"Et je m'en vais
Au vent mauvais
Qui m'emporte
Deca, dela,
Pareille a la
Feuille morte."
VERLAINE.
It was the second day of Dick's illness. Annette's life had revived
somewhat, though the long sleep had not taken the strained look from her
eyes. But Mrs. Stoddart's fears for her were momentarily allayed. Tears
were what she needed, and tears were evidently a long way off.
And Annette fought for the life of poor Dick as if he were indeed her
bridegroom, and Mrs. Stoddart abetted her as if he were her only son.
The illness was incalculable, abnormal. There were intervals of lucidity
followed by long lapses into unconsciousness. There were hours in which
he seemed to know them, but could neither speak nor move. There were
times when it appeared as if the faint flame of life had flickered quite
out, only to waver feebly up again.
Together the two women had searched every article of Dick's effects, but
they could find no clue to his address or identity. Annette remembered
that he had had a pocket-book, and seeing him take a note out of it to
pay for the tickets. But the pocket-book could not be found, or any
money. It was evident that he had been robbed that first evening when he
was drinking. Some of his handkerchiefs were marked with four initials,
R. L. G. M.
"Richard Le Geyt M. Then he had another name as well," said Mrs.
Stoddart. "You can't recall having ever heard it?"
Annette shook her head.
"He is supposed to be an English lord," she said, "and very rich. And he
rides his own horses, and makes and loses a great deal of money on the
turf. And he is peculiar--very depressed one year, and very wild the
next. That is all that people like us who are not his social equals know
of him."
"I do not even know what _your_ name is," said Mrs. Stoddart
tentatively, as she rearranged Dick's clothes in the drawers, and took
up a bottle of lotion which had evidently been intended for his strained
neck.
"My name is Annette."
"Well, Annette, I think the best thing you can do is to write to your
home and say that you are coming back to it immediately."
"I have no home."
Mrs. Stoddart was silent. Any information which Annette vouchsafed about
herself always seemed to entail silence.
"I have made up my mind," Annette went on, "to stay with Dick till he
is better. He is the only person I care a little bit about."
"No, Annette, you do not care for him. It is remorse for your neglect of
him that makes you nurse him with such devotion."
"I do not love him," said Annette. "But then, how could I? I hardly know
him. But he meant to be kind to me. He was the only person who was kind.
He tried to save me, though not in the right way. Poor Dick, he does not
know much. But I must stay and nurse him till he is better. I can't
desert him."
"My dear," said Mrs. Stoddart impatiently, "that is all very well, but
you cannot remain here without a scandal. It is different for an old
woman like myself. And though we have not yet got into touch with his
family, we shall directly. If I can't get a clue otherwise, I shall
apply to the police. You must think of your own character."
"I do not care about my character," said Annette in the same tone in
which she might have said she did not care for black coffee.
"But I do," said Mrs. Stoddart to herself.
"And I have a little money," Annette continued,--"at least, not much
money, only a few louis,--but I have these." And she drew out from her
neck a row of pearls. They were not large pearls, but they were even and
beautifully matched.
"They were mother's," she said. "They will be enough for the doctor and
the nurse and the hotel bill, won't they?"
Mrs. Stoddart put down the bottle of lotion and took the pearls in her
hand, and bent over them, trying to hide her amazement.
"They are very good," she said slowly,--"beautiful colour and shape."
Then she raised her eyes, and they fell once more on the bottle.
"But what am I thinking of?" she said sharply. "There is the clue I need
staring me in the face. How incredibly stupid I am! There is the Paris
chemist's name on it, and the number of the prescription. I can wire to
him for the address to which he sent the bottle."
"Dick has a valet at his address," said Annette, "and of course he would
know all about his people."
"How do you know he has a valet?"
"He met Dick at the station with the luggage. He was to have come to
Fontainebleau with him, but Dick sent him back at the last moment, I
suppose because of--me."
"Would you know him again if you saw him?"
"Yes. I watched Dick talking to him for several minutes. He would not go
away at first. Perhaps he knew Dick was ill and needed care."
"Most likely. Did he see you?"
"No."
"Are you certain?"
"Quite certain."
"There is then one microscopic mercy to be thankful for. Then no one
knows that you are here with Mr. Le Geyt?"
"No one, but I dare say it will be known presently," said Annette
apathetically.
"Not if I can prevent it," said Mrs. Stoddart to herself as she put on
her pince-nez and went out to telegraph to the chemist.
Annette went back to the bedside, and the Sister withdrew to the window
and got out her breviary.
Annette sat down and leaned her tired head against the pillow with
something like envy of Dick's unconsciousness. Would a certain hideous
picture ever be blotted out from her aching brain? Her only respite from
it was when she could minister to Dick. He was her sole link with life,
the one fixed point in a shifting quicksand. She came very near to
loving him in these days.
Presently he stirred and sighed, and opened his eyes. They wandered to
the ceiling, and then fell idly on her without knowing her, as they had
done a hundred times. Then recognition slowly dawned in them, clear and
grave.
She raised her head, and they looked long at each other.
"Annette," he said in a whisper, "I am sorry."
She tried to speak, but no words came.
"Often, often, when I have been lying here," he said feebly, "I have
been sorry, but I could never say so. Just when I saw your face clear I
always went away again, a long way off. Would you mind holding my hand,
so that I may not be blown away again?"
She took it in both of hers and held it.
There was a long silence. A faint colour fluttered in his leaden cheek.
"I never knew such a wind," he said. "It's stronger than anything in the
world, and it blows and blows, and I go hopping before it like a leaf. I
have to go. I really can't stay."
"You are much better. You will soon be able to get up."
"I don't know where I'm going, but I don't care. I don't want to get up.
I'm tired--tired."
"You must not talk any more."
"Yes, I must. I have things to say. You are holding my hand tight,
Annette?"
"Yes. Look, I have it safe in mine."
"I ought not to have brought you here. You were in despair, and I took
advantage of it. Can you forgive me, Annette?"
"Dear Dick, there is nothing to forgive. I was more to blame than you."
"It was instead of the Seine. That was the excuse I made to myself. But
the wind blows it away. It blows everything away--everything,
everything.... Don't be angry again like that, Annette. Promise me you
won't. You were too angry, and I took a mean advantage of it.... I once
took advantage of a man's anger with a horse, but it brought me no
luck. I thought I wouldn't do it again, but I did. And I haven't got
much out of it this time either. I'm dying, or something like it. I'm
going away for good and all. I'm so tired I don't know how I shall ever
get there."
"Rest a little, Dick. Don't talk any more now."
"I want to give you a tip before I go. An old trainer put me up to it,
and he made me promise not to tell anyone, and I haven't till now. But I
want to do you a good turn to make up for the bad one. He said he'd
never known it fail, and I haven't either. I've tried it scores of
times. When you're angry, Annette, look at a cloud." Dick's blue eyes
were fixed with a great earnestness on hers. "Not just for a minute.
Choose a good big one, like a lot of cotton wool, and go on looking at
it while it moves. And the anger goes away. Sounds rot, doesn't it? But
you simply can't stay angry. Seems as if everything were too small and
footling to matter. Try it, Annette. Don't look at water any more.
That's no use. But a cloud--the bigger the better.... You won't drown
yourself now, will you?"
"No."
"Annette rolling down to the sea over and over, knocking against the
bridges. I can't bear to think of it. Promise me."
"I promise."
He sighed, and his hand fell out of hers. She laid it down. The great
wind of which he spoke had taken him once more, whither he knew not.
She leaned her face against the pillow and longed that she too might be
swept away whither she knew not.
The doctor came in and looked at them.
"Are his family coming soon?" he asked Mrs. Stoddart afterwards. "And
Madame Le Geyt! Can Madame's mother be summoned? There has been some
great shock. Her eyes show it. It is not only Monsieur who is on the
verge of the precipice."