"Ah!" Linda bit her lips, and made a gesture of dismissal.
When the man had gone away with the servant to fetch the picture, Linda
laughed to herself, gayly--the joke seemed to her delicious.
Scarcely was she alone when she bent over the letters. They were
written in a flippant, haughty tone which harmonized well with the
portrait. The first dated from a Polish garrison; in all was evident
the naive selfishness of a good-hearted but uncommonly indulged man.
The letters pleased Linda very well. From time to time she glanced at
the portrait, which, in accordance with her wishes, had been brought
in.
"What a pity that I did not know him at that time," said she, and then
added, shrugging her shoulders, "at that time he would scarcely have
wished to have anything to do with me."
When Felix returned from his ride he found in the vestibule, among
other letters arrived in the morning, an old newspaper in a wrapper
addressed in very poor writing to his wife.
He looked at it, read the post-mark, Marienbad--he recognized Juanita's
writing. His heart throbbed violently. The idea of suppressing the
paper flashed through his mind; he seized it, then a kind of fury with
himself overcame him. He was weary of striving to prevent his last
great humiliation, and like one in deep water who, when the waves reach
up to his throat, weary of exertion, defiantly flings himself into the
horrible element in order to make an end of it, so he sent the paper to
his wife himself, by a servant. Then he went to his room. He seated
himself at his writing-desk, and resting his head on one hand, with the
other mechanically smoothing a newspaper which lay before him, he
waited, half with dread, half with longing, like a criminal condemned
to death, for the message which should summon him to the gallows.
Then he heard a fearful, piercing scream. "Ah!" said he, "she knows
it!" Will she come to him? There is a rustle in the corridor, the door
of the room is flung open, and Linda enters, or rather bursts in. Her
face is distorted; a lock of loosened hair hangs over her ashy pale
cheeks.
"It is a calumny, it cannot be true!" she cried, and threw the paper
which Juanita had sent her before him upon the table.
He is silent. Her vanity believes in him until the last moment; has
expected an explanation from him, but he is silent.
She grasps his shoulder. "For God's sake is it true that you were
sentenced to two years' imprisonment for forgery?"