Three Weeks

  CHAPTER V

  Their return journey was one of quiet. The lady talked little, sheleant back and looked away across the blue lake, often apparentlyunconscious of his presence. This troubled Paul. Had he wearied her?What should he do? He was growing aware of the fact that she was not abit like his mother, or Isabella, or any of the other women whom heknew--people whose moods he had never even speculated about--if theyhad any--which he doubted.

  Why wouldn't she speak? Had she forgotten him? He felt chilled andsaddened.

  At last, as they neared a small bay where another tempting littlechalet-hotel mirrored itself in the clear water, he spoke. A note inhis voice--his charming young voice--as of a child in distress.

  "Are--are you cross with me?"

  Then she came back from her other world. "Cross with you? Foolishone! No, I am dreaming. And I forgot that you could not know yet, orunderstand. English Paul! who would have me make conversation andchatter commonplaces or he feels a _gene!_ See, I will take youwhere I have been into this infinite sky and air"--she let her handfall on his arm and thrilled him--"look up at Pilatus. Do you see hishead so snowy, and all the delicate shadows upon him, and his look ofmystery? And those dark pines--and the great chasms, and the wildanger the giants were in when they hurled these huge rocks about? Ihave been with them, and you and I seem such little people, Paul. Wecannot throw great rocks about--we are only two small ants in thisgrand world."

  Paul's face was puzzled, he did not believe in giants. His mind wasnot accustomed yet to these flights of speech, he felt stupid andirritated with himself, and in some way humiliated. The lady leantover him, her face playfully tender.

  "Great blue eyes!" she said. "So pretty, so pretty! What matterwhether they can see or no?" And she touched his lids with her slenderfingers.

  Paul quivered in his chair.

  "You know!" he gasped. "You make me mad--I----But won't you teach meto see? No one wants to be blind! Teach me to see with your eyes,lady--my lady."

  "Yes, I will teach you!" she said. "Teach you a number ofthings. Together we will put on the hat of darkness and go down intoHades. We shall taste the apples of the Hesperides--we will robMercure of his sandals--and Gyges of his ring. And one day, Paul--whentogether we have fathomed the meaning of it all--what will happenthen, _enfant?_"

  Her last word, "_enfant,_" was a caress, and Paul was toobewildered with joy to answer her for a moment.

  "What will happen?" he said at last. "I shall just love you--that'sall!"

  Then he remembered Isabella Waring, and suddenly covered his face withhis hands.

  They stopped for tea at the quaint chalet-hotel, and after it theywandered to pick gentians. The lady was sweet and sympathetic and gay;she ceased startling him with wild fancies; indeed, she spoke ofsimple everyday things, and got him to tell her of his home andOxford, and his horses and his dogs. And when they arrived at thesubject of Pike, her sympathy drew Paul nearer to her than ever. Ofcourse she would love Pike if she only knew him! Who could help lovinga dog like Pike? And his master waxed eloquent. Then, when he lookedaway, the lady's weird chameleon eyes melted upon him in that strangetenderness which might have been a mother's watching the gambols ofher babe.

  The shadows were quite deep when at last they decided to return toLucerne--a small bunch of heaven's own blue flower the only trophy ofthe day.

  Paul had never enjoyed himself so much in his twenty-three years oflife. And what would the evening bring? Surely more joy. This partingat the landing could not be good-night!

  But as the launch glided nearer and nearer his heart fell, and at lasthe could bear the uncertainty no longer.

  "And for dinner?" he said. "Won't you dine me, my Princess? Let me beyour host, as you have been mine all to-day."

  But a stiffness seemed to fall upon her suddenly--she appeared to havebecome a stranger again almost.

  "Thank you, no. I cannot dine," she said. "I must write letters--andgo to sleep."

  Paul felt an ice-hand clutching his heart. His face became so blank asto almost pale before her eyes.

  She leant forward, and smiled. "Will you be lonely, Paul? Then at teno'clock you must come under the ivy and wish me good-night."

  And this was all he could gain from her. She landed him to walk backto the hotel at the same place from which they had embarked, and thelaunch struck out again into the lake.

  He walked fast, just to be near enough to see her step ashore on tothe hotel wharf, but he could not arrive in time, and her grey figuredisappearing up the terrace steps was all his hungry eyes werevouchsafed.

  The weariness of dinner! What did it matter what the food was? Whatdid it matter that a new family of quite nice English people hadarrived, and sat near? A fresh young girl and a youth, and a fatherand mother. People who would certainly play billiards and probablybridge. What did anything matter in the world? Time must be gotthrough, simply got through until ten o'clock--that was all.

  At half-past nine he strode out and sat upon the bench. His thoughtswent back in a constant review of the day. How she had looked, wherethey had sat, what she had said. Why her eyes seemed green in the woodand blue on the water. Why her voice had all those tones in it. Whyshe had been old and young, and wise and childish. Then he thought ofthe story of Undine and the lady's strange, snake's look when she hadsaid: "I do not know men?--You think not, Paul?"

  His heart gave a great bound at the remembrance. He permitted himselfno speculation as to where he was drifting. He just sat therethrilling in every limb and every sense and every quality of hisbrain.

  As the clocks chimed the hour something told him she was there abovehim, although he heard no sound.

  Not a soul was in sight in this quiet corner. He bounded on to thebench to be nearer--if she should come. If she were there hiding inthe shadows. This was maddening--unbearable. He would climb thebalustrade to see. Then out of the blackest gloom came a laugh ofsilver. A soft laugh that was almost a caress. And suddenly she creptclose and leant down over the ivy.

  "Paul," she whispered. "I have come, you see, to wishyou--good-night!"

  Paul stood up to his full height. He put out his arms to draw her tohim, but she eluded him and darted aside.

  He gave a great sigh of pain.

  Slowly she came back and bent over and over of her own accord--so lowthat at last she was level with his face. And slowly her red lipsmelted into his young lips in a long, strange kiss.

  Then, before Paul could grasp her, or murmur one pleading word, shewas gone.

  And again he found himself alone, intoxicated with emotion under thenight sky studded with stars.