CHAPTER XXVII
It was a perfect moment; one of those rare and delicate spaces of timein which Fate's fingers seem to strike a chord at once poignant andsatisfying, faint and far-reaching. The lamp-lit room, the open windowand, beyond, the balcony veiled in the obscurity of the night! It was afair setting for romance; and romance, young, beautiful, gracious as inthe fairy-tale, had emerged from it into Blake's life. A smile, aword--and an atmosphere had been created! The things of the past wereobscured, and the things of the present made omnipotent.
"What a brother this is of mine!" Maxine smiled again with a littlequiver of humor that set her eyes alight. "Is it not like him to inviteme to criticise my portrait, and leave me to receive his friend?"
She spoke, not in the English which Max invariably used, but in French;and the sound of her voice entangled Blake's senses. It seemed the boy'svoice at its lowest and tenderest, but touched with new inflectionstantalizing as they were delightful. Self-consciousness fled before it;he was at one with the sister as he had been at one with the brother onthe crisp white morning when comradeship had been sealed to the marchingof soldiers' feet and the rattle of fife and drum.
"Princess," he said, "I shall be as frank as Max himself would be! Thesituation is overwhelming; do with me what you will! If I intrude,dismiss me! I know how fascinating solitude on this balcony can be."
She smiled again, but gravely with a hint of the portrait's mystery.
"Solitude is an excellent thing, monsieur, but to-night I think I needthe solace of a fellow-being. Will you not stay and keep me company?"
He looked at the smiling lips, the serious, searching eyes, and he spokehis thoughts impulsively.
"I shall be the most honored man in Paris!"
"That is well! Then we will talk, and watch the stars."
Here the naive imperiousness of the boy gleamed out, familiar andreassuring, and Maxine walked across the room, turning at the window tolook back for Blake.
"He is not without appreciation--this little brother of mine?" She putthe question softly, tentatively, as she and Blake leaned over thebalcony railing.
"He is an artist, princess."
"You think so?" Her voice warmed and vibrated; through the vaguedarkness he felt her eyes search his face.
"Undoubtedly."
"Ah, you love him?" The voice dropped to a great gentleness--agentleness that touched him in a strange degree.
"It would be difficult to tell you what he has been to me," he said."Our friendship has been a thing of great value. Has he ever told youhow we met?"
"He has told me!" Her tone was still low--still curiously attractive."And he appreciates very highly, monsieur, the affection you have givenhim."
She paused; and Blake, looking down upon Paris, was conscious of thatpause as of something pregnant and miraculous. It filled the moment,combining, with the soft texture of her garments and the faint scentfrom her hair, to weave a spell subtle as it was intangible.
"There is nothing to appreciate," he made answer. "I am merely acommonplace mortal who found in him something uncommon. The appreciationis mine entirely--the appreciation of the youth, the vitality heexpresses."
"Ah, but you do yourself an injustice!" She spoke impulsively and, as ifalarmed at her own eagerness, broke off and began anew in a soberervoice. "I mean, monsieur, that friendship is not a solitary affair.Whatever you discerned in Max, Max must equally have discerned in you."
"I wonder!" He turned his gaze from the lights of the city to therustling trees of the plantation. The hour was magical, the situationbeyond belief. Standing there upon the balcony, suspended as it werebetween heaven and earth, companioned by this wonderful, familiar,unfamiliar being, he seemed to see his own soul--to see it from afar offand with a great lucidity. "I wonder!" he said again; and the sadness,the discontent that stalked him in lonely moments touched him briefly,like the shadow of a travelling cloud.
"What do you wonder, monsieur?"
"The meaning of it all, princess! Existence is such a chase. I, perhaps,hunt friendship--and find Max; I, perhaps, dream that I have found mygoal, while to him I may be but a wayside inn--a place to linger in andleave! We both follow the chase, but who can say if we mark the samequarry? It's a puzzling world!"
"Monsieur, it is sometimes a glorious world!" So swift was her change ofvoice, so impulsive the gesture with which she turned to him, that thevividness of a suggested Max startled him. She was infinitely like toMax--Max when life intoxicated him, when he threw out both arms toembrace it.
"When you look like that, princess," he cried, "I could forgeteverything--I could take your hand, and show you all my heart, for youliterally _are_ the boy!"
There was another pause--a pause fraught with poignant things. Standingthere, between heaven and earth, they were no longer creatures ofconventionality, fettered by individual worlds. They were two soulsconscious of an affinity.
Briefly, sweetly, Maxine's fingers touched his hand and then withdrew."Monsieur, in moments I _am_ Max!"
Nothing of surprise, nothing of question came to him. He only knew thata touch, infinitely desired, had lighted upon him--that a comprehensionborn of immaterial things was luring him whither he knew not.
"You are Max, princess," he said, swiftly, "but Max suddenly madepossessor of a soul! I've always fancied Max a mythical being--acreature of eternal youth, fascinating as he is elusive--a faun-likecreature, peeping into the world from some secret grove, ready to dartback at any human touch. Max's lips were made for laughter; his eyes aretoo bright for tears."
"And I, monsieur? What am I?"
"You are the miracle! You are the elusive creature deserting the greengroves--stepping voluntarily into the mortal world."
"Yet if you know of me at all, you must know that I have left the mortalworld and am seeking the secret groves."
"I have been told that."
"And you disbelieve?"
"I am afraid, princess, I do." He turned and looked at her--at the slimbody wrapped in its long, smooth cloak of velvet--at the shadowed,questioning eyes. "I know I am greatly daring, but there are momentswhen we are outside ourselves--when we know and speak things of which wecan give no logical account. You have put life behind you; yet what islife but a will-o'-the-wisp? Who can say where the light may not breakforth again?"
"But have we not power over our senses, monsieur? Can we not shut oureyes, even if the light does break forth?"
"No, princess, we cannot! Because nature will inevitably say, 'I havegiven you eyes with which to see. Open those eyes'!"
"Ah, there we differ, monsieur!"
Blake laughed. "There, princess, you are the boy! He, too, thinks he cancheat nature; but I preach my gospel to him, I tell him Nature will haveher own. If we will not bend to her, she will take and break us. Ah, butlisten to that!"
His discourse broke off; they both involuntarily raised their heads andlooked toward the windows of the neighboring _appartement_.
"Princess!" he said, delightedly. "I wouldn't have had you miss this forten thousand pounds! Has Max described his neighbor, M. Cartel? I tellyou you will have a little of heaven when M. Cartel plays _Louise_!"
Very delicately, with a curious human clarity of sound, the violin of M.Cartel executed the first notes of Louise's declaration in the duet withJulian--'_Depuis le jour ou je me suis donnee!'_ One caught the wholeintention of the composer in the few crystal notes--one figured thewhole scene--the little house of love, the lovers in their Garden ofEden, and below Paris--symbolic Paris!
"You know _Louise_, princess?"
"Yes, monsieur, I know _Louise_."
All was clear, all was understood in that brief reply. A widecontentment, vitalized by excitement, lifted the soul of Blake. Leaningover the balcony railing, drinking in the music of M. Cartel, more thana little of heaven opened to him; a unique emotion thrilled him--aconsciousness of sublimity, a sense of being part of some unfathomableyet perfect scheme. The music wove its story; the lovers became one w
ithhis own existence, as he himself was one with the stars above him andthe lights below. He followed every note, and in his own brain was spunthe subtle thread that bound Julian and Louise; his own fancy ran thegamut of their emotions from mere human reminiscence to overwhelmingpassion.
As he listened, his first hearing of M. Cartel's fiddle crept back uponthe feet of memory, and with it the recollection of the boy's rapture,the boy's wayward breaking of the spell and denial of the truth of love.Cautiously he moved his head and stole a glance at his companion,summing up the contrast between the present and the past.
Maxine was leaning forward, in thrall to the music: her gray cloak hadfallen slightly back, displaying her white dress--her white neck; herhands were clasped, her eyes--the woman's eyes, the eyes ofmystery--gazed into profound space.
He held himself rigid; he dared not stir, lest he should brush hercloak; he scarce dared breathe, lest he should break her dream. Afeeling akin to adoration awakened in him, and as if in expression ofthe emotion, the violin of M. Cartel cried out the supreme confession ofthe lovers, Louise's enraptured '_C'est le Paradis! C'est une feerie_!',and Julian's answer, intoxicating as wine, '_Non! C'est la vie!l'Eternelle, la toute-puissante vie_!'
And there, with the whimsicality of the artist, the bow of M. Cartel waslifted, and sharp, pregnant silence fell upon the night.
Blake turned to Maxine; and Maxine, with lips parted, eyes dark withthought, met his regard.
For one second her impulse seemed to sway to words, her body to yield tosome gracious, drooping enchantment; then, swiftly as M. Cartel hadcalled up silence, she recalled herself--straightened her body andlifted her head.
"Monsieur," she said, with dignity, "I thank you for your kindness andfor your companionship--and I bid you good-night!"
The swiftness of his dismissal scarcely touched Blake. Already she washis sovereign lady--her look a command, her word paramount.
"As you will, princess!"
She held out her hand; and taking, he bowed over, but did not kiss it.
She smiled, conceiving his desire and his restraint.
"I shall convey to Max how charmingly you have entertained me, monsieurand, perhaps--" Her voice dropped to its softest note.
Blake looked up.
"Perhaps, princess--?"
She smiled again, half diffidently. "Nothing, monsieur! Good-night!"
"Good-night!"
He left her to the gray mystery of the stars, and passed back throughthe quiet, lamp-lit room and down the slippery stairs that led to themundane world; and with each step he took, each breath he drew, thewords from _Louise_ repeated themselves, justifying all things,glorifying all things: '_C'est la vie! l'Eternelle, la toute-puissantevie_!'
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