Maurice Guest

by Henry Handel Richardson

  IX.

  Several versions of the contretemps with Herries were afloatimmediately. All agreed in one point: Maurice Guest had been in anadvanced stage of intoxication. A scuffle was said to have taken placein the deserted street; there had been tears, and prayers, and shrillaccusing voices. In the version that reached Madeleine's cars, blowswere mentioned. She stood aghast at the disclosures the story made, andat all these implied. Until now, Maurice had at least striven topreserve appearances. If once you became callous enough not to carewhat people said of you, you wilfully made of yourself a social outcast.

  That same afternoon, as she was mounting the steps of theConservatorium, she came face to face with Krafft. They had not met forweeks; and Madeleine remarked this, as they stood together. But she wasnot thinking very deeply of him or his affairs; and when she asked himif he would go across to her room, and wait for her there, she wasfollowing an impulse that had no connection with him. As usual, Kraffthad nothing particular to do; and when she returned, half an hourlater, she found him lying on her sofa, with his arms under his head,his knees crossed above him. The air of the room was grey with smoke;but, for once, Madeleine set no limit to his cigarettes. Sitting downat the table, she looked meditatively at him. For some moments neitherspoke.

  But as Krafft drew out his case to take another cigarette, a tatteredvolume of Reclam's UNIVERSAL LIBRARY fell from his pocket, and spreaditself on the floor. Madeleine stooped and pieced it together.

  "What have we here?--ah, your Bible!" she said sarcastically: it was anovel by a modern Danish poet, who died young. "You carry it about withyou, I see."

  "To-day I needed STIMMUNG. But don't say Bible; that's an error oftaste. Say 'death-book.' One can study death in it, in all its forms."

  "To give you STIMMUNG! I can't understand your love for the book,Heinz. It's morbid."

  "Everything's morbid that the ordinary mortal doesn't wish to bereminded of. Some day--if I don't turn stoker or acrobat beforehand,and give up peddling in the emotions--some day I shall write music toit. That would be a melodrama worth making."

  "Morbid, Heirtz, morbid!"

  "All women are not of your opinion. I remember once hearing a womansay, had the author still lived, she would have pilgrimaged barefoot tosee him."

  "Oh, I dare say. There are women enough of that kind."

  "Fools, of course?"

  "Extravagant; unbalanced. The class of person that suffers from adiseased temperament.--But men can make fools of themselves, too. Thereare specimens enough here to start a museum with."

  "Of which you, as NORMALMENSCH, could be showman."

  Madeleine pushed her chair back towards the head of the sofa, so thatshe came to sit out of the range of Krafft's eyes.

  "Talking of fools," she said slowly, "have you seen anything of MauriceGuest lately?"

  Krafft lowered a spike of ash into the tray. "I have not."

  "Yes; I heard he had got into a different hour," she saiddisconnectedly. As, however, Krafft remained impassive, she took theleap. "Is there--can nothing be done for him, Heinz?"

  Here Krafft did just what she had expected him to do: rose on hiselbow, and turned to look at her. But her face was inscrutable.

  "Explain," he said, dropping back into his former position.

  "Oh, explain!" she echoed, firing up at once. "I suppose if afellow-mortal were on his way to the scaffold, you men would still askfor explanations. Listen to me. You're the only man here Maurice was atall friendly with--I shouldn't turn to you, you scoffer, you may besure of it, if I knew of anyone else. He liked you; and at one time,what you said had a good deal of influence with him. It might stillhave. Go to him, Heinz, and talk straight to him. Make him think of hisfuture, and of all the other things he has apparently forgotten.--Youneedn't laugh! You could do it well enough if you chose--if you weren'tso hideously cynical.--Oh, don't laugh like that! You're loathsome whenyou do. And there's nothing natural about it."

  But Krafft enjoyed himself undisturbed. "Not natural? It ought to be,"he said when he could speak again. "Oh, you English, you English!--wasthere ever a people like you? Don't talk to me of men and women, Mada.Only an Englishwoman would look at the thing as you do. How you wouldlove to reform and straitlace all us unregenerate youths! You've doneyour best for me--in vain!--and now it's Guest. Mada, you have thePuritan's watery fluid in your veins, and Cain's mark on your brow: themark of the raceace that carries its Sundays, its--language, itsdrinks, its dress, and its conventions with it, whereever it goes, andis surprised, and mildly shocked, if these things are not instantlyadopted by the poor, purblind foreigner.--You are the missionaries ofthe world!"

  "Oh, I've heard all that before. Some day, Heinz, you really must cometo England and revise your impressions of us. However, I'm not going tolet you shirk the subject. I will tell you this. I know the MILIEUMaurice Guest has sprung from, and I can judge, as you never can, howtotally he is unfitting himself to return. The way he's going on--Ihear on all sides that he'll never 'make his PRUFUNG,' now, and youyourself know his certificate won't be worth a straw."

  "There's something fascinating, I admit," Krafft went on, "about apeople of such a purely practical genius. And it follows, as a matterof course, that, being the extreme individualists you are, you shouldquestion the right of others to their particular mode of existence. Forindividualism of this type implies a training, a culture, a grandstyle, which it has taken centuries to attain--WE have still centuriesto go, before we get there. If we ever do! For we are the artists amongnations--waxen temperaments, formed to take on impressions, to bemoulded this way and that, by our age, our epoch. You are themoralists, we are the ..."

  "The immoralists."

  "If you like. In your vocabulary, that's a synonym for KUNSTLER."

  "You make me ill, Heinz!"

  "KUSS' DIE HAND!" He was silent, following a smoke-ring with his eyes."Seriously, Mada," he said after a moment--but there was no answeringseriousness in his face, which mocked as usual. "Seriously, now, Isuppose you wouldn't admit what this DRESSUR, this HOHE SCHULE Guest isgoing through, might be of service to him in the end?"

  "No, indeed, I wouldn't," she answered hotly. "You talk as if he were acircus-horse. Think of him now, and think of him as he was when hefirst came here. A good fellow--wasn't he? And full to the brim ofplans and projects--ridiculous enough, some of them--but the greatthing is to be able to make plans. As long as a man can do that, he'son the upward grade.--And he had talent, you said so yourself, andunlimited perseverance."

  "Good God, Madeleine" burst out Krafft. "That you should have been inthis place as long as you have, and still remain so immaculate!--Surelyyou realise that something more than talent and perseverance isnecessary? One can have talent as one has a hat ... use it or not asone likes.--I tell you, the mill Guest is going through may be hissalvation--artistically."

  "And morally?" asked Madeleine, not without bitterness. "Must one givethanks then, if one's friend doesn't turn out a genius?"

  Krafft shrugged his shoulders. "As you take it. The artist has as muchto do with morality, as, let us say, your musical festivals have to dowith art.--And if his genius isn't strong enough to float him, he goesunder, UND DAMIT BASTA! The better for art. There are bunglersenough.--But I'll tell you this," he rose on his elbow again, and spokemore warmly. "Since I've seen what our friend is capable of; how he hasallowed himself to be absorbed; since, in short, he has behaved In sucha highly un-British way--well, since then, I have some hope of him. Heseems open to impression.--And impressions are the only things thatmatter to the artist."

  "Oh, don't go on, please! I'm sick to death of the very words art andartist."

  "Cheer up, Mada! You've nothing of the kind in your blood." Hestretched himself and yawned. "Nor has he, either, I believe. A facemay deceive. And a clear head, and unlimited perseverance, andintelligence, and ambition--none of these things is enough. The Lordasks more of his chosen."

  Madeleine clasped her hands behind her head, and tilted
back her chair.

  "So you couldn't interfere, I see? Your artistic conscience wouldforbid it."

  "Why don't you do it yourself?" He scrutinised her face, with asarcastic smile.

  "Oh, say it out! I know what you think."

  "And am I not right?"

  "No, you're not. How I hate the construction you put on things! In youreyes, nothing is pure or disinterested. You can't even imagine toyourself a friendship between a man and a woman. Such a thing isn'tknown here--in your nation of artists. Your men are too inflammatory,and too self-sufficient, to want their calves fatted for any but theone sacrifice. Girls have their very kitchen-aprons tied on them withan undermeaning. And poor souls, who can blame them for submitting!What a fate is theirs, if they don't manage to catch a man! Gossip andneedlework are only slow poison."

  "Now you're spiteful. But I'll tell YOU something. Such friendships asyou speak of are only possible where the woman is old--or ugly--orabnormal, in some way: a man-woman, or a clever woman, or some otherfreak of nature. Now, our women are, as a rule, sexually healthy. Theyknow what they're here for, too, and are not ashamed of it. Also, theystill have their share of physical attraction. While yours--good God! Iwonder you manage to keep the breed going!"

  "Stop, Heinz!" said Madeleine sternly. "You are illogical, andindecent; and you know there's a limit I don't choose to let youpass.--You're wrong, too. You've only to look about you, here, withunbiassed eyes, to see which race the prettiest girls belong to.--Butnever mind! You only launch out in this way that you may not be obligedto discuss Maurice Guest. I know you. I can read you like a book."

  "You are not very old ... or ugly ... or abnormal, Mada."

  She smiled in spite of herself. "And are we not friends, pray?"

  "Something that way.--But in all you say about Guest, the impersonalnote is wanting. You're jealous."

  "I'm nothing of the sort!--But you'll at least allow me to resentseeing a friend of mine in the claws of this ... this vampire?"

  Krafft laughed. "Vampire is good!--A poor, distraught--"

  "Spare your phrases, Heinz. She's bad through and through, and stupidinto the bargain."

  "Lulu stupid? EI, EI, Mada! Your eyes are indeed askew. She has a touchof the other extreme--of genius."

  "NA!--Well, if this is another of your manifestations of genius, thenpermit me to hate--no, to loathe it, in all its forms."

  "GANZ NACH BELIEBEN! It's a privilege of your sex, you know. Therenever was a woman yet who didn't prefer a good, square talent."

  "A crack this way, and it's madness; that, and the world says genius.And some people have a peculiar gift for discovering it. Those who setthemselves to it can find genius in a flea's jump."

  "But has it never occurred to you, that the power of loving--that somewomen have a genius for loving?--No, why do I ask! For if I am a book,you are a poster--a placard."

  "What a people you are for words! You make phrases about everything.That's a ridiculous thing to say. If every fickle woman--"

  "Fickle woman! fickle fiddle-sticks!" he interrupted. "That's only atag. The people whose business it is to decide these things--DIE HERRENDICHTER--are not agreed to this day whet it's man who's fickle orwoman. In this mood it's one, in that, the other; and the silly worldbleats it after them, like sheep."

  "Well, if you wish me to put it more plainly: if what you say weretrue, vice would be condoned."

  "Vice!!" he cried with derision, and sat up and faced her. "Vice!--mydear Mada!--sweet, innocent child! ... No, no. A special talent isneeded for that kind of thing; an unlimited capacity for suffering; anentire renunciation of what is commonly called happiness! You hold thegood old Philistine opinions. You think, no doubt, of two lovers livingtogether in delirious pleasure, in SAUS UND BRAUS.--Nothing could befalser. A woman only needs to have the higher want in her nature, andthe suffering is there, too. She's born gifted with the faculty. And awoman of the type we're speaking of, is as often as not the flower ofher kind.--Or becomes it.--For see all she gains on her way: the merepassing from hand to hand; the intense impressionable nature; theprocess of being moulded--why, even the common prostitute gets acertain manly breadth of mind, such as you other women never arrive at.Each one who comes and goes leaves her something: an experience--a turnof thought--it may be only an intuition--which she has not had before."

  "And the contamination? The soul?" cried Madeleine; two red spots hadcome out on her cheeks.

  "As you understand it, such a woman has no soul, and doesn't need one.All she needs is tact and taste."

  "You are the eternal scoffer."

  "I never was more serious in my life.--But let us put it another way.What does a--what does any beautiful woman want with a soul, or brains,or morals, or whatever you choose to call it? Let her give thanks,night and day, that she is what she is: one of the few perfect thingson this imperfect earth. Let her care for her beauty, and treasure it,and serve it. Time enough when it is gone, to cultivate the soul--if,indeed, she doesn't bury herself alive, as it's her duty to do, insteadof decaying publicly. Mada! do you know a more disgusting, morehumiliating sight than the sagging of the skin on a neck that was oncelike marble?--than a mouth visibly losing its form?--the slendershoulders we have adored, broadening into massivity?--all the finespiritual delicacy of youth being touched to heaviness?--all thebarbarous cruelty, in short, with which, before our eyes, time treatsthe woman who is no longer young.--No, no! As long as she has herbeauty, a woman is under no necessity to bolster up her conscience, orto be reasonable, or to think.--Think? God forbid! There are plainwomen enough for that. We don't ask our Lady of Milo to be witty forus, or to solve us problems. Believe me, there is more thought, moreeloquence, in the corners of a beautiful mouth--the upward look of twodark eyes--than in all women have said or done from Sappho down.Springy colour, light, music, perfume: they are all to be found in thecurves of a perfect throat or arm."

  Madeleine's silence bristled with irony.

  "And that," he went on, "was where the girl you are blaspheming hadsuch exquisite tact. She knew this. Her instinct taught her what wasrequired of her. She would fall into an attitude, and remain motionlessin it, as if she knew the eye must feast its full. Or if she did move,and speak--for she, too, had hours of a desperate garrulity--then onewas content, as well. Her vitality was so intense that her whole bodyspoke when her lips did; she would pass so rapidly from one position toanother that you had to shut your eyes for fear that, out of all thismultitude, you would not be able to carry one away with you.--If someof her ways of expressing herself in motion could be caught and fixed,a sculptor's fame would be made.--A painter's, if he could reproducethe trick she has of smiling entirely with her eyes and eyebrows.--Andthen her hands! Mada, I wonder you other women don't weep for envy ofthem. She has only to raise them, to pass them over her forehead, or tofinger at her hair, and the world is hers.--Do you really think a manasks soul of a woman with such eyes and hand as those?--Good God, no!He worships her and adores her. Were is only one place for him, andthat's on his knees before her."

  "Well, really, Heinz!" said Madeleine, and the spots on her cheeksburnt a dull red. "In imagination, do you know, I'm carried just threeyears backwards? Do you remember that spring evening, when you camerushing in here to me? 'I've seen the most beautiful woman in theworld, and I'm drunk with her.' And how I couldn't understand? For Ithought her plain, just as I still do.--But then, if I remember aright,your admiration was by no means the platonic, artistic affair it ...hm! ... is now."

  "It was not.--But now, you understand, Mada, that I think a man makes agood exchange of career, and success, and other such accidents of hismaterial existence, for the right to touch these hands at will. The onething necessary is, that he be fit for the post. I demand of him thathe be a gourmand, a connoisseur in beauty. And it's here, mind you,that I have doubts of our friend.--Is it clear to you?"

  "As clear as day, thanks. And you may be QUITE sure: of me neverapplying to you for help again. I shall respect your pr
inciples."

  "And mind you, I don't say Guest may not come out of the affair allright--enriched for the rest of his life."

  "Very good. And now you may go. I regret that I ever bothered with you."

  Krafft went across to where Madeleine was standing, put his hands onher two shoulders, and laid his head on his right arm, so that she, whowas taller than he was, looked down on the roundnesses of his curlyhair. "You're a good fellow, Mada--a good fellow! JA, JA--who knows! Ifyou had had just a little more of the EWIGWEIBLICHE about you!"

  "Too much honour ... But you don't expect Englishwomen to join yourharem, do, you?"

  "There would have been a certain repose in belonging to a woman of yourtype. But it's the charm--physical charm--we poor wretches can't dowithout."

  "Upon my word, it's almost a declaration!" cried Madeleine, notunnettled. "Take my advice, Heinz. Hie you home, and marry the personyou ought to. Take pity on the poor thing's constancy. Unless," sheadded, a moment later, with a sarcastic laugh, "since you're still soinfatuated with Louise, you persuade her to transfer her favours toyou. That would solve all difficulties in the most satisfactory way.She would have the variety that seems necessary to her existence; youcould lie on your knees before her all day long; and our friend wouldbe restored to sanity. Think it over, Heinz. It's a good idea."

  "Do you think she'd have me?" he asked, as he shook himself into hiscoat.

  "Heaven knows and Heaven only! Where Louise is concerned, nothing'simpossible--I've always maintained it."

  "Well, ta-ta!--You shall have early news, I promise you."

  Madeleine heard him go down the stair, whistling the ROSE OF SHARON.But he could not have been half-way to the bottom, when he turned andcame back. Holding her door ajar, he stuck a laughing face into theroom.

  "Upon my word, Mada, I congratulate you! It's a colossal idea."

  But Madeleine had had enough of him. "I'm glad it pleases you. Now go,go! You've played the fool here long enough."

  When he emerged from the house, Krafft had stopped whistling. He walkedwith his hands in his pockets, his felt hat pulled down over his eyes.At the corner, he was so lost in thought as to be unable to guide hisfeet: he stood and gazed at the pavement. Still on the same spot, hepushed his hat to the back of his head, and burst into such an eeriepeal of laughter that some ladies, who were coming towards him, startedback, and, picking up their skirts, went off the pavement, in order toavoid passing him too nearly.

  The following afternoon, at an hour when Maurice was safely out of theway, Krafft climbed the stair to the house in the BRUDERSTRASSE.

  The landlady did not know him. Yes, Fraulein was at home, she said;but-- Krafft promptly entered, and himself closed the door.

  Outside Louise's room, he listened, with bent head. Having satisfiedhimself, he turned the handle of the door and went in.

  Louise stood at the window, watching the snow fall. It had snoweduninterruptedly since early morning; out of the leaden sky, flake afterflake fluttered down, whirled, spun, and became part of the fallenmass. At the opening of the door, she did not stir; for it would onlybe Maurice coming back to ask forgiveness; and she was too unspeakablytired to begin all over again.

  Krafft stood and eyed her, from the crown of her rough head, to thebedraggled tail of the dressing-gown.

  "GRUSS' GOTT, LULU!"

  At the sound of his voice, she jumped round with a scream.

  "You, Heinz! YOU!"

  The blood suffused her face a purplish red; her voice was shrill withdismay; her eyes hung on the young man as though he were a returningspirit.

  With an effort, she got the better of her first fright, and took a steptowards him. "How DARE you come into this room!"

  Krafft hung his wet coat over the back of a chair, and wiped his facedry of the melted snow.

  "No heroics, Lulu!"

  But she could not contain herself. "Oh, how dare you, It's a mean,dishonourable trick--only you would do it!"

  "Sit down and listen to what I have to say. It won't take long. Andit's to your own advantage, I think, not to make a noise.--May I smoke?"

  She obeyed, taking the nearest chair; for she had begun to tremble; herlegs shook under her. But when he held out the case of cigarettes toher, she struck it, and the contents were spilled on the floor.

  "Look here, Lulu," he said, and crossing his legs, put one hand in hispocket, while with the other he made gestures suitable to his words."I've not come here to-day to rake up old sores. Time has gone overthem and healed them, and it's only your--NEBENBEI GESAGT, extremelybad-conscience that makes you afraid of me. I'm not here for myself,but--"

  "Heinz!" The cry escaped her against her will. "For him? You've comefrom him!"

  He removed his cigarette and smiled. "Him? Which? Which of them do youmean?"

  "Which?" It was another uncontrollable exclamation. Then the expressionof almost savage joy that had lighted up her face, died out. "Oh, Iknow you! ... know you and hate you, Heinz! I've never hated anyone asmuch as you."

  "And a woman of your temperament hates uncommonly well.--No, all jokesaside,"--the word cut her; he saw this, and repeated it. "Joking apart,I've come to you to-day, merely to ask if you don't think your presentlittle affair has gone far enough?"

  She was as composed as he was. "What business is it of yours?"

  "Oh, none. Except that the poor fool was once my friend."

  She gave a daring laugh, full of suggestion.

  But Krafft was not put out by it. "Don't do that again," he said. "Itsounds ugly; and you have nothing to do with ugliness, you know. No, Irepeat once more: this is not a personal matter."

  "And you expect me to believe that?"

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  It was now she who smiled derisively. "Have you forgotten a certainevening in this room, three years ago?"

  But he did not flinch. "Upon my word, if you are bold enough to recallthat!--However, the reminder was unnecessary. Tell me now: aren't youabout done with Guest?"

  For still a moment, she fought to keep up her show of dignity. Then shebroke down. "Heinz!--oh, I don't know! Oh, yes, yes, yes--a thousandtimes, yes! Oh, I'm so tired--I can't tell you how tired I am--of thevery sight of him! I never wanted him, believe me, I didn't! He thrusthimself on me. It was not my doing."

  "Oh, come now! Tell that to some one else."

  "Yes, I know: you only think the worst of me. But though I was weak,and yielded, anyone would have done the same. He gave me no peace.--ButI've been punished out of all proportion to the little bit of happinessit brought me. There's no more miserable creature alive than I am."

  "What interests me," continued Krafft, in a matter-of-fact tone, "is,how you came to choose so far afield from your particular type. It'swell enough represented here."

  She saw the folly of wasting herself upon him, and gave a deep sigh.Then, however, the same wild change as before came over her face.Stooping, she took his hand and fondled it.

  "Heinz! Now that you're here, do one thing--only one--for me! Have pityon me! I've gone through so much--been so unhappy. Tell me--there'sonly one thing I want to know. Where is he? Will he NEVER come back?For you know. You must know. You have seen him."

  She had sunk to her knees; her head was bent over his hand; she laidher cheek against it. Krafft considered her thoughtfully; his eye dweltwith approval on the broad, slender shoulders, the lithe neck--all thesure grace of the crouching body.

  "Will you do something for me, Lulu?"

  "Anything!"

  "Then let your hair down."

  He himself drew out the pins and combs that held it, and the black massfell, and lay in wide, generous waves round face and neck.

  "That's the idea! Now go on."

  Louise kissed his hand. "Tell me; you must know."

  "But is it possible that still interests you?"

  "Oh, no! My life depends on it, that's all. You are cruel and bad; butstill I can speak to you--for months now, I haven't had a soul to speakto. Be ki
nd to me this once, Heinz. I CAN'T go on living without him. Ihaven't lived since he left me--not an hour!--Oh, you're my last hope!"

  "You'll have plenty of hopes in your life yet."

  "In those old days, you hated me, too. But don't bear malice now.There's nothing I won't do for you, if you tell me. I'll never speakto--never even think of you again."

  "I'm not so long-suffering."

  "Then you won't tell me?"

  "I didn't say that."

  She crushed his hand between hers. "Here's the chance you asked for--tosave your friend! Oh, won't you understand?"

  An inward satisfaction, of which only he himself knew the cause, warmedKrafft through at seeing her prostrate before him. But as he continuedto look at her, a thought crossed his mind, and quickly resolved, helaid his cigarette on the table, and put his hands, first on her head,amid the tempting confusion of her hair, which met them like a thickstuff pleasant to the touch, and from there to her shoulders, incliningher towards him. She looked up, and though her eyes were full of tears,her white face was alight in an instant with hope again, as he said:"Would you do something else for me if I told you?"

  She strained back, so that she might see his face. "Heinz!--what isit?" And then, with a sudden gasp of comprehension:

  "Oh, if that's all!--I will never see Maurice Guest again."

  "That's not it."

  "What is it then?"

  "Will you listen quietly?"

  "Yes, yes." She ceased to draw back, let herself be held. But he felther trembling.

  He whispered a few words in her ear. Almost simultaneously she jerkedher head away, and, turning a dark red, stared incredulously at him.Then she sprang to her feet.

  "Oh, what a fool I am! To believe, for one instant, there was a humanspot in you I could get at!--Take your hands away--take them off me!Because I've had no one to speak to for so long: because I know YOUcould understand if you would--Oh, when a woman is down, anyone may hither."

  "Gently, gently!--You're too good for such phrases."

  "I'm no different from other women. It's only you--with your horriblethoughts of me. YOU! Why, you're no more to me than the floor I standon."

  "And matters are simplified by that very fact.--I can give you hisaddress, Lulu."

  "Go away! I may hurt you. I could kill you.--Go away!"

  "And this," said Krafft, as he put on his coat again, "is how a womanlistens quietly. Well, Lulu, think it over. A word at any time willbring me, if you change your mind."

  One evening, about a week later, Maurice entered Seyffert's Cafe. Theheavy snowfall had been succeeded by a period of thaw--of slush andgloom; and, on this particular night, a keen wind had risen, making thestreets seem doubly cheerless. It was close on nine o'clock, andSeyffert's was crowded with its usual guests--young people, who hadescaped from more or less dingy rooms to the warmth and light of thecafe, where the yellow blinds were drawn against the inclement night.The billiard table in the centre was never free; those players whoseturn had not yet come, or was over, stood round it, cigarette or largeblack cigar in hand, and watched the game.

  Maurice had difficulty in finding a seat. When he did, it was at atable for two, in a corner. A youth who had already eaten his supper,sat alone there, picking his teeth. Maurice took the opposite chair,and made his evening meal with a languid appetite. At the other side ofthe room was a large and boisterous party, whose leader wasKrafft--Krafit in his most outrageous mood. Every other minute, hissallies evoked roars of laughter. Maurice refrained from glancing inthat direction. When, however, his VIS-A-VIS got up and went away, hewas startled from his conning of the afternoon paper by seeing Krafftbefore him. The latter, who carried his beer-mug in his hand, took thevacated scat, nodded and smiled.

  Maurice was on his guard at once; for it seemed to him that they werebeing watched by the party Krafft had left. Putting down the newspaper,he wished his friend good-evening.

  "I've something to say to you," said Krafft without responding, and,having drained his glass, he clapped the lid to attract the waiter'sattention.

  With the over-anxious readiness to oblige, which was becoming one ofhis most marked traits, and, in reality, cloaked a deathlyindifference, Maurice hung up his paper, and sat forward to listen.Crossing his arms on the table, Krafft began to speak, meanwhile fixinghis companion with his eye. Maurice was at first too bewildered by whathe heard to know to whom the words referred. Then, the colour mountedto his face; the nerves in his temples began to throb; and his handmoved along the edge of the table, in search of something to which itcould hold fast.--It was the first time the name of Louise had beenmentioned between them--and in what a tone!

  "Heinz!" he said at last; his voice seemed not to be his own. "How dareyou speak of Miss Dufrayer like that!"

  "PARDON!" said Krafft; his flushed, transparent cheeks were aglow, hislimpid eyes shone like stars. "Do you mean Lulu?"

  Maurice grew pale. "Mind what you're saying!"

  Krafft took a gulp of beer. "Are you afraid of the truth?--But just oneword, and I'm done. You no doubt knew, as every one else did, that Luluwas Schilsky's mistress. What you didn't know, was this;" and now,without the least attempt at palliation, without a single extenuatingword, there fell from his lips the quick and witty narration of anepisode in which Louise and he had played the chief parts. It was thekeynote of their relations to each other: the story, grossly told, of awoman's unsatisfied fancy.

  Before the pitiless details, not one of which was spared him, werechecked off, Maurice understood; half rising from his chair, he struckKrafft a resounding blow in the face. He had intended to hit the mouth,but, his hand remaining fully open, caught on the cheek, and with suchforce that the delicate skin instantly bore a white imprint of all fivefingers.

  Only the people in their immediate neighbourhood saw what had happened;but these sprang up; a girl gave a nervous cry; and in a minute, thefurther occupants of the room had gathered round them, thebilliard-players with their cues in their hands. Two waiters, napkin onarm, hastened up, and the proprietor came out from an inner room, andrubbed his hands.

  "MEINE HERREN! MEINE HERREN!"

  Krafft had jumped to his feet; he was also unable to refrain fromputting his hand to his tingling face. Maurice, who was very pale,stood staring, like a person in a trance, at the mark, now deep red,which his hand had left on his friend's cheek. There was a solemnpause; all eyes were fixed on Krafft; and the stillness was only brokenby the proprietor's persuasive: "MEINE HERREN! MEINE HERREN!"

  In half a minute Krafft had collected himself. Turning, he jauntilywaved his hand to those pressing up behind; though one side of his facestill blazed and burned.

  "Don't allow yourselves to be disturbed, gentlemen. The incident isclosed--for the present, at least. My friend here was carried away by amomentary excitement. Kindly resume your seats, and act as if nothinghad happened. I shall call him to account at my own convenience.--Butjust one moment, please!"

  The last words were addressed to Maurice. Opening a notebook, Kraffttore out one of the little pages, and, with his customary indolence ofmovement, wrote something on it. Then he folded it through the middle,and across again, and gave it to Maurice.

  Maurice took it, because there seemed nothing else for him to do; healso, for the same reason, took his coat and hat, which some one handedto him. He saw nothing of what went on--nothing but the five outspreadmarks, which had run together so slowly. He had, however, enoughpresence of mind to do what was evidently expected of him; and, in thehush that still prevailed, he left the cafe.

  The wind sent a blast in his face. Round the corners of the streets,which it was briskly scavenging, it swept in boisterous gusts, whichbeat the gas-flames flat as soon as they reared themselves, and madethem give a wavering, uncertain light. Not a soul was visible. But inthe moment that he stood hesitating outside the brilliancy of theyellow blinds, the hubbub of voices burst forth again. He moved hastilyaway, and began to walk, to put distance between himself and the place.He
did not shrink before the wind-scourged meadows, but fought his wayforward, till he reached the woods. There he threw himself facedownwards on the first bench he came to.

  A smell of rotting and decay met his nostrils: as if, from thethousands of leaves, mouldering under the trees on which they had oncehung, some invisible hand had set free thousands of odours, theremounted to him, as he lay, all that rich and humid earthiness thatbelongs to sunless places. And for a time, he was conscious of littleelse but this morbid fragrance.

  An open brawl! He had struck a man in the face before a crowd ofonlookers, and had as good as been ejected from their midst. From nowon, he was an outcast from orderly society, was branded as one who wasnot wholly responsible for his actions--he, Maurice Guest, who had everbeen so chary of committing himself. What made the matter seem stillblacker, too, in his own eyes, was the fact of Krafft having once beenhis intimate, personal friend. Now, he could never even think of himagain, without, at the same time, seeing the mark of his hand onKrafft's cheek. If the blow had remained invisible, it might have beenmore easily forgotten; but he had seen it, as it were, taken shapebefore him.--Or, had it only been returned, it would have helped tolessen the weight of his present abasement--oh, he would have given allhe had to have felt a return blow on his own face! Even the smallestloss of selfcontrol on the part of Krafft would have been enough. Butthe latter was too proud to give himself away gratuitously: hepreferred to take his revenge in the more unconventional fashion ofleaving his friend to bear the ignominy alone.

  Maurice lay stabbing himself with these and similar thoughts. Onlylittle by little did the tumult that had been roused in him abate.Then, and just the more vividly for the break in his memory, the grosswords Krafft had said, came back to him. Recalling them, he felt anintense bitterness against Louise. She was the cause of all hissufferings; were it not for her, he might still be leading a quiet,decent life. It was her doing that he was compelled to part, bit bybit, with his selfrespect. Not once, in all the months they had beentogether, had the smallest good come to him through her. Nothing butmisery.

  Now, he had no further rest where he was. He must go to her, and taxher with it, repeat what Krafft had said, to her very face. She shouldsuffer, too--and the foretasted anguish and pleasure of hotrecriminations dulled all other feelings in him.

  He rose, chilled to the bone from his exposure; one hand, which hadhung down over the bench, was wet and sticky from grasping handfuls ofdead leaves.

  It was past eleven o'clock. Louise wakened with a start, and, at thesight of his muddy, dishevelled dress, rose to her elbow.

  "What is it? What's the matter? Where have you been?"

  He stood at the foot of the bed, and looked at her. The loose masses ofher hair, which had come unplaited, arrested his attention: he hadnever seemed to know before how brutally black it was. With his eyesfixed on it, he repeated what Krafft had told him.

  Louise lay with the back of one hand on her forehead, and watched himfrom under it. When he had finished, she said: "So Heinz has raked upthat old story again, has he?"

  Maurice had expected--yes, what had he expected?--anger, perhaps, ordenial, or, it might be, vituperation; only not the almost impartialcomposure with which she listened to him. For he had not spared her aword.

  "Is that all you've got to say?" he cried, suffocated with doubt. "Thenyou ... you admit it?"

  "Admit it! Maurice! Are you crazy?--to wake me up for this! It happenedYEARS ago!"

  His recoil of disgust was too marked to be ignored. Louise half sat upin bed again, supporting herself on one hand. Her nightgown was notbuttoned; he saw to the waist a strip of the white skin beneath, saw,too, how a long black strand of her hair fell in and lay on it.

  "You won't tell me you didn't know from the first there had been ...something between Heinz and me?" she cried, roused to defendherself.--"And look here, Maurice, as he told you that, it's my turnnow. I'll tell you why!" And sitting still more upright, she gave areason which made him grasp the knob of the bed-post so fiercely thatit came away in his hand. He threw it into a corner.

  "Louise! ... you! to take such words on your tongue! Is there no shameleft in you?" His throat was dry and narrow.

  "Shame! You only mean the need for concealment. Before you had got me,there was no talk of shame."

  "Do you know what you're saying?"

  "Oh, that's your eternal cry!" and, suddenly spurred to anger, she roseagain. "I know--yes, I know! Do you think I'm a fool? Why must youalone be so innocent! Why should you alone not know that I was onlyjealous of a single person, and that was Krafft?"

  Maurice turned away. In the comparative darkness behind the screen, hesat down on the sofa, put his arms on the table, and his head on hisarms. He was exhausted, and found he must have slept as he sat; forwhen he lifted his head again, the hands of the clock had moved forwardby several hours.