The Song Of Songs Part 94

Suddenly Dr. Rennschmidt stepped in front of Lilly and blocked the way.

"What's the matter?" she asked, startled.

"Mrs. Czepanek--Mrs. Czepanek--what I am going to say--what I am going to say"--his raised hands jerked back and forth before her face--"will either bring us together again--or--send us apart forever. I was cowardly before. I thought I could evade the truth. When I said I didn't mean what I wrote in my poem, I was lying. I felt exactly what I wrote.

And a thousand times more strongly. But I oughtn't to have spoken. I know I frightened you. You were bewildered. You didn't know how to take me. You probably think me some enamoured adventurer who wants to exploit the trust you show. Dear, dear Mrs. Czepanek, I promise you I will never again annoy you with a display of my feelings. But don't withdraw your friendship from me. Please don't. Just imagine what would become of me if I were to lose you!"

So _that's_ what it was!

Oh, G.o.d! If nothing else stood between them.

She could not help herself--she had to lean against a tree and cry. Her tears soon soaked her veil, and she raised it and pressed her finger tips to her eyes.

"What's the matter?" she heard his voice, hoa.r.s.e with anxiety. "Did I wound you so deeply? Was what I said so very bad? I will atone for it.

Just pardon me. You must pardon me."

When she heard him beg her pardon so humbly for the immeasurable happiness he had bestowed upon her, she was seized with a frenzy, and throwing her grand manner to the winds and her shame, to boot, she flung her arms about his neck with a groan of abandon, pressed her body against his, and kissed his lips, and sucked and bit them.

Under the impetus of this wild, unchaste kiss, he staggered and held himself erect on her, digging his fingers into the flesh of her upper arm.

How good it felt, because it hurt so!

"At last, at last!" her heart cried.

Now he knew who she was and what she had to give him.

When she pulled herself together, she saw he had sunk back with his head leaning against the same tree that had supported her. His hat had fallen to the ground. His eyes were closed. His face had the ashen hue of death.

For a few moments all was still. The only sound was the clanging of the tram bells.

"My love, my love!" she whispered, stooping and then drawing herself upward on him. "Wake up, my love! wake up, and come!"

He opened his eyes and stared at her with the look of a foolish slave.

"Come, come," she exulted. "Come back, come home. I don't want to roam about any more--in the woods or restaurants. Come home! Come to me!"

He did not respond. He seemed to have lost his mind completely.

A dull sense of guilt awoke in her, but was instantly stifled by joy.

"Come, come!"

With both hands she drew him away from the spot that had become the cradle of her bliss--and his, too. Was it remarkable that happiness should benumb him and rob him of his senses? He upon whom Lilly Czepanek bestowed herself, Lilly Czepanek for whose favour hundreds had begged in vain, might well lose his senses. It by no means derogated from his dignity.

While she drew him along the roads and streets, she let loose upon him her soul's tempest in a delirium of happy prattle.

Hadn't he an inkling of what he was that he should have harboured such doubts? She had belonged to him from the very first instant. A miracle had taken place in her as well as in him. Never had she known what love was until the day when the squirrels chipped over their heads. The rest of her life no longer existed for her. _He_ alone was there. He and his eyes. He and his mouth. He and his will. He and the great, glorious work which she would toil for like a slave; which she would enrich with her love, because from old pictures and poems he would gather nothing but the grey ashes of love. Genuine, young blissful love, _she_ would teach him, she, Lilly Czepanek, who had waited for him ever since she could remember, who belonged to him from the beginning, from the beginning of time, you might say. He could see G.o.d had destined them for each other, because they both thought they had met before, whereas they had never met in life. At most in dreams. She had seen him in her dreams always, always. Exactly as in fairy tales.

"Perhaps it is a fairy tale. Tell me, tell me, you whose first name I do not even know. But no matter. Tell me, it's not a mere fairy tale."

But he said nothing. He walked along like a somnambulist. He followed her up the steps mechanically, and remained standing stiffly in the centre of the drawing-room, into which she had led him. When the lights were turned on, he looked about with a shy, searching glance, as if he had never seen the room, and could not recollect how he had come there.

She clung to him, and said he should sit quite still and rest, and close those eyes of his. Then she helped him remove his overcoat, and pressed him into a seat and kissed him on both "those eyes" until his lids closed and he reclined there as if actually asleep.

"Now wait, beloved, until I come back."

She ran joyously into the kitchen to order Adele to prepare supper hastily. Then she hurried into the bedroom, where she changed her rustling silk dress for a light blue tea-gown, turquoise-studded, in which, as Richard was wont to say gallantly, she was Venus herself. She arranged her hair more loosely and discarded her rings The only jewel she left was a gold bracelet.

Adele, the sulky, had transformed the table as if by magic into a bower of flowers, and her face was wreathed in smiles; for at last there were human goings-on in this respectably indecent house. The plated silverware gleamed on the fresh damask, and the aroma of golden bananas came from the fruit basket.

He might be content. Lilly was. Her dread had disappeared. She felt well-nigh victorious. But her happiness was too humble to be totally unqualified.

Her one pride, greedy for recognition, was that she had so much, so much to give him.

When she entered the drawing-room, she no longer found him reclining on the arm-chair. To her terror she saw he was standing in front of the secretaire--absorbed in contemplation of Richard's picture.

"Oh, if only I had taken it away before!" she thought Now it was too late.

He let a confused, astonished look glide over the Venus robe, and fetching a deep breath, grasped both her hands.

"Why did you make yourself so beautiful for me?"

"Just to give you a little feeling of being at home here," she said, dropping her eyes. "Nothing more. But come. Let's go to supper. We haven't had anything to eat all evening."

"Eat and drink now? Oh, very well--I'll just sit at table, if you want."

"Then I don't care for anything either," she cried, clinging to him, and drawing her arm so tight about his neck that the pressure of his body fairly robbed her of her breath.

Peter, the little ape, who had slept in his corner the whole time, awoke and whimpered jealously, and stretched his grey arms yearningly between the bars of his cage, as if wishing to be the third party in the alliance.

Dr. Rennschmidt heard the strange sound and started.

Lilly smiled and calmed him.

"Later I'll introduce you to all my little ones. My friends must be yours, too."

He drew himself up to his full height.

"How is that possible? As what would you introduce me?"

Lilly hastily parried.

"Oh, I didn't mean it that way. I merely meant--" She was at a loss what explanation to offer. Then she felt his trembling fingers clutch her upper arm. His eyes burned their way into hers.

"Who are you?" he asked.

Her brain reeled.

"Who am I? I am a woman--who loves you--who has never loved anyone before."