THE COUNTESS EXPLAINS, AND SHOWS ME
A PICTURE.
It was a full week since I had last waited on my cruel mistress, and I
hoped, though with no great confidence, that this intermission of my
visits might temper and moderate her scorn. I had besides taken to
heart Culverton's advice as well as that of my cousin. For I was in
great trepidation lest she should take me at my word, and carelessly
bid me adieu, and so caught eagerly at any hint that seemed likely to
help me, however trivial it might be, and from whatever source it
came.
Consequently I had had my own hair cropped, and had purchased a
cumbersome full-bottomed peruke of the latest mode. With that on my
head, and habited in a fine new brocaded coat of green velvet and
lemon-coloured silk breeches and stockings, I went timidly to confront
my destiny. How many times did I walk up and down before her house, or
ever I could summon courage to knock! How many phrases and dignified
reproaches did I con over and rehearse, yet never one that seemed
other than offensive and ridiculous! What in truth emboldened me in
the end to enter was a cloud of dust which a passing carriage caused
to settle on my coat. If I hesitated much longer, I reflected, all my
bravery would be wasted, and dusting myself carefully with my
handkerchief, I mounted the steps. Otto Krax opened the door, and
preceded me up the staircase.
But while we were still ascending the steps, Mademoiselle Durette came
from the parlour which gave on to the landing.
"Very well, Otto," she said, "I will announce Mr. Buckler."
She waited until the man had descended the stairs, and then turned to
me with a meaning smile.
"She is alone. Take her by surprise!"
With that she softly turned the handle of the door, and opened it just
so far as would enable me to slip through. I heard the voice of Ilga
singing sweetly in a low key, and my heart trembled and jumped within
me, so that I hesitated on the threshold.
"I have no patience with you," said Mademoiselle Durette, in an
exasperated whisper. "Cowards don't win when they go a-wooing. Haven't
you learnt that? Ridicule her, if you like, as she does you--abuse
her, do anything but gape like a stock-fish, with a white face as
though all your blood had run down into the heels of your shoes!"
She pushed me as she spoke into the room, and noiselessly closed the
door. The Countess was seated at a spinnet in the far corner of the
room, and sang in her native tongue. The song, I gathered, was a
plaint, and had a strange and outlandish melancholy, the voice now
lifting into a wild, keening note, now sinking abruptly to a dreary
monotone. It oppressed me with a peculiar sadness, making the singer
seem very lonely and far-away; and I leaned silently against the wall,
not daring to interrupt her. At last the notes began to quaver, the
voice broke once and twice; she gave a little sob, and her head fell
forward on her hands.
An inrush of pity swept all my diffidence away. I stepped hastily
forward with outstretched hands. At the sound she sprang to her feet
and faced me, the colour flaming in her cheeks.
"Madame," cried I, "if my intrusion lacks ceremony, believe me----"
But I got no further in my protestations. For with a sneer upon her
lips and a biting accent of irony,
"So," she broke in, looking me over, "the crow has turned into a
cockatoo." And she rang a bell which stood upon the spinnet. I stopped
in confusion, and not knowing what to say or do, remained foolishly
shifting from one foot to the other, the while Ilga watched me with a
malicious pleasure. In a minute Otto Krax came to the door. "How comes
it," she asked sternly, "that Mr. Buckler enters unannounced? Have I
no servants?"
The fellow explained that Mademoiselle Durette had taken the duty to
herself.
"Send Mademoiselle Durette to me!" said the Countess.
I was ready to sink through the floor with humiliation, and busied my
wits in a search for a plausible excuse. I had not found one when the
Frenchwoman appeared.
Countess Lukstein repeated her question.
Mademoiselle Burette was no readier than myself, and glanced with a
frightened air from me to her mistress, and back again from her
mistress to me. Remembering what she had said on the landing about my
irresolution, I felt my shame doubled.
"Madame," I stammered out, "the fault is in no wise your companion's.
The blame of it should fall on me."
"Oh!" said she, "really?" And turning to Mademoiselle Durette, she
began to clap her hands. "I believe," she exclaimed in a mock
excitement, "that Mr. Buckler is going to make me a present of a
superb cockatoo. Clemence, you must buy a cage and a chain for its
leg!"
Clemence stared in amazement, as well she might, and I, stung to a
passion,
"Nay," I cried, and for once my voice rang firmly. "By the Lord, you
count too readily upon Mr. Buckler's gift. Mr. Buckler has come to
offer you no present, but to take his leave for good and all."
I made her a dignified bow and stepped towards the door.
"What do you mean?" she asked sharply.
"That I ride homewards this afternoon."
She shot a glance at Mademoiselle Durette, who slipped obediently out
of the room.
"And why?" she asked, with an innocent assumption of surprise, coming
towards me. "Why?"
"What, madame!" I replied, looking her straight in the face. "Surely
your ingenuity can find a reason."
"My ingenuity?" She spoke in the same accent of wonderment. "My
ingenuity? Mr. Buckler, you take a tone----" She came some paces
nearer to me and asked very gently: "Am I to blame?"
The humility of the question, and a certain trembling of the lips that
uttered it, well-nigh disarmed me; but I felt that did I answer her,
did I venture the mildest reproach, I should give her my present
advantage.
"No, no," I replied, with a show of indifference; "my own people need
me."
She took another step, and spoke with lowered eyes. "Are there no
people who need you here?"
I forgot my part.
"You mean----" I exclaimed impulsively, when a movement which she made
brought me to a stop. For she drew back a step, and picking up her fan
from a little table, began to pluck nervously at the feathers. Her
action recalled to my mind her behaviour at the Duke's Theatre and
Elmscott's commentary thereon.
"None that I know of," I resumed, "for even those whom I counted my
friends find me undeserving of even common civility."
"Civility! Civility!" she cried out in scorn. "'Tis the very proof and
attribute of indifference--the crust one tosses carelessly to the
first-comer because it costs nothing."
"But I go fasting even for that crust."
"Not always," she replied softly, shooting a glance at me. "Not
always, Mr. Buckler; and have you not found at times some butter on
the bread?"
She smiled as she spoke, but I hardened my heart against her and
vouchsafed no answer. For a little while she stood with her eyes upon
the ground, and then:
"Oh, very well, very well!" she said petulantly, and turning away from
me, flung the fan on to the table. The table was of polished mahogany,
and the fan slid across its surface and dropped to the floor. I
stepped forward, and knelt down to pick it up.
"What, Mr. Buckler!" she said bitterly, turning again to me, "you
condescend to kneel. Surely it is not you; it must be some one else."
I thought that I had never heard sarcasm so unjust, for in truth
kneeling to her had been my chief occupation this many a day, and I
replied hotly, bethinking me of Marston and the episode which I had
witnessed in the Park.
"Indeed, madame, and you may well think it strange, for have I not
seen you drop your fan in order to deceive the man who picks it up?"
With that I got to my feet and laid the fan on the table.
She flushed very red, and exclaimed hurriedly:
"All that can be explained."
"No doubt! no doubt!" I replied. "I have never doubted the subtlety of
madame's invention."
She drew herself up with great pride, and bowed to me.
I walked to the door. As I opened it, I turned to take one last look
at the face which I had so worshipped. It was very white; even the
lips were bloodless, and oddly enough I noticed that she wore a loose
white gown as on the occasion of our first meeting.
"Adieu," I said, and stepped behind the door.
From the other side of it her voice came to me quietly:
"Does this prove the sword to be lath or steel?"
I shut the door, and went slowly down the stairs, slowly and yet more
slowly. For her last question drummed at my heart.
"Lath or steel?" Was I playing a man's part, or was I the mere
bond-slave of a petty pride? "That can be explained," she had said.
What if it could? Then the sword would be proved lath indeed! Just to
salve my vanity I should have wasted my life--and only _my_ life? I
saw her lips trembling as the thought shot through me.
What if those walks with my rival beneath my window had been devised
in some strange way for a test--a woman's test and touchstone to essay
the metal of the sword, a test perhaps intelligible to a woman, though
an enigma to me? If only I knew a woman whom I could consult!
My feet lagged more and more, but I reached the bottom of the stairs
in the end. The hall was empty. I looked up towards the landing with a
wild hope that she would come out and lean over the balustrade, as on
the evening when Elmscott first brought me to the house. But there was
no stir or movement from garret to cellar. I might have stood in the
hall of the Sleeping Palace. From a high window the sunlight slanted
athwart the cool gloom in a golden pillar, and a fly buzzed against
the pane. I crossed the hall, and let myself out into the noonday. The
door clanged behind me with a hollow rattle; it sounded to my hearing
like the closing of the gates of a tomb, and I felt it was myself that
lay dead behind it.
As I passed beneath the window, something hard dropped upon the crown
of my hat, and bounced thence to the ground at my feet. I picked it
up. It was a crust of bread. For a space I stood looking at it before
I understood. Then I rushed back to the entrance. The door stood open,
but the hall was empty and silent as when I left it. I sprang up the
stairs, and in my haste missed my footing about halfway up, and rolled
down some half-a-dozen steps. The crash of my fall echoed up the well
of the staircase, and from behind the parlour door I heard some one
laugh. I got on to my legs, and burst into the room.
Ilga was seated before a frame of embroidery very demure and busy. She
paid no heed to me, keeping her head bent over her work until I had
approached close to the frame. Then she looked up with her eyes
sparkling.
"How dare you?" she asked, in a mock accent of injury.
"I don't know," I replied meekly.
She bent once more over her embroidery.
"Humours are the prerogative of my sex," she said.
"I set you apart from it."
"Is that why you cannot trust me even a little?"
The gentle reproach made me hot with shame. I had no words to answer
it. Then she laughed again, bending closer over her frame, in a low
joyous note that gradually rose and trilled out sweet as music from a
thrush.
"And so," she said, "you came all trim and spruce in your fine new
clothes to show me what my discourtesy had lost me! What a child you
are! And yet," she rose suddenly, her whole face changing, "and yet,
are you a child? Would God I knew!" She ended with a passionate cry,
clasping her hands together upon her breast; but before I could make
head or tail of her meaning she was half-way through another mood.
"Ah!" she cried, "you have brought my courtesy back with you." I had
not noticed until then that I still held the crust in my hand. "You
shall swallow it as a penance."
"Madame!" I laughed.
"Hush! you shall eat it. Yes, yes!" with a pretty imperious stamp of
the foot. "Now! Before you speak a word!"
I obeyed her, but with some difficulty, for the crust was very dry.
"You see," she said, "courtesy is not always so tasteful a morsel. It
sticks in the throat at times;" and crossing to a sideboard, she
filled a goblet from a decanter of canary and brought it to me.
"You will pledge me first," I entreated.
Her face grew serious, and she balanced the cup doubtfully in her
hand.
"Of a truth," she said, "of a truth I will." She raised it slowly to
her lips; but at that moment the door opened.
"Oh!" cried Mademoiselle Durette, with a start of surprise, "I fancied
that Mr. Buckler had gone," and she was for whipping out of the room
again, but Ilga called to her. The astonishment of the Frenchwoman
made one point clear to me concerning which I felt some curiosity. I
mean that 'twas not she who had set the hall-door open for my return.
"Clemence!" said the Countess, setting down the wine untasted, as I
noticed with regret, "will you bid Otto come to me? I ransacked Mr.
Buckler's rooms, and it is only fair that I should show him my poor
treasures in return."
She handed a key to Otto, and bade him unlock a Japan cabinet which
stood in a corner. He drew out a tray heaped up with curiosities,
medals and trinkets, and bringing it over, laid it on a table in the
window.
"I have bought them all since I came to London. You shall tell me
whether I have been robbed."
"You come to the worst appraiser in the world," said I, "for these
ornaments tell me nothing of their value though much of your
industry."
"I have a great love for these trifles," said she, though her action
seemed to belie her words, for she tossed and rattled them hither and
thither upon the tray with rapid jerks of her fingers which would have
made a virtuoso shiver. "They hint so much of bygone times, and tell
so provokingly little."
"Their example, at all events, affords a lesson in discretion," I
laughed.
"Which our poor sex is too trustful to learn, and yours too
distrustful to forget."
There was a certain accent of appeal in her voice, very tender and
sweet, as though she knew my story and was ready to forgive it. Had we
been alone I believe that I should have blurted the whole truth out;
only Otto Krax stood before me on the opposite side of the table,
Mademoiselle Durette was seated in the room behind.
Ilga had ceased to sort the articles, and now began to point out
particular trinkets, describing their purposes and antiquity and the
shops where she had discovered them. But I paid small heed to her
words; that question--did she know?--pressed too urgently upon my
thoughts. A glance at the stolid indifference of Otto Krax served to
reassure me. Through him alone could suspicion have come, and I felt
certain that he had as yet not recognised me.
Besides, I reflected, had she known, it was hardly in nature that she
should have spoken so gently. I dismissed the suspicion from my mind,
and turned me again to the inspection of the tray.
Just below my eyes lay a miniature of a girl, painted very delicately
upon a thin oval slip of ivory. The face was dark in complexion, with
black hair, the nose a trifle tip-tilted, and the lips full and red,
but altogether a face very alluring and handsome. I was most struck,
however, with the freshness of the colours; amongst those old curios
the portrait shone like a gem. I took it up, and as I did so, Otto
Krax leaned forward.
"Otto!" said Ilga sharply, "you stand between Mr. Buckler and the
light."
The servant moved obediently from the window.
"This," said I, "hath less appearance of antiquity than the rest of
your purchases."
"It was given to me," she replied. "The face is beautiful?"
Now it had been my custom of late to consider a face beautiful or not
in proportion to its resemblance to that of Countess Lukstein. So I
looked carefully at the miniature, and thence to Ilga. She was gazing
closely at me with parted lips, and an odd intentness in her
expression. I noticed this the more particularly, for that her eyes,
which were violet in their natural hue, had a trick of growing dark
when she was excited or absorbed.
"Why!" I exclaimed, in surprise. "One might think you fancy me
acquainted with the lady."
"Well," she replied, laying a hand upon her heart, "what if I
did--fancy that?" She stressed the word "fancy" with something of a
sneer.
"Nay," said I, "the face is strange to me."
"Are you sure?" she asked. "Look again! Look again, Mr. Buckler!"
Disturbed by this recurrence of her irony, I fixed my eyes, as she
bade me, upon the picture, and strangely enough, upon a closer
scrutiny I began gradually to recognise it; but in so vague and dim a
fashion, that whether the familiarity lay in the contour of the
lineaments or merely in the expression, I could by no effort of memory
determine.
"Well?" she asked, with a smile which had nothing amiable or pleasant
in it. "What say you now?"
"Madame," I returned, completely at a loss, "in truth I know not what
to say. It may be that I have seen the original. Indeed, I must think
that is the case----"
"Ah!" she cried, interrupting me as one who convicts an opponent after
much debate, and then, in a hurried correction: "so at least I was
informed."
"Then tell me who informed you!" I said earnestly, for I commenced to
consider this miniature as the cause of her recent resentment and
scorn. "For I have only seen this face--somewhere--for a moment. Of
one thing I am sure. I have never had speech with it."
"Never?" she asked, in the same ironical tone. "Look yet a third time,
Mr. Buckler! For your memory improves with each inspection."
She suddenly broke off, and "Otto!" she cried sternly--it was almost a
shout.
The fellow was standing just behind my shoulder, and I swung round and
eyed him. He came a step forward, questioning his mistress with a
look.
"Replace the tray in the cabinet!"
I kept the miniature in my hand, glancing ever from it to the Countess
and back again in pure wonder and conjecture.
"Madame," I said firmly, "I have never had speech with the lady of
this picture."
She looked into my eyes as though she would read my soul.
"It is God's truth!"
She signed a dismissal to Otto. Clemence Durette rose and followed the
servant, and I thought that I had never fallen in with any one who
showed such tact and discretion in the matter of leaving a room.
The Countess remained stock-still, facing me.
"And yet I have been told," she said, nodding her head with each word,
"that she was very dear to you."
"Then," I replied hotly, "you were told a lie, a miserable calumny. I
understand! 'Tis that that has poisoned your kind thoughts of me."
She turned away with a slight shrug of the shoulders.
"Oh, believe that!" I exclaimed, falling upon a knee and holding her
by the hem of her dress. "You must believe it! I have told you what my
life has been. Look at the picture yourself!" and I forced it into her
hands. "What do you read there? Vanity and the love of conquest. Gaze
into the eyes! What do they bespeak? Boldness that comes from the
habit of conquest. Is it likely that such a woman would busy her head
about an awkward, retiring student?"
"I am not so sure," she replied thoughtfully, though she seemed to
relent a little at my vehemence; "women are capricious. You yourself
have been complaining this morning of their caprice. And it might be
that--I can imagine it--and for that very reason."
"Oh, compare us!" I cried. "Compare the painted figure there with me!
You must see it is impossible."
She laid a hand upon each of my shoulders as I knelt, and bent over
me, staring into my eyes.
"I have been told," said she, "that the lady was so dear to you that
for her sake you fought and killed your rival in love."
"You have been told that?" I answered, in sheer incredulity; and then
a flame of rage against my traducer kindling in my heart, I sprang to
my feet.
"Who told you?"
"I may not disclose his name."
"But you shall," said I, stepping in front of her. "You shall tell me!
He has lied to you foully, and you owe him therefore no consideration
or respect. He has lied concerning me. I have a clear right to know
his name, that I may convince you of the lie, and reckon with him for
his slander. Confront us both, and yourself be present as the judge!"
Of a sudden she held out her hand to me.
"Your sincerity convinces me. I need no other proof, and I crave your
pardon for my suspicion."
I looked into her face, amazed at the sudden change. But there was no
mistaking her conviction or the joy which it occasioned her. I saw a
light in her eyes, dancing and sparkling, which I had never envisaged
before, and which filled me with exquisite happiness.
"Still," I said, as I took her hand, "I would fain prove my words to
you."
"Can you not trust me at all?"
She had a wonderful knack of putting me in the wrong when I was on the
side of the right, and before I could find a suitable reply she
slipped out of my grasp, and crossing the room, took in her hand the
cup of wine.
"Now," said she, "I will pledge you, Mr. Buckler;" which she did very
prettily, and handed the cup to me. As I raised it to my lips,
however, an idea occurred to me.
"It is you who refuse to pledge me," she said.
"Nay, nay," said I, and I drained the cup. "But I have just guessed
who my traducer is."
She looked perplexed for a moment.
"You have guessed who----" she began, in an accent of wonder.
"Who gave you the picture," I explained.
She stared at me in pure astonishment.
"You can hardly have guessed accurately, then," she remarked.
"Surely," said I, "it needs no magician to discover the giver. I know
but one man in London who can hope to gain aught by slandering me to
you."
Ilga gave a start of alarm. It seemed almost as though I were telling
her news, as though she did not know herself who gave her the picture;
and for the rest of my visit she appeared absent and anxious. This was
particularly mortifying to me, since I thought the occasion too apt to
be lost, and I was minded to open my heart to her. Indeed, I began the
preface of a love-speech in spite of her preoccupation, but sticking
for lack of encouragement after half-a-dozen words or so, I perceived
that she was not even listening to what I said. Consequently I took my
leave with some irritation, marvelling at the flighty waywardness of a
woman's thoughts, and rather inclined to believe that the properest
age for a man to marry was his ninetieth year, for then he might
perchance have sufficient experience to understand some portion of his
wife's behaviour and whimsies.
My mortification was not of a lasting kind, for Ilga came out on to
the landing while I was still descending the stairs.
"You do not know who gave me the picture," she said, entreating me;
and she came down two of the steps.
"It would be exceeding strange if I did not," said I, stopping.
"You would seek him out and----" she began.
"I had that in my mind," said I, mounting two of the steps.
"Then you do not know him. Say you do not! There could be but one
result, and I fear it."
A knock on the outer door rang through the hall; this time we took two
steps up and down simultaneously.
"Swords!" she continued, "for you would fight?"
I nodded.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, "swords are no true ordeal. Skill--it is skill,
not justice, which directs the thrust."
I fancied that I comprehended the cause of her fear, and I laughed
cheerfully.
"I have few good qualities," said I, "but amongst those few you may
reckon some proficiency with the sword." I ascended two steps.
"So," she replied, with an indefinable change of tone, "you are
skilled in the exercise?" But she stood where she was.
Otto Krax came from the inner part of the house and crossed to the
door.
"It is my one qualification for a courtier."
Since Ilga had omitted to take the two steps down, I deemed it right
to take four steps up.
She resumed her tone of entreaty.
"But chance may outwit skill; does--often."
We heard the chain rattle on the door as Krax unfastened it. Ilga bent
forward hurriedly.
"You do not know the man!" and in a whisper she added: "For my
sake--you do not!"
There were only four steps between us. I took them all in one spring.
"For your sake, is it?" and I caught her hand.
"Hush!" she said, disengaging herself. Marston's voice sounded in the
entrance. "You do not know! Oh, you do not!" she beseeched in shaking
tones. Then she drew back quickly, and leaned against the balustrade.
I looked downwards. Otto was ushering in Marston, and the pair stood
at the foot of the staircase. I glanced back at the Countess. There
were tears in her eyes.
"Madame!" said I, "I have forgotten his name."
With a bow, I walked down the steps as Marston mounted them.
"'Tis a fine day," says I, coming to a halt when we were level.
"Is it?" says he, continuing the ascent.
"It seems to me wonderfully bright and clear," said the Countess from
the head of the stairs.