"You are perfectly reckless in what you say, Dona Rita.It has become a habit with you of late.""While with you reserve is a second nature, Don Juan."This was uttered with the gentlest, almost tender, irony.Mr.
Blunt waited a while before he said:
"Certainly....Would you have liked me to be otherwise?"She extended her hand to him on a sudden impulse.
"Forgive me! I may have been unjust, and you may only have been loyal.The falseness is not in us.The fault is in life itself, Isuppose.I have been always frank with you.""And I obedient," he said, bowing low over her hand.He turned away, paused to look at me for some time and finally gave me the correct sort of nod.But he said nothing and went out, or rather lounged out with his worldly manner of perfect ease under all conceivable circumstances.With her head lowered Dona Rita watched him till he actually shut the door behind him.I was facing her and only heard the door close.
"Don't stare at me," were the first words she said.
It was difficult to obey that request.I didn't know exactly where to look, while I sat facing her.So I got up, vaguely full of goodwill, prepared even to move off as far as the window, when she commanded:
"Don't turn your back on me."
I chose to understand it symbolically.
"You know very well I could never do that.I couldn't.Not even if I wanted to." And I added: "It's too late now.""Well, then, sit down.Sit down on this couch."I sat down on the couch.Unwillingly? Yes.I was at that stage when all her words, all her gestures, all her silences were a heavy trial to me, put a stress on my resolution, on that fidelity to myself and to her which lay like a leaden weight on my untried heart.But I didn't sit down very far away from her, though that soft and billowy couch was big enough, God knows! No, not very far from her.Self-control, dignity, hopelessness itself, have their limits.The halo of her tawny hair stirred as I let myself drop by her side.Whereupon she flung one arm round my neck, leaned her temple against my shoulder and began to sob; but that I could only guess from her slight, convulsive movements because in our relative positions I could only see the mass of her tawny hair brushed back, yet with a halo of escaped hair which as I bent my head over her tickled my lips, my cheek, in a maddening manner.
We sat like two venturesome children in an illustration to a tale, scared by their adventure.But not for long.As I instinctively, yet timidly, sought for her other hand I felt a tear strike the back of mine, big and heavy as if fallen from a great height.It was too much for me.I must have given a nervous start.At once Iheard a murmur: "You had better go away now."I withdrew myself gently from under the light weight of her head, from this unspeakable bliss and inconceivable misery, and had the absurd impression of leaving her suspended in the air.And I moved away on tiptoe.
Like an inspired blind man led by Providence I found my way out of the room but really I saw nothing, till in the hall the maid appeared by enchantment before me holding up my overcoat.I let her help me into it.And then (again as if by enchantment) she had my hat in her hand.
"No.Madame isn't happy," I whispered to her distractedly.
She let me take my hat out of her hand and while I was putting it on my head I heard an austere whisper:
"Madame should listen to her heart."
Austere is not the word; it was almost freezing, this unexpected, dispassionate rustle of words.I had to repress a shudder, and as coldly as herself I murmured:
"She has done that once too often."
Rose was standing very close to me and I caught distinctly the note of scorn in her indulgent compassion.
"Oh, that!...Madame is like a child." It was impossible to get the bearing of that utterance from that girl who, as Dona Rita herself had told me, was the most taciturn of human beings; and yet of all human beings the one nearest to herself.I seized her head in my hands and turning up her face I looked straight down into her black eyes which should have been lustrous.Like a piece of glass breathed upon they reflected no light, revealed no depths, and under my ardent gaze remained tarnished, misty, unconscious.
"Will Monsieur kindly let me go.Monsieur shouldn't play the child, either." (I let her go.) "Madame could have the world at her feet.Indeed she has it there only she doesn't care for it."How talkative she was, this maid with unsealed lips! For some reason or other this last statement of hers brought me immense comfort.
"Yes?" I whispered breathlessly.
"Yes! But in that case what's the use of living in fear and torment?" she went on, revealing a little more of herself to my astonishment.She opened the door for me and added:
"Those that don't care to stoop ought at least make themselves happy."I turned in the very doorway: "There is something which prevents that?" I suggested.
"To be sure there is.Bonjour, Monsieur."
