CHAPTER XIII
THE TRAINING OF A LEOPARDESS
On that evening Prosper began to talk. The unnatural self-repressionhe had practiced gave way before the flood of his sociability. It wasJoan's amazing beauty as she stumbled wretchedly into the circle ofhis firelight, her neck drawn up to its full length, her head crownedhigh with soft, black masses, her lids dropped under the weight ofshyness, vivid fright in her distended pupils, scarlet in hercheeks,--Joan's beauty of long, strong lines draped to advantage forthe first time in soft and clinging fabrics,--that touched the springof Prosper's delighted egotism. There it was again, the idealaudience, the necessary atmosphere, the beautiful, gracious,intelligent listener. He forgot her ignorance, her utter simplicity,the unplumbed emptiness of her experience, and he spread out hiscolorful thoughts before her in colorful words, the mental plumage ofcivilized courtship.
After dinner, now sipping from the small coffee cup in his hand, nowsetting it down to move excitedly about the room, he talked of hislife, his book, his plans. He told anecdotes, strange adventures; hedrew his own inverted morals; he sketched his fantastic opinions; hewas in truth fascinating, a speaking face, a lithe, brilliant presence,a voice of edged persuasion. He turned witty phrases. Poor Joan! Onesentence in ten she understood and answered with her slow smile and herquaint, murmured, "Well!" His eloquence did her at least the service ofmaking her forget herself. She was rather crestfallen because he hadnot complimented her; his veiled look of appreciation, this coming toof his real self was too subtle a flattery for her perception.Nevertheless, his talk pleased her. She did not want to disappoint him,so she drew herself up straight in the big red-lacquered chair, sippedher coffee, in dainty imitation of him, gave him the full, deep tributeof her gaze, asked for no explanations and let the astoundingstatements he made, the amazing pictures he drew, cut their wayindelibly into her most sensitive and preserving memory.
Afterwards, at night, for the first time she did not weep for Pierre,the old lost Pierre who had so changed into a torturer, but, wakeful,her brain on fire, she pondered over and over the things she had justheard, feeling after their meaning, laying aside for futureenlightenment what was utterly incomprehensible, arguing with herselfas to the truth of half-comprehended speeches--an ignorant childwrestling with a modern philosophy, tricked out in motley by a readywit.
There were more personal memories that gave her a flush of pleasure,for after midnight, as she was leaving him, he came near to her, tookher hand with a grateful "Joan, you've done so much for me to-night,you've made me happy," and the request, "You won't put your hair backto the old way, will you? You will wear pretty things, if I give themto you, won't you?" in a beseeching spoiled-boy's voice, very amusingand endearing to her.
He gave her the "pretty things," whole quantities of them, fine linento be made up into underwear, soft white and colored silks andcrepes, which Joan, remembering the few lessons in dressmaking shehad had from Maud Upper and with some advice from Prosper, made up nottoo awkwardly, accepting the mystery of them as one of Prosper'smagic-makings. And, in the meantime, her education went on. Prosperread aloud to her, gave her books to read to herself, questioned her,tutored her, scolded her so fiercely sometimes that Joan would mountscarlet cheeks and open angry eyes. One day she fairly flung her bookfrom her and ran out of the room, stamping her feet and sheddingtears. But back she came presently for more, thirsting for knowledge,eager to meet her trainer on more equal grounds, to be able to answerhim to some purpose, to contradict him, to stagger ever so slightlythe self-assurance of his superiority.
And Prosper enjoyed the training of his captive leopardess, though hesometimes all but melted over the pathos of her and had much ado tokeep his hands from her unconscious young beauty.
"You're so changed, Joan," he said one day abruptly. "You've grown asthin as a reed, child; I can see every bone, and your eyes--don't youever shut them any more?"
Joan, prone on the skin before the fire, elbows on the fur, hands toher temples, face bent over a book, looked up impatiently.
"I'd not be talkin' now if I was you, Mr. Gael. You had ought to bewritin' an' I'm readin'. I can't talk an' read; seems when I do athing I just hed to _do_ it!"
Prosper laughed and returned chidden to his task, but he couldn't helpwatching her, lying there in her blue frock across his floor, like atall, thin Magdalene, all her rich hair fallen wildly about her face.She was such a child, such a child!
The Branding Iron Page 13
