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diff --git a/old/argld10h.htm b/old/argld10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..304c41e --- /dev/null +++ b/old/argld10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10256 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Arrow of Gold</title> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">The Arrow of Gold, by Joseph Conrad</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Arrow of Gold, by Joseph Conrad + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Arrow of Gold + +Author: Joseph Conrad + +Release Date: October, 1997 [EBook #1083] +[This file was first posted on October 29, 1997] +[Most recently updated: June 28, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h1>THE ARROW OF GOLD—A STORY BETWEEN TWO NOTES</h1> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h2>FIRST NOTE</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h2>PART ONE</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<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, +catholique et gentil</i>-<i>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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER II</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“. . . de ce bec amoureux<br />Qui d’une oreille à +l’autre va,<br />Tra là là.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<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</i> <i>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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<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, +catholique et gentil</i>-<i>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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“‘Oh bells of my native village,<br />I am going away +. . . good-bye!’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<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</i> <i>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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h2>PART TWO</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<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, 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER II</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<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</i> <i>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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<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</i> +<i>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 ball 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER IV</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<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="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></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 +fellows 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 how 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h2>PART THREE</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<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, 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 +peeking 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER II</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<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, 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<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 woman 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</i> <i>et</i> <i>gentilhomne. Amer</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</i> <i>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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER IV</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<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 verify 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</i> <i>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 naive 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h2>PART FOUR</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<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</i> +<i>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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER II</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<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. Je ne dors</i> +<i>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</i> +<i>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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<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?—<i>a 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 +naive 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER IV</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<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</i> <i>Roi</i>! Come, +why don’t you shout <i>Vive</i> <i>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 example</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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER V</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<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</i> +<i>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 HE 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, +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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h2>PART FIVE</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER II</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<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</i> <i>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</i> <i>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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<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="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER IV</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER V</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VI</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VII</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<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 naive 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 eciov 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, 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VIII</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h2>SECOND NOTE</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<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 naiveness +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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE ARROW OF GOLD ***</p> +<pre> + +******This file should be named argld10h.htm or argld10h.zip****** +Corrected EDITIONS of our EBooks get a new NUMBER, argld11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, argld10ah.htm + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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