So she knew! She knew that, as usual, she was, personally, a valueless
commodity. So far as herself, her own life and feelings were concerned,
her fate continued to follow her--no one was kindly or vitally
interested in her,--she was just a “subject” for experiment. She had
suspected this all along--yet now that she had heard the fact stated
coldly and dispassionately, she was more or less resentful. She waited
a few minutes, her heart beating quickly and the vexed blood rising
to her brows and making her cheeks burn,--waited till she was sure
Dimitrius would not re-enter,--then, suddenly flinging down her pen,
she rose and paced the room hurriedly to and fro, scarce knowing
what she did. Was it not hard,--hard! she said to herself, with an
involuntary clenching of her hands as she walked up and down, that she
should never be considered more than a passive “thing” to be used for
other folks’ advantage or convenience? How had it happened that no one
in all the world had ever thought of putting himself (or herself) to
“use” for _Her_ sake! The calm calculations of Féodor Dimitrius on her
possible death under his treatment had (though she would not admit it
to herself) inwardly hurt her. Yet, after all, what had she any right
to expect? She had answered a strange, very strange advertisement, and
through that action had come into association with the personality of
a more than strange man of whose character and reputation she knew
little or nothing. And, so far, she had “fallen on her feet,”--that
is to say, she had secured a comfortable home and handsome competence
for the services she had pledged herself to render. Then, as she had
taken the whole thing on trust had she any cause to complain of the
nature of those services? No!--and in truth she did not complain,--she
only _felt_--felt, to the core of her soul the callous indifference
which Dimitrius had plainly expressed as to her fate in the dangerous
“experiment” he had already commenced upon her. Hot tears sprang to her
eyes,--she struggled with them, ashamed and humiliated.
“Children and girls cry!” she said, with self-contempt. “I, being
a woman ‘of mature years,’ ought to know better! But, oh, it is
hard!--hard!”
Her thoughts flew to Madame Dimitrius,--had she followed her first
feminine impulse, she would have run to that kind old lady and asked
for a little pity, sympathy and affection!--but she knew such an act
would seem weak and absurd. Still walking up and down, her steps
gradually became more measured and even,--with one hand against her
eyes, she pressed away the tear drops that hung on her lashes--then,
pausing, looked again, as she so often looked at the never stopping
steel instrument that struck off its little fiery sparks with an almost
wearisome exactitude and monotony. Stretching out her hand, she tried
to catch one of the flying dots of flame as one would catch a midge or
a moth,--she at last succeeded, and the glowing mote shone on her open
palm like a ruby for about half a minute--then vanished, leaving no
trace but a slight tingling sensation on the flesh it had touched.
“A mystery!” she said--“as involved and difficult to understand as my
‘master’ himself!”
She looked through the window at the grey-cold winter landscape, and
let her eyes travel along the distant peaks of the Alpine ranges, where
just now the faintest gleam of sunshine fell. The world,--the natural
world--was beautiful!--but how much more beautiful it would seem if
one had the full heart and vigour to enjoy its beauty! If, with youth
to buoy up the senses, one had the trained eye and mind to perceive
and appreciate the lovely things of life!--could one ask for greater
happiness?
“When we are quite young we hardly see Nature,” she mused. “It is only
in later years that we begin to find out how much we have missed. Now,
if I, with my love of beauty, were young----”
Here her meditations came to an abrupt halt. Had not Dimitrius
promised that if he succeeded in his experiment, youth would be hers
again?--youth, united to experience?--but would that be a desirable
result? She wondered.
“The old, old story!” she sighed. “The old legend of Faust and the
devil!--the thirst of mankind for a longer extension of youth and
life!--only, in my case, I have not asked for these things, nor have I
tried to summon up the devil. I am just an unwanted woman,--unwanted so
far as the world is concerned, but useful just now as a ‘subject’ for
the recharging of cells!”
She gave a half weary, half scornful gesture, and resumed her work,
and for an hour or more sat patiently translating and writing. But her
thoughts were rebels and went breaking into all manner of unfamiliar
places,--moreover, she herself felt more or less rebellious and
disposed to fight against destiny. At midday the sun, which had been
teasing the earth with shy glimpses of glory all the morning, shone out
superbly, and set such a coronal of light on her hair as she sat at her
desk, that if she could have seen herself she might have been flattered
at the effect. But she was only conscious of the brightness that filled
the room--a brightness that equally took possession of her mind and
filled her with cheerfulness. She even allowed herself a little run
into the realms of fancy.
“Suppose that he _should_ succeed in his perfectly impossible task,”
she said. “I,--his ‘subject’--shall have him in my power! I never
thought of that! Yet it’s worth thinking about! I shall have given him
the triumph of his life! He will set some value upon me then,--and
he’ll never be able to forget me! More than that, according to his
own assertion, I shall be young!--and he spoke of beauty too!--all
nonsense, of course--but if!--if!--if he makes _me_ the crowning
success of all his studies, I shall hold him in the hollow of my hand!”
Stimulated by this thought, she sprang up and stood proudly erect, a
smile on her lips and radiance in her eyes.
“With all his learning, his calculations and his cold-blooded
science,--yes--I shall hold him in the hollow of my hand!”
Recalling herself to her duties, she put all her papers and writing
materials neatly away in order for the next morning’s work, and leaving
the library, went out in the garden for a turn in the fresh air before
luncheon. The noonday sunshine was at the full, and her whole being
responded to its warmth and brightness. A new outlook had presented
itself to her view, and all hesitation, vexation, fear and depression
vanished like a mist blown aside by the wind. She was entirely resolved
now to go through with whatsoever strange ordeals Dimitrius might
ordain, no matter how much physical or mental suffering she might have
to endure.
“The die is cast!” she said, gaily--addressing herself to a group of
pine trees stiff with frost--“I’m all for youth and beauty!--or--Death!
On, on, Diana!”
That afternoon she went off for a walk by herself as it was frequently
her custom to do. She was allowed perfect freedom of action after the
morning working hours,--she could go and come as she liked,--and
both Dr. Dimitrius and his mother made it plainly evident that they
trusted her implicitly. She avoided Geneva--she instinctively felt
that it would be wiser not to be seen there, as the people of the
hotel where she had stayed might recognise her. One of her favourite
walks was along the Mornex road to a quaint little villa occupied
by Professor Chauvet. This somewhat grim and ironical man of much
learning had taken a great fancy to her, and she always made herself
charming in his company, partly out of real liking for him and partly
out of compassion for his loneliness. For, apparently, he had no one
in the world to care whether he lived or died, the only person to
attend upon him being a wrinkled, toothless old woman from the Canton
Grisons, whose cooking was execrable, while her excessive cleanliness
was beyond reproach. Diana loved to hear the Professor’s half-cynical,
half-kindly talk,--she laughingly encouraged him to “lay down the law,”
as he delighted to do, on all things human and divine, and she was
never tired of turning over his really unique and wonderful collection
of unset gems, of which he had enough to excite the cupidity of any
American wife of a millionaire,--enough certainly to make him rich,
though he lived in the style of an exceedingly poor man.
“You have the saddest fire I ever saw!” she said, on this particular
afternoon, as she entered his study without warning, as she was now
quite accustomed to do, and found him sitting absorbed over a book,
regardless of the smouldering wood in the grate which threatened to
become altogether extinguished. “Let me make it cheerful for you!”
She set to work, while he pushed his spectacles up from his eyes to his
forehead and regarded her with unassisted vision.
“What have you been doing to yourself?” he asked, then. “Are you sure
you are quite well?”
She looked up from the logs she was piling dexterously together,
surprised and smiling.
“Quite well? Of course I am! Never felt better! Do I look ill?”
Professor Chauvet got up and stretched his legs.
“Not ill,” he replied,--“No,--but feverish! Singularly so! Eyes too
bright--lips too red,--spiteful women would say you had put belladonna
in the one and carmine on the other! Let me feel your pulse!”
She laughed, and gave him her hand. He pressed his fingers on the cool,
firm wrist.
“No--nothing the matter there!” he said, wrinkling his fuzzy brows in a
puzzled line. “It is the pulse of youth and strong heart action. Well!
What is it?”
“What is _what_?” queried Diana, merrily, as she settled the logs to
her satisfaction, and kindled them into sparkling flame. “I know of
nothing in myself that is, or isn’t!”
He smiled a wry smile.
“There you express the sum and substance of all philosophy!” he said.
“Plato himself could go no further! All the same, there’s an _IS_ about
you that _WASN’T_! What do you make of _that_? And if you haven’t been
doing anything to yourself what has our friend Féodor Dimitrius been
doing to you?”
The question, though put suddenly, did not throw her off her guard. She
met it with clear, upraised eyes and a look of wonder.
“Why, what on earth should he do?” she asked, lightly. “He’s giving me
quite a pleasant time in Switzerland--that’s all!”
“Oh! That’s all, eh?” repeated Chauvet, baffled for the moment. “Well,
I’m glad you are having a pleasant time. Judging by your looks,
Switzerland agrees with you. But Dimitrius is a queer fellow. It’s no
use falling in love with him, you know!”
She laughed very merrily.
“My dear Professor! You talk as if I were a girl, likely to ‘moon’ and
sentimentalise over the first man that comes in my way! I’m not young
enough for that sort of thing.”
The Professor stuck his hands deep in his pockets and appeared to
meditate.
“No--perhaps not,” he said. “But experience has taught me that people
fall in love at the most unexpected ages. I have seen a child of
four,--a girl,--coquetting with a boy of seven,--and I have also seen
an old gentleman of seventy odd making himself exceedingly unpleasant
by his too rabid admiration of a married lady of forty. These things
_will_ occur!”
“But that’s not love!” laughed Diana, seating herself in a deep easy
chair opposite to him. “Come, come, Professor! You know it isn’t! It’s
nonsense!--and in the case of the old gentleman, very distressing
nonsense! Now, show me that jewel you spoke of the other day--one that
I’ve never seen--it’s called the Eye of something or somebody----”
“The Eye of Rajuna,” said Chauvet, solemnly, “a jewel with the history
of a perished world behind it. Now, Miss May, you must not look at this
remarkable stone in a spirit of trifling--it carries, compressed within
its lustre, the soul’s despair of a great Queen!”
He paused, as if thinking,--then went to an iron-bound safe which stood
in one corner of the room, and unlocked it. Fumbling for a minute or
two in its interior recesses, he presently produced a curious case
made of rough hide and fastened with a band of gold. Opening it, a
sudden flash of light sparkled from within--and Diana raised herself
in her chair to look, with a little exclamation of wonderment. The
extraordinary brilliancy of the jewel disclosed was like nothing she
had ever seen--the stone appeared to be of a deep rose colour, but in
its centre there was a moving point, as of blood-red liquid. This
floating drop glittered with an unearthly lustre, and now and again
seemed to emit rays as of living light.
“What a marvellous gem!” Diana murmured. “And how beautiful! What do
you call it?--a ruby or a coloured diamond?”
“Neither,” answered Chauvet. “It does not belong to any class of
known gems. It is the ‘Eye of Rajuna’--and in ages past it was set in
the centre of the forehead of the statue of an Assyrian queen. She
was a strange person in her day--of strong and imperious primitive
passions,--and she had rather a violent way of revenging herself for a
wrong. She had a lover--all good-looking queens have lovers--it is only
the ugly ones who are virtuous--and he grew tired of her in due course,
as lovers generally tire----”
“Do they?” put in Diana.
“Of course they do! That’s why the bond of marriage was invented--to
tie a man fast up to family duties so that he should not wander where
he listeth--though he wanders just as much--but marriage is the only
safeguard for his children. Rajuna, the Queen, however, did not approve
of her lover’s wandering--and being, in her day, a great ruler, she
could of course do as she liked with him. So she had him brought before
her in chains, and slowly hacked to pieces in her presence--a little
bit here and a little bit there, keeping him alive as long as possible
so that he might see himself cut up--and finally when the psychological
moment came, she had herself robed and crowned in full imperial style,
and, taking a sharp knife in her own fair hands, cut out his heart
_herself_ and threw it to her dogs in the palace courtyard below! This
was one of the many jewels she wore on that historic occasion!--and it
was afterwards placed in the forehead of the statue which her people
erected to the memory of their ‘good and great Queen Rajuna!’”
Diana listened with fascinated interest--her eyes fastened on the weird
jewel, and her whole expression one of complete absorption in the
horror of the story she had heard. She was silent so long that Chauvet
grew impatient.
“Well! What do you think of it all?” he demanded.
“I think she--that Assyrian queen--was quite right!” she answered,
slowly. “She gave her false lover, physically, what he had given her
morally. He had hacked _her_ to pieces,--bit by bit!--he had taken her
ideals, her hopes and confidences, and cut them all to shreds--and he
had torn _her_ heart out from its place! Yes!--she was quite right!--a
traitor deserves a traitor’s death!--I would have done the same myself!”
He stared and glowered frowningly.
“You? _You_,--a gentle Englishwoman?--you would have done the same?”
She took the jewel from its case and held it up to the light, its red
brilliance making her slender fingers rosy-tipped.
“Yes, I would!” and she smiled strangely. “I think women are all made
in much the same mould, whether English or Assyrian! There is nothing
they resent so deeply as treachery in love.”
“Yet they are treacherous themselves pretty often!” said the Professor.
“When they are they are not real women,” declared Diana. “They are
pussy-cats,--toys! A true woman loves once and loves always!”
He looked at her askance.
“I think you have been bitten, my dear lady!” he said. “Your eloquence
is the result of sad experience!”
“You are right!” she answered, quietly, still holding the “Eye of
Rajuna” and dangling it against the light. “Perfectly so! I have been
‘bitten’ as you put it--but--it is long ago.”
“Yet you cherish the idea of vengeance?”
She laughed a little.
“I don’t know! I cannot say! But when one has had life spoilt for one
all undeservedly, one _may_ wish to see the spoiler morally ‘hung,
drawn and quartered’ in a sort of good old Tudor way! Yet my story is
quite a common one,--I was engaged to a man who threw me over after I
had waited for him seven years--lots of women could tell the same tale,
I dare say!--he’s married, and has a very fat wife and five hideous
children----”
“And are you not sufficiently avenged?” exclaimed Chauvet,
melodramatically, with uplifted hands. “A fat wife and five hideous
children! Surely far worse than the Eye of Rajuna!”
Her face was clear and radiant now as she put the jewel back in its
case.
“Yes, possibly! But I sometimes fancy I should like to make sure that
it _is_ worse! I’m wickedly human enough to wish to see him suffer!”
“And yet he’s not worth such an expenditure of nerve force!” said
Chauvet, smiling kindly. “Why not spare yourself for somebody else?”
She looked at him with something of pathos in her eyes.
“Somebody else? My dear Professor, there’s not a soul in all the world
that cares for me!”
“You are wrong,--_I_ care!” he replied, with an emphasis that startled
her--“I care so much that I’ll marry you to-morrow if you’ll have me!”
She was so amazed that for the moment she could not speak. He,
perfectly calm and collected, continued with a kind of oratorical
fervour:
“I will marry you, I say! I find you charming and intelligent. Charm
in woman is common--intelligence is rare. You are a happy combination
of the two. You are not a girl--neither am I a boy. But if you take
me, you will not take a poor man. I am rich--much richer than anybody
knows. I have become interested in you--more than this, I have grown
fond of you. I would try my best--for the rest of my life--which cannot
be very long--to make you happy. I would give you a pretty house in
Paris--and all the luxuries which dainty women appreciate. And I
promise I would not bore you. And at my death I would leave you all I
possess--even the ‘Eye of Rajuna!’ Stop now, before you speak! Think
it over! I wish to give you plenty of time”--here his voice trembled a
little--“for it will be a great blow--yes, a very great blow to me if
you refuse!”
Taken by surprise as she was, Diana could not but appreciate the quiet
and chivalrous manner of the Professor, as after having made his
declaration and proposal, he stood “at attention” as it were, waiting
for her first word.
She rose from her chair and laid one hand on his arm.
“Dear Professor----” she began, hesitatingly.
“Yes--that’s good!” he said. “‘Dear Professor’ is very good! And after
that, what next?”
“After that, just this,” said Diana. “That I thank you for your kind
and generous offer with all my heart! Still more do I thank you for
saying you have grown fond of me! Nobody has said that for years! But
I will not do you such wrong as to take advantage of your goodness to
a woman you know nothing of--not, at any rate, till you know something
more! And,--to be quite honest with you--I don’t think I have it in my
heart to love any man now!”
The Professor took the hand that rested on his arm and patted it
encouragingly.
“My dear lady, I am not asking for love!” he said. “I would not do such
an absurd thing for the world! Love is the greatest delusion of the
ages,--one of the ‘springes to catch woodcocks,’ as your Shakespeare
says. I don’t want it,--I never had it, and don’t expect it. I merely
ask for permission to take care of you and make you as happy as I can
for the rest of my life. I should like to do that!--I should indeed!
The stupid and conventional world will not allow me to do it without
scandal, unless I marry you--therefore I ask you to go through this
form with me. I would not be selfish,--I would respect you in every
way----”
He broke off--and to close an embarrassing sentence gently kissed the
hand he held.
Tears stood in Diana’s eyes.
“Oh, you are good, you are good!” she murmured. “And I feel so
ungrateful because I cannot please you by at once saying ‘yes!’ But I
should feel worse than ungrateful if I did--because it would be unfair
to you!--it would, really! And yet----”
“Don’t say an absolute ‘No,’ my dear!” interrupted the Professor,
hastily. “Take time! I’ll give you as long as you like--and live in
hope!”
She smiled, though her eyes were wet. Her thoughts were all in a whirl.
How had it chanced that she, so long content to be considered “an
old maid,” should now receive an offer of marriage? Had she a right
to refuse it? Professor Chauvet was a distinguished man of science,
well known in Paris; his wife would occupy a position of dignity and
distinction. Her _salon_ would be filled with men of mark and women
of high social standing. And he “had grown fond of her” he said. That
was the best and most wonderful thing of all! That anyone should be
“fond” of her seemed to poor, lonely Diana the opening of the gates of
Paradise.
“May I--may I----” she faltered, presently.
“You may do anything!” replied Chauvet, soothingly. “You may even box
my ears, if it will relieve your feelings!”
She laughed, and looked up at him. It was a kind, rugged, clever face
she saw--plain, but shrewd, and though marked like a map with lines of
thought and care, not without character and impressiveness.
“I was rude to you the first night we met!” she said, irrelevantly.
“So was I to you,” he responded. “And you got the better of me. That’s
probably why I like you!”
She hesitated again. Then:
“May I wait----”
“Of course!” he said. “Any time! Not too long--I want to settle it
before I die!”
“Will it do when I have finished my visit to Madame Dimitrius?” she
asked. “She wishes me to stay with her for some months--she likes my
company----”
“I should think she does!” interposed Chauvet. “So should I!”
She laughed again.
“You really are very nice!” she said. “You ought to have married long
ago!”
“That’s neither here nor there,” he answered. “I’m glad I didn’t--I
might have had a fat wife and five hideous children, like your old
lover--and my life wouldn’t have been worth a _sou_!”
“Wouldn’t it?” She was quite playful by this time, and taking a knot of
violets from her own dress, pinned them in his buttonhole, much to his
delight.
“Of course not! With a fat wife and five children what would have
become of my work? I should never have done anything. As it is the
world may have to thank me for a few useful discoveries,--though I dare
say it will have to thank Féodor Dimitrius more.”
Her heart gave a quick throb.
“Do you think him very clever?” she asked.
“Clever? Clever as the devil! There never was such a man for bold
experiment! I wonder he hasn’t killed himself before now with his
exploits in chemistry. However, let us keep to the point. As I
understand it, you give me a little hope. You will not say ‘yes’ or
‘no’ till your time with Madame Dimitrius is expired--till your visit
to the Château Fragonard is ended. Is that so?”
She bent her head.
“And may I walk on air--buoyed up by hope--till then?”
She looked a little troubled.
“Dear Professor, I cannot promise anything!” she said. “You see I am
taken altogether by surprise--and--and gratitude--give me time to
think!”
“I will!” he said, kindly. “And meanwhile, we will keep our own
confidence--and the subject shall be closed till you yourself
reopen it. There! You can rely upon me. But think it all over well,
reasonably, and clearly--a husband who would care much for you, ten
thousand a year, a house in Paris and every comfort and luxury you
could wish for is not an absolutely melancholy prospect! Bless you, my
dear! And now I’ll lock up the ‘Eye of Rajuna’--it has looked upon us
and has seen nothing of falsehood or treachery to warrant the shedding
of blood!”
He moved away from her to place the jewel in his safe, and as he did
so, said:
“I have an aqua-marine here which is the colour of a Sicilian sea in
full summer--and I should like to give it to you now,--I intend it for
you--but the hawk eye of Dimitrius would notice it if you wore it,
and you would suffer the cross-examination of a Torquemada! However,
you shall have it very soon--as soon as I can invent a little fable
to give cover to its presentation. And,--let me see!----” here he
turned round, smiling.--“Well, upon my word, you have made up the fire
capitally! Quite bright and cheery!--and full of hope!”