AT THE MAISON CARRÉE
The mystery of John Rivière intrigued Elaine. There was certainly a
mysterious something about this man which she had not fathomed. His most
open confidences held deep reserves. If he had not avowed himself a
scientist, she would have classed him as a man of business. In those
brief comments on Stock Exchange speculation, he had spoken in a tone of
easy authority which goes only with intimate knowledge. He was no
recluse, but a man of the world--a man who had clearly moved amongst men
and women and held his place with ease.
The idea that he was a boor had been entirely shelved. But why that
brusque, boorish disappearance from Arles?
Elaine, thinking matters over in the solitude of her room on the evening
of the second encounter, was beginning to regret her resolve to humble
John Rivière. It began to appear petty and unworthy. She had no doubt
now that she could bring him to her feet if she wished, by skilful
acting. Or even--in her thoughts she whispered it to herself--or even
without acting a part.
But that thought she thrust aside. She had her work to do in the
world--the work that she loved. It called imperiously for all her
energies. She was free, she was independent, her daily bread was of her
own buying; and she wished circumstances to remain as they were.
Elaine decided to give up her petty resolve. She would avoid meeting him
intentionally, and if they met, she would bring the plane of
conversation down again to the superficiality of mere tourist
acquaintanceship--"meet to-day and part to-morrow."
For his part, Rivière had found keen enjoyment in this frank
camaraderie. They met as equals on the mental plane. Both were
profoundly interested in their respective life-work. They held ideas in
common on a score of impersonal topics. He told himself that he had
behaved very boorishly in his abrupt departure from Arles. It had been
unnecessary, as Chance had now pointed out to him by this second
accidental encounter. This acquaintanceship was the merest passing of
"ships that pass in the night"--in a day or two she would be away and
back to Paris, and in all human probability they would never meet again.
It was generous of her to have greeted him as though she had not noticed
the abruptness of his departure from Arles. It was generous of her to
have clipped out the newspaper advertisement and to have called his
attention to it. He mentally apologized to her for his curt behaviour.
The next morning, Rivière did not find Elaine at the Jardin de la
Fontaine. He wanted to meet her. He wanted to let her know indirectly
what he was feeling. And so, almost unconsciously, he found himself
walking away from the Jardin towards the centre of the town, towards the
ruined arena and the Roman temple known as the Maison Carrée. Most
probably she would be sketching at one or other of them.
He found her at the Maison Carrée--a square Roman temple on which Time
has laid no rougher hand than on a white-haired mother still rosy of
cheek and young of heart. Elaine was sketching it in her book with the
bold lines of the scene-painter, ignoring detail and working only for
the high-lights and deep shadows. Round her, peeking over her shoulders
and chattering shrilly, were a group of children. In the background
lounged a young Provençal peasant with a nose twisted out of shape.
"Shall I lure the children away?" asked Rivière as he raised his soft
felt hat.
"Thanks--it would be a relief," answered Elaine, but with a coldness in
her greeting that struck him as curious.
A few coppers scattered the children; the peasant slunk sullenly away.
His eye and Rivière's met, but there was no recognition on the part of
the latter.
"Are you working this morning?" asked Elaine presently.
"No, I'm learning." He nodded towards her sketch-book. "May I continue
the lesson?"
"Compliments are barred," she replied stiffly. "I neither give nor take
them."
Rivière groped mentally for the reason of this curious change of
attitude. Yesterday she had been frankly friendly; to-day she held
herself distinctly aloof. Had he offended her in some way?
He continued soberly. "I'm not paying insincere compliments. It isn't
your sketch which interests me so much as your method of sketching. The
directness of it. The way you get to the heart of the subject without
worrying over detail. The incisiveness. I'm mentally applying your
method to the problems of my own work.... To stand here and watch you
sketching is pure selfishness on my part."
"Like other men, you imagine that women can't get beyond detail." A
flush had come into her voice. "All through the ages men have been
learning from women and refusing to acknowledge it."
"In which sphere?"
"In every sphere."
"Particularize."
"Take novel-writing. Men sneer at the woman-novelist--say that she
cannot draw a man to the life."
"It's largely true."
"What's the reason? Because one can't draw to any satisfaction without
models to base on. Because a man never lets a woman into his innermost
thoughts."
"That argument ought to cut both ways."
"It doesn't. Women give up their innermost secrets to men
because----Well, because woman is the sex that gives and man the sex
that takes. It's been bred in and in through the whole history of
civilization."
"Woman the sex that gives? That reverses the usual idea."
"You're thinking of the things that don't matter--money, jewels, dress,
mansions, servants. Those are the cheap things that man gives in return
for the gifts that are priceless."
Rivière shook his head. "You argue only from a limited knowledge of the
world. There are plenty of women who take everything--_everything_--and
give nothing in return. Perhaps you don't know such women. I do."
"You mean women of the underworld? They are as men make them."
"No, I'm thinking of _femmes du monde_. There are plenty of virtuous
married women who are as grasping as the most soulless underworlder.
Probably you don't see them. You look at the world in a magic crystal
that mirrors back your own thoughts and your own personality in
different guises. You see a thousand YOU's, dressed up as other people."
Elaine had become very thoughtful. "My magic crystal--yes." she mused.
"But surely everyone has his or her crystal to look into."
"Some can keep crystal-vision and reality apart. That's 'balance' ...
And there lies the failure of the feminists--in 'balance.' They make up
a bundle of all the iniquities of human nature, and try to dump it on
man's side of the fence."
"I love argument, but art is long and my stay at Nîmes very brief.
To-morrow I must move on to Orange."
"Then I'll not disturb you further. I expect you have a good deal to get
through."
"Yes. This afternoon it's the Pont du Gard; this evening the Druids'
Tower."
"This evening! The place is very lonely at night-time."
"I know. But I must sketch it in moonlight. That's essential."
"Remember Arles," warned Rivière. "You ought not to be alone."
She nodded. "I know. But I have my work to do."
Rivière felt uneasy over the matter. He did not wish to urge an
undesired escort upon her, but he did not like to think of her working
alone by the solitude of the Druids' Tower at night-time.
"If I can be of any service to you while you are here at Nîmes," he
said, "you have only to send a note to the Villa Clémentine."
With that he said good-bye and left her. It seemed evident that he had
offended her in some way. Possibly, he thought, it was by asking her to
write that letter to Olive. Though she had agreed willingly enough at
the time, it was possible that afterwards she had regretted it. It had
offended against her sense of right. Rivière felt distressed.
Then the remembrance came to him that this was the merest tourist
acquaintanceship. To-morrow she would be leaving Nîmes, and the episode
would pass out of her thoughts. Probably they would never meet again. It
was not worth further thought on either side.
Resolutely he banished all thoughts of Elaine from his mind, and
concentrated on his own work-problems.
From the corner of a lane near the Maison Carrée, Crau, the young
Provençal, had been watching them keenly as they talked together.