by Elinor Glyn
CHAPTER XIV
The desolation which came over Paul when next day before lunch time hefound himself alone on the terrace, looking down vainly trying todistinguish his lady's launch as it glided over the blue waters, seemedunendurable. An intense depression filled his being. It was as if a limbhad been torn from him; he felt helpless and incomplete, and his wholesoul drawn to Lucerne.
The green trees and the exquisite day seemed to mock him. Alone,alone--with no prospect of seeing his Queen until the morrow, when ateleven he was to meet her at the landing-steps at the footof the _funiculaire_.
But that was to-morrow, and how could he get through to-day?
After an early lunch he climbed to their rock at the summit, and sat therewhere they had sat together--alone with his thoughts.
And what thoughts!
What was this marvellous thing which had happened to him? A fortnight agohe was in Paris, disgusted with everything around him, and fancyinghimself in love with Isabella Waring. Poor Isabella! How had such thingsever been possible? Why, he was a schoolboy then--a child--an infant! andnow he was a man, and knew what life meant in its greatest and best. Thatwas part of the wonder of this lady, with all her intense sensuousness andabsence of what European nations call morality; there was yet nothing lowor degrading in her influence, its tendency was to exalt and elevate intobroad views and logical reasonings. Nothing small would ever again appealto Paul. His whole outlook was vaster and more full of wide thoughts.
And then among the other emotions in his breast came one of deep gratitudeto her. For, apart from her love, had she not given him the royalest giftwhich mankind could receive--an awakened soul? Like her story of Undine ithad truly been born with that first long kiss.
Then his mind flew to their after-kisses, the immense divine bliss ofthese whole six days.
Was it only six days since they had come there? Six days of Paradise. Andsurely fate would not part them now. Surely more hours of joy lay in storefor them yet. The moon was seven days old--and his lady had said, "Whileshe waxes our love will wax." Thus, even by that calculation, there wasstill time to live a little longer.
Paul's will was strong. He sternly banished all speculations as to thefuture. He remembered her counsel of the riddle which lay hidden in theeyes of the Sphinx--to live in the present and quaff life in its full.
He was in a mood of such worship that he could have kissed the grey rockbecause she had leant against it. And to himself he made vows that, comewhat might, he would ever try to be worthy of her great spirit andteaching. Dmitry's pistol still lay in his pocket; he took it out andexamined it--all six chambers were loaded. A deadly small thing, with afinely engraved stock made in Paris. There was a date scratched. It wasabout a year old.
What danger could they possibly have dreaded for him?--he almost laughed.He stayed up on the highest point until after the sun had set; somehow hedreaded going back to the rooms where they had been so happy--going backalone! But this was weakness, and he must get over the feeling. Afterdinner he would spend the evening writing his letters home. But when thissolitary meal was over, the moon tempted him out on to the terrace, andthere he stayed obsessed with passionate thoughts until he crept in to hislonely couch.
He could not sleep. It had no memories there to comfort him. He got up,and went across the sitting-room to the room his lady had left so lately.Alas! it was all dismantled of her beautiful things. The bed unmade andpiled with uncovered hotel pillows, and a large German eiderdown, on topof folded blankets, it all looked ghastly and sad and cold. And moredepressed than ever he crept back to his own bed.
Next morning was grey--not raining, but dull grey clouds all over the sky.Not a tempting prospect to spend it in a launch on the lake. A wind, too,swept the water into small rough wavelets. Would she come? The uncertaintywas almost agony. He was waiting long before the time appointed, andwalked up and down anxiously scanning the direction towards Lucerne.
Yes, that was the launch making its way along, not a moment late. Oh! whatjoy thrilled his being! He glowed all over--in ten minutes or less hecould clasp her hands.
But when the launch came in full view, he perceived no lady wasthere--only Dmitry's black form stood alone by the chairs.
Paul's heart sank like lead. He could hardly contain his anxiety until theservant stepped ashore and handed him a letter, and this was its contents:
"My beloved one--I am not well to-day--a foolish chill. Nothing ofconsequence, only the cold wind of the lake I could not face. At oneo'clock, when Lucerne is at lunch, come to me by the terrace gate. Come tome, I cannot live without you, Paul."
"What is it, Dmitry?" he said anxiously. "Madame is not ill, is she? Tellme--"
"Not ill--oh no!" the servant said, only Paul must know Madame was of adelicacy at times in the cold weather, and had to be careful of herself.He added, too, that it would be wiser if Paul would lunch early beforethey started, because, as he explained, it was not for the people of thehotel to know he was there, and how else could he eat?
All of which advice was followed, and at one o'clock they landed atLucerne, and Paul walked quickly towards his goal, Dmitry in front to seethat the way was clear. Yes--there was no one about for the moment, andlike ghosts they glided through the little terrace door, and Paul wentinto the room by the window, while Dmitry held the heavy curtains, andthen disappeared.
It was empty--the fact struck a chill note, in spite of the great bowls offlowers and the exquisite scent. His tiger was there, and the velvetpillows of old. All was warm and luxurious, as befitting the shrine of hisgoddess and Queen. Only he was alone--alone with his thoughts.
An incredible excitement swept through him, his heart beat to suffocationin the longing for her to come. Was it possible--was it true that soon shewould be in his arms? A whole world of privation and empty hours to makeup for in their first kiss.
Then from behind the screen of the door to her room she came at last--astately figure in long black draperies, her face startlingly white, andher head wrapped in a mist of black veil. But who can tell of the note ofgladness and welcome she put into the two words, "My Paul!"?
And who can tell of the passionate joy of their long, tender embrace, orof their talk of each one's impossible night? His lady, too, had notslept, it appeared. She had cried, she said, and fought with her pillow,and been so wicked to Anna that the good creature had wept. She had tornher fine night raiment, and bitten a handkerchief through! But now he hadcome, and her soul was at rest. What wonder, when all this was said in hisear with soft, broken sighs and kisses divine, that Paul should feel likea god in his pride!
Then he held her at arms'-length and looked at her face. Yes, it was verypale indeed, and the violet shadows lay under her black lashes. Had shesuffered, his darling--was she ill? But no, the fire in her strange eyesgave no look of ill-health.
"I was frightened, my own," he said, "in case you were really not well. Imust pet and take care of you all the day. See, you must lie on the sofaamong the cushions, and I will sit beside you and soothe you to rest." Andhe lifted her in his strong arms and carried her to the couch as if shehad been a baby, and settled her there, every touch a caress.
His lady delighted in these exhibitions of his strength. He had grown tounderstand that he could always affect her when he pretended to dominateher by sheer brute force. She had explained it to him thus one day:
"You see, Paul, a man can always keep a woman loving him if he kiss herenough, and make her feel that there is no use struggling because he istoo strong to resist. A woman will stand almost anything from a passionatelover. He may beat her and pain her soft flesh; he may shut her up anddeprive her of all other friends--while the motive is raging love andinterest in herself on his part, it only makes her love him the more. Thereason why women become unfaithful is because the man grows casual, andhaving awakened a taste for passionate joys, he no longer gratifiesthem--so she yawns and turns elsewhere."
Well, there was no fear of her doing so if he could hel
p it! He was morethan willing to follow this receipt. Indeed, there was something about herso agitating and alluring that he knew in his heart all men would feel thesame towards her in a more or less degree, and wild jealousy coursedthrough his veins at the thought.
"My Paul," she said, "do you know I have a plan in my head that we shallgo to Venice?"
"To Venice!" said Paul in delight. "To Venice!"
"Yes--I cannot endure any more of Lucerne, parted from you, with only theprospect of snatched meetings. It is not to be borne. We shall go to thathome of strange joy, my lover, and there for a space at least we can livein peace."
Paul asked no better gift of fate. Venice he had always longed to see, andnow to see it with her! Ah! the very thought was ecstasy to him, and madethe blood bound in his veins.
"When, when, my darling?" he asked. "Tomorrow? When?"
"To-day is Friday," she said. "One must give Dmitry time to make thearrangements and take a palace for us. Shall we say Sunday, Paul? I shallgo on Sunday, and you can follow the next day--so by Tuesday evening weshall be together again, not to part until--the end."
"The end?" said Paul, with sinking heart.
"Sweetheart," she whispered, while she drew his face down to hers, "thinknothing evil. I said the end--but fate alone knows when that must be. Donot let us force her hand by speculating about it. Remember always to livewhile we may."
And Paul was more or less comforted, but in moments of silence all throughthe day he seemed to hear the echo of the words--The End.
