In New York there were two opinions concerning the change in Cornelius
Rysbroek.
From his travels, it seemed, he had acquired a certain temperamental as
well as physical hardness. He wore habitually a calm, ironical look,
as though, having found life out, he considered it a phenomenon worthy
only of scorn. He was seen everywhere, fastidiously attired,
self-possessed, taciturn, listening to the chatter of his friends with
sardonic attention, now and then throwing in a blighting comment. It
was curious that these infrequent remarks of his, even though they had
not remotely referred to her, always ended by bringing the conversation
round to Lilla. Thereupon he fell silent, smoked one cigarette after
another, and wore a look of indifference and boredom. At last he would
rise, apparently fatigued by all that trivial gossip, and wander away.
In solitude he became another man. He would pace the floor for hours,
sometimes all night; and then one might have heard some very peculiar
rigmaroles declaimed aloud, or even shouted out--phrases so jumbled
that they were hardly rational, cries interrupted by groans or
smothered by the grinding of his teeth. Now and then his valet, on
pushing back the window curtains in the morning, discovered a mirror
smashed, or a book torn to tatters. There was something shocking in
the calm set of Cornelius Rysbroek's jaws, the languid contempt of his
eyes, as he remarked to the valet, that "there had been a little
accident last night."
Once he burned his right hand severely. He had hurled a picture of
Lilla into the fire, then, to rescue it, had plunged his arm to the
elbow into the flames.
He often drove his car into Westchester County, round and round a wide
network of roads in the center of which lay the house of David Verne.
Suddenly he entered the highway that passed the tall gateposts of the
detestable place. He drove faster and faster. The gateposts were near
at hand. He bent over the wheel, and, without raising his eyes, sent
the car roaring by, as if escaping through a forest in conflagration.
His visage was covered with sweat; his pupils were full of red lights.
He no longer saw the road, or was conscious of driving. Miles beyond,
he became aware that he was calling out maledictions: and strangers,
passing at a decent speed, had a vision of a dapper, ghastly wretch who
appeared to be fleeing on the wings of the wind from the clutch of
insanity.