Madness! I could not really hear anything that was going on in the
basement. The birds were restless, because the night is too light to let
them sleep. The sea gleams under the silver dome of the moonlit sky.
What is that?... Ah! Miss Jeanne going towards the forest.
Her head looks like one of those beautiful red fungi that grow among the
fir-trees.
If the gardener had chosen _her_.... But Torp!
I should like to go wandering out into the woods and leave the house to
those two creatures in the basement. But if I happened to meet Jeanne,
what explanation could I give?
It would be too ridiculous for both of us to be straying about in the
forest, because Torp was entertaining a sweetheart in the basement!
Doors and windows are wide open, and they are two floors below me, and
yet I seem to smell the sour, disgusting odour of that man. Is it
hysteria?...
No. I cannot sleep, and it is four in the morning. The sunrise is a
glorious sight provided one is really in the mood to enjoy it. But at
the present moment I should prefer the blackest night....
There he goes! Sneaking away like a thief. Not once does he look back;
and yet I am sure the hateful female is standing at the door, waving to
him and kissing her hand....
But what is the matter with Jeanne? Poor girl, she has hidden behind a
tree. She does not want to be seen by him; and she is quite right, it
would be paying the boor too great an honour.
* * * * *
Merely to watch Richard eating was--or rather it became--a daily
torture. He handled his knife and fork with the utmost refinement. Yet I
would have given anything if he would have occasionally put his elbows
on the table, or bitten into an unpeeled apple, or smacked his lips....
Imagine Richard smacking his lips!
His manners at table were invariably correct.
I shall never forget the look of tender reproach he once cast upon me
when I tore open a letter with my fingers, instead of waiting until he
had passed me the paper-knife. Probably it got upon his nerves in the
same way that he got upon mine when he contemplated himself in the
looking-glass.
A spot upon the table-cloth annoyed and distracted him. He said nothing,
but all the time he eyed the mark as though it was left from a
murderer's track.
His mania for tidiness often forced me, against my nature, to a
counteracting negligence. I intentionally disarranged the bookshelves in
the library; but he would follow me five minutes afterwards and put
everything in its place again.
Yet had I really cared for him, this fussiness would have been an added
charm in my eyes.
Was Richard always faithful to me? Or, if not, did he derive any
pleasure from his lapses? Naturally enough he must have had many
temptations; and although I, as a mere woman, was hindered by a thousand
conventional reasons, he had opportunities and reasonable excuses for
taking what was offered him.
And probably he did not lose his chances; at any rate when he was away
for long together on business. But I am convinced that his infidelities
were a sort of indirect homage to his lawful wife, and that he did not
derive much satisfaction from them. I am not afraid of being compared
with other women.
After all, my good Richard may have remained absolutely true to me,
thanks to his mania for having all things in order.
I am almost sorry that I never caught him in some disgraceful
infidelity. Discovery, confession, scenes, sighs, and tears! Who knows
but what it might have been a very good thing for us? The certainty of
his unceasing attentions to me was rather tame; and he did not gain much
by it in the long run, poor man.
The only time I ever remember to have felt jealous it was not a
pleasant sensation, although I am sure there were no real grounds for
it. It was brought about by his suggestion that we should invite Edith
to go to Monaco with us. Richard went as white as a sheet when I asked
him whether my society no longer sufficed for him....
I cannot understand how any grown-up man can take a girl of seventeen
seriously. They irritate me beyond measure.
* * * * *
Malthe has come back from Vienna, they tell me. I did not know he had
been to Vienna. I thought all this time he had been at Copenhagen.
It is strange how this news has upset me. What does it matter where he
lives?
If he were ten years younger, or I ten years older, I might have adopted
him. It would not be the first time that a middle-aged woman has
replaced her lap-dog in that way. Then I should have found him a
suitable wife! I should have surrounded myself by a swarm of pretty
girls and chosen the pick of the bunch for him. What a fascinating
prospect!
* * * * *