Three Weeks. Glyn Elinor

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СКАЧАТЬ breath with a hiss—Isabella—how far away she seemed. Of course he could never love any one else—but—

      "Don't think of it, then," the lady whispered. "Be young like me, and live under the blue sky."

      How was it she knew his thoughts always? He blushed while he stammered: "No—I won't think of it—or anything but you—Princess."

      "Daring one!" she said, "who told you to call me that? The hotel people have been talking, I suppose."

      "No," said Paul, surprised, "I called you Princess just because you seem like one to me—but now I guess from what you say, you are not plain Madame Zalenska."

      Her eyes clouded for a second. "Madame Zalenska does to travel with—but you shall call me what you like."

      He grew emboldened.

      "I suddenly feel I want so much—I want to know why your eyes were so mocking through the trees on the Bürgenstock? They drove me nearly mad, you know, and I raced about after you like a dog after a hare!"

      "I thought you would—you did not control the expression when you gazed up at me! And so I was the true hare—and ran away!"

      She looked down suddenly and was silent for some moments, then she turned the conversation from these personal things. She led his thoughts into new channels—made him observe the trees and sky, and the wonderful beauty of it all, and with lightning flashes took him into unknown speculations on emotions and the meaning of things.

      A new existence seemed to open to Paul's view. And all the while she lay back in her chair almost motionless, only her wonderful eyes lit up the strange whiteness of her face. There was not a touch of mauvaise honte, or explanation of the unusualness of this situation in her manner. It had a perfect, quiet dignity, as if to look into the eyes of an unknown young man at night over an ivy terrace, and then spend a day with him alone, were the most natural things in the world to do.

      Paul felt she was a queen whose actions must be left unquestioned.

      Presently they came to a small village, and here she would land and lunch. And from somewhere behind the cabin Dmitry appeared, and was sent on ahead, so that when they walked into the little hotel a simple repast was waiting for them.

      By this time Paul was absolutely enthralled. Never in his whole life had he spent such a morning. His imagination was expanded. He saw new vistas. His brain almost whirled. Was it he—Paul Verdayne—who was seated opposite this divine woman, drinking in her voice, and listening to her subtle curious thoughts?

      And what were the commonplace, ordinary things which had hitherto occupied his mind? How had he ever wasted a moment on them?

      It was his first awakening.

      When it came to the end—this delightful repast—he called the waiter, and wanted to pay the bill; small enough in all conscience. But a new look appeared round the lady's mouth—imperious, with an instantaneous flash in her eyes—a pure, steel-grey they were to-day.

      "Leave it to Dmitry," she said quickly. "I never occupy myself with money. They displease me, these details—and why spoil my day?"

      But Paul was an Englishman, and resented any woman's paying for his food. His mouth changed, too, and looked obstinate.

      "I say, you know—" he began.

      Then she turned upon him.

      "Understand at once," she said haughtily. "Either you leave me unjarred by your English conventionalities, or you pay these miserable francs and go back to Lucerne alone!"

      Paul shrugged his shoulders. He was angry, but could not insist further.

      When they got outside, her voice grew caressing again as she led the way to a path up among the young beeches.

      "Paul—foolish one!" she said. "Do you not think I understand and know you—and your quaint English ways? But imagine how silly it is. I am quite aware that you have ample money to provide me with a feast of Midas—all of gold—if necessary, and you shall some day, if you really wish. But to stop over paltry sums of francs, to destroy the thread of our conversation and thoughts—to make it all banal and everyday! That is what I won't have. Dmitry is there for nothing else but to éviter for me these details. It is my holiday, my pleasure-day, my time of joy. I felt young, Paul. You would not make one little shadow for me—would you, ami?"

      No voice that he had ever dreamt of possessed so many tones in it as hers—even one of pathos, as she lingered over the word "shadow," All his annoyance melted. He only felt he would change the very mainspring of his life if necessary to give her pleasure and joy.

      "Of course I would not make a shadow—surely you know that," he said, moved. "Only you see a man generally pays for a woman's food."

      "When she belongs to him—but I don't belong to you, baby Paul. You, for the day, belong to me—and are my guest!"

      "Very well, then, we won't talk about it," he said, resigned by the caress in her words. To belong to her! That was something, if but for one day.

      "Only it must never come up again, this question", she insisted. "Should we spend more hours on this lake, or other lakes—or mountains, or rivers, or towns—let us speak never of money, or paying. If you only knew of how I hate it! the cruel yellow gold! I have heaps of it—heaps of it! and for it human beings have always paid so great a price. Just this once in life let it bring happiness and peace."

      He wondered at the concentrated feeling she expressed. What could the price be? And what was her history?"

      "So it is over, our little breeze," she said gently, after a pause. "And you will tease me no more, Paul?"

      "I would never tease you!" he exclaimed tenderly. And, if he had dared, he would have taken her hand.

      "You English are so wonderful! Full of your prejudices," she said in a contemplative way. "Bulldog tenacity of purpose, whether you are right or wrong. Things are a custom, and they must be done, or it is not 'playing the game,'" and she imitated a set English voice, her beautiful mouth pursed up, until Paul had to use violent restraint with himself to keep from kissing it. "A wonderful people—mostly gentlemen and generally honest, but of a common sense that is disastrous to sentiment or romance. If you were not so polished, and lazy and strong—and beautiful to look at, one would not consider you much beyond the German."

      "Not consider us beyond a beastly German!" exclaimed Paul indignantly.

      And the lady laughed like a child.

      "Oh! you darling Paul!" she said. "You dear, insular, arrogant

       Englishman! You have no equal in the world!"

      Paul was offended.

      "If you had said an Austrian now—but a German—" he growled sulkily.

      "The Austrians are charming," allowed the lady, "but they err the other way; they have not enough common sense, they are only great gentlemen. Also, they are naturally awake, whereas you English are naturally asleep, and you yourself are the Sleeping Beauty, Paul."

      They had climbed up the path now some two hundred feet, and all around them СКАЧАТЬ