The Hillman

  XXX

  Eugene, Prince of Seyre, had spent the early part of that afternoon in amanner wholly strange to him. In pursuance of an order given to hismajordomo immediately on his return from the club after lunch, the greatreception rooms of Seyre House, the picture-gallery and the ballroom,were prepared as if for a reception. Dust-sheets were swept aside,masterpieces of painting and sculpture were uncovered, the softbrilliance of concealed electric lights lit up many dark corners.

  When all was ready, the prince, with his hands clasped behind him, withexpressionless face and slow, thoughtful movements, passed from room toroom of the treasure-house which had come to him through a long line ofdistinguished and famous men. Here and there he paused to handle withthe fingers of a connoisseur some excellent piece of bronze statuary,some miracle of Sevres china, some treasure of carved ivory, yellow withage. And more than once he stood still for several minutes in raptcontemplation of one of the great masterpieces with which the walls werehung.

  As he passed, a solitary figure, from one to another of that long chainof lofty, palatial rooms, his stature seemed more than everinsignificant; yet he walked always with the dignity of the master.Notwithstanding the slight excesses of his immaculate morning dress, hispallid features, his insignificant build, he appeared to belong tothese things, to dominate them, to understand them. Every beautifulobject upon which he looked brought back to his memory some reminiscenceof his years of travel. He knew the history of the chinas and thebronzes, the statuary and the lacquer-work, the friezes, and the greatpictures which adorned his house. Perhaps, he thought, as he paused tostudy some Italian tapestry of his own discovery, he had spent too manyyears in the contemplative life.

  There had been many careers open to him in his younger days. France wasstill his own country, and he might easily have joined the long line ofsoldiers whose portraits filled one side of the picture-gallery. Once hehad had ambitions, either to wield the sword or to take his place in theworld of diplomacy. It was his political inheritance which had deadenedthem, the awful debt of blood that he still owed to the enemies of hisrace. He had found the spirit of patriotism dead within him, and in thatday he had turned his back upon his country. Since then he had carriedhis great name through the pleasure places of the world, alwaysupholding its dignity, perhaps, but never adding to its luster.

  He was forty-one years old that day, and the few words which John hadspoken to him barely an hour ago had made him realize that there wasonly one thing in life that he desired. The sight of his treasuresmerely soothed his vanity. It left empty and unsatisfied his fuller anddeeper desire of living. He told himself that his time had come. Othersof his race had paid a great price for the things they had coveted inlife. He, too, must follow their example.

  He was in Louise's drawing-room when she returned--Louise, with hair andcheeks a little damp, but with a wonderful light in her eyes and withfootsteps that seemed to fall upon air.

  "Some tea and a bath this moment, Aline!" she called out, as she ranlightly up the stairs. "Never mind about dinner, I am so late. I willhave some toast. Be quick!"

  "_Madame_--" Aline began.

  "Don't bother me about anything now," Louise interrupted. "I will throwmy things off while you get the bath ready."

  She stepped into her little room, throwing off her cloak as she entered.Then she stopped short, almost upon the threshold. The prince had risento his feet.

  "Eugene!"

  He came toward her. Even as he stooped to kiss her fingers, his eyesseemed to take in her disheveled condition, the little patches of colorin her cheeks, the radiant happiness which shone in her eyes.

  "I am not an unwelcome intruder, I hope," he said. "But how wet youare!"

  The fingers which he released fell nervelessly to her side. She stoodlooking at him as if confronted with a sudden nightmare. It was as ifthis new-found life were being slowly drained from her veins.

  "You are overtired," he murmured, leading her with solicitude toward aneasy chair. "One would imagine, from your appearance, that I was thebearer of some terrible tidings. Let me assure you that it is not so."

  He spoke with his usual deliberation, but she seemed powerless torecover herself. She was still dazed and white. She sank into the chairand looked at him.

  "Nothing, I trust," he went on, "has happened to disturb you?"

  "Nothing at all," she declared hastily. "I am tired. I ran up-stairsperhaps a little too quickly. Aline had not told me that there was anyone here."

  "I had a fancy to see you this afternoon," the prince explained, "and,finding you out, I took the liberty of waiting. If you would rather Iwent away and came for you later, please do not hesitate to say so."

  "Of course not!" she exclaimed. "I do not know why I should have been sosilly. Aline, take my coat and veil," she directed, turning to the maid,who was lingering at the other end of the room. "I am not wet. Servesome tea in here. I will have my bath later, when I change to go to thetheater."

  She spoke bravely, but fear was in her heart. She tried to tell herselfthat this visit was a coincidence, that it meant nothing, but all thetime she knew otherwise.

  The door closed behind Aline, and they were alone. The prince, as ifanxious to give her time to recover herself, walked to the window andstood for some moments looking out. When he turned around, Louise had atleast nerved herself to meet what she felt was imminent.

  The prince approached her deliberately. She knew what he was going tosay.

  "Louise," he began, drawing a chair to her side, "I have found myselfthinking a great deal about you during the last few weeks."

  She did not interrupt him. She simply waited and watched.

  "I have come to a certain determination," he proceeded; "one which, ifyou will grace it with your approval, will give me great happiness. Iask you to forget certain things which have passed between us. I havecome to you to-day to beg you to do me the honor of becoming my wife."

  She turned her head very slowly until she was looking him full in theface. Her lips were a little parted, her eyes a little strained. Theprince was leaning toward her in a conventional attitude; his words hadbeen spoken simply and in his usual conversational manner. There wassomething about him, however, profoundly convincing.

  "Your wife!" Louise repeated.

  "If you will do me that great honor."

  It seemed at first as if her nerves were strained to the breaking-point.The situation was one with which her brain seemed unable to grapple. Sheset her teeth tightly. Then she had a sudden interlude of wonderfulclear-sightedness. She was almost cool.

  "You must forgive my surprise, Eugene," she begged. "We have known eachother now for some twelve years, have we not?--and I believe that thisis the first time you have ever hinted at anything of the sort!"

  "One gathers wisdom, perhaps, with the years," he replied. "I amforty-one years old to-day. I have spent the early hours of thisafternoon in reflection, and behold the result!"

  "You have spoken to me before," she said slowly, "of different things.You have offered me a great deal in life, but never your name. I do notunderstand this sudden change!"

  "Louise," he declared, "if I do not tell you the truth now, you willprobably guess it. Besides, this is the one time in their lives when aman and a woman should speak nothing but the truth. It is for fear oflosing you--that is why."

  Her self-control suddenly gave way. She threw herself back in her chair.She began to laugh and stopped abruptly, the tears streaming from hereyes. The prince leaned forward. He took her hands in his, but she drewthem away.

  "You are too late, Eugene!" she said. "I almost loved you. I was almostyours to do whatever you liked with. But somehow, somewhere,notwithstanding all your worldly knowledge and mine, we missed it. We donot know the truth about life, you and I--at least you do not, and I didnot."

  He rose very slowly to his feet. There was no visible change in his facesave a slight whitening of the cheeks.

  "And the seque
l to this?" he asked.

  "I have promised to marry John Strangewey," she told him.

  "That," he replied, "is impossible! I have a prior claim."

  The light of battle flamed suddenly in her eyes. Her nervousness hadgone. She was a strong woman, face to face with him now, taller than he,seeming, indeed, to tower over him in the splendor of her anger. She waslike a lioness threatened with the loss of the one dear thing.

  "Assert it, then!" she cried defiantly. "Do what you will. Go to himthis minute, if you have courage enough, if it seems to you well. Claim,indeed! Right! I have the one right every woman in the worldpossesses--to give herself, body and soul, to the man she loves! That isthe only claim and the only right I recognize, and I am giving myself tohim, when he wants me, forever!"

  She stopped suddenly. Neither of them had heard a discreet knock at thedoor. Aline had entered with the tea. There was a moment of silence.

  "Put it down here by my side, Aline," her mistress ordered, "and showthe Prince of Seyre out."

  Aline held the door open. For a single moment the prince hesitated. Thenhe picked up his hat and bowed.

  "Perhaps," he said, "this may not be the last word!"