Mary almost started from her seat, then bent forward and looked straight
into Alice's face. Alice met her eyes with a teasing laugh.
Mary leaned back and gazed straight in front of her.
* * * * *
On account of the injury to his foot, Frans Roey had to keep quiet for
some days. The first time he called on Alice, Mary, according to
agreement, was sent for. But she felt so strangely agitated that she
dared not go. Next time curiosity, or whatever the feeling was,
brought her. But she came late, and hardly had she looked him in the
face again before she wished that she had not come. There was an
intensity about him which the fine lady felt to be intrusive, almost
insulting. Her whole being was like a surging sea; she followed him
with her eyes and with her ears; her thoughts were in a whirl, and so
was her blood. This must pass over soon, she thought. But it did not.
Alice's entrancement--love, to call it by the right name--audible and
visible in every word, every look, added to her confusion. Was he
really so ugly? That broad, upright forehead, these small, sparkling
eyes, the compressed lips and projecting chin, produced in conjunction
an impression of unusual strength; but the face was made comical by
there being no nose to speak of. Very comical, too, was most of
his conversation. He was in such high spirits and so full of fun
and fancies that the rattle never ceased. His manners were not
overbearing; on the contrary, he was politeness itself, attentive, at
times quite the gallant. What overpowered was his forcefulness. Force
spoke in his voice and glanced from his eyes. But the body, too,
played its part--the strong hand, the small, foot, compact, the
shoulders, the neck, the chest--these spoke too, they insisted, they
demonstrated. One could not escape from them for a moment. And the
talk never ceased.
Mary was unaccustomed to any style of conversation except that of
international society--light talk of wind and weather, of the events of
the day, of literature and art, of incidents of travel--the whole at
arm's length. Here everything was personal and almost intimate. She felt
that she herself acted upon Frans like wine. His intoxication increased;
he let himself go more and more. This excited her too much; it gave her
a feeling of insecurity. As soon as politeness allowed of it, she took
leave, nervous, confused, as a matter of fact in wild retreat. She
promised herself solemnly that she would never go back again.
Not until later in the day did she join her father and Mrs. Dawes. She
did not say a word about her meeting with Frans Roey. Nor had she done so
on the previous occasion. Mrs. Dawes told her to look at a visiting-card
which was lying on the table.
"Joergen Thiis? Is he here?"
"He has been here all winter. But he had only just heard of our
arrival."
"He asked to be remembered to you," put in Anders, who was, as usual,
sitting reading.
It was a rest even to think of Joergen Thiis. Last winter he and she had
seen a good deal of each other in Paris. Both at private houses and at
official balls at the Elysees and the Hotel de Ville he had been of
their party. He was a squire to be proud of, good-looking, gentlemanly,
courteous.
Her father mentioned that Joergen was intending to exchange into the
diplomatic service.
"Surely money is required for that?" said Mary.
"He is Uncle Klaus's heir," replied Mrs. Dawes.
"Are you certain of this?"
"No, not certain."
"And has not Uncle Klaus lost a good deal of money lately?"
Mrs. Dawes did not answer. Krog said:
"We have heard something to that effect."
"In that case will he be able to help him?"
No one replied.
"Then it does not seem to me that Joergen's prospects are particularly
good," concluded Mary.
Roey was in France on special Government business, which often took him
away from Paris. He had to go just at this time, so Mary felt safe. But
one morning when she made an early call on Alice--the two had arranged
to go into town together--there he sat! He jumped up and came towards
her, his eyes beaming admiration and delight upon her. He seized her
hand in both of his. She had never beheld such radiant happiness. She
felt herself turn scarlet. Alice laughed, which made things worse. But
Frans Roey's loquacity came to their assistance. It was excessive to-day
even for him. He plunged at once into a description of a gigantic
foundry from which he had just come, and drew them along with him. They
saw the half-naked men standing with their hooks on the edge of the
stream of boiling, bubbling, fiery-red metal; they felt the power of the
machinery, and saw the human beings creeping among it like cautious ants
in a giant forest. He tried, too, to explain this machinery to them in
detail. And he made them understand perfectly; but time wore on, and the
two friends had to go.
Alice was in the best of spirits during their drive. It was so evident
that Frans had made a strong impression to-day.
On the following morning Mary went off on a motor excursion with some
American friends. She was away for several days. And the first thing she
did on her return was to call on Alice. There, sure enough, sat Frans
Roey! Both he and Alice jumped up, delighted. Alice embraced and kissed
her. "Runaway, runaway!" she exclaimed. It is not enough to say that
Frans Roey's eyes sparkled; they fired a royal salute. From the moment
Mary shook hands with him, he talked incessantly. He was so foolishly in
love that Alice began to feel alarmed. Fortunately he had to go soon, to
keep a business appointment. Mary was left in a stormy swell; the sea
would not go down. Alice saw this and tried to calm her by eager,
anxious attempts to explain him. But this only further confused her; she
left.
As she came downstairs to join her father and Mrs. Dawes in the
afternoon--she had felt it necessary to take a rest--she heard
piano-playing. She knew at once that it was Joergen Thiis who was
entertaining the old people. He was a first-rate musician, and he loved
their piano. It was to go with them to Norway. She went straight up to
him, and thanked him for being so attentive to her father and Aunt Eva;
unfortunately they were left much alone. He replied that their
appreciation of his music gratified him exceedingly, and that the piano
was a great attraction, being a particularly fine instrument.
The conversation during and after dinner showed Mary how accustomed
these three were to be together; they could do without her. She felt
really grateful, and they had a pleasant evening. There was much talk of
home, for which the old people were longing.
Joergen was hardly gone before Mrs. Dawes said: "What a pleasant,
well-bred man Joergen is, child!"
Anders looked at Mary and smiled.
"At what are you smiling, Father?"
"Nothing"--his smile growing broader.
"You want to know my opinion of him?"
"Yes, what do you think of him?"
Mrs. Dawes was all ear.
"Well...."
"You have not made up your mind?"
"Yes ... yes."
"Speak out, then."
"I do really like him."
"But there is a something?"
Now it was she who smiled. "I don't like the way his eyes seem to draw
me in."
Her father laughed:
"To gloat over you like food. Eh?"
"Yes, exactly."
"He's a bon-viveur, you see--like his father."
"But, like his father, he has so many good qualities," put in Mrs.
Dawes.
"He has," said Anders Krog seriously.
Mary said no more. She bade them good-night, and offered him her
forehead to kiss.
A few days later Mary went to Alice's house at an early hour. Anders
Krog had seen some old Chinese porcelain which he thought of buying;
but Alice's advice was indispensable. At this time of day and in the
studio Mary could be certain of finding her alone--at least alone with
her model.
She went straight in without speaking to the porter. Alice opened the
door herself. She had on her studio-dress and her hand was dirty, so
that she could not take Mary's.
"You are busy with a model," whispered Mary.
"I shall be presently," answered Alice with a curious smile. "The model
is waiting in the next room. But come in."
When Mary passed beyond the curtain she saw the reason why the model was
waiting in the next room. In the studio sat Frans Roey. Thus early in the
day and rapt in thought! He did not even notice them entering. This was
the first time Mary had seen him serious; and seriousness became the
manly figure and the strong face much better than wanton hilarity.
"Do you not see who has come?" asked Alice.
He sprang up....
The conversation that day was serious. Frans was in a dejected mood; it
was easy for Mary to divine that they had been talking about her.
They all consequently felt a little awkward at first, until Alice
turned the conversation on a topic from that morning's newspapers. Two
murders, instigated by jealousy--one of them of the most terrible
description--had horrified them all, but especially Frans. He maintained
that the idea of the marriage relation peculiar to the Romance nations
is still that of the age when the wife was the husband's property, and
when, in consequence of this, unfaithfulness was punished by death.
Christianity, he allowed, in course of time, also made the husband the
wife's property, especially in Roman Catholic countries. In these the
spouses rivalled each other in killing--the wife the husband, the
husband the wife. This assertion gave rise to an argument. Mary agreed
that neither of the contracting parties owned the other. After marriage,
as before, they were free individuals, with a right to dispose of
themselves. Love alone decided. If love ceased, because development made
of one or other a different being from what he or she was at the time of
marriage; or if one of them met another human being who took possession
of his or her soul and thoughts and changed the whole tenor of life,
then the deserted spouse must submit--neither condemn nor kill. But
Frans Roey and she disagreed when they discussed what ought to separate
husband and wife--and still more when they came to what ought to keep
them together. She was much more exacting than he. He suggested jokingly
that her theory was: Married people have full liberty to separate, but
this liberty they must not use. She declared his to be: Married people
ought as a rule to separate; if they have no real reason, they can
borrow one.
This conversation meant more to them than the words implied. It
impressed him as a new beauty in her that she was queenly. This cast a
new glory over all the rest.
The queenliness did not consist in desire to rule. It was purely
self-defence; but the loftiest. Her whole nature was concentrated in it,
luminously. "Touch me not!" said eyes, voice, bearing. There was
preparedness, undoubtedly, if need were, for the martyr's crown. She
became much greater--but also more helpless. Such as she look too high
and fall the first step they take. And great is generally their fall.
Frans gazed at her; he forgot to answer, forgot what she had said. He
seemed to hear a voice calling: "Protect her!" Chivalry entered into his
love, and issued its high behests.
Mary saw him withdraw himself from their conversation; but this did not
stop her; the subject was too absorbing. When he came back to it again
he heard her divulging her inmost thoughts, undoubtedly with no idea
that she was doing so. She told what she had thought ever since she
could think on such subjects at all. It came as naturally to her to do
so as to lift her dress where the road was dirty, or to swim when she
could no longer keep her footing.--Individuality must be preserved, must
grow, be neither curbed nor soiled. With this she began, with this she
ended. But she was all the time conscious of a curious attraction
towards Frans which led her to speak out. It was so long since they had
been together. She did not know that the person who can draw forth our
thoughts is, in the nature of things, a person who has power over us.
She only felt that she was obliged to speak--and to keep control over
herself. A sweet feeling, which she experienced for the first time.
The conversation changed into talk which became ever more intimate, and
lost itself at last in a silence of looks and long-drawn breaths. Alice
had gone to her model. They became confused when they discovered that
they were alone. They stopped talking and looked away from each other.
After short visits to one and another of the many works of art in the
studio, their attention concentrated itself on a faun without arms. It
stood laughing at them. They talked about this fragment of antique
sculpture merely that there might not be silence. Where had it been
found? To what age did it belong? It must surely have been an animal.
They spoke in subdued tones, with caressing voices, and unsteady eyes.
Nor were their feet steadier. They felt themselves lighter than before,
as if they were in higher air. And it seemed to them as if their
thoughts lay bare, and they themselves were transparent.
Presently Alice joined them again. She looked at them with eyes that
awoke both. "Have you done with marriage now?" she asked. It was about
marriage they had been talking when she left them.
Mary remembered that she had an errand, and that her carriage was
waiting. Frans Roey also remembered what he ought to be doing. They went
off together, across the court and through the outer gate, to her
carriage. But they could not strike the same tone as before, so they did
not speak.
Hat in hand, Frans opened the carriage-door. Mary got in without raising
her eyes. When, after seating herself, she turned to bow, the strongest
eyes she had ever looked into were waiting for her--full of passion and
reverence.
Two hours later Frans was with Alice again. He could not remain longer
alone with his heaven-storming hopes.
Where had he been in the interval? In town, buying a cast of Donatello's
St. Cecilia. He had been obliged to compare. But Alice of course knew,
he said, how wretchedly inferior Donatello's Cecilia was.
Alice began to be seriously alarmed. "My dear friend, you will spoil
everything for yourself. It is in your nature."
He answered proudly: "Never yet have I seriously set myself an aim which
I have not accomplished."
"I quite believe that. You can work, you can overcome difficulties, and
you can also wait."
"I can."
"But you cannot suppress yourself; you cannot allow her to come to you."