as of men without purpose, without hope.</p> +<p>“I suppose you will come,” said Mills +suddenly.</p> +<p>“I really don’t know,” I said.</p> +<p>“Don’t you? Well, remember I am not trying +to persuade you; but I am staying at the Hôtel de Louvre +and I shall leave there at a quarter to twelve for that +lunch. At a quarter to twelve, not a minute later. I +suppose you can sleep?”</p> +<p>I laughed.</p> +<p>“Charming age, yours,” said Mills, as we came out +on the quays. Already dim figures of the workers moved in +the biting dawn and the masted forms of ships were coming out +dimly, as far as the eye could reach down the old harbour.</p> +<p>“Well,” Mills began again, “you may +oversleep yourself.”</p> +<p>This suggestion was made in a cheerful tone, just as we shook +hands at the lower end of the Cannebière. He looked +very burly as he walked away from me. I went on towards my +lodgings. My head was very full of confused images, but I +was really too tired to think.</p> +<h2>PART TWO</h2> +<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> +<p>Sometimes I wonder yet whether Mills wished me to oversleep +myself or not: that is, whether he really took sufficient +interest to care. His uniform kindliness of manner made it +impossible for me to tell. And I can hardly remember my own +feelings. Did I care? The whole recollection of that +time of my life has such a peculiar quality that the beginning +and the end of it are merged in one sensation of profound +emotion, continuous and overpowering, containing the extremes of +exultation, full of careless joy and of an invincible +sadness—like a day-dream. The sense of all this +having been gone through as if in one great rush of imagination +is all the stronger in the distance of time, because it had +something of that quality even then: of fate unprovoked, of +events that didn’t cast any shadow before.</p> +<p>Not that those events were in the least extraordinary. +They were, in truth, commonplace. What to my backward +glance seems startling and a little awful is their punctualness +and inevitability. Mills was punctual. Exactly at a +quarter to twelve he appeared under the lofty portal of the +Hôtel de Louvre, with his fresh face, his ill-fitting grey +suit, and enveloped in his own sympathetic atmosphere.</p> +<p>How could I have avoided him? To this day I have a +shadowy conviction of his inherent distinction of mind and heart, +far beyond any man I have ever met since. He was +unavoidable: and of course I never tried to avoid him. The +first sight on which his eyes fell was a victoria pulled up +before the hotel door, in which I sat with no sentiment I can +remember now but that of some slight shyness. He got in +without a moment’s hesitation, his friendly glance took me +in from head to foot and (such was his peculiar gift) gave me a +pleasurable sensation.</p> +<p>After we had gone a little way I couldn’t help saying to +him with a bashful laugh: “You know, it seems very +extraordinary that I should be driving out with you like +this.”</p> +<p>He turned to look at me and in his kind voice:</p> +<p>“You will find everything extremely simple,” he +said. “So simple that you will be quite able to hold +your own. I suppose you know that the world is selfish, I +mean the majority of the people in it, often unconsciously I must +admit, and especially people with a mission, with a fixed idea, +with some fantastic object in view, or even with only some +fantastic illusion. That doesn’t mean that they have +no scruples. And I don’t know that at this moment I +myself am not one of them.”</p> +<p>“That, of course, I can’t say,” I +retorted.</p> +<p>“I haven’t seen her for years,” he said, +“and in comparison with what she was then she must be very +grown up by now. From what we heard from Mr. Blunt she had +experiences which would have matured her more than they would +teach her. There are of course people that are not +teachable. I don’t know that she is one of +them. But as to maturity that’s quite another +thing. Capacity for suffering is developed in every human +being worthy of the name.”</p> +<p>“Captain Blunt doesn’t seem to be a very happy +person,” I said. “He seems to have a grudge +against everybody. People make him wince. The things +they do, the things they say. He must be awfully +mature.”</p> +<p>Mills gave me a sidelong look. It met mine of the same +character and we both smiled without openly looking at each +other. At the end of the Rue de Rome the violent chilly +breath of the mistral enveloped the victoria in a great widening +of brilliant sunshine without heat. We turned to the right, +circling at a stately pace about the rather mean obelisk which +stands at the entrance to the Prado.</p> +<p>“I don’t know whether you are mature or +not,” said Mills humorously. “But I think you +will do. You . . . ”</p> +<p>“Tell me,” I interrupted, “what is really +Captain Blunt’s position there?”</p> +<p>And I nodded at the alley of the Prado opening before us +between the rows of the perfectly leafless trees.</p> +<p>“Thoroughly false, I should think. It +doesn’t accord either with his illusions or his +pretensions, or even with the real position he has in the +world. And so what between his mother and the General +Headquarters and the state of his own feelings he. . . +”</p> +<p>“He is in love with her,” I interrupted again.</p> +<p>“That wouldn’t make it any easier. I’m +not at all sure of that. But if so it can’t be a very +idealistic sentiment. All the warmth of his idealism is +concentrated upon a certain ‘<i>Américain</i>, +<i>Catholique et gentil-homme</i>. . . ’”</p> +<p>The smile which for a moment dwelt on his lips was not +unkind.</p> +<p>“At the same time he has a very good grip of the +material conditions that surround, as it were, the +situation.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean? That Doña Rita” +(the name came strangely familiar to my tongue) “is rich, +that she has a fortune of her own?”</p> +<p>“Yes, a fortune,” said Mills. “But it +was Allègre’s fortune before. . . And then there is +Blunt’s fortune: he lives by his sword. And there is +the fortune of his mother, I assure you a perfectly charming, +clever, and most aristocratic old lady, with the most +distinguished connections. I really mean it. She +doesn’t live by her sword. She . . . she lives by her +wits. I have a notion that those two dislike each other +heartily at times. . . Here we are.”</p> +<p>The victoria stopped in the side alley, bordered by the low +walls of private grounds. We got out before a wrought-iron +gateway which stood half open and walked up a circular drive to +the door of a large villa of a neglected appearance. The +mistral howled in the sunshine, shaking the bare bushes quite +furiously. And everything was bright and hard, the air was +hard, the light was hard, the ground under our feet was hard.</p> +<p>The door at which Mills rang came open almost at once. +The maid who opened it was short, dark, and slightly +pockmarked. For the rest, an obvious +“<i>femme-de-chambre</i>,” and very busy. She +said quickly, “Madame has just returned from her +ride,” and went up the stairs leaving us to shut the front +door ourselves.</p> +<p>The staircase had a crimson carpet. Mr. Blunt appeared +from somewhere in the hall. He was in riding breeches and a +black coat with ample square skirts. This get-up suited him +but it also changed him extremely by doing away with the effect +of flexible slimness he produced in his evening clothes. He +looked to me not at all himself but rather like a brother of the +man who had been talking to us the night before. He carried +about him a delicate perfume of scented soap. He gave us a +flash of his white teeth and said:</p> +<p>“It’s a perfect nuisance. We have just +dismounted. I will have to lunch as I am. A lifelong +habit of beginning her day on horseback. She pretends she +is unwell unless she does. I daresay, when one thinks there +has been hardly a day for five or six years that she didn’t +begin with a ride. That’s the reason she is always +rushing away from Paris where she can’t go out in the +morning alone. Here, of course, it’s different. +And as I, too, am a stranger here I can go out with her. +Not that I particularly care to do it.”</p> +<p>These last words were addressed to Mills specially, with the +addition of a mumbled remark: “It’s a confounded +position.” Then calmly to me with a swift smile: +“We have been talking of you this morning. You are +expected with impatience.”</p> +<p>“Thank you very much,” I said, “but I +can’t help asking myself what I am doing here.”</p> +<p>The upward cast in the eyes of Mills who was facing the +staircase made us both, Blunt and I, turn round. The woman +of whom I had heard so much, in a sort of way in which I had +never heard a woman spoken of before, was coming down the stairs, +and my first sensation was that of profound astonishment at this +evidence that she did really exist. And even then the +visual impression was more of colour in a picture than of the +forms of actual life. She was wearing a wrapper, a sort of +dressing-gown of pale blue silk embroidered with black and gold +designs round the neck and down the front, lapped round her and +held together by a broad belt of the same material. Her +slippers were of the same colour, with black bows at the +instep. The white stairs, the deep crimson of the carpet, +and the light blue of the dress made an effective combination of +colour to set off the delicate carnation of that face, which, +after the first glance given to the whole person, drew +irresistibly your gaze to itself by an indefinable quality of +charm beyond all analysis and made you think of remote races, of +strange generations, of the faces of women sculptured on +immemorial monuments and of those lying unsung in their +tombs. While she moved downwards from step to step with +slightly lowered eyes there flashed upon me suddenly the +recollection of words heard at night, of Allègre’s +words about her, of there being in her “something of the +women of all time.”</p> +<p>At the last step she raised her eyelids, treated us to an +exhibition of teeth as dazzling as Mr. Blunt’s and looking +even stronger; and indeed, as she approached us she brought home +to our hearts (but after all I am speaking only for myself) a +vivid sense of her physical perfection in beauty of limb and +balance of nerves, and not so much of grace, probably, as of +absolute harmony.</p> +<p>She said to us, “I am sorry I kept you +waiting.” Her voice was low pitched, penetrating, and +of the most seductive gentleness. She offered her hand to +Mills very frankly as to an old friend. Within the +extraordinarily wide sleeve, lined with black silk, I could see +the arm, very white, with a pearly gleam in the shadow. But +to me she extended her hand with a slight stiffening, as it were +a recoil of her person, combined with an extremely straight +glance. It was a finely shaped, capable hand. I bowed +over it, and we just touched fingers. I did not look then +at her face.</p> +<p>Next moment she caught sight of some envelopes lying on the +round marble-topped table in the middle of the hall. She +seized one of them with a wonderfully quick, almost feline, +movement and tore it open, saying to us, “Excuse me, I must +. . . Do go into the dining-room. Captain Blunt, show the +way.”</p> +<p>Her widened eyes stared at the paper. Mr. Blunt threw +one of the doors open, but before we passed through it we heard a +petulant exclamation accompanied by childlike stamping with both +feet and ending in a laugh which had in it a note of +contempt.</p> +<p>The door closed behind us; we had been abandoned by Mr. +Blunt. He had remained on the other side, possibly to +soothe. The room in which we found ourselves was long like +a gallery and ended in a rotunda with many windows. It was +long enough for two fireplaces of red polished granite. A +table laid out for four occupied very little space. The +floor inlaid in two kinds of wood in a bizarre pattern was highly +waxed, reflecting objects like still water.</p> +<p>Before very long Doña Rita and Blunt rejoined us and we +sat down around the table; but before we could begin to talk a +dramatically sudden ring at the front door stilled our incipient +animation. Doña Rita looked at us all in turn, with +surprise and, as it were, with suspicion. “How did he +know I was here?” she whispered after looking at the card +which was brought to her. She passed it to Blunt, who +passed it to Mills, who made a faint grimace, dropped it on the +table-cloth, and only whispered to me, “A journalist from +Paris.”</p> +<p>“He has run me to earth,” said Doña +Rita. “One would bargain for peace against hard cash +if these fellows weren’t always ready to snatch at +one’s very soul with the other hand. It frightens +me.”</p> +<p>Her voice floated mysterious and penetrating from her lips, +which moved very little. Mills was watching her with +sympathetic curiosity. Mr. Blunt muttered: “Better +not make the brute angry.” For a moment Doña +Rita’s face, with its narrow eyes, its wide brow, and high +cheek bones, became very still; then her colour was a little +heightened. “Oh,” she said softly, “let +him come in. He would be really dangerous if he had a +mind—you know,” she said to Mills.</p> +<p>The person who had provoked all those remarks and as much +hesitation as though he had been some sort of wild beast +astonished me on being admitted, first by the beauty of his white +head of hair and then by his paternal aspect and the innocent +simplicity of his manner. They laid a cover for him between +Mills and Doña Rita, who quite openly removed the +envelopes she had brought with her, to the other side of her +plate. As openly the man’s round china-blue eyes +followed them in an attempt to make out the handwriting of the +addresses.</p> +<p>He seemed to know, at least slightly, both Mills and +Blunt. To me he gave a stare of stupid surprise. He +addressed our hostess.</p> +<p>“Resting? Rest is a very good thing. Upon my +word, I thought I would find you alone. But you have too +much sense. Neither man nor woman has been created to live +alone. . . .” After this opening he had all the talk +to himself. It was left to him pointedly, and I verily +believe that I was the only one who showed an appearance of +interest. I couldn’t help it. The others, +including Mills, sat like a lot of deaf and dumb people. +No. It was even something more detached. They sat +rather like a very superior lot of waxworks, with the fixed but +indetermined facial expression and with that odd air wax figures +have of being aware of their existence being but a sham.</p> +<p>I was the exception; and nothing could have marked better my +status of a stranger, the completest possible stranger in the +moral region in which those people lived, moved, enjoying or +suffering their incomprehensible emotions. I was as much of +a stranger as the most hopeless castaway stumbling in the dark +upon a hut of natives and finding them in the grip of some +situation appertaining to the mentalities, prejudices, and +problems of an undiscovered country—of a country of which +he had not even had one single clear glimpse before.</p> +<p>It was even worse in a way. It ought to have been more +disconcerting. For, pursuing the image of the cast-away +blundering upon the complications of an unknown scheme of life, +it was I, the castaway, who was the savage, the simple innocent +child of nature. Those people were obviously more civilized +than I was. They had more rites, more ceremonies, more +complexity in their sensations, more knowledge of evil, more +varied meanings to the subtle phrases of their language. +Naturally! I was still so young! And yet I assure +you, that just then I lost all sense of inferiority. And +why? Of course the carelessness and the ignorance of youth +had something to do with that. But there was something else +besides. Looking at Doña Rita, her head leaning on +her hand, with her dark lashes lowered on the slightly flushed +cheek, I felt no longer alone in my youth. That woman of +whom I had heard these things I have set down with all the +exactness of unfailing memory, that woman was revealed to me +young, younger than anybody I had ever seen, as young as myself +(and my sensation of my youth was then very acute); revealed with +something peculiarly intimate in the conviction, as if she were +young exactly in the same way in which I felt myself young; and +that therefore no misunderstanding between us was possible and +there could be nothing more for us to know about each +other. Of course this sensation was momentary, but it was +illuminating; it was a light which could not last, but it left no +darkness behind. On the contrary, it seemed to have kindled +magically somewhere within me a glow of assurance, of +unaccountable confidence in myself: a warm, steady, and eager +sensation of my individual life beginning for good there, on that +spot, in that sense of solidarity, in that seduction.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER II</h3> +<p>For this, properly speaking wonderful, reason I was the only +one of the company who could listen without constraint to the +unbidden guest with that fine head of white hair, so beautifully +kept, so magnificently waved, so artistically arranged that +respect could not be felt for it any more than for a very +expensive wig in the window of a hair-dresser. In fact, I +had an inclination to smile at it. This proves how +unconstrained I felt. My mind was perfectly at liberty; and +so of all the eyes in that room mine was the only pair able to +look about in easy freedom. All the other listeners’ +eyes were cast down, including Mills’ eyes, but that I am +sure was only because of his perfect and delicate sympathy. +He could not have been concerned otherwise.</p> +<p>The intruder devoured the cutlets—if they were +cutlets. Notwithstanding my perfect liberty of mind I was +not aware of what we were eating. I have a notion that the +lunch was a mere show, except of course for the man with the +white hair, who was really hungry and who, besides, must have had +the pleasant sense of dominating the situation. He stooped +over his plate and worked his jaw deliberately while his blue +eyes rolled incessantly; but as a matter of fact he never looked +openly at any one of us. Whenever he laid down his knife +and fork he would throw himself back and start retailing in a +light tone some Parisian gossip about prominent people.</p> +<p>He talked first about a certain politician of mark. His +“dear Rita” knew him. His costume dated back to +’48, he was made of wood and parchment and still swathed +his neck in a white cloth; and even his wife had never been seen +in a low-necked dress. Not once in her life. She was +buttoned up to the chin like her husband. Well, that man +had confessed to him that when he was engaged in political +controversy, not on a matter of principle but on some special +measure in debate, he felt ready to kill everybody.</p> +<p>He interrupted himself for a comment. “I am +something like that myself. I believe it’s a purely +professional feeling. Carry one’s point whatever it +is. Normally I couldn’t kill a fly. My +sensibility is too acute for that. My heart is too tender +also. Much too tender. I am a Republican. I am +a Red. As to all our present masters and governors, all +those people you are trying to turn round your little finger, +they are all horrible Royalists in disguise. They are +plotting the ruin of all the institutions to which I am +devoted. But I have never tried to spoil your little game, +Rita. After all, it’s but a little game. You +know very well that two or three fearless articles, something in +my style, you know, would soon put a stop to all that underhand +backing of your king. I am calling him king because I want +to be polite to you. He is an adventurer, a blood-thirsty, +murderous adventurer, for me, and nothing else. Look here, +my dear child, what are you knocking yourself about for? +For the sake of that bandit? <i>Allons donc</i>! A +pupil of Henry Allègre can have no illusions of that sort +about any man. And such a pupil, too! Ah, the good +old days in the Pavilion! Don’t think I claim any +particular intimacy. It was just enough to enable me to +offer my services to you, Rita, when our poor friend died. +I found myself handy and so I came. It so happened that I +was the first. You remember, Rita? What made it +possible for everybody to get on with our poor dear +Allègre was his complete, equable, and impartial contempt +for all mankind. There is nothing in that against the +purest democratic principles; but that you, Rita, should elect to +throw so much of your life away for the sake of a Royal +adventurer, it really knocks me over. For you don’t +love him. You never loved him, you know.”</p> +<p>He made a snatch at her hand, absolutely pulled it away from +under her head (it was quite startling) and retaining it in his +grasp, proceeded to a paternal patting of the most impudent +kind. She let him go on with apparent insensibility. +Meanwhile his eyes strayed round the table over our faces. +It was very trying. The stupidity of that wandering stare +had a paralysing power. He talked at large with husky +familiarity.</p> +<p>“Here I come, expecting to find a good sensible girl who +had seen at last the vanity of all those things; half-light in +the rooms; surrounded by the works of her favourite poets, and +all that sort of thing. I say to myself: I must just run in +and see the dear wise child, and encourage her in her good +resolutions. . . And I fall into the middle of an <i>intime</i> +lunch-party. For I suppose it is <i>intime</i>. +Eh? Very? H’m, yes . . . ”</p> +<p>He was really appalling. Again his wandering stare went +round the table, with an expression incredibly incongruous with +the words. It was as though he had borrowed those eyes from +some idiot for the purpose of that visit. He still held +Doña Rita’s hand, and, now and then, patted it.</p> +<p>“It’s discouraging,” he cooed. +“And I believe not one of you here is a Frenchman. I +don’t know what you are all about. It’s beyond +me. But if we were a Republic—you know I am an old +Jacobin, sans-culotte and terrorist—if this were a real +Republic with the Convention sitting and a Committee of Public +Safety attending to national business, you would all get your +heads cut off. Ha, ha . . . I am joking, ha, ha! . . . and +serve you right, too. Don’t mind my little +joke.”</p> +<p>While he was still laughing he released her hand and she +leaned her head on it again without haste. She had never +looked at him once.</p> +<p>During the rather humiliating silence that ensued he got a +leather cigar case like a small valise out of his pocket, opened +it and looked with critical interest at the six cigars it +contained. The tireless <i>femme-de-chambre</i> set down a +tray with coffee cups on the table. We each (glad, I +suppose, of something to do) took one, but he, to begin with, +sniffed at his. Doña Rita continued leaning on her +elbow, her lips closed in a reposeful expression of peculiar +sweetness. There was nothing drooping in her +attitude. Her face with the delicate carnation of a rose +and downcast eyes was as if veiled in firm immobility and was so +appealing that I had an insane impulse to walk round and kiss the +forearm on which it was leaning; that strong, well-shaped +forearm, gleaming not like marble but with a living and warm +splendour. So familiar had I become already with her in my +thoughts! Of course I didn’t do anything of the +sort. It was nothing uncontrollable, it was but a tender +longing of a most respectful and purely sentimental kind. I +performed the act in my thought quietly, almost solemnly, while +the creature with the silver hair leaned back in his chair, +puffing at his cigar, and began to speak again.</p> +<p>It was all apparently very innocent talk. He informed +his “dear Rita” that he was really on his way to +Monte Carlo. A lifelong habit of his at this time of the +year; but he was ready to run back to Paris if he could do +anything for his “<i>chère enfant</i>,” run +back for a day, for two days, for three days, for any time; miss +Monte Carlo this year altogether, if he could be of the slightest +use and save her going herself. For instance he could see +to it that proper watch was kept over the Pavilion stuffed with +all these art treasures. What was going to happen to all +those things? . . . Making herself heard for the first time +Doña Rita murmured without moving that she had made +arrangements with the police to have it properly watched. +And I was enchanted by the almost imperceptible play of her +lips.</p> +<p>But the anxious creature was not reassured. He pointed +out that things had been stolen out of the Louvre, which was, he +dared say, even better watched. And there was that +marvellous cabinet on the landing, black lacquer with silver +herons, which alone would repay a couple of burglars. A +wheelbarrow, some old sacking, and they could trundle it off +under people’s noses.</p> +<p>“Have you thought it all out?” she asked in a cold +whisper, while we three sat smoking to give ourselves a +countenance (it was certainly no enjoyment) and wondering what we +would hear next.</p> +<p>No, he had not. But he confessed that for years and +years he had been in love with that cabinet. And anyhow +what was going to happen to the things? The world was +greatly exercised by that problem. He turned slightly his +beautifully groomed white head so as to address Mr. Blunt +directly.</p> +<p>“I had the pleasure of meeting your mother +lately.”</p> +<p>Mr. Blunt took his time to raise his eyebrows and flash his +teeth at him before he dropped negligently, “I can’t +imagine where you could have met my mother.”</p> +<p>“Why, at Bing’s, the curio-dealer,” said the +other with an air of the heaviest possible stupidity. And +yet there was something in these few words which seemed to imply +that if Mr. Blunt was looking for trouble he would certainly get +it. “Bing was bowing her out of his shop, but he was +so angry about something that he was quite rude even to me +afterwards. I don’t think it’s very good for +<i>Madame votre mère</i> to quarrel with Bing. He is +a Parisian personality. He’s quite a power in his +sphere. All these fellows’ nerves are upset from +worry as to what will happen to the Allègre +collection. And no wonder they are nervous. A big art +event hangs on your lips, my dear, great Rita. And by the +way, you too ought to remember that it isn’t wise to +quarrel with people. What have you done to that poor +Azzolati? Did you really tell him to get out and never come +near you again, or something awful like that? I don’t +doubt that he was of use to you or to your king. A man who +gets invitations to shoot with the President at +Rambouillet! I saw him only the other evening; I heard he +had been winning immensely at cards; but he looked perfectly +wretched, the poor fellow. He complained of your +conduct—oh, very much! He told me you had been +perfectly brutal with him. He said to me: ‘I am no +good for anything, <i>mon cher</i>. The other day at +Rambouillet, whenever I had a hare at the end of my gun I would +think of her cruel words and my eyes would run full of +tears. I missed every shot’ . . . You are not fit for +diplomatic work, you know, <i>ma chère</i>. You are +a mere child at it. When you want a middle-aged gentleman +to do anything for you, you don’t begin by reducing him to +tears. I should have thought any woman would have known +that much. A nun would have known that much. What do +you say? Shall I run back to Paris and make it up for you +with Azzolati?”</p> +<p>He waited for her answer. The compression of his thin +lips was full of significance. I was surprised to see our +hostess shake her head negatively the least bit, for indeed by +her pose, by the thoughtful immobility of her face she seemed to +be a thousand miles away from us all, lost in an infinite +reverie.</p> +<p>He gave it up. “Well, I must be off. The +express for Nice passes at four o’clock. I will be +away about three weeks and then you shall see me again. +Unless I strike a run of bad luck and get cleaned out, in which +case you shall see me before then.”</p> +<p>He turned to Mills suddenly.</p> +<p>“Will your cousin come south this year, to that +beautiful villa of his at Cannes?”</p> +<p>Mills hardly deigned to answer that he didn’t know +anything about his cousin’s movements.</p> +<p>“A <i>grand seigneur</i> combined with a great +connoisseur,” opined the other heavily. His mouth had +gone slack and he looked a perfect and grotesque imbecile under +his wig-like crop of white hair. Positively I thought he +would begin to slobber. But he attacked Blunt next.</p> +<p>“Are you on your way down, too? A little flutter. +. . It seems to me you haven’t been seen in your usual +Paris haunts of late. Where have you been all this +time?”</p> +<p>“Don’t you know where I have been?” said Mr. +Blunt with great precision.</p> +<p>“No, I only ferret out things that may be of some use to +me,” was the unexpected reply, uttered with an air of +perfect vacancy and swallowed by Mr. Blunt in blank silence.</p> +<p>At last he made ready to rise from the table. +“Think over what I have said, my dear Rita.”</p> +<p>“It’s all over and done with,” was +Doña Rita’s answer, in a louder tone than I had ever +heard her use before. It thrilled me while she continued: +“I mean, this thinking.” She was back from the +remoteness of her meditation, very much so indeed. She rose +and moved away from the table, inviting by a sign the other to +follow her; which he did at once, yet slowly and as it were +warily.</p> +<p>It was a conference in the recess of a window. We three +remained seated round the table from which the dark maid was +removing the cups and the plates with brusque movements. I +gazed frankly at Doña Rita’s profile, irregular, +animated, and fascinating in an undefinable way, at her +well-shaped head with the hair twisted high up and apparently +held in its place by a gold arrow with a jewelled shaft. We +couldn’t hear what she said, but the movement of her lips +and the play of her features were full of charm, full of +interest, expressing both audacity and gentleness. She +spoke with fire without raising her voice. The man listened +round-shouldered, but seeming much too stupid to +understand. I could see now and then that he was speaking, +but he was inaudible. At one moment Doña Rita turned +her head to the room and called out to the maid, “Give me +my hand-bag off the sofa.”</p> +<p>At this the other was heard plainly, “No, no,” and +then a little lower, “You have no tact, Rita. . . +.” Then came her argument in a low, penetrating voice +which I caught, “Why not? Between such old +friends.” However, she waved away the hand-bag, he +calmed down, and their voices sank again. Presently I saw +him raise her hand to his lips, while with her back to the room +she continued to contemplate out of the window the bare and +untidy garden. At last he went out of the room, throwing to +the table an airy “<i>Bonjour, bonjour</i>,” which +was not acknowledged by any of us three.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> +<p>Mills got up and approached the figure at the window. To +my extreme surprise, Mr. Blunt, after a moment of obviously +painful hesitation, hastened out after the man with the white +hair.</p> +<p>In consequence of these movements I was left to myself and I +began to be uncomfortably conscious of it when Doña Rita, +near the window, addressed me in a raised voice.</p> +<p>“We have no confidences to exchange, Mr. Mills and +I.”</p> +<p>I took this for an encouragement to join them. They were +both looking at me. Doña Rita added, “Mr. +Mills and I are friends from old times, you know.”</p> +<p>Bathed in the softened reflection of the sunshine, which did +not fall directly into the room, standing very straight with her +arms down, before Mills, and with a faint smile directed to me, +she looked extremely young, and yet mature. There was even, +for a moment, a slight dimple in her cheek.</p> +<p>“How old, I wonder?” I said, with an answering +smile.</p> +<p>“Oh, for ages, for ages,” she exclaimed hastily, +frowning a little, then she went on addressing herself to Mills, +apparently in continuation of what she was saying before.</p> +<p>. . . “This man’s is an extreme case, and +yet perhaps it isn’t the worst. But that’s the +sort of thing. I have no account to render to anybody, but +I don’t want to be dragged along all the gutters where that +man picks up his living.”</p> +<p>She had thrown her head back a little but there was no scorn, +no angry flash under the dark-lashed eyelids. The words did +not ring. I was struck for the first time by the even, +mysterious quality of her voice.</p> +<p>“Will you let me suggest,” said Mills, with a +grave, kindly face, “that being what you are, you have +nothing to fear?”</p> +<p>“And perhaps nothing to lose,” she went on without +bitterness. “No. It isn’t fear. +It’s a sort of dread. You must remember that no nun +could have had a more protected life. Henry Allègre +had his greatness. When he faced the world he also masked +it. He was big enough for that. He filled the whole +field of vision for me.”</p> +<p>“You found that enough?” asked Mills.</p> +<p>“Why ask now?” she remonstrated. “The +truth—the truth is that I never asked myself. Enough +or not there was no room for anything else. He was the +shadow and the light and the form and the voice. He would +have it so. The morning he died they came to call me at +four o’clock. I ran into his room bare-footed. +He recognized me and whispered, ‘You are +flawless.’ I was very frightened. He seemed to +think, and then said very plainly, ‘Such is my +character. I am like that.’ These were the last +words he spoke. I hardly noticed them then. I was +thinking that he was lying in a very uncomfortable position and I +asked him if I should lift him up a little higher on the +pillows. You know I am very strong. I could have done +it. I had done it before. He raised his hand off the +blanket just enough to make a sign that he didn’t want to +be touched. It was the last gesture he made. I hung +over him and then—and then I nearly ran out of the house +just as I was, in my night-gown. I think if I had been +dressed I would have run out of the garden, into the +street—run away altogether. I had never seen +death. I may say I had never heard of it. I wanted to +run from it.”</p> +<p>She paused for a long, quiet breath. The harmonized +sweetness and daring of her face was made pathetic by her +downcast eyes.</p> +<p>“<i>Fuir la mort</i>,” she repeated, meditatively, +in her mysterious voice.</p> +<p>Mills’ big head had a little movement, nothing +more. Her glance glided for a moment towards me like a +friendly recognition of my right to be there, before she began +again.</p> +<p>“My life might have been described as looking at mankind +from a fourth-floor window for years. When the end came it +was like falling out of a balcony into the street. It was +as sudden as that. Once I remember somebody was telling us +in the Pavilion a tale about a girl who jumped down from a +fourth-floor window. . . For love, I believe,” she +interjected very quickly, “and came to no harm. Her +guardian angel must have slipped his wings under her just in +time. He must have. But as to me, all I know is that +I didn’t break anything—not even my heart. +Don’t be shocked, Mr. Mills. It’s very likely +that you don’t understand.”</p> +<p>“Very likely,” Mills assented, unmoved. +“But don’t be too sure of that.”</p> +<p>“Henry Allègre had the highest opinion of your +intelligence,” she said unexpectedly and with evident +seriousness. “But all this is only to tell you that +when he was gone I found myself down there unhurt, but dazed, +bewildered, not sufficiently stunned. It so happened that +that creature was somewhere in the neighbourhood. How he +found out. . . But it’s his business to find out +things. And he knows, too, how to worm his way in +anywhere. Indeed, in the first days he was useful and +somehow he made it look as if Heaven itself had sent him. +In my distress I thought I could never sufficiently repay. . . +Well, I have been paying ever since.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean?” asked Mills softly. +“In hard cash?”</p> +<p>“Oh, it’s really so little,” she said. +“I told you it wasn’t the worst case. I stayed +on in that house from which I nearly ran away in my +nightgown. I stayed on because I didn’t know what to +do next. He vanished as he had come on the track of +something else, I suppose. You know he really has got to +get his living some way or other. But don’t think I +was deserted. On the contrary. People were coming and +going, all sorts of people that Henry Allègre used to +know—or had refused to know. I had a sensation of +plotting and intriguing around me, all the time. I was +feeling morally bruised, sore all over, when, one day, Don Rafael +de Villarel sent in his card. A grandee. I +didn’t know him, but, as you are aware, there was hardly a +personality of mark or position that hasn’t been talked +about in the Pavilion before me. Of him I had only heard +that he was a very austere and pious person, always at Mass, and +that sort of thing. I saw a frail little man with a long, +yellow face and sunken fanatical eyes, an Inquisitor, an +unfrocked monk. One missed a rosary from his thin +fingers. He gazed at me terribly and I couldn’t +imagine what he might want. I waited for him to pull out a +crucifix and sentence me to the stake there and then. But +no; he dropped his eyes and in a cold, righteous sort of voice +informed me that he had called on behalf of the prince—he +called him His Majesty. I was amazed by the change. I +wondered now why he didn’t slip his hands into the sleeves +of his coat, you know, as begging Friars do when they come for a +subscription. He explained that the Prince asked for +permission to call and offer me his condolences in person. +We had seen a lot of him our last two months in Paris that +year. Henry Allègre had taken a fancy to paint his +portrait. He used to ride with us nearly every +morning. Almost without thinking I said I should be +pleased. Don Rafael was shocked at my want of formality, +but bowed to me in silence, very much as a monk bows, from the +waist. If he had only crossed his hands flat on his chest +it would have been perfect. Then, I don’t know why, +something moved me to make him a deep curtsy as he backed out of +the room, leaving me suddenly impressed, not only with him but +with myself too. I had my door closed to everybody else +that afternoon and the Prince came with a very proper sorrowful +face, but five minutes after he got into the room he was laughing +as usual, made the whole little house ring with it. You +know his big, irresistible laugh. . . .”</p> +<p>“No,” said Mills, a little abruptly, “I have +never seen him.”</p> +<p>“No,” she said, surprised, “and yet you . . +. ”</p> +<p>“I understand,” interrupted Mills. +“All this is purely accidental. You must know that I +am a solitary man of books but with a secret taste for adventure +which somehow came out; surprising even me.”</p> +<p>She listened with that enigmatic, still, under the eyelids +glance, and a friendly turn of the head.</p> +<p>“I know you for a frank and loyal gentleman. . . +Adventure—and books? Ah, the books! +Haven’t I turned stacks of them over! Haven’t +I? . . .”</p> +<p>“Yes,” murmured Mills. “That’s +what one does.”</p> +<p>She put out her hand and laid it lightly on Mills’ +sleeve.</p> +<p>“Listen, I don’t need to justify myself, but if I +had known a single woman in the world, if I had only had the +opportunity to observe a single one of them, I would have been +perhaps on my guard. But you know I hadn’t. The +only woman I had anything to do with was myself, and they say +that one can’t know oneself. It never entered my head +to be on my guard against his warmth and his terrible +obviousness. You and he were the only two, infinitely +different, people, who didn’t approach me as if I had been +a precious object in a collection, an ivory carving or a piece of +Chinese porcelain. That’s why I have kept you in my +memory so well. Oh! you were not obvious! As to +him—I soon learned to regret I was not some object, some +beautiful, carved object of bone or bronze; a rare piece of +porcelain, <i>pâte dure</i>, not <i>pâte +tendre</i>. A pretty specimen.”</p> +<p>“Rare, yes. Even unique,” said Mills, +looking at her steadily with a smile. “But +don’t try to depreciate yourself. You were never +pretty. You are not pretty. You are worse.”</p> +<p>Her narrow eyes had a mischievous gleam. “Do you +find such sayings in your books?” she asked.</p> +<p>“As a matter of fact I have,” said Mills, with a +little laugh, “found this one in a book. It was a +woman who said that of herself. A woman far from common, +who died some few years ago. She was an actress. A +great artist.”</p> +<p>“A great! . . . Lucky person! She had that refuge, +that garment, while I stand here with nothing to protect me from +evil fame; a naked temperament for any wind to blow upon. +Yes, greatness in art is a protection. I wonder if there +would have been anything in me if I had tried? But Henry +Allègre would never let me try. He told me that +whatever I could achieve would never be good enough for what I +was. The perfection of flattery! Was it that he +thought I had not talent of any sort? It’s +possible. He would know. I’ve had the idea +since that he was jealous. He wasn’t jealous of +mankind any more than he was afraid of thieves for his +collection; but he may have been jealous of what he could see in +me, of some passion that could be aroused. But if so he +never repented. I shall never forget his last words. +He saw me standing beside his bed, defenceless, symbolic and +forlorn, and all he found to say was, ‘Well, I am like +that.’”</p> +<p>I forgot myself in watching her. I had never seen +anybody speak with less play of facial muscles. In the +fullness of its life her face preserved a sort of +immobility. The words seemed to form themselves, fiery or +pathetic, in the air, outside her lips. Their design was +hardly disturbed; a design of sweetness, gravity, and force as if +born from the inspiration of some artist; for I had never seen +anything to come up to it in nature before or since.</p> +<p>All this was part of the enchantment she cast over me; and I +seemed to notice that Mills had the aspect of a man under a +spell. If he too was a captive then I had no reason to feel +ashamed of my surrender.</p> +<p>“And you know,” she began again abruptly, +“that I have been accustomed to all the forms of +respect.”</p> +<p>“That’s true,” murmured Mills, as if +involuntarily.</p> +<p>“Well, yes,” she reaffirmed. “My +instinct may have told me that my only protection was obscurity, +but I didn’t know how and where to find it. Oh, yes, +I had that instinct . . . But there were other instincts and . . +. How am I to tell you? I didn’t know how to be on +guard against myself, either. Not a soul to speak to, or to +get a warning from. Some woman soul that would have known, +in which perhaps I could have seen my own reflection. I +assure you the only woman that ever addressed me directly, and +that was in writing, was . . . ”</p> +<p>She glanced aside, saw Mr. Blunt returning from the hall and +added rapidly in a lowered voice,</p> +<p>“His mother.”</p> +<p>The bright, mechanical smile of Mr. Blunt gleamed at us right +down the room, but he didn’t, as it were, follow it in his +body. He swerved to the nearest of the two big fireplaces +and finding some cigarettes on the mantelpiece remained leaning +on his elbow in the warmth of the bright wood fire. I +noticed then a bit of mute play. The heiress of Henry +Allègre, who could secure neither obscurity nor any other +alleviation to that invidious position, looked as if she would +speak to Blunt from a distance; but in a moment the confident +eagerness of her face died out as if killed by a sudden +thought. I didn’t know then her shrinking from all +falsehood and evasion; her dread of insincerity and disloyalty of +every kind. But even then I felt that at the very last +moment her being had recoiled before some shadow of a +suspicion. And it occurred to me, too, to wonder what sort +of business Mr. Blunt could have had to transact with our odious +visitor, of a nature so urgent as to make him run out after him +into the hall? Unless to beat him a little with one of the +sticks that were to be found there? White hair so much like +an expensive wig could not be considered a serious +protection. But it couldn’t have been that. The +transaction, whatever it was, had been much too quiet. I +must say that none of us had looked out of the window and that I +didn’t know when the man did go or if he was gone at +all. As a matter of fact he was already far away; and I may +just as well say here that I never saw him again in my +life. His passage across my field of vision was like that +of other figures of that time: not to be forgotten, a little +fantastic, infinitely enlightening for my contempt, darkening for +my memory which struggles still with the clear lights and the +ugly shadows of those unforgotten days.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER IV</h3> +<p>It was past four o’clock before I left the house, +together with Mills. Mr. Blunt, still in his riding +costume, escorted us to the very door. He asked us to send +him the first fiacre we met on our way to town. +“It’s impossible to walk in this get-up through the +streets,” he remarked, with his brilliant smile.</p> +<p>At this point I propose to transcribe some notes I made at the +time in little black books which I have hunted up in the litter +of the past; very cheap, common little note-books that by the +lapse of years have acquired a touching dimness of aspect, the +frayed, worn-out dignity of documents.</p> +<p>Expression on paper has never been my forte. My life had +been a thing of outward manifestations. I never had been +secret or even systematically taciturn about my simple +occupations which might have been foolish but had never required +either caution or mystery. But in those four hours since +midday a complete change had come over me. For good or evil +I left that house committed to an enterprise that could not be +talked about; which would have appeared to many senseless and +perhaps ridiculous, but was certainly full of risks, and, apart +from that, commanded discretion on the ground of simple +loyalty. It would not only close my lips but it would to a +certain extent cut me off from my usual haunts and from the +society of my friends; especially of the light-hearted, young, +harum-scarum kind. This was unavoidable. It was +because I felt myself thrown back upon my own thoughts and +forbidden to seek relief amongst other lives—it was perhaps +only for that reason at first I started an irregular, fragmentary +record of my days.</p> +<p>I made these notes not so much to preserve the memory (one +cared not for any to-morrow then) but to help me to keep a better +hold of the actuality. I scribbled them on shore and I +scribbled them on the sea; and in both cases they are concerned +not only with the nature of the facts but with the intensity of +my sensations. It may be, too, that I learned to love the +sea for itself only at that time. Woman and the sea +revealed themselves to me together, as it were: two mistresses of +life’s values. The illimitable greatness of the one, +the unfathomable seduction of the other working their immemorial +spells from generation to generation fell upon my heart at last: +a common fortune, an unforgettable memory of the sea’s +formless might and of the sovereign charm in that woman’s +form wherein there seemed to beat the pulse of divinity rather +than blood.</p> +<p>I begin here with the notes written at the end of that very +day.</p> +<p>—Parted with Mills on the quay. We had walked side +by side in absolute silence. The fact is he is too old for +me to talk to him freely. For all his sympathy and +seriousness I don’t know what note to strike and I am not +at all certain what he thinks of all this. As we shook +hands at parting, I asked him how much longer he expected to +stay. And he answered me that it depended on R. She +was making arrangements for him to cross the frontier. He +wanted to see the very ground on which the Principle of +Legitimacy was actually asserting itself arms in hand. It +sounded to my positive mind the most fantastic thing in the +world, this elimination of personalities from what seemed but the +merest political, dynastic adventure. So it wasn’t +Doña Rita, it wasn’t Blunt, it wasn’t the +Pretender with his big infectious laugh, it wasn’t all that +lot of politicians, archbishops, and generals, of monks, +guerrilleros, and smugglers by sea and land, of dubious agents +and shady speculators and undoubted swindlers, who were pushing +their fortunes at the risk of their precious skins. +No. It was the Legitimist Principle asserting itself! +Well, I would accept the view but with one reservation. All +the others might have been merged into the idea, but I, the +latest recruit, I would not be merged in the Legitimist +Principle. Mine was an act of independent assertion. +Never before had I felt so intensely aware of my +personality. But I said nothing of that to Mills. I +only told him I thought we had better not be seen very often +together in the streets. He agreed. Hearty +handshake. Looked affectionately after his broad +back. It never occurred to him to turn his head. What +was I in comparison with the Principle of Legitimacy?</p> +<p>Late that night I went in search of Dominic. That +Mediterranean sailor was just the man I wanted. He had a +great experience of all unlawful things that can be done on the +seas and he brought to the practice of them much wisdom and +audacity. That I didn’t know where he lived was +nothing since I knew where he loved. The proprietor of a +small, quiet café on the quay, a certain Madame +Léonore, a woman of thirty-five with an open Roman face +and intelligent black eyes, had captivated his heart years +ago. In that café with our heads close together over +a marble table, Dominic and I held an earnest and endless +confabulation while Madame Léonore, rustling a black silk +skirt, with gold earrings, with her raven hair elaborately +dressed and something nonchalant in her movements, would take +occasion, in passing to and fro, to rest her hand for a moment on +Dominic’s shoulder. Later when the little café +had emptied itself of its habitual customers, mostly people +connected with the work of ships and cargoes, she came quietly to +sit at our table and looking at me very hard with her black, +sparkling eyes asked Dominic familiarly what had happened to his +Signorino. It was her name for me. I was +Dominic’s Signorino. She knew me by no other; and our +connection has always been somewhat of a riddle to her. She +said that I was somehow changed since she saw me last. In +her rich voice she urged Dominic only to look at my eyes. I +must have had some piece of luck come to me either in love or at +cards, she bantered. But Dominic answered half in scorn +that I was not of the sort that runs after that kind of +luck. He stated generally that there were some young +gentlemen very clever in inventing new ways of getting rid of +their time and their money. However, if they needed a +sensible man to help them he had no objection himself to lend a +hand. Dominic’s general scorn for the beliefs, and +activities, and abilities of upper-class people covered the +Principle of Legitimacy amply; but he could not resist the +opportunity to exercise his special faculties in a field he knew +of old. He had been a desperate smuggler in his younger +days. We settled the purchase of a fast sailing +craft. Agreed that it must be a balancelle and something +altogether out of the common. He knew of one suitable but +she was in Corsica. Offered to start for Bastia by +mail-boat in the morning. All the time the handsome and +mature Madame Léonore sat by, smiling faintly, amused at +her great man joining like this in a frolic of boys. She +said the last words of that evening: “You men never grow +up,” touching lightly the grey hair above his temple.</p> +<p>A fortnight later.</p> +<p>. . . In the afternoon to the Prado. Beautiful +day. At the moment of ringing at the door a strong emotion +of an anxious kind. Why? Down the length of the +dining-room in the rotunda part full of afternoon light +Doña R., sitting cross-legged on the divan in the attitude +of a very old idol or a very young child and surrounded by many +cushions, waves her hand from afar pleasantly surprised, +exclaiming: “What! Back already!” I give +her all the details and we talk for two hours across a large +brass bowl containing a little water placed between us, lighting +cigarettes and dropping them, innumerable, puffed at, yet +untasted in the overwhelming interest of the conversation. +Found her very quick in taking the points and very intelligent in +her suggestions. All formality soon vanished between us and +before very long I discovered myself sitting cross-legged, too, +while I held forth on the qualities of different Mediterranean +sailing craft and on the romantic qualifications of Dominic for +the task. I believe I gave her the whole history of the +man, mentioning even the existence of Madame Léonore, +since the little café would have to be the headquarters of +the marine part of the plot.</p> +<p>She murmured, “<i>Ah</i>! <i>Une belle +Romaine</i>,” thoughtfully. She told me that she +liked to hear people of that sort spoken of in terms of our +common humanity. She observed also that she wished to see +Dominic some day; to set her eyes for once on a man who could be +absolutely depended on. She wanted to know whether he had +engaged himself in this adventure solely for my sake.</p> +<p>I said that no doubt it was partly that. We had been +very close associates in the West Indies from where we had +returned together, and he had a notion that I could be depended +on, too. But mainly, I suppose, it was from taste. +And there was in him also a fine carelessness as to what he did +and a love of venturesome enterprise.</p> +<p>“And you,” she said. “Is it +carelessness, too?”</p> +<p>“In a measure,” I said. “Within +limits.”</p> +<p>“And very soon you will get tired.”</p> +<p>“When I do I will tell you. But I may also get +frightened. I suppose you know there are risks, I mean +apart from the risk of life.”</p> +<p>“As for instance,” she said.</p> +<p>“For instance, being captured, tried, and sentenced to +what they call ‘the galleys,’ in Ceuta.”</p> +<p>“And all this from that love for . . .”</p> +<p>“Not for Legitimacy,” I interrupted the inquiry +lightly. “But what’s the use asking such +questions? It’s like asking the veiled figure of +fate. It doesn’t know its own mind nor its own +heart. It has no heart. But what if I were to start +asking you—who have a heart and are not veiled to my +sight?” She dropped her charming adolescent head, so +firm in modelling, so gentle in expression. Her uncovered +neck was round like the shaft of a column. She wore the +same wrapper of thick blue silk. At that time she seemed to +live either in her riding habit or in that wrapper folded tightly +round her and open low to a point in front. Because of the +absence of all trimming round the neck and from the deep view of +her bare arms in the wide sleeve this garment seemed to be put +directly on her skin and gave one the impression of one’s +nearness to her body which would have been troubling but for the +perfect unconsciousness of her manner. That day she carried +no barbarous arrow in her hair. It was parted on one side, +brushed back severely, and tied with a black ribbon, without any +bronze mist about her forehead or temple. This smoothness +added to the many varieties of her expression also that of +child-like innocence.</p> +<p>Great progress in our intimacy brought about unconsciously by +our enthusiastic interest in the matter of our discourse and, in +the moments of silence, by the sympathetic current of our +thoughts. And this rapidly growing familiarity (truly, she +had a terrible gift for it) had all the varieties of earnestness: +serious, excited, ardent, and even gay. She laughed in +contralto; but her laugh was never very long; and when it had +ceased, the silence of the room with the light dying in all its +many windows seemed to lie about me warmed by its vibration.</p> +<p>As I was preparing to take my leave after a longish pause into +which we had fallen as into a vague dream, she came out of it +with a start and a quiet sigh. She said, “I had +forgotten myself.” I took her hand and was raising it +naturally, without premeditation, when I felt suddenly the arm to +which it belonged become insensible, passive, like a stuffed +limb, and the whole woman go inanimate all over! Brusquely +I dropped the hand before it reached my lips; and it was so +lifeless that it fell heavily on to the divan.</p> +<p>I remained standing before her. She raised to me not her +eyes but her whole face, inquisitively—perhaps in +appeal.</p> +<p>“No! This isn’t good enough for me,” I +said.</p> +<p>The last of the light gleamed in her long enigmatic eyes as if +they were precious enamel in that shadowy head which in its +immobility suggested a creation of a distant past: immortal art, +not transient life. Her voice had a profound +quietness. She excused herself.</p> +<p>“It’s only habit—or instinct—or what +you like. I have had to practise that in self-defence lest +I should be tempted sometimes to cut the arm off.”</p> +<p>I remembered the way she had abandoned this very arm and hand +to the white-haired ruffian. It rendered me gloomy and +idiotically obstinate.</p> +<p>“Very ingenious. But this sort of thing is of no +use to me,” I declared.</p> +<p>“Make it up,” suggested her mysterious voice, +while her shadowy figure remained unmoved, indifferent amongst +the cushions.</p> +<p>I didn’t stir either. I refused in the same low +tone.</p> +<p>“No. Not before you give it to me yourself some +day.”</p> +<p>“Yes—some day,” she repeated in a breath in +which there was no irony but rather hesitation, reluctance what +did I know?</p> +<p>I walked away from the house in a curious state of gloomy +satisfaction with myself.</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>And this is the last extract. A month afterwards.</p> +<p>—This afternoon going up to the Villa I was for the +first time accompanied in my way by some misgivings. +To-morrow I sail.</p> +<p>First trip and therefore in the nature of a trial trip; and I +can’t overcome a certain gnawing emotion, for it is a trip +that <i>mustn’t</i> fail. In that sort of enterprise +there is no room for mistakes. Of all the individuals +engaged in it will every one be intelligent enough, faithful +enough, bold enough? Looking upon them as a whole it seems +impossible; but as each has got only a limited part to play they +may be found sufficient each for his particular trust. And +will they be all punctual, I wonder? An enterprise that +hangs on the punctuality of many people, no matter how well +disposed and even heroic, hangs on a thread. This I have +perceived to be also the greatest of Dominic’s +concerns. He, too, wonders. And when he breathes his +doubts the smile lurking under the dark curl of his moustaches is +not reassuring.</p> +<p>But there is also something exciting in such speculations and +the road to the Villa seemed to me shorter than ever before.</p> +<p>Let in by the silent, ever-active, dark lady’s maid, who +is always on the spot and always on the way somewhere else, +opening the door with one hand, while she passes on, turning on +one for a moment her quick, black eyes, which just miss being +lustrous, as if some one had breathed on them lightly.</p> +<p>On entering the long room I perceive Mills established in an +armchair which he had dragged in front of the divan. I do +the same to another and there we sit side by side facing R., +tenderly amiable yet somehow distant among her cushions, with an +immemorial seriousness in her long, shaded eyes and her fugitive +smile hovering about but never settling on her lips. Mills, +who is just back from over the frontier, must have been asking R. +whether she had been worried again by her devoted friend with the +white hair. At least I concluded so because I found them +talking of the heart-broken Azzolati. And after having +answered their greetings I sit and listen to Rita addressing +Mills earnestly.</p> +<p>“No, I assure you Azzolati had done nothing to me. +I knew him. He was a frequent visitor at the Pavilion, +though I, personally, never talked with him very much in Henry +Allègre’s lifetime. Other men were more +interesting, and he himself was rather reserved in his manner to +me. He was an international politician and +financier—a nobody. He, like many others, was +admitted only to feed and amuse Henry Allègre’s +scorn of the world, which was insatiable—I tell +you.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Mills. “I can +imagine.”</p> +<p>“But I know. Often when we were alone Henry +Allègre used to pour it into my ears. If ever +anybody saw mankind stripped of its clothes as the child sees the +king in the German fairy tale, it’s I! Into my +ears! A child’s! Too young to die of +fright. Certainly not old enough to understand—or +even to believe. But then his arm was about me. I +used to laugh, sometimes. Laugh! At this +destruction—at these ruins!”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Mills, very steady before her +fire. “But you have at your service the everlasting +charm of life; you are a part of the indestructible.”</p> +<p>“Am I? . . . But there is no arm about me now. The +laugh! Where is my laugh? Give me back my laugh. . . +.”</p> +<p>And she laughed a little on a low note. I don’t +know about Mills, but the subdued shadowy vibration of it echoed +in my breast which felt empty for a moment and like a large space +that makes one giddy.</p> +<p>“The laugh is gone out of my heart, which at any rate +used to feel protected. That feeling’s gone, +too. And I myself will have to die some day.”</p> +<p>“Certainly,” said Mills in an unaltered +voice. “As to this body you . . .”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes! Thanks. It’s a very poor +jest. Change from body to body as travellers used to change +horses at post houses. I’ve heard of this before. . . +.”</p> +<p>“I’ve no doubt you have,” Mills put on a +submissive air. “But are we to hear any more about +Azzolati?”</p> +<p>“You shall. Listen. I had heard that he was +invited to shoot at Rambouillet—a quiet party, not one of +these great shoots. I hear a lot of things. I wanted +to have a certain information, also certain hints conveyed to a +diplomatic personage who was to be there, too. A personage +that would never let me get in touch with him though I had tried +many times.”</p> +<p>“Incredible!” mocked Mills solemnly.</p> +<p>“The personage mistrusts his own susceptibility. +Born cautious,” explained Doña Rita crisply with the +slightest possible quiver of her lips. “Suddenly I +had the inspiration to make use of Azzolati, who had been +reminding me by a constant stream of messages that he was an old +friend. I never took any notice of those pathetic appeals +before. But in this emergency I sat down and wrote a note +asking him to come and dine with me in my hotel. I suppose +you know I don’t live in the Pavilion. I can’t +bear the Pavilion now. When I have to go there I begin to +feel after an hour or so that it is haunted. I seem to +catch sight of somebody I know behind columns, passing through +doorways, vanishing here and there. I hear light footsteps +behind closed doors. . . My own!”</p> +<p>Her eyes, her half-parted lips, remained fixed till Mills +suggested softly, “Yes, but Azzolati.”</p> +<p>Her rigidity vanished like a flake of snow in the +sunshine. “Oh! Azzolati. It was a most solemn +affair. It had occurred to me to make a very elaborate +toilet. It was most successful. Azzolati looked +positively scared for a moment as though he had got into the +wrong suite of rooms. He had never before seen me <i>en +toilette</i>, you understand. In the old days once out of +my riding habit I would never dress. I draped myself, you +remember, Monsieur Mills. To go about like that suited my +indolence, my longing to feel free in my body, as at that time +when I used to herd goats. . . But never mind. My aim was +to impress Azzolati. I wanted to talk to him +seriously.”</p> +<p>There was something whimsical in the quick beat of her eyelids +and in the subtle quiver of her lips. “And behold! +the same notion had occurred to Azzolati. Imagine that for +this tête-à-tête dinner the creature had got +himself up as if for a reception at court. He displayed a +brochette of all sorts of decorations on the lapel of his +<i>frac</i> and had a broad ribbon of some order across his shirt +front. An orange ribbon. Bavarian, I should +say. Great Roman Catholic, Azzolati. It was always +his ambition to be the banker of all the Bourbons in the +world. The last remnants of his hair were dyed jet black +and the ends of his moustache were like knitting needles. +He was disposed to be as soft as wax in my hands. +Unfortunately I had had some irritating interviews during the +day. I was keeping down sudden impulses to smash a glass, +throw a plate on the floor, do something violent to relieve my +feelings. His submissive attitude made me still more +nervous. He was ready to do anything in the world for me +providing that I would promise him that he would never find my +door shut against him as long as he lived. You understand +the impudence of it, don’t you? And his tone was +positively abject, too. I snapped back at him that I had no +door, that I was a nomad. He bowed ironically till his nose +nearly touched his plate but begged me to remember that to his +personal knowledge I had four houses of my own about the +world. And you know this made me feel a homeless outcast +more than ever—like a little dog lost in the +street—not knowing where to go. I was ready to cry +and there the creature sat in front of me with an imbecile smile +as much as to say ‘here is a poser for you. . . +.’ I gnashed my teeth at him. Quietly, you know +. . . I suppose you two think that I am stupid.”</p> +<p>She paused as if expecting an answer but we made no sound and +she continued with a remark.</p> +<p>“I have days like that. Often one must listen to +false protestations, empty words, strings of lies all day long, +so that in the evening one is not fit for anything, not even for +truth if it comes in one’s way. That idiot treated me +to a piece of brazen sincerity which I couldn’t +stand. First of all he began to take me into his +confidence; he boasted of his great affairs, then started +groaning about his overstrained life which left him no time for +the amenities of existence, for beauty, or sentiment, or any sort +of ease of heart. His heart! He wanted me to +sympathize with his sorrows. Of course I ought to have +listened. One must pay for service. Only I was +nervous and tired. He bored me. I told him at last +that I was surprised that a man of such immense wealth should +still keep on going like this reaching for more and more. I +suppose he must have been sipping a good deal of wine while we +talked and all at once he let out an atrocity which was too much +for me. He had been moaning and sentimentalizing but then +suddenly he showed me his fangs. ‘No,’ he +cries, ‘you can’t imagine what a satisfaction it is +to feel all that penniless, beggarly lot of the dear, honest, +meritorious poor wriggling and slobbering under one’s +boots.’ You may tell me that he is a contemptible +animal anyhow, but you should have heard the tone! I felt +my bare arms go cold like ice. A moment before I had been +hot and faint with sheer boredom. I jumped up from the +table, rang for Rose, and told her to bring me my fur +cloak. He remained in his chair leering at me +curiously. When I had the fur on my shoulders and the girl +had gone out of the room I gave him the surprise of his +life. ‘Take yourself off instantly,’ I +said. ‘Go trample on the poor if you like but never +dare speak to me again.’ At this he leaned his head +on his arm and sat so long at the table shading his eyes with his +hand that I had to ask, calmly—you know—whether he +wanted me to have him turned out into the corridor. He +fetched an enormous sigh. ‘I have only tried to be +honest with you, Rita.’ But by the time he got to the +door he had regained some of his impudence. ‘You know +how to trample on a poor fellow, too,’ he said. +‘But I don’t mind being made to wriggle under your +pretty shoes, Rita. I forgive you. I thought you were +free from all vulgar sentimentalism and that you had a more +independent mind. I was mistaken in you, that’s +all.’ With that he pretends to dash a tear from his +eye-crocodile!—and goes out, leaving me in my fur by the +blazing fire, my teeth going like castanets. . . Did you ever +hear of anything so stupid as this affair?” she concluded +in a tone of extreme candour and a profound unreadable stare that +went far beyond us both. And the stillness of her lips was +so perfect directly she ceased speaking that I wondered whether +all this had come through them or only had formed itself in my +mind.</p> +<p>Presently she continued as if speaking for herself only.</p> +<p>“It’s like taking the lids off boxes and seeing +ugly toads staring at you. In every one. Every +one. That’s what it is having to do with men more +than mere—Good-morning—Good evening. And if you +try to avoid meddling with their lids, some of them will take +them off themselves. And they don’t even know, they +don’t even suspect what they are showing you. Certain +confidences—they don’t see it—are the bitterest +kind of insult. I suppose Azzolati imagines himself a noble +beast of prey. Just as some others imagine themselves to be +most delicate, noble, and refined gentlemen. And as likely +as not they would trade on a woman’s troubles—and in +the end make nothing of that either. Idiots!”</p> +<p>The utter absence of all anger in this spoken meditation gave +it a character of touching simplicity. And as if it had +been truly only a meditation we conducted ourselves as though we +had not heard it. Mills began to speak of his experiences +during his visit to the army of the Legitimist King. And I +discovered in his speeches that this man of books could be +graphic and picturesque. His admiration for the devotion +and bravery of the army was combined with the greatest distaste +for what he had seen of the way its great qualities were +misused. In the conduct of this great enterprise he had +seen a deplorable levity of outlook, a fatal lack of decision, an +absence of any reasoned plan.</p> +<p>He shook his head.</p> +<p>“I feel that you of all people, Doña Rita, ought +to be told the truth. I don’t know exactly what you +have at stake.”</p> +<p>She was rosy like some impassive statue in a desert in the +flush of the dawn.</p> +<p>“Not my heart,” she said quietly. “You +must believe that.”</p> +<p>“I do. Perhaps it would have been better if you. . +. ”</p> +<p>“No, <i>Monsieur le Philosophe</i>. It would not +have been better. Don’t make that serious face at +me,” she went on with tenderness in a playful note, as if +tenderness had been her inheritance of all time and playfulness +the very fibre of her being. “I suppose you think +that a woman who has acted as I did and has not staked her heart +on it is . . . How do you know to what the heart responds as it +beats from day to day?”</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t judge you. What am I before the +knowledge you were born to? You are as old as the +world.”</p> +<p>She accepted this with a smile. I who was innocently +watching them was amazed to discover how much a fleeting thing +like that could hold of seduction without the help of any other +feature and with that unchanging glance.</p> +<p>“With me it is <i>pun d’onor</i>. To my +first independent friend.”</p> +<p>“You were soon parted,” ventured Mills, while I +sat still under a sense of oppression.</p> +<p>“Don’t think for a moment that I have been scared +off,” she said. “It is they who were +frightened. I suppose you heard a lot of Headquarters +gossip?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” Mills said meaningly. “The +fair and the dark are succeeding each other like leaves blown in +the wind dancing in and out. I suppose you have noticed +that leaves blown in the wind have a look of +happiness.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” she said, “that sort of leaf is +dead. Then why shouldn’t it look happy? And so +I suppose there is no uneasiness, no occasion for fears amongst +the ‘responsibles.’”</p> +<p>“Upon the whole not. Now and then a leaf seems as +if it would stick. There is for instance Madame . . +.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t want to know, I understand it all, I +am as old as the world.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Mills thoughtfully, “you are not +a leaf, you might have been a tornado yourself.”</p> +<p>“Upon my word,” she said, “there was a time +that they thought I could carry him off, away from them +all—beyond them all. Verily, I am not very proud of +their fears. There was nothing reckless there worthy of a +great passion. There was nothing sad there worthy of a +great tenderness.”</p> +<p>“And is <i>this</i> the word of the Venetian +riddle?” asked Mills, fixing her with his keen eyes.</p> +<p>“If it pleases you to think so, Señor,” she +said indifferently. The movement of her eyes, their veiled +gleam became mischievous when she asked, “And Don Juan +Blunt, have you seen him over there?”</p> +<p>“I fancy he avoided me. Moreover, he is always +with his regiment at the outposts. He is a most valorous +captain. I heard some people describe him as +foolhardy.”</p> +<p>“Oh, he needn’t seek death,” she said in an +indefinable tone. “I mean as a refuge. There +will be nothing in his life great enough for that.”</p> +<p>“You are angry. You miss him, I believe, +Doña Rita.”</p> +<p>“Angry? No! Weary. But of course +it’s very inconvenient. I can’t very well ride +out alone. A solitary amazon swallowing the dust and the +salt spray of the Corniche promenade would attract too much +attention. And then I don’t mind you two knowing that +I am afraid of going out alone.”</p> +<p>“Afraid?” we both exclaimed together.</p> +<p>“You men are extraordinary. Why do you want me to +be courageous? Why shouldn’t I be afraid? Is it +because there is no one in the world to care what would happen to +me?”</p> +<p>There was a deep-down vibration in her tone for the first +time. We had not a word to say. And she added after a +long silence:</p> +<p>“There is a very good reason. There is a +danger.”</p> +<p>With wonderful insight Mills affirmed at once:</p> +<p>“Something ugly.”</p> +<p>She nodded slightly several times. Then Mills said with +conviction:</p> +<p>“Ah! Then it can’t be anything in +yourself. And if so . . . ”</p> +<p>I was moved to extravagant advice.</p> +<p>“You should come out with me to sea then. There +may be some danger there but there’s nothing ugly to +fear.”</p> +<p>She gave me a startled glance quite unusual with her, more +than wonderful to me; and suddenly as though she had seen me for +the first time she exclaimed in a tone of compunction:</p> +<p>“Oh! And there is this one, too! Why! +Oh, why should he run his head into danger for those things that +will all crumble into dust before long?”</p> +<p>I said: “<i>You</i> won’t crumble into +dust.” And Mills chimed in:</p> +<p>“That young enthusiast will always have his +sea.”</p> +<p>We were all standing up now. She kept her eyes on me, +and repeated with a sort of whimsical enviousness:</p> +<p>“The sea! The violet sea—and he is longing +to rejoin it! . . . At night! Under the stars! . . . A +lovers’ meeting,” she went on, thrilling me from head +to foot with those two words, accompanied by a wistful smile +pointed by a suspicion of mockery. She turned away.</p> +<p>“And you, Monsieur Mills?” she asked.</p> +<p>“I am going back to my books,” he declared with a +very serious face. “My adventure is over.”</p> +<p>“Each one to his love,” she bantered us +gently. “Didn’t I love books, too, at one +time! They seemed to contain all wisdom and hold a magic +power, too. Tell me, Monsieur Mills, have you found amongst +them in some black-letter volume the power of foretelling a poor +mortal’s destiny, the power to look into the future? +Anybody’s future . . .” Mills shook his head. . +. “What, not even mine?” she coaxed as if she really +believed in a magic power to be found in books.</p> +<p>Mills shook his head again. “No, I have not the +power,” he said. “I am no more a great +magician, than you are a poor mortal. You have your ancient +spells. You are as old as the world. Of us two +it’s you that are more fit to foretell the future of the +poor mortals on whom you happen to cast your eyes.”</p> +<p>At these words she cast her eyes down and in the moment of +deep silence I watched the slight rising and falling of her +breast. Then Mills pronounced distinctly: “Good-bye, +old Enchantress.”</p> +<p>They shook hands cordially. “Good-bye, poor +Magician,” she said.</p> +<p>Mills made as if to speak but seemed to think better of +it. Doña Rita returned my distant bow with a slight, +charmingly ceremonious inclination of her body.</p> +<p>“<i>Bon voyage</i> and a happy return,” she said +formally.</p> +<p>I was following Mills through the door when I heard her voice +behind us raised in recall:</p> +<p>“Oh, a moment . . . I forgot . . .”</p> +<p>I turned round. The call was for me, and I walked slowly +back wondering what she could have forgotten. She waited in +the middle of the room with lowered head, with a mute gleam in +her deep blue eyes. When I was near enough she extended to +me without a word her bare white arm and suddenly pressed the +back of her hand against my lips. I was too startled to +seize it with rapture. It detached itself from my lips and +fell slowly by her side. We had made it up and there was +nothing to say. She turned away to the window and I hurried +out of the room.</p> +<h2>PART THREE</h2> +<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> +<p>It was on our return from that first trip that I took Dominic +up to the Villa to be presented to Doña Rita. If she +wanted to look on the embodiment of fidelity, resource, and +courage, she could behold it all in that man. Apparently +she was not disappointed. Neither was Dominic +disappointed. During the half-hour’s interview they +got into touch with each other in a wonderful way as if they had +some common and secret standpoint in life. Maybe it was +their common lawlessness, and their knowledge of things as old as +the world. Her seduction, his recklessness, were both +simple, masterful and, in a sense, worthy of each other.</p> +<p>Dominic was, I won’t say awed by this interview. +No woman could awe Dominic. But he was, as it were, +rendered thoughtful by it, like a man who had not so much an +experience as a sort of revelation vouchsafed to him. +Later, at sea, he used to refer to La Señora in a +particular tone and I knew that henceforth his devotion was not +for me alone. And I understood the inevitability of it +extremely well. As to Doña Rita she, after Dominic +left the room, had turned to me with animation and said: +“But he is perfect, this man.” Afterwards she +often asked after him and used to refer to him in +conversation. More than once she said to me: “One +would like to put the care of one’s personal safety into +the hands of that man. He looks as if he simply +couldn’t fail one.” I admitted that this was +very true, especially at sea. Dominic couldn’t +fail. But at the same time I rather chaffed Rita on her +preoccupation as to personal safety that so often cropped up in +her talk.</p> +<p>“One would think you were a crowned head in a +revolutionary world,” I used to tell her.</p> +<p>“That would be different. One would be standing +then for something, either worth or not worth dying for. +One could even run away then and be done with it. But I +can’t run away unless I got out of my skin and left that +behind. Don’t you understand? You are very +stupid . . .” But she had the grace to add, “On +purpose.”</p> +<p>I don’t know about the on purpose. I am not +certain about the stupidity. Her words bewildered one often +and bewilderment is a sort of stupidity. I remedied it by +simply disregarding the sense of what she said. The sound +was there and also her poignant heart-gripping presence giving +occupation enough to one’s faculties. In the power of +those things over one there was mystery enough. It was more +absorbing than the mere obscurity of her speeches. But I +daresay she couldn’t understand that.</p> +<p>Hence, at times, the amusing outbreaks of temper in word and +gesture that only strengthened the natural, the invincible force +of the spell. Sometimes the brass bowl would get upset or +the cigarette box would fly up, dropping a shower of cigarettes +on the floor. We would pick them up, re-establish +everything, and fall into a long silence, so close that the sound +of the first word would come with all the pain of a +separation.</p> +<p>It was at that time, too, that she suggested I should take up +my quarters in her house in the street of the Consuls. +There were certain advantages in that move. In my present +abode my sudden absences might have been in the long run subject +to comment. On the other hand, the house in the street of +Consuls was a known out-post of Legitimacy. But then it was +covered by the occult influence of her who was referred to in +confidential talks, secret communications, and discreet whispers +of Royalist salons as: “Madame de Lastaola.”</p> +<p>That was the name which the heiress of Henry Allègre +had decided to adopt when, according to her own expression, she +had found herself precipitated at a moment’s notice into +the crowd of mankind. It is strange how the death of Henry +Allègre, which certainly the poor man had not planned, +acquired in my view the character of a heartless desertion. +It gave one a glimpse of amazing egoism in a sentiment to which +one could hardly give a name, a mysterious appropriation of one +human being by another as if in defiance of unexpressed things +and for an unheard-of satisfaction of an inconceivable +pride. If he had hated her he could not have flung that +enormous fortune more brutally at her head. And his +unrepentant death seemed to lift for a moment the curtain on +something lofty and sinister like an Olympian’s +caprice.</p> +<p>Doña Rita said to me once with humorous resignation: +“You know, it appears that one must have a name. +That’s what Henry Allègre’s man of business +told me. He was quite impatient with me about it. But +my name, <i>amigo</i>, Henry Allègre had taken from me +like all the rest of what I had been once. All that is +buried with him in his grave. It wouldn’t have been +true. That is how I felt about it. So I took that +one.” She whispered to herself: +“Lastaola,” not as if to test the sound but as if in +a dream.</p> +<p>To this day I am not quite certain whether it was the name of +any human habitation, a lonely <i>caserio</i> with a half-effaced +carving of a coat of arms over its door, or of some hamlet at the +dead end of a ravine with a stony slope at the back. It +might have been a hill for all I know or perhaps a stream. +A wood, or perhaps a combination of all these: just a bit of the +earth’s surface. Once I asked her where exactly it +was situated and she answered, waving her hand cavalierly at the +dead wall of the room: “Oh, over there.” I +thought that this was all that I was going to hear but she added +moodily, “I used to take my goats there, a dozen or so of +them, for the day. From after my uncle had said his Mass +till the ringing of the evening bell.”</p> +<p>I saw suddenly the lonely spot, sketched for me some time ago +by a few words from Mr. Blunt, populated by the agile, bearded +beasts with cynical heads, and a little misty figure dark in the +sunlight with a halo of dishevelled rust-coloured hair about its +head.</p> +<p>The epithet of rust-coloured comes from her. It was +really tawny. Once or twice in my hearing she had referred +to “my rust-coloured hair” with laughing +vexation. Even then it was unruly, abhorring the restraints +of civilization, and often in the heat of a dispute getting into +the eyes of Madame de Lastaola, the possessor of coveted art +treasures, the heiress of Henry Allègre. She +proceeded in a reminiscent mood, with a faint flash of gaiety all +over her face, except her dark blue eyes that moved so seldom out +of their fixed scrutiny of things invisible to other human +beings.</p> +<p>“The goats were very good. We clambered amongst +the stones together. They beat me at that game. I +used to catch my hair in the bushes.”</p> +<p>“Your rust-coloured hair,” I whispered.</p> +<p>“Yes, it was always this colour. And I used to +leave bits of my frock on thorns here and there. It was +pretty thin, I can tell you. There wasn’t much at +that time between my skin and the blue of the sky. My legs +were as sunburnt as my face; but really I didn’t tan very +much. I had plenty of freckles though. There were no +looking-glasses in the Presbytery but uncle had a piece not +bigger than my two hands for his shaving. One Sunday I +crept into his room and had a peep at myself. And +wasn’t I startled to see my own eyes looking at me! +But it was fascinating, too. I was about eleven years old +then, and I was very friendly with the goats, and I was as shrill +as a cicada and as slender as a match. Heavens! When +I overhear myself speaking sometimes, or look at my limbs, it +doesn’t seem to be possible. And yet it is the same +one. I do remember every single goat. They were very +clever. Goats are no trouble really; they don’t +scatter much. Mine never did even if I had to hide myself +out of their sight for ever so long.”</p> +<p>It was but natural to ask her why she wanted to hide, and she +uttered vaguely what was rather a comment on my question:</p> +<p>“It was like fate.” But I chose to take it +otherwise, teasingly, because we were often like a pair of +children.</p> +<p>“Oh, really,” I said, “you talk like a +pagan. What could you know of fate at that time? What +was it like? Did it come down from Heaven?”</p> +<p>“Don’t be stupid. It used to come along a +cart-track that was there and it looked like a boy. +Wasn’t he a little devil though. You understand, I +couldn’t know that. He was a wealthy cousin of +mine. Round there we are all related, all cousins—as +in Brittany. He wasn’t much bigger than myself but he +was older, just a boy in blue breeches and with good shoes on his +feet, which of course interested and impressed me. He +yelled to me from below, I screamed to him from above, he came up +and sat down near me on a stone, never said a word, let me look +at him for half an hour before he condescended to ask me who I +was. And the airs he gave himself! He quite +intimidated me sitting there perfectly dumb. I remember +trying to hide my bare feet under the edge of my skirt as I sat +below him on the ground.</p> +<p>“<i>C’est comique</i>, <i>eh</i>!” she +interrupted herself to comment in a melancholy tone. I +looked at her sympathetically and she went on:</p> +<p>“He was the only son from a rich farmhouse two miles +down the slope. In winter they used to send him to school +at Tolosa. He had an enormous opinion of himself; he was +going to keep a shop in a town by and by and he was about the +most dissatisfied creature I have ever seen. He had an +unhappy mouth and unhappy eyes and he was always wretched about +something: about the treatment he received, about being kept in +the country and chained to work. He was moaning and +complaining and threatening all the world, including his father +and mother. He used to curse God, yes, that boy, sitting +there on a piece of rock like a wretched little Prometheus with a +sparrow pecking at his miserable little liver. And the +grand scenery of mountains all round, ha, ha, ha!”</p> +<p>She laughed in contralto: a penetrating sound with something +generous in it; not infectious, but in others provoking a +smile.</p> +<p>“Of course I, poor little animal, I didn’t know +what to make of it, and I was even a little frightened. But +at first because of his miserable eyes I was sorry for him, +almost as much as if he had been a sick goat. But, +frightened or sorry, I don’t know how it is, I always +wanted to laugh at him, too, I mean from the very first day when +he let me admire him for half an hour. Yes, even then I had +to put my hand over my mouth more than once for the sake of good +manners, you understand. And yet, you know, I was never a +laughing child.</p> +<p>“One day he came up and sat down very dignified a little +bit away from me and told me he had been thrashed for wandering +in the hills.</p> +<p>“‘To be with me?’ I asked. And he +said: ‘To be with you! No. My people +don’t know what I do.’ I can’t tell why, +but I was annoyed. So instead of raising a clamour of pity +over him, which I suppose he expected me to do, I asked him if +the thrashing hurt very much. He got up, he had a switch in +his hand, and walked up to me, saying, ‘I will soon show +you.’ I went stiff with fright; but instead of +slashing at me he dropped down by my side and kissed me on the +cheek. Then he did it again, and by that time I was gone +dead all over and he could have done what he liked with the +corpse but he left off suddenly and then I came to life again and +I bolted away. Not very far. I couldn’t leave +the goats altogether. He chased me round and about the +rocks, but of course I was too quick for him in his nice town +boots. When he got tired of that game he started throwing +stones. After that he made my life very lively for +me. Sometimes he used to come on me unawares and then I had +to sit still and listen to his miserable ravings, because he +would catch me round the waist and hold me very tight. And +yet, I often felt inclined to laugh. But if I caught sight +of him at a distance and tried to dodge out of the way he would +start stoning me into a shelter I knew of and then sit outside +with a heap of stones at hand so that I daren’t show the +end of my nose for hours. He would sit there and rave and +abuse me till I would burst into a crazy laugh in my hole; and +then I could see him through the leaves rolling on the ground and +biting his fists with rage. Didn’t he hate me! +At the same time I was often terrified. I am convinced now +that if I had started crying he would have rushed in and perhaps +strangled me there. Then as the sun was about to set he +would make me swear that I would marry him when I was grown +up. ‘Swear, you little wretched beggar,’ he +would yell to me. And I would swear. I was hungry, +and I didn’t want to be made black and blue all over with +stones. Oh, I swore ever so many times to be his +wife. Thirty times a month for two months. I +couldn’t help myself. It was no use complaining to my +sister Therese. When I showed her my bruises and tried to +tell her a little about my trouble she was quite +scandalized. She called me a sinful girl, a shameless +creature. I assure you it puzzled my head so that, between +Therese my sister and José the boy, I lived in a state of +idiocy almost. But luckily at the end of the two months +they sent him away from home for good. Curious story to +happen to a goatherd living all her days out under God’s +eye, as my uncle the Cura might have said. My sister +Therese was keeping house in the Presbytery. She’s a +terrible person.”</p> +<p>“I have heard of your sister Therese,” I said.</p> +<p>“Oh, you have! Of my big sister Therese, six, ten +years older than myself perhaps? She just comes a little +above my shoulder, but then I was always a long thing. I +never knew my mother. I don’t even know how she +looked. There are no paintings or photographs in our +farmhouses amongst the hills. I haven’t even heard +her described to me. I believe I was never good enough to +be told these things. Therese decided that I was a lump of +wickedness, and now she believes that I will lose my soul +altogether unless I take some steps to save it. Well, I +have no particular taste that way. I suppose it is annoying +to have a sister going fast to eternal perdition, but there are +compensations. The funniest thing is that it’s +Therese, I believe, who managed to keep me out of the Presbytery +when I went out of my way to look in on them on my return from my +visit to the <i>Quartel Real</i> last year. I +couldn’t have stayed much more than half an hour with them +anyway, but still I would have liked to get over the old +doorstep. I am certain that Therese persuaded my uncle to +go out and meet me at the bottom of the hill. I saw the old +man a long way off and I understood how it was. I +dismounted at once and met him on foot. We had half an hour +together walking up and down the road. He is a peasant +priest, he didn’t know how to treat me. And of course +I was uncomfortable, too. There wasn’t a single goat +about to keep me in countenance. I ought to have embraced +him. I was always fond of the stern, simple old man. +But he drew himself up when I approached him and actually took +off his hat to me. So simple as that! I bowed my head +and asked for his blessing. And he said ‘I would +never refuse a blessing to a good Legitimist.’ So +stern as that! And when I think that I was perhaps the only +girl of the family or in the whole world that he ever in his +priest’s life patted on the head! When I think of +that I . . . I believe at that moment I was as wretched as he was +himself. I handed him an envelope with a big red seal which +quite startled him. I had asked the Marquis de Villarel to +give me a few words for him, because my uncle has a great +influence in his district; and the Marquis penned with his own +hand some compliments and an inquiry about the spirit of the +population. My uncle read the letter, looked up at me with +an air of mournful awe, and begged me to tell his excellency that +the people were all for God, their lawful King and their old +privileges. I said to him then, after he had asked me about +the health of His Majesty in an awfully gloomy tone—I said +then: ‘There is only one thing that remains for me to do, +uncle, and that is to give you two pounds of the very best snuff +I have brought here for you.’ What else could I have +got for the poor old man? I had no trunks with me. I +had to leave behind a spare pair of shoes in the hotel to make +room in my little bag for that snuff. And fancy! That +old priest absolutely pushed the parcel away. I could have +thrown it at his head; but I thought suddenly of that hard, +prayerful life, knowing nothing of any ease or pleasure in the +world, absolutely nothing but a pinch of snuff now and +then. I remembered how wretched he used to be when he +lacked a copper or two to get some snuff with. My face was +hot with indignation, but before I could fly out at him I +remembered how simple he was. So I said with great dignity +that as the present came from the King and as he wouldn’t +receive it from my hand there was nothing else for me to do but +to throw it into the brook; and I made as if I were going to do +it, too. He shouted: ‘Stay, unhappy girl! Is it +really from His Majesty, whom God preserve?’ I said +contemptuously, ‘Of course.’ He looked at me +with great pity in his eyes, sighed deeply, and took the little +tin from my hand. I suppose he imagined me in my abandoned +way wheedling the necessary cash out of the King for the purchase +of that snuff. You can’t imagine how simple he +is. Nothing was easier than to deceive him; but don’t +imagine I deceived him from the vainglory of a mere sinner. +I lied to the dear man, simply because I couldn’t bear the +idea of him being deprived of the only gratification his big, +ascetic, gaunt body ever knew on earth. As I mounted my +mule to go away he murmured coldly: ‘God guard you, +Señora!’ Señora! What +sternness! We were off a little way already when his heart +softened and he shouted after me in a terrible voice: ‘The +road to Heaven is repentance!’ And then, after a +silence, again the great shout ‘Repentance!’ +thundered after me. Was that sternness or simplicity, I +wonder? Or a mere unmeaning superstition, a mechanical +thing? If there lives anybody completely honest in this +world, surely it must be my uncle. And yet—who +knows?</p> +<p>“Would you guess what was the next thing I did? +Directly I got over the frontier I wrote from Bayonne asking the +old man to send me out my sister here. I said it was for +the service of the King. You see, I had thought suddenly of +that house of mine in which you once spent the night talking with +Mr. Mills and Don Juan Blunt. I thought it would do +extremely well for Carlist officers coming this way on leave or +on a mission. In hotels they might have been molested, but +I knew that I could get protection for my house. Just a +word from the ministry in Paris to the Prefect. But I +wanted a woman to manage it for me. And where was I to find +a trustworthy woman? How was I to know one when I saw +her? I don’t know how to talk to women. Of +course my Rose would have done for me that or anything else; but +what could I have done myself without her? She has looked +after me from the first. It was Henry Allègre who +got her for me eight years ago. I don’t know whether +he meant it for a kindness but she’s the only human being +on whom I can lean. She knows . . . What doesn’t she +know about me! She has never failed to do the right thing +for me unasked. I couldn’t part with her. And I +couldn’t think of anybody else but my sister.</p> +<p>“After all it was somebody belonging to me. But it +seemed the wildest idea. Yet she came at once. Of +course I took care to send her some money. She likes +money. As to my uncle there is nothing that he +wouldn’t have given up for the service of the King. +Rose went to meet her at the railway station. She told me +afterwards that there had been no need for me to be anxious about +her recognizing Mademoiselle Therese. There was nobody else +in the train that could be mistaken for her. I should think +not! She had made for herself a dress of some brown stuff +like a nun’s habit and had a crooked stick and carried all +her belongings tied up in a handkerchief. She looked like a +pilgrim to a saint’s shrine. Rose took her to the +house. She asked when she saw it: ‘And does this big +place really belong to our Rita?’ My maid of course +said that it was mine. ‘And how long did our Rita +live here?’—‘Madame has never seen it unless +perhaps the outside, as far as I know. I believe Mr. +Allègre lived here for some time when he was a young +man.’—‘The sinner that’s +dead?’—‘Just so,’ says Rose. You +know nothing ever startles Rose. ‘Well, his sins are +gone with him,’ said my sister, and began to make herself +at home.</p> +<p>“Rose was going to stop with her for a week but on the +third day she was back with me with the remark that Mlle. Therese +knew her way about very well already and preferred to be left to +herself. Some little time afterwards I went to see that +sister of mine. The first thing she said to me, ‘I +wouldn’t have recognized you, Rita,’ and I said, +‘What a funny dress you have, Therese, more fit for the +portress of a convent than for this +house.’—‘Yes,’ she said, ‘and +unless you give this house to me, Rita, I will go back to our +country. I will have nothing to do with your life, +Rita. Your life is no secret for me.’</p> +<p>“I was going from room to room and Therese was following +me. ‘I don’t know that my life is a secret to +anybody,’ I said to her, ‘but how do you know +anything about it?’ And then she told me that it was +through a cousin of ours, that horrid wretch of a boy, you +know. He had finished his schooling and was a clerk in a +Spanish commercial house of some kind, in Paris, and apparently +had made it his business to write home whatever he could hear +about me or ferret out from those relations of mine with whom I +lived as a girl. I got suddenly very furious. I raged +up and down the room (we were alone upstairs), and Therese +scuttled away from me as far as the door. I heard her say +to herself, ‘It’s the evil spirit in her that makes +her like this.’ She was absolutely convinced of +that. She made the sign of the cross in the air to protect +herself. I was quite astounded. And then I really +couldn’t help myself. I burst into a laugh. I +laughed and laughed; I really couldn’t stop till Therese +ran away. I went downstairs still laughing and found her in +the hall with her face to the wall and her fingers in her ears +kneeling in a corner. I had to pull her out by the +shoulders from there. I don’t think she was +frightened; she was only shocked. But I don’t suppose +her heart is desperately bad, because when I dropped into a chair +feeling very tired she came and knelt in front of me and put her +arms round my waist and entreated me to cast off from me my evil +ways with the help of saints and priests. Quite a little +programme for a reformed sinner. I got away at last. +I left her sunk on her heels before the empty chair looking after +me. ‘I pray for you every night and morning, +Rita,’ she said.—‘Oh, yes. I know you are +a good sister,’ I said to her. I was letting myself +out when she called after me, ‘And what about this house, +Rita?’ I said to her, ‘Oh, you may keep it till +the day I reform and enter a convent.’ The last I saw +of her she was still on her knees looking after me with her mouth +open. I have seen her since several times, but our +intercourse is, at any rate on her side, as of a frozen nun with +some great lady. But I believe she really knows how to make +men comfortable. Upon my word I think she likes to look +after men. They don’t seem to be such great sinners +as women are. I think you could do worse than take up your +quarters at number 10. She will no doubt develop a saintly +sort of affection for you, too.”</p> +<p>I don’t know that the prospect of becoming a favourite +of Doña Rita’s peasant sister was very fascinating +to me. If I went to live very willingly at No. 10 it was +because everything connected with Doña Rita had for me a +peculiar fascination. She had only passed through the house +once as far as I knew; but it was enough. She was one of +those beings that leave a trace. I am not +unreasonable—I mean for those that knew her. That is, +I suppose, because she was so unforgettable. Let us +remember the tragedy of Azzolati the ruthless, the ridiculous +financier with a criminal soul (or shall we say heart) and facile +tears. No wonder, then, that for me, who may flatter myself +without undue vanity with being much finer than that grotesque +international intriguer, the mere knowledge that Doña Rita +had passed through the very rooms in which I was going to live +between the strenuous times of the sea-expeditions, was enough to +fill my inner being with a great content. Her glance, her +darkly brilliant blue glance, had run over the walls of that room +which most likely would be mine to slumber in. Behind me, +somewhere near the door, Therese, the peasant sister, said in a +funnily compassionate tone and in an amazingly +landlady-of-a-boarding-house spirit of false persuasiveness:</p> +<p>“You will be very comfortable here, Señor. +It is so peaceful here in the street. Sometimes one may +think oneself in a village. It’s only a hundred and +twenty-five francs for the friends of the King. And I shall +take such good care of you that your very heart will be able to +rest.”</p> +<h3>CHAPTER II</h3> +<p>Doña Rita was curious to know how I got on with her +peasant sister and all I could say in return for that inquiry was +that the peasant sister was in her own way amiable. At this +she clicked her tongue amusingly and repeated a remark she had +made before: “She likes young men. The younger the +better.” The mere thought of those two women being +sisters aroused one’s wonder. Physically they were +altogether of different design. It was also the difference +between living tissue of glowing loveliness with a divine breath, +and a hard hollow figure of baked clay.</p> +<p>Indeed Therese did somehow resemble an achievement, wonderful +enough in its way, in unglazed earthenware. The only gleam +perhaps that one could find on her was that of her teeth, which +one used to get between her dull lips unexpectedly, startlingly, +and a little inexplicably, because it was never associated with a +smile. She smiled with compressed mouth. It was +indeed difficult to conceive of those two birds coming from the +same nest. And yet . . . Contrary to what generally +happens, it was when one saw those two women together that one +lost all belief in the possibility of their relationship near or +far. It extended even to their common humanity. One, +as it were, doubted it. If one of the two was +representative, then the other was either something more or less +than human. One wondered whether these two women belonged +to the same scheme of creation. One was secretly amazed to +see them standing together, speaking to each other, having words +in common, understanding each other. And yet! . . . Our +psychological sense is the crudest of all; we don’t know, +we don’t perceive how superficial we are. The +simplest shades escape us, the secret of changes, of +relations. No, upon the whole, the only feature (and yet +with enormous differences) which Therese had in common with her +sister, as I told Doña Rita, was amiability.</p> +<p>“For, you know, you are a most amiable person +yourself,” I went on. “It’s one of your +characteristics, of course much more precious than in other +people. You transmute the commonest traits into gold of +your own; but after all there are no new names. You are +amiable. You were most amiable to me when I first saw +you.”</p> +<p>“Really. I was not aware. Not specially . . +. ”</p> +<p>“I had never the presumption to think that it was +special. Moreover, my head was in a whirl. I was lost +in astonishment first of all at what I had been listening to all +night. Your history, you know, a wonderful tale with a +flavour of wine in it and wreathed in clouds, with that amazing +decapitated, mutilated dummy of a woman lurking in a corner, and +with Blunt’s smile gleaming through a fog, the fog in my +eyes, from Mills’ pipe, you know. I was feeling quite +inanimate as to body and frightfully stimulated as to mind all +the time. I had never heard anything like that talk about +you before. Of course I wasn’t sleepy, but still I am +not used to do altogether without sleep like Blunt . . +.”</p> +<p>“Kept awake all night listening to my +story!” She marvelled.</p> +<p>“Yes. You don’t think I am complaining, do +you? I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. +Blunt in a ragged old jacket and a white tie and that incisive +polite voice of his seemed strange and weird. It seemed as +though he were inventing it all rather angrily. I had +doubts as to your existence.”</p> +<p>“Mr. Blunt is very much interested in my +story.”</p> +<p>“Anybody would be,” I said. “I +was. I didn’t sleep a wink. I was expecting to +see you soon—and even then I had my doubts.”</p> +<p>“As to my existence?”</p> +<p>“It wasn’t exactly that, though of course I +couldn’t tell that you weren’t a product of Captain +Blunt’s sleeplessness. He seemed to dread exceedingly +to be left alone and your story might have been a device to +detain us . . .”</p> +<p>“He hasn’t enough imagination for that,” she +said.</p> +<p>“It didn’t occur to me. But there was Mills, +who apparently believed in your existence. I could trust +Mills. My doubts were about the propriety. I +couldn’t see any good reason for being taken to see +you. Strange that it should be my connection with the sea +which brought me here to the Villa.”</p> +<p>“Unexpected perhaps.”</p> +<p>“No. I mean particularly strange and +significant.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“Because my friends are in the habit of telling me (and +each other) that the sea is my only love. They were always +chaffing me because they couldn’t see or guess in my life +at any woman, open or secret. . .”</p> +<p>“And is that really so?” she inquired +negligently.</p> +<p>“Why, yes. I don’t mean to say that I am +like an innocent shepherd in one of those interminable stories of +the eighteenth century. But I don’t throw the word +love about indiscriminately. It may be all true about the +sea; but some people would say that they love +sausages.”</p> +<p>“You are horrible.”</p> +<p>“I am surprised.”</p> +<p>“I mean your choice of words.”</p> +<p>“And you have never uttered a word yet that didn’t +change into a pearl as it dropped from your lips. At least +not before me.”</p> +<p>She glanced down deliberately and said, “This is +better. But I don’t see any of them on the +floor.”</p> +<p>“It’s you who are horrible in the implications of +your language. Don’t see any on the floor! +Haven’t I caught up and treasured them all in my +heart? I am not the animal from which sausages are +made.”</p> +<p>She looked at me suavely and then with the sweetest possible +smile breathed out the word: “No.”</p> +<p>And we both laughed very loud. O! days of +innocence! On this occasion we parted from each other on a +light-hearted note. But already I had acquired the +conviction that there was nothing more lovable in the world than +that woman; nothing more life-giving, inspiring, and illuminating +than the emanation of her charm. I meant it +absolutely—not excepting the light of the sun.</p> +<p>From this there was only one step further to take. The +step into a conscious surrender; the open perception that this +charm, warming like a flame, was also all-revealing like a great +light; giving new depth to shades, new brilliance to colours, an +amazing vividness to all sensations and vitality to all thoughts: +so that all that had been lived before seemed to have been lived +in a drab world and with a languid pulse.</p> +<p>A great revelation this. I don’t mean to say it +was soul-shaking. The soul was already a captive before +doubt, anguish, or dismay could touch its surrender and its +exaltation. But all the same the revelation turned many +things into dust; and, amongst others, the sense of the careless +freedom of my life. If that life ever had any purpose or +any aim outside itself I would have said that it threw a shadow +across its path. But it hadn’t. There had been +no path. But there was a shadow, the inseparable companion +of all light. No illumination can sweep all mystery out of +the world. After the departed darkness the shadows remain, +more mysterious because as if more enduring; and one feels a +dread of them from which one was free before. What if they +were to be victorious at the last? They, or what perhaps +lurks in them: fear, deception, desire, disillusion—all +silent at first before the song of triumphant love vibrating in +the light. Yes. Silent. Even desire +itself! All silent. But not for long!</p> +<p>This was, I think, before the third expedition. Yes, it +must have been the third, for I remember that it was boldly +planned and that it was carried out without a hitch. The +tentative period was over; all our arrangements had been +perfected. There was, so to speak, always an unfailing +smoke on the hill and an unfailing lantern on the shore. +Our friends, mostly bought for hard cash and therefore valuable, +had acquired confidence in us. This, they seemed to say, is +no unfathomable roguery of penniless adventurers. This is +but the reckless enterprise of men of wealth and sense and +needn’t be inquired into. The young <i>caballero</i> +has got real gold pieces in the belt he wears next his skin; and +the man with the heavy moustaches and unbelieving eyes is indeed +very much of a man. They gave to Dominic all their respect +and to me a great show of deference; for I had all the money, +while they thought that Dominic had all the sense. That +judgment was not exactly correct. I had my share of +judgment and audacity which surprises me now that the years have +chilled the blood without dimming the memory. I remember +going about the business with light-hearted, clear-headed +recklessness which, according as its decisions were sudden or +considered, made Dominic draw his breath through his clenched +teeth, or look hard at me before he gave me either a slight nod +of assent or a sarcastic “Oh, certainly”—just +as the humour of the moment prompted him.</p> +<p>One night as we were lying on a bit of dry sand under the lee +of a rock, side by side, watching the light of our little vessel +dancing away at sea in the windy distance, Dominic spoke suddenly +to me.</p> +<p>“I suppose Alphonso and Carlos, Carlos and Alphonso, +they are nothing to you, together or separately?”</p> +<p>I said: “Dominic, if they were both to vanish from the +earth together or separately it would make no difference to my +feelings.”</p> +<p>He remarked: “Just so. A man mourns only for his +friends. I suppose they are no more friends to you than +they are to me. Those Carlists make a great consumption of +cartridges. That is well. But why should we do all +those mad things that you will insist on us doing till my +hair,” he pursued with grave, mocking exaggeration, +“till my hair tries to stand up on my head? and all for +that Carlos, let God and the devil each guard his own, for that +Majesty as they call him, but after all a man like another +and—no friend.”</p> +<p>“Yes, why?” I murmured, feeling my body nestled at +ease in the sand.</p> +<p>It was very dark under the overhanging rock on that night of +clouds and of wind that died and rose and died again. +Dominic’s voice was heard speaking low between the short +gusts.</p> +<p>“Friend of the Señora, eh?”</p> +<p>“That’s what the world says, Dominic.”</p> +<p>“Half of what the world says are lies,” he +pronounced dogmatically. “For all his majesty he may +be a good enough man. Yet he is only a king in the +mountains and to-morrow he may be no more than you. Still a +woman like that—one, somehow, would grudge her to a better +king. She ought to be set up on a high pillar for people +that walk on the ground to raise their eyes up to. But you +are otherwise, you gentlemen. You, for instance, Monsieur, +you wouldn’t want to see her set up on a pillar.”</p> +<p>“That sort of thing, Dominic,” I said, “that +sort of thing, you understand me, ought to be done +early.”</p> +<p>He was silent for a time. And then his manly voice was +heard in the shadow of the rock.</p> +<p>“I see well enough what you mean. I spoke of the +multitude, that only raise their eyes. But for kings and +suchlike that is not enough. Well, no heart need despair; +for there is not a woman that wouldn’t at some time or +other get down from her pillar for no bigger bribe perhaps than +just a flower which is fresh to-day and withered to-morrow. +And then, what’s the good of asking how long any woman has +been up there? There is a true saying that lips that have +been kissed do not lose their freshness.”</p> +<p>I don’t know what answer I could have made. I +imagine Dominic thought himself unanswerable. As a matter +of fact, before I could speak, a voice came to us down the face +of the rock crying secretly, “Olà, down there! +All is safe ashore.”</p> +<p>It was the boy who used to hang about the stable of a +muleteer’s inn in a little shallow valley with a shallow +little stream in it, and where we had been hiding most of the day +before coming down to the shore. We both started to our +feet and Dominic said, “A good boy that. You +didn’t hear him either come or go above our heads. +Don’t reward him with more than one peseta, Señor, +whatever he does. If you were to give him two he would go +mad at the sight of so much wealth and throw up his job at the +Fonda, where he is so useful to run errands, in that way he has +of skimming along the paths without displacing a +stone.”</p> +<p>Meantime he was busying himself with striking a fire to set +alight a small heap of dry sticks he had made ready beforehand on +that spot which in all the circuit of the Bay was perfectly +screened from observation from the land side.</p> +<p>The clear flame shooting up revealed him in the black cloak +with a hood of a Mediterranean sailor. His eyes watched the +dancing dim light to seaward. And he talked the while.</p> +<p>“The only fault you have, Señor, is being too +generous with your money. In this world you must give +sparingly. The only things you may deal out without +counting, in this life of ours which is but a little fight and a +little love, is blows to your enemy and kisses to a woman. . . . +Ah! here they are coming in.”</p> +<p>I noticed the dancing light in the dark west much closer to +the shore now. Its motion had altered. It swayed +slowly as it ran towards us, and, suddenly, the darker shadow as +of a great pointed wing appeared gliding in the night. +Under it a human voice shouted something confidently.</p> +<p>“<i>Bueno</i>,” muttered Dominic. From some +receptacle I didn’t see he poured a lot of water on the +blaze, like a magician at the end of a successful incantation +that had called out a shadow and a voice from the immense space +of the sea. And his hooded figure vanished from my sight in +a great hiss and the warm feel of ascending steam.</p> +<p>“That’s all over,” he said, “and now +we go back for more work, more toil, more trouble, more exertion +with hands and feet, for hours and hours. And all the time +the head turned over the shoulder, too.”</p> +<p>We were climbing a precipitous path sufficiently dangerous in +the dark, Dominic, more familiar with it, going first and I +scrambling close behind in order that I might grab at his cloak +if I chanced to slip or miss my footing. I remonstrated +against this arrangement as we stopped to rest. I had no +doubt I would grab at his cloak if I felt myself falling. I +couldn’t help doing that. But I would probably only +drag him down with me.</p> +<p>With one hand grasping a shadowy bush above his head he +growled that all this was possible, but that it was all in the +bargain, and urged me onwards.</p> +<p>When we got on to the level that man whose even breathing no +exertion, no danger, no fear or anger could disturb, remarked as +we strode side by side:</p> +<p>“I will say this for us, that we are carrying out all +this deadly foolishness as conscientiously as though the eyes of +the Señora were on us all the time. And as to risk, +I suppose we take more than she would approve of, I fancy, if she +ever gave a moment’s thought to us out here. Now, for +instance, in the next half hour, we may come any moment on three +carabineers who would let off their pieces without asking +questions. Even your way of flinging money about cannot +make safety for men set on defying a whole big country for the +sake of—what is it exactly?—the blue eyes, or the +white arms of the Señora.”</p> +<p>He kept his voice equably low. It was a lonely spot and +but for a vague shape of a dwarf tree here and there we had only +the flying clouds for company. Very far off a tiny light +twinkled a little way up the seaward shoulder of an invisible +mountain. Dominic moved on.</p> +<p>“Fancy yourself lying here, on this wild spot, with a +leg smashed by a shot or perhaps with a bullet in your +side. It might happen. A star might fall. I +have watched stars falling in scores on clear nights in the +Atlantic. And it was nothing. The flash of a pinch of +gunpowder in your face may be a bigger matter. Yet somehow +it’s pleasant as we stumble in the dark to think of our +Señora in that long room with a shiny floor and all that +lot of glass at the end, sitting on that divan, you call it, +covered with carpets as if expecting a king indeed. And +very still . . .”</p> +<p>He remembered her—whose image could not be +dismissed.</p> +<p>I laid my hand on his shoulder.</p> +<p>“That light on the mountain side flickers exceedingly, +Dominic. Are we in the path?”</p> +<p>He addressed me then in French, which was between us the +language of more formal moments.</p> +<p>“<i>Prenez mon bras</i>, <i>monsieur</i>. Take a +firm hold, or I will have you stumbling again and falling into +one of those beastly holes, with a good chance to crack your +head. And there is no need to take offence. For, +speaking with all respect, why should you, and I with you, be +here on this lonely spot, barking our shins in the dark on the +way to a confounded flickering light where there will be no other +supper but a piece of a stale sausage and a draught of leathery +wine out of a stinking skin. Pah!”</p> +<p>I had good hold of his arm. Suddenly he dropped the +formal French and pronounced in his inflexible voice:</p> +<p>“For a pair of white arms, Señor. +<i>Bueno</i>.”</p> +<p>He could understand.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> +<p>On our return from that expedition we came gliding into the +old harbour so late that Dominic and I, making for the +café kept by Madame Léonore, found it empty of +customers, except for two rather sinister fellows playing cards +together at a corner table near the door. The first thing +done by Madame Léonore was to put her hands on +Dominic’s shoulders and look at arm’s length into the +eyes of that man of audacious deeds and wild stratagems who +smiled straight at her from under his heavy and, at that time, +uncurled moustaches.</p> +<p>Indeed we didn’t present a neat appearance, our faces +unshaven, with the traces of dried salt sprays on our smarting +skins and the sleeplessness of full forty hours filming our +eyes. At least it was so with me who saw as through a mist +Madame Léonore moving with her mature nonchalant grace, +setting before us wine and glasses with a faint swish of her +ample black skirt. Under the elaborate structure of black +hair her jet-black eyes sparkled like good-humoured stars and +even I could see that she was tremendously excited at having this +lawless wanderer Dominic within her reach and as it were in her +power. Presently she sat down by us, touched lightly +Dominic’s curly head silvered on the temples (she +couldn’t really help it), gazed at me for a while with a +quizzical smile, observed that I looked very tired, and asked +Dominic whether for all that I was likely to sleep soundly +to-night.</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” said Dominic, +“He’s young. And there is always the chance of +dreams.”</p> +<p>“What do you men dream of in those little barques of +yours tossing for months on the water?”</p> +<p>“Mostly of nothing,” said Dominic. +“But it has happened to me to dream of furious +fights.”</p> +<p>“And of furious loves, too, no doubt,” she caught +him up in a mocking voice.</p> +<p>“No, that’s for the waking hours,” Dominic +drawled, basking sleepily with his head between his hands in her +ardent gaze. “The waking hours are longer.”</p> +<p>“They must be, at sea,” she said, never taking her +eyes off him. “But I suppose you do talk of your +loves sometimes.”</p> +<p>“You may be sure, Madame Léonore,” I +interjected, noticing the hoarseness of my voice, “that you +at any rate are talked about a lot at sea.”</p> +<p>“I am not so sure of that now. There is that +strange lady from the Prado that you took him to see, +Signorino. She went to his head like a glass of wine into a +tender youngster’s. He is such a child, and I suppose +that I am another. Shame to confess it, the other morning I +got a friend to look after the café for a couple of hours, +wrapped up my head, and walked out there to the other end of the +town. . . . Look at these two sitting up! And I thought +they were so sleepy and tired, the poor fellows!”</p> +<p>She kept our curiosity in suspense for a moment.</p> +<p>“Well, I have seen your marvel, Dominic,” she +continued in a calm voice. “She came flying out of +the gate on horseback and it would have been all I would have +seen of her if—and this is for you, Signorino—if she +hadn’t pulled up in the main alley to wait for a very +good-looking cavalier. He had his moustaches so, and his +teeth were very white when he smiled at her. But his eyes +are too deep in his head for my taste. I didn’t like +it. It reminded me of a certain very severe priest who used +to come to our village when I was young; younger even than your +marvel, Dominic.”</p> +<p>“It was no priest in disguise, Madame +Léonore,” I said, amused by her expression of +disgust. “That’s an American.”</p> +<p>“Ah! <i>Un Americano</i>! Well, never mind +him. It was her that I went to see.”</p> +<p>“What! Walked to the other end of the town to see +Doña Rita!” Dominic addressed her in a low +bantering tone. “Why, you were always telling me you +couldn’t walk further than the end of the quay to save your +life—or even mine, you said.”</p> +<p>“Well, I did; and I walked back again and between the +two walks I had a good look. And you may be sure—that +will surprise you both—that on the way back—oh, Santa +Madre, wasn’t it a long way, too—I wasn’t +thinking of any man at sea or on shore in that +connection.”</p> +<p>“No. And you were not thinking of yourself, +either, I suppose,” I said. Speaking was a matter of +great effort for me, whether I was too tired or too sleepy, I +can’t tell. “No, you were not thinking of +yourself. You were thinking of a woman, though.”</p> +<p>“<i>Si</i>. As much a woman as any of us that ever +breathed in the world. Yes, of her! Of that very +one! You see, we women are not like you men, indifferent to +each other unless by some exception. Men say we are always +against one another but that’s only men’s +conceit. What can she be to me? I am not afraid of +the big child here,” and she tapped Dominic’s forearm +on which he rested his head with a fascinated stare. +“With us two it is for life and death, and I am rather +pleased that there is something yet in him that can catch fire on +occasion. I would have thought less of him if he +hadn’t been able to get out of hand a little, for something +really fine. As for you, Signorino,” she turned on me +with an unexpected and sarcastic sally, “I am not in love +with you yet.” She changed her tone from sarcasm to a +soft and even dreamy note. “A head like a gem,” +went on that woman born in some by-street of Rome, and a +plaything for years of God knows what obscure fates. +“Yes, Dominic! <i>Antica</i>. I haven’t +been haunted by a face since—since I was sixteen years +old. It was the face of a young cavalier in the +street. He was on horseback, too. He never looked at +me, I never saw him again, and I loved him for—for days and +days and days. That was the sort of face he had. And +her face is of the same sort. She had a man’s hat, +too, on her head. So high!”</p> +<p>“A man’s hat on her head,” remarked with +profound displeasure Dominic, to whom this wonder, at least, of +all the wonders of the earth, was apparently unknown.</p> +<p>“<i>Si</i>. And her face has haunted me. Not +so long as that other but more touchingly because I am no longer +sixteen and this is a woman. Yes, I did think of her, I +myself was once that age and I, too, had a face of my own to show +to the world, though not so superb. And I, too, +didn’t know why I had come into the world any more than she +does.”</p> +<p>“And now you know,” Dominic growled softly, with +his head still between his hands.</p> +<p>She looked at him for a long time, opened her lips but in the +end only sighed lightly.</p> +<p>“And what do you know of her, you who have seen her so +well as to be haunted by her face?” I asked.</p> +<p>I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had answered me +with another sigh. For she seemed only to be thinking of +herself and looked not in my direction. But suddenly she +roused up.</p> +<p>“Of her?” she repeated in a louder voice. +“Why should I talk of another woman? And then she is +a great lady.”</p> +<p>At this I could not repress a smile which she detected at +once.</p> +<p>“Isn’t she? Well, no, perhaps she +isn’t; but you may be sure of one thing, that she is both +flesh and shadow more than any one that I have seen. Keep +that well in your mind: She is for no man! She would be +vanishing out of their hands like water that cannot be +held.”</p> +<p>I caught my breath. “Inconstant,” I +whispered.</p> +<p>“I don’t say that. Maybe too proud, too +wilful, too full of pity. Signorino, you don’t know +much about women. And you may learn something yet or you +may not; but what you learn from her you will never +forget.”</p> +<p>“Not to be held,” I murmured; and she whom the +quayside called Madame Léonore closed her outstretched +hand before my face and opened it at once to show its emptiness +in illustration of her expressed opinion. Dominic never +moved.</p> +<p>I wished good-night to these two and left the café for +the fresh air and the dark spaciousness of the quays augmented by +all the width of the old Port where between the trails of light +the shadows of heavy hulls appeared very black, merging their +outlines in a great confusion. I left behind me the end of +the Cannebière, a wide vista of tall houses and +much-lighted pavements losing itself in the distance with an +extinction of both shapes and lights. I slunk past it with +only a side glance and sought the dimness of quiet streets away +from the centre of the usual night gaieties of the town. +The dress I wore was just that of a sailor come ashore from some +coaster, a thick blue woollen shirt or rather a sort of jumper +with a knitted cap like a tam-o’-shanter worn very much on +one side and with a red tuft of wool in the centre. This +was even the reason why I had lingered so long in the +café. I didn’t want to be recognized in the +streets in that costume and still less to be seen entering the +house in the street of the Consuls. At that hour when the +performances were over and all the sensible citizens in their +beds I didn’t hesitate to cross the Place of the +Opera. It was dark, the audience had already +dispersed. The rare passers-by I met hurrying on their last +affairs of the day paid no attention to me at all. The +street of the Consuls I expected to find empty, as usual at that +time of the night. But as I turned a corner into it I +overtook three people who must have belonged to the +locality. To me, somehow, they appeared strange. Two +girls in dark cloaks walked ahead of a tall man in a top +hat. I slowed down, not wishing to pass them by, the more +so that the door of the house was only a few yards distant. +But to my intense surprise those people stopped at it and the man +in the top hat, producing a latchkey, let his two companions +through, followed them, and with a heavy slam cut himself off +from my astonished self and the rest of mankind.</p> +<p>In the stupid way people have I stood and meditated on the +sight, before it occurred to me that this was the most useless +thing to do. After waiting a little longer to let the +others get away from the hall I entered in my turn. The +small gas-jet seemed not to have been touched ever since that +distant night when Mills and I trod the black-and-white marble +hall for the first time on the heels of Captain Blunt—who +lived by his sword. And in the dimness and solitude which +kept no more trace of the three strangers than if they had been +the merest ghosts I seemed to hear the ghostly murmur, +“<i>Américain</i>, <i>Catholique et +gentilhomme</i>. <i>Amér. . . </i>” Unseen by +human eye I ran up the flight of steps swiftly and on the first +floor stepped into my sitting-room of which the door was open . . +. “<i>et gentilhomme</i>.” I tugged at the bell +pull and somewhere down below a bell rang as unexpected for +Therese as a call from a ghost.</p> +<p>I had no notion whether Therese could hear me. I seemed +to remember that she slept in any bed that happened to be +vacant. For all I knew she might have been asleep in +mine. As I had no matches on me I waited for a while in the +dark. The house was perfectly still. Suddenly without +the slightest preliminary sound light fell into the room and +Therese stood in the open door with a candlestick in her +hand.</p> +<p>She had on her peasant brown skirt. The rest of her was +concealed in a black shawl which covered her head, her shoulders, +arms, and elbows completely, down to her waist. The hand +holding the candle protruded from that envelope which the other +invisible hand clasped together under her very chin. And +her face looked like a face in a painting. She said at +once:</p> +<p>“You startled me, my young Monsieur.”</p> +<p>She addressed me most frequently in that way as though she +liked the very word “young.” Her manner was +certainly peasant-like with a sort of plaint in the voice, while +the face was that of a serving Sister in some small and rustic +convent.</p> +<p>“I meant to do it,” I said. “I am a +very bad person.”</p> +<p>“The young are always full of fun,” she said as if +she were gloating over the idea. “It is very +pleasant.”</p> +<p>“But you are very brave,” I chaffed her, +“for you didn’t expect a ring, and after all it might +have been the devil who pulled the bell.”</p> +<p>“It might have been. But a poor girl like me is +not afraid of the devil. I have a pure heart. I have +been to confession last evening. No. But it might +have been an assassin that pulled the bell ready to kill a poor +harmless woman. This is a very lonely street. What +could prevent you to kill me now and then walk out again free as +air?”</p> +<p>While she was talking like this she had lighted the gas and +with the last words she glided through the bedroom door leaving +me thunderstruck at the unexpected character of her thoughts.</p> +<p>I couldn’t know that there had been during my absence a +case of atrocious murder which had affected the imagination of +the whole town; and though Therese did not read the papers (which +she imagined to be full of impieties and immoralities invented by +godless men) yet if she spoke at all with her kind, which she +must have done at least in shops, she could not have helped +hearing of it. It seems that for some days people could +talk of nothing else. She returned gliding from the bedroom +hermetically sealed in her black shawl just as she had gone in, +with the protruding hand holding the lighted candle and relieved +my perplexity as to her morbid turn of mind by telling me +something of the murder story in a strange tone of indifference +even while referring to its most horrible features. +“That’s what carnal sin (<i>pêché de +chair</i>) leads to,” she commented severely and passed her +tongue over her thin lips. “And then the devil +furnishes the occasion.”</p> +<p>“I can’t imagine the devil inciting me to murder +you, Therese,” I said, “and I didn’t like that +ready way you took me for an example, as it were. I suppose +pretty near every lodger might be a potential murderer, but I +expected to be made an exception.”</p> +<p>With the candle held a little below her face, with that face +of one tone and without relief she looked more than ever as +though she had come out of an old, cracked, smoky painting, the +subject of which was altogether beyond human conception. +And she only compressed her lips.</p> +<p>“All right,” I said, making myself comfortable on +a sofa after pulling off my boots. “I suppose any one +is liable to commit murder all of a sudden. Well, have you +got many murderers in the house?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” she said, “it’s pretty +good. Upstairs and downstairs,” she sighed. +“God sees to it.”</p> +<p>“And by the by, who is that grey-headed murderer in a +tall hat whom I saw shepherding two girls into this +house?”</p> +<p>She put on a candid air in which one could detect a little of +her peasant cunning.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes. They are two dancing girls at the Opera, +sisters, as different from each other as I and our poor +Rita. But they are both virtuous and that gentleman, their +father, is very severe with them. Very severe indeed, poor +motherless things. And it seems to be such a sinful +occupation.”</p> +<p>“I bet you make them pay a big rent, Therese. With +an occupation like that . . .”</p> +<p>She looked at me with eyes of invincible innocence and began +to glide towards the door, so smoothly that the flame of the +candle hardly swayed. “Good-night,” she +murmured.</p> +<p>“Good-night, Mademoiselle.”</p> +<p>Then in the very doorway she turned right round as a +marionette would turn.</p> +<p>“Oh, you ought to know, my dear young Monsieur, that Mr. +Blunt, the dear handsome man, has arrived from Navarre three days +ago or more. Oh,” she added with a priceless air of +compunction, “he is such a charming gentleman.”</p> +<p>And the door shut after her.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER IV</h3> +<p>That night I passed in a state, mostly open-eyed, I believe, +but always on the border between dreams and waking. The +only thing absolutely absent from it was the feeling of +rest. The usual sufferings of a youth in love had nothing +to do with it. I could leave her, go away from her, remain +away from her, without an added pang or any augmented +consciousness of that torturing sentiment of distance so acute +that often it ends by wearing itself out in a few days. Far +or near was all one to me, as if one could never get any further +but also never any nearer to her secret: the state like that of +some strange wild faiths that get hold of mankind with the cruel +mystic grip of unattainable perfection, robbing them of both +liberty and felicity on earth. A faith presents one with +some hope, though. But I had no hope, and not even desire +as a thing outside myself, that would come and go, exhaust or +excite. It was in me just like life was in me; that life of +which a popular saying affirms that “it is +sweet.” For the general wisdom of mankind will always +stop short on the limit of the formidable.</p> +<p>What is best in a state of brimful, equable suffering is that +it does away with the gnawings of petty sensations. Too far +gone to be sensible to hope and desire I was spared the inferior +pangs of elation and impatience. Hours with her or hours +without her were all alike, all in her possession! But +still there are shades and I will admit that the hours of that +morning were perhaps a little more difficult to get through than +the others. I had sent word of my arrival of course. +I had written a note. I had rung the bell. Therese +had appeared herself in her brown garb and as monachal as +ever. I had said to her:</p> +<p>“Have this sent off at once.”</p> +<p>She had gazed at the addressed envelope, smiled (I was looking +up at her from my desk), and at last took it up with an effort of +sanctimonious repugnance. But she remained with it in her +hand looking at me as though she were piously gloating over +something she could read in my face.</p> +<p>“Oh, that Rita, that Rita,” she murmured. +“And you, too! Why are you trying, you, too, like the +others, to stand between her and the mercy of God? +What’s the good of all this to you? And you such a +nice, dear, young gentleman. For no earthly good only +making all the kind saints in heaven angry, and our mother +ashamed in her place amongst the blessed.”</p> +<p>“Mademoiselle Therese,” I said, “<i>vous +êtes folle</i>.”</p> +<p>I believed she was crazy. She was cunning, too. I +added an imperious: “<i>Allez</i>,” and with a +strange docility she glided out without another word. All I +had to do then was to get dressed and wait till eleven +o’clock.</p> +<p>The hour struck at last. If I could have plunged into a +light wave and been transported instantaneously to Doña +Rita’s door it would no doubt have saved me an infinity of +pangs too complex for analysis; but as this was impossible I +elected to walk from end to end of that long way. My +emotions and sensations were childlike and chaotic inasmuch that +they were very intense and primitive, and that I lay very +helpless in their unrelaxing grasp. If one could have kept +a record of one’s physical sensations it would have been a +fine collection of absurdities and contradictions. Hardly +touching the ground and yet leaden-footed; with a sinking heart +and an excited brain; hot and trembling with a secret faintness, +and yet as firm as a rock and with a sort of indifference to it +all, I did reach the door which was frightfully like any other +commonplace door, but at the same time had a fateful character: a +few planks put together—and an awful symbol; not to be +approached without awe—and yet coming open in the ordinary +way to the ring of the bell.</p> +<p>It came open. Oh, yes, very much as usual. But in +the ordinary course of events the first sight in the hall should +have been the back of the ubiquitous, busy, silent maid hurrying +off and already distant. But not at all! She actually +waited for me to enter. I was extremely taken aback and I +believe spoke to her for the first time in my life.</p> +<p>“<i>Bonjour</i>, Rose.”</p> +<p>She dropped her dark eyelids over those eyes that ought to +have been lustrous but were not, as if somebody had breathed on +them the first thing in the morning. She was a girl without +smiles. She shut the door after me, and not only did that +but in the incredible idleness of that morning she, who had never +a moment to spare, started helping me off with my overcoat. +It was positively embarrassing from its novelty. While +busying herself with those trifles she murmured without any +marked intention:</p> +<p>“Captain Blunt is with Madame.”</p> +<p>This didn’t exactly surprise me. I knew he had +come up to town; I only happened to have forgotten his existence +for the moment. I looked at the girl also without any +particular intention. But she arrested my movement towards +the dining-room door by a low, hurried, if perfectly unemotional +appeal:</p> +<p>“Monsieur George!”</p> +<p>That of course was not my name. It served me then as it +will serve for this story. In all sorts of strange places I +was alluded to as “that young gentleman they call Monsieur +George.” Orders came from “Monsieur +George” to men who nodded knowingly. Events pivoted +about “Monsieur George.” I haven’t the +slightest doubt that in the dark and tortuous streets of the old +Town there were fingers pointed at my back: there goes +“Monsieur George.” I had been introduced +discreetly to several considerable persons as “Monsieur +George.” I had learned to answer to the name quite +naturally; and to simplify matters I was also “Monsieur +George” in the street of the Consuls and in the Villa on +the Prado. I verily believe that at that time I had the +feeling that the name of George really belonged to me. I +waited for what the girl had to say. I had to wait some +time, though during that silence she gave no sign of distress or +agitation. It was for her obviously a moment of +reflection. Her lips were compressed a little in a +characteristic, capable manner. I looked at her with a +friendliness I really felt towards her slight, unattractive, and +dependable person.</p> +<p>“Well,” I said at last, rather amused by this +mental hesitation. I never took it for anything else. +I was sure it was not distrust. She appreciated men and +things and events solely in relation to Doña Rita’s +welfare and safety. And as to that I believed myself above +suspicion. At last she spoke.</p> +<p>“Madame is not happy.” This information was +given to me not emotionally but as it were officially. It +hadn’t even a tone of warning. A mere +statement. Without waiting to see the effect she opened the +dining-room door, not to announce my name in the usual way but to +go in and shut it behind her. In that short moment I heard +no voices inside. Not a sound reached me while the door +remained shut; but in a few seconds it came open again and Rose +stood aside to let me pass.</p> +<p>Then I heard something: Doña Rita’s voice raised +a little on an impatient note (a very, very rare thing) finishing +some phrase of protest with the words “ . . . Of no +consequence.”</p> +<p>I heard them as I would have heard any other words, for she +had that kind of voice which carries a long distance. But +the maid’s statement occupied all my mind. +“<i>Madame n’est pas heureuse</i>.” It +had a dreadful precision . . . “Not happy . . +.” This unhappiness had almost a concrete +form—something resembling a horrid bat. I was tired, +excited, and generally overwrought. My head felt +empty. What were the appearances of unhappiness? I +was still naïve enough to associate them with tears, +lamentations, extraordinary attitudes of the body and some sort +of facial distortion, all very dreadful to behold. I +didn’t know what I should see; but in what I did see there +was nothing startling, at any rate from that nursery point of +view which apparently I had not yet outgrown.</p> +<p>With immense relief the apprehensive child within me beheld +Captain Blunt warming his back at the more distant of the two +fireplaces; and as to Doña Rita there was nothing +extraordinary in her attitude either, except perhaps that her +hair was all loose about her shoulders. I hadn’t the +slightest doubt they had been riding together that morning, but +she, with her impatience of all costume (and yet she could dress +herself admirably and wore her dresses triumphantly), had +divested herself of her riding habit and sat cross-legged +enfolded in that ample blue robe like a young savage chieftain in +a blanket. It covered her very feet. And before the +normal fixity of her enigmatical eyes the smoke of the cigarette +ascended ceremonially, straight up, in a slender spiral.</p> +<p>“How are you,” was the greeting of Captain Blunt +with the usual smile which would have been more amiable if his +teeth hadn’t been, just then, clenched quite so +tight. How he managed to force his voice through that +shining barrier I could never understand. Doña Rita +tapped the couch engagingly by her side but I sat down instead in +the armchair nearly opposite her, which, I imagine, must have +been just vacated by Blunt. She inquired with that +particular gleam of the eyes in which there was something +immemorial and gay:</p> +<p>“Well?”</p> +<p>“Perfect success.”</p> +<p>“I could hug you.”</p> +<p>At any time her lips moved very little but in this instance +the intense whisper of these words seemed to form itself right in +my very heart; not as a conveyed sound but as an imparted emotion +vibrating there with an awful intimacy of delight. And yet +it left my heart heavy.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, for joy,” I said bitterly but very low; +“for your Royalist, Legitimist, joy.” Then with +that trick of very precise politeness which I must have caught +from Mr. Blunt I added:</p> +<p>“I don’t want to be embraced—for the +King.”</p> +<p>And I might have stopped there. But I +didn’t. With a perversity which should be forgiven to +those who suffer night and day and are as if drunk with an +exalted unhappiness, I went on: “For the sake of an old +cast-off glove; for I suppose a disdained love is not much more +than a soiled, flabby thing that finds itself on a private +rubbish heap because it has missed the fire.”</p> +<p>She listened to me unreadable, unmoved, narrowed eyes, closed +lips, slightly flushed face, as if carved six thousand years ago +in order to fix for ever that something secret and obscure which +is in all women. Not the gross immobility of a Sphinx +proposing roadside riddles but the finer immobility, almost +sacred, of a fateful figure seated at the very source of the +passions that have moved men from the dawn of ages.</p> +<p>Captain Blunt, with his elbow on the high mantelpiece, had +turned away a little from us and his attitude expressed +excellently the detachment of a man who does not want to +hear. As a matter of fact, I don’t suppose he could +have heard. He was too far away, our voices were too +contained. Moreover, he didn’t want to hear. +There could be no doubt about it; but she addressed him +unexpectedly.</p> +<p>“As I was saying to you, Don Juan, I have the greatest +difficulty in getting myself, I won’t say understood, but +simply believed.”</p> +<p>No pose of detachment could avail against the warm waves of +that voice. He had to hear. After a moment he altered +his position as it were reluctantly, to answer her.</p> +<p>“That’s a difficulty that women generally +have.”</p> +<p>“Yet I have always spoken the truth.”</p> +<p>“All women speak the truth,” said Blunt +imperturbably. And this annoyed her.</p> +<p>“Where are the men I have deceived?” she +cried.</p> +<p>“Yes, where?” said Blunt in a tone of alacrity as +though he had been ready to go out and look for them outside.</p> +<p>“No! But show me one. I say—where is +he?”</p> +<p>He threw his affectation of detachment to the winds, moved his +shoulders slightly, very slightly, made a step nearer to the +couch, and looked down on her with an expression of amused +courtesy.</p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t know. Probably nowhere. +But if such a man could be found I am certain he would turn out a +very stupid person. You can’t be expected to furnish +every one who approaches you with a mind. To expect that +would be too much, even from you who know how to work wonders at +such little cost to yourself.”</p> +<p>“To myself,” she repeated in a loud tone.</p> +<p>“Why this indignation? I am simply taking your +word for it.”</p> +<p>“Such little cost!” she exclaimed under her +breath.</p> +<p>“I mean to your person.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” she murmured, glanced down, as it were +upon herself, then added very low: “This body.”</p> +<p>“Well, it is you,” said Blunt with visibly +contained irritation. “You don’t pretend +it’s somebody else’s. It can’t be. +You haven’t borrowed it. . . . It fits you too well,” +he ended between his teeth.</p> +<p>“You take pleasure in tormenting yourself,” she +remonstrated, suddenly placated; “and I would be sorry for +you if I didn’t think it’s the mere revolt of your +pride. And you know you are indulging your pride at my +expense. As to the rest of it, as to my living, acting, +working wonders at a little cost. . . . it has all but killed me +morally. Do you hear? Killed.”</p> +<p>“Oh, you are not dead yet,” he muttered,</p> +<p>“No,” she said with gentle patience. +“There is still some feeling left in me; and if it is any +satisfaction to you to know it, you may be certain that I shall +be conscious of the last stab.”</p> +<p>He remained silent for a while and then with a polite smile +and a movement of the head in my direction he warned her.</p> +<p>“Our audience will get bored.”</p> +<p>“I am perfectly aware that Monsieur George is here, and +that he has been breathing a very different atmosphere from what +he gets in this room. Don’t you find this room +extremely confined?” she asked me.</p> +<p>The room was very large but it is a fact that I felt oppressed +at that moment. This mysterious quarrel between those two +people, revealing something more close in their intercourse than +I had ever before suspected, made me so profoundly unhappy that I +didn’t even attempt to answer. And she continued:</p> +<p>“More space. More air. Give me air, +air.” She seized the embroidered edges of her blue +robe under her white throat and made as if to tear them apart, to +fling it open on her breast, recklessly, before our eyes. +We both remained perfectly still. Her hands dropped +nervelessly by her side. “I envy you, Monsieur +George. If I am to go under I should prefer to be drowned +in the sea with the wind on my face. What luck, to feel +nothing less than all the world closing over one’s +head!”</p> +<p>A short silence ensued before Mr. Blunt’s drawing-room +voice was heard with playful familiarity.</p> +<p>“I have often asked myself whether you weren’t +really a very ambitious person, Doña Rita.”</p> +<p>“And I ask myself whether you have any +heart.” She was looking straight at him and he +gratified her with the usual cold white flash of his even teeth +before he answered.</p> +<p>“Asking yourself? That means that you are really +asking me. But why do it so publicly? I mean +it. One single, detached presence is enough to make a +public. One alone. Why not wait till he returns to +those regions of space and air—from which he +came.”</p> +<p>His particular trick of speaking of any third person as of a +lay figure was exasperating. Yet at the moment I did not +know how to resent it, but, in any case, Doña Rita would +not have given me time. Without a moment’s hesitation +she cried out:</p> +<p>“I only wish he could take me out there with +him.”</p> +<p>For a moment Mr. Blunt’s face became as still as a mask +and then instead of an angry it assumed an indulgent +expression. As to me I had a rapid vision of +Dominic’s astonishment, awe, and sarcasm which was always +as tolerant as it is possible for sarcasm to be. But what a +charming, gentle, gay, and fearless companion she would have +made! I believed in her fearlessness in any adventure that +would interest her. It would be a new occasion for me, a +new viewpoint for that faculty of admiration she had awakened in +me at sight—at first sight—before she opened her +lips—before she ever turned her eyes on me. She would +have to wear some sort of sailor costume, a blue woollen shirt +open at the throat. . . . Dominic’s hooded cloak would +envelop her amply, and her face under the black hood would have a +luminous quality, adolescent charm, and an enigmatic +expression. The confined space of the little vessel’s +quarterdeck would lend itself to her cross-legged attitudes, and +the blue sea would balance gently her characteristic immobility +that seemed to hide thoughts as old and profound as itself. +As restless, too—perhaps.</p> +<p>But the picture I had in my eye, coloured and simple like an +illustration to a nursery-book tale of two venturesome +children’s escapade, was what fascinated me most. +Indeed I felt that we two were like children under the gaze of a +man of the world—who lived by his sword. And I said +recklessly:</p> +<p>“Yes, you ought to come along with us for a trip. +You would see a lot of things for yourself.”</p> +<p>Mr. Blunt’s expression had grown even more indulgent if +that were possible. Yet there was something ineradicably +ambiguous about that man. I did not like the indefinable +tone in which he observed:</p> +<p>“You are perfectly reckless in what you say, Doña +Rita. It has become a habit with you of late.”</p> +<p>“While with you reserve is a second nature, Don +Juan.”</p> +<p>This was uttered with the gentlest, almost tender, +irony. Mr. Blunt waited a while before he said:</p> +<p>“Certainly. . . . Would you have liked me to be +otherwise?”</p> +<p>She extended her hand to him on a sudden impulse.</p> +<p>“Forgive me! I may have been unjust, and you may +only have been loyal. The falseness is not in us. The +fault is in life itself, I suppose. I have been always +frank with you.”</p> +<p>“And I obedient,” he said, bowing low over her +hand. He turned away, paused to look at me for some time +and finally gave me the correct sort of nod. But he said +nothing and went out, or rather lounged out with his worldly +manner of perfect ease under all conceivable circumstances. +With her head lowered Doña Rita watched him till he +actually shut the door behind him. I was facing her and +only heard the door close.</p> +<p>“Don’t stare at me,” were the first words +she said.</p> +<p>It was difficult to obey that request. I didn’t +know exactly where to look, while I sat facing her. So I +got up, vaguely full of goodwill, prepared even to move off as +far as the window, when she commanded:</p> +<p>“Don’t turn your back on me.”</p> +<p>I chose to understand it symbolically.</p> +<p>“You know very well I could never do that. I +couldn’t. Not even if I wanted to.” And I +added: “It’s too late now.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, sit down. Sit down on this +couch.”</p> +<p>I sat down on the couch. Unwillingly? Yes. I +was at that stage when all her words, all her gestures, all her +silences were a heavy trial to me, put a stress on my resolution, +on that fidelity to myself and to her which lay like a leaden +weight on my untried heart. But I didn’t sit down +very far away from her, though that soft and billowy couch was +big enough, God knows! No, not very far from her. +Self-control, dignity, hopelessness itself, have their +limits. The halo of her tawny hair stirred as I let myself +drop by her side. Whereupon she flung one arm round my +neck, leaned her temple against my shoulder and began to sob; but +that I could only guess from her slight, convulsive movements +because in our relative positions I could only see the mass of +her tawny hair brushed back, yet with a halo of escaped hair +which as I bent my head over her tickled my lips, my cheek, in a +maddening manner.</p> +<p>We sat like two venturesome children in an illustration to a +tale, scared by their adventure. But not for long. As +I instinctively, yet timidly, sought for her other hand I felt a +tear strike the back of mine, big and heavy as if fallen from a +great height. It was too much for me. I must have +given a nervous start. At once I heard a murmur: “You +had better go away now.”</p> +<p>I withdrew myself gently from under the light weight of her +head, from this unspeakable bliss and inconceivable misery, and +had the absurd impression of leaving her suspended in the +air. And I moved away on tiptoe.</p> +<p>Like an inspired blind man led by Providence I found my way +out of the room but really I saw nothing, till in the hall the +maid appeared by enchantment before me holding up my +overcoat. I let her help me into it. And then (again +as if by enchantment) she had my hat in her hand.</p> +<p>“No. Madame isn’t happy,” I whispered +to her distractedly.</p> +<p>She let me take my hat out of her hand and while I was putting +it on my head I heard an austere whisper:</p> +<p>“Madame should listen to her heart.”</p> +<p>Austere is not the word; it was almost freezing, this +unexpected, dispassionate rustle of words. I had to repress +a shudder, and as coldly as herself I murmured:</p> +<p>“She has done that once too often.”</p> +<p>Rose was standing very close to me and I caught distinctly the +note of scorn in her indulgent compassion.</p> +<p>“Oh, that! . . . Madame is like a child.” It +was impossible to get the bearing of that utterance from that +girl who, as Doña Rita herself had told me, was the most +taciturn of human beings; and yet of all human beings the one +nearest to herself. I seized her head in my hands and +turning up her face I looked straight down into her black eyes +which should have been lustrous. Like a piece of glass +breathed upon they reflected no light, revealed no depths, and +under my ardent gaze remained tarnished, misty, unconscious.</p> +<p>“Will Monsieur kindly let me go. Monsieur +shouldn’t play the child, either.” (I let her +go.) “Madame could have the world at her feet. +Indeed she has it there only she doesn’t care for +it.”</p> +<p>How talkative she was, this maid with unsealed lips! For +some reason or other this last statement of hers brought me +immense comfort.</p> +<p>“Yes?” I whispered breathlessly.</p> +<p>“Yes! But in that case what’s the use of +living in fear and torment?” she went on, revealing a +little more of herself to my astonishment. She opened the +door for me and added:</p> +<p>“Those that don’t care to stoop ought at least +make themselves happy.”</p> +<p>I turned in the very doorway: “There is something which +prevents that?” I suggested.</p> +<p>“To be sure there is. <i>Bonjour</i>, +Monsieur.”</p> +<h2>PART FOUR</h2> +<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> +<p>“Such a charming lady in a grey silk dress and a hand as +white as snow. She looked at me through such funny glasses +on the end of a long handle. A very great lady but her +voice was as kind as the voice of a saint. I have never +seen anything like that. She made me feel so +timid.”</p> +<p>The voice uttering these words was the voice of Therese and I +looked at her from a bed draped heavily in brown silk curtains +fantastically looped up from ceiling to floor. The glow of +a sunshiny day was toned down by closed jalousies to a mere +transparency of darkness. In this thin medium +Therese’s form appeared flat, without detail, as if cut out +of black paper. It glided towards the window and with a +click and a scrape let in the full flood of light which smote my +aching eyeballs painfully.</p> +<p>In truth all that night had been the abomination of desolation +to me. After wrestling with my thoughts, if the acute +consciousness of a woman’s existence may be called a +thought, I had apparently dropped off to sleep only to go on +wrestling with a nightmare, a senseless and terrifying dream of +being in bonds which, even after waking, made me feel powerless +in all my limbs. I lay still, suffering acutely from a +renewed sense of existence, unable to lift an arm, and wondering +why I was not at sea, how long I had slept, how long Therese had +been talking before her voice had reached me in that purgatory of +hopeless longing and unanswerable questions to which I was +condemned.</p> +<p>It was Therese’s habit to begin talking directly she +entered the room with the tray of morning coffee. This was +her method for waking me up. I generally regained the +consciousness of the external world on some pious phrase +asserting the spiritual comfort of early mass, or on angry +lamentations about the unconscionable rapacity of the dealers in +fish and vegetables; for after mass it was Therese’s +practice to do the marketing for the house. As a matter of +fact the necessity of having to pay, to actually give money to +people, infuriated the pious Therese. But the matter of +this morning’s speech was so extraordinary that it might +have been the prolongation of a nightmare: a man in bonds having +to listen to weird and unaccountable speeches against which, he +doesn’t know why, his very soul revolts.</p> +<p>In sober truth my soul remained in revolt though I was +convinced that I was no longer dreaming. I watched Therese +coming away from the window with that helpless dread a man bound +hand and foot may be excused to feel. For in such a +situation even the absurd may appear ominous. She came up +close to the bed and folding her hands meekly in front of her +turned her eyes up to the ceiling.</p> +<p>“If I had been her daughter she couldn’t have +spoken more softly to me,” she said sentimentally.</p> +<p>I made a great effort to speak.</p> +<p>“Mademoiselle Therese, you are raving.”</p> +<p>“She addressed me as Mademoiselle, too, so nicely. +I was struck with veneration for her white hair but her face, +believe me, my dear young Monsieur, has not so many wrinkles as +mine.”</p> +<p>She compressed her lips with an angry glance at me as if I +could help her wrinkles, then she sighed.</p> +<p>“God sends wrinkles, but what is our face?” she +digressed in a tone of great humility. “We shall have +glorious faces in Paradise. But meantime God has permitted +me to preserve a smooth heart.”</p> +<p>“Are you going to keep on like this much longer?” +I fairly shouted at her. “What are you talking +about?”</p> +<p>“I am talking about the sweet old lady who came in a +carriage. Not a fiacre. I can tell a fiacre. In +a little carriage shut in with glass all in front. I +suppose she is very rich. The carriage was very shiny +outside and all beautiful grey stuff inside. I opened the +door to her myself. She got out slowly like a queen. +I was struck all of a heap. Such a shiny beautiful little +carriage. There were blue silk tassels inside, beautiful +silk tassels.”</p> +<p>Obviously Therese had been very much impressed by a brougham, +though she didn’t know the name for it. Of all the +town she knew nothing but the streets which led to a neighbouring +church frequented only by the poorer classes and the humble +quarter around, where she did her marketing. Besides, she +was accustomed to glide along the walls with her eyes cast down; +for her natural boldness would never show itself through that +nun-like mien except when bargaining, if only on a matter of +threepence. Such a turn-out had never been presented to her +notice before. The traffic in the street of the Consuls was +mostly pedestrian and far from fashionable. And anyhow +Therese never looked out of the window. She lurked in the +depths of the house like some kind of spider that shuns +attention. She used to dart at one from some dark recesses +which I never explored.</p> +<p>Yet it seemed to me that she exaggerated her raptures for some +reason or other. With her it was very difficult to +distinguish between craft and innocence.</p> +<p>“Do you mean to say,” I asked suspiciously, +“that an old lady wants to hire an apartment here? I +hope you told her there was no room, because, you know, this +house is not exactly the thing for venerable old +ladies.”</p> +<p>“Don’t make me angry, my dear young +Monsieur. I have been to confession this morning. +Aren’t you comfortable? Isn’t the house +appointed richly enough for anybody?”</p> +<p>That girl with a peasant-nun’s face had never seen the +inside of a house other than some half-ruined <i>caserio</i> in +her native hills.</p> +<p>I pointed out to her that this was not a matter of splendour +or comfort but of “convenances.” She pricked up +her ears at that word which probably she had never heard before; +but with woman’s uncanny intuition I believe she understood +perfectly what I meant. Her air of saintly patience became +so pronounced that with my own poor intuition I perceived that +she was raging at me inwardly. Her weather-tanned +complexion, already affected by her confined life, took on an +extraordinary clayey aspect which reminded me of a strange head +painted by El Greco which my friend Prax had hung on one of his +walls and used to rail at; yet not without a certain respect.</p> +<p>Therese, with her hands still meekly folded about her waist, +had mastered the feelings of anger so unbecoming to a person +whose sins had been absolved only about three hours before, and +asked me with an insinuating softness whether she wasn’t an +honest girl enough to look after any old lady belonging to a +world which after all was sinful. She reminded me that she +had kept house ever since she was “so high” for her +uncle the priest: a man well-known for his saintliness in a large +district extending even beyond Pampeluna. The character of +a house depended upon the person who ruled it. She +didn’t know what impenitent wretches had been breathing +within these walls in the time of that godless and wicked man who +had planted every seed of perdition in “our +Rita’s” ill-disposed heart. But he was dead and +she, Therese, knew for certain that wickedness perished utterly, +because of God’s anger (<i>la colère du bon +Dieu</i>). She would have no hesitation in receiving a +bishop, if need be, since “our, Rita,” with her poor, +wretched, unbelieving heart, had nothing more to do with the +house.</p> +<p>All this came out of her like an unctuous trickle of some +acrid oil. The low, voluble delivery was enough by itself +to compel my attention.</p> +<p>“You think you know your sister’s heart,” I +asked.</p> +<p>She made small eyes at me to discover if I was angry. +She seemed to have an invincible faith in the virtuous +dispositions of young men. And as I had spoken in measured +tones and hadn’t got red in the face she let herself +go.</p> +<p>“Black, my dear young Monsieur. Black. I +always knew it. Uncle, poor saintly man, was too holy to +take notice of anything. He was too busy with his thoughts +to listen to anything I had to say to him. For instance as +to her shamelessness. She was always ready to run half +naked about the hills. . . ”</p> +<p>“Yes. After your goats. All day long. +Why didn’t you mend her frocks?”</p> +<p>“Oh, you know about the goats. My dear young +Monsieur, I could never tell when she would fling over her +pretended sweetness and put her tongue out at me. Did she +tell you about a boy, the son of pious and rich parents, whom she +tried to lead astray into the wildness of thoughts like her own, +till the poor dear child drove her off because she outraged his +modesty? I saw him often with his parents at Sunday +mass. The grace of God preserved him and made him quite a +gentleman in Paris. Perhaps it will touch Rita’s +heart, too, some day. But she was awful then. When I +wouldn’t listen to her complaints she would say: ‘All +right, sister, I would just as soon go clothed in rain and +wind.’ And such a bag of bones, too, like the picture +of a devil’s imp. Ah, my dear young Monsieur, you +don’t know how wicked her heart is. You aren’t +bad enough for that yourself. I don’t believe you are +evil at all in your innocent little heart. I never heard +you jeer at holy things. You are only thoughtless. +For instance, I have never seen you make the sign of the cross in +the morning. Why don’t you make a practice of +crossing yourself directly you open your eyes. It’s a +very good thing. It keeps Satan off for the day.”</p> +<p>She proffered that advice in a most matter-of-fact tone as if +it were a precaution against a cold, compressed her lips, then +returning to her fixed idea, “But the house is mine,” +she insisted very quietly with an accent which made me feel that +Satan himself would never manage to tear it out of her hands.</p> +<p>“And so I told the great lady in grey. I told her +that my sister had given it to me and that surely God would not +let her take it away again.”</p> +<p>“You told that grey-headed lady, an utter +stranger! You are getting more crazy every day. You +have neither good sense nor good feeling, Mademoiselle Therese, +let me tell you. Do you talk about your sister to the +butcher and the greengrocer, too? A downright savage would +have more restraint. What’s your object? What +do you expect from it? What pleasure do you get from +it? Do you think you please God by abusing your +sister? What do you think you are?”</p> +<p>“A poor lone girl amongst a lot of wicked people. +Do you think I wanted to go forth amongst those abominations? +it’s that poor sinful Rita that wouldn’t let me be +where I was, serving a holy man, next door to a church, and sure +of my share of Paradise. I simply obeyed my uncle. +It’s he who told me to go forth and attempt to save her +soul, bring her back to us, to a virtuous life. But what +would be the good of that? She is given over to worldly, +carnal thoughts. Of course we are a good family and my +uncle is a great man in the country, but where is the reputable +farmer or God-fearing man of that kind that would dare to bring +such a girl into his house to his mother and sisters. No, +let her give her ill-gotten wealth up to the deserving and devote +the rest of her life to repentance.”</p> +<p>She uttered these righteous reflections and presented this +programme for the salvation of her sister’s soul in a +reasonable convinced tone which was enough to give goose flesh to +one all over.</p> +<p>“Mademoiselle Therese,” I said, “you are +nothing less than a monster.”</p> +<p>She received that true expression of my opinion as though I +had given her a sweet of a particularly delicious kind. She +liked to be abused. It pleased her to be called +names. I did let her have that satisfaction to her +heart’s content. At last I stopped because I could do +no more, unless I got out of bed to beat her. I have a +vague notion that she would have liked that, too, but I +didn’t try. After I had stopped she waited a little +before she raised her downcast eyes.</p> +<p>“You are a dear, ignorant, flighty young +gentleman,” she said. “Nobody can tell what a +cross my sister is to me except the good priest in the church +where I go every day.”</p> +<p>“And the mysterious lady in grey,” I suggested +sarcastically.</p> +<p>“Such a person might have guessed it,” answered +Therese, seriously, “but I told her nothing except that +this house had been given me in full property by our Rita. +And I wouldn’t have done that if she hadn’t spoken to +me of my sister first. I can’t tell too many people +about that. One can’t trust Rita. I know she +doesn’t fear God but perhaps human respect may keep her +from taking this house back from me. If she doesn’t +want me to talk about her to people why doesn’t she give me +a properly stamped piece of paper for it?”</p> +<p>She said all this rapidly in one breath and at the end had a +sort of anxious gasp which gave me the opportunity to voice my +surprise. It was immense.</p> +<p>“That lady, the strange lady, spoke to you of your +sister first!” I cried.</p> +<p>“The lady asked me, after she had been in a little time, +whether really this house belonged to Madame de Lastaola. +She had been so sweet and kind and condescending that I did not +mind humiliating my spirit before such a good Christian. I +told her that I didn’t know how the poor sinner in her mad +blindness called herself, but that this house had been given to +me truly enough by my sister. She raised her eyebrows at +that but she looked at me at the same time so kindly, as much as +to say, ‘Don’t trust much to that, my dear +girl,’ that I couldn’t help taking up her hand, soft +as down, and kissing it. She took it away pretty quick but +she was not offended. But she only said, +‘That’s very generous on your sister’s +part,’ in a way that made me run cold all over. I +suppose all the world knows our Rita for a shameless girl. +It was then that the lady took up those glasses on a long gold +handle and looked at me through them till I felt very much +abashed. She said to me, ‘There is nothing to be +unhappy about. Madame de Lastaola is a very remarkable +person who has done many surprising things. She is not to +be judged like other people and as far as I know she has never +wronged a single human being. . . .’ That put heart +into me, I can tell you; and the lady told me then not to disturb +her son. She would wait till he woke up. She knew he +was a bad sleeper. I said to her: ‘Why, I can hear +the dear sweet gentleman this moment having his bath in the +fencing-room,’ and I took her into the studio. They +are there now and they are going to have their lunch together at +twelve o’clock.”</p> +<p>“Why on earth didn’t you tell me at first that the +lady was Mrs. Blunt?”</p> +<p>“Didn’t I? I thought I did,” she said +innocently. I felt a sudden desire to get out of that +house, to fly from the reinforced Blunt element which was to me +so oppressive.</p> +<p>“I want to get up and dress, Mademoiselle +Therese,” I said.</p> +<p>She gave a slight start and without looking at me again glided +out of the room, the many folds of her brown skirt remaining +undisturbed as she moved.</p> +<p>I looked at my watch; it was ten o’clock. Therese +had been late with my coffee. The delay was clearly caused +by the unexpected arrival of Mr. Blunt’s mother, which +might or might not have been expected by her son. The +existence of those Blunts made me feel uncomfortable in a +peculiar way as though they had been the denizens of another +planet with a subtly different point of view and something in the +intelligence which was bound to remain unknown to me. It +caused in me a feeling of inferiority which I intensely +disliked. This did not arise from the actual fact that +those people originated in another continent. I had met +Americans before. And the Blunts were Americans. But +so little! That was the trouble. Captain Blunt might +have been a Frenchman as far as languages, tones, and manners +went. But you could not have mistaken him for one. . . . +Why? You couldn’t tell. It was something +indefinite. It occurred to me while I was towelling hard my +hair, face, and the back of my neck, that I could not meet J. K. +Blunt on equal terms in any relation of life except perhaps arms +in hand, and in preference with pistols, which are less intimate, +acting at a distance—but arms of some sort. For +physically his life, which could be taken away from him, was +exactly like mine, held on the same terms and of the same +vanishing quality.</p> +<p>I would have smiled at my absurdity if all, even the most +intimate, vestige of gaiety had not been crushed out of my heart +by the intolerable weight of my love for Rita. It crushed, +it overshadowed, too, it was immense. If there were any +smiles in the world (which I didn’t believe) I could not +have seen them. Love for Rita . . . if it was love, I asked +myself despairingly, while I brushed my hair before a +glass. It did not seem to have any sort of beginning as far +as I could remember. A thing the origin of which you cannot +trace cannot be seriously considered. It is an +illusion. Or perhaps mine was a physical state, some sort +of disease akin to melancholia which is a form of insanity? +The only moments of relief I could remember were when she and I +would start squabbling like two passionate infants in a nursery, +over anything under heaven, over a phrase, a word sometimes, in +the great light of the glass rotunda, disregarding the quiet +entrances and exits of the ever-active Rose, in great bursts of +voices and peals of laughter. . . .</p> +<p>I felt tears come into my eyes at the memory of her laughter, +the true memory of the senses almost more penetrating than the +reality itself. It haunted me. All that appertained +to her haunted me with the same awful intimacy, her whole form in +the familiar pose, her very substance in its colour and texture, +her eyes, her lips, the gleam of her teeth, the tawny mist of her +hair, the smoothness of her forehead, the faint scent that she +used, the very shape, feel, and warmth of her high-heeled slipper +that would sometimes in the heat of the discussion drop on the +floor with a crash, and which I would (always in the heat of the +discussion) pick up and toss back on the couch without ceasing to +argue. And besides being haunted by what was Rita on earth +I was haunted also by her waywardness, her gentleness and her +flame, by that which the high gods called Rita when speaking of +her amongst themselves. Oh, yes, certainly I was haunted by +her but so was her sister Therese—who was crazy. It +proved nothing. As to her tears, since I had not caused +them, they only aroused my indignation. To put her head on +my shoulder, to weep these strange tears, was nothing short of an +outrageous liberty. It was a mere emotional trick. +She would have just as soon leaned her head against the +over-mantel of one of those tall, red granite chimney-pieces in +order to weep comfortably. And then when she had no longer +any need of support she dispensed with it by simply telling me to +go away. How convenient! The request had sounded +pathetic, almost sacredly so, but then it might have been the +exhibition of the coolest possible impudence. With her one +could not tell. Sorrow, indifference, tears, smiles, all +with her seemed to have a hidden meaning. Nothing could be +trusted. . . Heavens! Am I as crazy as Therese I asked +myself with a passing chill of fear, while occupied in equalizing +the ends of my neck-tie.</p> +<p>I felt suddenly that “this sort of thing” would +kill me. The definition of the cause was vague, but the +thought itself was no mere morbid artificiality of sentiment but +a genuine conviction. “That sort of thing” was +what I would have to die from. It wouldn’t be from +the innumerable doubts. Any sort of certitude would be also +deadly. It wouldn’t be from a stab—a kiss would +kill me as surely. It would not be from a frown or from any +particular word or any particular act—but from having to +bear them all, together and in succession—from having to +live with “that sort of thing.” About the time +I finished with my neck-tie I had done with life too. I +absolutely did not care because I couldn’t tell whether, +mentally and physically, from the roots of my hair to the soles +of my feet—whether I was more weary or unhappy.</p> +<p>And now my toilet was finished, my occupation was gone. +An immense distress descended upon me. It has been observed +that the routine of daily life, that arbitrary system of trifles, +is a great moral support. But my toilet was finished, I had +nothing more to do of those things consecrated by usage and which +leave you no option. The exercise of any kind of volition +by a man whose consciousness is reduced to the sensation that he +is being killed by “that sort of thing” cannot be +anything but mere trifling with death, an insincere pose before +himself. I wasn’t capable of it. It was then +that I discovered that being killed by “that sort of +thing,” I mean the absolute conviction of it, was, so to +speak, nothing in itself. The horrible part was the +waiting. That was the cruelty, the tragedy, the bitterness +of it. “Why the devil don’t I drop dead +now?” I asked myself peevishly, taking a clean handkerchief +out of the drawer and stuffing it in my pocket.</p> +<p>This was absolutely the last thing, the last ceremony of an +imperative rite. I was abandoned to myself now and it was +terrible. Generally I used to go out, walk down to the +port, take a look at the craft I loved with a sentiment that was +extremely complex, being mixed up with the image of a woman; +perhaps go on board, not because there was anything for me to do +there but just for nothing, for happiness, simply as a man will +sit contented in the companionship of the beloved object. +For lunch I had the choice of two places, one Bohemian, the other +select, even aristocratic, where I had still my reserved table in +the <i>petit salon</i>, up the white staircase. In both +places I had friends who treated my erratic appearances with +discretion, in one case tinged with respect, in the other with a +certain amused tolerance. I owed this tolerance to the most +careless, the most confirmed of those Bohemians (his beard had +streaks of grey amongst its many other tints) who, once bringing +his heavy hand down on my shoulder, took my defence against the +charge of being disloyal and even foreign to that milieu of +earnest visions taking beautiful and revolutionary shapes in the +smoke of pipes, in the jingle of glasses.</p> +<p>“That fellow (<i>ce garçon</i>) is a primitive +nature, but he may be an artist in a sense. He has broken +away from his conventions. He is trying to put a special +vibration and his own notion of colour into his life; and perhaps +even to give it a modelling according to his own ideas. And +for all you know he may be on the track of a masterpiece; but +observe: if it happens to be one nobody will see it. It can +be only for himself. And even he won’t be able to see +it in its completeness except on his death-bed. There is +something fine in that.”</p> +<p>I had blushed with pleasure; such fine ideas had never entered +my head. But there was something fine. . . . How far all +this seemed! How mute and how still! What a phantom +he was, that man with a beard of at least seven tones of +brown. And those shades of the other kind such as Baptiste +with the shaven diplomatic face, the <i>maître +d’hôtel</i> in charge of the <i>petit salon</i>, +taking my hat and stick from me with a deferential remark: +“Monsieur is not very often seen nowadays.” And +those other well-groomed heads raised and nodding at my +passage—“<i>Bonjour</i>.” +“<i>Bonjour</i>”—following me with interested +eyes; these young X.s and Z.s, low-toned, markedly discreet, +lounging up to my table on their way out with murmurs: “Are +you well?”—“Will one see you anywhere this +evening?”—not from curiosity, God forbid, but just +from friendliness; and passing on almost without waiting for an +answer. What had I to do with them, this elegant dust, +these moulds of provincial fashion?</p> +<p>I also often lunched with Doña Rita without +invitation. But that was now unthinkable. What had I +to do with a woman who allowed somebody else to make her cry and +then with an amazing lack of good feeling did her offensive +weeping on my shoulder? Obviously I could have nothing to +do with her. My five minutes’ meditation in the +middle of the bedroom came to an end without even a sigh. +The dead don’t sigh, and for all practical purposes I was +that, except for the final consummation, the growing cold, the +<i>rigor mortis</i>—that blessed state! With measured +steps I crossed the landing to my sitting-room.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER II</h3> +<p>The windows of that room gave out on the street of the Consuls +which as usual was silent. And the house itself below me +and above me was soundless, perfectly still. In general the +house was quiet, dumbly quiet, without resonances of any sort, +something like what one would imagine the interior of a convent +would be. I suppose it was very solidly built. Yet +that morning I missed in the stillness that feeling of security +and peace which ought to have been associated with it. It +is, I believe, generally admitted that the dead are glad to be at +rest. But I wasn’t at rest. What was wrong with +that silence? There was something incongruous in that +peace. What was it that had got into that stillness? +Suddenly I remembered: the mother of Captain Blunt.</p> +<p>Why had she come all the way from Paris? And why should +I bother my head about it? H’m—the Blunt +atmosphere, the reinforced Blunt vibration stealing through the +walls, through the thick walls and the almost more solid +stillness. Nothing to me, of course—the movements of +Mme. Blunt, <i>mère</i>. It was maternal affection +which had brought her south by either the evening or morning +Rapide, to take anxious stock of the ravages of that +insomnia. Very good thing, insomnia, for a cavalry officer +perpetually on outpost duty, a real godsend, so to speak; but on +leave a truly devilish condition to be in.</p> +<p>The above sequence of thoughts was entirely unsympathetic and +it was followed by a feeling of satisfaction that I, at any rate, +was not suffering from insomnia. I could always sleep in +the end. In the end. Escape into a nightmare. +Wouldn’t he revel in that if he could! But that +wasn’t for him. He had to toss about open-eyed all +night and get up weary, weary. But oh, wasn’t I +weary, too, waiting for a sleep without dreams.</p> +<p>I heard the door behind me open. I had been standing +with my face to the window and, I declare, not knowing what I was +looking at across the road—the Desert of Sahara or a wall +of bricks, a landscape of rivers and forests or only the +Consulate of Paraguay. But I had been thinking, apparently, +of Mr. Blunt with such intensity that when I saw him enter the +room it didn’t really make much difference. When I +turned about the door behind him was already shut. He +advanced towards me, correct, supple, hollow-eyed, and smiling; +and as to his costume ready to go out except for the old shooting +jacket which he must have affectioned particularly, for he never +lost any time in getting into it at every opportunity. Its +material was some tweed mixture; it had gone inconceivably +shabby, it was shrunk from old age, it was ragged at the elbows; +but any one could see at a glance that it had been made in London +by a celebrated tailor, by a distinguished specialist. +Blunt came towards me in all the elegance of his slimness and +affirming in every line of his face and body, in the correct set +of his shoulders and the careless freedom of his movements, the +superiority, the inexpressible superiority, the unconscious, the +unmarked, the not-to-be-described, and even not-to-be-caught, +superiority of the naturally born and the perfectly finished man +of the world, over the simple young man. He was smiling, +easy, correct, perfectly delightful, fit to kill.</p> +<p>He had come to ask me, if I had no other engagement, to lunch +with him and his mother in about an hour’s time. He +did it in a most <i>dégagé</i> tone. His +mother had given him a surprise. The completest . . . The +foundation of his mother’s psychology was her delightful +unexpectedness. She could never let things be (this in a +peculiar tone which he checked at once) and he really would take +it very kindly of me if I came to break the +tête-à-tête for a while (that is if I had no +other engagement. Flash of teeth). His mother was +exquisitely and tenderly absurd. She had taken it into her +head that his health was endangered in some way. And when +she took anything into her head . . . Perhaps I might find +something to say which would reassure her. His mother had +two long conversations with Mills on his passage through Paris +and had heard of me (I knew how that thick man could speak of +people, he interjected ambiguously) and his mother, with an +insatiable curiosity for anything that was rare (filially +humorous accent here and a softer flash of teeth), was very +anxious to have me presented to her (courteous intonation, but no +teeth). He hoped I wouldn’t mind if she treated me a +little as an “interesting young man.” His +mother had never got over her seventeenth year, and the manner of +the spoilt beauty of at least three counties at the back of the +Carolinas. That again got overlaid by the +<i>sans-façon</i> of a <i>grande dame</i> of the Second +Empire.</p> +<p>I accepted the invitation with a worldly grin and a perfectly +just intonation, because I really didn’t care what I +did. I only wondered vaguely why that fellow required all +the air in the room for himself. There did not seem enough +left to go down my throat. I didn’t say that I would +come with pleasure or that I would be delighted, but I said that +I would come. He seemed to forget his tongue in his head, +put his hands in his pockets and moved about vaguely. +“I am a little nervous this morning,” he said in +French, stopping short and looking me straight in the eyes. +His own were deep sunk, dark, fatal. I asked with some +malice, that no one could have detected in my intonation, +“How’s that sleeplessness?”</p> +<p>He muttered through his teeth, “<i>Mal</i>. <i>Je +ne dors plus</i>.” He moved off to stand at the +window with his back to the room. I sat down on a sofa that +was there and put my feet up, and silence took possession of the +room.</p> +<p>“Isn’t this street ridiculous?” said Blunt +suddenly, and crossing the room rapidly waved his hand to me, +“<i>A bientôt donc</i>,” and was gone. He +had seared himself into my mind. I did not understand him +nor his mother then; which made them more impressive; but I have +discovered since that those two figures required no mystery to +make them memorable. Of course it isn’t every day +that one meets a mother that lives by her wits and a son that +lives by his sword, but there was a perfect finish about their +ambiguous personalities which is not to be met twice in a +life-time. I shall never forget that grey dress with ample +skirts and long corsage yet with infinite style, the ancient as +if ghostly beauty of outlines, the black lace, the silver hair, +the harmonious, restrained movements of those white, soft hands +like the hands of a queen—or an abbess; and in the general +fresh effect of her person the brilliant eyes like two stars with +the calm reposeful way they had of moving on and off one, as if +nothing in the world had the right to veil itself before their +once sovereign beauty. Captain Blunt with smiling formality +introduced me by name, adding with a certain relaxation of the +formal tone the comment: “The Monsieur George! whose fame +you tell me has reached even Paris.” Mrs. +Blunt’s reception of me, glance, tones, even to the +attitude of the admirably corseted figure, was most friendly, +approaching the limit of half-familiarity. I had the +feeling that I was beholding in her a captured ideal. No +common experience! But I didn’t care. It was +very lucky perhaps for me that in a way I was like a very sick +man who has yet preserved all his lucidity. I was not even +wondering to myself at what on earth I was doing there. She +breathed out: “<i>Comme c’est romantique</i>,” +at large to the dusty studio as it were; then pointing to a chair +at her right hand, and bending slightly towards me she said:</p> +<p>“I have heard this name murmured by pretty lips in more +than one royalist salon.”</p> +<p>I didn’t say anything to that ingratiating speech. +I had only an odd thought that she could not have had such a +figure, nothing like it, when she was seventeen and wore snowy +muslin dresses on the family plantation in South Carolina, in +pre-abolition days.</p> +<p>“You won’t mind, I am sure, if an old woman whose +heart is still young elects to call you by it,” she +declared.</p> +<p>“Certainly, Madame. It will be more +romantic,” I assented with a respectful bow.</p> +<p>She dropped a calm: “Yes—there is nothing like +romance while one is young. So I will call you Monsieur +George,” she paused and then added, “I could never +get old,” in a matter-of-fact final tone as one would +remark, “I could never learn to swim,” and I had the +presence of mind to say in a tone to match, “<i>C’est +évident</i>, Madame.” It was evident. +She couldn’t get old; and across the table her +thirty-year-old son who couldn’t get sleep sat listening +with courteous detachment and the narrowest possible line of +white underlining his silky black moustache.</p> +<p>“Your services are immensely appreciated,” she +said with an amusing touch of importance as of a great official +lady. “Immensely appreciated by people in a position +to understand the great significance of the Carlist movement in +the South. There it has to combat anarchism, too. I +who have lived through the Commune . . .”</p> +<p>Therese came in with a dish, and for the rest of the lunch the +conversation so well begun drifted amongst the most appalling +inanities of the religious-royalist-legitimist order. The +ears of all the Bourbons in the world must have been +burning. Mrs. Blunt seemed to have come into personal +contact with a good many of them and the marvellous insipidity of +her recollections was astonishing to my inexperience. I +looked at her from time to time thinking: She has seen slavery, +she has seen the Commune, she knows two continents, she has seen +a civil war, the glory of the Second Empire, the horrors of two +sieges; she has been in contact with marked personalities, with +great events, she has lived on her wealth, on her personality, +and there she is with her plumage unruffled, as glossy as ever, +unable to get old:—a sort of Phoenix free from the +slightest signs of ashes and dust, all complacent amongst those +inanities as if there had been nothing else in the world. +In my youthful haste I asked myself what sort of airy soul she +had.</p> +<p>At last Therese put a dish of fruit on the table, a small +collection of oranges, raisins, and nuts. No doubt she had +bought that lot very cheap and it did not look at all +inviting. Captain Blunt jumped up. “My mother +can’t stand tobacco smoke. Will you keep her company, +<i>mon cher</i>, while I take a turn with a cigar in that +ridiculous garden. The brougham from the hotel will be here +very soon.”</p> +<p>He left us in the white flash of an apologetic grin. +Almost directly he reappeared, visible from head to foot through +the glass side of the studio, pacing up and down the central path +of that “ridiculous” garden: for its elegance and its +air of good breeding the most remarkable figure that I have ever +seen before or since. He had changed his coat. Madame +Blunt <i>mère</i> lowered the long-handled glasses through +which she had been contemplating him with an appraising, absorbed +expression which had nothing maternal in it. But what she +said to me was:</p> +<p>“You understand my anxieties while he is campaigning +with the King.”</p> +<p>She had spoken in French and she had used the expression +“<i>mes transes</i>” but for all the rest, +intonation, bearing, solemnity, she might have been referring to +one of the Bourbons. I am sure that not a single one of +them looked half as aristocratic as her son.</p> +<p>“I understand perfectly, Madame. But then that +life is so romantic.”</p> +<p>“Hundreds of young men belonging to a certain sphere are +doing that,” she said very distinctly, “only their +case is different. They have their positions, their +families to go back to; but we are different. We are +exiles, except of course for the ideals, the kindred spirit, the +friendships of old standing we have in France. Should my +son come out unscathed he has no one but me and I have no one but +him. I have to think of his life. Mr. Mills (what a +distinguished mind that is!) has reassured me as to my +son’s health. But he sleeps very badly, doesn’t +he?”</p> +<p>I murmured something affirmative in a doubtful tone and she +remarked quaintly, with a certain curtness, “It’s so +unnecessary, this worry! The unfortunate position of an +exile has its advantages. At a certain height of social +position (wealth has got nothing to do with it, we have been +ruined in a most righteous cause), at a certain established +height one can disregard narrow prejudices. You see +examples in the aristocracies of all the countries. A +chivalrous young American may offer his life for a remote ideal +which yet may belong to his familial tradition. We, in our +great country, have every sort of tradition. But a young +man of good connections and distinguished relations must settle +down some day, dispose of his life.”</p> +<p>“No doubt, Madame,” I said, raising my eyes to the +figure outside—“<i>Américain</i>, +<i>Catholique et gentilhomme</i>”—walking up and down +the path with a cigar which he was not smoking. “For +myself, I don’t know anything about those +necessities. I have broken away for ever from those +things.”</p> +<p>“Yes, Mr. Mills talked to me about you. What a +golden heart that is. His sympathies are +infinite.”</p> +<p>I thought suddenly of Mills pronouncing on Mme. Blunt, +whatever his text on me might have been: “She lives by her +wits.” Was she exercising her wits on me for some +purpose of her own? And I observed coldly:</p> +<p>“I really know your son so very little.”</p> +<p>“Oh, <i>voyons</i>,” she protested. “I +am aware that you are very much younger, but the similitudes of +opinions, origins and perhaps at bottom, faintly, of character, +of chivalrous devotion—no, you must be able to understand +him in a measure. He is infinitely scrupulous and +recklessly brave.”</p> +<p>I listened deferentially to the end yet with every nerve in my +body tingling in hostile response to the Blunt vibration, which +seemed to have got into my very hair.</p> +<p>“I am convinced of it, Madame. I have even heard +of your son’s bravery. It’s extremely natural +in a man who, in his own words, ‘lives by his +sword.’”</p> +<p>She suddenly departed from her almost inhuman perfection, +betrayed “nerves” like a common mortal, of course +very slightly, but in her it meant more than a blaze of fury from +a vessel of inferior clay. Her admirable little foot, +marvellously shod in a black shoe, tapped the floor +irritably. But even in that display there was something +exquisitely delicate. The very anger in her voice was +silvery, as it were, and more like the petulance of a +seventeen-year-old beauty.</p> +<p>“What nonsense! A Blunt doesn’t hire +himself.”</p> +<p>“Some princely families,” I said, “were +founded by men who have done that very thing. The great +Condottieri, you know.”</p> +<p>It was in an almost tempestuous tone that she made me observe +that we were not living in the fifteenth century. She gave +me also to understand with some spirit that there was no question +here of founding a family. Her son was very far from being +the first of the name. His importance lay rather in being +the last of a race which had totally perished, she added in a +completely drawing-room tone, “in our Civil War.”</p> +<p>She had mastered her irritation and through the glass side of +the room sent a wistful smile to his address, but I noticed the +yet unextinguished anger in her eyes full of fire under her +beautiful white eyebrows. For she was growing old! +Oh, yes, she was growing old, and secretly weary, and perhaps +desperate.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> +<p>Without caring much about it I was conscious of sudden +illumination. I said to myself confidently that these two +people had been quarrelling all the morning. I had +discovered the secret of my invitation to that lunch. They +did not care to face the strain of some obstinate, inconclusive +discussion for fear, maybe, of it ending in a serious +quarrel. And so they had agreed that I should be fetched +downstairs to create a diversion. I cannot say I felt +annoyed. I didn’t care. My perspicacity did not +please me either. I wished they had left me alone—but +nothing mattered. They must have been in their superiority +accustomed to make use of people, without compunction. From +necessity, too. She especially. She lived by her +wits. The silence had grown so marked that I had at last to +raise my eyes; and the first thing I observed was that Captain +Blunt was no longer to be seen in the garden. Must have +gone indoors. Would rejoin us in a moment. Then I +would leave mother and son to themselves.</p> +<p>The next thing I noticed was that a great mellowness had +descended upon the mother of the last of his race. But +these terms, irritation, mellowness, appeared gross when applied +to her. It is impossible to give an idea of the refinement +and subtlety of all her transformations. She smiled faintly +at me.</p> +<p>“But all this is beside the point. The real point +is that my son, like all fine natures, is a being of strange +contradictions which the trials of life have not yet reconciled +in him. With me it is a little different. The trials +fell mainly to my share—and of course I have lived +longer. And then men are much more complex than women, much +more difficult, too. And you, Monsieur George? Are +you complex, with unexpected resistances and difficulties in your +<i>être intime</i>—your inner self? I wonder +now . . .”</p> +<p>The Blunt atmosphere seemed to vibrate all over my skin. +I disregarded the symptom. “Madame,” I said, +“I have never tried to find out what sort of being I +am.”</p> +<p>“Ah, that’s very wrong. We ought to reflect +on what manner of beings we are. Of course we are all +sinners. My John is a sinner like the others,” she +declared further, with a sort of proud tenderness as though our +common lot must have felt honoured and to a certain extent +purified by this condescending recognition.</p> +<p>“You are too young perhaps as yet . . . But as to my +John,” she broke off, leaning her elbow on the table and +supporting her head on her old, impeccably shaped, white fore-arm +emerging from a lot of precious, still older, lace trimming the +short sleeve. “The trouble is that he suffers from a +profound discord between the necessary reactions to life and even +the impulses of nature and the lofty idealism of his feelings; I +may say, of his principles. I assure you that he +won’t even let his heart speak uncontradicted.”</p> +<p>I am sure I don’t know what particular devil looks after +the associations of memory, and I can’t even imagine the +shock which it would have been for Mrs. Blunt to learn that the +words issuing from her lips had awakened in me the visual +perception of a dark-skinned, hard-driven lady’s maid with +tarnished eyes; even of the tireless Rose handing me my hat while +breathing out the enigmatic words: “Madame should listen to +her heart.” A wave from the atmosphere of another +house rolled in, overwhelming and fiery, seductive and cruel, +through the Blunt vibration, bursting through it as through +tissue paper and filling my heart with sweet murmurs and +distracting images, till it seemed to break, leaving an empty +stillness in my breast.</p> +<p>After that for a long time I heard Mme. Blunt +<i>mère</i> talking with extreme fluency and I even caught +the individual words, but I could not in the revulsion of my +feelings get hold of the sense. She talked apparently of +life in general, of its difficulties, moral and physical, of its +surprising turns, of its unexpected contacts, of the choice and +rare personalities that drift on it as if on the sea; of the +distinction that letters and art gave to it, the nobility and +consolations there are in aesthetics, of the privileges they +confer on individuals and (this was the first connected statement +I caught) that Mills agreed with her in the general point of view +as to the inner worth of individualities and in the particular +instance of it on which she had opened to him her innermost +heart. Mills had a universal mind. His sympathy was +universal, too. He had that large comprehension—oh, +not cynical, not at all cynical, in fact rather +tender—which was found in its perfection only in some rare, +very rare Englishmen. The dear creature was romantic, +too. Of course he was reserved in his speech but she +understood Mills perfectly. Mills apparently liked me very +much.</p> +<p>It was time for me to say something. There was a +challenge in the reposeful black eyes resting upon my face. +I murmured that I was very glad to hear it. She waited a +little, then uttered meaningly, “Mr. Mills is a little bit +uneasy about you.”</p> +<p>“It’s very good of him,” I said. And +indeed I thought that it was very good of him, though I did ask +myself vaguely in my dulled brain why he should be uneasy.</p> +<p>Somehow it didn’t occur to me to ask Mrs. Blunt. +Whether she had expected me to do so or not I don’t know +but after a while she changed the pose she had kept so long and +folded her wonderfully preserved white arms. She looked a +perfect picture in silver and grey, with touches of black here +and there. Still I said nothing more in my dull +misery. She waited a little longer, then she woke me up +with a crash. It was as if the house had fallen, and yet +she had only asked me:</p> +<p>“I believe you are received on very friendly terms by +Madame de Lastaola on account of your common exertions for the +cause. Very good friends, are you not?”</p> +<p>“You mean Rita,” I said stupidly, but I felt +stupid, like a man who wakes up only to be hit on the head.</p> +<p>“Oh, Rita,” she repeated with unexpected acidity, +which somehow made me feel guilty of an incredible breach of good +manners. “H’m, Rita. . . . Oh, well, let it be +Rita—for the present. Though why she should be +deprived of her name in conversation about her, really I +don’t understand. Unless a very special intimacy . . +.”</p> +<p>She was distinctly annoyed. I said sulkily, “It +isn’t her name.”</p> +<p>“It is her choice, I understand, which seems almost a +better title to recognition on the part of the world. It +didn’t strike you so before? Well, it seems to me +that choice has got more right to be respected than heredity or +law. Moreover, Mme. de Lastaola,” she continued in an +insinuating voice, “that most rare and fascinating young +woman is, as a friend like you cannot deny, outside legality +altogether. Even in that she is an exceptional +creature. For she is exceptional—you +agree?”</p> +<p>I had gone dumb, I could only stare at her.</p> +<p>“Oh, I see, you agree. No friend of hers could +deny.”</p> +<p>“Madame,” I burst out, “I don’t know +where a question of friendship comes in here with a person whom +you yourself call so exceptional. I really don’t know +how she looks upon me. Our intercourse is of course very +close and confidential. Is that also talked about in +Paris?”</p> +<p>“Not at all, not in the least,” said Mrs. Blunt, +easy, equable, but with her calm, sparkling eyes holding me in +angry subjection. “Nothing of the sort is being +talked about. The references to Mme. de Lastaola are in a +very different tone, I can assure you, thanks to her discretion +in remaining here. And, I must say, thanks to the discreet +efforts of her friends. I am also a friend of Mme. de +Lastaola, you must know. Oh, no, I have never spoken to her +in my life and have seen her only twice, I believe. I wrote +to her though, that I admit. She or rather the image of her +has come into my life, into that part of it where art and letters +reign undisputed like a sort of religion of beauty to which I +have been faithful through all the vicissitudes of my +existence. Yes, I did write to her and I have been +preoccupied with her for a long time. It arose from a +picture, from two pictures and also from a phrase pronounced by a +man, who in the science of life and in the perception of +aesthetic truth had no equal in the world of culture. He +said that there was something in her of the women of all +time. I suppose he meant the inheritance of all the gifts +that make up an irresistible fascination—a great +personality. Such women are not born often. Most of +them lack opportunities. They never develop. They end +obscurely. Here and there one survives to make her mark +even in history. . . . And even that is not a very enviable +fate. They are at another pole from the so-called dangerous +women who are merely coquettes. A coquette has got to work +for her success. The others have nothing to do but simply +exist. You perceive the view I take of the +difference?”</p> +<p>I perceived the view. I said to myself that nothing in +the world could be more aristocratic. This was the +slave-owning woman who had never worked, even if she had been +reduced to live by her wits. She was a wonderful old +woman. She made me dumb. She held me fascinated by +the well-bred attitude, something sublimely aloof in her air of +wisdom.</p> +<p>I just simply let myself go admiring her as though I had been +a mere slave of aesthetics: the perfect grace, the amazing poise +of that venerable head, the assured as if royal—yes, royal +even flow of the voice. . . . But what was it she was talking +about now? These were no longer considerations about fatal +women. She was talking about her son again. My +interest turned into mere bitterness of contemptuous +attention. For I couldn’t withhold it though I tried +to let the stuff go by. Educated in the most aristocratic +college in Paris . . . at eighteen . . . call of duty . . . with +General Lee to the very last cruel minute . . . after that +catastrophe end of the world—return to France—to old +friendships, infinite kindness—but a life hollow, without +occupation. . . Then 1870—and chivalrous response to +adopted country’s call and again emptiness, the chafing of +a proud spirit without aim and handicapped not exactly by poverty +but by lack of fortune. And she, the mother, having to look +on at this wasting of a most accomplished man, of a most +chivalrous nature that practically had no future before it.</p> +<p>“You understand me well, Monsieur George. A nature +like this! It is the most refined cruelty of fate to look +at. I don’t know whether I suffered more in times of +war or in times of peace. You understand?”</p> +<p>I bowed my head in silence. What I couldn’t +understand was why he delayed so long in joining us again. +Unless he had had enough of his mother? I thought without +any great resentment that I was being victimized; but then it +occurred to me that the cause of his absence was quite +simple. I was familiar enough with his habits by this time +to know that he often managed to snatch an hour’s sleep or +so during the day. He had gone and thrown himself on his +bed.</p> +<p>“I admire him exceedingly,” Mrs. Blunt was saying +in a tone which was not at all maternal. “His +distinction, his fastidiousness, the earnest warmth of his +heart. I know him well. I assure you that I would +never have dared to suggest,” she continued with an +extraordinary haughtiness of attitude and tone that aroused my +attention, “I would never have dared to put before him my +views of the extraordinary merits and the uncertain fate of the +exquisite woman of whom we speak, if I had not been certain that, +partly by my fault, I admit, his attention has been attracted to +her and his—his—his heart engaged.”</p> +<p>It was as if some one had poured a bucket of cold water over +my head. I woke up with a great shudder to the acute +perception of my own feelings and of that aristocrat’s +incredible purpose. How it could have germinated, grown and +matured in that exclusive soil was inconceivable. She had +been inciting her son all the time to undertake wonderful salvage +work by annexing the heiress of Henry Allègre—the +woman and the fortune.</p> +<p>There must have been an amazed incredulity in my eyes, to +which her own responded by an unflinching black brilliance which +suddenly seemed to develop a scorching quality even to the point +of making me feel extremely thirsty all of a sudden. For a +time my tongue literally clove to the roof of my mouth. I +don’t know whether it was an illusion but it seemed to me +that Mrs. Blunt had nodded at me twice as if to say: “You +are right, that’s so.” I made an effort to +speak but it was very poor. If she did hear me it was +because she must have been on the watch for the faintest +sound.</p> +<p>“His heart engaged. Like two hundred others, or +two thousand, all around,” I mumbled.</p> +<p>“Altogether different. And it’s no +disparagement to a woman surely. Of course her great +fortune protects her in a certain measure.”</p> +<p>“Does it?” I faltered out and that time I really +doubt whether she heard me. Her aspect in my eyes had +changed. Her purpose being disclosed, her well-bred ease +appeared sinister, her aristocratic repose a treacherous device, +her venerable graciousness a mask of unbounded contempt for all +human beings whatever. She was a terrible old woman with +those straight, white wolfish eye-brows. How blind I had +been! Those eyebrows alone ought to have been enough to +give her away. Yet they were as beautifully smooth as her +voice when she admitted: “That protection naturally is only +partial. There is the danger of her own self, poor +girl. She requires guidance.”</p> +<p>I marvelled at the villainy of my tone as I spoke, but it was +only assumed.</p> +<p>“I don’t think she has done badly for herself, so +far,” I forced myself to say. “I suppose you +know that she began life by herding the village goats.”</p> +<p>In the course of that phrase I noticed her wince just the +least bit. Oh, yes, she winced; but at the end of it she +smiled easily.</p> +<p>“No, I didn’t know. So she told you her +story! Oh, well, I suppose you are very good friends. +A goatherd—really? In the fairy tale I believe the +girl that marries the prince is—what is it?—a +<i>gardeuse d’oies</i>. And what a thing to drag out +against a woman. One might just as soon reproach any of +them for coming unclothed into the world. They all do, you +know. And then they become—what you will discover +when you have lived longer, Monsieur George—for the most +part futile creatures, without any sense of truth and beauty, +drudges of all sorts, or else dolls to dress. In a +word—ordinary.”</p> +<p>The implication of scorn in her tranquil manner was +immense. It seemed to condemn all those that were not born +in the Blunt connection. It was the perfect pride of +Republican aristocracy, which has no gradations and knows no +limit, and, as if created by the grace of God, thinks it ennobles +everything it touches: people, ideas, even passing tastes!</p> +<p>“How many of them,” pursued Mrs. Blunt, +“have had the good fortune, the leisure to develop their +intelligence and their beauty in aesthetic conditions as this +charming woman had? Not one in a million. Perhaps not +one in an age.”</p> +<p>“The heiress of Henry Allègre,” I +murmured.</p> +<p>“Precisely. But John wouldn’t be marrying +the heiress of Henry Allègre.”</p> +<p>It was the first time that the frank word, the clear idea, +came into the conversation and it made me feel ill with a sort of +enraged faintness.</p> +<p>“No,” I said. “It would be Mme. de +Lastaola then.”</p> +<p>“Mme. la Comtesse de Lastaola as soon as she likes after +the success of this war.”</p> +<p>“And you believe in its success?”</p> +<p>“Do you?”</p> +<p>“Not for a moment,” I declared, and was surprised +to see her look pleased.</p> +<p>She was an aristocrat to the tips of her fingers; she really +didn’t care for anybody. She had passed through the +Empire, she had lived through a siege, had rubbed shoulders with +the Commune, had seen everything, no doubt, of what men are +capable in the pursuit of their desires or in the extremity of +their distress, for love, for money, and even for honour; and in +her precarious connection with the very highest spheres she had +kept her own honourability unscathed while she had lost all her +prejudices. She was above all that. Perhaps +“the world” was the only thing that could have the +slightest checking influence; but when I ventured to say +something about the view it might take of such an alliance she +looked at me for a moment with visible surprise.</p> +<p>“My dear Monsieur George, I have lived in the great +world all my life. It’s the best that there is, but +that’s only because there is nothing merely decent +anywhere. It will accept anything, forgive anything, forget +anything in a few days. And after all who will he be +marrying? A charming, clever, rich and altogether uncommon +woman. What did the world hear of her? Nothing. +The little it saw of her was in the Bois for a few hours every +year, riding by the side of a man of unique distinction and of +exclusive tastes, devoted to the cult of aesthetic impressions; a +man of whom, as far as aspect, manner, and behaviour goes, she +might have been the daughter. I have seen her myself. +I went on purpose. I was immensely struck. I was even +moved. Yes. She might have been—except for that +something radiant in her that marked her apart from all the other +daughters of men. The few remarkable personalities that +count in society and who were admitted into Henry +Allègre’s Pavilion treated her with punctilious +reserve. I know that, I have made enquiries. I know +she sat there amongst them like a marvellous child, and for the +rest what can they say about her? That when abandoned to +herself by the death of Allègre she has made a +mistake? I think that any woman ought to be allowed one +mistake in her life. The worst they can say of her is that +she discovered it, that she had sent away a man in love directly +she found out that his love was not worth having; that she had +told him to go and look for his crown, and that, after dismissing +him she had remained generously faithful to his cause, in her +person and fortune. And this, you will allow, is rather +uncommon upon the whole.”</p> +<p>“You make her out very magnificent,” I +murmured, looking down upon the floor.</p> +<p>“Isn’t she?” exclaimed the aristocratic Mrs. +Blunt, with an almost youthful ingenuousness, and in those black +eyes which looked at me so calmly there was a flash of the +Southern beauty, still naïve and romantic, as if altogether +untouched by experience. “I don’t think there +is a single grain of vulgarity in all her enchanting +person. Neither is there in my son. I suppose you +won’t deny that he is uncommon.” She +paused.</p> +<p>“Absolutely,” I said in a perfectly conventional +tone, I was now on my mettle that she should not discover what +there was humanly common in my nature. She took my answer +at her own valuation and was satisfied.</p> +<p>“They can’t fail to understand each other on the +very highest level of idealistic perceptions. Can you +imagine my John thrown away on some enamoured white goose out of +a stuffy old salon? Why, she couldn’t even begin to +understand what he feels or what he needs.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” I said impenetrably, “he is not easy +to understand.”</p> +<p>“I have reason to think,” she said with a +suppressed smile, “that he has a certain power over +women. Of course I don’t know anything about his +intimate life but a whisper or two have reached me, like that, +floating in the air, and I could hardly suppose that he would +find an exceptional resistance in that quarter of all +others. But I should like to know the exact +degree.”</p> +<p>I disregarded an annoying tendency to feel dizzy that came +over me and was very careful in managing my voice.</p> +<p>“May I ask, Madame, why you are telling me all +this?”</p> +<p>“For two reasons,” she condescended +graciously. “First of all because Mr. Mills told me +that you were much more mature than one would expect. In +fact you look much younger than I was prepared for.”</p> +<p>“Madame,” I interrupted her, “I may have a +certain capacity for action and for responsibility, but as to the +regions into which this very unexpected conversation has taken me +I am a great novice. They are outside my interest. I +have had no experience.”</p> +<p>“Don’t make yourself out so hopeless,” she +said in a spoilt-beauty tone. “You have your +intuitions. At any rate you have a pair of eyes. You +are everlastingly over there, so I understand. Surely you +have seen how far they are . . .”</p> +<p>I interrupted again and this time bitterly, but always in a +tone of polite enquiry:</p> +<p>“You think her facile, Madame?”</p> +<p>She looked offended. “I think her most +fastidious. It is my son who is in question +here.”</p> +<p>And I understood then that she looked on her son as +irresistible. For my part I was just beginning to think +that it would be impossible for me to wait for his return. +I figured him to myself lying dressed on his bed sleeping like a +stone. But there was no denying that the mother was holding +me with an awful, tortured interest. Twice Therese had +opened the door, had put her small head in and drawn it back like +a tortoise. But for some time I had lost the sense of us +two being quite alone in the studio. I had perceived the +familiar dummy in its corner but it lay now on the floor as if +Therese had knocked it down angrily with a broom for a heathen +idol. It lay there prostrate, handless, without its head, +pathetic, like the mangled victim of a crime.</p> +<p>“John is fastidious, too,” began Mrs. Blunt +again. “Of course you wouldn’t suppose anything +vulgar in his resistances to a very real sentiment. One has +got to understand his psychology. He can’t leave +himself in peace. He is exquisitely absurd.”</p> +<p>I recognized the phrase. Mother and son talked of each +other in identical terms. But perhaps “exquisitely +absurd” was the Blunt family saying? There are such +sayings in families and generally there is some truth in +them. Perhaps this old woman was simply absurd. She +continued:</p> +<p>“We had a most painful discussion all this +morning. He is angry with me for suggesting the very thing +his whole being desires. I don’t feel guilty. +It’s he who is tormenting himself with his infinite +scrupulosity.”</p> +<p>“Ah,” I said, looking at the mangled dummy like +the model of some atrocious murder. “Ah, the +fortune. But that can be left alone.”</p> +<p>“What nonsense! How is it possible? It +isn’t contained in a bag, you can’t throw it into the +sea. And moreover, it isn’t her fault. I am +astonished that you should have thought of that vulgar +hypocrisy. No, it isn’t her fortune that cheeks my +son; it’s something much more subtle. Not so much her +history as her position. He is absurd. It isn’t +what has happened in her life. It’s her very freedom +that makes him torment himself and her, too—as far as I can +understand.”</p> +<p>I suppressed a groan and said to myself that I must really get +away from there.</p> +<p>Mrs. Blunt was fairly launched now.</p> +<p>“For all his superiority he is a man of the world and +shares to a certain extent its current opinions. He has no +power over her. She intimidates him. He wishes he had +never set eyes on her. Once or twice this morning he looked +at me as if he could find it in his heart to hate his old +mother. There is no doubt about it—he loves her, +Monsieur George. He loves her, this poor, luckless, perfect +<i>homme du monde</i>.”</p> +<p>The silence lasted for some time and then I heard a murmur: +“It’s a matter of the utmost delicacy between two +beings so sensitive, so proud. It has to be +managed.”</p> +<p>I found myself suddenly on my feet and saying with the utmost +politeness that I had to beg her permission to leave her alone as +I had an engagement; but she motioned me simply to sit +down—and I sat down again.</p> +<p>“I told you I had a request to make,” she +said. “I have understood from Mr. Mills that you have +been to the West Indies, that you have some interests +there.”</p> +<p>I was astounded. “Interests! I certainly +have been there,” I said, “but . . .”</p> +<p>She caught me up. “Then why not go there +again? I am speaking to you frankly because . . +.”</p> +<p>“But, Madame, I am engaged in this affair with +Doña Rita, even if I had any interests elsewhere. I +won’t tell you about the importance of my work. I +didn’t suspect it but you brought the news of it to me, and +so I needn’t point it out to you.”</p> +<p>And now we were frankly arguing with each other.</p> +<p>“But where will it lead you in the end? You have +all your life before you, all your plans, prospects, perhaps +dreams, at any rate your own tastes and all your life-time before +you. And would you sacrifice all this to—the +Pretender? A mere figure for the front page of illustrated +papers.”’</p> +<p>“I never think of him,” I said curtly, +“but I suppose Doña Rita’s feelings, +instincts, call it what you like—or only her chivalrous +fidelity to her mistakes—”</p> +<p>“Doña Rita’s presence here in this town, +her withdrawal from the possible complications of her life in +Paris has produced an excellent effect on my son. It +simplifies infinite difficulties, I mean moral as well as +material. It’s extremely to the advantage of her +dignity, of her future, and of her peace of mind. But I am +thinking, of course, mainly of my son. He is most +exacting.”</p> +<p>I felt extremely sick at heart. “And so I am to +drop everything and vanish,” I said, rising from my chair +again. And this time Mrs. Blunt got up, too, with a lofty +and inflexible manner but she didn’t dismiss me yet.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she said distinctly. “All this, +my dear Monsieur George, is such an accident. What have you +got to do here? You look to me like somebody who would find +adventures wherever he went as interesting and perhaps less +dangerous than this one.”</p> +<p>She slurred over the word dangerous but I picked it up.</p> +<p>“What do you know of its dangers, Madame, may I +ask?” But she did not condescend to hear.</p> +<p>“And then you, too, have your chivalrous +feelings,” she went on, unswerving, distinct, and +tranquil. “You are not absurd. But my son +is. He would shut her up in a convent for a time if he +could.”</p> +<p>“He isn’t the only one,” I muttered.</p> +<p>“Indeed!” she was startled, then lower, +“Yes. That woman must be the centre of all sorts of +passions,” she mused audibly. “But what have +you got to do with all this? It’s nothing to +you.”</p> +<p>She waited for me to speak.</p> +<p>“Exactly, Madame,” I said, “and therefore I +don’t see why I should concern myself in all this one way +or another.”</p> +<p>“No,” she assented with a weary air, “except +that you might ask yourself what is the good of tormenting a man +of noble feelings, however absurd. His Southern blood makes +him very violent sometimes. I fear—” And +then for the first time during this conversation, for the first +time since I left Doña Rita the day before, for the first +time I laughed.</p> +<p>“Do you mean to hint, Madame, that Southern gentlemen +are dead shots? I am aware of that—from +novels.”</p> +<p>I spoke looking her straight in the face and I made that +exquisite, aristocratic old woman positively blink by my +directness. There was a faint flush on her delicate old +cheeks but she didn’t move a muscle of her face. I +made her a most respectful bow and went out of the studio.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER IV</h3> +<p>Through the great arched window of the hall I saw the hotel +brougham waiting at the door. On passing the door of the +front room (it was originally meant for a drawing-room but a bed +for Blunt was put in there) I banged with my fist on the panel +and shouted: “I am obliged to go out. Your +mother’s carriage is at the door.” I +didn’t think he was asleep. My view now was that he +was aware beforehand of the subject of the conversation, and if +so I did not wish to appear as if I had slunk away from him after +the interview. But I didn’t stop—I didn’t +want to see him—and before he could answer I was already +half way up the stairs running noiselessly up the thick carpet +which also covered the floor of the landing. Therefore +opening the door of my sitting-room quickly I caught by surprise +the person who was in there watching the street half concealed by +the window curtain. It was a woman. A totally +unexpected woman. A perfect stranger. She came away +quickly to meet me. Her face was veiled and she was dressed +in a dark walking costume and a very simple form of hat. +She murmured: “I had an idea that Monsieur was in the +house,” raising a gloved hand to lift her veil. It +was Rose and she gave me a shock. I had never seen her +before but with her little black silk apron and a white cap with +ribbons on her head. This outdoor dress was like a +disguise. I asked anxiously:</p> +<p>“What has happened to Madame?”</p> +<p>“Nothing. I have a letter,” she murmured, +and I saw it appear between the fingers of her extended hand, in +a very white envelope which I tore open impatiently. It +consisted of a few lines only. It began abruptly:</p> +<p>“If you are gone to sea then I can’t forgive you +for not sending the usual word at the last moment. If you +are not gone why don’t you come? Why did you leave me +yesterday? You leave me crying—I who haven’t +cried for years and years, and you haven’t the sense to +come back within the hour, within twenty hours! This +conduct is idiotic”—and a sprawling signature of the +four magic letters at the bottom.</p> +<p>While I was putting the letter in my pocket the girl said in +an earnest undertone: “I don’t like to leave Madame +by herself for any length of time.”</p> +<p>“How long have you been in my room?” I asked.</p> +<p>“The time seemed long. I hope Monsieur won’t +mind the liberty. I sat for a little in the hall but then +it struck me I might be seen. In fact, Madame told me not +to be seen if I could help it.”</p> +<p>“Why did she tell you that?”</p> +<p>“I permitted myself to suggest that to Madame. It +might have given a false impression. Madame is frank and +open like the day but it won’t do with everybody. +There are people who would put a wrong construction on +anything. Madame’s sister told me Monsieur was +out.”</p> +<p>“And you didn’t believe her?”</p> +<p>“<i>Non</i>, Monsieur. I have lived with +Madame’s sister for nearly a week when she first came into +this house. She wanted me to leave the message, but I said +I would wait a little. Then I sat down in the big +porter’s chair in the hall and after a while, everything +being very quiet, I stole up here. I know the disposition +of the apartments. I reckoned Madame’s sister would +think that I got tired of waiting and let myself out.”</p> +<p>“And you have been amusing yourself watching the street +ever since?”</p> +<p>“The time seemed long,” she answered +evasively. “An empty <i>coupé</i> came to the +door about an hour ago and it’s still waiting,” she +added, looking at me inquisitively.</p> +<p>“It seems strange.”</p> +<p>“There are some dancing girls staying in the +house,” I said negligently. “Did you leave +Madame alone?”</p> +<p>“There’s the gardener and his wife in the +house.”</p> +<p>“Those people keep at the back. Is Madame +alone? That’s what I want to know.”</p> +<p>“Monsieur forgets that I have been three hours away; but +I assure Monsieur that here in this town it’s perfectly +safe for Madame to be alone.”</p> +<p>“And wouldn’t it be anywhere else? +It’s the first I hear of it.”</p> +<p>“In Paris, in our apartments in the hotel, it’s +all right, too; but in the Pavilion, for instance, I +wouldn’t leave Madame by herself, not for half an +hour.”</p> +<p>“What is there in the Pavilion?” I asked.</p> +<p>“It’s a sort of feeling I have,” she +murmured reluctantly . . . “Oh! There’s that +<i>coupé</i> going away.”</p> +<p>She made a movement towards the window but checked +herself. I hadn’t moved. The rattle of wheels +on the cobble-stones died out almost at once.</p> +<p>“Will Monsieur write an answer?” Rose suggested +after a short silence.</p> +<p>“Hardly worth while,” I said. “I will +be there very soon after you. Meantime, please tell Madame +from me that I am not anxious to see any more tears. Tell +her this just like that, you understand. I will take the +risk of not being received.”</p> +<p>She dropped her eyes, said: “<i>Oui</i>, +Monsieur,” and at my suggestion waited, holding the door of +the room half open, till I went downstairs to see the road +clear.</p> +<p>It was a kind of deaf-and-dumb house. The +black-and-white hall was empty and everything was perfectly +still. Blunt himself had no doubt gone away with his mother +in the brougham, but as to the others, the dancing girls, +Therese, or anybody else that its walls may have contained, they +might have been all murdering each other in perfect assurance +that the house would not betray them by indulging in any unseemly +murmurs. I emitted a low whistle which didn’t seem to +travel in that peculiar atmosphere more than two feet away from +my lips, but all the same Rose came tripping down the stairs at +once. With just a nod to my whisper: “Take a +fiacre,” she glided out and I shut the door noiselessly +behind her.</p> +<p>The next time I saw her she was opening the door of the house +on the Prado to me, with her cap and the little black silk apron +on, and with that marked personality of her own, which had been +concealed so perfectly in the dowdy walking dress, very much to +the fore.</p> +<p>“I have given Madame the message,” she said in her +contained voice, swinging the door wide open. Then after +relieving me of my hat and coat she announced me with the simple +words: “<i>Voilà</i> Monsieur,” and hurried +away. Directly I appeared Doña Rita, away there on +the couch, passed the tips of her fingers over her eyes and +holding her hands up palms outwards on each side of her head, +shouted to me down the whole length of the room: “The dry +season has set in.” I glanced at the pink tips of her +fingers perfunctorily and then drew back. She let her hands +fall negligently as if she had no use for them any more and put +on a serious expression.</p> +<p>“So it seems,” I said, sitting down opposite +her. “For how long, I wonder.”</p> +<p>“For years and years. One gets so little +encouragement. First you bolt away from my tears, then you +send an impertinent message, and then when you come at last you +pretend to behave respectfully, though you don’t know how +to do it. You should sit much nearer the edge of the chair +and hold yourself very stiff, and make it quite clear that you +don’t know what to do with your hands.”</p> +<p>All this in a fascinating voice with a ripple of badinage that +seemed to play upon the sober surface of her thoughts. Then +seeing that I did not answer she altered the note a bit.</p> +<p>“<i>Amigo</i> George,” she said, “I take the +trouble to send for you and here I am before you, talking to you +and you say nothing.”</p> +<p>“What am I to say?”</p> +<p>“How can I tell? You might say a thousand +things. You might, for instance, tell me that you were +sorry for my tears.”</p> +<p>“I might also tell you a thousand lies. What do I +know about your tears? I am not a susceptible idiot. +It all depends upon the cause. There are tears of quiet +happiness. Peeling onions also will bring tears.”</p> +<p>“Oh, you are not susceptible,” she flew out at +me. “But you are an idiot all the same.”</p> +<p>“Is it to tell me this that you have written to me to +come?” I asked with a certain animation.</p> +<p>“Yes. And if you had as much sense as the talking +parrot I owned once you would have read between the lines that +all I wanted you here for was to tell you what I think of +you.”</p> +<p>“Well, tell me what you think of me.”</p> +<p>“I would in a moment if I could be half as impertinent +as you are.”</p> +<p>“What unexpected modesty,” I said.</p> +<p>“These, I suppose, are your sea manners.”</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t put up with half that nonsense from +anybody at sea. Don’t you remember you told me +yourself to go away? What was I to do?”</p> +<p>“How stupid you are. I don’t mean that you +pretend. You really are. Do you understand what I +say? I will spell it for you. S-t-u-p-i-d. Ah, +now I feel better. Oh, <i>amigo</i> George, my dear +fellow-conspirator for the king—the king. Such a +king! <i>Vive le Roi</i>! Come, why don’t you +shout <i>Vive le Roi</i>, too?”</p> +<p>“I am not your parrot,” I said.</p> +<p>“No, he never sulked. He was a charming, +good-mannered bird, accustomed to the best society, whereas you, +I suppose, are nothing but a heartless vagabond like +myself.”</p> +<p>“I daresay you are, but I suppose nobody had the +insolence to tell you that to your face.”</p> +<p>“Well, very nearly. It was what it amounted +to. I am not stupid. There is no need to spell out +simple words for me. It just came out. Don Juan +struggled desperately to keep the truth in. It was most +pathetic. And yet he couldn’t help himself. He +talked very much like a parrot.”</p> +<p>“Of the best society,” I suggested.</p> +<p>“Yes, the most honourable of parrots. I +don’t like parrot-talk. It sounds so uncanny. +Had I lived in the Middle Ages I am certain I would have believed +that a talking bird must be possessed by the devil. I am +sure Therese would believe that now. My own sister! +She would cross herself many times and simply quake with +terror.”</p> +<p>“But you were not terrified,” I said. +“May I ask when that interesting communication took +place?”</p> +<p>“Yesterday, just before you blundered in here of all +days in the year. I was sorry for him.”</p> +<p>“Why tell me this? I couldn’t help noticing +it. I regretted I hadn’t my umbrella with +me.”</p> +<p>“Those unforgiven tears! Oh, you simple +soul! Don’t you know that people never cry for +anybody but themselves? . . . <i>Amigo</i> George, tell +me—what are we doing in this world?”</p> +<p>“Do you mean all the people, everybody?”</p> +<p>“No, only people like you and me. Simple people, +in this world which is eaten up with charlatanism of all sorts so +that even we, the simple, don’t know any longer how to +trust each other.”</p> +<p>“Don’t we? Then why don’t you trust +him? You are dying to do so, don’t you +know?”</p> +<p>She dropped her chin on her breast and from under her straight +eyebrows the deep blue eyes remained fixed on me, impersonally, +as if without thought.</p> +<p>“What have you been doing since you left me +yesterday?” she asked.</p> +<p>“The first thing I remember I abused your sister +horribly this morning.”</p> +<p>“And how did she take it?”</p> +<p>“Like a warm shower in spring. She drank it all in +and unfolded her petals.”</p> +<p>“What poetical expressions he uses! That girl is +more perverted than one would think possible, considering what +she is and whence she came. It’s true that I, too, +come from the same spot.”</p> +<p>“She is slightly crazy. I am a great favourite +with her. I don’t say this to boast.”</p> +<p>“It must be very comforting.”</p> +<p>“Yes, it has cheered me immensely. Then after a +morning of delightful musings on one thing and another I went to +lunch with a charming lady and spent most of the afternoon +talking with her.”</p> +<p>Doña Rita raised her head.</p> +<p>“A lady! Women seem such mysterious creatures to +me. I don’t know them. Did you abuse her? +Did she—how did you say that?—unfold her petals, +too? Was she really and truly . . .?”</p> +<p>“She is simply perfection in her way and the +conversation was by no means banal. I fancy that if your +late parrot had heard it, he would have fallen off his +perch. For after all, in that Allègre Pavilion, my +dear Rita, you were but a crowd of glorified +<i>bourgeois</i>.”</p> +<p>She was beautifully animated now. In her motionless blue +eyes like melted sapphires, around those red lips that almost +without moving could breathe enchanting sounds into the world, +there was a play of light, that mysterious ripple of gaiety that +seemed always to run and faintly quiver under her skin even in +her gravest moods; just as in her rare moments of gaiety its +warmth and radiance seemed to come to one through infinite +sadness, like the sunlight of our life hiding the invincible +darkness in which the universe must work out its impenetrable +destiny.</p> +<p>“Now I think of it! . . . Perhaps that’s the +reason I never could feel perfectly serious while they were +demolishing the world about my ears. I fancy now that I +could tell beforehand what each of them was going to say. +They were repeating the same words over and over again, those +great clever men, very much like parrots who also seem to know +what they say. That doesn’t apply to the master of +the house, who never talked much. He sat there mostly +silent and looming up three sizes bigger than any of +them.”</p> +<p>“The ruler of the aviary,” I muttered +viciously.</p> +<p>“It annoys you that I should talk of that time?” +she asked in a tender voice. “Well, I won’t, +except for once to say that you must not make a mistake: in that +aviary he was the man. I know because he used to talk to me +afterwards sometimes. Strange! For six years he +seemed to carry all the world and me with it in his hand. . . . +”</p> +<p>“He dominates you yet,” I shouted.</p> +<p>She shook her head innocently as a child would do.</p> +<p>“No, no. You brought him into the conversation +yourself. You think of him much more than I +do.” Her voice drooped sadly to a hopeless +note. “I hardly ever do. He is not the sort of +person to merely flit through one’s mind and so I have no +time. Look. I had eleven letters this morning and +there were also five telegrams before midday, which have tangled +up everything. I am quite frightened.”</p> +<p>And she explained to me that one of them—the long one on +the top of the pile, on the table over there—seemed to +contain ugly inferences directed at herself in a menacing +way. She begged me to read it and see what I could make of +it.</p> +<p>I knew enough of the general situation to see at a glance that +she had misunderstood it thoroughly and even amazingly. I +proved it to her very quickly. But her mistake was so +ingenious in its wrongheadedness and arose so obviously from the +distraction of an acute mind, that I couldn’t help looking +at her admiringly.</p> +<p>“Rita,” I said, “you are a marvellous +idiot.”</p> +<p>“Am I? Imbecile,” she retorted with an +enchanting smile of relief. “But perhaps it only +seems so to you in contrast with the lady so perfect in her +way. What is her way?”</p> +<p>“Her way, I should say, lies somewhere between her +sixtieth and seventieth year, and I have walked +tête-à-tête with her for some little distance +this afternoon.”</p> +<p>“Heavens,” she whispered, thunderstruck. +“And meantime I had the son here. He arrived about +five minutes after Rose left with that note for you,” she +went on in a tone of awe. “As a matter of fact, Rose +saw him across the street but she thought she had better go on to +you.”</p> +<p>“I am furious with myself for not having guessed that +much,” I said bitterly. “I suppose you got him +out of the house about five minutes after you heard I was coming +here. Rose ought to have turned back when she saw him on +his way to cheer your solitude. That girl is stupid after +all, though she has got a certain amount of low cunning which no +doubt is very useful at times.”</p> +<p>“I forbid you to talk like this about Rose. I +won’t have it. Rose is not to be abused before +me.”</p> +<p>“I only mean to say that she failed in this instance to +read your mind, that’s all.”</p> +<p>“This is, without exception, the most unintelligent +thing you have said ever since I have known you. You may +understand a lot about running contraband and about the minds of +a certain class of people, but as to Rose’s mind let me +tell you that in comparison with hers yours is absolutely +infantile, my adventurous friend. It would be contemptible +if it weren’t so—what shall I call +it?—babyish. You ought to be slapped and put to +bed.” There was an extraordinary earnestness in her +tone and when she ceased I listened yet to the seductive +inflexions of her voice, that no matter in what mood she spoke +seemed only fit for tenderness and love. And I thought +suddenly of Azzolati being ordered to take himself off from her +presence for ever, in that voice the very anger of which seemed +to twine itself gently round one’s heart. No wonder +the poor wretch could not forget the scene and couldn’t +restrain his tears on the plain of Rambouillet. My moods of +resentment against Rita, hot as they were, had no more duration +than a blaze of straw. So I only said:</p> +<p>“Much <i>you</i> know about the management of +children.” The corners of her lips stirred quaintly; +her animosity, especially when provoked by a personal attack upon +herself, was always tinged by a sort of wistful humour of the +most disarming kind.</p> +<p>“Come, <i>amigo</i> George, let us leave poor Rose +alone. You had better tell me what you heard from the lips +of the charming old lady. Perfection, isn’t +she? I have never seen her in my life, though she says she +has seen me several times. But she has written to me on +three separate occasions and every time I answered her as if I +were writing to a queen. <i>Amigo</i> George, how does one +write to a queen? How should a goatherd that could have +been mistress of a king, how should she write to an old queen +from very far away; from over the sea?”</p> +<p>“I will ask you as I have asked the old queen: why do +you tell me all this, Doña Rita?”</p> +<p>“To discover what’s in your mind,” she said, +a little impatiently.</p> +<p>“If you don’t know that yet!” I exclaimed +under my breath.</p> +<p>“No, not in your mind. Can any one ever tell what +is in a man’s mind? But I see you won’t +tell.”</p> +<p>“What’s the good? You have written to her +before, I understand. Do you think of continuing the +correspondence?”</p> +<p>“Who knows?” she said in a profound tone. +“She is the only woman that ever wrote to me. I +returned her three letters to her with my last answer, explaining +humbly that I preferred her to burn them herself. And I +thought that would be the end of it. But an occasion may +still arise.”</p> +<p>“Oh, if an occasion arises,” I said, trying to +control my rage, “you may be able to begin your letter by +the words ‘<i>Chère Maman</i>.’”</p> +<p>The cigarette box, which she had taken up without removing her +eyes from me, flew out of her hand and opening in mid-air +scattered cigarettes for quite a surprising distance all over the +room. I got up at once and wandered off picking them up +industriously. Doña Rita’s voice behind me +said indifferently:</p> +<p>“Don’t trouble, I will ring for Rose.”</p> +<p>“No need,” I growled, without turning my head, +“I can find my hat in the hall by myself, after I’ve +finished picking up . . . ”</p> +<p>“Bear!”</p> +<p>I returned with the box and placed it on the divan near +her. She sat cross-legged, leaning back on her arms, in the +blue shimmer of her embroidered robe and with the tawny halo of +her unruly hair about her face which she raised to mine with an +air of resignation.</p> +<p>“George, my friend,” she said, “we have no +manners.”</p> +<p>“You would never have made a career at court, +Doña Rita,” I observed. “You are too +impulsive.”</p> +<p>“This is not bad manners, that’s sheer +insolence. This has happened to you before. If it +happens again, as I can’t be expected to wrestle with a +savage and desperate smuggler single-handed, I will go upstairs +and lock myself in my room till you leave the house. Why +did you say this to me?”</p> +<p>“Oh, just for nothing, out of a full heart.”</p> +<p>“If your heart is full of things like that, then my dear +friend, you had better take it out and give it to the +crows. No! you said that for the pleasure of appearing +terrible. And you see you are not terrible at all, you are +rather amusing. Go on, continue to be amusing. Tell +me something of what you heard from the lips of that aristocratic +old lady who thinks that all men are equal and entitled to the +pursuit of happiness.”</p> +<p>“I hardly remember now. I heard something about +the unworthiness of certain white geese out of stuffy +drawing-rooms. It sounds mad, but the lady knows exactly +what she wants. I also heard your praises sung. I sat +there like a fool not knowing what to say.”</p> +<p>“Why? You might have joined in the +singing.”</p> +<p>“I didn’t feel in the humour, because, don’t +you see, I had been incidentally given to understand that I was +an insignificant and superfluous person who had better get out of +the way of serious people.”</p> +<p>“Ah, <i>par exemple</i>!”</p> +<p>“In a sense, you know, it was flattering; but for the +moment it made me feel as if I had been offered a pot of mustard +to sniff.”</p> +<p>She nodded with an amused air of understanding and I could see +that she was interested. “Anything more?” she +asked, with a flash of radiant eagerness in all her person and +bending slightly forward towards me.</p> +<p>“Oh, it’s hardly worth mentioning. It was a +sort of threat wrapped up, I believe, in genuine anxiety as to +what might happen to my youthful insignificance. If I +hadn’t been rather on the alert just then I wouldn’t +even have perceived the meaning. But really an allusion to +‘hot Southern blood’ I could have only one +meaning. Of course I laughed at it, but only ‘<i>pour +l’honneur</i>’ and to show I understood +perfectly. In reality it left me completely +indifferent.”</p> +<p>Doña Rita looked very serious for a minute.</p> +<p>“Indifferent to the whole conversation?”</p> +<p>I looked at her angrily.</p> +<p>“To the whole . . . You see I got up rather out of sorts +this morning. Unrefreshed, you know. As if tired of +life.”</p> +<p>The liquid blue in her eyes remained directed at me without +any expression except that of its usual mysterious immobility, +but all her face took on a sad and thoughtful cast. Then as +if she had made up her mind under the pressure of necessity:</p> +<p>“Listen, <i>amigo</i>,” she said, “I have +suffered domination and it didn’t crush me because I have +been strong enough to live with it; I have known caprice, you may +call it folly if you like, and it left me unharmed because I was +great enough not to be captured by anything that wasn’t +really worthy of me. My dear, it went down like a house of +cards before my breath. There is something in me that will +not be dazzled by any sort of prestige in this world, worthy or +unworthy. I am telling you this because you are younger +than myself.”</p> +<p>“If you want me to say that there is nothing petty or +mean about you, Doña Rita, then I do say it.”</p> +<p>She nodded at me with an air of accepting the rendered justice +and went on with the utmost simplicity.</p> +<p>“And what is it that is coming to me now with all the +airs of virtue? All the lawful conventions are coming to +me, all the glamours of respectability! And nobody can say +that I have made as much as the slightest little sign to +them. Not so much as lifting my little finger. I +suppose you know that?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know. I do not doubt your sincerity +in anything you say. I am ready to believe. You are +not one of those who have to work.”</p> +<p>“Have to work—what do you mean?”</p> +<p>“It’s a phrase I have heard. What I meant +was that it isn’t necessary for you to make any +signs.”</p> +<p>She seemed to meditate over this for a while.</p> +<p>“Don’t be so sure of that,” she said, with a +flash of mischief, which made her voice sound more melancholy +than before. “I am not so sure myself,” she +continued with a curious, vanishing, intonation of despair. +“I don’t know the truth about myself because I never +had an opportunity to compare myself to anything in the +world. I have been offered mock adulation, treated with +mock reserve or with mock devotion, I have been fawned upon with +an appalling earnestness of purpose, I can tell you; but these +later honours, my dear, came to me in the shape of a very loyal +and very scrupulous gentleman. For he is all that. +And as a matter of fact I was touched.”</p> +<p>“I know. Even to tears,” I said +provokingly. But she wasn’t provoked, she only shook +her head in negation (which was absurd) and pursued the trend of +her spoken thoughts.</p> +<p>“That was yesterday,” she said. “And +yesterday he was extremely correct and very full of extreme +self-esteem which expressed itself in the exaggerated delicacy +with which he talked. But I know him in all his +moods. I have known him even playful. I didn’t +listen to him. I was thinking of something else. Of +things that were neither correct nor playful and that had to be +looked at steadily with all the best that was in me. And +that was why, in the end—I +cried—yesterday.”</p> +<p>“I saw it yesterday and I had the weakness of being +moved by those tears for a time.”</p> +<p>“If you want to make me cry again I warn you you +won’t succeed.”</p> +<p>“No, I know. He has been here to-day and the dry +season has set in.”</p> +<p>“Yes, he has been here. I assure you it was +perfectly unexpected. Yesterday he was railing at the world +at large, at me who certainly have not made it, at himself and +even at his mother. All this rather in parrot language, in +the words of tradition and morality as understood by the members +of that exclusive club to which he belongs. And yet when I +thought that all this, those poor hackneyed words, expressed a +sincere passion I could have found in my heart to be sorry for +him. But he ended by telling me that one couldn’t +believe a single word I said, or something like that. You +were here then, you heard it yourself.”</p> +<p>“And it cut you to the quick,” I said. +“It made you depart from your dignity to the point of +weeping on any shoulder that happened to be there. And +considering that it was some more parrot talk after all (men have +been saying that sort of thing to women from the beginning of the +world) this sensibility seems to me childish.”</p> +<p>“What perspicacity,” she observed, with an +indulgent, mocking smile, then changed her tone. +“Therefore he wasn’t expected to-day when he turned +up, whereas you, who were expected, remained subject to the +charms of conversation in that studio. It never occurred to +you . . . did it? No! What had become of your +perspicacity?”</p> +<p>“I tell you I was weary of life,” I said in a +passion.</p> +<p>She had another faint smile of a fugitive and unrelated kind +as if she had been thinking of far-off things, then roused +herself to grave animation.</p> +<p>“He came in full of smiling playfulness. How well +I know that mood! Such self-command has its beauty; but +it’s no great help for a man with such fateful eyes. +I could see he was moved in his correct, restrained way, and in +his own way, too, he tried to move me with something that would +be very simple. He told me that ever since we became +friends, we two, he had not an hour of continuous sleep, unless +perhaps when coming back dead-tired from outpost duty, and that +he longed to get back to it and yet hadn’t the courage to +tear himself away from here. He was as simple as +that. He’s a <i>très galant homme</i> of +absolute probity, even with himself. I said to him: The +trouble is, Don Juan, that it isn’t love but mistrust that +keeps you in torment. I might have said jealousy, but I +didn’t like to use that word. A parrot would have +added that I had given him no right to be jealous. But I am +no parrot. I recognized the rights of his passion which I +could very well see. He is jealous. He is not jealous +of my past or of the future; but he is jealously mistrustful of +me, of what I am, of my very soul. He believes in a soul in +the same way Therese does, as something that can be touched with +grace or go to perdition; and he doesn’t want to be damned +with me before his own judgment seat. He is a most noble +and loyal gentleman, but I have my own Basque peasant soul and +don’t want to think that every time he goes away from my +feet—yes, <i>mon cher</i>, on this carpet, look for the +marks of scorching—that he goes away feeling tempted to +brush the dust off his moral sleeve. That! +Never!”</p> +<p>With brusque movements she took a cigarette out of the box, +held it in her fingers for a moment, then dropped it +unconsciously.</p> +<p>“And then, I don’t love him,” she uttered +slowly as if speaking to herself and at the same time watching +the very quality of that thought. “I never did. +At first he fascinated me with his fatal aspect and his cold +society smiles. But I have looked into those eyes too +often. There are too many disdains in this aristocratic +republican without a home. His fate may be cruel, but it +will always be commonplace. While he sat there trying in a +worldly tone to explain to me the problems, the scruples, of his +suffering honour, I could see right into his heart and I was +sorry for him. I was sorry enough for him to feel that if +he had suddenly taken me by the throat and strangled me slowly, +<i>avec délices</i>, I could forgive him while I +choked. How correct he was! But bitterness against me +peeped out of every second phrase. At last I raised my hand +and said to him, ‘Enough.’ I believe he was +shocked by my plebeian abruptness but he was too polite to show +it. His conventions will always stand in the way of his +nature. I told him that everything that had been said and +done during the last seven or eight months was inexplicable +unless on the assumption that he was in love with me,—and +yet in everything there was an implication that he couldn’t +forgive me my very existence. I did ask him whether he +didn’t think that it was absurd on his part . . . +”</p> +<p>“Didn’t you say that it was exquisitely +absurd?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Exquisitely! . . . ” Doña Rita was +surprised at my question. “No. Why should I say +that?”</p> +<p>“It would have reconciled him to your abruptness. +It’s their family expression. It would have come with +a familiar sound and would have been less offensive.”</p> +<p>“Offensive,” Doña Rita repeated +earnestly. “I don’t think he was offended; he +suffered in another way, but I didn’t care for that. +It was I that had become offended in the end, without spite, you +understand, but past bearing. I didn’t spare +him. I told him plainly that to want a woman formed in mind +and body, mistress of herself, free in her choice, independent in +her thoughts; to love her apparently for what she is and at the +same time to demand from her the candour and the innocence that +could be only a shocking pretence; to know her such as life had +made her and at the same time to despise her secretly for every +touch with which her life had fashioned her—that was +neither generous nor high minded; it was positively +frantic. He got up and went away to lean against the +mantelpiece, there, on his elbow and with his head in his +hand. You have no idea of the charm and the distinction of +his pose. I couldn’t help admiring him: the +expression, the grace, the fatal suggestion of his +immobility. Oh, yes, I am sensible to aesthetic +impressions, I have been educated to believe that there is a soul +in them.”</p> +<p>With that enigmatic, under the eyebrows glance fixed on me she +laughed her deep contralto laugh without mirth but also without +irony, and profoundly moving by the mere purity of the sound.</p> +<p>“I suspect he was never so disgusted and appalled in his +life. His self-command is the most admirable worldly thing +I have ever seen. What made it beautiful was that one could +feel in it a tragic suggestion as in a great work of +art.”</p> +<p>She paused with an inscrutable smile that a great painter +might have put on the face of some symbolic figure for the +speculation and wonder of many generations. I said:</p> +<p>“I always thought that love for you could work great +wonders. And now I am certain.”</p> +<p>“Are you trying to be ironic?” she said sadly and +very much as a child might have spoken.</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” I answered in a tone of the +same simplicity. “I find it very difficult to be +generous.”</p> +<p>“I, too,” she said with a sort of funny +eagerness. “I didn’t treat him very +generously. Only I didn’t say much more. I +found I didn’t care what I said—and it would have +been like throwing insults at a beautiful composition. He +was well inspired not to move. It has spared him some +disagreeable truths and perhaps I would even have said more than +the truth. I am not fair. I am no more fair than +other people. I would have been harsh. My very +admiration was making me more angry. It’s ridiculous +to say of a man got up in correct tailor clothes, but there was a +funereal grace in his attitude so that he might have been +reproduced in marble on a monument to some woman in one of those +atrocious Campo Santos: the bourgeois conception of an +aristocratic mourning lover. When I came to that conclusion +I became glad that I was angry or else I would have laughed right +out before him.”</p> +<p>“I have heard a woman say once, a woman of the +people—do you hear me, Doña Rita?—therefore +deserving your attention, that one should never laugh at +love.”</p> +<p>“My dear,” she said gently, “I have been +taught to laugh at most things by a man who never laughed +himself; but it’s true that he never spoke of love to me, +love as a subject that is. So perhaps . . . But +why?”</p> +<p>“Because (but maybe that old woman was crazy), because, +she said, there was death in the mockery of love.”</p> +<p>Doña Rita moved slightly her beautiful shoulders and +went on:</p> +<p>“I am glad, then, I didn’t laugh. And I am +also glad I said nothing more. I was feeling so little +generous that if I had known something then of his mother’s +allusion to ‘white geese’ I would have advised him to +get one of them and lead it away on a beautiful blue +ribbon. Mrs. Blunt was wrong, you know, to be so +scornful. A white goose is exactly what her son +wants. But look how badly the world is arranged. Such +white birds cannot be got for nothing and he has not enough money +even to buy a ribbon. Who knows! Maybe it was this +which gave that tragic quality to his pose by the mantelpiece +over there. Yes, that was it. Though no doubt I +didn’t see it then. As he didn’t offer to move +after I had done speaking I became quite unaffectedly sorry and +advised him very gently to dismiss me from his mind +definitely. He moved forward then and said to me in his +usual voice and with his usual smile that it would have been +excellent advice but unfortunately I was one of those women who +can’t be dismissed at will. And as I shook my head he +insisted rather darkly: ‘Oh, yes, Doña Rita, it is +so. Cherish no illusions about that fact.’ It +sounded so threatening that in my surprise I didn’t even +acknowledge his parting bow. He went out of that false +situation like a wounded man retreating after a fight. No, +I have nothing to reproach myself with. I did +nothing. I led him into nothing. Whatever illusions +have passed through my head I kept my distance, and he was so +loyal to what he seemed to think the redeeming proprieties of the +situation that he has gone from me for good without so much as +kissing the tips of my fingers. He must have felt like a +man who had betrayed himself for nothing. It’s +horrible. It’s the fault of that enormous fortune of +mine, and I wish with all my heart that I could give it to him; +for he couldn’t help his hatred of the thing that is: and +as to his love, which is just as real, well—could I have +rushed away from him to shut myself up in a convent? Could +I? After all I have a right to my share of +daylight.”</p> +<h3>CHAPTER V</h3> +<p>I took my eyes from her face and became aware that dusk was +beginning to steal into the room. How strange it +seemed. Except for the glazed rotunda part its long walls, +divided into narrow panels separated by an order of flat +pilasters, presented, depicted on a black background and in vivid +colours, slender women with butterfly wings and lean youths with +narrow birds’ wings. The effect was supposed to be +Pompeiian and Rita and I had often laughed at the delirious fancy +of some enriched shopkeeper. But still it was a display of +fancy, a sign of grace; but at that moment these figures appeared +to me weird and intrusive and strangely alive in their attenuated +grace of unearthly beings concealing a power to see and hear.</p> +<p>Without words, without gestures, Doña Rita was heard +again. “It may have been as near coming to pass as +this.” She showed me the breadth of her little finger +nail. “Yes, as near as that. Why? +How? Just like that, for nothing. Because it had come +up. Because a wild notion had entered a practical old +woman’s head. Yes. And the best of it is that I +have nothing to complain of. Had I surrendered I would have +been perfectly safe with these two. It is they or rather he +who couldn’t trust me, or rather that something which I +express, which I stand for. Mills would never tell me what +it was. Perhaps he didn’t know exactly himself. +He said it was something like genius. My genius! Oh, +I am not conscious of it, believe me, I am not conscious of +it. But if I were I wouldn’t pluck it out and cast it +away. I am ashamed of nothing, of nothing! +Don’t be stupid enough to think that I have the slightest +regret. There is no regret. First of all because I am +I—and then because . . . My dear, believe me, I have had a +horrible time of it myself lately.”</p> +<p>This seemed to be the last word. Outwardly quiet, all +the time, it was only then that she became composed enough to +light an enormous cigarette of the same pattern as those made +specially for the king—<i>por el Rey</i>! After a time, +tipping the ash into the bowl on her left hand, she asked me in a +friendly, almost tender, tone:</p> +<p>“What are you thinking of, <i>amigo</i>?”</p> +<p>“I was thinking of your immense generosity. You +want to give a crown to one man, a fortune to another. That +is very fine. But I suppose there is a limit to your +generosity somewhere.”</p> +<p>“I don’t see why there should be any +limit—to fine intentions! Yes, one would like to pay +ransom and be done with it all.”</p> +<p>“That’s the feeling of a captive; and yet somehow +I can’t think of you as ever having been anybody’s +captive.”</p> +<p>“You do display some wonderful insight sometimes. +My dear, I begin to suspect that men are rather conceited about +their powers. They think they dominate us. Even +exceptional men will think that; men too great for mere vanity, +men like Henry Allègre for instance, who by his consistent +and serene detachment was certainly fit to dominate all sorts of +people. Yet for the most part they can only do it because +women choose more or less consciously to let them do so. +Henry Allègre, if any man, might have been certain of his +own power; and yet, look: I was a chit of a girl, I was sitting +with a book where I had no business to be, in his own garden, +when he suddenly came upon me, an ignorant girl of seventeen, a +most uninviting creature with a tousled head, in an old black +frock and shabby boots. I could have run away. I was +perfectly capable of it. But I stayed looking up at him +and—in the end it was <span class="smcap">he</span> who +went away and it was I who stayed.”</p> +<p>“Consciously?” I murmured.</p> +<p>“Consciously? You may just as well ask my shadow +that lay so still by me on the young grass in that morning +sunshine. I never knew before how still I could keep. +It wasn’t the stillness of terror. I remained, +knowing perfectly well that if I ran he was not the man to run +after me. I remember perfectly his deep-toned, politely +indifferent ‘<i>Restez donc</i>.’ He was +mistaken. Already then I hadn’t the slightest +intention to move. And if you ask me again how far +conscious all this was the nearest answer I can make you is this: +that I remained on purpose, but I didn’t know for what +purpose I remained. Really, that couldn’t be +expected. . . . Why do you sigh like this? Would you have +preferred me to be idiotically innocent or abominably +wise?”</p> +<p>“These are not the questions that trouble me,” I +said. “If I sighed it is because I am +weary.”</p> +<p>“And getting stiff, too, I should say, in this Pompeiian +armchair. You had better get out of it and sit on this +couch as you always used to do. That, at any rate, is not +Pompeiian. You have been growing of late extremely formal, +I don’t know why. If it is a pose then for +goodness’ sake drop it. Are you going to model +yourself on Captain Blunt? You couldn’t, you +know. You are too young.”</p> +<p>“I don’t want to model myself on anybody,” I +said. “And anyway Blunt is too romantic; and, +moreover, he has been and is yet in love with you—a thing +that requires some style, an attitude, something of which I am +altogether incapable.”</p> +<p>“You know it isn’t so stupid, this what you have +just said. Yes, there is something in this.”</p> +<p>“I am not stupid,” I protested, without much +heat.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, you are. You don’t know the world +enough to judge. You don’t know how wise men can +be. Owls are nothing to them. Why do you try to look +like an owl? There are thousands and thousands of them +waiting for me outside the door: the staring, hissing +beasts. You don’t know what a relief of mental ease +and intimacy you have been to me in the frankness of gestures and +speeches and thoughts, sane or insane, that we have been throwing +at each other. I have known nothing of this in my life but +with you. There had always been some fear, some constraint, +lurking in the background behind everybody, +everybody—except you, my friend.”</p> +<p>“An unmannerly, Arcadian state of affairs. I am +glad you like it. Perhaps it’s because you were +intelligent enough to perceive that I was not in love with you in +any sort of style.”</p> +<p>“No, you were always your own self, unwise and reckless +and with something in it kindred to mine, if I may say so without +offence.”</p> +<p>“You may say anything without offence. But has it +never occurred to your sagacity that I just, simply, loved +you?”</p> +<p>“Just—simply,” she repeated in a wistful +tone.</p> +<p>“You didn’t want to trouble your head about it, is +that it?”</p> +<p>“My poor head. From your tone one might think you +yearned to cut it off. No, my dear, I have made up my mind +not to lose my head.”</p> +<p>“You would be astonished to know how little I care for +your mind.”</p> +<p>“Would I? Come and sit on the couch all the +same,” she said after a moment of hesitation. Then, +as I did not move at once, she added with indifference: +“You may sit as far away as you like, it’s big +enough, goodness knows.”</p> +<p>The light was ebbing slowly out of the rotunda and to my +bodily eyes she was beginning to grow shadowy. I sat down +on the couch and for a long time no word passed between us. +We made no movement. We did not even turn towards each +other. All I was conscious of was the softness of the seat +which seemed somehow to cause a relaxation of my stern mood, I +won’t say against my will but without any will on my +part. Another thing I was conscious of, strangely enough, +was the enormous brass bowl for cigarette ends. Quietly, +with the least possible action, Doña Rita moved it to the +other side of her motionless person. Slowly, the fantastic +women with butterflies’ wings and the slender-limbed youths +with the gorgeous pinions on their shoulders were vanishing into +their black backgrounds with an effect of silent discretion, +leaving us to ourselves.</p> +<p>I felt suddenly extremely exhausted, absolutely overcome with +fatigue since I had moved; as if to sit on that Pompeiian chair +had been a task almost beyond human strength, a sort of labour +that must end in collapse. I fought against it for a moment +and then my resistance gave way. Not all at once but as if +yielding to an irresistible pressure (for I was not conscious of +any irresistible attraction) I found myself with my head resting, +with a weight I felt must be crushing, on Doña +Rita’s shoulder which yet did not give way, did not flinch +at all. A faint scent of violets filled the tragic +emptiness of my head and it seemed impossible to me that I should +not cry from sheer weakness. But I remained dry-eyed. +I only felt myself slipping lower and lower and I caught her +round the waist clinging to her not from any intention but purely +by instinct. All that time she hadn’t stirred. +There was only the slight movement of her breathing that showed +her to be alive; and with closed eyes I imagined her to be lost +in thought, removed by an incredible meditation while I clung to +her, to an immense distance from the earth. The distance +must have been immense because the silence was so perfect, the +feeling as if of eternal stillness. I had a distinct +impression of being in contact with an infinity that had the +slightest possible rise and fall, was pervaded by a warm, +delicate scent of violets and through which came a hand from +somewhere to rest lightly on my head. Presently my ear +caught the faint and regular pulsation of her heart, firm and +quick, infinitely touching in its persistent mystery, disclosing +itself into my very ear—and my felicity became +complete.</p> +<p>It was a dreamlike state combined with a dreamlike sense of +insecurity. Then in that warm and scented infinity, or +eternity, in which I rested lost in bliss but ready for any +catastrophe, I heard the distant, hardly audible, and fit to +strike terror into the heart, ringing of a bell. At this +sound the greatness of spaces departed. I felt the world +close about me; the world of darkened walls, of very deep grey +dusk against the panes, and I asked in a pained voice:</p> +<p>“Why did you ring, Rita?”</p> +<p>There was a bell rope within reach of her hand. I had +not felt her move, but she said very low:</p> +<p>“I rang for the lights.”</p> +<p>“You didn’t want the lights.”</p> +<p>“It was time,” she whispered secretly.</p> +<p>Somewhere within the house a door slammed. I got away +from her feeling small and weak as if the best part of me had +been torn away and irretrievably lost. Rose must have been +somewhere near the door.</p> +<p>“It’s abominable,” I murmured to the still, +idol-like shadow on the couch.</p> +<p>The answer was a hurried, nervous whisper: “I tell you +it was time. I rang because I had no strength to push you +away.”</p> +<p>I suffered a moment of giddiness before the door opened, light +streamed in, and Rose entered, preceding a man in a green baize +apron whom I had never seen, carrying on an enormous tray three +Argand lamps fitted into vases of Pompeiian form. Rose +distributed them over the room. In the flood of soft light +the winged youths and the butterfly women reappeared on the +panels, affected, gorgeous, callously unconscious of anything +having happened during their absence. Rose attended to the +lamp on the nearest mantelpiece, then turned about and asked in a +confident undertone.</p> +<p>“<i>Monsieur dîne</i>?”</p> +<p>I had lost myself with my elbows on my knees and my head in my +hands, but I heard the words distinctly. I heard also the +silence which ensued. I sat up and took the responsibility +of the answer on myself.</p> +<p>“Impossible. I am going to sea this +evening.”</p> +<p>This was perfectly true only I had totally forgotten it till +then. For the last two days my being was no longer composed +of memories but exclusively of sensations of the most absorbing, +disturbing, exhausting nature. I was like a man who has +been buffeted by the sea or by a mob till he loses all hold on +the world in the misery of his helplessness. But now I was +recovering. And naturally the first thing I remembered was +the fact that I was going to sea.</p> +<p>“You have heard, Rose,” Doña Rita said at +last with some impatience.</p> +<p>The girl waited a moment longer before she said:</p> +<p>“Oh, yes! There is a man waiting for Monsieur in +the hall. A seaman.”</p> +<p>It could be no one but Dominic. It dawned upon me that +since the evening of our return I had not been near him or the +ship, which was completely unusual, unheard of, and well +calculated to startle Dominic.</p> +<p>“I have seen him before,” continued Rose, +“and as he told me he has been pursuing Monsieur all the +afternoon and didn’t like to go away without seeing +Monsieur for a moment, I proposed to him to wait in the hall till +Monsieur was at liberty.”</p> +<p>I said: “Very well,” and with a sudden resumption +of her extremely busy, not-a-moment-to-lose manner Rose departed +from the room. I lingered in an imaginary world full of +tender light, of unheard-of colours, with a mad riot of flowers +and an inconceivable happiness under the sky arched above its +yawning precipices, while a feeling of awe enveloped me like its +own proper atmosphere. But everything vanished at the sound +of Doña Rita’s loud whisper full of boundless +dismay, such as to make one’s hair stir on one’s +head.</p> +<p>“<i>Mon Dieu</i>! And what is going to happen +now?”</p> +<p>She got down from the couch and walked to a window. When +the lights had been brought into the room all the panes had +turned inky black; for the night had come and the garden was full +of tall bushes and trees screening off the gas lamps of the main +alley of the Prado. Whatever the question meant she was not +likely to see an answer to it outside. But her whisper had +offended me, had hurt something infinitely deep, infinitely +subtle and infinitely clear-eyed in my nature. I said after +her from the couch on which I had remained, “Don’t +lose your composure. You will always have some sort of bell +at hand.”</p> +<p>I saw her shrug her uncovered shoulders impatiently. Her +forehead was against the very blackness of the panes; pulled +upward from the beautiful, strong nape of her neck, the twisted +mass of her tawny hair was held high upon her head by the arrow +of gold.</p> +<p>“You set up for being unforgiving,” she said +without anger.</p> +<p>I sprang to my feet while she turned about and came towards me +bravely, with a wistful smile on her bold, adolescent face.</p> +<p>“It seems to me,” she went on in a voice like a +wave of love itself, “that one should try to understand +before one sets up for being unforgiving. Forgiveness is a +very fine word. It is a fine invocation.”</p> +<p>“There are other fine words in the language such as +fascination, fidelity, also frivolity; and as for invocations +there are plenty of them, too; for instance: alas, heaven help +me.”</p> +<p>We stood very close together, her narrow eyes were as +enigmatic as ever, but that face, which, like some ideal +conception of art, was incapable of anything like untruth and +grimace, expressed by some mysterious means such a depth of +infinite patience that I felt profoundly ashamed of myself.</p> +<p>“This thing is beyond words altogether,” I +said. “Beyond forgiveness, beyond forgetting, beyond +anger or jealousy. . . . There is nothing between us two that +could make us act together.”</p> +<p>“Then we must fall back perhaps on something within us, +that—you admit it?—we have in common.”</p> +<p>“Don’t be childish,” I said. +“You give one with a perpetual and intense freshness +feelings and sensations that are as old as the world itself, and +you imagine that your enchantment can be broken off anywhere, at +any time! But it can’t be broken. And +forgetfulness, like everything else, can only come from +you. It’s an impossible situation to stand up +against.”</p> +<p>She listened with slightly parted lips as if to catch some +further resonances.</p> +<p>“There is a sort of generous ardour about you,” +she said, “which I don’t really understand. No, +I don’t know it. Believe me, it is not of myself I am +thinking. And you—you are going out to-night to make +another landing.”</p> +<p>“Yes, it is a fact that before many hours I will be +sailing away from you to try my luck once more.”</p> +<p>“Your wonderful luck,” she breathed out.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, I am wonderfully lucky. Unless the luck +really is yours—in having found somebody like me, who cares +at the same time so much and so little for what you have at +heart.”</p> +<p>“What time will you be leaving the harbour?” she +asked.</p> +<p>“Some time between midnight and daybreak. Our men +may be a little late in joining, but certainly we will be gone +before the first streak of light.”</p> +<p>“What freedom!” she murmured enviously. +“It’s something I shall never know. . . .”</p> +<p>“Freedom!” I protested. “I am a slave +to my word. There will be a siring of carts and mules on a +certain part of the coast, and a most ruffianly lot of men, men +you understand, men with wives and children and sweethearts, who +from the very moment they start on a trip risk a bullet in the +head at any moment, but who have a perfect conviction that I will +never fail them. That’s my freedom. I wonder +what they would think if they knew of your existence.”</p> +<p>“I don’t exist,” she said.</p> +<p>“That’s easy to say. But I will go as if you +didn’t exist—yet only because you do exist. You +exist in me. I don’t know where I end and you +begin. You have got into my heart and into my veins and +into my brain.”</p> +<p>“Take this fancy out and trample it down in the +dust,” she said in a tone of timid entreaty.</p> +<p>“Heroically,” I suggested with the sarcasm of +despair.</p> +<p>“Well, yes, heroically,” she said; and there +passed between us dim smiles, I have no doubt of the most +touching imbecility on earth. We were standing by then in +the middle of the room with its vivid colours on a black +background, with its multitude of winged figures with pale limbs, +with hair like halos or flames, all strangely tense in their +strained, decorative attitudes. Doña Rita made a +step towards me, and as I attempted to seize her hand she flung +her arms round my neck. I felt their strength drawing me +towards her and by a sort of blind and desperate effort I +resisted. And all the time she was repeating with nervous +insistence:</p> +<p>“But it is true that you will go. You will +surely. Not because of those people but because of +me. You will go away because you feel you must.”</p> +<p>With every word urging me to get away, her clasp tightened, +she hugged my head closer to her breast. I submitted, +knowing well that I could free myself by one more effort which it +was in my power to make. But before I made it, in a sort of +desperation, I pressed a long kiss into the hollow of her +throat. And lo—there was no need for any +effort. With a stifled cry of surprise her arms fell off me +as if she had been shot. I must have been giddy, and +perhaps we both were giddy, but the next thing I knew there was a +good foot of space between us in the peaceful glow of the +ground-glass globes, in the everlasting stillness of the winged +figures. Something in the quality of her exclamation, +something utterly unexpected, something I had never heard before, +and also the way she was looking at me with a sort of +incredulous, concentrated attention, disconcerted me +exceedingly. I knew perfectly well what I had done and yet +I felt that I didn’t understand what had happened. I +became suddenly abashed and I muttered that I had better go and +dismiss that poor Dominic. She made no answer, gave no +sign. She stood there lost in a vision—or was it a +sensation?—of the most absorbing kind. I hurried out +into the hall, shamefaced, as if I were making my escape while +she wasn’t looking. And yet I felt her looking +fixedly at me, with a sort of stupefaction on her +features—in her whole attitude—as though she had +never even heard of such a thing as a kiss in her life.</p> +<p>A dim lamp (of Pompeiian form) hanging on a long chain left +the hall practically dark. Dominic, advancing towards me +from a distant corner, was but a little more opaque shadow than +the others. He had expected me on board every moment till +about three o’clock, but as I didn’t turn up and gave +no sign of life in any other way he started on his hunt. He +sought news of me from the <i>garçons</i> at the various +cafés, from the <i>cochers de fiacre</i> in front of the +Exchange, from the tobacconist lady at the counter of the +fashionable <i>Débit de Tabac</i>, from the old man who +sold papers outside the <i>cercle</i>, and from the flower-girl +at the door of the fashionable restaurant where I had my +table. That young woman, whose business name was Irma, had +come on duty about mid-day. She said to Dominic: “I +think I’ve seen all his friends this morning but I +haven’t seen him for a week. What has become of +him?”</p> +<p>“That’s exactly what I want to know,” +Dominic replied in a fury and then went back to the harbour on +the chance that I might have called either on board or at Madame +Léonore’s café.</p> +<p>I expressed to him my surprise that he should fuss about me +like an old hen over a chick. It wasn’t like him at +all. And he said that “<i>en effet</i>” it was +Madame Léonore who wouldn’t give him any +peace. He hoped I wouldn’t mind, it was best to +humour women in little things; and so he started off again, made +straight for the street of the Consuls, was told there that I +wasn’t at home but the woman of the house looked so funny +that he didn’t know what to make of it. Therefore, +after some hesitation, he took the liberty to inquire at this +house, too, and being told that I couldn’t be disturbed, +had made up his mind not to go on board without actually setting +his eyes on me and hearing from my own lips that nothing was +changed as to sailing orders.</p> +<p>“There is nothing changed, Dominic,” I said.</p> +<p>“No change of any sort?” he insisted, looking very +sombre and speaking gloomily from under his black moustaches in +the dim glow of the alabaster lamp hanging above his head. +He peered at me in an extraordinary manner as if he wanted to +make sure that I had all my limbs about me. I asked him to +call for my bag at the other house, on his way to the harbour, +and he departed reassured, not, however, without remarking +ironically that ever since she saw that American cavalier Madame +Léonore was not easy in her mind about me.</p> +<p>As I stood alone in the hall, without a sound of any sort, +Rose appeared before me.</p> +<p>“Monsieur will dine after all,” she whispered +calmly.</p> +<p>“My good girl, I am going to sea to-night.”</p> +<p>“What am I going to do with Madame?” she murmured +to herself. “She will insist on returning to +Paris.”</p> +<p>“Oh, have you heard of it?”</p> +<p>“I never get more than two hours’ notice,” +she said. “But I know how it will be,” her +voice lost its calmness. “I can look after Madame up +to a certain point but I cannot be altogether responsible. +There is a dangerous person who is everlastingly trying to see +Madame alone. I have managed to keep him off several times +but there is a beastly old journalist who is encouraging him in +his attempts, and I daren’t even speak to Madame about +it.”</p> +<p>“What sort of person do you mean?”</p> +<p>“Why, a man,” she said scornfully.</p> +<p>I snatched up my coat and hat.</p> +<p>“Aren’t there dozens of them?”</p> +<p>“Oh! But this one is dangerous. Madame must +have given him a hold on her in some way. I ought not to +talk like this about Madame and I wouldn’t to anybody but +Monsieur. I am always on the watch, but what is a poor girl +to do? . . . Isn’t Monsieur going back to +Madame?”</p> +<p>“No, I am not going back. Not this +time.” A mist seemed to fall before my eyes. I +could hardly see the girl standing by the closed door of the +Pempeiian room with extended hand, as if turned to stone. +But my voice was firm enough. “Not this time,” +I repeated, and became aware of the great noise of the wind +amongst the trees, with the lashing of a rain squall against the +door.</p> +<p>“Perhaps some other time,” I added.</p> +<p>I heard her say twice to herself: “<i>Mon +Dieu</i>! <i>Mon</i>, <i>Dieu</i>!” and then a +dismayed: “What can Monsieur expect me to do?” +But I had to appear insensible to her distress and that not +altogether because, in fact, I had no option but to go +away. I remember also a distinct wilfulness in my attitude +and something half-contemptuous in my words as I laid my hand on +the knob of the front door.</p> +<p>“You will tell Madame that I am gone. It will +please her. Tell her that I am +gone—heroically.”</p> +<p>Rose had come up close to me. She met my words by a +despairing outward movement of her hands as though she were +giving everything up.</p> +<p>“I see it clearly now that Madame has no friends,” +she declared with such a force of restrained bitterness that it +nearly made me pause. But the very obscurity of actuating +motives drove me on and I stepped out through the doorway +muttering: “Everything is as Madame wishes it.”</p> +<p>She shot at me a swift: “You should resist,” of an +extraordinary intensity, but I strode on down the path. +Then Rose’s schooled temper gave way at last and I heard +her angry voice screaming after me furiously through the wind and +rain: “No! Madame has no friends. Not +one!”</p> +<h2>PART FIVE</h2> +<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> +<p>That night I didn’t get on board till just before +midnight and Dominic could not conceal his relief at having me +safely there. Why he should have been so uneasy it was +impossible to say but at the time I had a sort of impression that +my inner destruction (it was nothing less) had affected my +appearance, that my doom was as it were written on my face. +I was a mere receptacle for dust and ashes, a living testimony to +the vanity of all things. My very thoughts were like a +ghostly rustle of dead leaves. But we had an extremely +successful trip, and for most of the time Dominic displayed an +unwonted jocularity of a dry and biting kind with which, he +maintained, he had been infected by no other person than +myself. As, with all his force of character, he was very +responsive to the moods of those he liked I have no doubt he +spoke the truth. But I know nothing about it. The +observer, more or less alert, whom each of us carries in his own +consciousness, failed me altogether, had turned away his face in +sheer horror, or else had fainted from the strain. And thus +I had to live alone, unobserved even by myself.</p> +<p>But the trip had been successful. We re-entered the +harbour very quietly as usual and when our craft had been moored +unostentatiously amongst the plebeian stone-carriers, Dominic, +whose grim joviality had subsided in the last twenty-four hours +of our homeward run, abandoned me to myself as though indeed I +had been a doomed man. He only stuck his head for a moment +into our little cuddy where I was changing my clothes and being +told in answer to his question that I had no special orders to +give went ashore without waiting for me.</p> +<p>Generally we used to step on the quay together and I never +failed to enter for a moment Madame Léonore’s +café. But this time when I got on the quay Dominic +was nowhere to be seen. What was it? +Abandonment—discretion—or had he quarrelled with his +Léonore before leaving on the trip?</p> +<p>My way led me past the café and through the glass panes +I saw that he was already there. On the other side of the +little marble table Madame Léonore, leaning with mature +grace on her elbow, was listening to him absorbed. Then I +passed on and—what would you have!—I ended by making +my way into the street of the Consuls. I had nowhere else +to go. There were my things in the apartment on the first +floor. I couldn’t bear the thought of meeting anybody +I knew.</p> +<p>The feeble gas flame in the hall was still there, on duty, as +though it had never been turned off since I last crossed the hall +at half-past eleven in the evening to go to the harbour. +The small flame had watched me letting myself out; and now, +exactly of the same size, the poor little tongue of light (there +was something wrong with that burner) watched me letting myself +in, as indeed it had done many times before. Generally the +impression was that of entering an untenanted house, but this +time before I could reach the foot of the stairs Therese glided +out of the passage leading into the studio. After the usual +exclamations she assured me that everything was ready for me +upstairs, had been for days, and offered to get me something to +eat at once. I accepted and said I would be down in the +studio in half an hour. I found her there by the side of +the laid table ready for conversation. She began by telling +me—the dear, poor young Monsieur—in a sort of +plaintive chant, that there were no letters for me, no letters of +any kind, no letters from anybody. Glances of absolutely +terrifying tenderness mingled with flashes of cunning swept over +me from head to foot while I tried to eat.</p> +<p>“Are you giving me Captain Blunt’s wine to +drink?” I asked, noting the straw-coloured liquid in my +glass.</p> +<p>She screwed up her mouth as if she had a twinge of toothache +and assured me that the wine belonged to the house. I would +have to pay her for it. As far as personal feelings go, +Blunt, who addressed her always with polite seriousness, was not +a favourite with her. The “charming, brave +Monsieur” was now fighting for the King and religion +against the impious Liberals. He went away the very morning +after I had left and, oh! she remembered, he had asked her before +going away whether I was still in the house. Wanted +probably to say good-bye to me, shake my hand, the dear, polite +Monsieur.</p> +<p>I let her run on in dread expectation of what she would say +next but she stuck to the subject of Blunt for some time +longer. He had written to her once about some of his things +which he wanted her to send to Paris to his mother’s +address; but she was going to do nothing of the kind. She +announced this with a pious smile; and in answer to my questions +I discovered that it was a stratagem to make Captain Blunt return +to the house.</p> +<p>“You will get yourself into trouble with the police, +Mademoiselle Therese, if you go on like that,” I +said. But she was as obstinate as a mule and assured me +with the utmost confidence that many people would be ready to +defend a poor honest girl. There was something behind this +attitude which I could not fathom. Suddenly she fetched a +deep sigh.</p> +<p>“Our Rita, too, will end by coming to her +sister.”</p> +<p>The name for which I had been waiting deprived me of speech +for the moment. The poor mad sinner had rushed off to some +of her wickednesses in Paris. Did I know? No? +How could she tell whether I did know or not? Well! I +had hardly left the house, so to speak, when Rita was down with +her maid behaving as if the house did really still belong to her. +. .</p> +<p>“What time was it?” I managed to ask. And +with the words my life itself was being forced out through my +lips. But Therese, not noticing anything strange about me, +said it was something like half-past seven in the morning. +The “poor sinner” was all in black as if she were +going to church (except for her expression, which was enough to +shock any honest person), and after ordering her with frightful +menaces not to let anybody know she was in the house she rushed +upstairs and locked herself up in my bedroom, while “that +French creature” (whom she seemed to love more than her own +sister) went into my salon and hid herself behind the window +curtain.</p> +<p>I had recovered sufficiently to ask in a quiet natural voice +whether Doña Rita and Captain Blunt had seen each +other. Apparently they had not seen each other. The +polite captain had looked so stern while packing up his kit that +Therese dared not speak to him at all. And he was in a +hurry, too. He had to see his dear mother off to Paris +before his own departure. Very stern. But he shook +her hand with a very nice bow.</p> +<p>Therese elevated her right hand for me to see. It was +broad and short with blunt fingers, as usual. The pressure +of Captain Blunt’s handshake had not altered its unlovely +shape.</p> +<p>“What was the good of telling him that our Rita was +here?” went on Therese. “I would have been +ashamed of her coming here and behaving as if the house belonged +to her! I had already said some prayers at his intention at +the half-past six mass, the brave gentleman. That maid of +my sister Rita was upstairs watching him drive away with her evil +eyes, but I made a sign of the cross after the fiacre, and then I +went upstairs and banged at your door, my dear kind young +Monsieur, and shouted to Rita that she had no right to lock +herself in any of my <i>locataires</i>’ rooms. At +last she opened it—and what do you think? All her +hair was loose over her shoulders. I suppose it all came +down when she flung her hat on your bed. I noticed when she +arrived that her hair wasn’t done properly. She used +your brushes to do it up again in front of your glass.”</p> +<p>“Wait a moment,” I said, and jumped up, upsetting +my wine to run upstairs as fast as I could. I lighted the +gas, all the three jets in the middle of the room, the jet by the +bedside and two others flanking the dressing-table. I had +been struck by the wild hope of finding a trace of Rita’s +passage, a sign or something. I pulled out all the drawers +violently, thinking that perhaps she had hidden there a scrap of +paper, a note. It was perfectly mad. Of course there +was no chance of that. Therese would have seen to it. +I picked up one after another all the various objects on the +dressing-table. On laying my hands on the brushes I had a +profound emotion, and with misty eyes I examined them +meticulously with the new hope of finding one of Rita’s +tawny hairs entangled amongst the bristles by a miraculous +chance. But Therese would have done away with that chance, +too. There was nothing to be seen, though I held them up to +the light with a beating heart. It was written that not +even that trace of her passage on the earth should remain with +me; not to help but, as it were, to soothe the memory. Then +I lighted a cigarette and came downstairs slowly. My +unhappiness became dulled, as the grief of those who mourn for +the dead gets dulled in the overwhelming sensation that +everything is over, that a part of themselves is lost beyond +recall taking with it all the savour of life.</p> +<p>I discovered Therese still on the very same spot of the floor, +her hands folded over each other and facing my empty chair before +which the spilled wine had soaked a large portion of the +table-cloth. She hadn’t moved at all. She +hadn’t even picked up the overturned glass. But +directly I appeared she began to speak in an ingratiating +voice.</p> +<p>“If you have missed anything of yours upstairs, my dear +young Monsieur, you mustn’t say it’s me. You +don’t know what our Rita is.”</p> +<p>“I wish to goodness,” I said, “that she had +taken something.”</p> +<p>And again I became inordinately agitated as though it were my +absolute fate to be everlastingly dying and reviving to the +tormenting fact of her existence. Perhaps she had taken +something? Anything. Some small object. I +thought suddenly of a Rhenish-stone match-box. Perhaps it +was that. I didn’t remember having seen it when +upstairs. I wanted to make sure at once. At +once. But I commanded myself to sit still.</p> +<p>“And she so wealthy,” Therese went on. +“Even you with your dear generous little heart can do +nothing for our Rita. No man can do anything for +her—except perhaps one, but she is so evilly disposed +towards him that she wouldn’t even see him, if in the +goodness of his forgiving heart he were to offer his hand to +her. It’s her bad conscience that frightens +her. He loves her more than his life, the dear, charitable +man.”</p> +<p>“You mean some rascal in Paris that I believe persecutes +Doña Rita. Listen, Mademoiselle Therese, if you know +where he hangs out you had better let him have word to be +careful. I believe he, too, is mixed up in the Carlist +intrigue. Don’t you know that your sister can get him +shut up any day or get him expelled by the police?”</p> +<p>Therese sighed deeply and put on a look of pained virtue.</p> +<p>“Oh, the hardness of her heart. She tried to be +tender with me. She is awful. I said to her, +‘Rita, have you sold your soul to the Devil?’ and she +shouted like a fiend: ‘For happiness! Ha, ha, +ha!’ She threw herself backwards on that couch in +your room and laughed and laughed and laughed as if I had been +tickling her, and she drummed on the floor with the heels of her +shoes. She is possessed. Oh, my dear innocent young +Monsieur, you have never seen anything like that. That +wicked girl who serves her rushed in with a tiny glass bottle and +put it to her nose; but I had a mind to run out and fetch the +priest from the church where I go to early mass. Such a +nice, stout, severe man. But that false, cheating creature +(I am sure she is robbing our Rita from morning to night), she +talked to our Rita very low and quieted her down. I am sure +I don’t know what she said. She must be leagued with +the devil. And then she asked me if I would go down and +make a cup of chocolate for her Madame. +Madame—that’s our Rita. Madame! It seems +they were going off directly to Paris and her Madame had had +nothing to eat since the morning of the day before. Fancy +me being ordered to make chocolate for our Rita! However, +the poor thing looked so exhausted and white-faced that I +went. Ah! the devil can give you an awful shake up if he +likes.”</p> +<p>Therese fetched another deep sigh and raising her eyes looked +at me with great attention. I preserved an inscrutable +expression, for I wanted to hear all she had to tell me of +Rita. I watched her with the greatest anxiety composing her +face into a cheerful expression.</p> +<p>“So Doña Rita is gone to Paris?” I asked +negligently.</p> +<p>“Yes, my dear Monsieur. I believe she went +straight to the railway station from here. When she first +got up from the couch she could hardly stand. But before, +while she was drinking the chocolate which I made for her, I +tried to get her to sign a paper giving over the house to me, but +she only closed her eyes and begged me to try and be a good +sister and leave her alone for half an hour. And she lying +there looking as if she wouldn’t live a day. But she +always hated me.”</p> +<p>I said bitterly, “You needn’t have worried her +like this. If she had not lived for another day you would +have had this house and everything else besides; a bigger bit +than even your wolfish throat can swallow, Mademoiselle +Therese.”</p> +<p>I then said a few more things indicative of my disgust with +her rapacity, but they were quite inadequate, as I wasn’t +able to find words strong enough to express my real mind. +But it didn’t matter really because I don’t think +Therese heard me at all. She seemed lost in rapt +amazement.</p> +<p>“What do you say, my dear Monsieur? What! +All for me without any sort of paper?”</p> +<p>She appeared distracted by my curt: “Yes.” +Therese believed in my truthfulness. She believed me +implicitly, except when I was telling her the truth about +herself, mincing no words, when she used to stand smilingly +bashful as if I were overwhelming her with compliments. I +expected her to continue the horrible tale but apparently she had +found something to think about which checked the flow. She +fetched another sigh and muttered:</p> +<p>“Then the law can be just, if it does not require any +paper. After all, I am her sister.”</p> +<p>“It’s very difficult to believe that—at +sight,” I said roughly.</p> +<p>“Ah, but that I could prove. There are papers for +that.”</p> +<p>After this declaration she began to clear the table, +preserving a thoughtful silence.</p> +<p>I was not very surprised at the news of Doña +Rita’s departure for Paris. It was not necessary to +ask myself why she had gone. I didn’t even ask myself +whether she had left the leased Villa on the Prado for +ever. Later talking again with Therese, I learned that her +sister had given it up for the use of the Carlist cause and that +some sort of unofficial Consul, a Carlist agent of some sort, +either was going to live there or had already taken +possession. This, Rita herself had told her before her +departure on that agitated morning spent in the house—in my +rooms. A close investigation demonstrated to me that there +was nothing missing from them. Even the wretched match-box +which I really hoped was gone turned up in a drawer after I had, +delightedly, given it up. It was a great blow. She +might have taken that at least! She knew I used to carry it +about with me constantly while ashore. She might have taken +it! Apparently she meant that there should be no bond left +even of that kind; and yet it was a long time before I gave up +visiting and revisiting all the corners of all possible +receptacles for something that she might have left behind on +purpose. It was like the mania of those disordered minds +who spend their days hunting for a treasure. I hoped for a +forgotten hairpin, for some tiny piece of ribbon. Sometimes +at night I reflected that such hopes were altogether insensate; +but I remember once getting up at two in the morning to search +for a little cardboard box in the bathroom, into which, I +remembered, I had not looked before. Of course it was +empty; and, anyway, Rita could not possibly have known of its +existence. I got back to bed shivering violently, though +the night was warm, and with a distinct impression that this +thing would end by making me mad. It was no longer a +question of “this sort of thing” killing me. +The moral atmosphere of this torture was different. It +would make me mad. And at that thought great shudders ran +down my prone body, because, once, I had visited a famous lunatic +asylum where they had shown me a poor wretch who was mad, +apparently, because he thought he had been abominably fooled by a +woman. They told me that his grievance was quite +imaginary. He was a young man with a thin fair beard, +huddled up on the edge of his bed, hugging himself forlornly; and +his incessant and lamentable wailing filled the long bare +corridor, striking a chill into one’s heart long before one +came to the door of his cell.</p> +<p>And there was no one from whom I could hear, to whom I could +speak, with whom I could evoke the image of Rita. Of course +I could utter that word of four letters to Therese; but Therese +for some reason took it into her head to avoid all topics +connected with her sister. I felt as if I could pull out +great handfuls of her hair hidden modestly under the black +handkerchief of which the ends were sometimes tied under her +chin. But, really, I could not have given her any +intelligible excuse for that outrage. Moreover, she was +very busy from the very top to the very bottom of the house, +which she persisted in running alone because she couldn’t +make up her mind to part with a few francs every month to a +servant. It seemed to me that I was no longer such a +favourite with her as I used to be. That, strange to say, +was exasperating, too. It was as if some idea, some +fruitful notion had killed in her all the softer and more humane +emotions. She went about with brooms and dusters wearing an +air of sanctimonious thoughtfulness.</p> +<p>The man who to a certain extent took my place in +Therese’s favour was the old father of the dancing girls +inhabiting the ground floor. In a tall hat and a well-to-do +dark blue overcoat he allowed himself to be button-holed in the +hall by Therese who would talk to him interminably with downcast +eyes. He smiled gravely down at her, and meanwhile tried to +edge towards the front door. I imagine he didn’t put +a great value on Therese’s favour. Our stay in +harbour was prolonged this time and I kept indoors like an +invalid. One evening I asked that old man to come in and +drink and smoke with me in the studio. He made no +difficulties to accept, brought his wooden pipe with him, and was +very entertaining in a pleasant voice. One couldn’t +tell whether he was an uncommon person or simply a ruffian, but +in any case with his white beard he looked quite venerable. +Naturally he couldn’t give me much of his company as he had +to look closely after his girls and their admirers; not that the +girls were unduly frivolous, but of course being very young they +had no experience. They were friendly creatures with +pleasant, merry voices and he was very much devoted to +them. He was a muscular man with a high colour and silvery +locks curling round his bald pate and over his ears, like a +<i>barocco</i> apostle. I had an idea that he had had a +lurid past and had seen some fighting in his youth. The +admirers of the two girls stood in great awe of him, from +instinct no doubt, because his behaviour to them was friendly and +even somewhat obsequious, yet always with a certain truculent +glint in his eye that made them pause in everything but their +generosity—which was encouraged. I sometimes wondered +whether those two careless, merry hard-working creatures +understood the secret moral beauty of the situation.</p> +<p>My real company was the dummy in the studio and I can’t +say it was exactly satisfying. After taking possession of +the studio I had raised it tenderly, dusted its mangled limbs and +insensible, hard-wood bosom, and then had propped it up in a +corner where it seemed to take on, of itself, a shy +attitude. I knew its history. It was not an ordinary +dummy. One day, talking with Doña Rita about her +sister, I had told her that I thought Therese used to knock it +down on purpose with a broom, and Doña Rita had laughed +very much. This, she had said, was an instance of dislike +from mere instinct. That dummy had been made to measure +years before. It had to wear for days and days the Imperial +Byzantine robes in which Doña Rita sat only once or twice +herself; but of course the folds and bends of the stuff had to be +preserved as in the first sketch. Doña Rita +described amusingly how she had to stand in the middle of her +room while Rose walked around her with a tape measure noting the +figures down on a small piece of paper which was then sent to the +maker, who presently returned it with an angry letter stating +that those proportions were altogether impossible in any +woman. Apparently Rose had muddled them all up; and it was +a long time before the figure was finished and sent to the +Pavilion in a long basket to take on itself the robes and the +hieratic pose of the Empress. Later, it wore with the same +patience the marvellous hat of the “Girl in the +Hat.” But Doña Rita couldn’t understand +how the poor thing ever found its way to Marseilles minus its +turnip head. Probably it came down with the robes and a +quantity of precious brocades which she herself had sent down +from Paris. The knowledge of its origin, the contempt of +Captain Blunt’s references to it, with Therese’s +shocked dislike of the dummy, invested that summary reproduction +with a sort of charm, gave me a faint and miserable illusion of +the original, less artificial than a photograph, less precise, +too. . . . But it can’t be explained. I felt +positively friendly to it as if it had been Rita’s trusted +personal attendant. I even went so far as to discover that +it had a sort of grace of its own. But I never went so far +as to address set speeches to it where it lurked shyly in its +corner, or drag it out from there for contemplation. I left +it in peace. I wasn’t mad. I was only convinced +that I soon would be.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER II</h3> +<p>Notwithstanding my misanthropy I had to see a few people on +account of all these Royalist affairs which I couldn’t very +well drop, and in truth did not wish to drop. They were my +excuse for remaining in Europe, which somehow I had not the +strength of mind to leave for the West Indies, or +elsewhere. On the other hand, my adventurous pursuit kept +me in contact with the sea where I found occupation, protection, +consolation, the mental relief of grappling with concrete +problems, the sanity one acquires from close contact with simple +mankind, a little self-confidence born from the dealings with the +elemental powers of nature. I couldn’t give all that +up. And besides all this was related to Doña +Rita. I had, as it were, received it all from her own hand, +from that hand the clasp of which was as frank as a man’s +and yet conveyed a unique sensation. The very memory of it +would go through me like a wave of heat. It was over that +hand that we first got into the habit of quarrelling, with the +irritability of sufferers from some obscure pain and yet half +unconscious of their disease. Rita’s own spirit +hovered over the troubled waters of Legitimity. But as to +the sound of the four magic letters of her name I was not very +likely to hear it fall sweetly on my ear. For instance, the +distinguished personality in the world of finance with whom I had +to confer several times, alluded to the irresistible seduction of +the power which reigned over my heart and my mind; which had a +mysterious and unforgettable face, the brilliance of sunshine +together with the unfathomable splendour of the night +as—Madame de Lastaola. That’s how that +steel-grey man called the greatest mystery of the universe. +When uttering that assumed name he would make for himself a +guardedly solemn and reserved face as though he were afraid lest +I should presume to smile, lest he himself should venture to +smile, and the sacred formality of our relations should be +outraged beyond mending.</p> +<p>He would refer in a studiously grave tone to Madame de +Lastaola’s wishes, plans, activities, instructions, +movements; or picking up a letter from the usual litter of paper +found on such men’s desks, glance at it to refresh his +memory; and, while the very sight of the handwriting would make +my lips go dry, would ask me in a bloodless voice whether +perchance I had “a direct communication +from—er—Paris lately.” And there would be +other maddening circumstances connected with those visits. +He would treat me as a serious person having a clear view of +certain eventualities, while at the very moment my vision could +see nothing but streaming across the wall at his back, abundant +and misty, unearthly and adorable, a mass of tawny hair that +seemed to have hot sparks tangled in it. Another nuisance +was the atmosphere of Royalism, of Legitimacy, that pervaded the +room, thin as air, intangible, as though no Legitimist of flesh +and blood had ever existed to the man’s mind except perhaps +myself. He, of course, was just simply a banker, a very +distinguished, a very influential, and a very impeccable +banker. He persisted also in deferring to my judgment and +sense with an over-emphasis called out by his perpetual surprise +at my youth. Though he had seen me many times (I even knew +his wife) he could never get over my immature age. He +himself was born about fifty years old, all complete, with his +iron-grey whiskers and his bilious eyes, which he had the habit +of frequently closing during a conversation. On one +occasion he said to me. “By the by, the Marquis of +Villarel is here for a time. He inquired after you the last +time he called on me. May I let him know that you are in +town?”</p> +<p>I didn’t say anything to that. The Marquis of +Villarel was the Don Rafael of Rita’s own story. What +had I to do with Spanish grandees? And for that matter what +had she, the woman of all time, to do with all the villainous or +splendid disguises human dust takes upon itself? All this +was in the past, and I was acutely aware that for me there was no +present, no future, nothing but a hollow pain, a vain passion of +such magnitude that being locked up within my breast it gave me +an illusion of lonely greatness with my miserable head uplifted +amongst the stars. But when I made up my mind (which I did +quickly, to be done with it) to call on the banker’s wife, +almost the first thing she said to me was that the Marquis de +Villarel was “amongst us.” She said it +joyously. If in her husband’s room at the bank +legitimism was a mere unpopulated principle, in her salon +Legitimacy was nothing but persons. “<i>Il m’a +causé beaucoup de vous</i>,” she said as if there +had been a joke in it of which I ought to be proud. I slunk +away from her. I couldn’t believe that the grandee +had talked to her about me. I had never felt myself part of +the great Royalist enterprise. I confess that I was so +indifferent to everything, so profoundly demoralized, that having +once got into that drawing-room I hadn’t the strength to +get away; though I could see perfectly well my volatile hostess +going from one to another of her acquaintances in order to tell +them with a little gesture, “Look! Over +there—in that corner. That’s the notorious +Monsieur George.” At last she herself drove me out by +coming to sit by me vivaciously and going into ecstasies over +“<i>ce cher</i> Monsieur Mills” and that magnificent +Lord X; and ultimately, with a perfectly odious snap in the eyes +and drop in the voice, dragging in the name of Madame de Lastaola +and asking me whether I was really so much in the confidence of +that astonishing person. “<i>Vous devez bien +regretter son départ pour Paris</i>,” she cooed, +looking with affected bashfulness at her fan. . . . How I got out +of the room I really don’t know. There was also a +staircase. I did not fall down it head first—that +much I am certain of; and I also remember that I wandered for a +long time about the seashore and went home very late, by the way +of the Prado, giving in passing a fearful glance at the +Villa. It showed not a gleam of light through the thin +foliage of its trees.</p> +<p>I spent the next day with Dominic on board the little craft +watching the shipwrights at work on her deck. From the way +they went about their business those men must have been perfectly +sane; and I felt greatly refreshed by my company during the +day. Dominic, too, devoted himself to his business, but his +taciturnity was sardonic. Then I dropped in at the +café and Madame Léonore’s loud “Eh, +Signorino, here you are at last!” pleased me by its +resonant friendliness. But I found the sparkle of her black +eyes as she sat down for a moment opposite me while I was having +my drink rather difficult to bear. That man and that woman +seemed to know something. What did they know? At +parting she pressed my hand significantly. What did she +mean? But I didn’t feel offended by these +manifestations. The souls within these people’s +breasts were not volatile in the manner of slightly scented and +inflated bladders. Neither had they the impervious skins +which seem the rule in the fine world that wants only to get +on. Somehow they had sensed that there was something wrong; +and whatever impression they might have formed for themselves I +had the certitude that it would not be for them a matter of grins +at my expense.</p> +<p>That day on returning home I found Therese looking out for me, +a very unusual occurrence of late. She handed me a card +bearing the name of the Marquis de Villarel.</p> +<p>“How did you come by this?” I asked. She +turned on at once the tap of her volubility and I was not +surprised to learn that the grandee had not done such an +extraordinary thing as to call upon me in person. A young +gentleman had brought it. Such a nice young gentleman, she +interjected with her piously ghoulish expression. He was +not very tall. He had a very smooth complexion (that woman +was incorrigible) and a nice, tiny black moustache. Therese +was sure that he must have been an officer <i>en las filas +legitimas</i>. With that notion in her head she had asked +him about the welfare of that other model of charm and elegance, +Captain Blunt. To her extreme surprise the charming young +gentleman with beautiful eyes had apparently never heard of +Blunt. But he seemed very much interested in his +surroundings, looked all round the hall, noted the costly wood of +the door panels, paid some attention to the silver statuette +holding up the defective gas burner at the foot of the stairs, +and, finally, asked whether this was in very truth the house of +the most excellent Señora Doña Rita de +Lastaola. The question staggered Therese, but with great +presence of mind she answered the young gentleman that she +didn’t know what excellence there was about it, but that +the house was her property, having been given to her by her own +sister. At this the young gentleman looked both puzzled and +angry, turned on his heel, and got back into his fiacre. +Why should people be angry with a poor girl who had never done a +single reprehensible thing in her whole life?</p> +<p>“I suppose our Rita does tell people awful lies about +her poor sister.” She sighed deeply (she had several +kinds of sighs and this was the hopeless kind) and added +reflectively, “Sin on sin, wickedness on wickedness! +And the longer she lives the worse it will be. It would be +better for our Rita to be dead.”</p> +<p>I told “Mademoiselle Therese” that it was really +impossible to tell whether she was more stupid or atrocious; but +I wasn’t really very much shocked. These outbursts +did not signify anything in Therese. One got used to +them. They were merely the expression of her rapacity and +her righteousness; so that our conversation ended by my asking +her whether she had any dinner ready for me that evening.</p> +<p>“What’s the good of getting you anything to eat, +my dear young Monsieur,” she quizzed me tenderly. +“You just only peck like a little bird. Much better +let me save the money for you.” It will show the +super-terrestrial nature of my misery when I say that I was quite +surprised at Therese’s view of my appetite. Perhaps +she was right. I certainly did not know. I stared +hard at her and in the end she admitted that the dinner was in +fact ready that very moment.</p> +<p>The new young gentleman within Therese’s horizon +didn’t surprise me very much. Villarel would travel +with some sort of suite, a couple of secretaries at least. +I had heard enough of Carlist headquarters to know that the man +had been (very likely was still) Captain General of the Royal +Bodyguard and was a person of great political (and domestic) +influence at Court. The card was, under its social form, a +mere command to present myself before the grandee. No +Royalist devoted by conviction, as I must have appeared to him, +could have mistaken the meaning. I put the card in my +pocket and after dining or not dining—I really don’t +remember—spent the evening smoking in the studio, pursuing +thoughts of tenderness and grief, visions exalting and +cruel. From time to time I looked at the dummy. I +even got up once from the couch on which I had been writhing like +a worm and walked towards it as if to touch it, but refrained, +not from sudden shame but from sheer despair. By and by +Therese drifted in. It was then late and, I imagine, she +was on her way to bed. She looked the picture of cheerful, +rustic innocence and started propounding to me a conundrum which +began with the words:</p> +<p>“If our Rita were to die before long . . .”</p> +<p>She didn’t get any further because I had jumped up and +frightened her by shouting: “Is she ill? What has +happened? Have you had a letter?”</p> +<p>She had had a letter. I didn’t ask her to show it +to me, though I daresay she would have done so. I had an +idea that there was no meaning in anything, at least no meaning +that mattered. But the interruption had made Therese +apparently forget her sinister conundrum. She observed me +with her shrewd, unintelligent eyes for a bit, and then with the +fatuous remark about the Law being just she left me to the +horrors of the studio. I believe I went to sleep there from +sheer exhaustion. Some time during the night I woke up +chilled to the bone and in the dark. These were horrors and +no mistake. I dragged myself upstairs to bed past the +indefatigable statuette holding up the ever-miserable +light. The black-and-white hall was like an ice-house.</p> +<p>The main consideration which induced me to call on the Marquis +of Villarel was the fact that after all I was a discovery of +Doña Rita’s, her own recruit. My fidelity and +steadfastness had been guaranteed by her and no one else. I +couldn’t bear the idea of her being criticized by every +empty-headed chatterer belonging to the Cause. And as, +apart from that, nothing mattered much, why, then—I would +get this over.</p> +<p>But it appeared that I had not reflected sufficiently on all +the consequences of that step. First of all the sight of +the Villa looking shabbily cheerful in the sunshine (but not +containing her any longer) was so perturbing that I very nearly +went away from the gate. Then when I got in after much +hesitation—being admitted by the man in the green baize +apron who recognized me—the thought of entering that room, +out of which she was gone as completely as if she had been dead, +gave me such an emotion that I had to steady myself against the +table till the faintness was past. Yet I was irritated as +at a treason when the man in the baize apron instead of letting +me into the Pompeiian dining-room crossed the hall to another +door not at all in the Pompeiian style (more Louis XV +rather—that Villa was like a <i>Salade Russe</i> of styles) +and introduced me into a big, light room full of very modern +furniture. The portrait <i>en pied</i> of an officer in a +sky-blue uniform hung on the end wall. The officer had a +small head, a black beard cut square, a robust body, and leaned +with gauntleted hands on the simple hilt of a straight +sword. That striking picture dominated a massive mahogany +desk, and, in front of this desk, a very roomy, tall-backed +armchair of dark green velvet. I thought I had been +announced into an empty room till glancing along the extremely +loud carpet I detected a pair of feet under the armchair.</p> +<p>I advanced towards it and discovered a little man, who had +made no sound or movement till I came into his view, sunk deep in +the green velvet. He altered his position slowly and rested +his hollow, black, quietly burning eyes on my face in prolonged +scrutiny. I detected something comminatory in his yellow, +emaciated countenance, but I believe now he was simply startled +by my youth. I bowed profoundly. He extended a meagre +little hand.</p> +<p>“Take a chair, Don Jorge.”</p> +<p>He was very small, frail, and thin, but his voice was not +languid, though he spoke hardly above his breath. Such was +the envelope and the voice of the fanatical soul belonging to the +Grand-master of Ceremonies and Captain General of the Bodyguard +at the Headquarters of the Legitimist Court, now detached on a +special mission. He was all fidelity, inflexibility, and +sombre conviction, but like some great saints he had very little +body to keep all these merits in.</p> +<p>“You are very young,” he remarked, to begin +with. “The matters on which I desired to converse +with you are very grave.”</p> +<p>“I was under the impression that your Excellency wished +to see me at once. But if your Excellency prefers it I will +return in, say, seven years’ time when I may perhaps be old +enough to talk about grave matters.”</p> +<p>He didn’t stir hand or foot and not even the quiver of +an eyelid proved that he had heard my shockingly unbecoming +retort.</p> +<p>“You have been recommended to us by a noble and loyal +lady, in whom His Majesty—whom God preserve—reposes +an entire confidence. God will reward her as she deserves +and you, too, Señor, according to the disposition you +bring to this great work which has the blessing (here he crossed +himself) of our Holy Mother the Church.”</p> +<p>“I suppose your Excellency understands that in all this +I am not looking for reward of any kind.”</p> +<p>At this he made a faint, almost ethereal grimace.</p> +<p>“I was speaking of the spiritual blessing which rewards +the service of religion and will be of benefit to your +soul,” he explained with a slight touch of acidity. +“The other is perfectly understood and your fidelity is +taken for granted. His Majesty—whom God +preserve—has been already pleased to signify his +satisfaction with your services to the most noble and loyal +Doña Rita by a letter in his own hand.”</p> +<p>Perhaps he expected me to acknowledge this announcement in +some way, speech, or bow, or something, because before my +immobility he made a slight movement in his chair which smacked +of impatience. “I am afraid, Señor, that you +are affected by the spirit of scoffing and irreverence which +pervades this unhappy country of France in which both you and I +are strangers, I believe. Are you a young man of that +sort?”</p> +<p>“I am a very good gun-runner, your Excellency,” I +answered quietly.</p> +<p>He bowed his head gravely. “We are aware. +But I was looking for the motives which ought to have their pure +source in religion.”</p> +<p>“I must confess frankly that I have not reflected on my +motives,” I said. “It is enough for me to know +that they are not dishonourable and that anybody can see they are +not the motives of an adventurer seeking some sordid +advantage.”</p> +<p>He had listened patiently and when he saw that there was +nothing more to come he ended the discussion.</p> +<p>“Señor, we should reflect upon our motives. +It is salutary for our conscience and is recommended (he crossed +himself) by our Holy Mother the Church. I have here certain +letters from Paris on which I would consult your young sagacity +which is accredited to us by the most loyal Doña +Rita.”</p> +<p>The sound of that name on his lips was simply odious. I +was convinced that this man of forms and ceremonies and fanatical +royalism was perfectly heartless. Perhaps he reflected on +his motives; but it seemed to me that his conscience could be +nothing else but a monstrous thing which very few actions could +disturb appreciably. Yet for the credit of Doña Rita +I did not withhold from him my young sagacity. What he +thought of it I don’t know. The matters we discussed were +not of course of high policy, though from the point of view of +the war in the south they were important enough. We agreed +on certain things to be done, and finally, always out of regard +for Doña Rita’s credit, I put myself generally at +his disposition or of any Carlist agent he would appoint in his +place; for I did not suppose that he would remain very long in +Marseilles. He got out of the chair laboriously, like a +sick child might have done. The audience was over but he +noticed my eyes wandering to the portrait and he said in his +measured, breathed-out tones:</p> +<p>“I owe the pleasure of having this admirable work here +to the gracious attention of Madame de Lastaola, who, knowing my +attachment to the royal person of my Master, has sent it down +from Paris to greet me in this house which has been given up for +my occupation also through her generosity to the Royal +Cause. Unfortunately she, too, is touched by the infection +of this irreverent and unfaithful age. But she is young +yet. She is young.”</p> +<p>These last words were pronounced in a strange tone of menace +as though he were supernaturally aware of some suspended +disasters. With his burning eyes he was the image of an +Inquisitor with an unconquerable soul in that frail body. +But suddenly he dropped his eyelids and the conversation finished +as characteristically as it had begun: with a slow, dismissing +inclination of the head and an “Adios, +Señor—may God guard you from sin.”</p> +<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> +<p>I must say that for the next three months I threw myself into +my unlawful trade with a sort of desperation, dogged and +hopeless, like a fairly decent fellow who takes deliberately to +drink. The business was getting dangerous. The bands +in the South were not very well organized, worked with no very +definite plan, and now were beginning to be pretty closely +hunted. The arrangements for the transport of supplies were +going to pieces; our friends ashore were getting scared; and it +was no joke to find after a day of skilful dodging that there was +no one at the landing place and have to go out again with our +compromising cargo, to slink and lurk about the coast for another +week or so, unable to trust anybody and looking at every vessel +we met with suspicion. Once we were ambushed by a lot of +“rascally Carabineers,” as Dominic called them, who +hid themselves among the rocks after disposing a train of mules +well in view on the seashore. Luckily, on evidence which I +could never understand, Dominic detected something +suspicious. Perhaps it was by virtue of some sixth sense +that men born for unlawful occupations may be gifted with. +“There is a smell of treachery about this,” he +remarked suddenly, turning at his oar. (He and I were +pulling alone in a little boat to reconnoitre.) I +couldn’t detect any smell and I regard to this day our +escape on that occasion as, properly speaking, miraculous. +Surely some supernatural power must have struck upwards the +barrels of the Carabineers’ rifles, for they missed us by +yards. And as the Carabineers have the reputation of +shooting straight, Dominic, after swearing most horribly, +ascribed our escape to the particular guardian angel that looks +after crazy young gentlemen. Dominic believed in angels in +a conventional way, but laid no claim to having one of his +own. Soon afterwards, while sailing quietly at night, we +found ourselves suddenly near a small coasting vessel, also +without lights, which all at once treated us to a volley of rifle +fire. Dominic’s mighty and inspired yell: “<i>A +plat ventre</i>!” and also an unexpected roll to windward +saved all our lives. Nobody got a scratch. We were +past in a moment and in a breeze then blowing we had the heels of +anything likely to give us chase. But an hour afterwards, +as we stood side by side peering into the darkness, Dominic was +heard to mutter through his teeth: “<i>Le métier se +gâte</i>.” I, too, had the feeling that the +trade, if not altogether spoiled, had seen its best days. +But I did not care. In fact, for my purpose it was rather +better, a more potent influence; like the stronger intoxication +of raw spirit. A volley in the dark after all was not such +a bad thing. Only a moment before we had received it, +there, in that calm night of the sea full of freshness and soft +whispers, I had been looking at an enchanting turn of a head in a +faint light of its own, the tawny hair with snared red sparks +brushed up from the nape of a white neck and held up on high by +an arrow of gold feathered with brilliants and with ruby gleams +all along its shaft. That jewelled ornament, which I +remember often telling Rita was of a very Philistinish conception +(it was in some way connected with a tortoiseshell comb) occupied +an undue place in my memory, tried to come into some sort of +significance even in my sleep. Often I dreamed of her with +white limbs shimmering in the gloom like a nymph haunting a riot +of foliage, and raising a perfect round arm to take an arrow of +gold out of her hair to throw it at me by hand, like a +dart. It came on, a whizzing trail of light, but I always +woke up before it struck. Always. Invariably. +It never had a chance. A volley of small arms was much more +likely to do the business some day—or night.</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>At last came the day when everything slipped out of my +grasp. The little vessel, broken and gone like the only toy +of a lonely child, the sea itself, which had swallowed it, +throwing me on shore after a shipwreck that instead of a fair +fight left in me the memory of a suicide. It took away all +that there was in me of independent life, but just failed to take +me out of the world, which looked then indeed like Another World +fit for no one else but unrepentant sinners. Even Dominic +failed me, his moral entity destroyed by what to him was a most +tragic ending of our common enterprise. The lurid swiftness +of it all was like a stunning thunder-clap—and, one +evening, I found myself weary, heartsore, my brain still dazed +and with awe in my heart entering Marseilles by way of the +railway station, after many adventures, one more disagreeable +than another, involving privations, great exertions, a lot of +difficulties with all sorts of people who looked upon me +evidently more as a discreditable vagabond deserving the +attentions of gendarmes than a respectable (if crazy) young +gentleman attended by a guardian angel of his own. I must +confess that I slunk out of the railway station shunning its many +lights as if, invariably, failure made an outcast of a man. +I hadn’t any money in my pocket. I hadn’t even +the bundle and the stick of a destitute wayfarer. I was +unshaven and unwashed, and my heart was faint within me. My +attire was such that I daren’t approach the rank of +fiacres, where indeed I could perceive only two pairs of lamps, +of which one suddenly drove away while I looked. The other +I gave up to the fortunate of this earth. I didn’t +believe in my power of persuasion. I had no powers. I +slunk on and on, shivering with cold, through the uproarious +streets. Bedlam was loose in them. It was the time of +Carnival.</p> +<p>Small objects of no value have the secret of sticking to a man +in an astonishing way. I had nearly lost my liberty and +even my life, I had lost my ship, a money-belt full of gold, I +had lost my companions, had parted from my friend; my occupation, +my only link with life, my touch with the sea, my cap and jacket +were gone—but a small penknife and a latchkey had never +parted company with me. With the latchkey I opened the door +of refuge. The hall wore its deaf-and-dumb air, its +black-and-white stillness.</p> +<p>The sickly gas-jet still struggled bravely with adversity at +the end of the raised silver arm of the statuette which had kept +to a hair’s breadth its graceful pose on the toes of its +left foot; and the staircase lost itself in the shadows +above. Therese was parsimonious with the lights. To +see all this was surprising. It seemed to me that all the +things I had known ought to have come down with a crash at the +moment of the final catastrophe on the Spanish coast. And +there was Therese herself descending the stairs, frightened but +plucky. Perhaps she thought that she would be murdered this +time for certain. She had a strange, unemotional conviction +that the house was particularly convenient for a crime. One +could never get to the bottom of her wild notions which she held +with the stolidity of a peasant allied to the outward serenity of +a nun. She quaked all over as she came down to her doom, +but when she recognized me she got such a shock that she sat down +suddenly on the lowest step. She did not expect me for +another week at least, and, besides, she explained, the state I +was in made her blood take “one turn.”</p> +<p>Indeed my plight seemed either to have called out or else +repressed her true nature. But who had ever fathomed her +nature! There was none of her treacly volubility. +There were none of her “dear young gentlemans” and +“poor little hearts” and references to sin. In +breathless silence she ran about the house getting my room ready, +lighting fires and gas-jets and even hauling at me to help me up +the stairs. Yes, she did lay hands on me for that +charitable purpose. They trembled. Her pale eyes +hardly left my face. “What brought you here like +this?” she whispered once.</p> +<p>“If I were to tell you, Mademoiselle Therese, you would +see there the hand of God.”</p> +<p>She dropped the extra pillow she was carrying and then nearly +fell over it. “Oh, dear heart,” she murmured, +and ran off to the kitchen.</p> +<p>I sank into bed as into a cloud and Therese reappeared very +misty and offering me something in a cup. I believe it was +hot milk, and after I drank it she took the cup and stood looking +at me fixedly. I managed to say with difficulty: “Go +away,” whereupon she vanished as if by magic before the +words were fairly out of my mouth. Immediately afterwards +the sunlight forced through the slats of the jalousies its +diffused glow, and Therese was there again as if by magic, saying +in a distant voice: “It’s midday”. . . Youth +will have its rights. I had slept like a stone for +seventeen hours.</p> +<p>I suppose an honourable bankrupt would know such an awakening: +the sense of catastrophe, the shrinking from the necessity of +beginning life again, the faint feeling that there are +misfortunes which must be paid for by a hanging. In the +course of the morning Therese informed me that the apartment +usually occupied by Mr. Blunt was vacant and added mysteriously +that she intended to keep it vacant for a time, because she had +been instructed to do so. I couldn’t imagine why +Blunt should wish to return to Marseilles. She told me also +that the house was empty except for myself and the two dancing +girls with their father. Those people had been away for +some time as the girls had engagements in some Italian summer +theatres, but apparently they had secured a re-engagement for the +winter and were now back. I let Therese talk because it +kept my imagination from going to work on subjects which, I had +made up my mind, were no concern of mine. But I went out +early to perform an unpleasant task. It was only proper +that I should let the Carlist agent ensconced in the Prado Villa +know of the sudden ending of my activities. It would be +grave enough news for him, and I did not like to be its bearer +for reasons which were mainly personal. I resembled Dominic +in so far that I, too, disliked failure.</p> +<p>The Marquis of Villarel had of course gone long before. +The man who was there was another type of Carlist altogether, and +his temperament was that of a trader. He was the chief +purveyor of the Legitimist armies, an honest broker of stores, +and enjoyed a great reputation for cleverness. His +important task kept him, of course, in France, but his young +wife, whose beauty and devotion to her King were well known, +represented him worthily at Headquarters, where his own +appearances were extremely rare. The dissimilar but united +loyalties of those two people had been rewarded by the title of +baron and the ribbon of some order or other. The gossip of +the Legitimist circles appreciated those favours with smiling +indulgence. He was the man who had been so distressed and +frightened by Doña Rita’s first visit to +Tolosa. He had an extreme regard for his wife. And in +that sphere of clashing arms and unceasing intrigue nobody would +have smiled then at his agitation if the man himself hadn’t +been somewhat grotesque.</p> +<p>He must have been startled when I sent in my name, for he +didn’t of course expect to see me yet—nobody expected +me. He advanced soft-footed down the room. With his +jutting nose, flat-topped skull and sable garments he recalled an +obese raven, and when he heard of the disaster he manifested his +astonishment and concern in a most plebeian manner by a low and +expressive whistle. I, of course, could not share his +consternation. My feelings in that connection were of a +different order; but I was annoyed at his unintelligent +stare.</p> +<p>“I suppose,” I said, “you will take it on +yourself to advise Doña Rita, who is greatly interested in +this affair.”</p> +<p>“Yes, but I was given to understand that Madame de +Lastaola was to leave Paris either yesterday or this +morning.”</p> +<p>It was my turn to stare dumbly before I could manage to ask: +“For Tolosa?” in a very knowing tone.</p> +<p>Whether it was the droop of his head, play of light, or some +other subtle cause, his nose seemed to have grown perceptibly +longer.</p> +<p>“That, Señor, is the place where the news has got +to be conveyed without undue delay,” he said in an agitated +wheeze. “I could, of course, telegraph to our agent +in Bayonne who would find a messenger. But I don’t +like, I don’t like! The Alphonsists have agents, too, +who hang about the telegraph offices. It’s no use +letting the enemy get that news.”</p> +<p>He was obviously very confused, unhappy, and trying to think +of two different things at once.</p> +<p>“Sit down, Don George, sit down.” He +absolutely forced a cigar on me. “I am extremely +distressed. That—I mean Doña Rita is +undoubtedly on her way to Tolosa. This is very +frightful.”</p> +<p>I must say, however, that there was in the man some sense of +duty. He mastered his private fears. After some +cogitation he murmured: “There is another way of getting +the news to Headquarters. Suppose you write me a formal +letter just stating the facts, the unfortunate facts, which I +will be able to forward. There is an agent of ours, a +fellow I have been employing for purchasing supplies, a perfectly +honest man. He is coming here from the north by the ten +o’clock train with some papers for me of a confidential +nature. I was rather embarrassed about it. It +wouldn’t do for him to get into any sort of trouble. +He is not very intelligent. I wonder, Don George, whether +you would consent to meet him at the station and take care of him +generally till to-morrow. I don’t like the idea of +him going about alone. Then, to-morrow night, we would send +him on to Tolosa by the west coast route, with the news; and then +he can also call on Doña Rita who will no doubt be already +there. . . .” He became again distracted all in a +moment and actually went so far as to wring his fat hands. +“Oh, yes, she will be there!” he exclaimed in most +pathetic accents.</p> +<p>I was not in the humour to smile at anything, and he must have +been satisfied with the gravity with which I beheld his +extraordinary antics. My mind was very far away. I +thought: Why not? Why shouldn’t I also write a letter +to Doña Rita, telling her that now nothing stood in the +way of my leaving Europe, because, really, the enterprise +couldn’t be begun again; that things that come to an end +can never be begun again. The idea—never +again—had complete possession of my mind. I could +think of nothing else. Yes, I would write. The worthy +Commissary General of the Carlist forces was under the impression +that I was looking at him; but what I had in my eye was a jumble +of butterfly women and winged youths and the soft sheen of Argand +lamps gleaming on an arrow of gold in the hair of a head that +seemed to evade my outstretched hand.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” I said, “I have nothing to do and +even nothing to think of just now, I will meet your man as he +gets off the train at ten o’clock to-night. +What’s he like?”</p> +<p>“Oh, he has a black moustache and whiskers, and his chin +is shaved,” said the newly-fledged baron cordially. +“A very honest fellow. I always found him very +useful. His name is José Ortega.”</p> +<p>He was perfectly self-possessed now, and walking soft-footed +accompanied me to the door of the room. He shook hands with +a melancholy smile. “This is a very frightful +situation. My poor wife will be quite distracted. She +is such a patriot. Many thanks, Don George. You +relieve me greatly. The fellow is rather stupid and rather +bad-tempered. Queer creature, but very honest! Oh, +very honest!”</p> +<h3>CHAPTER IV</h3> +<p>It was the last evening of Carnival. The same masks, the +same yells, the same mad rushes, the same bedlam of disguised +humanity blowing about the streets in the great gusts of mistral +that seemed to make them dance like dead leaves on an earth where +all joy is watched by death.</p> +<p>It was exactly twelve months since that other carnival evening +when I had felt a little weary and a little lonely but at peace +with all mankind. It must have been—to a day or +two. But on this evening it wasn’t merely loneliness +that I felt. I felt bereaved with a sense of a complete and +universal loss in which there was perhaps more resentment than +mourning; as if the world had not been taken away from me by an +august decree but filched from my innocence by an underhand fate +at the very moment when it had disclosed to my passion its warm +and generous beauty. This consciousness of universal loss +had this advantage that it induced something resembling a state +of philosophic indifference. I walked up to the railway +station caring as little for the cold blasts of wind as though I +had been going to the scaffold. The delay of the train did +not irritate me in the least. I had finally made up my mind +to write a letter to Doña Rita; and this “honest +fellow” for whom I was waiting would take it to her. +He would have no difficulty in Tolosa in finding Madame de +Lastaola. The General Headquarters, which was also a Court, +would be buzzing with comments on her presence. Most likely +that “honest fellow” was already known to Doña +Rita. For all I knew he might have been her discovery just +as I was. Probably I, too, was regarded as an “honest +fellow” enough; but stupid—since it was clear that my +luck was not inexhaustible. I hoped that while carrying my +letter the man would not let himself be caught by some Alphonsist +guerilla who would, of course, shoot him. But why should +he? I, for instance, had escaped with my life from a much +more dangerous enterprise than merely passing through the +frontier line in charge of some trustworthy guide. I +pictured the fellow to myself trudging over the stony slopes and +scrambling down wild ravines with my letter to Doña Rita +in his pocket. It would be such a letter of farewell as no +lover had ever written, no woman in the world had ever read, +since the beginning of love on earth. It would be worthy of +the woman. No experience, no memories, no dead traditions +of passion or language would inspire it. She herself would +be its sole inspiration. She would see her own image in it +as in a mirror; and perhaps then she would understand what it was +I was saying farewell to on the very threshold of my life. +A breath of vanity passed through my brain. A letter as +moving as her mere existence was moving would be something +unique. I regretted I was not a poet.</p> +<p>I woke up to a great noise of feet, a sudden influx of people +through the doors of the platform. I made out my +man’s whiskers at once—not that they were enormous, +but because I had been warned beforehand of their existence by +the excellent Commissary General. At first I saw nothing of +him but his whiskers: they were black and cut somewhat in the +shape of a shark’s fin and so very fine that the least +breath of air animated them into a sort of playful +restlessness. The man’s shoulders were hunched up and +when he had made his way clear of the throng of passengers I +perceived him as an unhappy and shivery being. Obviously he +didn’t expect to be met, because when I murmured an +enquiring, “Señor Ortega?” into his ear he +swerved away from me and nearly dropped a little handbag he was +carrying. His complexion was uniformly pale, his mouth was +red, but not engaging. His social status was not very +definite. He was wearing a dark blue overcoat of no +particular cut, his aspect had no relief; yet those restless +side-whiskers flanking his red mouth and the suspicious +expression of his black eyes made him noticeable. This I +regretted the more because I caught sight of two skulking +fellows, looking very much like policemen in plain clothes, +watching us from a corner of the great hall. I hurried my +man into a fiacre. He had been travelling from early +morning on cross-country lines and after we got on terms a little +confessed to being very hungry and cold. His red lips +trembled and I noted an underhand, cynical curiosity when he had +occasion to raise his eyes to my face. I was in some doubt +how to dispose of him but as we rolled on at a jog trot I came to +the conclusion that the best thing to do would be to organize for +him a shake-down in the studio. Obscure lodging houses are +precisely the places most looked after by the police, and even +the best hotels are bound to keep a register of arrivals. I +was very anxious that nothing should stop his projected mission +of courier to headquarters. As we passed various street +corners where the mistral blast struck at us fiercely I could +feel him shivering by my side. However, Therese would have +lighted the iron stove in the studio before retiring for the +night, and, anyway, I would have to turn her out to make up a bed +on the couch. Service of the King! I must say that +she was amiable and didn’t seem to mind anything one asked +her to do. Thus while the fellow slumbered on the divan I +would sit upstairs in my room setting down on paper those great +words of passion and sorrow that seethed in my brain and even +must have forced themselves in murmurs on to my lips, because the +man by my side suddenly asked me: “What did you +say?”—“Nothing,” I answered, very much +surprised. In the shifting light of the street lamps he +looked the picture of bodily misery with his chattering teeth and +his whiskers blown back flat over his ears. But somehow he +didn’t arouse my compassion. He was swearing to +himself, in French and Spanish, and I tried to soothe him by the +assurance that we had not much farther to go. “I am +starving,” he remarked acidly, and I felt a little +compunction. Clearly, the first thing to do was to feed +him. We were then entering the Cannebière and as I +didn’t care to show myself with him in the fashionable +restaurant where a new face (and such a face, too) would be +remarked, I pulled up the fiacre at the door of the Maison +Dorée. That was more of a place of general resort +where, in the multitude of casual patrons, he would pass +unnoticed.</p> +<p>For this last night of carnival the big house had decorated +all its balconies with rows of coloured paper lanterns right up +to the roof. I led the way to the grand salon, for as to +private rooms they had been all retained days before. There +was a great crowd of people in costume, but by a piece of good +luck we managed to secure a little table in a corner. The +revellers, intent on their pleasure, paid no attention to +us. Señor Ortega trod on my heels and after sitting +down opposite me threw an ill-natured glance at the festive +scene. It might have been about half-past ten, then.</p> +<p>Two glasses of wine he drank one after another did not improve +his temper. He only ceased to shiver. After he had +eaten something it must have occurred to him that he had no +reason to bear me a grudge and he tried to assume a civil and +even friendly manner. His mouth, however, betrayed an +abiding bitterness. I mean when he smiled. In repose +it was a very expressionless mouth, only it was too red to be +altogether ordinary. The whole of him was like that: the +whiskers too black, the hair too shiny, the forehead too white, +the eyes too mobile; and he lent you his attention with an air of +eagerness which made you uncomfortable. He seemed to expect +you to give yourself away by some unconsidered word that he would +snap up with delight. It was that peculiarity that somehow +put me on my guard. I had no idea who I was facing across +the table and as a matter of fact I did not care. All my +impressions were blurred; and even the promptings of my instinct +were the haziest thing imaginable. Now and then I had acute +hallucinations of a woman with an arrow of gold in her +hair. This caused alternate moments of exaltation and +depression from which I tried to take refuge in conversation; but +Señor Ortega was not stimulating. He was preoccupied +with personal matters. When suddenly he asked me whether I +knew why he had been called away from his work (he had been +buying supplies from peasants somewhere in Central France), I +answered that I didn’t know what the reason was originally, +but I had an idea that the present intention was to make of him a +courier, bearing certain messages from Baron H. to the Quartel +Real in Tolosa.</p> +<p>He glared at me like a basilisk. “And why have I +been met like this?” he enquired with an air of being +prepared to hear a lie.</p> +<p>I explained that it was the Baron’s wish, as a matter of +prudence and to avoid any possible trouble which might arise from +enquiries by the police.</p> +<p>He took it badly. “What nonsense.” He +was—he said—an employé (for several years) of +Hernandez Brothers in Paris, an importing firm, and he was +travelling on their business—as he could prove. He +dived into his side pocket and produced a handful of folded +papers of all sorts which he plunged back again instantly.</p> +<p>And even then I didn’t know whom I had there, opposite +me, busy now devouring a slice of pâté de foie +gras. Not in the least. It never entered my +head. How could it? The Rita that haunted me had no +history; she was but the principle of life charged with +fatality. Her form was only a mirage of desire decoying one +step by step into despair.</p> +<p>Señor Ortega gulped down some more wine and suggested I +should tell him who I was. “It’s only right I +should know,” he added.</p> +<p>This could not be gainsaid; and to a man connected with the +Carlist organization the shortest way was to introduce myself as +that “Monsieur George” of whom he had probably +heard.</p> +<p>He leaned far over the table, till his very breast-bone was +over the edge, as though his eyes had been stilettos and he +wanted to drive them home into my brain. It was only much +later that I understood how near death I had been at that +moment. But the knives on the tablecloth were the usual +restaurant knives with rounded ends and about as deadly as pieces +of hoop-iron. Perhaps in the very gust of his fury he +remembered what a French restaurant knife is like and something +sane within him made him give up the sudden project of cutting my +heart out where I sat. For it could have been nothing but a +sudden impulse. His settled purpose was quite other. +It was not my heart that he was after. His fingers indeed +were groping amongst the knife handles by the side of his plate +but what captivated my attention for a moment were his red lips +which were formed into an odd, sly, insinuating smile. +Heard! To be sure he had heard! The chief of the +great arms smuggling organization!</p> +<p>“Oh!” I said, “that’s giving me too +much importance.” The person responsible and whom I +looked upon as chief of all the business was, as he might have +heard, too, a certain noble and loyal lady.</p> +<p>“I am as noble as she is,” he snapped peevishly, +and I put him down at once as a very offensive beast. +“And as to being loyal, what is that? It is being +truthful! It is being faithful! I know all about +her.”</p> +<p>I managed to preserve an air of perfect unconcern. He +wasn’t a fellow to whom one could talk of Doña +Rita.</p> +<p>“You are a Basque,” I said.</p> +<p>He admitted rather contemptuously that he was a Basque and +even then the truth did not dawn upon me. I suppose that +with the hidden egoism of a lover I was thinking of myself, of +myself alone in relation to Doña Rita, not of Doña +Rita herself. He, too, obviously. He said: “I +am an educated man, but I know her people, all peasants. +There is a sister, an uncle, a priest, a peasant, too, and +perfectly unenlightened. One can’t expect much from a +priest (I am a free-thinker of course), but he is really too bad, +more like a brute beast. As to all her people, mostly dead +now, they never were of any account. There was a little +land, but they were always working on other people’s farms, +a barefooted gang, a starved lot. I ought to know because +we are distant relations. Twentieth cousins or something of +the sort. Yes, I am related to that most loyal lady. +And what is she, after all, but a Parisian woman with innumerable +lovers, as I have been told.”</p> +<p>“I don’t think your information is very +correct,” I said, affecting to yawn slightly. +“This is mere gossip of the gutter and I am surprised at +you, who really know nothing about it—”</p> +<p>But the disgusting animal had fallen into a brown study. +The hair of his very whiskers was perfectly still. I had +now given up all idea of the letter to Rita. Suddenly he +spoke again:</p> +<p>“Women are the origin of all evil. One should +never trust them. They have no honour. No +honour!” he repeated, striking his breast with his closed +fist on which the knuckles stood out very white. “I +left my village many years ago and of course I am perfectly +satisfied with my position and I don’t know why I should +trouble my head about this loyal lady. I suppose +that’s the way women get on in the world.”</p> +<p>I felt convinced that he was no proper person to be a +messenger to headquarters. He struck me as altogether +untrustworthy and perhaps not quite sane. This was +confirmed by him saying suddenly with no visible connection and +as if it had been forced from him by some agonizing process: +“I was a boy once,” and then stopping dead short with +a smile. He had a smile that frightened one by its +association of malice and anguish.</p> +<p>“Will you have anything more to eat?” I asked.</p> +<p>He declined dully. He had had enough. But he +drained the last of a bottle into his glass and accepted a cigar +which I offered him. While he was lighting it I had a sort +of confused impression that he wasn’t such a stranger to me +as I had assumed he was; and yet, on the other hand, I was +perfectly certain I had never seen him before. Next moment +I felt that I could have knocked him down if he hadn’t +looked so amazingly unhappy, while he came out with the +astounding question: “Señor, have you ever been a +lover in your young days?”</p> +<p>“What do you mean?” I asked. “How old +do you think I am?”</p> +<p>“That’s true,” he said, gazing at me in a +way in which the damned gaze out of their cauldrons of boiling +pitch at some soul walking scot free in the place of +torment. “It’s true, you don’t seem to +have anything on your mind.” He assumed an air of +ease, throwing an arm over the back of his chair and blowing the +smoke through the gash of his twisted red mouth. +“Tell me,” he said, “between men, you know, has +this—wonderful celebrity—what does she call +herself? How long has she been your mistress?”</p> +<p>I reflected rapidly that if I knocked him over, chair and all, +by a sudden blow from the shoulder it would bring about infinite +complications beginning with a visit to the Commissaire de Police +on night-duty, and ending in God knows what scandal and +disclosures of political kind; because there was no telling what, +or how much, this outrageous brute might choose to say and how +many people he might not involve in a most undesirable +publicity. He was smoking his cigar with a poignantly +mocking air and not even looking at me. One can’t hit +like that a man who isn’t even looking at one; and then, +just as I was looking at him swinging his leg with a caustic +smile and stony eyes, I felt sorry for the creature. It was +only his body that was there in that chair. It was manifest +to me that his soul was absent in some hell of its own. At +that moment I attained the knowledge of who it was I had before +me. This was the man of whom both Doña Rita and Rose +were so much afraid. It remained then for me to look after +him for the night and then arrange with Baron H. that he should +be sent away the very next day—and anywhere but to +Tolosa. Yes, evidently, I mustn’t lose sight of +him. I proposed in the calmest tone that we should go on +where he could get his much-needed rest. He rose with +alacrity, picked up his little hand-bag, and, walking out before +me, no doubt looked a very ordinary person to all eyes but +mine. It was then past eleven, not much, because we had not +been in that restaurant quite an hour, but the routine of the +town’s night-life being upset during the Carnival the usual +row of fiacres outside the Maison Dorée was not there; in +fact, there were very few carriages about. Perhaps the +coachmen had assumed Pierrot costumes and were rushing about the +streets on foot yelling with the rest of the population. +“We will have to walk,” I said after a +while.—“Oh, yes, let us walk,” assented +Señor Ortega, “or I will be frozen +here.” It was like a plaint of unutterable +wretchedness. I had a fancy that all his natural heat had +abandoned his limbs and gone to his brain. It was otherwise +with me; my head was cool but I didn’t find the night +really so very cold. We stepped out briskly side by +side. My lucid thinking was, as it were, enveloped by the +wide shouting of the consecrated Carnival gaiety. I have +heard many noises since, but nothing that gave me such an +intimate impression of the savage instincts hidden in the breast +of mankind; these yells of festivity suggested agonizing fear, +rage of murder, ferocity of lust, and the irremediable +joylessness of human condition: yet they were emitted by people +who were convinced that they were amusing themselves supremely, +traditionally, with the sanction of ages, with the approval of +their conscience—and no mistake about it whatever! +Our appearance, the soberness of our gait made us +conspicuous. Once or twice, by common inspiration, masks +rushed forward and forming a circle danced round us uttering +discordant shouts of derision; for we were an outrage to the +peculiar proprieties of the hour, and besides we were obviously +lonely and defenceless. On those occasions there was +nothing for it but to stand still till the flurry was over. +My companion, however, would stamp his feet with rage, and I must +admit that I myself regretted not having provided for our wearing +a couple of false noses, which would have been enough to placate +the just resentment of those people. We might have also +joined in the dance, but for some reason or other it didn’t +occur to us; and I heard once a high, clear woman’s voice +stigmatizing us for a “species of swelled heads” +(<i>espèce d’enflés</i>). We proceeded +sedately, my companion muttered with rage, and I was able to +resume my thinking. It was based on the deep persuasion +that the man at my side was insane with quite another than +Carnivalesque lunacy which comes on at one stated time of the +year. He was fundamentally mad, though not perhaps +completely; which of course made him all the greater, I +won’t say danger but, nuisance.</p> +<p>I remember once a young doctor expounding the theory that most +catastrophes in family circles, surprising episodes in public +affairs and disasters in private life, had their origin in the +fact that the world was full of half-mad people. He +asserted that they were the real majority. When asked +whether he considered himself as belonging to the majority, he +said frankly that he didn’t think so; unless the folly of +voicing this view in a company, so utterly unable to appreciate +all its horror, could be regarded as the first symptom of his own +fate. We shouted down him and his theory, but there is no +doubt that it had thrown a chill on the gaiety of our +gathering.</p> +<p>We had now entered a quieter quarter of the town and +Señor Ortega had ceased his muttering. For myself I +had not the slightest doubt of my own sanity. It was proved +to me by the way I could apply my intelligence to the problem of +what was to be done with Señor Ortega. Generally, he +was unfit to be trusted with any mission whatever. The +unstability of his temper was sure to get him into a +scrape. Of course carrying a letter to Headquarters was not +a very complicated matter; and as to that I would have trusted +willingly a properly trained dog. My private letter to +Doña Rita, the wonderful, the unique letter of farewell, I +had given up for the present. Naturally I thought of the +Ortega problem mainly in the terms of Doña Rita’s +safety. Her image presided at every council, at every +conflict of my mind, and dominated every faculty of my +senses. It floated before my eyes, it touched my elbow, it +guarded my right side and my left side; my ears seemed to catch +the sound of her footsteps behind me, she enveloped me with +passing whiffs of warmth and perfume, with filmy touches of the +hair on my face. She penetrated me, my head was full of her +. . . And his head, too, I thought suddenly with a side glance at +my companion. He walked quietly with hunched-up shoulders +carrying his little hand-bag and he looked the most commonplace +figure imaginable.</p> +<p>Yes. There was between us a most horrible fellowship; +the association of his crazy torture with the sublime suffering +of my passion. We hadn’t been a quarter of an hour +together when that woman had surged up fatally between us; +between this miserable wretch and myself. We were haunted +by the same image. But I was sane! I was sane! +Not because I was certain that the fellow must not be allowed to +go to Tolosa, but because I was perfectly alive to the difficulty +of stopping him from going there, since the decision was +absolutely in the hands of Baron H.</p> +<p>If I were to go early in the morning and tell that fat, +bilious man: “Look here, your Ortega’s mad,” he +would certainly think at once that I was, get very frightened, +and . . . one couldn’t tell what course he would +take. He would eliminate me somehow out of the +affair. And yet I could not let the fellow proceed to where +Doña Rita was, because, obviously, he had been molesting +her, had filled her with uneasiness and even alarm, was an +unhappy element and a disturbing influence in her +life—incredible as the thing appeared! I +couldn’t let him go on to make himself a worry and a +nuisance, drive her out from a town in which she wished to be +(for whatever reason) and perhaps start some explosive +scandal. And that girl Rose seemed to fear something graver +even than a scandal. But if I were to explain the matter +fully to H. he would simply rejoice in his heart. Nothing +would please him more than to have Doña Rita driven out of +Tolosa. What a relief from his anxieties (and his +wife’s, too); and if I were to go further, if I even went +so far as to hint at the fears which Rose had not been able to +conceal from me, why then—I went on thinking coldly with a +stoical rejection of the most elementary faith in mankind’s +rectitude—why then, that accommodating husband would simply +let the ominous messenger have his chance. He would see +there only his natural anxieties being laid to rest for +ever. Horrible? Yes. But I could not take the +risk. In a twelvemonth I had travelled a long way in my +mistrust of mankind.</p> +<p>We paced on steadily. I thought: “How on earth am +I going to stop you?” Had this arisen only a month +before, when I had the means at hand and Dominic to confide in, I +would have simply kidnapped the fellow. A little trip to +sea would not have done Señor Ortega any harm; though no +doubt it would have been abhorrent to his feelings. But now +I had not the means. I couldn’t even tell where my +poor Dominic was hiding his diminished head.</p> +<p>Again I glanced at him sideways. I was the taller of the +two and as it happened I met in the light of the street lamp his +own stealthy glance directed up at me with an agonized +expression, an expression that made me fancy I could see the +man’s very soul writhing in his body like an impaled +worm. In spite of my utter inexperience I had some notion +of the images that rushed into his mind at the sight of any man +who had approached Doña Rita. It was enough to +awaken in any human being a movement of horrified compassion; but +my pity went out not to him but to Doña Rita. It was +for her that I felt sorry; I pitied her for having that damned +soul on her track. I pitied her with tenderness and +indignation, as if this had been both a danger and a +dishonour.</p> +<p>I don’t mean to say that those thoughts passed through +my head consciously. I had only the resultant, settled +feeling. I had, however, a thought, too. It came on +me suddenly, and I asked myself with rage and astonishment: +“Must I then kill that brute?” There +didn’t seem to be any alternative. Between him and +Doña Rita I couldn’t hesitate. I believe I +gave a slight laugh of desperation. The suddenness of this +sinister conclusion had in it something comic and +unbelievable. It loosened my grip on my mental +processes. A Latin tag came into my head about the facile +descent into the abyss. I marvelled at its aptness, and +also that it should have come to me so pat. But I believe +now that it was suggested simply by the actual declivity of the +street of the Consuls which lies on a gentle slope. We had +just turned the corner. All the houses were dark and in a +perspective of complete solitude our two shadows dodged and +wheeled about our feet.</p> +<p>“Here we are,” I said.</p> +<p>He was an extraordinarily chilly devil. When we stopped +I could hear his teeth chattering again. I don’t know +what came over me, I had a sort of nervous fit, was incapable of +finding my pockets, let alone the latchkey. I had the +illusion of a narrow streak of light on the wall of the house as +if it had been cracked. “I hope we will be able to +get in,” I murmured.</p> +<p>Señor Ortega stood waiting patiently with his handbag, +like a rescued wayfarer. “But you live in this house, +don’t you?” he observed.</p> +<p>“No,” I said, without hesitation. I +didn’t know how that man would behave if he were aware that +I was staying under the same roof. He was half mad. +He might want to talk all night, try crazily to invade my +privacy. How could I tell? Moreover, I wasn’t +so sure that I would remain in the house. I had some notion +of going out again and walking up and down the street of the +Consuls till daylight. “No, an absent friend lets me +use . . . I had that latchkey this morning . . . Ah! here it +is.”</p> +<p>I let him go in first. The sickly gas flame was there on +duty, undaunted, waiting for the end of the world to come and put +it out. I think that the black-and-white hall surprised +Ortega. I had closed the front door without noise and stood +for a moment listening, while he glanced about furtively. +There were only two other doors in the hall, right and +left. Their panels of ebony were decorated with bronze +applications in the centre. The one on the left was of +course Blunt’s door. As the passage leading beyond it +was dark at the further end I took Señor Ortega by the +hand and led him along, unresisting, like a child. For some +reason or other I moved on tip-toe and he followed my +example. The light and the warmth of the studio impressed +him favourably; he laid down his little bag, rubbed his hands +together, and produced a smile of satisfaction; but it was such a +smile as a totally ruined man would perhaps force on his lips, or +a man condemned to a short shrift by his doctor. I begged +him to make himself at home and said that I would go at once and +hunt up the woman of the house who would make him up a bed on the +big couch there. He hardly listened to what I said. +What were all those things to him! He knew that his destiny +was to sleep on a bed of thorns, to feed on adders. But he +tried to show a sort of polite interest. He asked: +“What is this place?”</p> +<p>“It used to belong to a painter,” I +mumbled.</p> +<p>“Ah, your absent friend,” he said, making a wry +mouth. “I detest all those artists, and all those +writers, and all politicos who are thieves; and I would go even +farther and higher, laying a curse on all idle lovers of +women. You think perhaps I am a Royalist? No. +If there was anybody in heaven or hell to pray to I would pray +for a revolution—a red revolution everywhere.”</p> +<p>“You astonish me,” I said, just to say +something.</p> +<p>“No! But there are half a dozen people in the +world with whom I would like to settle accounts. One could +shoot them like partridges and no questions asked. +That’s what revolution would mean to me.”</p> +<p>“It’s a beautifully simple view,” I +said. “I imagine you are not the only one who holds +it; but I really must look after your comforts. You +mustn’t forget that we have to see Baron H. early to-morrow +morning.” And I went out quietly into the passage +wondering in what part of the house Therese had elected to sleep +that night. But, lo and behold, when I got to the foot of +the stairs there was Therese coming down from the upper regions +in her nightgown, like a sleep-walker. However, it +wasn’t that, because, before I could exclaim, she vanished +off the first floor landing like a streak of white mist and +without the slightest sound. Her attire made it perfectly +clear that she could not have heard us coming in. In fact, +she must have been certain that the house was empty, because she +was as well aware as myself that the Italian girls after their +work at the opera were going to a masked ball to dance for their +own amusement, attended of course by their conscientious +father. But what thought, need, or sudden impulse had +driven Therese out of bed like this was something I +couldn’t conceive.</p> +<p>I didn’t call out after her. I felt sure that she +would return. I went up slowly to the first floor and met +her coming down again, this time carrying a lighted candle. +She had managed to make herself presentable in an extraordinarily +short time.</p> +<p>“Oh, my dear young Monsieur, you have given me a +fright.”</p> +<p>“Yes. And I nearly fainted, too,” I +said. “You looked perfectly awful. What’s +the matter with you? Are you ill?”</p> +<p>She had lighted by then the gas on the landing and I must say +that I had never seen exactly that manner of face on her +before. She wriggled, confused and shifty-eyed, before me; +but I ascribed this behaviour to her shocked modesty and without +troubling myself any more about her feelings I informed her that +there was a Carlist downstairs who must be put up for the +night. Most unexpectedly she betrayed a ridiculous +consternation, but only for a moment. Then she assumed at +once that I would give him hospitality upstairs where there was a +camp-bedstead in my dressing-room. I said:</p> +<p>“No. Give him a shake-down in the studio, where he +is now. It’s warm in there. And remember! I +charge you strictly not to let him know that I sleep in this +house. In fact, I don’t know myself that I will; I +have certain matters to attend to this very night. You will +also have to serve him his coffee in the morning. I will +take him away before ten o’clock.”</p> +<p>All this seemed to impress her more than I had expected. +As usual when she felt curious, or in some other way excited, she +assumed a saintly, detached expression, and asked:</p> +<p>“The dear gentleman is your friend, I +suppose?”</p> +<p>“I only know he is a Spaniard and a Carlist,” I +said: “and that ought to be enough for you.”</p> +<p>Instead of the usual effusive exclamations she murmured: +“Dear me, dear me,” and departed upstairs with the +candle to get together a few blankets and pillows, I +suppose. As for me I walked quietly downstairs on my way to +the studio. I had a curious sensation that I was acting in +a preordained manner, that life was not at all what I had thought +it to be, or else that I had been altogether changed sometime +during the day, and that I was a different person from the man +whom I remembered getting out of my bed in the morning.</p> +<p>Also feelings had altered all their values. The words, +too, had become strange. It was only the inanimate +surroundings that remained what they had always been. For +instance the studio. . . .</p> +<p>During my absence Señor Ortega had taken off his coat +and I found him as it were in the air, sitting in his shirt +sleeves on a chair which he had taken pains to place in the very +middle of the floor. I repressed an absurd impulse to walk +round him as though he had been some sort of exhibit. His +hands were spread over his knees and he looked perfectly +insensible. I don’t mean strange, or ghastly, or +wooden, but just insensible—like an exhibit. And that +effect persisted even after he raised his black suspicious eyes +to my face. He lowered them almost at once. It was +very mechanical. I gave him up and became rather concerned +about myself. My thought was that I had better get out of +that before any more queer notions came into my head. So I +only remained long enough to tell him that the woman of the house +was bringing down some bedding and that I hoped that he would +have a good night’s rest. And directly I spoke it +struck me that this was the most extraordinary speech that ever +was addressed to a figure of that sort. He, however, did +not seem startled by it or moved in any way. He simply +said:</p> +<p>“Thank you.”</p> +<p>In the darkest part of the long passage outside I met Therese +with her arms full of pillows and blankets.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER V</h3> +<p>Coming out of the bright light of the studio I didn’t +make out Therese very distinctly. She, however, having +groped in dark cupboards, must have had her pupils sufficiently +dilated to have seen that I had my hat on my head. This has +its importance because after what I had said to her upstairs it +must have convinced her that I was going out on some midnight +business. I passed her without a word and heard behind me +the door of the studio close with an unexpected crash. It +strikes me now that under the circumstances I might have without +shame gone back to listen at the keyhole. But truth to say +the association of events was not so clear in my mind as it may +be to the reader of this story. Neither were the exact +connections of persons present to my mind. And, besides, +one doesn’t listen at a keyhole but in pursuance of some +plan; unless one is afflicted by a vulgar and fatuous +curiosity. But that vice is not in my character. As +to plan, I had none. I moved along the passage between the +dead wall and the black-and-white marble elevation of the +staircase with hushed footsteps, as though there had been a +mortally sick person somewhere in the house. And the only +person that could have answered to that description was +Señor Ortega. I moved on, stealthy, absorbed, +undecided; asking myself earnestly: “What on earth am I +going to do with him?” That exclusive preoccupation +of my mind was as dangerous to Señor Ortega as typhoid +fever would have been. It strikes me that this comparison +is very exact. People recover from typhoid fever, but +generally the chance is considered poor. This was precisely +his case. His chance was poor; though I had no more +animosity towards him than a virulent disease has against the +victim it lays low. He really would have nothing to +reproach me with; he had run up against me, unwittingly, as a man +enters an infected place, and now he was very ill, very ill +indeed. No, I had no plans against him. I had only +the feeling that he was in mortal danger.</p> +<p>I believe that men of the most daring character (and I make no +claim to it) often do shrink from the logical processes of +thought. It is only the devil, they say, that loves +logic. But I was not a devil. I was not even a victim +of the devil. It was only that I had given up the direction +of my intelligence before the problem; or rather that the problem +had dispossessed my intelligence and reigned in its stead side by +side with a superstitious awe. A dreadful order seemed to +lurk in the darkest shadows of life. The madness of that +Carlist with the soul of a Jacobin, the vile fears of Baron H., +that excellent organizer of supplies, the contact of their two +ferocious stupidities, and last, by a remote disaster at sea, my +love brought into direct contact with the situation: all that was +enough to make one shudder—not at the chance, but at the +design.</p> +<p>For it was my love that was called upon to act here, and +nothing else. And love which elevates us above all +safeguards, above restraining principles, above all littlenesses +of self-possession, yet keeps its feet always firmly on earth, +remains marvellously practical in its suggestions.</p> +<p>I discovered that however much I had imagined I had given up +Rita, that whatever agonies I had gone through, my hope of her +had never been lost. Plucked out, stamped down, torn to +shreds, it had remained with me secret, intact, invincible. +Before the danger of the situation it sprang, full of life, up in +arms—the undying child of immortal love. What incited +me was independent of honour and compassion; it was the prompting +of a love supreme, practical, remorseless in its aim; it was the +practical thought that no woman need be counted as lost for ever, +unless she be dead!</p> +<p>This excluded for the moment all considerations of ways and +means and risks and difficulties. Its tremendous intensity +robbed it of all direction and left me adrift in the big +black-and-white hall as on a silent sea. It was not, +properly speaking, irresolution. It was merely hesitation +as to the next immediate step, and that step even of no great +importance: hesitation merely as to the best way I could spend +the rest of the night. I didn’t think further forward +for many reasons, more or less optimistic, but mainly because I +have no homicidal vein in my composition. The disposition +to gloat over homicide was in that miserable creature in the +studio, the potential Jacobin; in that confounded buyer of +agricultural produce, the punctual employé of Hernandez +Brothers, the jealous wretch with an obscene tongue and an +imagination of the same kind to drive him mad. I thought of +him without pity but also without contempt. I reflected +that there were no means of sending a warning to Doña Rita +in Tolosa; for of course no postal communication existed with the +Headquarters. And moreover what would a warning be worth in +this particular case, supposing it would reach her, that she +would believe it, and that she would know what to do? How +could I communicate to another that certitude which was in my +mind, the more absolute because without proofs that one could +produce?</p> +<p>The last expression of Rose’s distress rang again in my +ears: “Madame has no friends. Not one!” and I +saw Doña Rita’s complete loneliness beset by all +sorts of insincerities, surrounded by pitfalls; her greatest +dangers within herself, in her generosity, in her fears, in her +courage, too. What I had to do first of all was to stop +that wretch at all costs. I became aware of a great +mistrust of Therese. I didn’t want her to find me in +the hall, but I was reluctant to go upstairs to my rooms from an +unreasonable feeling that there I would be too much out of the +way; not sufficiently on the spot. There was the +alternative of a live-long night of watching outside, before the +dark front of the house. It was a most distasteful +prospect. And then it occurred to me that Blunt’s +former room would be an extremely good place to keep a watch +from. I knew that room. When Henry Allègre +gave the house to Rita in the early days (long before he made his +will) he had planned a complete renovation and this room had been +meant for the drawing-room. Furniture had been made for it +specially, upholstered in beautiful ribbed stuff, made to order, +of dull gold colour with a pale blue tracery of arabesques and +oval medallions enclosing Rita’s monogram, repeated on the +backs of chairs and sofas, and on the heavy curtains reaching +from ceiling to floor. To the same time belonged the ebony +and bronze doors, the silver statuette at the foot of the stairs, +the forged iron balustrade reproducing right up the marble +staircase Rita’s decorative monogram in its complicated +design. Afterwards the work was stopped and the house had +fallen into disrepair. When Rita devoted it to the Carlist +cause a bed was put into that drawing-room, just simply the +bed. The room next to that yellow salon had been in +Allègre’s young days fitted as a fencing-room +containing also a bath, and a complicated system of all sorts of +shower and jet arrangements, then quite up to date. That +room was very large, lighted from the top, and one wall of it was +covered by trophies of arms of all sorts, a choice collection of +cold steel disposed on a background of Indian mats and rugs: +Blunt used it as a dressing-room. It communicated by a +small door with the studio.</p> +<p>I had only to extend my hand and make one step to reach the +magnificent bronze handle of the ebony door, and if I +didn’t want to be caught by Therese there was no time to +lose. I made the step and extended the hand, thinking that +it would be just like my luck to find the door locked. But +the door came open to my push. In contrast to the dark hall +the room was most unexpectedly dazzling to my eyes, as if +illuminated <i>a giorno</i> for a reception. No voice came +from it, but nothing could have stopped me now. As I turned +round to shut the door behind me noiselessly I caught sight of a +woman’s dress on a chair, of other articles of apparel +scattered about. The mahogany bed with a piece of light +silk which Therese found somewhere and used for a counterpane was +a magnificent combination of white and crimson between the +gleaming surfaces of dark wood; and the whole room had an air of +splendour with marble consoles, gilt carvings, long mirrors and a +sumptuous Venetian lustre depending from the ceiling: a darkling +mass of icy pendants catching a spark here and there from the +candles of an eight-branched candelabra standing on a little +table near the head of a sofa which had been dragged round to +face the fireplace. The faintest possible whiff of a +familiar perfume made my head swim with its suggestion.</p> +<p>I grabbed the back of the nearest piece of furniture and the +splendour of marbles and mirrors, of cut crystals and carvings, +swung before my eyes in the golden mist of walls and draperies +round an extremely conspicuous pair of black stockings thrown +over a music stool which remained motionless. The silence +was profound. It was like being in an enchanted +place. Suddenly a voice began to speak, clear, detached, +infinitely touching in its calm weariness.</p> +<p>“Haven’t you tormented me enough to-day?” it +said. . . . My head was steady now but my heart began to beat +violently. I listened to the end without moving, +“Can’t you make up your mind to leave me alone for +to-night?” It pleaded with an accent of charitable +scorn.</p> +<p>The penetrating quality of these tones which I had not heard +for so many, many days made my eyes run full of tears. I +guessed easily that the appeal was addressed to the atrocious +Therese. The speaker was concealed from me by the high back +of the sofa, but her apprehension was perfectly justified. +For was it not I who had turned back Therese the pious, the +insatiable, coming downstairs in her nightgown to torment her +sister some more? Mere surprise at Doña Rita’s +presence in the house was enough to paralyze me; but I was also +overcome by an enormous sense of relief, by the assurance of +security for her and for myself. I didn’t even ask +myself how she came there. It was enough for me that she +was not in Tolosa. I could have smiled at the thought that +all I had to do now was to hasten the departure of that +abominable lunatic—for Tolosa: an easy task, almost no task +at all. Yes, I would have smiled, had not I felt outraged +by the presence of Señor Ortega under the same roof with +Doña Rita. The mere fact was repugnant to me, +morally revolting; so that I should have liked to rush at him and +throw him out into the street. But that was not to be done +for various reasons. One of them was pity. I was +suddenly at peace with all mankind, with all nature. I felt +as if I couldn’t hurt a fly. The intensity of my +emotion sealed my lips. With a fearful joy tugging at my +heart I moved round the head of the couch without a word.</p> +<p>In the wide fireplace on a pile of white ashes the logs had a +deep crimson glow; and turned towards them Doña Rita +reclined on her side enveloped in the skins of wild beasts like a +charming and savage young chieftain before a camp fire. She +never even raised her eyes, giving me the opportunity to +contemplate mutely that adolescent, delicately masculine head, so +mysteriously feminine in the power of instant seduction, so +infinitely suave in its firm design, almost childlike in the +freshness of detail: altogether ravishing in the inspired +strength of the modelling. That precious head reposed in +the palm of her hand; the face was slightly flushed (with anger +perhaps). She kept her eyes obstinately fixed on the pages +of a book which she was holding with her other hand. I had +the time to lay my infinite adoration at her feet whose white +insteps gleamed below the dark edge of the fur out of quilted +blue silk bedroom slippers, embroidered with small pearls. +I had never seen them before; I mean the slippers. The +gleam of the insteps, too, for that matter. I lost myself +in a feeling of deep content, something like a foretaste of a +time of felicity which must be quiet or it couldn’t be +eternal. I had never tasted such perfect quietness +before. It was not of this earth. I had gone far +beyond. It was as if I had reached the ultimate wisdom +beyond all dreams and all passions. She was That which is +to be contemplated to all Infinity.</p> +<p>The perfect stillness and silence made her raise her eyes at +last, reluctantly, with a hard, defensive expression which I had +never seen in them before. And no wonder! The glance +was meant for Therese and assumed in self-defence. For some +time its character did not change and when it did it turned into +a perfectly stony stare of a kind which I also had never seen +before. She had never wished so much to be left in +peace. She had never been so astonished in her life. +She had arrived by the evening express only two hours before +Señor Ortega, had driven to the house, and after having +something to eat had become for the rest of the evening the +helpless prey of her sister who had fawned and scolded and +wheedled and threatened in a way that outraged all Rita’s +feelings. Seizing this unexpected occasion Therese had +displayed a distracting versatility of sentiment: rapacity, +virtue, piety, spite, and false tenderness—while, +characteristically enough, she unpacked the dressing-bag, helped +the sinner to get ready for bed, brushed her hair, and finally, +as a climax, kissed her hands, partly by surprise and partly by +violence. After that she had retired from the field of +battle slowly, undefeated, still defiant, firing as a last shot +the impudent question: “Tell me only, have you made your +will, Rita?” To this poor Doña Rita with the +spirit of opposition strung to the highest pitch answered: +“No, and I don’t mean to”—being under the +impression that this was what her sister wanted her to do. +There can be no doubt, however, that all Therese wanted was the +information.</p> +<p>Rita, much too agitated to expect anything but a sleepless +night, had not the courage to get into bed. She thought she +would remain on the sofa before the fire and try to compose +herself with a book. As she had no dressing-gown with her +she put on her long fur coat over her night-gown, threw some logs +on the fire, and lay down. She didn’t hear the +slightest noise of any sort till she heard me shut the door +gently. Quietness of movement was one of Therese’s +accomplishments, and the harassed heiress of the Allègre +millions naturally thought it was her sister coming again to +renew the scene. Her heart sank within her. In the +end she became a little frightened at the long silence, and +raised her eyes. She didn’t believe them for a long +time. She concluded that I was a vision. In fact, the +first word which I heard her utter was a low, awed +“No,” which, though I understood its meaning, chilled +my blood like an evil omen.</p> +<p>It was then that I spoke. “Yes,” I said, +“it’s me that you see,” and made a step +forward. She didn’t start; only her other hand flew +to the edges of the fur coat, gripping them together over her +breast. Observing this gesture I sat down in the nearest +chair. The book she had been reading slipped with a thump +on the floor.</p> +<p>“How is it possible that you should be here?” she +said, still in a doubting voice.</p> +<p>“I am really here,” I said. “Would you +like to touch my hand?”</p> +<p>She didn’t move at all; her fingers still clutched the +fur coat.</p> +<p>“What has happened?”</p> +<p>“It’s a long story, but you may take it from me +that all is over. The tie between us is broken. I +don’t know that it was ever very close. It was an +external thing. The true misfortune is that I have ever +seen you.”</p> +<p>This last phrase was provoked by an exclamation of sympathy on +her part. She raised herself on her elbow and looked at me +intently. “All over,” she murmured.</p> +<p>“Yes, we had to wreck the little vessel. It was +awful. I feel like a murderer. But she had to be +killed.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“Because I loved her too much. Don’t you +know that love and death go very close together?”</p> +<p>“I could feel almost happy that it is all over, if you +hadn’t had to lose your love. Oh, <i>amigo</i> +George, it was a safe love for you.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” I said. “It was a faithful +little vessel. She would have saved us all from any plain +danger. But this was a betrayal. It was—never +mind. All that’s past. The question is what +will the next one be.”</p> +<p>“Why should it be that?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know. Life seems but a series of +betrayals. There are so many kinds of them. This was +a betrayed plan, but one can betray confidence, and hope +and—desire, and the most sacred . . .”</p> +<p>“But what are you doing here?” she +interrupted.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes! The eternal why. Till a few hours +ago I didn’t know what I was here for. And what are +you here for?” I asked point blank and with a bitterness +she disregarded. She even answered my question quite +readily with many words out of which I could make very +little. I only learned that for at least five mixed +reasons, none of which impressed me profoundly, Doña Rita +had started at a moment’s notice from Paris with nothing +but a dressing-bag, and permitting Rose to go and visit her aged +parents for two days, and then follow her mistress. That +girl of late had looked so perturbed and worried that the +sensitive Rita, fearing that she was tired of her place, proposed +to settle a sum of money on her which would have enabled her to +devote herself entirely to her aged parents. And did I know +what that extraordinary girl said? She had said: +“Don’t let Madame think that I would be too proud to +accept anything whatever from her; but I can’t even dream +of leaving Madame. I believe Madame has no friends. +Not one.” So instead of a large sum of money +Doña Rita gave the girl a kiss and as she had been worried +by several people who wanted her to go to Tolosa she bolted down +this way just to get clear of all those busybodies. +“Hide from them,” she went on with ardour. +“Yes, I came here to hide,” she repeated twice as if +delighted at last to have hit on that reason among so many +others. “How could I tell that you would be +here?” Then with sudden fire which only added to the +delight with which I had been watching the play of her +physiognomy she added: “Why did you come into this +room?”</p> +<p>She enchanted me. The ardent modulations of the sound, +the slight play of the beautiful lips, the still, deep sapphire +gleam in those long eyes inherited from the dawn of ages and that +seemed always to watch unimaginable things, that underlying faint +ripple of gaiety that played under all her moods as though it had +been a gift from the high gods moved to pity for this lonely +mortal, all this within the four walls and displayed for me alone +gave me the sense of almost intolerable joy. The words +didn’t matter. They had to be answered, of +course.</p> +<p>“I came in for several reasons. One of them is +that I didn’t know you were here.”</p> +<p>“Therese didn’t tell you?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Never talked to you about me?”</p> +<p>I hesitated only for a moment. “Never,” I +said. Then I asked in my turn, “Did she tell you I +was here?”</p> +<p>“No,” she said.</p> +<p>“It’s very clear she did not mean us to come +together again.”</p> +<p>“Neither did I, my dear.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean by speaking like this, in this tone, +in these words? You seem to use them as if they were a sort +of formula. Am I a dear to you? Or is anybody? . . . +or everybody? . . .”</p> +<p>She had been for some time raised on her elbow, but then as if +something had happened to her vitality she sank down till her +head rested again on the sofa cushion.</p> +<p>“Why do you try to hurt my feelings?” she +asked.</p> +<p>“For the same reason for which you call me dear at the +end of a sentence like that: for want of something more amusing +to do. You don’t pretend to make me believe that you +do it for any sort of reason that a decent person would confess +to.”</p> +<p>The colour had gone from her face; but a fit of wickedness was +on me and I pursued, “What are the motives of your +speeches? What prompts your actions? On your own +showing your life seems to be a continuous running away. +You have just run away from Paris. Where will you run +to-morrow? What are you everlastingly running from—or +is it that you are running after something? What is +it? A man, a phantom—or some sensation that you +don’t like to own to?”</p> +<p>Truth to say, I was abashed by the silence which was her only +answer to this sally. I said to myself that I would not let +my natural anger, my just fury be disarmed by any assumption of +pathos or dignity. I suppose I was really out of my mind +and what in the middle ages would have been called +“possessed” by an evil spirit. I went on +enjoying my own villainy.</p> +<p>“Why aren’t you in Tolosa? You ought to be +in Tolosa. Isn’t Tolosa the proper field for your +abilities, for your sympathies, for your profusions, for your +generosities—the king without a crown, the man without a +fortune! But here there is nothing worthy of your +talents. No, there is no longer anything worth any sort of +trouble here. There isn’t even that ridiculous +Monsieur George. I understand that the talk of the coast +from here to Cette is that Monsieur George is drowned. Upon +my word I believe he is. And serve him right, too. +There’s Therese, but I don’t suppose that your love +for your sister . . .”</p> +<p>“For goodness’ sake don’t let her come in +and find you here.”</p> +<p>Those words recalled me to myself, exorcised the evil spirit +by the mere enchanting power of the voice. They were also +impressive by their suggestion of something practical, +utilitarian, and remote from sentiment. The evil spirit +left me and I remained taken aback slightly.</p> +<p>“Well,” I said, “if you mean that you want +me to leave the room I will confess to you that I can’t +very well do it yet. But I could lock both doors if you +don’t mind that.”</p> +<p>“Do what you like as long as you keep her out. You +two together would be too much for me to-night. Why +don’t you go and lock those doors? I have a feeling +she is on the prowl.”</p> +<p>I got up at once saying, “I imagine she has gone to bed +by this time.” I felt absolutely calm and +responsible. I turned the keys one after another so gently +that I couldn’t hear the click of the locks myself. +This done I recrossed the room with measured steps, with downcast +eyes, and approaching the couch without raising them from the +carpet I sank down on my knees and leaned my forehead on its +edge. That penitential attitude had but little remorse in +it. I detected no movement and heard no sound from +her. In one place a bit of the fur coat touched my cheek +softly, but no forgiving hand came to rest on my bowed +head. I only breathed deeply the faint scent of violets, +her own particular fragrance enveloping my body, penetrating my +very heart with an inconceivable intimacy, bringing me closer to +her than the closest embrace, and yet so subtle that I sensed her +existence in me only as a great, glowing, indeterminate +tenderness, something like the evening light disclosing after the +white passion of the day infinite depths in the colours of the +sky and an unsuspected soul of peace in the protean forms of +life. I had not known such quietness for months; and I +detected in myself an immense fatigue, a longing to remain where +I was without changing my position to the end of time. +Indeed to remain seemed to me a complete solution for all the +problems that life presents—even as to the very death +itself.</p> +<p>Only the unwelcome reflection that this was impossible made me +get up at last with a sigh of deep grief at the end of the +dream. But I got up without despair. She didn’t +murmur, she didn’t stir. There was something august +in the stillness of the room. It was a strange peace which +she shared with me in this unexpected shelter full of disorder in +its neglected splendour. What troubled me was the sudden, +as it were material, consciousness of time passing as water +flows. It seemed to me that it was only the tenacity of my +sentiment that held that woman’s body, extended and +tranquil above the flood. But when I ventured at last to +look at her face I saw her flushed, her teeth clenched—it +was visible—her nostrils dilated, and in her narrow, +level-glancing eyes a look of inward and frightened +ecstasy. The edges of the fur coat had fallen open and I +was moved to turn away. I had the same impression as on the +evening we parted that something had happened which I did not +understand; only this time I had not touched her at all. I +really didn’t understand. At the slightest whisper I +would now have gone out without a murmur, as though that emotion +had given her the right to be obeyed. But there was no +whisper; and for a long time I stood leaning on my arm, looking +into the fire and feeling distinctly between the four walls of +that locked room the unchecked time flow past our two stranded +personalities.</p> +<p>And suddenly she spoke. She spoke in that voice that was +so profoundly moving without ever being sad, a little wistful +perhaps and always the supreme expression of her grace. She +asked as if nothing had happened:</p> +<p>“What are you thinking of, <i>amigo</i>?”</p> +<p>I turned about. She was lying on her side, tranquil +above the smooth flow of time, again closely wrapped up in her +fur, her head resting on the old-gold sofa cushion bearing like +everything else in that room the decoratively enlaced letters of +her monogram; her face a little pale now, with the crimson lobe +of her ear under the tawny mist of her loose hair, the lips a +little parted, and her glance of melted sapphire level and +motionless, darkened by fatigue.</p> +<p>“Can I think of anything but you?” I murmured, +taking a seat near the foot of the couch. “Or rather +it isn’t thinking, it is more like the consciousness of you +always being present in me, complete to the last hair, to the +faintest shade of expression, and that not only when we are apart +but when we are together, alone, as close as this. I see +you now lying on this couch but that is only the insensible +phantom of the real you that is in me. And it is the easier +for me to feel this because that image which others see and call +by your name—how am I to know that it is anything else but +an enchanting mist? You have always eluded me except in one +or two moments which seem still more dream-like than the +rest. Since I came into this room you have done nothing to +destroy my conviction of your unreality apart from myself. +You haven’t offered me your hand to touch. Is it +because you suspect that apart from me you are but a mere +phantom, and that you fear to put it to the test?”</p> +<p>One of her hands was under the fur and the other under her +cheek. She made no sound. She didn’t offer to +stir. She didn’t move her eyes, not even after I had +added after waiting for a while,</p> +<p>“Just what I expected. You are a cold +illusion.”</p> +<p>She smiled mysteriously, right away from me, straight at the +fire, and that was all.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER VI</h3> +<p>I had a momentary suspicion that I had said something +stupid. Her smile amongst many other things seemed to have +meant that, too. And I answered it with a certain +resignation:</p> +<p>“Well, I don’t know that you are so much +mist. I remember once hanging on to you like a drowning man +. . . But perhaps I had better not speak of this. It +wasn’t so very long ago, and you may . . . ”</p> +<p>“I don’t mind. Well . . .”</p> +<p>“Well, I have kept an impression of great +solidity. I’ll admit that. A woman of +granite.”</p> +<p>“A doctor once told me that I was made to last for +ever,” she said.</p> +<p>“But essentially it’s the same thing,” I +went on. “Granite, too, is insensible.”</p> +<p>I watched her profile against the pillow and there came on her +face an expression I knew well when with an indignation full of +suppressed laughter she used to throw at me the word +“Imbecile.” I expected it to come, but it +didn’t come. I must say, though, that I was swimmy in +my head and now and then had a noise as of the sea in my ears, so +I might not have heard it. The woman of granite, built to +last for ever, continued to look at the glowing logs which made a +sort of fiery ruin on the white pile of ashes. “I +will tell you how it is,” I said. “When I have +you before my eyes there is such a projection of my whole being +towards you that I fail to see you distinctly. It was like +that from the beginning. I may say that I never saw you +distinctly till after we had parted and I thought you had gone +from my sight for ever. It was then that you took body in +my imagination and that my mind seized on a definite form of you +for all its adorations—for its profanations, too. +Don’t imagine me grovelling in spiritual abasement before a +mere image. I got a grip on you that nothing can shake +now.”</p> +<p>“Don’t speak like this,” she said. +“It’s too much for me. And there is a whole +long night before us.”</p> +<p>“You don’t think that I dealt with you +sentimentally enough perhaps? But the sentiment was there; +as clear a flame as ever burned on earth from the most remote +ages before that eternal thing which is in you, which is your +heirloom. And is it my fault that what I had to give was +real flame, and not a mystic’s incense? It is neither +your fault nor mine. And now whatever we say to each other +at night or in daylight, that sentiment must be taken for +granted. It will be there on the day I die—when you +won’t be there.”</p> +<p>She continued to look fixedly at the red embers; and from her +lips that hardly moved came the quietest possible whisper: +“Nothing would be easier than to die for you.”</p> +<p>“Really,” I cried. “And you expect me +perhaps after this to kiss your feet in a transport of gratitude +while I hug the pride of your words to my breast. But as it +happens there is nothing in me but contempt for this sublime +declaration. How dare you offer me this charlatanism of +passion? What has it got to do between you and me who are +the only two beings in the world that may safely say that we have +no need of shams between ourselves? Is it possible that you +are a charlatan at heart? Not from egoism, I admit, but +from some sort of fear. Yet, should you be sincere, +then—listen well to me—I would never forgive +you. I would visit your grave every day to curse you for an +evil thing.”</p> +<p>“Evil thing,” she echoed softly.</p> +<p>“Would you prefer to be a sham—that one could +forget?”</p> +<p>“You will never forget me,” she said in the same +tone at the glowing embers. “Evil or good. But, +my dear, I feel neither an evil nor a sham. I have got to +be what I am, and that, <i>amigo</i>, is not so easy; because I +may be simple, but like all those on whom there is no peace I am +not One. No, I am not One!”</p> +<p>“You are all the women in the world,” I whispered +bending over her. She didn’t seem to be aware of +anything and only spoke—always to the glow.</p> +<p>“If I were that I would say: God help them then. +But that would be more appropriate for Therese. For me, I +can only give them my infinite compassion. I have too much +reverence in me to invoke the name of a God of whom clever men +have robbed me a long time ago. How could I help it? +For the talk was clever and—and I had a mind. And I +am also, as Therese says, naturally sinful. Yes, my dear, I +may be naturally wicked but I am not evil and I could die for +you.”</p> +<p>“You!” I said. “You are afraid to +die.”</p> +<p>“Yes. But not for you.”</p> +<p>The whole structure of glowing logs fell down, raising a small +turmoil of white ashes and sparks. The tiny crash seemed to +wake her up thoroughly. She turned her head upon the +cushion to look at me.</p> +<p>“It’s a very extraordinary thing, we two coming +together like this,” she said with conviction. +“You coming in without knowing I was here and then telling +me that you can’t very well go out of the room. That +sounds funny. I wouldn’t have been angry if you had +said that you wouldn’t. It would have hurt me. +But nobody ever paid much attention to my feelings. Why do +you smile like this?”</p> +<p>“At a thought. Without any charlatanism of passion +I am able to tell you of something to match your devotion. +I was not afraid for your sake to come within a hair’s +breadth of what to all the world would have been a squalid +crime. Note that you and I are persons of honour. And +there might have been a criminal trial at the end of it for +me. Perhaps the scaffold.”</p> +<p>“Do you say these horrors to make me tremble?”</p> +<p>“Oh, you needn’t tremble. There shall be no +crime. I need not risk the scaffold, since now you are +safe. But I entered this room meditating resolutely on the +ways of murder, calculating possibilities and chances without the +slightest compunction. It’s all over now. It +was all over directly I saw you here, but it had been so near +that I shudder yet.”</p> +<p>She must have been very startled because for a time she +couldn’t speak. Then in a faint voice:</p> +<p>“For me! For me!” she faltered out +twice.</p> +<p>“For you—or for myself? Yet it +couldn’t have been selfish. What would it have been +to me that you remained in the world? I never expected to +see you again. I even composed a most beautiful letter of +farewell. Such a letter as no woman had ever +received.”</p> +<p>Instantly she shot out a hand towards me. The edges of +the fur cloak fell apart. A wave of the faintest possible +scent floated into my nostrils.</p> +<p>“Let me have it,” she said imperiously.</p> +<p>“You can’t have it. It’s all in my +head. No woman will read it. I suspect it was +something that could never have been written. But what a +farewell! And now I suppose we shall say good-bye without +even a handshake. But you are safe! Only I must ask +you not to come out of this room till I tell you you +may.”</p> +<p>I was extremely anxious that Señor Ortega should never +even catch a glimpse of Doña Rita, never guess how near he +had been to her. I was extremely anxious the fellow should +depart for Tolosa and get shot in a ravine; or go to the Devil in +his own way, as long as he lost the track of Doña Rita +completely. He then, probably, would get mad and get shut +up, or else get cured, forget all about it, and devote himself to +his vocation, whatever it was—keep a shop and grow +fat. All this flashed through my mind in an instant and +while I was still dazzled by those comforting images, the voice +of Doña Rita pulled me up with a jerk.</p> +<p>“You mean not out of the house?”</p> +<p>“No, I mean not out of this room,” I said with +some embarrassment.</p> +<p>“What do you mean? Is there something in the house +then? This is most extraordinary! Stay in this +room? And you, too, it seems? Are you also afraid for +yourself?”</p> +<p>“I can’t even give you an idea how afraid I +was. I am not so much now. But you know very well, +Doña Rita, that I never carry any sort of weapon in my +pocket.”</p> +<p>“Why don’t you, then?” she asked in a flash +of scorn which bewitched me so completely for an instant that I +couldn’t even smile at it.</p> +<p>“Because if I am unconventionalized I am an old +European,” I murmured gently. “No, +<i>Excellentissima</i>, I shall go through life without as much +as a switch in my hand. It’s no use you being +angry. Adapting to this great moment some words +you’ve heard before: I am like that. Such is my +character!”</p> +<p>Doña Rita frankly stared at me—a most unusual +expression for her to have. Suddenly she sat up.</p> +<p>“Don George,” she said with lovely animation, +“I insist upon knowing who is in my house.”</p> +<p>“You insist! . . . But Therese says it is <i>her</i> +house.”</p> +<p>Had there been anything handy, such as a cigarette box, for +instance, it would have gone sailing through the air spouting +cigarettes as it went. Rosy all over, cheeks, neck, +shoulders, she seemed lighted up softly from inside like a +beautiful transparency. But she didn’t raise her +voice.</p> +<p>“You and Therese have sworn my ruin. If you +don’t tell me what you mean I will go outside and shout up +the stairs to make her come down. I know there is no one +but the three of us in the house.”</p> +<p>“Yes, three; but not counting my Jacobin. There is +a Jacobin in the house.”</p> +<p>“A Jac . . .! Oh, George, is this the time to +jest?” she began in persuasive tones when a faint but +peculiar noise stilled her lips as though they had been suddenly +frozen. She became quiet all over instantly. I, on +the contrary, made an involuntary movement before I, too, became +as still as death. We strained our ears; but that peculiar +metallic rattle had been so slight and the silence now was so +perfect that it was very difficult to believe one’s +senses. Doña Rita looked inquisitively at me. +I gave her a slight nod. We remained looking into each +other’s eyes while we listened and listened till the +silence became unbearable. Doña Rita whispered +composedly: “Did you hear?”</p> +<p>“I am asking myself . . . I almost think I +didn’t.”</p> +<p>“Don’t shuffle with me. It was a scraping +noise.”</p> +<p>“Something fell.”</p> +<p>“Something! What thing? What are the things +that fall by themselves? Who is that man of whom you +spoke? Is there a man?”</p> +<p>“No doubt about it whatever. I brought him here +myself.”</p> +<p>“What for?”</p> +<p>“Why shouldn’t I have a Jacobin of my own? +Haven’t you one, too? But mine is a different problem +from that white-haired humbug of yours. He is a genuine +article. There must be plenty like him about. He has +scores to settle with half a dozen people, he says, and he +clamours for revolutions to give him a chance.”</p> +<p>“But why did you bring him here?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know—from sudden affection . . . +”</p> +<p>All this passed in such low tones that we seemed to make out +the words more by watching each other’s lips than through +our sense of hearing. Man is a strange animal. I +didn’t care what I said. All I wanted was to keep her +in her pose, excited and still, sitting up with her hair loose, +softly glowing, the dark brown fur making a wonderful contrast +with the white lace on her breast. All I was thinking of +was that she was adorable and too lovely for words! I cared +for nothing but that sublimely aesthetic impression. It +summed up all life, all joy, all poetry! It had a divine +strain. I am certain that I was not in my right mind. +I suppose I was not quite sane. I am convinced that at that +moment of the four people in the house it was Doña Rita +who upon the whole was the most sane. She observed my face +and I am sure she read there something of my inward +exaltation. She knew what to do. In the softest +possible tone and hardly above her breath she commanded: +“George, come to yourself.”</p> +<p>Her gentleness had the effect of evening light. I was +soothed. Her confidence in her own power touched me +profoundly. I suppose my love was too great for madness to +get hold of me. I can’t say that I passed to a +complete calm, but I became slightly ashamed of myself. I +whispered:</p> +<p>“No, it was not from affection, it was for the love of +you that I brought him here. That imbecile H. was going to +send him to Tolosa.”</p> +<p>“That Jacobin!” Doña Rita was immensely +surprised, as she might well have been. Then resigned to +the incomprehensible: “Yes,” she breathed out, +“what did you do with him?”</p> +<p>“I put him to bed in the studio.”</p> +<p>How lovely she was with the effort of close attention depicted +in the turn of her head and in her whole face honestly trying to +approve. “And then?” she inquired.</p> +<p>“Then I came in here to face calmly the necessity of +doing away with a human life. I didn’t shirk it for a +moment. That’s what a short twelvemonth has brought +me to. Don’t think I am reproaching you, O blind +force! You are justified because you <i>are</i>. +Whatever had to happen you would not even have heard of +it.”</p> +<p>Horror darkened her marvellous radiance. Then her face +became utterly blank with the tremendous effort to +understand. Absolute silence reigned in the house. It +seemed to me that everything had been said now that mattered in +the world; and that the world itself had reached its ultimate +stage, had reached its appointed end of an eternal, phantom-like +silence. Suddenly Doña Rita raised a warning +finger. I had heard nothing and shook my head; but she +nodded hers and murmured excitedly,</p> +<p>“Yes, yes, in the fencing-room, as before.”</p> +<p>In the same way I answered her: “Impossible! The +door is locked and Therese has the key.” She asked +then in the most cautious manner,</p> +<p>“Have you seen Therese to-night?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” I confessed without misgiving. +“I left her making up the fellow’s bed when I came in +here.”</p> +<p>“The bed of the Jacobin?” she said in a peculiar +tone as if she were humouring a lunatic.</p> +<p>“I think I had better tell you he is a +Spaniard—that he seems to know you from early days. . . +.” I glanced at her face, it was extremely tense, +apprehensive. For myself I had no longer any doubt as to +the man and I hoped she would reach the correct conclusion +herself. But I believe she was too distracted and worried +to think consecutively. She only seemed to feel some terror +in the air. In very pity I bent down and whispered +carefully near her ear, “His name is Ortega.”</p> +<p>I expected some effect from that name but I never expected +what happened. With the sudden, free, spontaneous agility +of a young animal she leaped off the sofa, leaving her slippers +behind, and in one bound reached almost the middle of the +room. The vigour, the instinctive precision of that spring, +were something amazing. I just escaped being knocked +over. She landed lightly on her bare feet with a perfect +balance, without the slightest suspicion of swaying in her +instant immobility. It lasted less than a second, then she +spun round distractedly and darted at the first door she could +see. My own agility was just enough to enable me to grip +the back of the fur coat and then catch her round the body before +she could wriggle herself out of the sleeves. She was +muttering all the time, “No, no, no.” She +abandoned herself to me just for an instant during which I got +her back to the middle of the room. There she attempted to +free herself and I let her go at once. With her face very +close to mine, but apparently not knowing what she was looking at +she repeated again twice, “No—No,” with an +intonation which might well have brought dampness to my eyes but +which only made me regret that I didn’t kill the honest +Ortega at sight. Suddenly Doña Rita swung round and +seizing her loose hair with both hands started twisting it up +before one of the sumptuous mirrors. The wide fur sleeves +slipped down her white arms. In a brusque movement like a +downward stab she transfixed the whole mass of tawny glints and +sparks with the arrow of gold which she perceived lying there, +before her, on the marble console. Then she sprang away +from the glass muttering feverishly, +“Out—out—out of this house,” and trying +with an awful, senseless stare to dodge past me who had put +myself in her way with open arms. At last I managed to +seize her by the shoulders and in the extremity of my distress I +shook her roughly. If she hadn’t quieted down then I +believe my heart would have broken. I spluttered right into +her face: “I won’t let you. Here you +stay.” She seemed to recognize me at last, and +suddenly still, perfectly firm on her white feet, she let her +arms fall and, from an abyss of desolation, whispered, “O! +George! No! No! Not Ortega.”</p> +<p>There was a passion of mature grief in this tone of +appeal. And yet she remained as touching and helpless as a +distressed child. It had all the simplicity and depth of a +child’s emotion. It tugged at one’s +heart-strings in the same direct way. But what could one +do? How could one soothe her? It was impossible to +pat her on the head, take her on the knee, give her a chocolate +or show her a picture-book. I found myself absolutely +without resource. Completely at a loss.</p> +<p>“Yes, Ortega. Well, what of it?” I whispered +with immense assurance.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER VII</h3> +<p>My brain was in a whirl. I am safe to say that at this +precise moment there was nobody completely sane in the +house. Setting apart Therese and Ortega, both in the grip +of unspeakable passions, all the moral economy of Doña +Rita had gone to pieces. Everything was gone except her +strong sense of life with all its implied menaces. The +woman was a mere chaos of sensations and vitality. I, too, +suffered most from inability to get hold of some fundamental +thought. The one on which I could best build some hopes was +the thought that, of course, Ortega did not know anything. +I whispered this into the ear of Doña Rita, into her +precious, her beautifully shaped ear.</p> +<p>But she shook her head, very much like an inconsolable child +and very much with a child’s complete pessimism she +murmured, “Therese has told him.”</p> +<p>The words, “Oh, nonsense,” never passed my lips, +because I could not cheat myself into denying that there had been +a noise; and that the noise was in the fencing-room. I knew +that room. There was nothing there that by the wildest +stretch of imagination could be conceived as falling with that +particular sound. There was a table with a tall strip of +looking-glass above it at one end; but since Blunt took away his +campaigning kit there was no small object of any sort on the +console or anywhere else that could have been jarred off in some +mysterious manner. Along one of the walls there was the +whole complicated apparatus of solid brass pipes, and quite close +to it an enormous bath sunk into the floor. The greatest +part of the room along its whole length was covered with matting +and had nothing else but a long, narrow leather-upholstered bench +fixed to the wall. And that was all. And the door +leading to the studio was locked. And Therese had the +key. And it flashed on my mind, independently of +Doña Rita’s pessimism, by the force of personal +conviction, that, of course, Therese would tell him. I +beheld the whole succession of events perfectly connected and +tending to that particular conclusion. Therese would tell +him! I could see the contrasted heads of those two +formidable lunatics close together in a dark mist of whispers +compounded of greed, piety, and jealousy, plotting in a sense of +perfect security as if under the very wing of Providence. +So at least Therese would think. She could not be but under +the impression that (providentially) I had been called out for +the rest of the night.</p> +<p>And now there was one sane person in the house, for I had +regained complete command of my thoughts. Working in a +logical succession of images they showed me at last as clearly as +a picture on a wall, Therese pressing with fervour the key into +the fevered palm of the rich, prestigious, virtuous cousin, so +that he should go and urge his self-sacrificing offer to Rita, +and gain merit before Him whose Eye sees all the actions of +men. And this image of those two with the key in the studio +seemed to me a most monstrous conception of fanaticism, of a +perfectly horrible aberration. For who could mistake the +state that made José Ortega the figure he was, inspiring +both pity and fear? I could not deny that I understood, not +the full extent but the exact nature of his suffering. +Young as I was I had solved for myself that grotesque and sombre +personality. His contact with me, the personal contact with +(as he thought) one of the actual lovers of that woman who +brought to him as a boy the curse of the gods, had tipped over +the trembling scales. No doubt I was very near death in the +“grand salon” of the Maison Dorée, only that +his torture had gone too far. It seemed to me that I ought +to have heard his very soul scream while we were seated at +supper. But in a moment he had ceased to care for me. +I was nothing. To the crazy exaggeration of his jealousy I +was but one amongst a hundred thousand. What was my +death? Nothing. All mankind had possessed that +woman. I knew what his wooing of her would be: +Mine—or Dead.</p> +<p>All this ought to have had the clearness of noon-day, even to +the veriest idiot that ever lived; and Therese was, properly +speaking, exactly that. An idiot. A one-ideaed +creature. Only the idea was complex; therefore it was +impossible really to say what she wasn’t capable of. +This was what made her obscure processes so awful. She had +at times the most amazing perceptions. Who could tell where +her simplicity ended and her cunning began? She had also +the faculty of never forgetting any fact bearing upon her one +idea; and I remembered now that the conversation with me about +the will had produced on her an indelible impression of the +Law’s surprising justice. Recalling her naïve +admiration of the “just” law that required no +“paper” from a sister, I saw her casting loose the +raging fate with a sanctimonious air. And Therese would +naturally give the key of the fencing-room to her dear, virtuous, +grateful, disinterested cousin, to that damned soul with delicate +whiskers, because she would think it just possible that Rita +might have locked the door leading front her room into the hall; +whereas there was no earthly reason, not the slightest +likelihood, that she would bother about the other. +Righteousness demanded that the erring sister should be taken +unawares.</p> +<p>All the above is the analysis of one short moment. +Images are to words like light to sound—incomparably +swifter. And all this was really one flash of light through +my mind. A comforting thought succeeded it: that both doors +were locked and that really there was no danger.</p> +<p>However, there had been that noise—the why and the how +of it? Of course in the dark he might have fallen into the +bath, but that wouldn’t have been a faint noise. It +wouldn’t have been a rattle. There was absolutely +nothing he could knock over. He might have dropped a +candle-stick if Therese had left him her own. That was +possible, but then those thick mats—and then, anyway, why +should he drop it? and, hang it all, why shouldn’t he have +gone straight on and tried the door? I had suddenly a +sickening vision of the fellow crouching at the key-hole, +listening, listening, listening, for some movement or sigh of the +sleeper he was ready to tear away from the world, alive or +dead. I had a conviction that he was still listening. +Why? Goodness knows! He may have been only gloating +over the assurance that the night was long and that he had all +these hours to himself.</p> +<p>I was pretty certain that he could have heard nothing of our +whispers, the room was too big for that and the door too +solid. I hadn’t the same confidence in the efficiency +of the lock. Still I . . . Guarding my lips with my hand I +urged Doña Rita to go back to the sofa. She +wouldn’t answer me and when I got hold of her arm I +discovered that she wouldn’t move. She had taken root +in that thick-pile Aubusson carpet; and she was so rigidly still +all over that the brilliant stones in the shaft of the arrow of +gold, with the six candles at the head of the sofa blazing full +on them, emitted no sparkle.</p> +<p>I was extremely anxious that she shouldn’t betray +herself. I reasoned, save the mark, as a +psychologist. I had no doubt that the man knew of her being +there; but he only knew it by hearsay. And that was bad +enough. I could not help feeling that if he obtained some +evidence for his senses by any sort of noise, voice, or movement, +his madness would gain strength enough to burst the lock. I +was rather ridiculously worried about the locks. A horrid +mistrust of the whole house possessed me. I saw it in the +light of a deadly trap. I had no weapon, I couldn’t +say whether he had one or not. I wasn’t afraid of a +struggle as far as I, myself, was concerned, but I was afraid of +it for Doña Rita. To be rolling at her feet, locked +in a literally tooth-and-nail struggle with Ortega would have +been odious. I wanted to spare her feelings, just as I +would have been anxious to save from any contact with mud the +feet of that goatherd of the mountains with a symbolic +face. I looked at her face. For immobility it might +have been a carving. I wished I knew how to deal with that +embodied mystery, to influence it, to manage it. Oh, how I +longed for the gift of authority! In addition, since I had +become completely sane, all my scruples against laying hold of +her had returned. I felt shy and embarrassed. My eyes +were fixed on the bronze handle of the fencing-room door as if it +were something alive. I braced myself up against the moment +when it would move. This was what was going to happen +next. It would move very gently. My heart began to +thump. But I was prepared to keep myself as still as death +and I hoped Doña Rita would have sense enough to do the +same. I stole another glance at her face and at that moment +I heard the word: “Beloved!” form itself in the still +air of the room, weak, distinct, piteous, like the last request +of the dying.</p> +<p>With great presence of mind I whispered into Doña +Rita’s ear: “Perfect silence!” and was +overjoyed to discover that she had heard me, understood me; that +she even had command over her rigid lips. She answered me +in a breath (our cheeks were nearly touching): “Take me out +of this house.”</p> +<p>I glanced at all her clothing scattered about the room and +hissed forcibly the warning “Perfect immobility”; +noticing with relief that she didn’t offer to move, though +animation was returning to her and her lips had remained parted +in an awful, unintended effect of a smile. And I +don’t know whether I was pleased when she, who was not to +be touched, gripped my wrist suddenly. It had the air of +being done on purpose because almost instantly another: +“Beloved!” louder, more agonized if possible, got +into the room and, yes, went home to my heart. It was +followed without any transition, preparation, or warning, by a +positively bellowed: “Speak, perjured beast!” which I +felt pass in a thrill right through Doña Rita like an +electric shock, leaving her as motionless as before.</p> +<p>Till he shook the door handle, which he did immediately +afterwards, I wasn’t certain through which door he had +spoken. The two doors (in different walls) were rather near +each other. It was as I expected. He was in the +fencing-room, thoroughly aroused, his senses on the alert to +catch the slightest sound. A situation not to be trifled +with. Leaving the room was for us out of the +question. It was quite possible for him to dash round into +the hall before we could get clear of the front door. As to +making a bolt of it upstairs there was the same objection; and to +allow ourselves to be chased all over the empty house by this +maniac would have been mere folly. There was no advantage +in locking ourselves up anywhere upstairs where the original +doors and locks were much lighter. No, true safety was in +absolute stillness and silence, so that even his rage should be +brought to doubt at last and die expended, or choke him before it +died; I didn’t care which.</p> +<p>For me to go out and meet him would have been stupid. +Now I was certain that he was armed. I had remembered the +wall in the fencing-room decorated with trophies of cold steel in +all the civilized and savage forms; sheaves of assegais, in the +guise of columns and grouped between them stars and suns of +choppers, swords, knives; from Italy, from Damascus, from +Abyssinia, from the ends of the world. Ortega had only to +make his barbarous choice. I suppose he had got up on the +bench, and fumbling about amongst them must have brought one +down, which, falling, had produced that rattling noise. But +in any case to go to meet him would have been folly, because, +after all, I might have been overpowered (even with bare hands) +and then Doña Rita would have been left utterly +defenceless.</p> +<p>“He will speak,” came to me the ghostly, terrified +murmur of her voice. “Take me out of the house before +he begins to speak.”</p> +<p>“Keep still,” I whispered. “He will +soon get tired of this.”</p> +<p>“You don’t know him.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, I do. Been with him two +hours.”</p> +<p>At this she let go my wrist and covered her face with her +hands passionately. When she dropped them she had the look +of one morally crushed.</p> +<p>“What did he say to you?”</p> +<p>“He raved.”</p> +<p>“Listen to me. It was all true!”</p> +<p>“I daresay, but what of that?”</p> +<p>These ghostly words passed between us hardly louder than +thoughts; but after my last answer she ceased and gave me a +searching stare, then drew in a long breath. The voice on +the other side of the door burst out with an impassioned request +for a little pity, just a little, and went on begging for a few +words, for two words, for one word—one poor little +word. Then it gave up, then repeated once more, “Say +you are there, Rita, Say one word, just one word. Say +‘yes.’ Come! Just one little +yes.”</p> +<p>“You see,” I said. She only lowered her +eyelids over the anxious glance she had turned on me.</p> +<p>For a minute we could have had the illusion that he had stolen +away, unheard, on the thick mats. But I don’t think +that either of us was deceived. The voice returned, +stammering words without connection, pausing and faltering, till +suddenly steadied it soared into impassioned entreaty, sank to +low, harsh tones, voluble, lofty sometimes and sometimes +abject. When it paused it left us looking profoundly at +each other.</p> +<p>“It’s almost comic,” I whispered.</p> +<p>“Yes. One could laugh,” she assented, with a +sort of sinister conviction. Never had I seen her look +exactly like that, for an instant another, an incredible +Rita! “Haven’t I laughed at him innumerable +times?” she added in a sombre whisper.</p> +<p>He was muttering to himself out there, and unexpectedly +shouted: “What?” as though he had fancied he had +heard something. He waited a while before he started up +again with a loud: “Speak up, Queen of the goats, with your +goat tricks. . .” All was still for a time, then came +a most awful bang on the door. He must have stepped back a +pace to hurl himself bodily against the panels. The whole +house seemed to shake. He repeated that performance once +more, and then varied it by a prolonged drumming with his +fists. It <i>was</i> comic. But I felt myself +struggling mentally with an invading gloom as though I were no +longer sure of myself.</p> +<p>“Take me out,” whispered Doña Rita +feverishly, “take me out of this house before it is too +late.”</p> +<p>“You will have to stand it,” I answered.</p> +<p>“So be it; but then you must go away yourself. Go +now, before it is too late.”</p> +<p>I didn’t condescend to answer this. The drumming +on the panels stopped and the absurd thunder of it died out in +the house. I don’t know why precisely then I had the +acute vision of the red mouth of José Ortega wriggling +with rage between his funny whiskers. He began afresh but +in a tired tone:</p> +<p>“Do you expect a fellow to forget your tricks, you +wicked little devil? Haven’t you ever seen me dodging +about to get a sight of you amongst those pretty gentlemen, on +horseback, like a princess, with pure cheeks like a carved +saint? I wonder I didn’t throw stones at you, I +wonder I didn’t run after you shouting the tale—curse +my timidity! But I daresay they knew as much as I +did. More. All the new tricks—if that were +possible.”</p> +<p>While he was making this uproar, Doña Rita put her +fingers in her ears and then suddenly changed her mind and +clapped her hands over my ears. Instinctively I disengaged +my head but she persisted. We had a short tussle without +moving from the spot, and suddenly I had my head free, and there +was complete silence. He had screamed himself out of +breath, but Doña Rita muttering: “Too late, too +late,” got her hands away from my grip and slipping +altogether out of her fur coat seized some garment lying on a +chair near by (I think it was her skirt), with the intention of +dressing herself, I imagine, and rushing out of the house. +Determined to prevent this, but indeed without thinking very much +what I was doing, I got hold of her arm. That struggle was +silent, too; but I used the least force possible and she managed +to give me an unexpected push. Stepping back to save myself +from falling I overturned the little table, bearing the +six-branched candlestick. It hit the floor, rebounded with +a dull ring on the carpet, and by the time it came to a rest +every single candle was out. He on the other side of the +door naturally heard the noise and greeted it with a triumphant +screech: “Aha! I’ve managed to wake you +up,” the very savagery of which had a laughable +effect. I felt the weight of Doña Rita grow on my +arm and thought it best to let her sink on the floor, wishing to +be free in my movements and really afraid that now he had +actually heard a noise he would infallibly burst the door. +But he didn’t even thump it. He seemed to have +exhausted himself in that scream. There was no other light +in the room but the darkened glow of the embers and I could +hardly make out amongst the shadows of furniture Doña Rita +sunk on her knees in a penitential and despairing attitude. +Before this collapse I, who had been wrestling desperately with +her a moment before, felt that I dare not touch her. This +emotion, too, I could not understand; this abandonment of +herself, this conscience-stricken humility. A humbly +imploring request to open the door came from the other +side. Ortega kept on repeating: “Open the door, open +the door,” in such an amazing variety of intonations, +imperative, whining, persuasive, insinuating, and even +unexpectedly jocose, that I really stood there smiling to myself, +yet with a gloomy and uneasy heart. Then he remarked, +parenthetically as it were, “Oh, you know how to torment a +man, you brown-skinned, lean, grinning, dishevelled imp, +you. And mark,” he expounded further, in a curiously +doctoral tone—“you are in all your limbs hateful: +your eyes are hateful and your mouth is hateful, and your hair is +hateful, and your body is cold and vicious like a snake—and +altogether you are perdition.”</p> +<p>This statement was astonishingly deliberate. He drew a +moaning breath after it and uttered in a heart-rending tone, +“You know, Rita, that I cannot live without you. I +haven’t lived. I am not living now. This +isn’t life. Come, Rita, you can’t take a +boy’s soul away and then let him grow up and go about the +world, poor devil, while you go amongst the rich from one pair of +arms to another, showing all your best tricks. But I will +forgive you if you only open the door,” he ended in an +inflated tone: “You remember how you swore time after time +to be my wife. You are more fit to be Satan’s wife +but I don’t mind. You shall be my wife!”</p> +<p>A sound near the floor made me bend down hastily with a stern: +“Don’t laugh,” for in his grotesque, almost +burlesque discourses there seemed to me to be truth, passion, and +horror enough to move a mountain.</p> +<p>Suddenly suspicion seized him out there. With perfectly +farcical unexpectedness he yelled shrilly: “Oh, you +deceitful wretch! You won’t escape me! I will +have you. . . .”</p> +<p>And in a manner of speaking he vanished. Of course I +couldn’t see him but somehow that was the impression. +I had hardly time to receive it when crash! . . . he was already +at the other door. I suppose he thought that his prey was +escaping him. His swiftness was amazing, almost +inconceivable, more like the effect of a trick or of a +mechanism. The thump on the door was awful as if he had not +been able to stop himself in time. The shock seemed enough +to stun an elephant. It was really funny. And after +the crash there was a moment of silence as if he were recovering +himself. The next thing was a low grunt, and at once he +picked up the thread of his fixed idea.</p> +<p>“You will have to be my wife. I have no +shame. You swore you would be and so you will have to +be.” Stifled low sounds made me bend down again to +the kneeling form, white in the flush of the dark red glow. +“For goodness’ sake don’t,” I whispered +down. She was struggling with an appalling fit of +merriment, repeating to herself, “Yes, every day, for two +months. Sixty times at least, sixty times at +least.” Her voice was rising high. She was +struggling against laughter, but when I tried to put my hand over +her lips I felt her face wet with tears. She turned it this +way and that, eluding my hand with repressed low, little +moans. I lost my caution and said, “Be quiet,” +so sharply as to startle myself (and her, too) into expectant +stillness.</p> +<p>Ortega’s voice in the hall asked distinctly: +“Eh? What’s this?” and then he kept still +on his side listening, but he must have thought that his ears had +deceived him. He was getting tired, too. He was +keeping quiet out there—resting. Presently he sighed +deeply; then in a harsh melancholy tone he started again.</p> +<p>“My love, my soul, my life, do speak to me. What +am I that you should take so much trouble to pretend that you +aren’t there? Do speak to me,” he repeated +tremulously, following this mechanical appeal with a string of +extravagantly endearing names, some of them quite childish, which +all of a sudden stopped dead; and then after a pause there came a +distinct, unutterably weary: “What shall I do now?” +as though he were speaking to himself.</p> +<p>I shuddered to hear rising from the floor, by my side, a +vibrating, scornful: “Do! Why, slink off home looking +over your shoulder as you used to years ago when I had done with +you—all but the laughter.”</p> +<p>“Rita,” I murmured, appalled. He must have +been struck dumb for a moment. Then, goodness only knows +why, in his dismay or rage he was moved to speak in French with a +most ridiculous accent.</p> +<p>“So you have found your tongue at +last—<i>Catin</i>! You were that from the +cradle. Don’t you remember how . . .”</p> +<p>Doña Rita sprang to her feet at my side with a loud +cry, “No, George, no,” which bewildered me +completely. The suddenness, the loudness of it made the +ensuing silence on both sides of the door perfectly awful. +It seemed to me that if I didn’t resist with all my might +something in me would die on the instant. In the straight, +falling folds of the night-dress she looked cold like a block of +marble; while I, too, was turned into stone by the terrific +clamour in the hall.</p> +<p>“Therese, Therese,” yelled Ortega. +“She has got a man in there.” He ran to the +foot of the stairs and screamed again, “Therese, +Therese! There is a man with her. A man! Come +down, you miserable, starved peasant, come down and +see.”</p> +<p>I don’t know where Therese was but I am sure that this +voice reached her, terrible, as if clamouring to heaven, and with +a shrill over-note which made me certain that if she was in bed +the only thing she would think of doing would be to put her head +under the bed-clothes. With a final yell: “Come down +and see,” he flew back at the door of the room and started +shaking it violently.</p> +<p>It was a double door, very tall, and there must have been a +lot of things loose about its fittings, bolts, latches, and all +those brass applications with broken screws, because it rattled, +it clattered, it jingled; and produced also the sound as of +thunder rolling in the big, empty hall. It was deafening, +distressing, and vaguely alarming as if it could bring the house +down. At the same time the futility of it had, it cannot be +denied, a comic effect. The very magnitude of the racket he +raised was funny. But he couldn’t keep up that +violent exertion continuously, and when he stopped to rest we +could hear him shouting to himself in vengeful tones. He +saw it all! He had been decoyed there! (Rattle, +rattle, rattle.) He had been decoyed into that town, he +screamed, getting more and more excited by the noise he made +himself, in order to be exposed to this! (Rattle, +rattle.) By this shameless “<i>Catin</i>! +<i>Catin</i>! <i>Catin</i>!”</p> +<p>He started at the door again with superhuman vigour. +Behind me I heard Doña Rita laughing softly, statuesque, +turned all dark in the fading glow. I called out to her +quite openly, “Do keep your self-control.” And +she called back to me in a clear voice: “Oh, my dear, will +you ever consent to speak to me after all this? But +don’t ask for the impossible. He was born to be +laughed at.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” I cried. “But don’t let +yourself go.”</p> +<p>I don’t know whether Ortega heard us. He was +exerting then his utmost strength of lung against the infamous +plot to expose him to the derision of the fiendish associates of +that obscene woman! . . . Then he began another interlude upon +the door, so sustained and strong that I had the thought that +this was growing absurdly impossible, that either the plaster +would begin to fall off the ceiling or he would drop dead next +moment, out there.</p> +<p>He stopped, uttered a few curses at the door, and seemed +calmer from sheer exhaustion.</p> +<p>“This story will be all over the world,” we heard +him begin. “Deceived, decoyed, inveighed, in order to +be made a laughing-stock before the most debased of all mankind, +that woman and her associates.” This was really a +meditation. And then he screamed: “I will kill you +all.” Once more he started worrying the door but it +was a startlingly feeble effort which he abandoned almost at +once. He must have been at the end of his strength. +Doña Rita from the middle of the room asked me recklessly +loud: “Tell me! Wasn’t he born to be laughed +at?” I didn’t answer her. I was so near +the door that I thought I ought to hear him panting there. +He was terrifying, but he was not serious. He was at the +end of his strength, of his breath, of every kind of endurance, +but I did not know it. He was done up, finished; but +perhaps he did not know it himself. How still he was! +Just as I began to wonder at it, I heard him distinctly give a +slap to his forehead. “I see it all!” he +cried. “That miserable, canting peasant-woman +upstairs has arranged it all. No doubt she consulted her +priests. I must regain my self-respect. Let her die +first.” I heard him make a dash for the foot of the +stairs. I was appalled; yet to think of Therese being +hoisted with her own petard was like a turn of affairs in a +farce. A very ferocious farce. Instinctively I +unlocked the door. Doña Rita’s contralto laugh +rang out loud, bitter, and contemptuous; and I heard +Ortega’s distracted screaming as if under torture. +“It hurts! It hurts! It hurts!” I +hesitated just an instant, half a second, no more, but before I +could open the door wide there was in the hall a short groan and +the sound of a heavy fall.</p> +<p>The sight of Ortega lying on his back at the foot of the +stairs arrested me in the doorway. One of his legs was +drawn up, the other extended fully, his foot very near the +pedestal of the silver statuette holding the feeble and tenacious +gleam which made the shadows so heavy in that hall. One of +his arms lay across his breast. The other arm was extended +full length on the white-and-black pavement with the hand palm +upwards and the fingers rigidly spread out. The shadow of +the lowest step slanted across his face but one whisker and part +of his chin could be made out. He appeared strangely +flattened. He didn’t move at all. He was in his +shirt-sleeves. I felt an extreme distaste for that +sight. The characteristic sound of a key worrying in the +lock stole into my ears. I couldn’t locate it but I +didn’t attend much to that at first. I was engaged in +watching Señor Ortega. But for his raised leg he +clung so flat to the floor and had taken on himself such a +distorted shape that he might have been the mere shadow of +Señor Ortega. It was rather fascinating to see him +so quiet at the end of all that fury, clamour, passion, and +uproar. Surely there was never anything so still in the +world as this Ortega. I had a bizarre notion that he was +not to be disturbed.</p> +<p>A noise like the rattling of chain links, a small grind and +click exploded in the stillness of the hall and a voice began to +swear in Italian. These surprising sounds were quite +welcome, they recalled me to myself, and I perceived they came +from the front door which seemed pushed a little ajar. Was +somebody trying to get in? I had no objection, I went to +the door and said: “Wait a moment, it’s on the +chain.” The deep voice on the other side said: +“What an extraordinary thing,” and I assented +mentally. It was extraordinary. The chain was never +put up, but Therese was a thorough sort of person, and on this +night she had put it up to keep no one out except myself. +It was the old Italian and his daughters returning from the ball +who were trying to get in.</p> +<p>Suddenly I became intensely alive to the whole +situation. I bounded back, closed the door of Blunt’s +room, and the next moment was speaking to the Italian. +“A little patience.” My hands trembled but I +managed to take down the chain and as I allowed the door to swing +open a little more I put myself in his way. He was burly, +venerable, a little indignant, and full of thanks. Behind +him his two girls, in short-skirted costumes, white stockings, +and low shoes, their heads powdered and earrings sparkling in +their ears, huddled together behind their father, wrapped up in +their light mantles. One had kept her little black mask on +her face, the other held hers in her hand.</p> +<p>The Italian was surprised at my blocking the way and remarked +pleasantly, “It’s cold outside, Signor.” +I said, “Yes,” and added in a hurried whisper: +“There is a dead man in the hall.” He +didn’t say a single word but put me aside a little, +projected his body in for one searching glance. “Your +daughters,” I murmured. He said kindly, “<i>Va +bene</i>, <i>va bene</i>.” And then to them, +“Come in, girls.”</p> +<p>There is nothing like dealing with a man who has had a long +past of out-of-the-way experiences. The skill with which he +rounded up and drove the girls across the hall, paternal and +irresistible, venerable and reassuring, was a sight to see. +They had no time for more than one scared look over the +shoulder. He hustled them in and locked them up safely in +their part of the house, then crossed the hall with a quick, +practical stride. When near Señor Ortega he trod +short just in time and said: “In truth, blood”; then +selecting the place, knelt down by the body in his tall hat and +respectable overcoat, his white beard giving him immense +authority somehow. “But—this man is not +dead,” he exclaimed, looking up at me. With profound +sagacity, inherent as it were in his great beard, he never took +the trouble to put any questions to me and seemed certain that I +had nothing to do with the ghastly sight. “He managed +to give himself an enormous gash in his side,” was his calm +remark. “And what a weapon!” he exclaimed, +getting it out from under the body. It was an Abyssinian or +Nubian production of a bizarre shape; the clumsiest thing +imaginable, partaking of a sickle and a chopper with a sharp edge +and a pointed end. A mere cruel-looking curio of +inconceivable clumsiness to European eyes.</p> +<p>The old man let it drop with amused disdain. “You +had better take hold of his legs,” he decided without +appeal. I certainly had no inclination to argue. When +we lifted him up the head of Señor Ortega fell back +desolately, making an awful, defenceless display of his large, +white throat.</p> +<p>We found the lamp burning in the studio and the bed made up on +the couch on which we deposited our burden. My venerable +friend jerked the upper sheet away at once and started tearing it +into strips.</p> +<p>“You may leave him to me,” said that efficient +sage, “but the doctor is your affair. If you +don’t want this business to make a noise you will have to +find a discreet man.”</p> +<p>He was most benevolently interested in all the +proceedings. He remarked with a patriarchal smile as he +tore the sheet noisily: “You had better not lose any +time.” I didn’t lose any time. I crammed +into the next hour an astonishing amount of bodily +activity. Without more words I flew out bare-headed into +the last night of Carnival. Luckily I was certain of the +right sort of doctor. He was an iron-grey man of forty and +of a stout habit of body but who was able to put on a +spurt. In the cold, dark, and deserted by-streets, he ran +with earnest, and ponderous footsteps, which echoed loudly in the +cold night air, while I skimmed along the ground a pace or two in +front of him. It was only on arriving at the house that I +perceived that I had left the front door wide open. All the +town, every evil in the world could have entered the +black-and-white hall. But I had no time to meditate upon my +imprudence. The doctor and I worked in silence for nearly +an hour and it was only then while he was washing his hands in +the fencing-room that he asked:</p> +<p>“What was he up to, that imbecile?”</p> +<p>“Oh, he was examining this curiosity,” I said.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, and it accidentally went off,” said the +doctor, looking contemptuously at the Nubian knife I had thrown +on the table. Then while wiping his hands: “I would +bet there is a woman somewhere under this; but that of course +does not affect the nature of the wound. I hope this +blood-letting will do him good.”</p> +<p>“Nothing will do him any good,” I said.</p> +<p>“Curious house this,” went on the doctor, +“It belongs to a curious sort of woman, too. I +happened to see her once or twice. I shouldn’t wonder +if she were to raise considerable trouble in the track of her +pretty feet as she goes along. I believe you know her +well.”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Curious people in the house, too. There was a +Carlist officer here, a lean, tall, dark man, who couldn’t +sleep. He consulted me once. Do you know what became +of him?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>The doctor had finished wiping his hands and flung the towel +far away.</p> +<p>“Considerable nervous over-strain. Seemed to have +a restless brain. Not a good thing, that. For the +rest a perfect gentleman. And this Spaniard here, do you +know him?”</p> +<p>“Enough not to care what happens to him,” I said, +“except for the trouble he might cause to the Carlist +sympathizers here, should the police get hold of this +affair.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, he must take his chance in the seclusion of +that conservatory sort of place where you have put him. +I’ll try to find somebody we can trust to look after +him. Meantime, I will leave the case to you.”</p> +<h3>CHAPTER VIII</h3> +<p>Directly I had shut the door after the doctor I started +shouting for Therese. “Come down at once, you +wretched hypocrite,” I yelled at the foot of the stairs in +a sort of frenzy as though I had been a second Ortega. Not +even an echo answered me; but all of a sudden a small flame +flickered descending from the upper darkness and Therese appeared +on the first floor landing carrying a lighted candle in front of +a livid, hard face, closed against remorse, compassion, or mercy +by the meanness of her righteousness and of her rapacious +instincts. She was fully dressed in that abominable brown +stuff with motionless folds, and as I watched her coming down +step by step she might have been made of wood. I stepped +back and pointed my finger at the darkness of the passage leading +to the studio. She passed within a foot of me, her pale +eyes staring straight ahead, her face still with disappointment +and fury. Yet it is only my surmise. She might have +been made thus inhuman by the force of an invisible +purpose. I waited a moment, then, stealthily, with extreme +caution, I opened the door of the so-called Captain Blunt’s +room.</p> +<p>The glow of embers was all but out. It was cold and dark +in there; but before I closed the door behind me the dim light +from the hall showed me Doña Rita standing on the very +same spot where I had left her, statuesque in her +night-dress. Even after I shut the door she loomed up +enormous, indistinctly rigid and inanimate. I picked up the +candelabra, groped for a candle all over the carpet, found one, +and lighted it. All that time Doña Rita didn’t +stir. When I turned towards her she seemed to be slowly +awakening from a trance. She was deathly pale and by +contrast the melted, sapphire-blue of her eyes looked black as +coal. They moved a little in my direction, incurious, +recognizing me slowly. But when they had recognized me +completely she raised her hands and hid her face in them. A +whole minute or more passed. Then I said in a low tone: +“Look at me,” and she let them fall slowly as if +accepting the inevitable.</p> +<p>“Shall I make up the fire?” . . . I waited. +“Do you hear me?” She made no sound and with +the tip of my finger I touched her bare shoulder. But for +its elasticity it might have been frozen. At once I looked +round for the fur coat; it seemed to me that there was not a +moment to lose if she was to be saved, as though we had been lost +on an Arctic plain. I had to put her arms into the sleeves, +myself, one after another. They were cold, lifeless, but +flexible. Then I moved in front of her and buttoned the +thing close round her throat. To do that I had actually to +raise her chin with my finger, and it sank slowly down +again. I buttoned all the other buttons right down to the +ground. It was a very long and splendid fur. Before +rising from my kneeling position I felt her feet. Mere +ice. The intimacy of this sort of attendance helped the +growth of my authority. “Lie down,” I murmured, +“I shall pile on you every blanket I can find here,” +but she only shook her head.</p> +<p>Not even in the days when she ran “shrill as a cicada +and thin as a match” through the chill mists of her native +mountains could she ever have felt so cold, so wretched, and so +desolate. Her very soul, her grave, indignant, and +fantastic soul, seemed to drowse like an exhausted traveller +surrendering himself to the sleep of death. But when I +asked her again to lie down she managed to answer me, “Not +in this room.” The dumb spell was broken. She +turned her head from side to side, but oh! how cold she +was! It seemed to come out of her, numbing me, too; and the +very diamonds on the arrow of gold sparkled like hoar frost in +the light of the one candle.</p> +<p>“Not in this room; not here,” she protested, with +that peculiar suavity of tone which made her voice unforgettable, +irresistible, no matter what she said. “Not after all +this! I couldn’t close my eyes in this place. +It’s full of corruption and ugliness all round, in me, too, +everywhere except in your heart, which has nothing to do where I +breathe. And here you may leave me. But wherever you +go remember that I am not evil, I am not evil.”</p> +<p>I said: “I don’t intend to leave you here. +There is my room upstairs. You have been in it +before.”</p> +<p>“Oh, you have heard of that,” she whispered. +The beginning of a wan smile vanished from her lips.</p> +<p>“I also think you can’t stay in this room; and, +surely, you needn’t hesitate . . .”</p> +<p>“No. It doesn’t matter now. He has +killed me. Rita is dead.”</p> +<p>While we exchanged these words I had retrieved the quilted, +blue slippers and had put them on her feet. She was very +tractable. Then taking her by the arm I led her towards the +door.</p> +<p>“He has killed me,” she repeated in a sigh. +“The little joy that was in me.”</p> +<p>“He has tried to kill himself out there in the +hall,” I said. She put back like a frightened child +but she couldn’t be dragged on as a child can be.</p> +<p>I assured her that the man was no longer there but she only +repeated, “I can’t get through the hall. I +can’t walk. I can’t . . .”</p> +<p>“Well,” I said, flinging the door open and seizing +her suddenly in my arms, “if you can’t walk then you +shall be carried,” and I lifted her from the ground so +abruptly that she could not help catching me round the neck as +any child almost will do instinctively when you pick it up.</p> +<p>I ought really to have put those blue slippers in my +pocket. One dropped off at the bottom of the stairs as I +was stepping over an unpleasant-looking mess on the marble +pavement, and the other was lost a little way up the flight when, +for some reason (perhaps from a sense of insecurity), she began +to struggle. Though I had an odd sense of being engaged in +a sort of nursery adventure she was no child to carry. I +could just do it. But not if she chose to struggle. I +set her down hastily and only supported her round the waist for +the rest of the way. My room, of course, was perfectly dark +but I led her straight to the sofa at once and let her fall on +it. Then as if I had in sober truth rescued her from an +Alpine height or an Arctic floe, I busied myself with nothing but +lighting the gas and starting the fire. I didn’t even +pause to lock my door. All the time I was aware of her +presence behind me, nay, of something deeper and more my +own—of her existence itself—of a small blue flame, +blue like her eyes, flickering and clear within her frozen +body. When I turned to her she was sitting very stiff and +upright, with her feet posed hieratically on the carpet and her +head emerging out of the ample fur collar, such as a gem-like +flower above the rim of a dark vase. I tore the blankets +and the pillows off my bed and piled them up in readiness in a +great heap on the floor near the couch. My reason for this +was that the room was large, too large for the fireplace, and the +couch was nearest to the fire. She gave no sign but one of +her wistful attempts at a smile. In a most business-like +way I took the arrow out of her hair and laid it on the centre +table. The tawny mass fell loose at once about her +shoulders and made her look even more desolate than before. +But there was an invincible need of gaiety in her heart. +She said funnily, looking at the arrow sparkling in the gas +light:</p> +<p>“Ah! That poor philistinish ornament!”</p> +<p>An echo of our early days, not more innocent but so much more +youthful, was in her tone; and we both, as if touched with +poignant regret, looked at each other with enlightened eyes.</p> +<p>“Yes,” I said, “how far away all this +is. And you wouldn’t leave even that object behind +when you came last in here. Perhaps it is for that reason +it haunted me—mostly at night. I dreamed of you +sometimes as a huntress nymph gleaming white through the foliage +and throwing this arrow like a dart straight at my heart. +But it never reached it. It always fell at my feet as I +woke up. The huntress never meant to strike down that +particular quarry.”</p> +<p>“The huntress was wild but she was not evil. And +she was no nymph, but only a goatherd girl. Dream of her no +more, my dear.”</p> +<p>I had the strength of mind to make a sign of assent and busied +myself arranging a couple of pillows at one end of the +sofa. “Upon my soul, goatherd, you are not +responsible,” I said. “You are not! Lay +down that uneasy head,” I continued, forcing a half-playful +note into my immense sadness, “that has even dreamed of a +crown—but not for itself.”</p> +<p>She lay down quietly. I covered her up, looked once into +her eyes and felt the restlessness of fatigue over-power me so +that I wanted to stagger out, walk straight before me, stagger on +and on till I dropped. In the end I lost myself in +thought. I woke with a start to her voice saying +positively:</p> +<p>“No. Not even in this room. I can’t +close my eyes. Impossible. I have a horror of +myself. That voice in my ears. All true. All +true.”</p> +<p>She was sitting up, two masses of tawny hair fell on each side +of her tense face. I threw away the pillows from which she +had risen and sat down behind her on the couch. +“Perhaps like this,” I suggested, drawing her head +gently on my breast. She didn’t resist, she +didn’t even sigh, she didn’t look at me or attempt to +settle herself in any way. It was I who settled her after +taking up a position which I thought I should be able to keep for +hours—for ages. After a time I grew composed enough +to become aware of the ticking of the clock, even to take +pleasure in it. The beat recorded the moments of her rest, +while I sat, keeping as still as if my life depended upon it with +my eyes fixed idly on the arrow of gold gleaming and glittering +dimly on the table under the lowered gas-jet. And presently +my breathing fell into the quiet rhythm of the sleep which +descended on her at last. My thought was that now nothing +mattered in the world because I had the world safe resting in my +arms—or was it in my heart?</p> +<p>Suddenly my heart seemed torn in two within my breast and half +of my breath knocked out of me. It was a tumultuous +awakening. The day had come. Doña Rita had +opened her eyes, found herself in my arms, and instantly had +flung herself out of them with one sudden effort. I saw her +already standing in the filtered sunshine of the closed shutters, +with all the childlike horror and shame of that night vibrating +afresh in the awakened body of the woman.</p> +<p>“Daylight,” she whispered in an appalled +voice. “Don’t look at me, George. I +can’t face daylight. No—not with you. +Before we set eyes on each other all that past was like +nothing. I had crushed it all in my new pride. +Nothing could touch the Rita whose hand was kissed by you. +But now! Never in daylight.”</p> +<p>I sat there stupid with surprise and grief. This was no +longer the adventure of venturesome children in a +nursery-book. A grown man’s bitterness, informed, +suspicious, resembling hatred, welled out of my heart.</p> +<p>“All this means that you are going to desert me +again?” I said with contempt. “All right. +I won’t throw stones after you . . . Are you going, +then?”</p> +<p>She lowered her head slowly with a backward gesture of her arm +as if to keep me off, for I had sprung to my feet all at once as +if mad.</p> +<p>“Then go quickly,” I said. “You are +afraid of living flesh and blood. What are you running +after? Honesty, as you say, or some distinguished carcass +to feed your vanity on? I know how cold you can +be—and yet live. What have I done to you? You +go to sleep in my arms, wake up and go away. Is it to +impress me? Charlatanism of character, my dear.”</p> +<p>She stepped forward on her bare feet as firm on that floor +which seemed to heave up and down before my eyes as she had ever +been—goatherd child leaping on the rocks of her native +hills which she was never to see again. I snatched the +arrow of gold from the table and threw it after her.</p> +<p>“Don’t forget this thing,” I cried, +“you would never forgive yourself for leaving it +behind.”</p> +<p>It struck the back of the fur coat and fell on the floor +behind her. She never looked round. She walked to the +door, opened it without haste, and on the landing in the diffused +light from the ground-glass skylight there appeared, rigid, like +an implacable and obscure fate, the awful Therese—waiting +for her sister. The heavy ends of a big black shawl thrown +over her head hung massively in biblical folds. With a +faint cry of dismay Doña Rita stopped just within my +room.</p> +<p>The two women faced each other for a few moments +silently. Therese spoke first. There was no austerity +in her tone. Her voice was as usual, pertinacious, +unfeeling, with a slight plaint in it; terrible in its unchanged +purpose.</p> +<p>“I have been standing here before this door all +night,” she said. “I don’t know how I +lived through it. I thought I would die a hundred times for +shame. So that’s how you are spending your +time? You are worse than shameless. But God may still +forgive you. You have a soul. You are my +sister. I will never abandon you—till you +die.”</p> +<p>“What is it?” Doña Rita was heard +wistfully, “my soul or this house that you won’t +abandon.”</p> +<p>“Come out and bow your head in humiliation. I am +your sister and I shall help you to pray to God and all the +Saints. Come away from that poor young gentleman who like +all the others can have nothing but contempt and disgust for you +in his heart. Come and hide your head where no one will +reproach you—but I, your sister. Come out and beat +your breast: come, poor Sinner, and let me kiss you, for you are +my sister!”</p> +<p>While Therese was speaking Doña Rita stepped back a +pace and as the other moved forward still extending the hand of +sisterly love, she slammed the door in Therese’s +face. “You abominable girl!” she cried +fiercely. Then she turned about and walked towards me who +had not moved. I felt hardly alive but for the cruel pain +that possessed my whole being. On the way she stooped to +pick up the arrow of gold and then moved on quicker, holding it +out to me in her open palm.</p> +<p>“You thought I wouldn’t give it to you. +<i>Amigo</i>, I wanted nothing so much as to give it to +you. And now, perhaps—you will take it.”</p> +<p>“Not without the woman,” I said sombrely.</p> +<p>“Take it,” she said. “I haven’t +the courage to deliver myself up to Therese. No. Not +even for your sake. Don’t you think I have been +miserable enough yet?”</p> +<p>I snatched the arrow out of her hand then and ridiculously +pressed it to my breast; but as I opened my lips she who knew +what was struggling for utterance in my heart cried in a ringing +tone:</p> +<p>“Speak no words of love, George! Not yet. +Not in this house of ill-luck and falsehood. Not within a +hundred miles of this house, where they came clinging to me all +profaned from the mouth of that man. Haven’t you +heard them—the horrible things? And what can words +have to do between you and me?”</p> +<p>Her hands were stretched out imploringly, I said, childishly +disconcerted:</p> +<p>“But, Rita, how can I help using words of love to +you? They come of themselves on my lips!”</p> +<p>“They come! Ah! But I shall seal your lips +with the thing itself,” she said. “Like this. . +. ”</p> +<h2>SECOND NOTE</h2> +<p>The narrative of our man goes on for some six months more, +from this, the last night of the Carnival season up to and beyond +the season of roses. The tone of it is much less of +exultation than might have been expected. Love as is well +known having nothing to do with reason, being insensible to +forebodings and even blind to evidence, the surrender of those +two beings to a precarious bliss has nothing very astonishing in +itself; and its portrayal, as he attempts it, lacks dramatic +interest. The sentimental interest could only have a +fascination for readers themselves actually in love. The +response of a reader depends on the mood of the moment, so much +so that a book may seem extremely interesting when read late at +night, but might appear merely a lot of vapid verbiage in the +morning. My conviction is that the mood in which the +continuation of his story would appear sympathetic is very +rare. This consideration has induced me to suppress +it—all but the actual facts which round up the previous +events and satisfy such curiosity as might have been aroused by +the foregoing narrative.</p> +<p>It is to be remarked that this period is characterized more by +a deep and joyous tenderness than by sheer passion. All +fierceness of spirit seems to have burnt itself out in their +preliminary hesitations and struggles against each other and +themselves. Whether love in its entirety has, speaking +generally, the same elementary meaning for women as for men, is +very doubtful. Civilization has been at work there. +But the fact is that those two display, in every phase of +discovery and response, an exact accord. Both show +themselves amazingly ingenuous in the practice of +sentiment. I believe that those who know women won’t +be surprised to hear me say that she was as new to love as he +was. During their retreat in the region of the Maritime +Alps, in a small house built of dry stones and embowered with +roses, they appear all through to be less like released lovers +than as companions who had found out each other’s fitness +in a specially intense way. Upon the whole, I think that +there must be some truth in his insistence of there having always +been something childlike in their relation. In the +unreserved and instant sharing of all thoughts, all impressions, +all sensations, we see the naïveness of a children’s +foolhardy adventure. This unreserved expressed for him the +whole truth of the situation. With her it may have been +different. It might have been assumed; yet nobody is +altogether a comedian; and even comedians themselves have got to +believe in the part they play. Of the two she appears much +the more assured and confident. But if in this she was a +comedienne then it was but a great achievement of her +ineradicable honesty. Having once renounced her honourable +scruples she took good care that he should taste no flavour of +misgivings in the cup. Being older it was she who imparted +its character to the situation. As to the man if he had any +superiority of his own it was simply the superiority of him who +loves with the greater self-surrender.</p> +<p>This is what appears from the pages I have discreetly +suppressed—partly out of regard for the pages +themselves. In every, even terrestrial, mystery there is as +it were a sacred core. A sustained commentary on love is +not fit for every eye. A universal experience is exactly +the sort of thing which is most difficult to appraise justly in a +particular instance.</p> +<p>How this particular instance affected Rose, who was the only +companion of the two hermits in their rose-embowered hut of +stones, I regret not to be able to report; but I will venture to +say that for reasons on which I need not enlarge, the girl could +not have been very reassured by what she saw. It seems to +me that her devotion could never be appeased; for the conviction +must have been growing on her that, no matter what happened, +Madame could never have any friends. It may be that +Doña Rita had given her a glimpse of the unavoidable end, +and that the girl’s tarnished eyes masked a certain amount +of apprehensive, helpless desolation.</p> +<p>What meantime was becoming of the fortune of Henry +Allègre is another curious question. We have been +told that it was too big to be tied up in a sack and thrown into +the sea. That part of it represented by the fabulous +collections was still being protected by the police. But +for the rest, it may be assumed that its power and significance +were lost to an interested world for something like six +months. What is certain is that the late Henry +Allègre’s man of affairs found himself comparatively +idle. The holiday must have done much good to his harassed +brain. He had received a note from Doña Rita saying +that she had gone into retreat and that she did not mean to send +him her address, not being in the humour to be worried with +letters on any subject whatever. “It’s enough +for you”—she wrote—“to know that I am +alive.” Later, at irregular intervals, he received +scraps of paper bearing the stamps of various post offices and +containing the simple statement: “I am still alive,” +signed with an enormous, flourished exuberant R. I imagine +Rose had to travel some distances by rail to post those +messages. A thick veil of secrecy had been lowered between +the world and the lovers; yet even this veil turned out not +altogether impenetrable.</p> +<p>He—it would be convenient to call him Monsieur George to +the end—shared with Doña Rita her perfect detachment +from all mundane affairs; but he had to make two short visits to +Marseilles. The first was prompted by his loyal affection +for Dominic. He wanted to discover what had happened or was +happening to Dominic and to find out whether he could do +something for that man. But Dominic was not the sort of +person for whom one can do much. Monsieur George did not +even see him. It looked uncommonly as if Dominic’s +heart were broken. Monsieur George remained concealed for +twenty-four hours in the very house in which Madame +Léonore had her café. He spent most of that +time in conversing with Madame Léonore about +Dominic. She was distressed, but her mind was made +up. That bright-eyed, nonchalant, and passionate woman was +making arrangements to dispose of her café before +departing to join Dominic. She would not say where. +Having ascertained that his assistance was not required Monsieur +George, in his own words, “managed to sneak out of the town +without being seen by a single soul that mattered.”</p> +<p>The second occasion was very prosaic and shockingly +incongruous with the super-mundane colouring of these days. +He had neither the fortune of Henry Allègre nor a man of +affairs of his own. But some rent had to be paid to +somebody for the stone hut and Rose could not go marketing in the +tiny hamlet at the foot of the hill without a little money. +There came a time when Monsieur George had to descend from the +heights of his love in order, in his own words, “to get a +supply of cash.” As he had disappeared very suddenly +and completely for a time from the eyes of mankind it was +necessary that he should show himself and sign some papers. +That business was transacted in the office of the banker +mentioned in the story. Monsieur George wished to avoid +seeing the man himself but in this he did not succeed. The +interview was short. The banker naturally asked no +questions, made no allusions to persons and events, and +didn’t even mention the great Legitimist Principle which +presented to him now no interest whatever. But for the +moment all the world was talking of the Carlist enterprise. +It had collapsed utterly, leaving behind, as usual, a large crop +of recriminations, charges of incompetency and treachery, and a +certain amount of scandalous gossip. The banker (his +wife’s salon had been very Carlist indeed) declared that he +had never believed in the success of the cause. “You +are well out of it,” he remarked with a chilly smile to +Monsieur George. The latter merely observed that he had +been very little “in it” as a matter of fact, and +that he was quite indifferent to the whole affair.</p> +<p>“You left a few of your feathers in it, +nevertheless,” the banker concluded with a wooden face and +with the curtness of a man who knows.</p> +<p>Monsieur George ought to have taken the very next train out of +the town but he yielded to the temptation to discover what had +happened to the house in the street of the Consuls after he and +Doña Rita had stolen out of it like two scared yet +jubilant children. All he discovered was a strange, fat +woman, a sort of virago, who had, apparently, been put in as a +caretaker by the man of affairs. She made some difficulties +to admit that she had been in charge for the last four months; +ever since the person who was there before had eloped with some +Spaniard who had been lying in the house ill with fever for more +than six weeks. No, she never saw the person. Neither +had she seen the Spaniard. She had only heard the talk of +the street. Of course she didn’t know where these +people had gone. She manifested some impatience to get rid +of Monsieur George and even attempted to push him towards the +door. It was, he says, a very funny experience. He +noticed the feeble flame of the gas-jet in the hall still waiting +for extinction in the general collapse of the world.</p> +<p>Then he decided to have a bit of dinner at the Restaurant de +la Gare where he felt pretty certain he would not meet any of his +friends. He could not have asked Madame Léonore for +hospitality because Madame Léonore had gone away +already. His acquaintances were not the sort of people +likely to happen casually into a restaurant of that kind and +moreover he took the precaution to seat himself at a small table +so as to face the wall. Yet before long he felt a hand laid +gently on his shoulder, and, looking up, saw one of his +acquaintances, a member of the Royalist club, a young man of a +very cheerful disposition but whose face looked down at him with +a grave and anxious expression.</p> +<p>Monsieur George was far from delighted. His surprise was +extreme when in the course of the first phrases exchanged with +him he learned that this acquaintance had come to the station +with the hope of finding him there.</p> +<p>“You haven’t been seen for some time,” he +said. “You were perhaps somewhere where the news from +the world couldn’t reach you? There have been many +changes amongst our friends and amongst people one used to hear +of so much. There is Madame de Lastaola for instance, who +seems to have vanished from the world which was so much +interested in her. You have no idea where she may be +now?”</p> +<p>Monsieur George remarked grumpily that he couldn’t +say.</p> +<p>The other tried to appear at ease. Tongues were wagging +about it in Paris. There was a sort of international +financier, a fellow with an Italian name, a shady personality, +who had been looking for her all over Europe and talked in +clubs—astonishing how such fellows get into the best +clubs—oh! Azzolati was his name. But perhaps what a +fellow like that said did not matter. The funniest thing +was that there was no man of any position in the world who had +disappeared at the same time. A friend in Paris wrote to +him that a certain well-known journalist had rushed South to +investigate the mystery but had returned no wiser than he +went.</p> +<p>Monsieur George remarked more unamiably than before that he +really could not help all that.</p> +<p>“No,” said the other with extreme gentleness, +“only of all the people more or less connected with the +Carlist affair you are the only one that had also disappeared +before the final collapse.”</p> +<p>“What!” cried Monsieur George.</p> +<p>“Just so,” said the other meaningly. +“You know that all my people like you very much, though +they hold various opinions as to your discretion. Only the +other day Jane, you know my married sister, and I were talking +about you. She was extremely distressed. I assured +her that you must be very far away or very deeply buried +somewhere not to have given a sign of life under this +provocation.”</p> +<p>Naturally Monsieur George wanted to know what it was all +about; and the other appeared greatly relieved.</p> +<p>“I was sure you couldn’t have heard. I +don’t want to be indiscreet, I don’t want to ask you +where you were. It came to my ears that you had been seen +at the bank to-day and I made a special effort to lay hold of you +before you vanished again; for, after all, we have been always +good friends and all our lot here liked you very much. +Listen. You know a certain Captain Blunt, don’t +you?”</p> +<p>Monsieur George owned to knowing Captain Blunt but only very +slightly. His friend then informed him that this Captain +Blunt was apparently well acquainted with Madame de Lastaola, or, +at any rate, pretended to be. He was an honourable man, a +member of a good club, he was very Parisian in a way, and all +this, he continued, made all the worse that of which he was under +the painful necessity of warning Monsieur George. This +Blunt on three distinct occasions when the name of Madame de +Lastaola came up in conversation in a mixed company of men had +expressed his regret that she should have become the prey of a +young adventurer who was exploiting her shamelessly. He +talked like a man certain of his facts and as he mentioned names +. . .</p> +<p>“In fact,” the young man burst out excitedly, +“it is your name that he mentions. And in order to +fix the exact personality he always takes care to add that you +are that young fellow who was known as Monsieur George all over +the South amongst the initiated Carlists.”</p> +<p>How Blunt had got enough information to base that atrocious +calumny upon, Monsieur George couldn’t imagine. But +there it was. He kept silent in his indignation till his +friend murmured, “I expect you will want him to know that +you are here.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Monsieur George, “and I hope you +will consent to act for me altogether. First of all, pray, +let him know by wire that I am waiting for him. This will +be enough to fetch him down here, I can assure you. You may +ask him also to bring two friends with him. I don’t +intend this to be an affair for Parisian journalists to write +paragraphs about.”</p> +<p>“Yes. That sort of thing must be stopped at +once,” the other admitted. He assented to Monsieur +George’s request that the meeting should be arranged for at +his elder brother’s country place where the family stayed +very seldom. There was a most convenient walled garden +there. And then Monsieur George caught his train promising +to be back on the fourth day and leaving all further arrangements +to his friend. He prided himself on his impenetrability +before Doña Rita; on the happiness without a shadow of +those four days. However, Doña Rita must have had +the intuition of there being something in the wind, because on +the evening of the very same day on which he left her again on +some pretence or other, she was already ensconced in the house in +the street of the Consuls, with the trustworthy Rose scouting all +over the town to gain information.</p> +<p>Of the proceedings in the walled garden there is no need to +speak in detail. They were conventionally correct, but an +earnestness of purpose which could be felt in the very air lifted +the business above the common run of affairs of honour. One +bit of byplay unnoticed by the seconds, very busy for the moment +with their arrangements, must be mentioned. Disregarding +the severe rules of conduct in such cases Monsieur George +approached his adversary and addressed him directly.</p> +<p>“Captain Blunt,” he said, “the result of +this meeting may go against me. In that case you will +recognize publicly that you were wrong. For you are wrong +and you know it. May I trust your honour?”</p> +<p>In answer to that appeal Captain Blunt, always correct, +didn’t open his lips but only made a little bow. For +the rest he was perfectly ruthless. If he was utterly +incapable of being carried away by love there was nothing +equivocal about his jealousy. Such psychology is not very +rare and really from the point of view of the combat itself one +cannot very well blame him. What happened was this. +Monsieur George fired on the word and, whether luck or skill, +managed to hit Captain Blunt in the upper part of the arm which +was holding the pistol. That gentleman’s arm dropped +powerless by his side. But he did not drop his +weapon. There was nothing equivocal about his +determination. With the greatest deliberation he reached +with his left hand for his pistol and taking careful aim shot +Monsieur George through the left side of his breast. One +may imagine the consternation of the four seconds and the +activity of the two surgeons in the confined, drowsy heat of that +walled garden. It was within an easy drive of the town and +as Monsieur George was being conveyed there at a walking pace a +little brougham coming from the opposite direction pulled up at +the side of the road. A thickly veiled woman’s head +looked out of the window, took in the state of affairs at a +glance, and called out in a firm voice: “Follow my +carriage.” The brougham turning round took the +lead. Long before this convoy reached the town another +carriage containing four gentlemen (of whom one was leaning back +languidly with his arm in a sling) whisked past and vanished +ahead in a cloud of white, Provençal dust. And this +is the last appearance of Captain Blunt in Monsieur +George’s narrative. Of course he was only told of it +later. At the time he was not in a condition to notice +things. Its interest in his surroundings remained of a hazy +and nightmarish kind for many days together. From time to +time he had the impression that he was in a room strangely +familiar to him, that he had unsatisfactory visions of +Doña Rita, to whom he tried to speak as if nothing had +happened, but that she always put her hand on his mouth to +prevent him and then spoke to him herself in a very strange voice +which sometimes resembled the voice of Rose. The face, too, +sometimes resembled the face of Rose. There were also one +or two men’s faces which he seemed to know well enough +though he didn’t recall their names. He could have +done so with a slight effort, but it would have been too much +trouble. Then came a time when the hallucinations of +Doña Rita and the faithful Rose left him altogether. +Next came a period, perhaps a year, or perhaps an hour, during +which he seemed to dream all through his past life. He felt +no apprehension, he didn’t try to speculate as to the +future. He felt that all possible conclusions were out of +his power, and therefore he was indifferent to everything. +He was like that dream’s disinterested spectator who +doesn’t know what is going to happen next. Suddenly +for the first time in his life he had the soul-satisfying +consciousness of floating off into deep slumber.</p> +<p>When he woke up after an hour, or a day, or a month, there was +dusk in the room; but he recognized it perfectly. It was +his apartment in Doña Rita’s house; those were the +familiar surroundings in which he had so often told himself that +he must either die or go mad. But now he felt perfectly +clear-headed and the full sensation of being alive came all over +him, languidly delicious. The greatest beauty of it was +that there was no need to move. This gave him a sort of +moral satisfaction. Then the first thought independent of +personal sensations came into his head. He wondered when +Therese would come in and begin talking. He saw vaguely a +human figure in the room but that was a man. He was +speaking in a deadened voice which had yet a preternatural +distinctness.</p> +<p>“This is the second case I have had in this house, and I +am sure that directly or indirectly it was connected with that +woman. She will go on like this leaving a track behind her +and then some day there will be really a corpse. This young +fellow might have been it.”</p> +<p>“In this case, Doctor,” said another voice, +“one can’t blame the woman very much. I assure +you she made a very determined fight.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean? That she didn’t want to. +. . ”</p> +<p>“Yes. A very good fight. I heard all about +it. It is easy to blame her, but, as she asked me +despairingly, could she go through life veiled from head to foot +or go out of it altogether into a convent? No, she +isn’t guilty. She is simply—what she +is.”</p> +<p>“And what’s that?”</p> +<p>“Very much of a woman. Perhaps a little more at +the mercy of contradictory impulses than other women. But +that’s not her fault. I really think she has been +very honest.”</p> +<p>The voices sank suddenly to a still lower murmur and presently +the shape of the man went out of the room. Monsieur George +heard distinctly the door open and shut. Then he spoke for +the first time, discovering, with a particular pleasure, that it +was quite easy to speak. He was even under the impression +that he had shouted:</p> +<p>“Who is here?”</p> +<p>From the shadow of the room (he recognized at once the +characteristic outlines of the bulky shape) Mills advanced to the +side of the bed. Doña Rita had telegraphed to him on +the day of the duel and the man of books, leaving his retreat, +had come as fast as boats and trains could carry him South. +For, as he said later to Monsieur George, he had become fully +awake to his part of responsibility. And he added: +“It was not of you alone that I was thinking.” +But the very first question that Monsieur George put to him +was:</p> +<p>“How long is it since I saw you last?”</p> +<p>“Something like ten months,” answered Mills’ +kindly voice.</p> +<p>“Ah! Is Therese outside the door? She stood +there all night, you know.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I heard of it. She is hundreds of miles away +now.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, ask Rita to come in.”</p> +<p>“I can’t do that, my dear boy,” said Mills +with affectionate gentleness. He hesitated a moment. +“Doña Rita went away yesterday,” he said +softly.</p> +<p>“Went away? Why?” asked Monsieur George.</p> +<p>“Because, I am thankful to say, your life is no longer +in danger. And I have told you that she is gone because, +strange as it may seem, I believe you can stand this news better +now than later when you get stronger.”</p> +<p>It must be believed that Mills was right. Monsieur +George fell asleep before he could feel any pang at that +intelligence. A sort of confused surprise was in his mind +but nothing else, and then his eyes closed. The awakening +was another matter. But that, too, Mills had +foreseen. For days he attended the bedside patiently +letting the man in the bed talk to him of Doña Rita but +saying little himself; till one day he was asked pointedly +whether she had ever talked to him openly. And then he said +that she had, on more than one occasion. “She told me +amongst other things,” Mills said, “if this is any +satisfaction to you to know, that till she met you she knew +nothing of love. That you were to her in more senses than +one a complete revelation.”</p> +<p>“And then she went away. Ran away from the +revelation,” said the man in the bed bitterly.</p> +<p>“What’s the good of being angry?” +remonstrated Mills, gently. “You know that this world +is not a world for lovers, not even for such lovers as you two +who have nothing to do with the world as it is. No, a world +of lovers would be impossible. It would be a mere ruin of +lives which seem to be meant for something else. What this +something is, I don’t know; and I am certain,” he +said with playful compassion, “that she and you will never +find out.”</p> +<p>A few days later they were again talking of Doña Rita +Mills said:</p> +<p>“Before she left the house she gave me that arrow she +used to wear in her hair to hand over to you as a keepsake and +also to prevent you, she said, from dreaming of her. This +message sounds rather cryptic.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I understand perfectly,” said Monsieur +George. “Don’t give me the thing now. +Leave it somewhere where I can find it some day when I am +alone. But when you write to her you may tell her that now +at last—surer than Mr. Blunt’s bullet—the arrow +has found its mark. There will be no more dreaming. +Tell her. She will understand.”</p> +<p>“I don’t even know where she is,” murmured +Mills.</p> +<p>“No, but her man of affairs knows. . . . Tell me, Mills, +what will become of her?”</p> +<p>“She will be wasted,” said Mills sadly. +“She is a most unfortunate creature. Not even poverty +could save her now. She cannot go back to her goats. +Yet who can tell? She may find something in life. She +may! It won’t be love. She has sacrificed that +chance to the integrity of your life—heroically. Do +you remember telling her once that you meant to live your life +integrally—oh, you lawless young pedant! Well, she is +gone; but you may be sure that whatever she finds now in life it +will not be peace. You understand me? Not even in a +convent.”</p> +<p>“She was supremely lovable,” said the wounded man, +speaking of her as if she were lying dead already on his +oppressed heart.</p> +<p>“And elusive,” struck in Mills in a low +voice. “Some of them are like that. She will +never change. Amid all the shames and shadows of that life +there will always lie the ray of her perfect honesty. I +don’t know about your honesty, but yours will be the easier +lot. You will always have your . . . other love—you +pig-headed enthusiast of the sea.”</p> +<p>“Then let me go to it,” cried the +enthusiast. “Let me go to it.”</p> +<p>He went to it as soon as he had strength enough to feel the +crushing weight of his loss (or his gain) fully, and discovered +that he could bear it without flinching. After this +discovery he was fit to face anything. He tells his +correspondent that if he had been more romantic he would never +have looked at any other woman. But on the contrary. +No face worthy of attention escaped him. He looked at them +all; and each reminded him of Doña Rita, either by some +profound resemblance or by the startling force of contrast.</p> +<p>The faithful austerity of the sea protected him from the +rumours that fly on the tongues of men. He never heard of +her. Even the echoes of the sale of the great +Allègre collection failed to reach him. And that +event must have made noise enough in the world. But he +never heard. He does not know. Then, years later, he +was deprived even of the arrow. It was lost to him in a +stormy catastrophe; and he confesses that next day he stood on a +rocky, wind-assaulted shore, looking at the seas raging over the +very spot of his loss and thought that it was well. It was +not a thing that one could leave behind one for strange +hands—for the cold eyes of ignorance. Like the old +King of Thule with the gold goblet of his mistress he would have +had to cast it into the sea, before he died. He says he +smiled at the romantic notion. But what else could he have +done with it?</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ARROW OF GOLD***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 1083-h.htm or 1083-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/0/8/1083 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. 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