Maurice Guest

by Henry Handel Richardson

  IX.

  When, shortly after five o'clock, Madeleine and Maurice arrived at theNew Theatre, they took their places at the end of a queue whichextended to the corner of the main building; and before they had stoodvery long, so many fresh people had been added to the line, that it hadlengthened out until it all but reached the arch of the theatre-cafe.Dove was well to the fore, and would be one of the first to gain thebox-office. A quarter of an hour had still to elapse before the doorsopened; and Maurice borrowed his companion's textbook, and readstudiously, to acquaint himself with the plot of the opera. Madeleinetook out Wolzogen's FUHRER, with the intention of brushing up herknowledge of the motives; but, before she had finished a page, she hadgrown so interested in what two people behind her were saying that sheturned and took part in the conversation.

  The broad expanse of the AUGUSTUSPLATZ facing the theatre was bare andsunny. A policeman arrived, and ordered the queue in a straighter line;then he strolled up and down, stroking and smoothing his white gloves.More people came hurrying over the square to the theatre, and rangedthemselves at the end of the tail. As the hands of the big clock on thepost-office neared the quarter past five, a kind of tremor ran throughthe waiting line; it gathered itself more compactly together. One clockafter another boomed the single stroke; sounds came from within thebuilding; the burly policeman placed himself at the head of the line.There was a noise of drawn bolts and grating locks, and after amoment's suspense, light shone out and the big door was flung open.

  "Gent--ly!" shouted the policeman, but the leaders of the queue chargedwith a will, and about a dozen people had dashed forward, before hecould throw down a stemming arm, on which those thus hindered leaned ason a bar of iron. Madeleine and Maurice were to the front of the secondbatch. And the arm down, in they flew also, Madeleine leading throughthe swing-doors at the side of the corridor, up the steep, woodenstairs, one flight after another, higher and higher, round and round,past one, two, three, tiers--a mad race, which ended almost in the armsof the gate-keeper at the topmost gallery.

  Dove was waiting with the tickets, and they easily secured the desiredplaces; not in the middle of the gallery, where, as Madeleine explainedwhile she tucked her hat and jacket under the seat, the monstrouschandelier hid the greater part of the stage, but at the right-handside, next the lattice that separated the seats at seventy-five fromthose at fifty pfennigs.

  "This is first-rate for seeing," said Maurice.

  Madeleine laughed. "You see too much--that's the trouble. Wait tillyou've watched the men running about the bottom of the Rhine, workingthe cages the Rhine-daughters swim in."

  As yet, with the exception of the gallery, the great building wasempty. Now the iron fire-curtain rose; but the sunken well of theorchestra was in darkness, and the expanse of seats on the ground floorfar below, was still encased in white wrappings--her and there anattendant began to peel them off. Maurice, poring over his book, had tostrain his eyes to read, and this, added to the difficulty of theGerman, and his own sense of pleasurable excitement, made him soon giveup the attempt, and attend wholly to what Madeleine was saying.

  It was hot already, and the air of the crowded gallery was permeatedwith various, pungent odours: some people behind them were eating astrong-smelling sausage, and the man on the other side of the latticereeked of cheap tobacco. When they had been in their seats for about aquarter of an hour, the lights throughout the theatre went up, and,directly afterwards, the lower tiers and the ground floor weresprinkled with figures. One by, one, the members of the orchestradropped in, turned up the lamps attached to their stands, and takingtheir instruments, commenced to tune and flourish; and soon straymotives and scraps of motives came mounting up, like lost birds, fromwind and strings; the man of the drums beat a soft rattatoo, andapplied his ear to the skins of his instruments. Now the players werein their seats, waiting for the conductor; late-comers in the audienceentered with an air of guilty haste. The chief curtain had risen, andthe stage was hidden only by stuff curtains, bordered with a runicscroll. A delightful sense of expectation pervaded the theatre.

  Maurice had more than once looked furtively at his watch; and, at everyfresh noise behind him, he turned his head--turned so often that thepeople in the back seats grew suspicious, and whispered to one another.Madeleine had drawn his attention to everything worth noticing; andnow, with her opera-glass at her eyes, she pointed out to him peoplewhom he ought to know. Dove, having eaten a ham-roll at the buffet onthe stair, had ever since sat with his opera-glass glued to his face,and only at this moment did he remove it with a sigh of relief.

  "There they are," said Madeleine, and showed Maurice the place in thePARQUET, where Ephie and Johanna Cayhill were sitting. But the youngman only glanced cursorily in the direction she indicated; he waswondering why Louise did not come--the time had all but gone. He couldnot bring himself to ask, partly from fear of being disappointed,partly because, now that he knew her, it was harder than before tobring her name over his lips. But the conductor had entered by theorchestra-door; he stood speaking to the first violinist, and the nextmoment would climb into his seat. The players held their instruments inreadiness--and a question trembled on Maurice's tongue. But at thisvery moment, a peremptory fanfare rang out behind the scene, andMadeleine said: "The sword motive, Maurice," to add in the same breath:"There's Louise."

  He looked behind him. "Where?"

  She nudged him. "Not here, you silly," she said in a loud whisper."Surely you haven't been expecting her to come up here? PARQUET, fourthrow from the front, between two women in plaid dresses--oh, now thelights have gone."

  "Ssh!" said at least half a dozen people about them: her voice wasaudible above the growling of the thunder.

  Maurice took her opera-glass, and, notwithstanding the darkness intowhich the theatre had been plunged, travelled his eyes up and down therow she named--naturally without success. When the curtains parted anddisclosed the stage, it was a little lighter, but not light enough forhim; he could not find the plaids; or rather there were only plaids inthe row; and there was also more than one head that resembled hers. Toknow that she was there was enough to distract him; and he wasconscious of the music and action of the opera merely as something thatwas going on outside him, until he received another sharp nudge fromMadeleine on his righthand side.

  "You're not attending. And this is the only act you'll be able to makeanything of."

  He gave a guilty start, and turned to the stage, where Hunding had justentered to a pompous measure. In his endeavours to understand whatfollowed, he was aided by his companions, who prompted him alternately.But Siegmund's narration seemed endless, and his thoughts wandered inspite of himself.

  "Listen to this," said Dove of a sudden. "It's one of the few songsWagner has written." He swayed his head from side to side, to theopening bars of the love-song; and Maurice found the rhythm so invitingthat he began keeping time with his foot, to the indignation of amusic-loving policeman behind them, who gave an angry: "Pst!"

  "One of the finest love-scenes that was ever written," whisperedMadeleine in her decisive way. And Maurice believed her. From thispoint on, the music took him up and carried him with it; and when thegreat doors burst open, and let in the spring night, he applaudedvigorously with the rest, keeping it up so long that Dove disappeared,and Madeleine grew impatient.

  "Let us go. The interval is none too long."

  They went downstairs to the first floor of the building, and entered along, broad, brilliantly lighted corridor. Here the majority of theaudience was walking round and round, in a procession of twos andthrees; groups of people also stood at both ends and looked on; otherswent in and out of the doors that opened on the great loggia. Madeleineand Maurice joined the perambulating throng, Madeleine bowing andsmiling to her acquaintances, Maurice eagerly scanning the faces thatcame towards him on the opposite side.

  Suddenly, a stout gentleman, in gold spectacles, kid gloves tight tobursting, and a brown frock coat, over the amplitude of which was slunga
n opera-glass, started up from a corner, and, seizing both Madeleine'shands, worked them up and down. At the same time, he made a ceremoniouslittle speech about the length of time that had elapsed since theirlast meeting, and paid her a specious compliment on the taste shedisplayed in being present at so serious an opera. Madeleine laughed,and said a few words in her hard, facile German: the best was yet tocome; "DIE MORAN" was divine as Brunnhilde. Having bowed and said:"Lohse" to Maurice, the stranger took no further notice of him, but,drawing Madeleine's hand through his arm, in a manner half gallant,half paternal, invited her to take ices with him, at the adjoiningbuffet.

  Maurice remained standing in a corner, scrutinising those who passedhim. He exchanged a few words with one of his companions of thedinner-table--a small-bodied, big-headed chemical student calledDickensey, who had a reputation for his cynicism. He had just askedMaurice whether Siegmund reminded him more of a pork-butcher or aprizefighter, and had offered to lay a bet that he would never attend aperformance in this theatre when the doors of Hunding's house flewopen, or the sword lit up, at exactly the right moment--when Mauricecaught sight of Dove and the Cayhills. He excused himself, and went tojoin them.

  Not one of the three looked happy. Johanna was unspeakably bored anddid not conceal it; she gazed with contempt on the noisy, excitedcrowd. Dove was not only burning to devote himself to Ephie; he hadalso got himself into a dilemma, and was at this moment doing his bestto explain the first act of the opera to Johanna, without touching onthe relationship of the lovers. His face was red with the effort, andhe hailed Maurice's appearance as a welcome diversion. But Ephie, too,greeted him with pleasure, and touching his arm, drew him back, so thatthey dropped behind the others. She was coquettishly dressed thisevening, and looked so charming that people drew one another'sattention to DIE REIZENDE KLEINE ENGLADNDERIN. But Maurice soondiscovered that she was out of spirits, and disposed to be cross. Forfear lest he was the offender, he asked if she had quite forgiven him,and if they were good friends again. "Oh, I had forgotten all aboutit!" But, a moment after, she was grave and quiet--altogether unlikeherself.

  "Are you not enjoying yourself, Ephie?"

  "No, I'm not. I think it's stupid. And they're all so fat."

  This referred to the singers, and was indisputable; Maurice could onlyagree with her, and try to rally her. Meanwhile, he continuedsurreptitiously to scour the hall, with an evergrowing sense ofdisappointment.

  Then, suddenly, among those who were passing in the opposite direction,he saw Louise. In a flash he understood why he had not been able tofind her in the row of seats: he had looked for her in a black dress,and she was all in white, with heavy white lace at her neck. Hercompanion was an Englishman called Eggis, of whom it was rumoured thathe had found it advisable abruptly to leave his native land: here, hemade a precarious living by journalism, and by doing odd jobs for theconsulate. In spite of his shabby clothes, this man, prematurely bald,with dissipated features, had polished manners and an air ofrefinement; and, thoroughly enjoying his position, he was talking tohis companion with vivacity. It was plain that Louise was only halflistening to him; with a faint, absent smile on her lips, she, too,restlessly scanned the crowd.

  They all caught sight of Schilsky at the same moment, and Maurice, onwhom nothing was lost, saw as well the quick look that passed betweenLouise and him, and its immediate effect: Louise flashed into a smile,and was full of gracious attentiveness to the little man at her side.

  Schilsky leant against the wall, with his hands in his pockets, hisconspicuous head well back. On entering the FOYER, he had been pouncedon by Miss Jensen. The latter, showily dressed in a large-stripedstuff, had in tow a fellow-singer about half her own size, whom she wasrarely to be seen without; but, on this occasion, the wan littleAmerican stood disconsolately apart, for Miss Jensen was paying noattention to him. In common with the rest of her sex, she had aweakness for Schilsky; and besides, on this evening, she neededspecially receptive ears, for she had been studying the role ofSieglinde, and was full of criticisms and objections. As Ephie andMaurice passed them, she nodded to the latter and said: "Good evening,neighbour!" while Schilsky, seizing the chance, broke away, withouttroubling to excuse himself. Thus deserted, Miss Jensen detainedMaurice, and so he lost the couple he wanted to keep in sight. But atthe first pause in the conversation, Ephie plucked at his sleeve.

  "Let us go out on the balcony."

  They went outside on the loggia, where groups of people stoodrefreshing themselves in the mild evening air, which was pleasant withthe scent of lilac. Ephie led the way, and Maurice followed her to theedge of the parapet, where they leaned against one of the pillars.Here, he found himself again in the neighbourhood of the other two.Louise, leaning both hands on the stone-work, was looking out over thesquare; but Schilsky, lounging as before, with his legs crossed, hishands in his pockets, had his back to it, and was letting his eyesrange indifferently over the faces before him. As Maurice and Ephiecame up, he yawned long and heartily, and, in so doing, showed all hisdefective teeth. Furtively watching them, Maurice saw him lean towardshis companion and say something to her; at the same time, he touchedwith his fingertips the lace she wore at the front of her dress. Thefamiliarity of the action grated on Maurice, and he turned away hishead. When he looked again, a moment or two later, he was disturbedanew. Louise was leaning forward, still in the same position, butSchilsky was plainly conversing by means of signs with some one else.He frowned, half closed his eyes, shook his head, and, as if by chance,laid a finger on his lips.

  "Who's he doing that to?" Maurice asked himself, and followed thedirection of the other's eyes, which were fixed on the corner where heand Ephie stood. He turned, and looked from side to side; and, as hedid this, he caught a glimpse of Ephie's face, which made him observeher more nearly: it was flushed, and she was gazing hard at Schilsky.With a rush of enlightenment, Maurice looked back at the young man, butthis time Schilsky saw that he was being watched; stooping, he said anonchalant word to his companion, and thereupon they went indoorsagain. All this passed like a flash, but it left, none the less, adisagreeable impression, and before Maurice had recovered from it,Ephie said: "Let us go in."

  They pressed towards the door.

  "I'm poor company to-night, Ephie," he said, feeling already the needof apologising to her for his ridiculous suspicion. "But you are quiet,too." He glanced down at her as he spoke, and again was startled; herexpression was set and defiant, but her baby lips trembled. "What's thematter? I believe you are angry with me for being so silent."

  "I guess it doesn't make any difference to me whether you talk or not,"she replied pettishly. "But I think it's just as dull and stupid as itcan be. I wish I hadn't come."

  "Would you like to go home?"

  "Of course I wouldn't. I'll stop now I'm here--oh, can't we go quicker?How slow you are! Do make haste."

  He thought he heard tears in her voice, and looked at her inperplexity. While he contemplated getting her into a quiet corner andmaking her tell him truthfully what the matter was, they came uponMadeleine, who had been searching everywhere for Maurice. Madeleine hadmore colour in her cheeks than usual, and, in the pleasingconsciousness that she was having a successful evening, she brought hergood spirits to bear on Ephie, who stood fidgeting beside them.

  "You look nice, child," she remarked in her patronising way. "Yourdress is very pretty. But why is your face so red? One would think youhad been crying."

  Ephie, growing still redder, tossed her head. "It's no wonder, I'msure. The theatre is as hot as an oven. But at least my nose isn't redas well."

  Madeleine was on the point of retorting, but at this moment, theinterval came to an end, and the electric bells rang shrilly. Thepeople who were nearest the doors went out at once, upstairs and down.Among the first were Louise and Schilsky, the latter's head as usualvisible above every one else's.

  "I will go, too," said Ephie hurriedly. "No, don't bother to come withme. I'll find my way all right. I guess the others are in front."<
br />
  "There's something wrong with that child to-night," said Madeleine asshe and Maurice climbed to the gallery. "Pert little thing! But Isuppose even such sparrow-brains have their troubles."

  "I suppose they have," said Maurice. He had just realised that thelonged-for interval was over, and with it more of the hopes he hadnursed.

  Dove was already in his seat, eating another roll. He moved along tomake room for them, but not a word was to be got out of him, and assoon as he had finished eating, he raised the opera-glass to his eyesagain. Behind his back, Madeleine whispered a mischievous remark toMaurice, but the latter smiled wintrily in return. He had searchedswiftly and thoroughly up and down the fourth row of the PARQUET, onlyto find that Louise was not in it. This time there could be no doubtwhatever; not a single white dress was in the row, and towards themiddle a seat was vacant. They had gone home then; he would not see heragain--and once more the provoking darkness enveloped the theatre.

  This second act had no meaning for him, and he found the various scenesintolerably long. Dove volunteered no further aid, and Madeleine'sexplanations were insufficient; he was perplexed and bored, and whenthe curtains fell, joined in the applause merely to save appearances.The others rose, but he said he would not go downstairs; and when theyhad drawn back to let Dove push by and hurry away, Madeleine said she,too, would stay. However they would at least go into the corridor,where the air was better. After they had promenaded several times upand down, they descended to a lower floor and there, through a littlehalf-moon window that gave on the FOYER below, they watched the livingstream which, underneath, was going round as before. Madeleine talkedwithout a pause.

  "Look at Dove!" She pointed him out as he went by with the two sisters."Did you ever see such a gloomy air? He might sit for Werther to-night.And oh, look, there's Boehmer with his widow--see, the pretty fattishlittle woman. She's over forty and has buried two husbands, but iscrazy about Boehmer. They say she's going to marry him, though he'smore than twenty years younger than she is."

  At this juncture, to his astonishment, Maurice saw Schilsky and Louise.He uttered an involuntary exclamation, and Madeleine understood it. Shestopped her gossip to say: "You thought she had gone, didn't you?Probably she has only changed her seat. They do that sometimes--hehates PARQUET." And, after a pause: "How cross she looks! She'sevidently in a temper about something. I never saw people hide theirfeelings as badly as they do. It's positively indecent."

  Her strictures were justifiable; as long as the two below were insight, and as often as they came round, they did not exchange word orlook with each other. Schilsky frowned sulkily, and his loose-knittedbody seemed to hang together more loosely than usual, while as forLouise--Maurice staring hard from his point of vantage could not havebelieved it possible for her face to change in this way. She lookedsuddenly older, and very tired; and her mobile mouth was hard.

  When, an hour later, after a tedious colloquy between Brunnhilde andWotan, this long and disappointing evening came to an end, to the morehuman strains of the FEUERZAUBER, and they, the last of thegallery-audience to leave, had tramped down the wooden stairs,Maurice's heart leapt to his throat to discover, as they turned thelast bend, not only the two Cayhills waiting for them, but also, alittle distance further off, Louise. She stood there, in her whitedress, with a thin scarf over her head.

  Madeleine was surprised too. "Louise! Is it you? And alone?"

  The girl did not respond. "I want to borrow some money from you,Madeleine--about five or six marks," she said, without smiling, in oneof those colourless voices that preclude further questioning.

  Madeleine was not sure if she had more than a couple of marks in herpurse, and confirmed this on looking through it under a lamp; but bothyoung men put their hands in their pockets, and the required sum wasmade up. As they walked across the square, Louise explained. Dressed,and ready to start for the theatre, she had not been able to find herpurse.

  "I looked everywhere. And yet I had it only this morning. At the lastmoment, I came down here to Markwald's. He knows me; and he let me havethe seats on trust. I said I would go in afterwards."

  They waited outside the tobacconist's, while she settled her debt.Before she came out again, Madeleine cast her eyes over the group, and,having made a rapid surmise, said good-naturedly to Johanna: "Well, Isuppose we shall walk together as far as we can. Shall you and I leadoff?"

  Maurice had a sudden vision of bliss; but no sooner had Louise appearedagain, with the shopman bowing behind her, then Ephie came round to hisside, with a naive, matter-of-course air that admitted of no rebuff,and asked him to carry her opera-glass. Dove and Louise brought up therear.

  But Dove had only one thought: to be in Maurice's place. Ephie hadbehaved so strangely in the theatre; he had certainly done something tooffend her, and, although he had more than once gone over his conductof the past week, without finding any want of correctness on his part,whatever it was, he must make it good without delay.

  "You know my friend Guest, I think," he said at last, having racked hisbrains to no better result--not for the world would he have had hiscompanion suspect his anxiety to leave her. "He's a clever fellow, avery clever fellow. Schwarz thinks a great deal of him. I wonder whathis impressions of the opera were. This was his first experience ofWagner; it would be interesting to hear what he has to say."

  Louise was moody and preoccupied, but Dove's words made her smile.

  "Let us ask him," she said.

  They quickened their steps and overtook the others. And when Dove,without further ado, had marched round to Ephie's side, Louise, leftslightly to herself, called Maurice back to her.

  "Mr. Guest, we want your opinion of the WALKURE."

  Confused to find her suddenly beside him, Maurice was still moredisconcerted at the marked way in which she slackened her pace to letthe other two get in front. Believing, too, that he heard a note ofmockery in her voice, he coloured and hesitated. Only a moment ago hehad had several things worth saying on his tongue; now they would notout. He stammered a few words, and broke down in them half-way. Shesaid nothing, and after one of the most embarrassing pauses he had everexperienced, he avowed in a burst of forlorn courage: "To tell thetruth, I did not hear much of the music."

  But Louise, who had merely exchanged one chance companion for another,did not ask the reason, or display any interest in his confession, andthey went on in silence. Maurice looked stealthily at her: her whitescarf had slipped back and her wavy head was bare. She had not heardwhat he said, he told himself; her thoughts had nothing to do with him.But as he stole glances at her thus, unreproved, he wakened to a suddenconsciousness of what was happening to him: here and now, after longweeks of waiting, he was walking at her side; he knew her, was alonewith her, in the summer darkness, and, though a cold hand gripped histhroat at the thought, he took the resolve not to let this moment passhim by, empty-handed. He must say something that would rouse her to thefact of his existence; something that would linger in her mind, andmake her remember him when he was not there. But they were half waydown the GRIMMAISCHESTRASSE; at the end, where the PETERSTRASSE crossedit, Dove and the Cayhills would branch off, and Madeleine return tothem. He had no time to choose his phrases.

  "When I was introduced to you this afternoon, Miss Dufrayer, you didnot know who I was," he said bluntly. "But I knew you very well--bysight, I mean, of course. I have seen you often--very often."

  He had done what he had hoped to do, had arrested her attention. Sheturned and considered him, struck by the tone in which he spoke.

  "The first time I saw you," continued Maurice, with the same show ofboldness--"you, of course, will not remember it. It was one evening inSchwarz's room--in April--months ago. And since then, I ... well ...I----"

  She was gazing at him now, in surprise. She remembered at this minute,how once before, that day, his manner of saying some simple thing hadaffected her disagreeably. Then, she had eluded the matter with anindifferent word; now, she was not in a mood to do this, or in a moo
dto show leniency. She was dispirited, at war with herself, and shewelcomed the excuse to vent her own bitterness on another.

  "And since then--well?"

  "Since then ..." He hesitated, and gave a nervous laugh at his owndaring. "Since then ... well, I have thought about you more than--thanis good for my peace of mind."

  For a moment amazement kept her silent; then she, too, laughed, and thewalls of the dark houses they were passing seemed to the young man tore-echo the sound.

  "Your peace of mind!"

  She repeated the words after him, with such an ironical emphasis thathis unreflected courage curled and shrivelled. He wished the ground hadswallowed him up before he had said them. For, as they fell from herlips, the audacity he had been guilty of, and the absurdity that waslatent in the words themselves, struck him in the face like pellets ofhail.

  "Your peace of mind! What has your peace of mind to do with me?" shecried, growing extravagantly angry. "I never saw you in my life tillto-day; I may never see you again, and it is all the same to me whetherI do or not.--Oh, my own peace of mind, as you call it, is quite hardenough to take care of, without having a stranger's thrown at me! Whatdo you mean by making me responsible for it! I have never done anythingto you."

  All the foolish castles Maurice had built came tumbling about his cars.He grew pale and did not venture to look at her.

  "Make you responsible! Oh, how can you misunderstand me so cruelly!"

  His consternation was so palpable that it touched her in spite ofherself. Her face had been as naively miserable as a child's, now itsoftened, and she spoke more kindly.

  "Don't mind what I say. To-night I am tired ... have a headache ...anything you like."

  A wave of compassion drowned his petty feelings of injury, and hissympathy found vent in a few inadequate words.

  "Help me?--you?" She laughed, in an unhappy way. "To help, one mustunderstand, and you couldn't understand though you tried. All youothers lead such quiet lives; you know nothing of what goes on in alife like mine. Every day I ask myself why I have not thrown myself outof the window, or over one of the bridges into the river, and put anend to it."

  Wrapped up though she was in herself, she could not help smiling at hisfrank gesture of dismay.

  "Don't be afraid," she said, and the smile lingered on her lips. "Ishall never do it. I'm too fond of life, and too afraid of death. Butat least," she caught herself up again, "you will see how ridiculous itis for you to talk to me of your peace of mind. Peace of mind! I havenever even been passably content. Something is always wanting.To-night, for instance, I feel so much energy in me, and I can makenothing of it--nothing! If I were a man, I should walk for hours,bareheaded, through the woods. But to be a woman ... to be cooped upinside four walls ... when the night itself is not large enough to holdit all!----"

  She threw out her hands to emphasise her helplessness, then let themdrop to her sides again. There was a silence, for Maurice could notthink of anything to say; her fluency made him tongue-tied. Hestruggled with his embarrassment until they were all but within earshotof the rest, at the bottom of the street.

  "If I ... if you would let me ... There is nothing in the world Iwouldn't do to help you," he ended fervently.

  She did not reply; they had reached the corner where the others waited.There was a general leave-taking. Through a kind of mist, Maurice sawthat Ephie's face still wore a hostile look; and she hardly moved herlips when she bade him good-night.

  Madeleine drew her own conclusions as she walked the rest of the wayhome between two pale and silent people. She had seen, on coming out ofthe theatre, that Louise was in one of her bad moods--a fact easily tobe accounted for by Schilsky's absence. Maurice had evidently been madeto suffer under it, too, for not a syllable was to be drawn from him,and, after several unavailing attempts she let him alone.

  As they crossed the ROSSPLATZ, which lay wide and deserted in thestarlight, Louise said abruptly: "Suppose, instead of going home, wewalk to Connewitz?"

  At this proposal, and at Maurice's seconding of it, Madeleine laughedwith healthy derision.

  "That is just like one of your crazy notions," she said "What acreature you are! For my part, I decline with thanks. I have to get aMoscheles ETUDE ready by to-morrow afternoon, and need all my wits. Butdon't let me hinder you. Walk to Grimma if you want to."

  "What do you say? Shall you and I go on?" Louise turned to Maurice; andthe young man did not know whether she spoke in jest or in earnest.

  Madeleine knew her better. "Louise!" she said warningly. "Maurice haswork to do to-morrow, too."

  "You thought I meant it," said the girl, and laughed so ungovernablythat Madeleine was again driven to remonstrance.

  "For goodness' sake, be quiet! We shall have a policeman after us, ifyou laugh like that."

  Nothing more was said until they stood before the housedoor in theBRUDERSTRASSE. There Louise, who had lapsed once more into her formerindifference, asked Madeleine to come upstairs with her.

  "I will look for the purse again; and then I can give you what I oweyou. Or else I am sure to forget. Oh, it's still early; and the nightis so long. No one can think of sleep yet."

  Madeleine was not a night-bird, but she was also not averse to having adebt paid. Louise looked from her to Maurice. "Will you come, too, Mr.Guest? It will only take a few minutes," she said, and, seeing hisunhappy face, and remembering what had passed between them, she spokemore gently than she had yet done.

  Maurice felt that he ought to refuse; it was late. But Madeleineanswered for him. "Of course. Come along, Maurice," and he crossed thethreshold behind them.

  After lighting a taper, they entered a paved vestibule, and mounted aflight of broad and very shallow stairs; half-way up, there was a deeprecess for pot-plants, and a wooden seat was attached to the wall. Thehouse had been a fine one in its day; it was solidly built, had massivedoors with heavy brass fittings, and thick mahogany banisters. On thefirst floor were two doors, a large and a small one, side by side.Louise unlocked the larger, and they stepped into a commodious lobby,off which several rooms opened. She led the way to the furthest ofthese, and entered in front of her companions.

  Maurice, hesitating just inside the door, found himself close to agrand piano, which stood free on all sides, was open, and disorderlywith music. It was a large room, with three windows; and one end of itwas shut off by a high screen, which stretched almost from wall towall. A deep sofa stood in an oriel-window; a writing-table was coveredwith bric-a-brac, and three tall flower-vases were filled with purplelilac. But there was a general air of untidiness about the room; forstrewn over the chairs and tables were numerous small articles of dressand the toilet-hairpins, a veil, a hat and a skirt--all traces of herintimate presence.

  As she lifted the lamp from the writing-table to place it on the squaretable before the sofa, Madeleine called her attention to a folded paperthat had lain beneath it.

  "It seems to be a letter for you."

  She caught at it with a kind of avidity, tore it open, and heedless oftheir presence, devoured it, not only with her eyes: but with herparted lips and eager hands. When she looked up again, her cheeks had atinge of colour in them; her eyes shone like faceted jewels; her smilewas radiant and infectious. With no regard for appearances, shebuttoned the note in the bosom of her dress.

  "Now we will look for the purse," she said. "But come in, Mr.Guest--you are still standing at the door. I shall think you areoffended with me. Oh, how hot the room is!--and the lilac is stifling.First the windows open! And then this scarf off, and some more light.You will help me to look, will you not?"

  It was to Maurice she spoke, with a childlike upturning of her face tohis--an irresistibly confiding gesture. She disappeared behind thescreen, and came out bareheaded, nestling with both hands at the coilof hair on her neck. Then she lit two candles that stood on the pianoin brass candlesticks, and Maurice lighted her round the room, whileshe searched in likely and unlikely places--inside the piano, in emptyvases, in the
folds of the curtains--laughing at herself as she did so,until Madeleine said that this was only nonsense, and came after themherself. When Maurice held the candle above the writing-table, helighted three large photographs of Schilsky, one more dandified thanthe other; and he was obliged to raise his other hand to steady thecandlestick.

  At last, following a hint from Madeleine, they discovered the pursebetween the back of the sofa and the seat; and now Louise rememberedthat it had been in the pocket of her dressing-gown that afternoon.

  "How stupid of me! I might have known," she said contritely. "So manythings have gone down there in their day. Once a silver hair-brush thatI was fond of; and I sometimes look there when bangles or hat-pins aremissing," and letting her eyes dance at Maurice, she threw back herhead and laughed.

  Here, however, another difficulty arose; except for a few nickel coins,the purse was found to contain only gold, and the required change couldnot be made up.

  "Never mind; take one of the twenty-mark pieces," she urged. "Yes,Madeleine, I would rather you did;" and when Madeleine hinted thatMaurice might not find it too troublesome to come back with the changethe following day, she turned to the young man, and saying: "Yes, ifMr. Guest would be so kind," smiled at him with such a gracious warmththat it was all he could do to reply with a decent unconcern.

  But the hands of the clock on the writing-table were nearing half-pasteleven, and now it was she who referred to the lateness of the hour.

  "Thank you very much," she said to Maurice on parting. "And you mustforget the nonsense I talked this evening. I didn't mean it--not a wordof it." She laughed and held out her hand. "I wouldn't shake hands withyou this afternoon, but now--if you will? For to-night I am notsuperstitious. Nothing bad will happen; I'm sure of that. And I am verymuch obliged to you--for everything. Good night."

  Only a few minutes back, he had been steeped in pity for her; now itseemed as if no one had less need of pity or sympathy than she. He wasbewildered, and went home to pass alternately from a mood of rapture toone of jealous despair. And the latter was torturous, for, as theywalked, Madeleine had let fall such a vile suspicion that he had partedfrom her in anger, calling as he went that if he believed what she saidto be true, he would never put faith in a human being again.

  In the light of the morning, of course, he knew that it was incredible,a mere phantasm born of the dark; and towards four o'clock thatafternoon, he called at the BRUDERSTRASSE with the change. But Louisewas not at home, and as he did not find her in on three successivedays, he did not venture to return. He wrote his name on a card, andleft this, together with the money, in an envelope.