Maurice Guest

  VIII.

  In descending one evening the broad stair of the Gewandhaus, andforced, by reason of the crowd, to pause on every step, Madeleineoverheard the talk of two men behind her, one of whom, it seemed, hadall the gossip of the place at his fingertips. From what she caught upgreedily, as soon as Maurice's name was mentioned, she learnt asurprising piece of news. "A cat and dog life," was the phrase used bythe speaker. As she afterwards picked her way through snow and slush,Madeleine confessed to herself that it was impossible to feel regret atwhat she had heard. Perhaps, after all, things would come right ofthemselves. In order to recover from his infatuation, to learn whatLouise really was, it had only been necessary for Maurice to beconstantly at her side.--Was it not Goethe who said that the way tocure a bad habit was to indulge it?

  But a few days afterwards, her satisfaction was damped. Late oneafternoon she had entered Seyffert's Cafe, to drink a cup of chocolate.At a table parallel with the one she chose, two fellow-students wereplaying draughts. Madeleine had only been there for a few minutes, whentheir talk, which went on unrestrainedly between the moves of the game,leapt, with a witticism, to the unlucky pair in whom she wasinterested. To her astonishment, she now heard Louise's name, coupledwith that of another man.

  "Well, I never!" said the second of the two behind her. "I say it'syour move.--That's rough on Guest, isn't it?"

  Madeleine turned in her chair and faced the man who had spoken.

  "Excuse me, who is Herries?" she asked without ceremony.

  In her own room that evening, she pondered long. It was one thing forthe two to drift naturally apart; another for Maurice to see himselfsuperseded. If this were true, jealousy, and nothing else, would be atthe root of their disunion. Madeleine felt very unwilling to mixherself up in the affair: it would be like plunging two clean handsinto dirty water. But then, you never could tell how a man would act ina case like this: the odds were ten to one he did something foolish.

  And so she wrote to Maurice, making her summons imperative. Thisfailing, she tried to waylay him going to or from his classes; but theonly satisfaction she gained, was the knowledge of his irregularity:during the week she waited she did not once come face to face with him.Next, she looked round her for some common friend, and found that hehad not an intimate left in all Leipzig. She wrote again, still moreplainly, and again he ignored her letter.

  One Saturday afternoon, she was walking along the crowded streets ofthe inner town. She had been to the MOTETTE, in the THOMASKIRCHE, andwas now on her way home, carrying music from the library. The snow hadmelted to mud, and sleet was falling. Madeleine had no umbrella; thecollar of her cloak was turned up round her ears, and her small felthat covered her head like an extinguisher.

  On entering the PETERSTRASSE, she was jostled together with Dove. Itwas impossible to beat a retreat.

  Dove seldom hurried. On this day, as on any other, he walked with asomewhat pompous emphasis through slush and stinging rain, holding hisumbrella straight aloft over him, as he might have carried a banner. Hewas shocked to find Madeleine without one, at once took her under his,and loaded himself with her music--all with that air ofmatter-of-course-ness, which invariably made her keen to decline hisaid. Dove was radiant; he prospered as do only the happy few; and hissatisfaction with himself, and with the world in general, was somehowexpressed even through the medium of his long neck and gently slopingshoulders. He greeted Madeleine with an exaggerated pleasure,accompanying his words by the slow smile which sometimes set herwondering if he were not, perhaps, being inwardly satirical at theexpense of other people, fooling them by means of his own foolishness.But, however this might be, the cynical feelings that took her in hispresence, mounted once more; she knew his symptoms, and an excess ofcontent was just as distasteful to her as gluttony, or wine-bibbing, orany other self-indulgence.

  However, she checked the desire to snub him--to snub until she hadsucceeded in raising that impossible ire, which, she believed, MUSTlurk somewhere in Dove--for, as she plodded along at his side,sheltered from the brunt of the weather, it occurred to her that herewas some one whom she might tap on the subject of Maurice. She openedfire by congratulating her companion on his recent performance in anABENDUNTERHALTUNG; at the time, even she had been forced to admit it acreditable piece of work. Dove, who privately considered itepochmaking, was outwardly very modest. He could not refrain fromletting fall that the old director had afterwards thanked him inperson; but, in the next breath, he pointed out a slip he had made in aparticular passage of the sonata. It had not, it was true, beenobserved, he believed, by anyone except Schwarz and himself; still ithad caused him considerable annoyance; and he now related how, as faras he could judge, it had come about.

  The current inquiries concerning the PRUFUNGEN then passed between them.

  "Poor old Schwarz!" said Madeleine. "We shall be few enough, this year.Tell me, what of Heinz? I haven't seen him for an age."

  "I regret to say that Krafft is making an uncommon donkey of himself,"said Dove. "He had another shocking row with Schwarz last week."

  "Tch, tch, tch!" said Madeleine. "Heinz is a freak.--And Maurice Guest,what about him?"

  "I haven't seen him lately."

  "Indeed? How is that?"

  "I'm not in the same class with him now. His hour has been changed."

  "Has it indeed?" said Madeleine thoughtfully. This accounted for herhaving been unable to meet Maurice. "What's he playing, do you know?"

  "The G major Mendelssohn, I understand;" and Dove looked at her out ofthe corner of his eye.

  "How's he getting on with it?" she queried afresh, in the sameindifferent tone.

  "I really couldn't say. As I mentioned, he's in another class."

  "Oh, but you must have heard!" said Madeleine. "It's no use putting meoff," she added, with determination. "I want to find out about Maurice."

  "And I fear I can't assist you. All I HAVE chanced to hear--mererumour, of course--is that ... well, if Guest doesn't pull himselftogether, he won't play at all.--By the way, what did you think ofJames the other night, in the LISZTVEREIN?"

  "Oh, that his octaves were marvellous, of course!" said Madeleinetartly. "But I warn you," she continued, "it's of no use changing thesubject, or pretending you don't know. I intend to speak of Maurice."

  "Then it must be to some one else, Miss Madeleine, not to me."--Dovecould never be induced to call her Madeleine, as her other friends did.

  "And why, pray, are you to be the exception?"

  "Because, as I've already mentioned, I don't see any more of Guest. Hemixes in a different set now.--And as for me, well, my thoughts areoccupied with, I trust, more profitable things."

  "What? You have thoughts, too?"

  "I hope you don't claim a monopoly of them?" said Dove, and smiled inhis imperturbable way. As, however, Madeleine persisted, he grew grave."It's not a pleasant subject. I should really rather not discuss it,Miss Madeleine."

  "Oh, for Heaven's sake, don't let us play the prudish or sentimental!"cried Madeleine, in a burst of impatience. "Of course, it isn'tpleasant. Do you think I should "--"bother with you," was on hertongue. She checked herself, and substituted--"trouble you about it, ifit were? But Maurice was once a friend of ours--you don't deny it, Ihope?" she threw in challengingly; for Dove muttered something tohimself. "And I want to get at the truth about him. I'm sorrier than Ican say, to hear, on all sides, what a fool he's making of himself."

  Dove was suavely silent.

  "Of course," continued Madeleine with a sarcastic inflection--"ofcourse, I can't expect you to see it as I do. Men look at these thingsdifferently, I know. Possibly if I were a man, I, too, should stand by,with my hands in my pockets, and watch a friend butt his head against astone wall--thinking it, indeed, rather good fun."

  She had touched Dove on a tender spot. "I can assure you, MissMadeleine," he said impressively, as they picked their steps across adirty road--"I can assure you, you are mistaken. I think just asstrictly in matters of this kind as you y
ourself.--But as tointerfering in Guest's ... in his private affairs, well, frankly, Ishouldn't care to try it. He was always a curiously reserved fellow."

  "Reserved--obstinate-pig-headed!--call it what you like," saidMadeleine. "But don't imagine I'm asking you to interfere. I only wantyou to tell me, briefly and simply, what you know about him. And tomake it easier for you, I'll begin by telling you what I know.--It's anold story, isn't it, that Maurice once supplanted some one else in acertain young woman's favour? Well, now I hear that he, in turn, is tobe laid on the shelf.--Is that true, or isn't it?"

  "Really, Miss Madeleine!--that's a very blunt way of putting it," saidDove uncomfortably.

  "Oh, when a friend's at stake, I can't hum and haw," said Madeleine,who could never keep her temper with Dove for long. "I call a spade aspade, and rejoice to do it. What I ask you to tell me is, whether I'vebeen correctly informed or not. Have you, too, heard Louise Dufrayer'sname coupled with that of a man called Herries?"

  But Dove was stubborn. "As far as I'm concerned, Miss Madeleine, thetruth is, I've hardly exchanged a word with Guest since spring. Intohis ... friendship with Miss Dufrayer, I have never felt it my businessto inquire. I believe--from hearsay--that he is much changed. And Ifeel convinced his PRUFUNG will be poor. Indeed, I'm not sure that heshould not be warned off it altogether."

  "Could that not be laid before him?"

  "I should not care to undertake it."

  There was nothing to be done with Dove; Madeleine felt that she waswasting her breath; and they walked across the broad centre of theROSSPLATZ in silence.

  "Do you never think," she said, after a time, "how it would simplifylife, if we were able to get above it for a bit, and see things withoutprejudice?--Here's a case now, where a little real fellowship andsympathy might work wonders. But no!--no interference!--that's thechief and only consideration!"

  It had stopped raining. Dove let down his umbrella, and carried itstiffly, at some distance from him, by reason of its dampness. "Believeme, Miss Madeleine," he said, as he emerged from beneath it. "Believeme, I make all allowance for your feelings, which do you credit. Awoman's way of looking at these things is, thank God, humaner thanours. But it's a man's duty not to let his feelings run away with him.I agree with you, that it's a shocking affair. But Guest went into itwith his eyes open. And that he could do so--but there was alwayssomething a little ... a little peculiar about Guest."

  "I suppose there was. One can only be thankful, I suppose, that he'smore or less of an exception--among his own countrymen, I mean, ofcourse. Englishmen are not, as a rule, given to that kind of thing."

  "Thank God they're not!" said Dove with emotion.

  "We'll, our ways part here," said Madeleine, and halted. As she tookher music from him, she asked: "By the way, when shall we be at libertyto congratulate you?"

  It was not at all "by the way" to Dove. However, he only smiled; for hehad grown wiser, and no longer wore his heart on his coat-sleeve. "Youshall be one of the first to hear, Miss Madeleine, when the news ismade public."

  "Thanks greatly. Good-bye.--Oh, no, stop a moment!" cried Madeleine. Itwas more than she could bear to see him turn away thus, beaming withself-content. "Stop a moment. You won't mind my telling you, I'm sure,that I've been disappointed with you this afternoon. For I've alwaysthought of you as a saviour in the hour of need, don't you know? Onedoes indulge in these fancy pictures of one's friends--a strong man,helping with tact and example. And here you go, toppling my pictureover, without the least remorse.--Well, you know your own businessbest, I suppose, but it's unkind of you, all the same, to destroy anillusion. One has few enough of them in this world.--Ta-ta!"

  She laughed satirically, and turned on her heel, regardless of theeffect of her words.

  But Dove was not offended; on the contrary, he felt rather flattered.He did not, of course, care in the least about what Madeleine calledher illusions; but the mental portrait she had drawn of himcorresponded exactly to that attitude in which he was fondest ofcontemplating himself. For it could honestly be said that, hitherto, noone had ever applied to him for aid in vain: he was always ready, bothwith his time and with good advice. And the idea that, in the presentinstance, he was being untrue to himself, in other words, that he wasletting an opportunity slip, ended by upsetting him altogether.

  Until now, he had not regarded Maurice and Maurice's doings from thispoint of view. By nature, Dove was opposed to excess of any kind; hiswas a clean, strong mind, which caused him instinctively to draw backfrom everything, in morals as in art, that passed a certain limit.Nothing on earth would have persuaded him to discuss his quondamfriend's backsliding with Madeleine Wade; he was impregnated with thebelief that such matters were unfit for virtuous women's ears, and heapplied his conviction indiscriminately. Now, however, the notion ofMaurice as a Poor erring sheep, waiting, as it were, to be saved--thisidea was of undeniable attractiveness to Dove, and the more he revolvedit, the more convinced he grew of its truth.

  But he had reasons for hesitating. Having valiantly overcome his owndisappointments, first in the case of Ephie, then of pretty Susie, henow, in his third suit, was on the brink of success. The object of hispresent attachment was a Scotch lady, no longer in her first youth, andseveral years older than himself but of striking appearance, vivaciousmanners, and, if report spoke true, considerable fortune. Herappearance in Leipzig was due to the sudden burst of energy which ofteninspires a woman of the Scotch nation when she feels her youth escapingher. Miss MacCallum, who was abroad nominally to acquire the language,was accompanied by her aged father and mother; and it was with thesetwo old people that it behoved Dove to ingratiate himself; for,according to the patriarchal habits of their race, the former stillguided and determined their daughter's mode of life, as though she werethirteen instead of thirty. Dove was obliged to be of the utmostcircumspection in his behaviour; for the old couple, uprooted violentlyfrom their native soil, lived in a mild but constant horror at theiniquity of foreign ways. They held the profession of music to be anunworthy one, and threw up their hands in dismay at the number of youngpeople here complacently devoting themselves to such a frivolousobject. It was necessary for Dove to prove to them that a student ofmusic might yet be a man of untarnished principles and blame lesshonour. And he did not find the task a hard one; the whole bent of hismind was towards sobriety. He frequented the American church with hisnew friends on Sunday after noon; gave up skating on that day; wentwith the old gentleman to Motets and Passions; and eschewed the opera.

  But now, his ambition had been insidiously roused, and day by day itgrew stronger. If only the affair with Maurice had not been of sounsavoury a nature! Did he, Dove, become seriously involved, it mightbe difficult to prove to judges so severe as his future parents-in-law,that he had acted out of pure goodness of heart. For, that he would beembroiled, in other words, that he would have success in his mission,there was no manner of doubt in his mind--a conviction he shared withthe generality of mankind: that it is only necessary for an offender'seyes to be opened to the enormity of his wrongdoing, for him to bereasonable and to renounce it.

  While Dove hesitated thus, torn between his reputation on the one hand,his missionary zeal on the other; while he hesitated, an incidentoccurred, which acted as a kind of moral fingerpost. In thepiano-class, one day, just as Dove was about to leave the room, Schwarzasked him if he were not a friend of Herr Guest's. The latter had beenabsent now from two lessons in succession. Was he ill? Did no one knowwhat had happened to him? Dove made light of the friendship, butvolunteered his services, and was bidden to make inquiries.

  He went that afternoon.

  Frau Krause looked a little gruffer than of old; and left him to findhis own way to Maurice's room. In accordance with the new state ofthings, Dove knocked ceremoniously at the door. While his knucklesstill touched the wood, it was flung open, and he stood face to facewith Maurice. For a moment the latter did not seem to recognise hisvisitor; he had evidently been expecting some one else.


  Then he repaired his tardiness, ceased to hold the door, and Doveentered, apologising for his intrusion.

  "Just a moment. I won't detain you. As you were absent from the classall last week, Schwarz asked to-day if you were ill, and I said I wouldstep round and see."

  "Very good of you, I'm sure. Sit down," said Maurice. His face changedas he spoke; a look of relief and, at the same time, of disappointmentflitted across it.

  "Thanks. If I am not disturbing you," answered Dove. As he said thesewords, he threw a glance, the significance of which might have beengrasped by a babe, at the piano. It had plainly not been opened thatday.

  Maurice understood. "No, I was not practising," he said. "But I have togo out shortly," and he looked at his watch.

  "Quite so. Very good. I won't detain you," repeated Dove, and sat downon the proffered chair. "But not practising? My dear fellow, how isthat? Are you so far forward already that it isn't necessary? Or is ita fact that you are not feeling up to the mark?"

  "Oh, I'm all right. I get my work over in the morning."

  Now he, too, sat down, at the opposite side of the table. Clearing histhroat, Dove gazed at the sinner before him. He began to see that hiserrand was not going to be an easy one; where no hint was taken, it wasdifficult to insert even the thinnest edge of the wedge. He resolved touse finesse; and, for several of the precious moments at his disposal,he talked, as if at random, of other things.

  Maurice tapped the table. He kept his eyes fixed on Dove's face, asthough he were drinking in his companion's solemn utterances. Inreality, whole minutes passed without his knowing what was said. AtDove's knock, he had been certain that a message had come fromLouise--at last. This was the night of the ball; and still she hadgiven him no promise that she would not go. They had parted, theevening before, after a bitter quarrel; and he had left her, vowingthat he would not return till she sent for him. He had waited the wholeday, in vain, for a sign. What was Dove with his pompous twaddle tohim? Every slight sound on the stairs or in the passage meant more. Hewas listening, listening, without cessation.

  When he came back to himself, he heard Dove droning on, like a machinethat has been wound up and cannot stop.

  "Now, I hope you won't mind my saying so," were the next words thatpierced his brain. "You must not be offended at my telling you; but youare hardly fulfilling the expectations we, your friends, you know, hadformed of you. My dear fellow, you really must pull yourself together,or February will find you still unprepared."

  Maurice went a shade paler; he was clear, now, as to the object ofDove's visit. But he answered in an off-hand way. "Oh, there's timeenough yet."

  "No. That's a mistaken point of view, if I may say so," replied Dove inhis blandest manner. "Time requires to be taken by the forelock, youknow."

  "Does it?" Maurice allowed the smile that was expected of him to crosshis face.

  "Most emphatically--And we fellow-students of yours are not the onlypeople who have noticed a certain--what shall I say?--a certainabatement of energy on your part. Schwarz sees it, too--or I am muchmistaken."

  "What?--he, too?" said Maurice, and pretended a mild surprise. For someseconds now he had been mentally debating with himself whether heshould not, there and then, show Dove the door. He decided against it.A "Damn your interference!" meant plain-speaking, on both sides; itmeant a bandying of words; and more expenditure of strength than he hadto spare for Dove. Once more he drew out and consulted his watch.

  "Unfortunately, yes," said Dove, ignoring the hint. "I assume it, fromsomething he let drop this afternoon. Now, you know, your Mendelssohnought to have been a brilliant piece of work--yes, the expression isnot too strong. And it still must be. My dear Guest, what I came to sayto you to-day--one, at any rate, of the reasons that brought me--was,that you must not allow your interest in what you are doing to flag atthe eleventh hour."

  Maurice laughed. "Oh, certainly not! Most awfully good of you totrouble."

  "No trouble at all," Dove assured him. He flicked some dust from histrouser-knee before he spoke again. "I ... er ... that is, I had sometalk the other day with Miss Wade."

  "Indeed!" replied Maurice, and was now able accurately to gauge themotor origin of Dove's appearance. "How is she? How is Madeleine?"

  "She was speaking of you, Guest. She would, I think, like to see you."

  "Yes. I've rather neglected her lately, I'm afraid.--But when there'sso much to do, you know ..."

  "It's a pity," said Dove, passing over the last words, and nodding hishead sagaciously. "She's a staunch friend of yours, is Miss Madeleine.I think it wouldn't be too much to say, she was feeling a little hurtat your neglect of her."

  "Really? I had no idea so many people took an interest in me."

  "That is just where you are mistaken," said Dove warmly. "We all do.And for that very reason, I said to myself, I will be spokesman for therest: I'll go to him and tell him he must pull through, and do himselfcredit--and Schwarz, too. We are so few this year, you know."

  "Yes, poor old man! He has got badly left."

  "Yes. That was one reason. And then ... but you assure me, don't you,that you will not take what I am going to say amiss?"

  "Not in the least. It's awfully decent of you. But I'm sorry to say mytime's up. And every minute is precious just now--as you know yourself."

  He rose, and, for the third time, referred to his watch. After anineffectual attempt to continue, Dove was also forced to rise, with thebest part of his message unuttered. And Maurice hurried him, glum andcrestfallen, to the door, for fear of the still worse tactlessness ofwhich he might make himself guilty.

  They groped in silence along the dark lobby. For the sake of partingwith a friendly and neutral word, Maurice said, as he opened the door:"By the way, I hear we shall soon have to offer congratulations andgood wishes."

  To his surprise, Dove, who had already crossed the threshold, lookedblank, and drew himself up.

  "Indeed?" he said, and the tone was, for him, quite short. "I ... thefact is ... I've no idea of what you are referring to."

  On re-entering his room, Maurice went back to the window, and taking uphis former attitude, began to beat anew that tattoo on the panes, whichhad been his chief employment during the day. His eyes were sore withstraining at the corner of the street, tired of looking at his watch tosee how the time passed. He had steadfastly believed that Louise wouldyield in this matter, and, at the last, recall him in a burst ofimpulsive regret. But, as the day crawled by without a word from her,his confident conviction weakened; and, at the same time, his resolvenot to go back till she sent for him, failed. He repeated, in memory,some of the bitter things they had said to each other, to see if he hadnot left himself a loophole of escape; but only with one half of hisbrain: the other was persistently occupied with the emptiness of thestreet below. When a clock struck half-past seven, he could bear thesuspense no longer: he put on his hat and coat, and went out. He felttired and unslept, and dragged along as if his body were a weight tohim. A fine snow was falling, which froze into icicles on the beards ofthe passers-by, and on the glistening pavements. The distance had neverseemed so long to him; it had also never seemed so short.

  A faint and foolish hope still refused to be extinguished. But it wentout directly he had unlocked the door; and he learned what he had cometo learn, without the exchange of a word. The truth met him, that heshould have been here hours ago, commanding, imploring; instead ofwhich he had sat at home, nursing a futile and paltry pride.

  The room was warm, and bright with extra candles. It was also in thatstate of confusion which accompanied an elaborate toilet on the part ofLouise. Fully dressed, she stood before the console-glass, and arrangedsomething in her hair. She did not turn at his entrance, but she raisedher eyes and met his in the mirror, without pausing in what she wasdoing.

  He looked over her shoulder at her reflected face. The cold steadiness,the open hostility of her look, took his strength away. He sat down onthe foot-end of the bed, and put his head in his hand
s. Minutes passed,and still he remained in this position. For what was the use of hisspeaking? Her mind was made up; nothing would move her now.

  Then came the noise of wheels in the street below. Uncovering his eyes,Maurice looked at her again; and, as he did so, his feelings which,until now, had had something of the nature of a personal wound, gaveplace to others with the rush of a storm. She wore the same sparkling,low-cut dress as on the previous occasion; arms and shoulders were asruthlessly bared to view. He remembered what he had heard said of herthat night, and felt that his powers of endurance were at an end. Witha stifled exclamation, he got up from the bed, and going past her, intothe half of the room beyond the screen, caught up the first object thatcame to hand, and threw it to the floor. It was a Dresden-china figure,and broke to pieces.

  Louise gave a cry, and came running out to see what he had done. "Areyou mad? How dare you! ... break my things."

  She held a candle above her head, and by its light, he saw, in the skinof neck and shoulder, all the lines and folds that were formed by theraising of her arm. He now saw, too, that her hair was dressed in adifferent way, that her dark eyebrows had been made still darker, andthat she was powdered. This discovery had a peculiar effect on him: itrendered it easier for him to say hard things to her; at the same time,it strengthened his determination not to let her go out of the house.Moving aimlessly about the room, he stumbled against a chair, andkicked it from him.

  "A month ago, if some one had sworn to me that you would treat me asyou are doing to-night, I should have laughed in his face," he said atlast.

  Louise had put the candle down, and was standing with her back to him.Taking up a pair of long, black gloves, she began to draw one over herhand. She did not look up at his words, but went on stroking the kid ofthe glove.

  "You're only doing it to revenge yourself--I know that! But what have Idone, that you should take less thought for my feelings than if I werea dog?"

  Still she did not speak.

  "You won't really go, Louise?--you won't have the heart to.--I say youshall not go! It will be the end--the end of everything!--if you leavethe house to-night."

  She pulled her dress from his hand. "You're out of your senses, Ithink. The end of everything! Because, for once, I choose to have somepleasure on my own account! Any other man would be glad to see thewoman he professes to care for, enjoy herself. But you begrudge it tome. You say my pleasures shall only come through you--who have taken tomaking life a burden to me! Can't you understand that I'm glad to getaway from you, and your ill-humours and mean, abominable jealousy.You're not my master. I'm not your slave." She tugged at a recalcitrantglove. "It is absurd," she went on a moment later. "All because I wishto go out alone for once.--But did I even want to? Why, if it means somuch to you, couldn't you have bought a ticket and come too? But no!you wouldn't go yourself, and so I was not to go either. It's on alevel with all your other behaviour."

  "I go!" he cried. "To watch you the whole evening in that man'sarms!--No, thank you! It's not good enough.--You, with your indecentstyle of dancing!"

  She wheeled round, as if the insult had struck her; and for a momentfaced him, with open lips. Then she thought better of it: she laughedderisively, with a wanton undertone, in order to hurt him.

  "You would at least have had me under your own eyes."

  As she spoke, she nodded to the old woman who opened the door to saythat the droschke waited below. A lace scarf was lying on the table;Louise twisted it mechanically round her head, and began to strugglewith an evening cloak. Just as she had succeeded in getting it over hershoulders, Maurice took her by the arms and bent her backwards, so thatthe cloak fell to the floor.

  "You shall not go!"

  She stemmed her hands against him, and determinedly, yet with caution,pushed herself free.

  "My dress--my hair! How dare you!"

  "What do I care for your dress or your hair? You make me mad!"

  "And what do I care whether you're mad or not? Take your hands away!"

  "Louise! ... for God's sake! ... not with that man. At least, not withhim. He has said infamous things of you. I never told you--yes, I heardhim say--heard him compare you with ... soiled goods he calledyou.--Louise! Louise!"

  "Have you any more insults for me?"

  "No, no more!" He leaned his back against the door. "Only this: if youleave this room to-night, it's the end."

  She had picked up her cloak again. "The end!" she repeated, and lookedcontemptuously at him. "I should welcome it, if it were.--But you'rewrong. The end, the real end, came long ago. The beginning was theend!--Open that door, and let me out!"

  He heard her go along the hall, heard the front door shut behind her,and, after a pause, heard the deeper tone of the house door. Thedroschke drove away. After that, he stood at the window, looking outinto the pitch-dark night. Behind him, the landlady set the room inorder, and extinguished the additional candles.

  When she had finished, and shut the door, Maurice faced the empty room.His eyes ranged slowly over it; and he made a vague gesture thatsignified nothing. A few steps took him to the writing-table, on whichher muff was lying. He lifted it up, and a bunch of violets fell intohis hand. They brought her before him as nothing else could have done.Beside the bed, he went down on his knees, and drawing her pillow tohim, pressed it round his head.

  The end, the end!--the beginning the end: there was truth in what shehad said. Their love had had no stamina in it, no vital power. He waslosing her, steadily and surely losing her, powerless to helpit--rather it seemed as if some malignant spirit urged him to hasten onthe crisis. Their thoughts seemed hopelessly at war.--And yet, how heloved her! He made himself no illusions about her now; he understoodjust what she was, and what she would always be; the many conflictingimpulses of her nature lay bare to him. But he loved her, loved her:all the dead weight of his physical craving for her was on him again,confounding, overmastering. None the less, she had left him; she had noneed for him; and the hours would come, oftener and oftener, when shecould do without him, when, as now, she voluntarily sought the companyof other men. The thought suffocated him; he rose to his feet, andhastened out of the house.

  A little before one o'clock, he was stationed opposite the sideentranceto the HOTEL DE PRUSSE. He had a long time to wait. As two o'clockapproached, small batches of people emerged, at first at intervals,then more and more frequently. Among the last were Herries and Louise.Maurice remained standing in the shadow of some houses, until they hadparted from their companions. He heard her voice above all the rest; itrang out clear and resonant, just as on that former occasion when shehad drunk freely of champagne.

  With many final words and false partings, she and Herries separatedfrom the group, and turned to walk down the street. As they did so,Maurice sprang out from his hiding-place, and was suddenly in front ofthem, blocking their progress.

  At his unexpected apparition, both started; and when he roughly tookhold of her arm, Louise gave a short cry. Herries put out his hand, andsmacked Maurice's down.

  "What are you doing there? Take your hands off this lady, damn you!" hecried in broken German, not recognising Maurice, and believing that hehad to deal with an ordinary NACHTSCHWARMER.

  The savageness with which he was turned on, enlightened him. "Damnyou!" retorted Maurice in English. "Take your hands off her yourself IShe belongs to me--to me, do you hear?--and I intend to keep her."

  "You drunken cur!" said Herries. He had instinctively allowed Louise towithdraw her arm; now he stood irresolute, uncertain how she would wishhim to act. She had gone very pale; he believed she was afraid. "Isn'tthere a droschke anywhere?" he said, and looked angrily round. "Ireally can't see you exposed to this ... this sort of thing, you know."

  Louise answered hurriedly. "No, no. And please go! I shall be allright. I'm sorry.--I had enjoyed it so much. I will tell you anothertime, how much. Good night, and thank you. No ... PLEASE!> ... yes, adelightful evening." Her words were almost inaudible.

  "Delightful
indeed!" said Herries with warmth. Then he stood aside,raised his hat, and let them pass.

  Maurice had his hand on her wrist, and he dragged her after him, overthe frozen pavements, far more quickly than she could in comfort go,hampered as she was by snow-boots and by her heavy cloak. But shefollowed him, allowed herself to be drawn, without protest. She feltstrangely will-less. Only sometimes, when the thought of the indignityhe had laid upon her came over her anew, did she whisper: "How dareyou! ... oh, how dare you!"

  He did not look at her, or answer her, and all might have gone well, sooddly did this treatment affect her, had he only persisted in it. Butthe mere contact of her hand softened him towards her; her nearnessworked on him as it never failed to do. He was exhausted, too, mentallyand physically, and at the thought that, for this night at least, hissufferings were over, he could have shed tears of relief. Slackeninghis pace, he began to speak, began to excuse and exculpate himselfbefore ever she had blamed him, endeavouring to make her understandsomething of what he had gone through. In advance, and before she hadexpressed it, he sought to break down her spirit of animosity.

  The longer he spoke, the harder she felt herself grow. He was at itagain, back at his eternal self-justification. Oh, why, for this oneevening at least, could he not have enforced his will, and have madeher do what he wished, without explanation! But the one plain, simpleway was the only way he never thought of taking. "I hate you anddespise you! I shall never forgive you for your behaviourto-night!--never!" And now it was she who pressed forward, to get awayfrom him.

  He turned the key in the house-door. But before he could open the door,Louise, pushing in front of him, threw it back, entered the house, and,the next moment, the door banged in his face. He had just time towithdraw his hand. He heard her steps on the stair, mounting, growingfainter; he heard the door above open and shut.

  For a second or two, he stood listening to these sounds. But when itdawned on him that she had shut him out, he pressed both hands againstthe wood of the heavy door, and tried to shake it open. He even beathis fist against it, and only desisted from this when his knucklesbegan to smart.

  Then, on looking down, he saw that the key was still in the lock. Hestared at it, stupidly, without understanding. But, yes--it was his ownkey; he himself had put it in. He took it out again, and holding it inhis hand, looked at it, after the fashion of a drunken man, who doesnot recognise the object he holds. And even while he did this, he burstinto a peal of laughter, which made him lean for support against thewall of the house. The noise he made sounded idiotic, sounded mad, inthe quiet street; but he was unable to contain himself. She had lefthim the key--had left the key! Oh, what a fool he was!

  His laughter died away. He opened the door, noiselessly, as he hadlearned by practice to do, and as noiselessly entered the vestibule andwent up the stairs.