Maurice Guest Part 73

"Yes, poor old man! He has got badly left."

"Yes. That was one reason. And then ... but you a.s.sure me, don't you, that you will not take what I am going to say amiss?"

"Not in the least. It's awfully decent of you. But I'm sorry to say my time's up. And every minute is precious just now--as you know yourself."

He rose, and, for the third time, referred to his watch. After an ineffectual attempt to continue, Dove was also forced to rise, with the best part of his message unuttered. And Maurice hurried him, glum and crestfallen, to the door, for fear of the still worse tactlessness of which he might make himself guilty.

They groped in silence along the dark lobby. For the sake of parting with a friendly and neutral word, Maurice said, as he opened the door: "By the way, I hear we shall soon have to offer congratulations and good wishes."

To his surprise, Dove, who had already crossed the threshold, looked blank, and drew himself up.

"Indeed?" he said, and the tone was, for him, quite short. "I ... the fact is ... I've no idea of what you are referring to."

On re-entering his room, Maurice went back to the window, and taking up his former att.i.tude, began to beat anew that tattoo on the panes, which had been his chief employment during the day. His eyes were sore with straining at the corner of the street, tired of looking at his watch to see how the time pa.s.sed. He had steadfastly believed that Louise would yield in this matter, and, at the last, recall him in a burst of impulsive regret. But, as the day crawled by without a word from her, his confident conviction weakened; and, at the same time, his resolve not to go back till she sent for him, failed. He repeated, in memory, some of the bitter things they had said to each other, to see if he had not left himself a loophole of escape; but only with one half of his brain: the other was persistently occupied with the emptiness of the street below. When a clock struck half-past seven, he could bear the suspense no longer: he put on his hat and coat, and went out. He felt tired and unslept, and dragged along as if his body were a weight to him. A fine snow was falling, which froze into icicles on the beards of the pa.s.sers-by, and on the glistening pavements. The distance had never seemed so long to him; it had also never seemed so short.

A faint and foolish hope still refused to be extinguished. But it went out directly he had unlocked the door; and he learned what he had come to learn, without the exchange of a word. The truth met him, that he should have been here hours ago, commanding, imploring; instead of which he had sat at home, nursing a futile and paltry pride.

The room was warm, and bright with extra candles. It was also in that state of confusion which accompanied an elaborate toilet on the part of Louise. Fully dressed, she stood before the console-gla.s.s, and arranged something in her hair. She did not turn at his entrance, but she raised her eyes and met his in the mirror, without pausing in what she was doing.

He looked over her shoulder at her reflected face. The cold steadiness, the open hostility of her look, took his strength away. He sat down on the foot-end of the bed, and put his head in his hands. Minutes pa.s.sed, and still he remained in this position. For what was the use of his speaking? Her mind was made up; nothing would move her now.

Then came the noise of wheels in the street below. Uncovering his eyes, Maurice looked at her again; and, as he did so, his feelings which, until now, had had something of the nature of a personal wound, gave place to others with the rush of a storm. She wore the same sparkling, low-cut dress as on the previous occasion; arms and shoulders were as ruthlessly bared to view. He remembered what he had heard said of her that night, and felt that his powers of endurance were at an end. With a stifled exclamation, he got up from the bed, and going past her, into the half of the room beyond the screen, caught up the first object that came to hand, and threw it to the floor. It was a Dresden-china figure, and broke to pieces.

Louise gave a cry, and came running out to see what he had done. "Are you mad? How dare you! ... break my things."

She held a candle above her head, and by its light, he saw, in the skin of neck and shoulder, all the lines and folds that were formed by the raising of her arm. He now saw, too, that her hair was dressed in a different way, that her dark eyebrows had been made still darker, and that she was powdered. This discovery had a peculiar effect on him: it rendered it easier for him to say hard things to her; at the same time, it strengthened his determination not to let her go out of the house.

Moving aimlessly about the room, he stumbled against a chair, and kicked it from him.

"A month ago, if some one had sworn to me that you would treat me as you are doing to-night, I should have laughed in his face," he said at last.

Louise had put the candle down, and was standing with her back to him.

Taking up a pair of long, black gloves, she began to draw one over her hand. She did not look up at his words, but went on stroking the kid of the glove.

"You're only doing it to revenge yourself--I know that! But what have I done, that you should take less thought for my feelings than if I were a dog?"

Still she did not speak.

"You won't really go, Louise?--you won't have the heart to.--I say you shall not go! It will be the end--the end of everything!--if you leave the house to-night."

She pulled her dress from his hand. "You're out of your senses, I think. The end of everything! Because, for once, I choose to have some pleasure on my own account! Any other man would be glad to see the woman he professes to care for, enjoy herself. But you begrudge it to me. You say my pleasures shall only come through you--who have taken to making life a burden to me! Can't you understand that I'm glad to get away from you, and your ill-humours and mean, abominable jealousy.

You're not my master. I'm not your slave." She tugged at a recalcitrant glove. "It is absurd," she went on a moment later. "All because I wish to go out alone for once.--But did I even want to? Why, if it means so much to you, couldn't you have bought a ticket and come too? But no!

you wouldn't go yourself, and so I was not to go either. It's on a level with all your other behaviour."

"I go!" he cried. "To watch you the whole evening in that man's arms!--No, thank you! It's not good enough.--You, with your indecent style of dancing!"

She wheeled round, as if the insult had struck her; and for a moment faced him, with open lips. Then she thought better of it: she laughed derisively, with a wanton undertone, in order to hurt him.

"You would at least have had me under your own eyes."

As she spoke, she nodded to the old woman who opened the door to say that the droschke waited below. A lace scarf was lying on the table; Louise twisted it mechanically round her head, and began to struggle with an evening cloak. Just as she had succeeded in getting it over her shoulders, Maurice took her by the arms and bent her backwards, so that the cloak fell to the floor.

"You shall not go!"

She stemmed her hands against him, and determinedly, yet with caution, pushed herself free.

"My dress--my hair! How dare you!"

"What do I care for your dress or your hair? You make me mad!"

"And what do I care whether you're mad or not? Take your hands away!"

"Louise! ... for G.o.d's sake! ... not with that man. At least, not with him. He has said infamous things of you. I never told you--yes, I heard him say--heard him compare you with ... soiled goods he called you.--Louise! Louise!"

"Have you any more insults for me?"

"No, no more!" He leaned his back against the door. "Only this: if you leave this room to-night, it's the end."

She had picked up her cloak again. "The end!" she repeated, and looked contemptuously at him. "I should welcome it, if it were.--But you're wrong. The end, the real end, came long ago. The beginning was the end!--Open that door, and let me out!"

He heard her go along the hall, heard the front door shut behind her, and, after a pause, heard the deeper tone of the house door. The droschke drove away. After that, he stood at the window, looking out into the pitch-dark night. Behind him, the landlady set the room in order, and extinguished the additional candles.

When she had finished, and shut the door, Maurice faced the empty room.

His eyes ranged slowly over it; and he made a vague gesture that signified nothing. A few steps took him to the writing-table, on which her m.u.f.f was lying. He lifted it up, and a bunch of violets fell into his hand. They brought her before him as nothing else could have done.

Beside the bed, he went down on his knees, and drawing her pillow to him, pressed it round his head.

The end, the end!--the beginning the end: there was truth in what she had said. Their love had had no stamina in it, no vital power. He was losing her, steadily and surely losing her, powerless to help it--rather it seemed as if some malignant spirit urged him to hasten on the crisis. Their thoughts seemed hopelessly at war.--And yet, how he loved her! He made himself no illusions about her now; he understood just what she was, and what she would always be; the many conflicting impulses of her nature lay bare to him. But he loved her, loved her: all the dead weight of his physical craving for her was on him again, confounding, overmastering. None the less, she had left him; she had no need for him; and the hours would come, oftener and oftener, when she could do without him, when, as now, she voluntarily sought the company of other men. The thought suffocated him; he rose to his feet, and hastened out of the house.

A little before one o'clock, he was stationed opposite the sideentrance to the HOTEL DE PRUSSE. He had a long time to wait. As two o'clock approached, small batches of people emerged, at first at intervals, then more and more frequently. Among the last were Herries and Louise.

Maurice remained standing in the shadow of some houses, until they had parted from their companions. He heard her voice above all the rest; it rang out clear and resonant, just as on that former occasion when she had drunk freely of champagne.

With many final words and false partings, she and Herries separated from the group, and turned to walk down the street. As they did so, Maurice sprang out from his hiding-place, and was suddenly in front of them, blocking their progress.

At his unexpected apparition, both started; and when he roughly took hold of her arm, Louise gave a short cry. Herries put out his hand, and smacked Maurice's down.

"What are you doing there? Take your hands off this lady, d.a.m.n you!" he cried in broken German, not recognising Maurice, and believing that he had to deal with an ordinary NACHTSCHWARMER.

The savageness with which he was turned on, enlightened him. "d.a.m.n you!" retorted Maurice in English. "Take your hands off her yourself I She belongs to me--to me, do you hear?--and I intend to keep her."

"You drunken cur!" said Herries. He had instinctively allowed Louise to withdraw her arm; now he stood irresolute, uncertain how she would wish him to act. She had gone very pale; he believed she was afraid. "Isn't there a droschke anywhere?" he said, and looked angrily round. "I really can't see you exposed to this ... this sort of thing, you know."

Louise answered hurriedly. "No, no. And please go! I shall be all right. I'm sorry.--I had enjoyed it so much. I will tell you another time, how much. Good night, and thank you. No ... PLEASE!> ... yes, a delightful evening." Her words were almost inaudible.

"Delightful indeed!" said Herries with warmth. Then he stood aside, raised his hat, and let them pa.s.s.

Maurice had his hand on her wrist, and he dragged her after him, over the frozen pavements, far more quickly than she could in comfort go, hampered as she was by snow-boots and by her heavy cloak. But she followed him, allowed herself to be drawn, without protest. She felt strangely will-less. Only sometimes, when the thought of the indignity he had laid upon her came over her anew, did she whisper: "How dare you! ... oh, how dare you!"

He did not look at her, or answer her, and all might have gone well, so oddly did this treatment affect her, had he only persisted in it. But the mere contact of her hand softened him towards her; her nearness worked on him as it never failed to do. He was exhausted, too, mentally and physically, and at the thought that, for this night at least, his sufferings were over, he could have shed tears of relief. Slackening his pace, he began to speak, began to excuse and exculpate himself before ever she had blamed him, endeavouring to make her understand something of what he had gone through. In advance, and before she had expressed it, he sought to break down her spirit of animosity.

The longer he spoke, the harder she felt herself grow. He was at it again, back at his eternal self-justification. Oh, why, for this one evening at least, could he not have enforced his will, and have made her do what he wished, without explanation! But the one plain, simple way was the only way he never thought of taking. "I hate you and despise you! I shall never forgive you for your behaviour to-night!--never!" And now it was she who pressed forward, to get away from him.