A Chair on the Boulevard Part 47

"'Five-four-two, one-nine. Correct?'

"'Correct. I am grateful.'

"'Good-night.'

"'Good-night. Sleep well.'

"You may suppose that on the morrow I remembered the incident with a smile, that I ridiculed the emotion it had roused in me? You would be wrong. I recalled it more and more curiously: I found myself looking forward to the appointment with an eagerness that was astonishing. We had talked for about twenty minutes, hidden from each other--half Paris, perhaps, dividing us; I had nothing more tangible to expect this evening. Yet I experienced all the sensations of a man who waits for an interview, for an embrace. What did it mean? I was bewildered. The possibility of love at first sight I understood; but might the spirit also recognise an affinity by telephone?

"There is a phrase in feuilletons that had always irritated me--'To his impatience it seemed that the clock had stopped.' It had always struck me as absurd. Since that evening I have never condemned the phrase, for honestly, I thought more than once that the clock had stopped. By-and-by, to increase the tension, my wife, who seldom entered my workroom, opened the door. She found me idle, and was moved to converse with me.

Mon Dieu! Now that the hour approached at last, my wife was present, with the air of having settled herself for the night!

"The hands of the clock moved on--and always faster now. If she remained till the bell rang, what was I to do? To answer that I had 'someone with me' would be intelligible to the lady, but it would sound suspicious to my wife. To answer that I was 'busy' would sound innocent to my wife, but it would be insulting to the lady. To disregard the bell altogether would be to let my wife go to the telephone herself! I tell you I perspired.

"Under Providence, our cook rescued me. There came a timid knock, and then the figure of the cook, her eyes inflamed, her head swathed in some extraordinary garment. She had a raging toothache--would madame have the kindness to give her a little cognac? The ailments of the cook always arouse in human nature more solicitude than the ailments of any other servant. My wife's sympathy was active--I was saved!

"The door had scarcely closed when _tr-rr-r-ng_ the signal came.

"'Good-evening,' from the voice. 'So you are here to meet me.'

"'Good-evening,' I said. 'I would willingly go further to meet you,'

"'Be thankful that the rendez-vous was your flat--listen to the rain!

Come, own that you congratulated yourself when it began! "Luckily I can be gallant without getting wet," you thought. Really, I am most considerate--you keep a dry skin, you waste no time in reaching me, and you need not even trouble to change your coat.'

"'It sounds very cosy,' I admitted, 'but there is one drawback to it all--I do not see you.'

"'That may be more considerate of me still! I may be reluctant to banish your illusions. Isn't it probable that I am elderly--or, at least plain? I may even be a lady novelist, with ink on her fingers.

By-the-bye, monsieur, I have been rereading one of your books since last night.'

"'Oh, you know my name now? I am gratified to have become more than a telephonic address to you. May I ask if we have ever met?'

"'We never spoke till last night, but I have seen you often,'

"'You, at any rate, can have no illusions to be banished. What a relief! I have endeavoured to talk as if I had a romantic bearing; now that you know how I look, I can be myself.'

"'I await your next words with terror,' she said. 'What shock is in store for me? Speak gently.'

"'Well, speaking gently, I am very glad that you were put on to the wrong number last night. At the same time, I feel a constraint, a difficulty; I cannot talk to you frankly, cannot be serious--it is as if I showed my face while you were masked.'

"'Yes, it is true--I understand,' she said. 'And even if I were to swear that I was not unworthy of your frankness, you would still be doubtful of me, I suppose?'

"'Madame--'

"'Oh, it is natural! I know very well how I must appear to you,' she exclaimed; 'a coquette, with a new pastime--a vulgar coquette, besides, who tries to pique your interest by an air of mystery. Believe me, monsieur, I am forbidden to unmask. Think lightly of me if you must--I have no right to complain--but believe as much as that! I do not give you my name, simply because I may not.'

"'Madame,' I replied, 'so far from wishing to force your confidences, I a.s.sure you that I will never inquire who you are, never try to find out.'

"'And you will talk frankly, unconstrainedly, all the same?'

"'Ah, you are too illogical to be elderly and plain,' I demurred. 'You resolve to remain a stranger to me, and I bow to your decision; but, on the other hand, a man makes confidences only to his friends.'

"There was a long pause; and when I heard the voice again, it trembled:

"'Adieu, monsieur.'

"'Adieu, madame,' I said.

"No sooner had she gone than I would have given almost anything to bring her back. For a long while I sat praying that she would ring again. I watched the telephone as if it had been her window, the door of her home--something that could yield her to my view. During the next few days I grudged every minute that I was absent from the room--I took my meals in it. Never had I had the air of working so indefatigably, and in truth I did not write a line, 'I suppose you have begun a new romance?' said my wife. In my soul I feared that I had finished it!"

Noulens sighed; he clasped his hands on his head. The dark hair, the thin, restless fingers were all that I could see of him where I sat.

Some seconds pa.s.sed; I wondered whether there would be time for me to hear the rest before his wife returned.

"In my soul I feared that I had finished it," he repeated.

"Extraordinary as it appears, I was in love with a woman I had never seen. Each time that bell sounded, my heart seemed to try to choke me.

It had been my grievance, since we had the telephone installed, that we heard nothing of it excepting that we had to make another payment for its use; but now, by a maddening coincidence, everybody that I had ever met took to ringing me up about trifles and agitating me twenty times a day.

"At last, one night--when expectation was almost dead--she called to me again. Oh, but her voice was humble! My friend, it is piteous when we love a woman, to hear her humbled. I longed to take her hands, to fold my arms about her. I abased myself, that she might regain her pride.

She heard how I had missed and sorrowed for her; I owned that she was dear to me.

"And then began a companionship--strange as you may find the word-- which was the sweetest my life has held. We talked together daily. This woman, whose whereabouts, whose face, whose name were all unknown to me, became the confidant of my disappointments and my hopes. If I worked well, my thoughts would be, 'Tonight I shall have good news to give her;' if I worked ill--'Never mind, by-and-by she will encourage me!' There was not a page in my next novel that I did not read to her; never a doubt beset me in which I did not turn for her sympathy and advice.

"'Well, how have you got on?'

"'Oh, I am so troubled this evening, dear!'

"'Poor fellow! Tell me all about it. I tried to come to you sooner, but I couldn't get away.'

"Like that! We talked as if she were really with me. My life was no longer desolate--the indifference in my home no longer grieved me. All the interest, the love, the inspiration I had hungered for, was given to me now by a woman who remained invisible."

Noulens paused again. In the pause I got up to light a cigarette, and-- I shall never forget it--I saw the bowed figure of his wife beyond the study door! It was only a glimpse I had, but the glimpse was enough to make my heart stand still--she leant over the table, her face hidden by her hand.

I tried to warn, to signal to him--he did not see me. I felt that I could do nothing, nothing at all, without doubling her humiliation by the knowledge that I had witnessed it. If he would only look at me!

"Listen," he went on rapidly. "I was happy, I was young again--and there was a night when she said to me, 'It is for the last time.'

"Six words! But for a moment I had no breath, no life, to answer them.

"'Speak!' she cried out. 'You are frightening me!'

"'What has happened?' I stammered. 'Trust me, I implore you!'

"I heard her sobbing--and minutes seemed to pa.s.s. It was horrible. I thought my heart would burst while I shuddered at her sobs--the sobbing of a woman I could not reach.

"'I can tell you nothing,' she said, when she was calmer; 'only that we are speaking together for the last time.'

"'But why--why? Is it that you are leaving France?'