On the day of the dinner Swithin suffered a good deal. He reflected
gloomily on Boleskey's clothes. He had fixed an early hour—there would
be fewer people to see them. When the time approached he attired himself
with a certain neat splendour, and though his arm was still sore, left
off the sling....
Nearly three hours afterwards he left the Goldene Alp between his
guests. It was sunset, and along the riverbank the houses stood out,
unsoftened by the dusk; the streets were full of people hurrying home.
Swithin had a hazy vision of empty bottles, of the ground before his
feet, and the accessibility of all the world. Dim recollections of
the good things he had said, of his brother and Traquair seated in the
background eating ordinary meals with inquiring, acid visages, caused
perpetual smiles to break out on his face, and he steered himself
stubbornly, to prove that he was a better man than either of his
guests. He knew, vaguely, that he was going somewhere with an object;
Rozsi's face kept dancing before him, like a promise. Once or twice he
gave Kasteliz a glassy stare. Towards Boleskey, on the other hand, he
felt quite warm, and recalled with admiration the way he had set his
glass down empty, time after time. 'I like to see him take his liquor,'
he thought; 'the fellow's a gentleman, after all.' Boleskey strode on,
savagely inattentive to everything; and Kasteliz had become more like
a cat than ever. It was nearly dark when they reached a narrow street
close to the cathedral. They stopped at a door held open by an old
woman. The change from the fresh air to a heated corridor, the noise
of the door closed behind him, the old woman's anxious glances, sobered
Swithin.
“I tell her,” said Boleskey, “that I reply for you as for my son.”
Swithin was angry. What business had this man to reply for him!
They passed into a large room, crowded with men and women; Swithin
noticed that they all looked at him. He stared at them in turn—they
seemed of all classes, some in black coats or silk dresses, others in
the clothes of work-people; one man, a cobbler, still wore his leather
apron, as if he had rushed there straight from his work. Laying his hand
on Swithin's arm, Boleskey evidently began explaining who he was; hands
were extended, people beyond reach bowed to him. Swithin acknowledged
the greetings with a stiff motion of his head; then seeing other
people dropping into seats, he, too, sat down. Some one whispered his
name—Margit and Rozsi were just behind him.
“Welcome!” said Margit; but Swithin was looking at Rozsi. Her face was
so alive and quivering! 'What's the excitement all about?' he thought.
'How pretty she looks!' She blushed, drew in her hands with a quick
tense movement, and gazed again beyond him into the room. 'What is it?'
thought Swithin; he had a longing to lean back and kiss her lips. He
tried angrily to see what she was seeing in those faces turned all one
way.
Boleskey rose to speak. No one moved; not a sound could be heard but the
tone of his deep voice. On and on he went, fierce and solemn, and with
the rise of his voice, all those faces--fair or swarthy—seemed to be
glowing with one and the same feeling. Swithin felt the white heat in
those faces—it was not decent! In that whole speech he only understood
the one word—“Magyar” which came again and again. He almost dozed off at
last. The twang of a czymbal woke him. 'What?' he thought, 'more of that
infernal music!' Margit, leaning over him, whispered: “Listen! Racoczy!
It is forbidden!” Swithin saw that Rozsi was no longer in her seat;
it was she who was striking those forbidden notes. He looked
round—everywhere the same unmoving faces, the same entrancement,
and fierce stillness. The music sounded muffled, as if it, too, were
bursting its heart in silence. Swithin felt within him a touch of panic.
Was this a den of tigers? The way these people listened, the ferocity of
their stillness, was frightful...! He gripped his chair and broke into
a perspiration; was there no chance to get away? 'When it stops,' he
thought, 'there'll be a rush!' But there was only a greater silence. It
flashed across him that any hostile person coming in then would be torn
to pieces. A woman sobbed. The whole thing was beyond words unpleasant.
He rose, and edged his way furtively towards the doorway. There was a
cry of “Police!” The whole crowd came pressing after him. Swithin would
soon have been out, but a little behind he caught sight of Rozsi swept
off her feet. Her frightened eyes angered him. 'She doesn't deserve it,'
he thought sulkily; 'letting all this loose!' and forced his way back to
her. She clung to him, and a fever went stealing through his veins; he
butted forward at the crowd, holding her tight. When they were outside
he let her go.
“I was afraid,” she said.
“Afraid!” muttered Swithin; “I should think so.” No longer touching her,
he felt his grievance revive.
“But you are so strong,” she murmured.
“This is no place for you,” growled Swithin, “I'm going to see you
home.”
“Oh!” cried Rozsi; “but papa and—Margit!”
“That's their look-out!” and he hurried her away.
She slid her hand under his arm; the soft curves of her form brushed
him gently, each touch only augmented his ill-humour. He burned with a
perverse rage, as if all the passions in him were simmering and ready to
boil over; it was as if a poison were trying to work its way out of him,
through the layers of his stolid flesh. He maintained a dogged silence;
Rozsi, too, said nothing, but when they reached the door, she drew her
hand away.
“You are angry!” she said.
“Angry,” muttered Swithin; “no! How d'you make that out?” He had a
torturing desire to kiss her.
“Yes, you are angry,” she repeated; “I wait here for papa and Margit.”
Swithin also waited, wedged against the wall. Once or twice, for his
sight was sharp, he saw her steal a look at him, a beseeching look, and
hardened his heart with a kind of pleasure. After five minutes Boleskey,
Margit, and Kasteliz appeared. Seeing Rozsi they broke into exclamations
of relief, and Kasteliz, with a glance at Swithin, put his lips to her
hand. Rozsi's look said, “Wouldn't you like to do that?” Swithin turned
short on his heel, and walked away.
V
All night he hardly slept, suffering from fever, for the first time in
his life. Once he jumped out of bed, lighted a candle, and going to
the glass, scrutinised himself long and anxiously. After this he fell
asleep, but had frightful dreams. His first thought when he woke was,
'My liver's out of order!' and, thrusting his head into cold water, he
dressed hastily and went out. He soon left the house behind. Dew covered
everything; blackbirds whistled in the bushes; the air was fresh and
sweet. He had not been up so early since he was a boy. Why was he
walking through a damp wood at this hour of the morning? Something
intolerable and unfamiliar must have sent him out. No fellow in
his senses would do such a thing! He came to a dead stop, and began
unsteadily to walk back. Regaining the hotel, he went to bed again,
and dreamed that in some wild country he was living in a room full of
insects, where a housemaid—Rozsi—holding a broom, looked at him with
mournful eyes. There seemed an unexplained need for immediate departure;
he begged her to forward his things; and shake them out carefully before
she put them into the trunk. He understood that the charge for sending
would be twenty-two shillings, thought it a great deal, and had the
horrors of indecision. “No,” he muttered, “pack, and take them myself.”
The housemaid turned suddenly into a lean creature; and he awoke with a
sore feeling in his heart.
His eye fell on his wet boots. The whole thing was scaring, and jumping
up, he began to throw his clothes into his trunks. It was twelve o'clock
before he went down, and found his brother and Traquair still at the
table arranging an itinerary; he surprised them by saying that he too
was coming; and without further explanation set to work to eat. James
had heard that there were salt-mines in the neighbourhood—his proposal
was to start, and halt an hour or so on the road for their inspection;
he said: “Everybody'll ask you if you've seen the salt-mines: I
shouldn't like to say I hadn't seen the salt-mines. What's the good,
they'd say, of your going there if you haven't seen the salt-mines?” He
wondered, too, if they need fee the second waiter—an idle chap!
A discussion followed; but Swithin ate on glumly, conscious that his
mind was set on larger affairs. Suddenly on the far side of the street
Rozsi and her sister passed, with little baskets on their arms. He
started up, and at that moment Rozsi looked round—her face was the
incarnation of enticement, the chin tilted, the lower lip thrust a
little forward, her round neck curving back over her shoulder. Swithin
muttered, “Make your own arrangements—leave me out!” and hurried from
the room, leaving James beside himself with interest and alarm.
When he reached the street, however, the girls had disappeared. He
hailed a carriage. “Drive!” he called to the man, with a flourish of his
stick, and as soon as the wheels had begun to clatter on the stones he
leaned back, looking sharply to right and left. He soon had to give
up thought of finding them, but made the coachman turn round and round
again. All day he drove about, far into the country, and kept urging
the driver to use greater speed. He was in a strange state of hurry and
elation. Finally, he dined at a little country inn; and this gave the
measure of his disturbance—the dinner was atrocious.
Returning late in the evening he found a note written by Traquair.
“Are you in your senses, man?” it asked; “we have no more time to waste
idling about here. If you want to rejoin us, come on to Danielli's
Hotel, Venice.” Swithin chuckled when he read it, and feeling
frightfully tired, went to bed and slept like a log.