Max
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CHAPTER XXX
Maxine was in high exaltation--the exaltation that makes no count ofcost. Yesterday mattered not at all; to-morrow might never dawn! As theouter door closed upon Blake, she turned back into the lighted_salon_--the little _salon_ of Max's books, of Max's boyish tastes--thelittle _salon_ loved beyond all rooms in Paris!
In a smiling dream she passed through it, on into the studio where nolight was, save the light from a shred of crescent moon that had latelyclimbed into the sky. It had a curious effect--this bare, white roomwith its gaunt easel, upon which the portrait still stood, and tosuperstitious eyes, it might well have suggested a ghost-chamber,peopled by dead thoughts, dead impressions: but Maxine was in no morbidmood, happiness ran too high--too red and warm--to permit of shadowsdisputing its high place.
Smiling, smiling, she passed from the studio to the bedroom. The roomthat had witnessed her first weakness; the room that had brought herstrength. How infinitely wise had been the conduct of that night! Howirrevocably fate had created doubt and dispersed it by inspiration. Ifshe had not twisted her hair about her head--if the little Jacquelinehad not entered at the critical moment--if, for that matter, M. Carteland his friend had not talked late and partaken of _bouillon_--
She laughed; she wandered round the room, touching, appraising thelittle familiar trifles associated with that past hour; at last she satdown before her mirror, and there Jacqueline found her ten minuteslater, when curiosity could no longer be withheld and she came creepingacross the landing for news of the night's doings.
Maxine heard her enter; heard her search the _salon_ and then thestudio; finally called to her.
"Jacqueline!"
"Madame!"
The door opened, and Maxine looked round, the smile still upon her lips.
"No soup for me to-night, Jacqueline? Not even tea?"
Jacqueline caught the happy lightness of the tone, and silently noddedher blonde head as she tiptoed into the room.
"Ah, madame has had a banquet of the mind! Madame has no need of my poorfood."
Maxine picked up a comb and arranged the tendrils of hair that curledabout her temples.
"Jacqueline," she said, after a silence, "what do you consider thehighest thing?"
The question might have been astonishing, but her visitor did not betraysurprise by even the quiver of an eyelash.
"Love, madame," she said.
And Maxine did not flash round upon her in one of her swift rages, didnot even draw her brows together into their frowning line. She merelygazed into the mirror, as if weighing the statement judicially.
"All people do not hold that opinion," she said, at last.
Jacqueline shrugged her shoulders in the exercise of an infinitepatience. "No, madame?"
"No. M. Blake talked to-night of 'the highest thing,' and he did notmean love."
"No, madame?" Jacqueline was very guileless.
But guileless as her tone was--nay, by reason of its guilelessness--ittouched Maxine in some shadowy corner of her woman's consciousness; andspurred by a subtle, disquieting suggestion, she turned in her chair,and fixed her serious gray eyes upon her visitor.
"What are your thoughts, Jacqueline?"
Jacqueline, taken unawares, deprecated.
"Oh, madame--"
But Maxine was set to her point. "Answer my question," she insisted. "Iwish to know. I am, above all things, practical."
It was to Jacqueline's credit that she did not smile, that she simplymurmured: "Who doubts it, madame?"
"Yes; I am, above all things, practical. In this affair of the woman, Iknow exactly where I stand."
The girl made no comment; but even to Maxine's own ears, her declarationleft a little suggestion of over-vehemence vibrating in the air; andstartled by this suggestion, she did the least wise, the most humanthing possible, she accentuated it.
"If I were different--if M. Blake were different, I grant that,perhaps--" She stopped abruptly. "Jacqueline, what are your thoughts?"
"Oh, madame, I have none!"
And here Maxine made a change of front, became very grave, touched thegracious, encouraging note of the being to whom life is an open book.
"You must not say that," she corrected, sweetly. "You always haveideas--even if they are sometimes a little in the air. Come! Tell me.What are your thoughts?"
But Jacqueline was wary, as befitted one who made no pretence ofscholarship, but who knew the old human story by heart, and dailyrecited it to one ardent listener.
"Oh, madame, it is not fitting--"
"Absurd! Tell me."
Jacqueline, hard pressed, sought refuge in a truth.
"My thoughts might displease madame."
Maxine sat straighter in her chair. Here was another matter!
"Ah, so that is it! Well, now I am determined. Now I will have thethoughts at any cost."
When Maxine spoke like this, when her lips closed upon her words, whenher eyes rested unflinchingly upon her listener, she was wont to haveher questions answered. Jacqueline recognized the moment, saw Maxine inall her proud foolishness, loved her with that swift intermingling ofpity and worship that such beings as she inevitably call forth, finallytossed her little head in her most tantalizing manner and laughed.
"With madame's permission," she said, "I will wish her good-night!"
"The permission is not granted."
"Nevertheless, madame!" Her hand was on the door.
"Wait!" cried Maxine, peremptorily. "I have asked you a question and youmust answer it."
Jacqueline stopped half-way through the doorway, and looked back, herflower-like face alight with mischief.
"Pardon, madame! 'Must' is the word for the ruler. Lucien says 'must' tome; M. Blake says 'must' to"--she paused, with maddening precision; shedropped a little impertinent curtsy--"to M. Max!"
She tossed the word upon the air, as a child might blow thistle-down;she laughed and was gone, leaving Maxine conscious of a strange newsensation that whipped her to anger and yet, most curiously, left herbereft of words.