Maurice Guest

  IX.

  The unnatural position circumstances had forced him into, was to himsummed up in the fact that he had spoken in defence of the man hedespised above all others. Only at isolated moments was he content withthe part he played; it was wholly unlike what he had intended. He hadwished to be friend and mentor to her, and he was now both; butnevertheless, there was something wrong about his position. It seemedas if he had at first been satisfied with too low a place in heresteem, ever to allow of him taking a higher one. He was conscious thatin her liking for him, there was a drop of contempt. And he tormentedhimself with such a question as: should a new crisis in her life arise,would she, now that she knows you, turn to you? And in moments ofdespondency he answered no. He felt the tolerance that lurked in herregard for him. Kindness and care on his part were not enough.

  None of his friends had an idea of what was going on. No one he knewlived in the neighbourhood of the BRUDERSTRASSE; and, the skating at anend, he was free to spend his time as he chose. When another brief nipof frost occurred, he alleged pressure of work, and did not takeadvantage of it.

  Then, early one morning, Dove paid him a visit, with a list in hishand. Since the night of the skating party, his acquaintances had notseen much of Dove; for he had been in close attendance on the prettylittle American, who made no scruple of exacting his services. Now,after some preamble, it came out that he wished to include Maurice in alist of mutual friends, who were clubbing to give a ball--a "Bachelors'Ball," Dove called it, since the gentlemen were to pay for the tickets,and to invite the ladies. But Maurice, vexed at the interruption, madeit clear that he had neither time nor inclination for an affair of thiskind: he did not care a rap for dancing. And after doing his best topersuade him, and talking round the matter for half an hour, Dove saidhe did not of course wish to press anyone against his will, anddeparted to disturb other people.

  Maurice had also to stand fire from Madeleine; for she had counted onhis inviting her. She was first incredulous, then offended, at hisrefusal: and she pooh-poohed his strongest argument--that he did notown a dress-suit. If that was all, she knew a shop in the BRUHL, wheresuch things could be hired for a song.

  Maurice now thought the matter closed. Not many days later, however,Dove appeared again, with a crestfallen air. He had still over a dozentickets on his hands, and, at the low price fixed, unless all weresold, the expenses of the evening would not be covered. In order to getrid of him, Maurice bought a ticket, on the condition that he was notexpected to use it, and also suggested some fresh people Dove mighttry; so that the latter went off with renewed courage on hisdisagreeable errand.

  Maurice mentioned the incident to Louise that evening, as he mentionedany trifle he thought might interest her. He sat on the edge of hischair, and did not mean to stay; for he had found her on the sofa witha headache.

  So far, she had listened to him with scant attention; but at this, sheraised her eyebrows.

  "Then you don't care for dancing?"--she could hardly believe it.

  He repeated the words he had used to Dove.

  She smiled faintly, looking beyond him, at a sombre patch of sky.

  "I should think not. If it were me!----" She raised her hand, andconsidered her fingers.

  "If it were you?--yes?"

  But she did not continue.

  It had been almost a spring day: that, no doubt, accounted for herheadache. Maurice made a movement to rise. But Louise turned quickly onher side, and, in her own intense way, said: "Listen. You have theticket, you say? Use it, and take me with you. Will you?"

  He smiled as at the whim of a child. But she was in earnest.

  "Will you?"

  "No, of course not."

  He tempered his answer with the same smile. But she was not pleased--hesaw that. Her nostrils tightened, and then, dilated, as they had a wayof doing when she was annoyed. For some time after, she did not speak.

  But the very next day, when he was remonstrating with her over somesmall duty which she had no inclination to perform, she turned on himwith an unreasonable irritation. "You only want me to do disagreeablethings. Anything that is pleasant, you set yourself against."

  It took him a minute to grasp that she was referring to what he hadsaid the evening before.

  "Yes, but then ... I didn't think you were in earnest."

  "Am I in the habit of saying things I don't mean? And haven't you saidyourself that I am killing myself, shut up in here?--that I must go outand mix with people? Very well, here is my chance."

  He kept silence: he did not know whether she was not mainly inspired bya spirit of contradiction, and he was afraid of inciting her, byresistance, to say something she would be unable to retract. "I don'tthink you've given the matter sufficient thought," he said at last. "Itcan't be decided offhand."

  She was angry, even more with herself than with him. "Oh, I know whatyou mean. You think I shall be looked askance at. As if it matteredwhat people say! All my life I haven't cared, and I shall not beginnow, when I have less reason than ever before."

  He did not press the subject; he hoped she would change her mind, andthus render further discussion unnecessary. But this was not the case;she clung to the idea, and was deaf to reason. To a certain extent, hecould feel for her; but he was too troubled by the thought ofunpleasant possibilities, not to endeavour to persuade her against it:he knew, as she did not, how unkindly she had been spoken of; and hewas not sure whether her declared bravado was strong enough to sustainher. But the more he reasoned, the more determined she was to have herown way; and she took his efforts in very bad part.

  "You pretend to be solicitous about me," she said one afternoon, fromher seat by the fire. "Yet when a chance of diversion comes youbegrudge it to me. You would rather I mouldered on here."

  "That's not generous of you. It is only you I am thinking of--in allthis ridiculous affair."

  The word stung her. "Ridiculous? How dare you say that! I'm stillyoung, am I not? And I have blood in my veins, not water. Well, I wantto feel it. For months now, I have been walled up in this tomb. Now Iwant to live. Not--do you understand?--to go out alone, on a filthyday, with no companion but my own thoughts. I want to dance--to forgetmyself--with light and music. It's the most natural thing in the world.Anyone but you would think so."

  "It is not life you mean; it's excitement."

  "What it means is that you don't want to take me.--Yes, that's what itis. But I can get some one else. I will send for Eggis; he will have noobjection."

  "Why drag in that cad's name? You know very well if you do go, it willbe with me, and no one else."

  A slight estrangement grew up between them. Maurice was hurt: she hadshown too openly the small value she set on his opinion. In addition tothis, he was disagreeably affected by her craving for excitement at anycost. To his mind, there was more than a touch of impropriety in theproceeding; it was just as if a mourner of a few months' standingshould suddenly discard his mourning, and with it all the otherdecencies of grief.

  She had not been entirely wrong in accusing him of unreadiness toaccompany her. When he pictured to himself the astonished faces of hisfriends, he found it impossible to look forward to the event withcomposure. He saw now that it would have been better to make no secretof his friendship with Louise; so harmless was it that every one heknew might have assisted at it; but now, the very abruptness of itsdisclosure would put it in a bad light. Through Dove, he noised itabroad that he would probably be present at the ball after all; but heshunned Madeleine with due precaution, and could not bring himself evento hint who his companion might be. In his heart, he still thought itpossible that Louise might change her mind at the last moment--takefright in the end, at what she might have to face.

  But the night came, and this had not happened. While he dressed himselfin the hired suit, which was too large here, too small there, he laid aplan of action for the evening. Since it had to be gone through with,it must be carried off in a highhanded way. He would do what he couldto make her presence
in the hall seem natural; he would be attentive,without devoting himself wholly to her; and he would induce her toleave early.

  He called for her at eight o'clock. The landlady said that Fraulein wasnot quite ready, and told him to wait in the passage. But the door ofthe room was ajar, and Louise herself called to him to come in.

  It was comparatively dark; for she had the lamp behind the screen,where he heard her moving about. Her skirts rustled; drawers andcupboards were pulled noisily open. Then she came out, with the lamp inher hand.

  Maurice was leaning against the piano. He raised his eyes, and made astep forward, to take the lamp from her. But after one swift, startledglance, he drew back, colouring furiously. For a moment he could notcollect himself: his heart seemed to have leapt into his throat, andthere to be hammering so hard that he had no voice with which to answerher greeting.

  Owing to what he now termed his idiotic preoccupation with himself, hehad overlooked the fact that she, too, would be in evening dress.Another thing was, he had never seen Louise in any but street-dress, orthe loose dressing-gown. Now he called himself a fool and absurd; thiswas how she was obliged to be. Convention decreed it, hence it wasperfectly decorous; it was his own feelings that were unnatural,overstrained. But, in the same breath, a small voice whispered to himthat all dresses were not like this one; also that every girl was notof a beauty, which, thus emphasised, made the common things of lifeseen poor and stale.

  Louise wore a black dress, which glistened over all its surface, as ifit were sown with sparks; it wound close about her, and out behind heron the floor. But this was only the sheath, from which rose thewhiteness of her arms and shoulders, and the full column of her throat,on which the black head looked small. Until now, he had seen her baredwrist--no more. Now the only break on the long arm was a band of blackvelvet, which as it were insisted on the petal-white purity of theskin, and served in place of a sleeve.

  Strange thoughts coursed through the young man's mind. His firstimpulse had been to avert his eyes; in this familiar room it did notseem fitting to see her dressed so differently from the way he hadalways known her. Before, however, he had followed this sensation to anend, he made himself the spontaneous avowal that, until now, he hadnever really seen her. He had known and treasured her face--her facealone. Now he became aware that to the beautiful head belonged also abeautiful body, that, in short, every bit of her was beautiful anddesirable. And this feeling in its turn was overcome by a painfulreflection: others besides himself would make a similar observation;she was about to show herself to a hundred other eyes: and this struckhim as such an unbearable profanation, that he could have gone down onhis knees to her, to implore her to stay at home.

  Unconscious of his embarrassment, Louise had gone to the console-glass;and there, with the lamp held first above her head, then placed on theconsole-table, she critically examined her appearance. As ifdissatisfied, she held a velvet bow to the side of her hair, andconsidered the effect; she took a powderpuff, and patted cheeks andneck with powder. Next she picked up a narrow band of velvet, on whicha small star was set, and put it round her throat. But the clasp wouldnot meet behind, and, having tried several times in vain to fasten it,she gave an impatient exclamation.

  "I can't get it in."

  As Maurice did not offer to help her, she went out of the room with thething in her hand. During the few seconds she was absent, the young manracked his brain to invent telling reasons which would induce her notto go; but when she returned, slightly flushed at the landlady's readyflattery, she was still so engrossed in herself, and so unmindful ofhim, that he recognised once more his utter powerlessness. He only halfexisted for her this evening: her manner was as different as her dress.

  She gathered her skirts high under her cloak, displaying her feet infur-lined snow-boots. In the turmoil of his mind, Maurice found nothingto say as they went. But she did not notice his silence; there was asuppressed excitement in her very walk; and she breathed in the cold,crisp air with open lips and nostrils, like a wild animal.

  "Oh, how glad I am I came! I might still have been sitting in that dullroom--when I haven't danced for years--and when I love it so!"

  "I can't understand you caring about it," he said, and the few wordscontained all his bitterness.

  "That is only because you don't know me," she retorted, and laughed."Dancing is a passion with me. I have dance-rhythms in my blood, Ithink.--My mother was a dancer."

  He echoed her words in a helpless way, and a set of new images ran riotin his brain. But Louise only smiled, and said no more.

  They were late in arriving; dancing had already begun; the cloak-roomswere black with coats and mantles. In the narrow passage that dividedthe rooms, two Englishmen were putting on their gloves. As Mauricechanged his shoes, close to the door, he overheard one of these men sayexcitedly: "By Jove, there's a pair of shoulders! Who the deuce is it?"

  Maurice knew the speaker by sight: he was a medical student, namedHerries, who, on the ice, had been conspicuous for his skill as askater. He had a small dark moustache, and wore a bunch of violets inhis buttonhole.

  "You haven't been here long enough, old man, or you wouldn't need toask," answered his companion. Then he dropped his voice, and made asomewhat disparaging remark--so low, however, but what the listener wasforced to hear it, too.

  Both laughed a little. But though Maurice rose and clattered his chair,Herries persisted, with an Englishman's supreme indifference to thebystander: "Do you think she can dance?"

  "Can't tell. Looks a trifle heavy."

  "Well, I'll risk it. Come on. Let's get some one to introduce us."

  The blood had rushed to Maurice's head and buzzed there: anothersecond, and he would have stepped out and confronted the speaker. Butthe incident had passed like a flash. And it was better so: it wouldhave been a poor service to her, to begin the evening with anunpleasantness. Besides, was this not what he had been bracing himselfto expect? He looked stealthily over at Louise; considering theproximity of the rooms, it was probable that she, too, had overheardthe derogatory words. But when she had put on her gloves, she took hisarm without a trace of discomfiture.

  They entered the hall at the close of a polka, and slipped unnoticedinto the train of those who promenaded. But they had not gone onceround, when they were the observed of all eyes; although he lookedstraight in front of him, Maurice could see the astonished eyebrows andopen mouths that greeted their advance. At one end of the hall was animmense mirror: he saw that Louise, who was flushed, held her headhigh, and talked to him without a pause. In a kind of bravado, she madehim take her round a second time; and after the third, which was asolitary progress, they remained standing with their backs to themirror. Eggis at once came up, with Herries in his train, and, onlearning that she had no programme, the latter ran off to fetch one.Before he returned, a third man had joined them, and soon she was thecentre of a little circle. Herries, having returned with the programme,would not give it up until he had put his initials opposite severaldances. Louise only smiled--a rather artificial smile that had been onher lips since she entered the hall.

  Maurice had fallen back, and now stood unnoticed behind the group. OnceLouise turned her head, and raised her eyebrows interrogatively; but afeeling that was mingled pride and dismay restrained him; and as, evenwhen the choosing of dances was over, he did not come forward, shewalked down the hall on Herries's arm. The musicians began to tune;Dove, as master of ceremonies, was flying about, with his hands ingloves that were too large for him; people ranged themselves for thelancers in lines and squares. Maurice lost sight for a moment of thecouple he was watching. As soon as the dance began, however, he sawthem again; they were waltzing to the FRANCAISE, at the lower end ofthe hall.

  He was driven from the corner in which he had taken refuge, by hearingsome one behind him say, in an angry whisper: "I call it positivelyhorrid of her to come." It was Susie Fay who spoke; through someoversight, she had not been asked to dance. Moving slowly along, behindthe couples th
at began a schottische, he felt a tap on his arm, and,looking round, saw Miss Jensen. She swept aside her ample skirts, andinvited him to a seat beside her. But he remained standing.

  "You don't care for dancing?" she queried. And, when he had replied:"Well, say, now, Mr. Guest,--we are all dying to know--however have yougotten Louise Dufrayer along here this evening? It's the queerest thingout."

  "Indeed?" said the young man drily.

  "Well, maybe queer is not just the word. But, why, we all presumed shewas perfectly inconsolable--thinking only of another world. That's so.And then you work a miracle, and out she pops, fit as can be."

  "I persuaded her ... for the sake of variety," mumbled Maurice.

  Little Fauvre, the baritone, had come up; but Miss Jensen did not heedhis meek reminder that this was their dance.

  "That was excessively kind of you," said the big woman, and looked atMaurice with shrewd, good-natured eyes. "And no doubt, Louise is mostgrateful. She seems to be enjoying herself. Keep quiet, Fauvre, do,till I am ready.--But I don't like her dress. It's a lovely goods, andno mistake. But it ain't suitable for a little hop like this. It's toomuch."

  "How Miss Dufrayer dresses is none of my business."

  "Well, maybe not.--Now, Fauvre, come along"--she called it "Fover." "Ireckon you think you've waited long enough."

  Maurice, left to himself again, was astonished to hear Madeleine'svoice in his ear. She had made her way to him alone.

  "For goodness' sake, pull yourself together," she said cuttingly."Every one in the hall can see what's the matter with you."

  Before he could answer, she was claimed by her partner--one of the fewGermans scattered through this Anglo-American gathering. "Is zat yourbrozzer?" Maurice heard him ask as they moved away. He watched themdancing together, and found it a ridiculous sight: round Madeleine,tall and angular, the short, stout man rotated fiercely. From time totime they stopped, to allow him to wipe his face.

  Maurice contemplated escaping from the hall to some quiet room beyond.But as he was edging forward, he ran into Dove's arms, and that was theend of it. Dove, it seemed, had had his eye on him. The originator ofthe ball confessed that he was not having a particularly good time; hehad everything to superintend--the dances, the musicians, thearrangements for supper. Besides this, there were at least a dozen toomany ladies present; he believed some of the men had simply given theirtickets away to girl-friends, and had let them come alone. So far, Dovehad been forced to sacrifice himself entirely, and he was hot andimpatient.

  "Besides, I've routed half a dozen men out of the billiardroom, morethan once," he complained irrelevantly, wiping the moisture from hisbrow. "But it's of no----Now just look at that!" he interruptedhimself. "The 'cellist has had too much to drink already, and they'rehanding him more beer. Another glass, and he won't be able to play atall.--I say, you're not dancing. My dear fellow, it really won't do.You must help me with some of these women."

  Taking Maurice by the arm, he steered him to a corner of the hall wheresat two little provincial English sisters, looking hopeless andforlorn. Who had invited them, it was impossible to say; but no onewished to dance with them. They were dressed exactly alike, were alikein face, too--as like as two nuts, thought Maurice, as he bowed tothem. Their hair was of a nutty brown, their eyes were brown, and theywore brown dresses. He led them out to dance, one after the other, andthey were overwhelmingly grateful to him. He could hardly tell themapart; but that did not matter; for, when he took one back to her seat,the other sat waiting for her turn.

  In dancing, he was thrown together with more of his friends, and he wasnot slow to catch the looks--cynical, contemptuous, amused--that weredirected at him. Some were disposed to wink, and to call him a sly dog;others found food for malicious gossip in the way Louise had desertedhim; and, when he met Miss Martin in a quadrille, she snubbed hisadvances with a definiteness that left no room for doubt.

  Round dances succeeded to square dances; the musicians' playing grewmore mechanical; flowers drooped, and dresses were crushed. AnEnglishman or two ran about complaining of the ventilation. As often asMaurice saw Louise, she was with Herries. At first, she had at leastmade a feint of dancing with other people; now she openly showed herpreference. Always this dapper little man, with the violets and thesimpering smile.

  They were the two best dancers in the hall. Louise, in particular, gaveherself up to the rhythm of the music with an abandon not often to beseen in a ball-room. Something of the professional about it, saidMaurice to himself as he watched her; and, in his own estimation, thiswas the hardest thought he had yet had of her.

  At supper, he sat between the two little sisters, whose birdlikechatter acted upon him as a reiterated noise acts on the nerves of onewho is trying to sleep. He could hardly bring himself to answercivilly. At the further end of the table, on the same side as he, satLouise. She was with those who had been her partners during theevening. They were drinking champagne, and were very lively. Mauricecould not see her face; but her loud, excited laugh jarred on his ears.

  Afterwards, the same round was to begin afresh, except that the sistershad generously introduced him to a friend. But when the first dance wasover, Maurice abruptly excused himself to his surprised partner, andmade his way out of the hall.

  At the disordered supper-table, a few people still lingered; anddeserters were again knocking balls about the green cloth of thebilliard-table. Maurice went past them, and up a flight of stairs thatled to a gallery overlooking the hall. This gallery was insemidarkness. At the back of it, chairs were piled one on top of theother; but the two front rows had been left standing, from the lastconcert held in the building, and here, two or three couples weresitting out the dance. He went into the extreme corner, where it wasdarkest.

  At last he was alone. He no longer needed to dance with girls he didnot care a jot for, or to keep up appearances. He was free to be aswretched as he chose, and he availed himself unreservedly of thechance. It was not only the personal slight Louise had put upon himthroughout the evening, making use of him, as it were, to the verydoor, and then throwing him off: but that she could be attracted by amere waxen prettiness, and well-fitting clothes--for the first time,distrust of her was added to his hurt amazement.

  He had not been in his hiding-place for more than a very few minutes,when the door he had entered by reopened, and a couple came down thesteps to the corner where he was sitting.

  "Oh, there's some one there!" cried Louise at the sight of the darkfigure. "Maurice! Is it you? What are you doing here?"

  "Sssh!" said Herries warningly, afraid lest her clear voice shouldcarry too far.

  "Yes. It's me," said Maurice stiffly, and rose. "But I'm going. Ishan't disturb you."

  "Disturb?" she said, and laughed a little. "Nonsense! Of course not."From her position on Herries's arm, she looked down at him, uncertainhow to proceed. Then she laughed again. "But how fortunate that I foundyou! The next is our dance, isn't it?"---she pretended to examine herprogramme. "It will begin in a minute. I think I'll wait here."

  "The next may be, but not the next again, remember," said Herries,before he allowed her to withdraw her arm. Louise nodded and laughed."AUF WIEDERSEHEN!"

  But after the door had dosed behind Herries, she remained standing, astep higher than Maurice, tipping her face with her handkerchief.

  When she descended the step, and was on a level with him, he could seehow her eyes glittered.

  "Was that lie necessary?--for me?"

  "What's the matter, Maurice? Why are you like this? Why have you notasked me to dance?"

  He was unpleasantly worked on by her free use of his name.

  "I, you? Have I had a chance?"

  "Wasn't it for you to make the chance? Or did you expect me to come toyou: Mr. Guest, will you do me the honour of dancing with me?--Oh,please, don't be cross. Don't spoil my pleasure--for this one night atleast."

  But she laughed again as she spoke, as though she did not fear hispower to do so, and laid her hand on his a
rm: and, at her touch, heseemed to feel through sleeve and glove, the superabundance of vitalitythat was throbbing in her this evening. She was unable to be still fora moment; in the delicate pallor of her face, her eyes burned, black asjet.

  "Are you really enjoying yourself so much? What CAN you find in it all?"

  "Come--come down and dance. Listen!--can you resist that music? Quick,let us go down."

  "I dance badly. I'm not Herries."

  "But I can suit my step to anyone's. Won't you dance with me?--when Iask you?"

  She had been leaning forward, looking over the balustrade at thecouples arranging themselves below. Now she turned, and put her armthrough his.

  They went down the stairs, into the hall. Close beside the door atwhich they entered, they began to dance.

  In all these months, Maurice had scarcely touched her hand. Nowconvention required that he should take her in his arms: he hadcomplete control over her, could draw her closer, or put her furtheraway, as he chose. For the first round or two, this was enough tooccupy him entirely: the proximity of the lithe body, the nearness ofthe dark head, the firm, warm resistance that her back offered to hishand.

  They were dancing to the music of the WIENER BLUT, most melancholy gayof waltzes, in which the long, legato, upward sweep of the violins saysas plainly as in words that all is vanity. But with the passing of theplayers to the second theme, the melody made a more direct appeal:there was a passionate unrest in it, which disquieted all who heard it.The dancers, with flushed cheeks and fixed eyes, respondedinstinctively to its challenge: the lapidary swing with which theyfollowed the rhythm became less circumspect; and a desire to dance tillthey could dance no more, took possession of those who were fanatic. Noone yielded to the impulse more readily than Louise; she was quitecarried away. Maurice felt the change in her; an uneasiness seized him,and increased with every turn. She had all but closed her eyes; herhair brushed his shoulder; she answered to the lightest pressure of hisarm. Even her face looked strange to him: its expression, itsindividuality, all that made it hers, was as if wiped out.Involuntarily he straightened himself, and his own movements grewstiffer, in his effort to impart to her some of his own restraint. Butit was useless. And, as they turned and turned, to the maddening music,cold spots broke out on his forehead: in this manner she had dancedwith all her previous partners, and would dance with those to come.Such a pang of jealousy shot through him at the thought that, withoutknowing what he was doing, he pulled her sharply to him. And sheyielded to the tightened embrace as a matter of course.

  With a jerk he stopped dancing and loosened his hold of her.

  She stood and blinked at lights and people: she had been far away, in aworld of melody and motion, and could not come back to herself all atonce. Wonderingly she looked at Maurice; for the music was going on,and no one else had left off dancing; and, with the same ofcomprehension, but still too dazed to resist, she followed him up thestairs.

  "It's easy to see you don't care for dancing," she said, when they wereback in the corner of the gallery. Her breath came unsteadily, andagain she touched her face with the small, scented handkerchief.

  "No. Not dancing like that," he answered rudely. But now again, as sooften before, directly it was put into words, his feeling seemedstrained and puritanic.

  Louise leaned forward in her seat to look into his face.

  "Like what?--what do you mean? Oh, you foolish boy, what is the matterwith you to-night? You will tell me next I can't dance."

  "You dance only too well."

  "But you would rather I was a wooden doll--is that it How is one toplease you? First you are vexed with me because YOU did not ask ME todance; and when I send my partner away, on your account, you won'tfinish one dance with me but exact that I shall sit here, in a darkcorner, and let that glorious music go by. I don't know what to make ofyou." But her attention had already wandered to the dancers below."Look at them!--Oh, it makes me envious! No one else has dreamt ofstopping yet. For no matter how tired you are beforehand, when youdance you don't feel it, and as long as the music goes on, you must goon, too, though it lasted all night.--Oh, how often I have longed for anight like this! And then I've never met a better dancer than Mr.Herries."

  "And for the sake of his dancing, you can forget what a puppy he is?"

  "Puppy?" At the warmth of his interruption, she laughed, the low,indolent laugh, by means of which she seemed determined, on this night,to keep anything from touching her too nearly. "How crude you men are!Because he is handsome and dances well, you reason that he mustnecessarily be a simpleton."

  "Handsome? Yes--if a tailor's dummy is handsome."

  But Louise only laughed again, like one over whom words had no power."If he were the veriest scarecrow, I would forgive him--for the sake ofhis dancing."

  She leant forward, letting her gloved arms lie along her knees; andabove the jet-trimmed line of her bodice, he saw her white chest riseand fall. At a slight sound behind, she turned and looked expectantlyat the door.

  "No, not yet," said the young man at her side. "Besides, even if itwere, this is my dance, remember. You said so yourself."

  "You are rude to-night, Maurice--and LANGWEILIG." She averted her face,and tapped her foot. But the content that lapped her made it impossiblefor her to take anything earnestly amiss, and even that others shouldshow displeasure jarred on her like a false note.

  "Don't be angry. To-morrow it will all be different again. Let me havejust this one night of pleasure--let me enjoy myself in my own way."

  "To hear you talk, one would think I had no wish but to spoil yourpleasure."

  "Oh, I didn't mean that. You misunderstand everything."

  "What I say or think has surely no weight with you?"

  She gave up the attempt to pacify him, and leaning back in her chair,stifled a yawn. Then with an exclamation of: "How hot it is up here!"she peeled off her gloves. With her freed hands, she tidied her hair,drawing out and thrusting in again the silver dagger that held the coiltogether. Then she let her bare arms fall on her lap, where they lay instrong outline against the black of her dress. One was almost directlyunder Maurice's eyes; even by the poor light, he could see the markleft on the inside of the wrist, by the buttons of the glove. It was agenerously formed arm, but so long that it looked slender, and its firmwhite roundness was flawless from wrist to shoulder. He shut his eyes,but he could see it through his eyelids. Sitting beside her like this,in the semidarkness, morbidly aware of the perfume of her hair anddress, he suddenly forgot that he had been rude, and she indifferent.He was conscious only of the wish to drive it home to her, how unhappyshe was making him.

  "Louise," he said so abruptly that she started. "I'm going to ask youto do something for me. I haven't made many demands, have I?--since youfirst called me your friend." He paused and fumbled for words."Don't--don't dance any more to-night. Don't dance again."

  She stooped forward to look at him. "Not dance again?--I? What do youmean?"

  "What I say. Let us go home."

  "Home? Now? When it's only half over?--You don't know what you aresaying." But her surprise was already on the wane.

  "Oh, yes, I do. I'm not going to let you dance again."

  She laughed, in spite of herself, at the new light in which he wasshowing himself. But, the moment after, she ceased to laugh; for, withan audacity he had not believed himself capable of, Maurice took thearm that was lying next him, and, midway between wrist and elbow, puthis lips to it, kissing it several times, in different places.

  Taken unawares, Louise was helpless. Then she freed herself, ungently."No, no, I won't have it. Oh, how can you be so foolish! Mygloves--where is my glove? Pick it up, and give it to me--at once!"

  He groped on the dusty floor; the veins in his forehead hammered. Shehad moved to a distance, and now stood busy with the gloves; she wouldnot look at him.

  In the uneasy silence that ensued, Herries opened the door: a momentlater, they went out together. Maurice remained standing until he sawthem
appear below. Then he dropped back into his seat, and covered hisface with his hands.

  He did not regret what he had done; he did not care in the least,whether he had made her angry with him or not. On the contrary, thefeeling he experienced was akin to relief: disapproval andmortification, jealousy and powerlessness--all the varying emotions ofthe evening--had found vent and alleviation in the few hastily snatchedkisses. He no longer felt injured by her treatment of him: that hardlyseemed to concern him now. His sensations, at this minute, resolvedthemselves into the words: "She is mine, she is mine!" which went roundand round in his brain. And then, in a sudden burst of clearness, heunderstood what it meant for him to say this. It meant that the farceof friendship, at which he had played, was at an end; it meant that heloved her--not as hitherto, with a touch of elegiac resignation--butwith a violence that made him afraid. If seemed incredible to him nowthat he had spent two months in close fellowship with her: it wasludicrous, inhuman. For he now saw, that his ultimate desire had beenneither to help her nor to restore her to life--that was a comedy hehad acted for the benefit of the traditions in his blood. Brutally, atthis moment, he acknowledged that he had only wished to hear her voiceand to touch her hand: to make for himself so indispensable a placeamong the necessities of her life that no one could oust him fromit.--Mine--mine! Instinct alone spoke in him to-night--that same bluntinstinct which had reared its head the first time he saw her, butwhich, until now, he had kept under, like a medieval ascetic. No reasoncame to his aid; he neither looked into the future nor did he considerthe past: he only swore to himself in a kind of stubborn wrath that shewas his, and that no earthly power should take her from him.

  One by one the slow-dragging hours wore away. The dancers' ranks werethinned; but those who remained, gyrated as insensately as ever. Therewas an air of greater freedom over the ball-room. The chaperons who,earlier in the evening, had sat patiently on the red velvet sofas, hadvanished with their charges, and, in their train, the more sedate ofthe company: it was past three o'clock, and now, every few minutes, acloaked couple crossed a corner of the hall to the street-door.

  When Maurice went downstairs, he could not find Louise, and some timeelapsed before she and Herries emerged from the supper-room. Althoughthe lines beneath her eyes were like rings of hammered iron, she dancedanew, went on to the very end, with a few other infatuated people.Finally, the tired musicians rose stiffly to pack their instruments;and, with a sigh of exhaustion, she received on her shoulders the cloakMaurice stood holding.

  They were among the last to leave the hall; the lights went out behindthem. Herries walked a part of the way home with them, and talked muchand idly--ineffable in his self-conceit, thought Maurice. But Louiseurged him on, saying wild, disconnected things, as if, as long as wordswere spoken, it did not matter what they were. Again and again herlaugh resounded: it was hoarse, and did not ring true.

  "She has had too much champagne," Maurice said to himself, as he walkedsilent at her side.

  In the ROSSPLATZ, Herries, who was in a becoming fur cap, and a coatwith a fur-lined collar, took a circumstantial leave of her. He raisedboth her hands to his lips.

  "To the memory of those divine waltzes--our waltzes!" he saidsentimentally. "And to all the others the future has in store for us!"

  She left her hands in his, and smiled at him.

  "Till to-morrow then," said Herries. "Or shall you forget your promise?"

  "It is you who will forget--not I."

  After this, Maurice and she walked on alone together. It was thatdreariest of all the hours between sunset and dawn, when it is scarcelynight any longer, and yet not nearly day. The crisp frost of theprevious evening had given place to a bleak rawness; the day that wascoming would crawl in, lugubriously, unable to get the better of thedarkness. The houses about them were wrapped in sleep; they two werethe only people abroad, and their footsteps echoed in the damp streets.But, for once, Louise was not affected by the gloom of hersurroundings. She walked swiftly, and her chief aim seemed to be torender any but the most trival words impossible. Now, however, herstrained gaiety had the aspect of a fever; Maurice believed that, forthe most part, she did not know what she was saying.

  Until they stood in front of the house-door, she kept up the tension.But when the young man had fitted the key in the lock and turned it,she looked at him, and, for the first time this night, gave him herfull attention.

  "Good night--my friend!"

  She was leaning against the woodwork; beneath the lace scarf, her eyeswere bent on him with a strange expression. Maurice looked down intothem, and, for a second or two, held them with his own, in one of thoselooks which are not for ordinary use between a man and a woman. Louiseshivered under it, and gave a nervous laugh; the next moment, she madea slight movement towards him, an involuntary movement, which was soimperceptible as to be hardly more than an easing of her positionagainst the doorway, and yet was unmistakable--as unmistakable as wasthe little upward motion with which she resigned herself at the outsetof a dance. For an instant, his heart stopped beating; in a flash heknew that this was the solution: there was only one ending to thisnight of longing and excitement, and that was to take her in his arms,as she stood, to hold her to him in an infinite embrace, till his ownnerves were stilled, and the madness had gone from her. But thereturning beat of his blood brought the knowledge that a morrow mustsurely come--a morrow for both of them--a cold, grey day to be facedand borne. She was not herself, in the bonds of her unnaturalexcitement; it was for him to be wise.

  He took her limply hanging hand, and looked at her gravely and kindly.

  "You are very tired."

  At his voice, the wild light died out of her eyes; she seemed to shrinkinto herself. "Yes, very tired. And oh, so cold!"

  "Can't you get a cup of tea?--something to warm you?"

  But she did not hear him; she was already on the stair. He waited tillher steps had died away, then went headlong down the street. But, whenhe came to think things over, he did not pride himself on theself-control he had displayed. On the contrary, he was tormented by thewish to know what she would have said or done had he yielded to hisimpulse; and, for the remainder of the night, his brain lost itself ina maze of hazardous conjecture. Only when day broke, a cheerlessFebruary day, was he satisfied that he could not have acted differently.

  Upstairs, in her room, Louise lay face downwards on her bed, and there,her arms thrown wildly out over the pillows, all the froth andintoxication of the evening gone from her--there lay, and wished shewere dead.

  * * * * *

  Three days later, towards four o'clock in the afternoon, Mauricewatched the train that carried her from him steam out of the DRESDENERBAHNHOF.

  The clearness he had gained as to his own motives, and the ruthlessprobing of himself it induced, both led to the same conclusion: Louisemust go away. The day after the ball, too, he had found her in a stateof collapse, which was unparalleled even in the ups and downs of thepast weeks.

  "Anything!--do anything you like with me. I wish I had never beenborn;" and, though no muscle of her face moved, large slow tears randown her sallow cheeks.

  Unconsciously twisting and bending Herries's card, which was lying onthe table, Maurice laid his plan before her. And having won the aboveconsent, he did not let the grass grow under his feet. He applied toMiss Jensen for practical aid, and that lady was tactful enough to giveit without curiosity. She knew Dresden well, recommended it as a livelyplace, and wrote forthwith to a PENSION there, engaging rooms for alady who had just recovered from a severe illness. By tacit agreement,this was understood to cover any extravagance or imprudence, of whichLouise might make herself guilty.

  Now she had gone, and with her, the central interest of his life. Butthe tired gesture, with which he took off his hat and wiped hisforehead, as he walked home, was expressive of the relief he felt thathe was not going to see her again for some time.

  He let a fortnight elapse--a fortnight of colourless days, unbroken byword or sign from
her. Then, one night, he spent several hours writingto her--writing a carefully worded letter, in which he put forward thebest reasons he could devise, for her remaining away altogether.

  To this he received no answer.