Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli

by Marie Corelli

  She laughed very merrily.

  “My dear Professor! You talk as if I were a girl, likely to ‘moon’ and sentimentalize over the first man that comes in my way! I’m not young enough for that sort of thing.”

  The Professor stuck his hands deep in his pockets and appeared to meditate.

  “No — perhaps not,” he said. “But experience has taught me that people fall in love at the most unexpected ages. I have seen a child of four, — a girl, — coquetting with a boy of seven, — and I have also seen an old gentleman of seventy odd making himself exceedingly unpleasant by his too rabid admiration of a married lady of forty. These things will occur!”

  “But that’s not love!” laughed Diana, seating herself in a deep easy chair opposite to him. “Come, come, Professor! You know it isn’t! It’s nonsense! — and in the case of the old gentleman, very distressing nonsense! Now, show me that jewel you spoke of the other day — one that I’ve never seen — it’s called the Eye of something or somebody—”

  “The Eve of Rajuna,” said Chauvet, solemnly, “a jewel with the history of a perished world behind it. Now, Miss May, you must not look at this remarkable stone in a spirit of trifling — it carries, compressed within its lustre, the soul’s despair of a great Queen!”

  He paused, as if thinking, — then went to an iron-bound safe which stood in one corner of the room, and unlocked it. Fumbling for a minute or two in its interior recesses, he presently produced a curious case made of rough hide and fastened with a band of gold. Opening it, a sudden flash of light sparkled from within — and Diana raised herself in her chair to look, with a little exclamation of wonderment. The extraordinary brilliancy of the jewel disclosed was like nothing she had ever seen — the stone appeared to be of a deep rose colour, but in its centre there was a moving point, as of blood-red liquid. This floating drop glittered with an unearthly lustre, and now and again seemed to emit rays as of living light.

  “What a marvellous gem!” Diana murmured. “And how beautiful! What do you call it? — a ruby or a coloured diamond?”

  “Neither,” answered Chauvet. “It does not belong to any class of known gems. It is the ‘Eye of Rajuna’ — and in ages past it was set in the centre of the forehead of the statue of an Assyrian queen. She was a strange person in her day — of strong and imperious primitive passions, — and she had rather a violent way of revenging herself for a wrong. She had a lover — all good-looking queens have lovers — it is only the ugly ones who are virtuous — and he grew tired of her in due course, as lovers generally tire—”

  “Do they?” put in Diana.

  “Of course they do! That’s why the bond of marriage was invented — to tie a man fast up to family duties so that he should not wander where he listeth — though he wanders just as much — but marriage is the only safeguard for his children, Rajuna, the Queen, however, did not approve of her lover’s wandering — and being, in her day, a great ruler, she could of course do as she liked with him. So she had him brought before her in chains, and slowly hacked to pieces in her presence — a little bit here and a little bit there, keeping him alive as long as possible so that he might see himself cut up — and finally when the psychological moment came, she had herself robed and crowned in full imperial style, and, taking a sharp, knife in her own fair hands, cut out his heart herself and threw it to her dogs in the palace courtyard below! This was one of the many jewels she wore on that historic occasion! — and it was afterwards placed in the forehead of the statue which her people erected to the memory of their ‘good and great Queen Rajuna!’”

  Diana listened with fascinated interest — her eyes fastened on the weird jewel, and her whole expression one of complete absorption in the horror of the story she had heard. She was silent so long that Chauvet grew impatient.

  “Well! What do you think of it all?” he demanded.

  “I think she — that Assyrian queen — was quite right!” she answered, slowly. “She gave her false lover, physically, what he had given her morally. He had hacked her to pieces, — bit by bit! — he had taken her ideals, her hopes and confidences, and cut them all to shreds — and he had torn her heart out from its place! Yes! — she was quite right! — a traitor deserves a traitor’s death! — I would have done the same myself!”

  He stared and glowered frowningly.

  “You? You, — a gentle Englishwoman? — you would have done the same?”

  She took the jewel from its case and held it up to the light, its red brilliance making her slender fingers rosy-tipped.

  “Yes, I would!” and she smiled strangely. “I think women are all made in much the same mould, whether English or Assyrian! There is nothing they resent so deeply as treachery in love.”

  “Yet they are treacherous themselves pretty often! said the Professor.

  “When they are they are not real women,” declared Diana. “They are pussy-cats, — toys! A true woman loves once and loves always!”

  He looked at her askance.

  “I think you have been bitten, my dear lady!” he said. “Your eloquence is the result of sad experience!”

  “You are right!” she answered, quietly, still holding the “Eye of Rajuna” and dangling it against the light.

  “Perfectly so!’ I have been ‘bitten’ as you put it — but — it is long ago.”

  “Yet you cherish the idea of vengeance?”

  She laughed a little.

  “I don’t know! I cannot say! But when one has had life spoilt for one all undeservedly, one may wish to see the spoiler morally ‘hung, drawn and quartered’ in a sort of good old Tudor way! Yet my story is quite a common one, — I was engaged to a man who threw me over after I had waited for him seven years — lots of women could tell the same tale, I daresay! — he’s married and has a very fat wife and five hideous children—”

  “And are you not sufficiently avenged?” exclaimed Chauvet, melodramatically, with uplifted hands. “A fat wife and five hideous children! Surely far worse than the Eye of Rajuna!”

  Her face was clear and radiant now as she put the jewel back in its case.

  “Yes, possibly! But I sometimes fancy I should like to make sure that it is worse! I’m wickedly human enough to wish to see him suffer!”

  “And yet he’s not worth such an expenditure of nerve force!” said Chauvet, smiling kindly. “Why not spare yourself for somebody else?”

  She looked at him with something of pathos in her eyes. “Somebody else? My dear Professor, there’s not a soul in all the world that cares for me!”

  “You are wrong, — I care!” he replied, with an emphasis that startled her—” I care so much that I’ll marry you to-morrow if you’ll have me!”

  She was so amazed that for the moment she could not speak. He, perfectly calm and collected, continued with a kind of oratorical fervour: —

  “I will marry you, I say! I find you charming and intelligent. Charm in woman is common — intelligence is rare. You are a happy combination of the two! You are not a girl — neither am I a boy. But if you take me, you will not take a poor man. I am rich — much richer than anybody knows. I have become interested in you — more than this, I have grown fond of you. I would try my best — for the rest of my life — which cannot be very long — to make you happy. I would give you a pretty house in Paris — and all the luxuries which dainty women appreciate. And I promise I would not bore you. And at my death I would leave you all I possess — even the ‘Eye of Rajuna!’ Stop now, before you speak! Think it over! I wish to give you plenty of time” — here his voice trembled a little—” for it will be a great blow — yes, a very great blow to me if you refuse!”

  Taken by surprise as she was, Diana could not but appreciate the quiet and chivalrous manner of the Professor, as after having made his declaration and proposal, he stood “at attention” as it were, waiting for her first word.

  She rose from her chair and laid one hand on his arm.

  “Dear Professor—” she began, hesitatingly.
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  “Yes — that’s good!” he said. “‘Dear Professor’ is very good! And after that, what next?”

  “After that, just this,” said Diana. “That I thank you for your kind and generous offer with all my heart! Still more do I thank you for saying you have grown fond of me! Nobody has said that for years! But I will not do you such wrong as to take advantage of your goodness to a woman you know nothing of — not, at any rate, till you know something more! And, — to be quite honest with you — I don’t think I have it in my heart to love any man now!” The Professor took the hand that rested on his arm and patted it encouragingly.

  “My dear lady, I am not asking for love!” he said. “I would not do such an absurd thing for the world! Love is the greatest delusion of the ages, — one of the ‘springes to catch Shakespeare says. I don’t want it, — I never had it, and don’t expect it. I merely ask for permission to take care of you and make you as happy as I can for the rest of my life. I should like to do that! — I should indeed! The stupid and conventional world will not allow me to do it without scandal, unless I marry you — therefore I ask you to go through this form with me. I would not be selfish, — I would respect you in every way—”

  He broke off — and to close an embarrassing sentence gently kissed the hand he held.

  Tears stood in Diana’s eyes.

  “Oh, you are good, you are good!” she murmured.

  “And I feel so ungrateful because I cannot please you by at once saying ‘yes!’ But I should feel worse than ungrateful if I did — because it would be unfair to you! — it would, really! And yet—”

  “Don’t say an absolute ‘No,’ my dear! interrupted the Professor, hastily. “Take time! I’ll give you as long as you like — and live in hope!” —

  She smiled, though her eyes were wet. Her thoughts were all in a whirl. How had it chanced that she, so long content to be considered “an old maid,” should now receive an offer of marriage? Had she a right to refuse it?

  Professor Chauvet was a distinguished man of science, well known in Paris; his wife would occupy a position of dignity and distinction. Her salon would be filled with men of mark and women of high social standing. And he “had grown fond of her” he said. That was the best and most wonderful thing of all! That anyone should be “fond” of her seemed to poor, lonely Diana the opening of the gates of Paradise.

  “May I — may!” she faltered, presently.

  “You may do anything!” replied Chauvet, soothingly. “You may even box my ears, if it will relieve your feelings!”

  She laughed, and looked up at him. It was a kind, rugged, clever face she saw — plain, but shrewd, and though marked like a map with lines of thought and care, not without character and impressiveness.

  “I was rude to you the first night we met!” she said, irrelevantly.

  “So was I to you,” he responded. “And you got the better of me. That’s probably why I like you!”

  She hesitated again. Then:

  “May I wait—”

  “Of course!” he said. “Any time! Not too long — I want to settle it before I die!”

  “Will it do when I have finished my visit to Madame Dimitrius?” she asked. She wishes me to stay with her for some months — she likes my company—”

  “I should think she does!” interposed Chauvet. “So should I!”

  She laughed again.

  “You really are very nice!” she said. “You ought to have married long ago!”

  “That’s neither here nor there,” he answered. “I’m glad I didn’t — I might have had a fat wife and five hideous children, like your old lover — and my life wouldn’t have been worth a sou!”

  “Wouldn’t it?” She was quite playful by this time, and taking a knot of violets from her own dress, pinned them in his buttonhole, much to his delight.

  “Of course not! With a fat wife and five children what would have become of my work? I should never have done anything. As it is the world may have to thank me for a few useful discoveries — though I daresay it will have to thank Féodor Dimitrius more.”

  Her heart gave a quick throb.

  “Do you think him very clever?” she asked.

  “Clever? Clever as the devil! There never was such a man for bold experiment! I wonder he hasn’t killed himself before now with his exploits in chemistry. However, let us keep to the point. As I understand it, you give me a little hope. You will not say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ till your time with Madame Dimitrius is expired — till your visit to the Château Fragonard is ended. Is that so?”

  She bent her head.

  “And may I walk on air — buoyed up by hope — till then?”

  She looked a little troubled.

  “Dear Professor, I cannot promise anything!” she said. “You see I am taken altogether by surprise — and — and gratitude — give me time to think!”

  “I will!” he said, kindly. “And meanwhile, we will keep our own confidence — and the subject shall be closed till you yourself reopen it. There! You can rely upon me. But think it all over well, reasonably, and clearly — a husband who would care much for you, ten thousand a year, a house in Paris and every comfort and luxury you could wish for is not an absolutely melancholy prospect! Bless you, my dear! And now I’ll lock up the ‘Eye of Rajuna’ — it has looked upon us and has seen nothing of falsehood or treachery to warrant the shedding of blood!”

  He moved away from her to place the jewel in his safe, and as he did so, said:

  “I have an aqua-marine here which is the colour of a Sicilian sea in full summer — and I should like to give it to you now, — I intend it for you — but the hawk eye of Dimitrius would notice it if you wore it, and you would suffer the cross-examination of a orquemada! However, you shall have it very soon — as soon as I can invent a little fable to give cover to its presentation. And, — let me see!—” here he turned round, smiling. “Well, upon my word, you have made up the fire capitally! Quite bright and cheery! — and full of hope!”

  CHAPTER XV

  THAT evening Diana for the first time saw Dimitrius in a somewhat irritable mood. He was sharp and peremptory of speech and impatient in manner.

  “Where have you been all the afternoon?” he demanded, at dinner, fixing his eyes upon her with a piercing intensity.

  “With Professor Chauvet,” she answered. “I wanted to see a famous Assyrian jewel he has — it is called ‘The Eye of Rajuna.’”

  Dimitrius shrugged his shoulders.

  “And you are interested in that kind of thing?” he queried, with a touch of disdain. “A stolen gem, and therefore an unlucky one—’ looted’ by a French officer from the forehead of a mutilated statue somewhere in the East. It’s not a thing I should care to have,”

  “Nor I,” agreed Diana, amicably. “But it’s worth seeing.”

  “The Professor is a great authority on precious stones,” said Madame Dimitrius. “You know, Feodor, you have always credited him with very exceptional knowledge on the subject.”

  “Of course!” he replied. “But I was not aware that Miss May had any hankerings after jewels.”

  Diana laughed. She was amused to see him more or less in a kind of suppressed temper.

  “I haven’t!” she declared, gaily. “It would be no use if I had! Jewels are, and always have been, beyond my reach. But I like to know positively from the Professor that they are living things, feeling heat and cold just as we do, and that some of them shrink from diseased persons and lose their lustre, and are brilliant and happy with healthy ones. It is very fascinating!”

  “The Professor is not!” remarked Dimitrius, ironically.

  She raised her eyes, smilingly.

  “No?”

  “He’s a very worthy man,” put in Madame Dimitrius, gently. “And” very distinguished in his way. He’s certainly not handsome.”

  “No men are, nowadays,” said Dimitrius. “The greed of money has written itself all over human physiognomy. Beauty is at a discount, —— there w
ere never so many downright ugly human beings as there are to-day. The Mark of the Beast is on every forehead.”

  “I don’t see it anywhere on yours!” said Diana, sweetly.

  A reluctant half-smile brightened his features for a moment, — then he gave a disdainful gesture.

  “I daresay it’s there all the same!” he replied, shortly. “Or it may be branded too deeply for you to see!” He paused — and with an abrupt change of tone, said: “Mother, can you be ready to go to Davos this week?”

  She looked up, placidly smiling.

  “Certainly! I shall be very glad to go, Diana will like it too, I’m sure.”

  “Good! Then we’ll start the day after to-morrow. I have engaged rooms. There are one or two things I must settle before leaving — not very important.” Here he rose from the table, dinner being concluded, and addressed Diana. “I want you for a few moments,” he said, rather peremptorily. “Join me, please, in the laboratory.”

  He left the room. His mother and Diana looked at one another in smiling perplexity. Diana laughed.

  “He’s cross!” she declared. “Chère Madame, he’s cross t It is a positive miracle! The cool scientist and ‘calm philosopher is in a bit of a temper!”

  Madame Dimitrius gave a rather regretful and unwilling assent. Truth to tell, the gentle old lady was more bewildered than satisfied with certain things that were happening, and which perplexed and puzzled her. As, for example, when Diana took her arm and affectionately escorted her from the dining-room to the drawing-room, she could not refrain from wondering at the singular grace and elegance of the once plain and angular woman, — she might almost be another person, so different was she to the one who had arrived at the Château Fragonard in answer to her son’s advertisement. But she had promised to say nothing, and she kept her word, though she thought none the less of the “Flaming Sword” and the terrific problem her son had apparently determined to solve. Meanwhile, Diana, having settled her cosily by the fire with her knitting, ran quickly off to obey the command of Dimitrius. She had never been asked to go near the laboratory since her first visit there, and she hardly knew how to find the corridor leading to it. She looked for the negro, Vasho, but though he had waited upon them at dinner he was now nowhere to be seen. So, trusting to memory and chance she groped her way down a long passage so dark that she had to feel the walls on both sides to steady her steps as she went, and she was beginning to think she had taken an entirely wrong direction, when a dull, coppery glitter struck a shaft of light through the gloom and she knew she was near her goal. A few more cautious steps, and she stood opposite the great door, which glowed mysteriously red and golden, as though secret fire were mixing living flame with its metal. It was shut. How could she open it? — or make her presence outside it known? Recollecting that Vasho had merely laid his hand upon it, she presently ventured to do the same, and soon had the rather terrifying satisfaction of seeing the huge portal swing upwards yawningly, disclosing the interior of the vast dome and the monstrous Wheel. But what a different scene was now presented to her eyes! When first she had entered this mysterious “laboratory” it had been in broad daylight, and the sun had poured its full glory through the overarching roof of crystal, — but now it was night and instead of sunshine there was a cloud of fire! Or, rather, it might be described as a luminous mist of the deep, rich hue of a damask rose. Through this vaporous veil could be seen the revolving Wheel, which now had the appearance of a rainbow circle. Every inch of space was full of the radiant rose haze, and it was so dazzling and confusing to the sight that for a moment Diana could not move. With a vague sense of terror she dimly felt that the door had closed behind her, — but steadying her nerves she waited, confident that Dimitrius would soon appear. And she was right. He stepped suddenly out of the rosy mist with a casual air, as if there were nothing unusual in the surroundings.