* * * * *
_Friday_--Maurice brings people to play bridge every afternoon now. Nina
has gone back to England--having decided to take Jim!
It came about in this way--She flew in to tell me the last evening
before she left for Havre. She was breathless running up the stairs, as
something had gone wrong with the lift.
"Jim and I are engaged!"
"A thousand congratulations."
"Rochester had a dinner for me on Wednesday night. All the jolliest
people in Paris--some of those dear French who have been so nice to us
all along, and some of the War Council and the Ryvens, and so on--and,
do you know, Nicholas--I _heard_ Rochester telling Madame de Clerté the
same story about his _bon mot_ when a shell broke at Avicourt--as I had
already heard him tell Admiral Short, and Daisy Ryven!--that decided
me--. There was an element of self-glorification in that modest
story--and a man who would tell it _three times_, is not for me! In ten
years I should grow into being the listener victim--I could not face it!
So I said good-bye to him in the corridor, before up to my room--and I
telephoned to Jim, who was in his room on the Cambon side, and he came
round in the morning!"
"Was Rochester upset?"
"Rather! but a man of his age--he is forty-two, who can tell a
self-story three times is going to get cured soon, so I did not worry."
"And what did Jim say?"
"He was enchanted, he said he knew it would end like that--give a man of
forty-two rope enough and he'll be certain to hang himself, he said,
and, Oh! Nicholas--Jim is a darling, he is getting quite masterful--I
adore him!"
"Senses winning, Nina! Women only like physical masters."
She grew radiant. Never has she seemed so desirable. "I don't care a fig
Nicholas! If it is senses, well, then, I know it is the best thing in
the World, and a woman of my age can't have everything. I adore Jim! We
are going to be married the first moment he can get leave again--and I
shall 'wangle' him into being a 'red tab'--he has fought enough."
"And if meanwhile he should get maimed like me--what then, Nina?"
She actually paled.
"Don't be so horrid Nicholas--Jim--Oh! I can't bear it!" and being a
strict Protestant, she crossed herself--to avert bad luck!
"We won't think of anything but joy and happiness, Nina, but it is
quite plain to me you had better have a fortnight at the sea!"
She had forgotten the allusion, and turned puzzled brown eyes upon me.
"You know--to balance yourself when you feel you are falling in love"--I
reminded her.
"Oh! It is all stuff and nonsense! I know now I adore Jim--good-bye
Nicholas"--and she hugged me--as a sister--a mother--and a family
friend--and was off down the stairs again.
Burton had brought me in a mild gin and seltzer, and it was on the tray,
near, so I drank it, and said to myself, "Here is to the Senses--jolly
good things"--and then I telephoned to Suzette to come and dine.
* * * * *
There is a mole on the left cheek of Suzette, high up near her eye,
there are three black hairs in it--I had never seen them until this
morning--_c'est fini_--_je ne puis plus_!
* * * * *
Of course we have all got moles with three black hairs in them--and the
awful moment is when suddenly they are seen--That is the tragedy of
life--disillusion.
I cannot help being horribly introspective, Maurice would agree to
whatever I said, so there is no use in talking to him--I rush to this
journal, it cannot look at me with fond watery eyes of reproach and
disapproval--as Burton would if I let myself go to him.
_May 16th_--The times have been too anxious to write, it is over two
months since I opened this book. But it cannot be, it cannot be that we
shall be beaten--Oh! God--why am I not a man again to fight! The raids
are continuous--All the fluffies and nearly everyone left Paris in the
ticklish March and April times, but now their fears are lulled a little
and many have returned, and they rush to cinemas and theatres, to kill
time, and jump into the rare taxis to go and see the places where the
raid bombs burst, or Bertha shells, and watch the houses burning and the
crushed bodies of the victims being dragged out. They sicken me, this
rotten crew--But this is not all France--great, dear, brave France--It
is only one section of useless society. To-day the Duchesse de
Courville-Hautevine came to call upon me--mounted all the stairs without
even a wheeze--(the lift gave out again this morning!)--What a
personality!--How I respect her! She has worked magnificently since the
war began, her hospital is a wonder, her only son was killed fighting
gloriously at Verdun.
"You look as melancholy as a sick cat," she told me.
She likes to speak her English--"Of what good _Jeune homme_! We are not
done yet--I have cut some of my relatives who ran away from
Paris--Imbeciles! Bertha is our diversion now, and the raids at
night--jolly loud things!"--and she chuckled, detaching her scissors
which had got caught in the purple woolen jersey she wore over her Red
Cross uniform. She is quite indifferent to coquetry, this grande dame of
the _ancien regime_!
"My _blessés_ rejoice in them--_Que voulez vous?_--War is war--and there
is no use in looking blue--Cheer up, young man!"
Then we talked of other things. She is witty and downright, and her
every thought and action is kindly. I love la Duchesse--My mother was
her dearest friend.
When she had stayed twenty minutes--she came over close to my chair.
"I knew you would be bitter at not being in the fight, my son," she
said, patting me with her once beautiful hand, now red and hardened with
work, "So I snatched the moments to come to see you. On your one leg
you'll defend if the moment should come,--but it won't! And you--you
wounded ones, spared--can keep the courage up. _Tiens!_ you can at least
pray, you have the time--I have not--_Mais le Bon Dieu_ understands--."
And with that she left me, stopping to arrange her tightly curled fringe
(she sticks to all old styles) at the lac mirror by the door. I felt
better after she had gone--yes, it is that--God--why can't I fight!