Until we rose and separated I succeeded in hiding my sorrow beneath a
smile, but when at length I had shaken hands with my companions at the
corner of the Rue de la Paix, and to my relief found myself once more
alone walking across the Place Vendome, with the black column standing
out before me in the bright moonlight, my outburst of grief became
uncontrollable. My heart, lancinated by the careless words of my
companions, had been burdened by a bitterness rendered the more poignant
because I had been compelled to laugh with them. Now that I had proof
that Ella was not what she had represented herself to be--an
affectionate, unassuming woman of my own station--I felt crushed,
bewildered and disconsolate, for with the knowledge of our difference of
birth the iron had entered my soul.
The manner in which she had posed as daughter of the pleasant-faced
widow of Robert Laing, and her calm, dignified bearing as my wife, had
been a most perfect piece of acting. Never for one moment had I
suspected her to be anything else than what she represented herself to
be--plain Ella Laing, the only daughter of the deceased shipowner; yet
she was actually a daughter of the Romanoffs, the most powerful and
wealthy house in Europe. As I strolled slowly along the Rue Castiglione
towards the hotel, I asked myself whether she had ever really loved me.
At first I doubted her, because of the difference of our stations.
Presently, however, when I recollected the perfect bliss of our
honeymoon, when I remembered how childishly happy we had been together
through those brief autumn days, in the sleepy old towns and villages of
the Indre, content in each other's joys, I could not longer declare
within myself that hers had been mere theatrical emotion. Yes, she had
loved me then, this high-born woman, over whose beauty half Paris raved,
and I, in my ignorance, had fondly imagined our love would last always.
The experiment of the masquerade had amused her at first, perhaps, but
soon, alas! she had grown tired of life in a ten-roomed house in a quiet
road in Kensington, and with a brief, cruel farewell had returned to her
jewel-case the ring I had placed upon her slim finger, and left me with
ruthless disregard for all the love I had bestowed upon her. Yet after
all, was it really surprising that she, the daughter of an Imperial
House, should become weary of the humdrum life she had been compelled to
lead with one whose private income, outside his salary, was a paltry
nine hundred a year?
While we lived together, she had apparently exercised the greatest
caution not to show herself possessed of money, for she always did her
shopping in Kensington High Street, with due regard to economy, as
became the wife of a man of limited means. Never once had she grumbled
or sighed because she could not purchase higher-priced hats or dresses,
but, always content, she had, I remembered, been proud to exhibit to me
those odds-and-ends picked up in drapers' shops, so dear to the feminine
heart, and known as bargains. When I had regretted my small income, as
I had done more than once, she had fondly kissed me, declaring herself
perfectly willing to wait until I had obtained a diplomatic and more
lucrative appointment. "You have an excellent friend in the Earl," she
would say, smiling sweetly. "He is certain to give you a post before
long. Be patient."