Bertha Garlan Part 18

"Why, yes, about your tours."

"Good Heavens, one town is just like all the others. You must not, of course, lose sight of the fact that I only rarely travel for my own pleasure."

"Quite so, of course."

During the whole time she had not given a thought to the fact that it was Emil Lindbach, the celebrated violin virtuoso, with whom she was sitting there; and she felt bound to say:

"By the way, you are playing in Vienna soon. I should be very glad to hear you."

"Not a soul will hinder you from doing so," he replied drily.

It pa.s.sed through her mind that it would really be very much nicer for her to hear him play, not at the concert, but for herself alone. She had almost said so, but then it occurred to her that that would have meant nothing else than: "I will come with you"--and, who could say, perhaps very soon she would go with him. It would be as easy for her as ever, if she had had some wine.... Yet, not so, the wine was affecting her differently from usual--it was not the soft inebriation which made her feel a little more cheerful; it was better, lovelier. It was not the few drops of wine that made it so; it was the touch of his dear hand, as he stroked her brow and hair. He had sat down beside her and he drew her head onto his shoulder. How gladly would she have fallen asleep like that.... Yes, indeed, nothing else did she desire.... Then she heard him whisper: "Darling."... She trembled softly.

Why was this the first time? Could she not have had all this before? Was there a grain of sense in living as she did?... After all, there was nothing wicked in what she was doing now.... And how sweet it was to feel the breath of a young man upon her eyelids!... No, not--not the breath of a young man... of a lover....

She had shut her eyes. She made not the slightest effort to open them again, she had not the least desire to know where she was, or with whom she was.... Who was it, after all?... Richard?... No.... Was she falling asleep, then?... She was there with Emil.... With whom?... But who was this Emil?... How hard it was to be clear as to who it was!... The breath upon her eyelids was the breath of the man she had loved when a girl ...

and, at the same time, that of the celebrated artist who was soon to give a concert ... and, at the same time, of a man whom she had not seen for thousands and thousands of days ... and, at the same time, of a gentleman with whom she was sitting alone in a restaurant, and who, at that moment, could do with her just as he pleased.... She felt his kiss upon her eyes.... How tender he was ... and how handsome.... But what did he really look like, then?... She had only to open her eyes to be able to see him quite plainly.... But she preferred to imagine what he was like, without actually seeing him.... No, how funny--why, that was not in the least like his face!... Of course, it was the face of the young waiter, who had left the room a minute or two before.... But what did Emil look like, after all?... Like this?... No, no, of course, that was Richard's face.... But away ... away.... Was she then so low as to think of nothing but other men while she ... was with him?... If she could only open her eyes!... Ah!

She shook herself violently, so that she almost pushed Emil away--and then she tore her eyes wide open.

Emil gazed at her, smiling.

"Do you love me?" he asked.

She drew him towards her and kissed him of her own accord.... It was the first time that day that she had given him a kiss of her own accord, and in doing so she felt that she was not acting in accordance with her resolve of the morning.... She tried to think what that resolve had been.... To compromise herself in no way; to deny herself.... Yes, there had certainly been a time when that had been her wish, but why? She was in love with him, really and truly; and the moment had arrived which she had been awaiting for days.... No, for years!

Still their lips remained pressed together.... Ah, she longed to feel his arms about her ... to be his, body and soul. She would not let him talk any more ... he would have to take her unto himself.... He would have to realize that no other woman could love him so well as she did....

Emil rose to his feet and paced up and down the little room a few times.

Bertha raised her gla.s.s of champagne to her lips again.

"No more, Bertha," said Emil, in a low tone.

Yes, he was right, she thought. What was she really doing? Was she going to make herself drunk, then? Was there any need for that? After all, she was accountable to no one, she was free, she was young; she was determined to taste of happiness at last.

"Ought we not to be thinking of going?" said Emil.

Bertha nodded. He helped her to put on her jacket. She stood before the mirror and stuck the pin through her hat. They went. The young waiter was standing before the door; he bowed. A carriage was standing before the gate; Bertha got in; she did not hear what instructions Emil gave the driver. Emil took his seat by her side. Both were silent; they sat pressing closely against each other. The carriage rolled on, a long, long way. Wherever could it be, then, that Emil lived? But, perhaps, he had purposely told the driver to take a circuitous route, knowing, no doubt, how pleasant it was to drive together through the night like this.

The carriage pulled up. Emil got out.

"Give me your umbrella," he said.

She handed it out to him and he opened it. Then she got out and they both stood under the shelter of the umbrella, on which the rain was rattling down. Was this the street in which he lived? The door opened; they entered the hall; Emil took a candle which the porter handed to him.

Before them was a fine broad staircase. When they reached the first floor Emil opened a door. They pa.s.sed through an ante-chamber into a drawing-room. With the candle which he held in his hand Emil lighted two others upon the table; then he went up to Bertha, who was still standing in the doorway, as though waiting, and led her further into the room. He took the pin out of her hat, and placed the hat upon the table. In the uncertain light of the two feebly-burning candles, Bertha could only see that a few coloured pictures were hanging on the wall--portraits of the Emperor and Empress, so it appeared to her--that, on one side, was a broad divan covered with a Persian rug and that, near the window, there was an upright piano with a number of framed photographs on the lid.

Over the piano a picture was hanging, but Bertha was unable to make it out. Yonder, she saw a pair of red curtains hanging down beside a door, which was standing half open and through the broad folds something white and gleaming could be seen within.

She could no longer restrain the question:

"Do you live here?"

"As you see."

She looked straight before her. On the table stood a couple of little gla.s.ses, a decanter containing liqueur and a small epergne, loaded with fruit and pastry.

"Is this your study?" asked Bertha.

Mechanically her eyes sought for a desk such as violin players use. Emil put his arm round her waist and led her to the piano. He sat down on the piano stool and drew her on to his knees.

"I may as well confess to you at once," he said to her, simply and almost drily, "that really I do not live here. It was only for our own sake ...

that I have ... for a short while ... I deemed it prudent ... Vienna, you know, is a small town, and I didn't want to take you into my house at night-time."

She understood, but was not altogether satisfied. She looked up. She was now able to see the outlines of the picture which was hanging above the piano.... It was a naked female figure. Bertha had a curious desire to examine the picture, close at hand.

"What is that?" she asked.

"It is not a work of art," said Emil.

He struck a match and held it up, so as to throw the light on the picture. Bertha saw that it was merely a wretched daub, but at the same time she felt that the painted woman, with the bold laughing eyes, was looking down at her, and she was glad when the match went out.

"You might just play something to me upon the piano," said Emil.

She wondered at the coldness of his demeanour. Didn't he realize that she was with him?... But, on the other hand, did she herself feel any special emotion?... No.... A strange sadness seemed to come welling forth from every corner of the room.... Why hadn't he rather taken her to his own house?... What sort of a house was this, she wondered.... She regretted now that she had not drunk more wine.... She wished that she was not so sober....

"Well, won't you play something to me?" said Emil. "Just think how long it is since I have heard you."

She sat down and struck a chord.

"Indeed, I have forgotten everything."

"Oh, do try!"

She played very softly Schumann's Alb.u.mblatt, and she remembered how, a few days before, late in the evening, she had improvised as she was sitting at home, and Klingemann had walked up and down in front of the window. She could not help thinking also of the report that he had a scandalous picture in his room. And involuntarily, she glanced up again at the picture of the naked woman over the piano, but now the figure seemed to be gazing into s.p.a.ce.

Emil had brought a chair beside Bertha's. He drew her towards him and kissed her while her fingers first continued to play, and at length rested quietly upon the keys. Bertha heard the rain beating against the window-panes and a sensation as of being at home came over her.

Then she felt as though Emil was lifting her up and carrying her. Without letting her out of his arms he had stood up and was slowly bearing her out of the room. She felt her right arm graze against the curtain.... She kept her eyes closed; she could feel Emil's cool breath upon her hair....

VIII

When they went out into the street the rain had left off, but the air was permeated with a wondrous mildness and humidity. Most of the street lamps had already been extinguished; the one at the street corner was the nearest that was alight; and, as the sky was still overcast with clouds, deep darkness hung over the city. Emil had offered Bertha his arm; they walked in silence. From a church tower a clock struck--one. Bertha was surprised. She had believed that it must be nearly morning, but now she was glad at heart to wander mutely through the night in the still, soft air, leaning on his arm--because she loved him very much.

They entered an open square; before them lay the Church of St. Charles.

Emil hailed a driver who had fallen asleep, sitting on the footboard of his open carriage.