Three Weeks Part 8

But Paul was too moved to speak. These rapid changes were too much for him, greatly advanced though he had become in these short days since he had known her. He leant back in his chair, every nerve in his body quivering, his young fresh face almost pale.

"Paul," she cooed plaintively, "to-morrow I shall be reasonable again, perhaps, and human, but to-day I am capricious and wayward, and mustn't be teased. I want to read about Cupid and Psyche from this wonderful 'Golden a.s.s' of Apuleius--just a simple tale for a wet day--and you and--me!"

"Read then!" said Paul, resigned.

And she commenced in Latin, in a chanting, tender voice. Paul had forgotten most of the Latin he knew, but he remembered enough to be aware that this must be as easy as English to her as it flowed along in a rich rhythmic sound.

It soothed him. He seemed to be dreaming of flowery lands and running streams. After a while she looked up again, and then with one of her sudden movements like a graceful cat, she was beside him leaning from the back of his chair.

"Paul!" she whispered right in his ear, "am I being wicked for you to-day? I cannot help it. The devil is in me--and now I must sing."

"Sing then!" said Paul, maddened with again arising emotion.

She seized a guitar that lay near, and began in a soft voice in some language he knew not--a cadence of melody he had never heard, but one whose notes made strange quivers all up his spine. An exquisite pleasure of sound that was almost pain. And when he felt he could bear no more, she flung the instrument aside, and leant over his chair again--caressing his curls with her dainty fingers, and purring unknown strange words in his ear.

Paul was young and unlearned in many things. He was completely enthralled and under her dominion--but he was naturally no weakling of body or mind. And this was more than he could stand.

"_You_ mustn't be teased. My G.o.d! it is you who are maddening me!" he cried, his voice hoa.r.s.e with emotion. "Do you think I am a statue, or a table, or chair--or inanimate like that tiger there? I am not, I tell you!" and he seized her in his arms, raining kisses upon her which, whatever they lacked in subtlety, made up for in their pa.s.sion and strength. "Some day some man will kill you, I suppose, but I shall be your lover--first!"

The lady gasped. She looked up at him in bewildered surprise, as a child might do who sets a light to a whole box of matches in play. What a naughty, naughty toy to burn so quickly for such a little strike!

But Paul's young, strong arms held her close, she could not struggle or move. Then she laughed a laugh of pure glad joy.

"Beautiful, savage Paul," she whispered. "Do you love me? Tell me that?"

"Love you!" he said. "Good G.o.d! Love you! Madly, and you know it, darling Queen."

"Then," said the lady in a voice in which all the caresses of the world seemed melted, "then, sweet Paul, I shall teach you many things, and among them I shall teach you how--to--LIVE."

And outside the black storm made the darkness fall early. And inside the half-burnt logs tumbled together, causing a cloud of golden sparks, and then the flames leapt up again and crackled in the grate.

CHAPTER VII

At dinner that night the lady came in after Paul was seated. She was all in black velvet, stately and dignified and fine. She pa.s.sed his chair and took her seat, not the faintest sign of recognition on her face. And although he was prepared for this, for some reason his heart sank for a moment. Her demeanour was the same as on the first night he had seen her, hardly raising her eyes, eating little of the most exquisite food, and appearing totally unconscious of her neighbours or their ways.

She caused a flutter of excitement at the English table, the only other party, except two old men in a corner, who had dined so late, and they were half-way through their repast before she began hers. Paul was annoyed to see how they stared--stared at _his_ lady. But what joy it was to sit there and realise that she was his--his very own! And only four nights ago he had been a rude stranger, too, criticising her every movement, and drinking too much port with annoyance over it all. And now his whole life was changed.

He saw with new eyes, and heard with new ears, even his casual observation was altered and sharpened, so that he noticed the texture of the cloth and the quality of the gla.s.s, and the shape of the room and its decoration.

And how insupportably commonplace the good English family seemed! That bread-and-b.u.t.ter miss with her pink cheeks and fluffy hair, without a hat! Women's hair should be black and grow in heavy waves. He was certain of that now. How like them to come into a foreign restaurant hatless, just because they were English and must impose their customs!

He sat and mused on it all, as he looked at his velvet-clad Queen. A sense of complete joy and satisfaction stealing over him, his wild excitement and emotion calmed for the time.

The delightful sensation of sharing a secret with her--a love-secret known only to themselves. Think, if these Philistines guessed at it even! their faces. And at this thought Paul almost laughed aloud.

With pa.s.sionate interest he absorbed every little detail about his lady. How exactly she knew what suited her. How refined and _grande dame_ and quiet it all was, and what an air of breeding and command she had in the poise of her little Greek head.

What did it matter what age she was, or of what nation? What did anything matter since she was his? And at that thought his heart began to beat again and cause him to speculate as to his evening.

Would she let him come back to the terrace room after dinner, or must he get through the time as best he could? When he had left her, half dazed with joy and languor, no arrangements had been made--no definite plans settled. But of course she could not mean him not to wish her good-night--not _now_. For one second before she left the room their eyes met, she raised a red rose, which she had taken from the silver vase, casually to her lips, and then pa.s.sed out, but Paul knew she had meant the kiss for him, and his whole being was uplifted.

It was still pouring with rain. No possible excuse to smoke on the terrace. It might be wiser to stay in the hall. Surely Dmitry would come with some message before very long, if he was patient and waited her pleasure. But ten o'clock struck and there was no sign. Only the English youth, Percy Trevellian, had got into conversation with him, and was proposing billiards to pa.s.s the time.

Paul loved billiards--but not to-night. Heavens! what an idea! Go off to the billiard-room--now--to-night!

He said he had a headache, and answered rather shortly in fact, and then, to escape further importunity, went up to his sitting-room, there to await the turn of events, leaving poor little Mabel Trevellian gazing after him with longing eyes.

"Did you see at dinner how he stared at that foreign person, mamma?"

she said. "Men are such fools! Clarkson told me, as she fastened my dress to-night, she'd heard she was some Grand d.u.c.h.ess, or Queen, travelling incognito for her health. Very plain and odd-looking, didn't you think so, mamma? And quite old!"

"No, dear. Most distinguished. Not a girl, of course, but quite the appearance of a Princess," said Mabel's mother, who had seen the world.

Paul meanwhile paced his room--an anxious excitement was now his portion. Surely, surely she could not mean him not to see her--not to say one little good-night. What should he do? What possible plan invent? As eleven chimed he could bear it no longer. Rain or no, he must go out on the terrace!

"Those mad English!" the porter said to himself, as he watched Paul's tall figure disappear in the dripping night.

And there till after twelve he paced the path under the trees. But no light showed; the terrace gate was locked. It was chilly and wet and miserable, and at last he crept back utterly depressed, to bed. But not to sleep. Even his youth and health were not proof against the mad emotions of the day. He tossed and turned, a thousand questions singing in his brain. Was it really he who had been chosen by this divine woman for her lover? And if so, why was he alone now instead of holding her in his arms? What did it all mean? Who was she? Where would it end? But here he refused to think further. He was living at all events--living as he had never dreamed was possible.

And yet, poor Paul, he was only on the rim of all that he was soon to know of life.

At last he fell asleep, one sentence ringing in his ears--"Tears and--cold steel--and blood!" But if he was young, he was a gallant gentleman, and Fear had no place in his dreams.

CHAPTER VIII

Next day they went to the Burgenstock to stay. It was all arranged with consummate simplicity. Paul was to start for a climb, he told his valet, and for a week they would leave Lucerne. Mme. Zalenska was not very well, it appeared, and consented to try, at the suggestion of the amiable manager--inspired by Dmitry--a few days in higher air. There would not be a soul in their hotel on top of the Burgenstock probably, and she could have complete rest.

They did not arrive together, Paul was the first. He had not seen her.

Dmitry had given him his final instructions, and he awaited her coming with pa.s.sionate impatience.

He had written to her, on awaking, a coherent torrent of love, marvellously unlike the letter which had gone to poor Isabella only a few days before. In this to his lady he had said he could not bear it _now_, the uncertainty of seeing her, and had suggested the Burgenstock crudely, without any of the clever details which afterwards made it possible.

He--Paul Verdayne, not quite twenty-three years old, and English--to suggest without a backward thought or a qualm that a lady whom he had known five days should come and live with him and be his love! None of his friends accustomed to his bashful habits would have believed it. Only his father perhaps might have smiled.

As for the Lady Henrietta, she would have fainted on the spot. But fortune favoured him--they did not know.

No excitement of the wildest day's hunting had ever made his pulses bound like this! Dmitry had arranged everything. Paul was a young English secretary to Madame, who had much writing to do. And in any case it is not the affair of respectable foreign hotels to pry into their clients'

relationship when a large suite has been engaged.

Paul's valet, the son of an old retainer of the family, was an honest fellow, and devoted to his master--but Sir Charles Verdayne had decided to make things doubly sure.

"Tompson," he had said, the morning before they left, "however Mr.

Verdayne may amuse himself while you are abroad, your eyes and mouth are shut, remember. No d----d gossip back to the servants here, or in hotels, or houses--and, above all, no details must ever reach her Ladyship. If he gets into any thundering mess let me know--but mum's the word, d'y understand, Tompson?"