The Collected Works of George Bernard Shaw: Plays, Novels, Articles, Letters and Essays. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

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СКАЧАТЬ robe of thine. Leave us to ourselves: if we must quarrel, there is no reason why you should be distressed by our bickerings”

      “I hope you are not really running away from me,” said Herbert, politely accompanying Madame Sczympliça to the door, and opening it for her.

      “No, no, mon cher,” she replied with a Sigh. “I must do as I am bidden. I grow old; and she becomes a greater tyrant daily to all about her.”

      “Now, malcontent,” said Aurélie, when the door was closed, “proceed with thy reproaches. How many thousand things hast thou to complain of? Let us hear how sad it has made thee to think that I have been happy and successful, and that thou hast not once been able to cast my happiness back in my — Heaven wouldst th eat me, Adrian?” He was straining her to his breast and kissing her vehemently.

      “You are rightt,” he said breathlessly. “Love is altogether selfish. Every fresh account of your triumphs only redoubled my longing to have you back with me again. You do not know what I Buffered during all these weary weeks. I lived in my studio, and tried to paint you out of my head; but I could not paint your out of my heart. My work, which once seemed a wifer thing than my mind could contain, was only a wearisome trade to me. I rehearsed imaginary versions of our next meeting” for hours together, whilst my picture hung forgotten before me. I made a hundred sketches of you, and, in my rage at their badness, destroyed them as fast as I made them. In the evenings, I either wandered about the streets thinking of you”

      “Or went to see Mrs. Hoskyn?”

      “Who told you that?” said Herbert, discomfited.

      “Ah!” cried Aurélie, laughing — almost crowing with delight, “I guessed it. Oh, that poor Monsieur Hoskyn! And me also! Is this thy fidelity — this the end of all thy thoughts of me?”

      “I wish your jealousy were real,” said Herbert, with a sort of desperation. “I believe you would not care if I had gone to Mrs. Hoskyn as her lover. Why did I go to her? Simply because she was the only friend I had who would listen patiently whilst I spoke endlessly of you — she, whose esteem I risked, and whose respect I fear I lost, for your sake. But I have ceased to respect myself now, Aurélie. It is my misfortune to love you so much that you make light of me for being so infatuated.”

      “Well,” said Aurélie soothingly, “you must try and not love me so much. I will help you as much as I can by making myself very disagreeable. I am far too indulgent to you, Adrian.”

      “You hurt me sometimes very keenly, Aurélie, though you do not intend it. But I have never loved you less for that. I fear your plan would make me worse.”

      “Ah, I see. You want to be made love to, and cured in that way.”

      “I am afraid I should go mad then, Aurélie.”

      “I will not try. I think you are very injudicious to care so much for love. To me, it is the most stupid thing in the world. I prefer music. No matter, my cherished one: I am very fond of thee, in spite of thy follies. Art thou not my husband? Now I must make an end here, and go to practise.”

      “Never mind practising this morning, Aurdlie. Let us talk.”

      “Why, have we not already talked? No, when I miss my little half hour of seeking for my fine touch, I play as all the world; and that is not just to myself, or to the Princess, who pays me more than she pays the others. One must be honest, Adrian. There, your face is clouded again. You are ashamed of me.”

      “It is because I am so proud of you that I shrink from the thought of your talent being marketed. Let us change the subject. Have you met any of our friends in Paris?”

      “Not one. I have not heard an English voice since we came here. But I must not stop to gossip.” She took his hand , pressed it for an instant against her bosom; and left the room. Herbert, troubled by the effort to enjoy fully the delight this caress gave him, sat down for a moment, panting. When he was calmer, he took his hat and went downstairs, intending to take a stroll in the sunshine. he was arrested at the door of one of the lower rooms by the porter’s wife, who held in her shaking hand some money and a scrap of paper, the sight of which seemed to frenzy her; for she was railing volubly at some person unknown to Adrian. lie looked at her with some curiosity, and was about to pass on, when she stepped before him.

      “Look you, monsieur,” she said. “Be so good as to tell madame that my house is not a hospital for sots. And tell your friend, he whose nose someone has righteously crushed, that he had better take good care not to come to see me again. I will make him a bad quarter of an hour if he does.”

      “My friend, madame!” said Herbert, alarmed by her shrewishness.

      “Your wife’s friend, then, whom she brings home drunk in her carriage at midnight, and who kicks my sofa to pieces, and makes shameless advances to me beneath my husband’s roof, and flies like a thief in the night, leaving for me this insult.” And she held out the scrap of paper to Adrian. “With ten francs. What is ten francs to me!” Adrian, bewildered, looked unintelligently at the message. “Come you, monsieur, and see for yourself that I speak truly,” she continued, bringing him by a gesture into the room. “See there, my sofa ripped up and soiled with his heels. See madame’s fine rug trampled on the floor. See the pillow which she put under his wicked head with her own hands—”

      “What are you talking about?” said Adrian sternly. For whom do you take me?”

      “Are you not Monsieur Herbert?”

      “Yes.”

      “Yes, I should think so. Well, Monsieur Herbert, it is your dear friend, who carries your portrait next his heart, who has treated me thus.”

      “Really,” said Adrian, “I do not understand you. You speak of me — of my wife — of some friend of mine with my portrait—”

      “And the nose of him crushed.”

      “ — all in a breath. What do you mean? As you know, I only arrived here this morning.”

      “Truly, monsieur, you have arrived a day after the fair. All I tell y<>u is that madame came home last night with a drunken robber, a young English sprig, who slept here. He has run away; and heaven knows what he has taken with him. He leaves me this money, and this note to mock me because I scorned his vile seductions. Behold the table where he left it.”

      Adrian, hardly venturing to understand the woman, looked upon the table, and saw a note which had escaped her attention. She, following his glance, exclaimed:

      “What! Another.”

      “It is addressed to my wife,” said Adrian, taking it, and losing color as he did so. “Doubtless it contains an explanation of his conduct. I recognize the handwriting as that of a young friend of mine. Did you hear his name?”

      “It was an English name. English names are all alike to me.

      “Did he call himself Sutherland?”

      “Yes, it was like that, quite English.”

      “It is all right then. He is but a foolish boy, the brother of an old friend of mine.”

      “Truly a strong boy for his years. He is your old friend, of course. It is always so. Ah, monsieur, if I were one to talk and make mischief, I could—”

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