X.
One morning towards the end of January, Krafft disappeared fromLeipzig, and some days later, the body of Avery Hill was found in asecluded reach of the Pleisse, just below Connewitz. Some workmen,tramping townwards soon after dawn, noticed a strip of light stufftwisted round a snag, which projected slightly above the surface of thewater. It proved to be the skirt of her dress, which had been caughtand held fast. Ambulance and police were summoned, and the body wasrecovered and taken to the police-station.
The last of his friends to see Krafft was Madeleine, and the number ofthose interested in his departure, and in Avery's quick suicide, was solarge that she several times had to repeat her lively account of thelast visit he paid her. He had come in, one afternoon, and settlinghimself on the sofa, refused to be dislodged. As he was in one of hismost ambiguous moods, she left him to himself, and went on with herwork.
On rising to go, he had stood for a moment with his hands on hershoulders.
"Well, Mada, whatever happens, remember I was sorry you wouldn't haveme."
"Oh, come now, Heinz, you never really asked me!"
It was snowing hard that night, a moist, soft snow that melted as ittouched the ground, and Krafft borrowed her umbrella. As usual,however, he returned before he could have got half-way down the stairs,to say that he had changed his mind and would not take it.
"But you'll get wet through."
"I don't want your umbrella, I tell you.--Or have you two?"
"No; but I'm not going out.--Oh, well, leave it then. And may you reapa frightful rheumatism!"
As he went down, for the second time, he whistled the ROSE OF SHARON:she listened to it grow fainter in the distance: and that was the lastshe or anyone had heard of Krafft. The following morning, his landladyfound a note on her kitchen-table, instructing her to keep hisbelongings for four weeks. If, by that time, they had not been claimed,she might sell them, and take the money obtained for herself. Only afew personal articles were missing, such as would be necessary for ahurried journey.--Of course, so Madeleine wound up the story, she hadnever expected Heinz to behave like a normal mortal, and to take leaveof his friends in the ordinary way, and she was also grateful to himfor not pilfering her umbrella, which was silvertopped. All the same,there was something indecent about his behaviour. It showed how littlehe had, at heart, cared for any of them. Only a person who thoroughlydespised others, would treat them in this way, playing with them up tothe last minute, as one plays with dolls or fools.
Avery Hill was laid out in a small room adjoining the policestation. Itwas evening before the business of identification was over. Variousmembers of the American colony had to give evidence, and the servicesof the consul were called into play, for there were countlessdifficulties, formalities and ceremonies attached to this death byone's own hand in a foreign country. Before all the technical detailswere concluded, there were those who thought--and openly said so--thatan intending suicide might cast a merciful thought on the survivors.Only Dove made no complaint. He had been one of the first to learn whathad happened, and, in the days that followed, he ran to and fro, fromone BUREAU to another, receiving signatures, and witnessing them,bearing the whole brunt of surly Saxon officialdom on his own shoulders.
Twenty-four hours later, it had been arranged that the body should beburied on the JOHANNISFRIEDHOF, and the consul was advised by cablegramto lay out the money for the funeral. Under the eyes of apolice-officer and a young clerk from the consul's office, Madeleine,assisted by Miss Jensen, went through the dead girl's belongings, andpacked them together.
Miss Jensen kept up, in a low voice, a running commentary on thefalsity of men and the foolishness of women. But, at times, her naturalkindness of heart asserted itself, to the confusion of her theories.
"Poor thing, poor young thing!" she murmured, gazing at a pair ofwell-patched boots which she held in her hand. "If only she had come tous!--and let us help her!"
"Help her?" echoed Madeleine in a testy way; she was one of those whothought that the dead girl might have shown more consideration for herfriends, standing, as they did, immediately before their PRUFUNGEN."Could one help her ever having set eyes on that attractivescoundrel?-- And besides, it's easy enough thinking afterwards, onemight have been able to help, to do this and that. It's a mistake.People don't want help; and they don't give you a thank-you foroffering it. All they ask is to be let alone, to muddle and bungletheir lives as they like."
As they walked home together, Miss Jensen returned once more to thesubject of Krafft's failings.
"I've known many men," she said, "one more credulously vain and stupidthan another; for unless a man is engaged in satisfying his bruteinstincts, he can be twisted round the finger of ANY woman. But Mr.Krafft was the only one I've met, who didn't appear to me to have asingle good impulse."
The big woman's high-pitched voice grated on Madeleine.
"You're quite wrong there," she said more snappily than before. "Heinzhad as many good impulses as anyone else. But he had reduced theconcealing of them to a fine art. He was never happier than when he hadsucceeded in giving a totally false impression of himself. Take me forthis, for that!--just what I choose. Often it was as if he flung a boneto a dog: there! that's good enough for you. No one knew Heinz: each ofus knew a little bit of him, and thought it was all there was toknow.--He never showed a good impulse: that is as much as saying thathe swarmed with them. And no doubt he would have considered that, withregard to you, he had been entirely successful. You have the idea ofhim he meant you to have."
"He was never her lover," said Louise with a studied carelessness.
Maurice, to whom nothing was more offensive than the tone of bravado inwhich she flaunted subjects of this nature, was stung to retaliation.
"How do YOU know?"
"Well, if you wish to hear--from his own lips."
"Do you mean to say you've spoken to Heinz about things of thatkind?--discussed his relations with other women?"
"Do you need reminding that I knew Heinz before I had ever heard ofyou?"
He turned away, too dispirited to cross words with her. The events ofthe past week had closed over his head as two waves Close over aswimmer, cutting off light and air. Since the night on which he hadleft his whilom friend the mark of his spread fingers as a partinggift, he had ceased to care greatly about anything.
Compared with his pessimistic absorption in himself, Avery's suicideand Krafft's departure touched him lightly. For the girl, he had nevercared. As soon, though, as he heard that Krafft had disappeared, heturned out his pockets for the scrap of paper Heinz had given him thatevening in the cafe. But it threw no light on what had happened. It wasmerely an address, and, twist it as he would, Maurice could make nomore of it than the words: KLOSTERGASSE 12. He resolved to go throughthe street of that name in the afternoon; but, when the time came, heforgot about it, and it was not till next morning that he carried outhis intention. There was, however, nothing to be learned; number twelvewas a gunsmith's shop, and at his hesitating inquiry, if anything wereknown there of a music-student called Krafft, the owner of the shoplooked at him as if he were a lunatic, and answered rudely: was theHerr under the impression that the shop was an information BUREAU?
Louise was dressed to go out. Pressed as to her destination, she saidthat she was going to see the body. Maurice sought in vain to dissuadeher.
"It's a perverse thing to do," he cried. "You didn't care a fig for thegirl when she was alive. But now she can't forbid it, you go and stareat her, out of nothing but curiosity."
"How do you know whether I cared for her or not?" Louise threw at him:she was tying on her' veil before the glass. "Do you think I tell youeverything?--And as for your 'perverse,' it's the same with all I everdo. You have made it your business always to find my wishes absurd."She took up her gloves and, holding them together, hit her muff withthem. "In this case, it doesn't concern you in the least. I don't askyou to come. I want to go alone."
The more shattered and unsure h
e grew, the more self-assertive was she.There was an air of bravado in all she did, at this time--as in thematter of her determination to go to the dead-house--and she hurt him,with reckless cruelty, whenever a chance offered. Her pale mouth seemedonly to open to say unkind things, and her eyes weighed him with anironic contempt. To his jarred ears, her very laugh sounded less fine.At moments, she began almost to look ugly to him; but it was adangerous ugliness, more seductive than her beauty had ever been. Then,he knew that she was not too good for him, nor he for her, nor eitherof them for the world they lived in.
They walked side by side to the mortuary. It was a very cold day, andLouise wore heavy furs, from which her face rose enticingly. Theattention she attracted was to Maurice like gall to a wound.
There was not much difficulty in gaining admittance to the dead. Asmall coin changed hands, and a man in uniform opened the door.
The post-mortem examination had been held that day, and the body wasswathed from head to foot in a white sheet. It lay on a long,projecting shelf, and a ticket was pinned on the wall at its head. Onthe opposite side of the room, on a similar shelf, was another shroudedfigure--the body of a workingman, found that morning on the outskirtsof the town, with an empty bottle which had contained carbolic acid byits side. The LEICHENFRAU, the public layer--out of the dead, told themthis; it was she, too, who drew back the sheet from Avery's face inorder that they might see it. She was a rosy, apple-cheeked woman, andher vivid colouring was thrown into relief by the long black cloak andthe close-fitting, black poke-bonnet that she wore. Maurice, for whomthe dead as such had no attraction, turned from his contemplation ofthe stark-stretched figure on the shelf, to watch the living woman. Theexuberance of her vitality had something almost insultant in thepresence of these two rigid forms, from whose faces the colour had fledfor ever. Her eyes were alert like those of a bird; her voice andmovements were loud and bustling. In thought he compared her to acarrion-crow. It was this woman's calling to live on the dead; shehastened from house to house to cleanse poor, inanimate bodies, whosedignity had departed from them. He wondered idly whether she gloatedover the announcements of fresh deaths, and mentally sped the dying.Did she talk of good seasons and of slack seasons, and look forward tothe spread of contagious disease?--Well, at least, she throve on hertrade, as a butcher thrives by continually handling meat.
Louise had eyes only for the face of the dead girl. She stood gazing atit, with a curious absorption, but without a spark of feeling. TheLEICHENFRAU, having finished tying up a basket, crossed the room andjoined her.
"EINE SCHONE LEICHE!" she said, and nodded, appreciating the fact thata stranger should admire what was partly her own handiwork.
It was true; Avery's face looked as though it were modelled in wax. Shehad not been in the water for more than half an hour, had said thedoctor, not long enough to be disfigured in any way. Only her hairremained dank and matted, and, although it was laid straight out overthe bolster, it would probably never be quite dry again. No matter,continued the woman; on the morrow would come the barber, a good friendof hers, to dress it for the tomb; he would bring tongs and irons, andother heating-apparatus with him, and, for certain, would make a goodjob of it, so skilled was he: he had all the latest fashions inhair-dressing at his finger-ends. The face itself was as placid as ithad been in life; the lids were firmly closed--no peeping or squintinghere--and the lips met and rested on each other round and full. Seenlike this, it now became evident that his face was one of those whichare, all along, intended for death--intended, that is, to lie waxen andimmobile, to show to best advantage. In life, there had been too markeda discrepancy between the extreme warmth of the girl's colouring andthe extreme immobility of her expression. Now that the blood had, as itwere, been drained away to the last drop, now that temples and nostrilshad attained transparency, the fine texture of the skin and the beautyof the curves of lips and chin were visible to every eye. Only onehand, so the LEICHENFRAU babbled on, was convulsively closed, and couldnot be undone; and, as she spoke, she drew the sheet further down, anddisplayed the naked arm and hand: the long, fine fingers were clenched,the thumb inside the rest. Otherwise, Avery appeared to sleep, to sleepprofoundly, with an intensity such as living sleep never attainsto--the very epitome of repose. It seemed as if her eyelids werepressed down by some unseen force; and, in her presence, the feelinggained ground in one, that it was worth enduring much, to arrive at arest of this kind at last.
"JA, JA," said the woman, and rearranged the covering. "It's a pleasureto handle such a pretty corpse. That one there, now,"--with her chinshe pointed to the other figure, and made a face of disgust. "EINEKLIGER KERL! There was nothing to be done with him."
"Let me see what he's like," begged Louise.
"It's an ugly sight," said the woman. However, she pulled the sheetdown, and so far that not only the face, but also a part of the hairyblack breast was visible.
Louise shuddered, yet the very horror of the thing fascinated her, andshe plied the woman with questions about the workings of the agonisingpoison that had been swallowed. After one hasty glance, Maurice hadturned away, and now stood staring out of the high, barred window intoa gloomy little courtyard, For him, the air of the room was hard tobreathe, owing to the faint, yet unmistakable odour, which even thewaxen figure of the girl had begun to exhale; and he marvelled howLouise, who was so sensitive, could endure it.
Outside, both drew long breaths of the cold, evening air, and Louisebought a bunch of violets, which she pressed to nose and mouth.
"Horrible, horrible!" she said, at the same time raising her shouldersin their heavy cape. "Oh, that man!--I shall never forget his face."
"What do you go to such places for? You have only yourself to thank forit." He, too, was aware that a needless and repellent memory had beenadded to their lives.
"Oh, everything's my own fault--I know that. You are never to blame foranything!"
"Did I ask you to go there?--did I?"
But she only laughed in reply, through and through hostile to him; andthey walked for some distance in silence.
"Why are you going this way?" he asked suspiciously, when she turnedinto a street that led in the opposite direction to that which theyshould have taken.
"I'm not going home. I couldn't sit alone in the dark with that ...that thing before my eyes."
"Who asked you to sit alone?--Where are you going?"
"I don't know ... where I like."
"That's no answer."
"And if I don't choose to answer?--I don't want you. I want to bealone. I'm sick of your perpetual bad-temper, and your eternalself-righteousness."
He laughed, just as she had done. The sound enraged her.
"Oh, the dead at least are at peace!" she cried.
"Yes! ... why don't you say it? You wish you were lying there--at peacefrom me!"
"Why should I say what you know so well?"
"Go and do it then!--who's hindering you?"
"For you?--kill myself for you?"
One word gave another; they pressed forward, in the falling dusk, liketwo distraught creatures, heedless of the notice they attracted, or ofwho should hear their bitter words. And because their gestures were, tosome extent, regulated by the conventions of the street, because theycould not face each other with flaming eyes, and throw out hands andarms to emphasise what they said, their words were all the more cruel.Louise made straight for home now; she escaped into the house, bangingthe door. Maurice strode down the street, in a tumult of resentment,vowing never to return.
Avery Hill was buried the following afternoon. Maurice went to thefuneral, because, since he had seen the dead girl's body at themortuary, he had been invaded by a kind of pity for her, lying alone atthe mercy of barber and LEICHENFRAU. And so, towards three o'clock, hefought his way against a cutting wind to the JOHANNISFRIEDHOF.
A mere handful of people stood round the grave. In addition to theEnglish chaplain, and a couple of diggers, there were present Dove, twoAmericans, and a young clerk f
rom the consul's office, who was happy tobe associated, in any fashion, with the English residents. It was thecoldest day of that winter. Over the earth swept a harsh, dry wind,which cut like the blade of a knife, and forced stinging tears from theeyes. This wind had dried the frozen surface of the ground to theimpenetrability of iron; loose earth crumbled before it like powder.Grass and shrubs had shrivelled, blighted by its breath; the bare treeswere sooty-black against the sky. So intense was the prevailingsensation of icy dryness that it seemed as if the earth would neveragain know moisture. People's faces grew as wizened as the skins of oldapples; throats and lungs were choked by the grey dust, which whirledthrough the streets, and made breathing an effort.
In the outlying cemetery it was still bleaker than in the shelter ofthe houses. Over this stretch of ground the wind swept as over thesurface of a sea. The grave-diggers related the extraordinarydifficulty they had had in digging the grave; the earth that had beenthrown up lay cracked into huge, frozen lumps. These two men stood inthe background while the service was going on, and stamped their feetand beat their hands, encased in monstrous woollen gloves, to keep theblood flowing. The English chaplain, a tall, cadaverous man, withsunken cheeks and a straw-coloured beard, had wound a red and whitecomforter over his surplice; the five young men pulled down theear-flaps of their caps, and stood, with high-drawn shoulders,burrowing their hands in their pockets. The chaplain gabbled the fewnecessary prayers: they were inaudible to his hearers; for the rushingwind carried them straight over his shoulder into space. He was notmore than a bare ten minutes over the service. Then the diggers cameforward to lower the coffin. Owing to the stiffness of their hands, theropes slid from their grasp, and the coffin fell forward into the hardyellow grave with a bump. The young men took the obligatory handfuls ofearth, and struck the side of the coffin with them as gently aspossible. With the last word still on his lips, the chaplain shut hisbook and fled; and the rest hastily dispersed. Maurice shook off theyoung clerk, who was murmuring unintelligible words of sympathy, andleft the cemetery in the wake of the two Americans, for whom a droschkewas in waiting to take them back to the town.
"Waal, I'm sort o' relieved that wasn't MY funeral," he heard one ofthem say.
He walked at full speed to restore his famished circulation. When hewas in the heart of the town again, he entered a cafe; and there heremained, with his elbows on the little marble table, letting the scenehe had just come through pass once more before his mind. There had beensomething grotesquely indecent about the haste of every one concerned:the chaplain, gabbling like a parrot, out of regard for the safety ofhis own lungs; the hurry-skurry of the diggers, whose thoughts were nodoubt running on the size of their gratuities; the openly expressedsatisfaction of the few mourners, when they were free to hurry offagain, as in hurry they had arrived. Not one present but had countedthe minutes, at the expiry of which the dead girl would be consigned toher appointed hole. What an ending! All the talent, the incipientgenius, that had been in her, thrust away with the greatest possibledespatch, buried out of sight in the hideously hard, cold earth.Snuffed out like a candle, and with as little ceremony, was all thewarm, complex life that had made up this one, throbbing bit ofhumanity: for what it had been, not a soul alive now cared. And what anight, too, for one's first night underground! Brr!--At the thought ofit, he drank another cup of coffee, and a fiery, stirring liqueur. Butthe sense of depression clung to him, and, as he walked home, heregretted the impulse that had led him to attend the funeral. For allthe melancholy of valediction was his. The dead girl was free--and hehad a sudden vision of her, as she had lain in the mortuary, with thelook of superhuman peace on her face. Over the head of this, he wassarcastic at his own expense. For though she WERE being treated like apiece of lumber, what did it matter to her? Beneath the screening lid,she continued to sleep, tranquil, undisturbed. On the other hand, howabsurd it was that he, who had cared little for her in life, should inthis wise constitute himself her only mourner! And, mentally andphysically, he now jerked himself to rights, and even began to whistle,as he went, in an attempt to seem at harmony with himself. But the tunethat rose to his lips was Krafft's song, THE ROSE OF SHARON, and hestraightway broke off, in disgust and confusion.
In his room, as soon as he had struck a match to light the lamp, he sawthat a letter was lying on the table. By the gradual spread of thelight, he made out that it bore an Austrian stamp, and directly he tookit in his hand, he recognised the writing. Heinz!--it was from Heinz!He tore open the envelope with unsteady fingers; what could Heinz haveto write to him about? Instinctively, he connected it in some way withthe events of the afternoon. But it was a very brief note, coveringhardly a page of the paper. Standing beside the lamp, Maurice held thesheet in the circle of light, and ran his eye over the few lines. Hetook them in, in a flash, that is to say, he read them automatically;but their sense did not penetrate his brain. He tried again, and stillhe could not grasp what they meant; still again, and slowly, word byword, till he could have repeated them by heart; but always withoutgetting at their inner meaning. Then, however, and all of a sudden, asif some inner consciousness had understood them, and now gave bodilywarning of it; suddenly, his knees began to shake, and he was forced tosit down. Sitting, he continued to stare at the page of writing beforehim, with contracted pupils. He commenced to read again, and even saidthe first line or two of the letter aloud, as if that might aid him.But the paper fell from his hand, and he gazed, instead, into the flameof the lamp, right into the inmost flame, till he was blind with it.His head fell forward, and lay on his hands, and on the rustling sheetof paper.
"God in Heaven!"
He heard himself say it, and was even conscious of the fact that, likeevery mortal in the throes of a strong emotion, he, too, called on God.
A long and profound silence ensued. It went on and on, persisted, wasabout to become eternal, when it was rudely broken by the sound of achild's cry. He raised his head. The walls swam round him: in spite ofthe coldness of the night and the fact that the room was unheated, hewas clammy with perspiration. The skin of his face, too, had apeculiar, drawn feeling, as if it were a mask that was too tight forit. He shivered. Then his eye fell on the letter lying open on thetable. Without a moment's hesitation, without waiting even to put thelamp out, he seized it, and went headlong from the house.
But he was strangely unequal to exertion. He felt a craving forstimulant, and entering a wine-shop, drank a couple of cognacs. Hisstrength came back to him; people moved out of his way; he had energyenough to climb the stair, and to go through the business of unlockingthe door.
At his abrupt entrance, Louise concealed something in a drawer, andturned the key on it. But Maurice was too self-absorbed to heed heraction, or consciously to hear her exclamation at his haggardappearance. He shut the door, crossed to where she was standing, and,without speaking, pulled her nearer to the lamp. By its light, hescanned her face with a desperate eagerness.
"What is it? What's the matter?"
At the sound of her voice, the tension of the past hour relaxed. He lethis head fall on her shoulder, and shut his eyes, swaying as she swayedbeneath his weight.
"Forgive me! ... forgive me!"
"You've been drinking, I think." But she held still under his grasp.
"Yes, I have. Louise! ... tell me it's a horrible mistake. Help me, youMUST help me!"
"How can I help you, if you won't tell me what the matter is?" Shebelieved him to be half drunk, and spoke as to a drunken person,without meaning much.
"Yes, yes ... I will. Only give me time."
But he postponed beginning. Leaning more heavily on her, he pressed hislips to the stuff of her dress. He would have liked to sleep, justwhere he was; indeed, he was invaded by the desire to sleep, neveragain to unclose his eyes. But she grew restless, and tried to draw hershoulder away. Then he looked at her, and a feverish stream of words,half self-recriminative, half in self-defence, burst from his lips. Butthey had little to do with the matter in hand, and wereincompre
hensible to her. "It has been a terrible nightmare. And onlyyou can drive it away." As he spoke, he looked, with a suddensuspicion, right into her eyes. But they neither faltered nor grewuneasy.
"It will turn out to be nothing, I know," she said coldly. "You'realways devising some new way of tormenting me."
Her words roused him. Fumbling in his pocket, he drew from it Krafft'sletter. "Is that nothing? Read it and tell me. I found it at home on mytable."
Louise took it with unmoved indifference. But directly she saw whosehandwriting it was, her face grew grave and attentive. She looked backfrom the envelope to him, to see what he was thinking, to learn howmuch he knew. In spite of his roughness there was a hungry, imploringlook in his eyes, an appeal to her to put him out of misery, and in theway he desired. And, as always, before such a look, her own facehardened.
"Read it! What he dares to write to me!"
Slowly, as if it were impossible for her to hurry, she drew the sheetfrom the crumpled envelope and smoothed it out. As she did so, she halfturned away. But not so far that he could not see the dark, disfiguringblood stain her neck and blotch her cheek--even her ear grew crimson.She read deliberately, lingering over each word, but the instant shehad finished, she crushed the paper to a ball, and threw it to theother end of the room.
"The scoundrel!" she cried. "Oh, the scoundrel!" Clenching her twohands, she pressed them to her face.
Maurice did not say a word; he hardly dared to draw breath, for fearsome sign of her guilt might escape him. Leaning against the table, hemarked each tell-tale quiver of lip or eyelid.
"The blackguard!" she cried again, shaken by rage. "If I had him here,I'd strangle him with my own hands!"
He gloated over her anger. "Yes," he said in a low voice. "I, too ...could kill him."
There was a pause, in which each followed out a possible means ofrevenge.
"Now you see," he said. "When I got home--when I found that--I thoughtI should go mad."
Reminded thus, of his share in the matter, Louise turned her head, andconsidered him. Her face was tense.
"Forgive me!" said Maurice, and held out his hands to her.
She gave him another look of the same kind. "I forgive YOU. What for?"
"Because ... since I got it, I've been thinking vile things."
"Oh, that!" She moved away, and gave a curt laugh, which met him like astab. But she had no consideration for him: she had only room in hermind for Krafft's treachery. "I could kill him," she said again."Don't.... Leave me alone!"--this to Maurice, who was trying to takeher hand. "Don't touch me!"
"Not touch you!--why not?" In an instant his softness passed over intosuspicion: it was like a dry pile that had waited for the match. "I nottouch you?" he repeated. "Do you want to make me believe that what hesays there is true?"
"Believe what you like."
"But that's just what I won't do. Turn here! Look me in the face! Nowtell me it's a lie."
She struggled to free her hands. "You hurt me, Maurice! Let me go!"
"Be careful!--or I shall hurt you more than this. Now answer me!"
"You!--with your ridiculous heroics! Be careful yourself!"
His grip of her grew tighter.
"For your precious peace of mind then--that you may not be kept insuspense: what Heinz says there is--true!"
He did not at once grasp what she meant. He stood staring stupidly ather, still clutching her hands. With a determined effort, Louisewrenched them away.
"Don't you hear what I say? It's true--all true--every word of it!"
At the cruel repetition, he went pale, and after that, seemed to go ongrowing paler, until his face was like a sheet of paper. A horriblesilence ensued; neither dared to let go of the other's eyes.
"My God!" he said at last. "My God!"
He sat down at the table, and buried his face in his arms. Louise didnot move; she stood waiting, her hands, which were red and sore,pressed against her sides. And as minutes passed, and he did not stir,she began in a vacant way to count the ticks of the clock. If he didnot speak soon, did not go on with what had to come, and get it over,she would be forced to scream. A scream was mounting in her throat.
"When was it? ... How? ... Why?"
She made no answer.
He straightened himself, holding on to the table. "And if that letterhadn't come, you wouldn't have told me?"
Again she did not reply. He sprang to his feet, interpreting herinability to bring forth a sound as mere contemptuous defiance.
"WHY did you tell me? Did I need to know?" he cried, loudly, and, inthe confines of the room, his voice had the force of a shout. As shestill remained dumb, he leaned across the table and actually shouted ather. "Any more?--are there any more? He won't have been the only one.Tell me, I say! Good God! Don't you hear me?" The arteries in histemples were beating like two separate hearts. As nothing he said wouldmake her open her lips, he snatched up her hands again, and dragged hera few steps forward--this, to prove to himself that he had at leastbodily power over her. "How dare you stand there and say it's true! Youbrazen, shameless----!"
She thought he was going to strike her, and moved her head quickly toone side. The movement did not escape him; he was amazed at it, andhorrified by it. "You're afraid of me, are you? You expect to bebeaten, when you make a confession of that sort?" And as she kept herhead bent, in suspense, he shouted: "Very well, you shall havesomething to be afraid of ... you--!" and lifting his hand, he struckher a blow on the shoulder. It was given with force, and she sank tothe floor, where she lay in a heap, screening her face with her arm.The first taste of his greater strength was like the flavour of bloodto a beast of prey. In her mind, she might defy him, physically he washer master; and he struck her, again and again. But he did not wringany sound from her. She lay face downwards, and let the blows fall.
When his first onslaught of rage had spent itself, a glimmering ofreason returned to him. He staggered to his feet, and looked down withhorror at the prostrate figure. "My God, what am I doing?--what have Idone?" A sudden fear swept through him that he had killed her.
But now, for the first time, she spoke. "It's true!" he heard her say.
At these words, the desire actually to kill her was so overwhelmingthat he moved precipitately away, and, in order not to see her, pressedhis smarting hand to his eyes. But in the greater clearness of thoughtthis shutting off of externals brought with it, the ultimate meaning ofwhat she had done was revealed to him; he saw red through his closedlids, and, going back to her, he struck her anew. The knowledge that,under her dressing-gown, she had nothing on but a thin nightgown, gavehim pleasure; he felt each of the blows fall full and hard on her firmflesh.
From time to time, she turned her face to cry: "It's true ... it istrue!" deliberately inciting him to continue.
But the moment came when his arm sank powerless to his side, when, ifhis life had depended on it, he could not have struck another blow.With difficulty, he rose to his feet; and such was the apathy that cameover him, that it was all he could do to drag himself to the sofa. Oncethere, he leaned back and closed his eyes.
For half an hour or more, neither of them stirred. Then, when sheunderstood that he had done, that he was not coming back to her, Louisepulled herself into a sitting position, and from there to her feet. Shecould hardly stand; her head swam; not an inch of her body but achedand stung. Her exaltation had left her now; she began to feel sick,and, going over to the bed, she fell heavily upon it.
Maurice heard her movements; but so incapable did he feel of furthereffort that lie remained sitting, with his eyes shut. A new soundroused him: she was shivering, and with such violence that the bedsteadwas shaken. After a crucial struggle with himself, he rose, and crossedthe room. She was lying outside the bedclothes. He pulled off aneider-down quilt, and spread it over her. As he did this, his arms wereround her, all the beloved body was in his grasp. When he had finished,he did not remove them, but, kneeling down beside the bed, pressed hisface to the quilt, and to the warm
body below.
And so the night wore away.
Maurice Guest Page 40
