Scherer's manservant opened the door to Diana. His feelings were a
mixture of expectancy and misgiving. For the first time these eight
years past his master had invited a strange lady to visit him alone.
His orders had been brief: Dinner for two, in the room giving on the
garden; a lady is coming.
"A lady? Alone? He usually gives a name. Or he says a gentleman is
coming."
Now, as he took her cloak and contemplated her reflection in the
mirror, he thought:
"No, she's not from the theatre!"
He looked relieved, for he had read that the temptations likely to
assail a millionaire invariably hail from the theatre.
Diana was wearing a summer dress of simple cut, pale mauve silk, full
in the skirt, gathered rather high under the breast, and pinned at
the throat with a huge green scarab. She had bought it yesterday
with all that remained of her little capital, for she had not wished
to appear in a low-cut gown. This evening every vestige of coquetry
was to be eschewed. The woman in her may also have been influenced
by the fact that Scherer had already seen her in the evening frock at
the opera.
Traditional customs of remote ancestors must have been at work within
her as, like a duchess, she paused on the threshold of the room
waiting for her host to advance and kiss her hand in welcome. He did
not fail to notice the gesture. Indeed, not one of her actions this
evening escaped his observation. Though as a rule he was reserved
where the fair sex was concerned, he allowed his knowledge of human
nature free rein in respect of this strange woman, and accepted as
natural what in truth was natural enough.
Yesterday he had handed in his invitation to the porter at her hotel,
while she, at the very same moment, following the rule of his firm,
was eating her lunch at the office. Paula Linke had not betrayed by
one syllable that she knew anything of the matter in hand; but Diana
de Wassilko had written a few words accepting the invitation. Both
Scherer and Diana knew that the lady who signed this note with her
true name, the guest he was to entertain tonight, was in a sense to
be considered a different woman from the girl who worked in the
publishing firm.
She advanced slowly into the room, apologizing for being a little
late. They passed into the library. She looked round her for a
while, then, as was customary with her, she walked swiftly over to
the window. A walnut tree stood outside, its branches illuminated by
the lights from within. Scherer stayed where he was, following her
movements.
"Her hips are narrow, like a boy's. I wonder if she could ever bear
children," he mused.
"That's a fine tree," said Diana. "It smells of resin already, and
yet we are only at the beginning of June. Perhaps it's been trimmed
recently?"
She spoke softly as if communing with herself. Was she tired?
"Yes, I had to have it trimmed on one side," he answered. "It was
hampering the growth of its neighbour."
She turned round, and faced towards the room, her hands resting on
the window sill behind.
"Was it difficult to protect it when the house was being built? It
is very near the wall."
"Fairly difficult. We had to place a kind of cage round each limb
and root so that the men might not damage them."
"Yes, yes, especially when digging the foundations."
"How practical she is," thought Scherer, who was always delighted
when any one showed an interest in his house. "Why is it that in all
these eight years not one of my women acquaintances (nor for that
matter any of my men friends) has thought of asking such a simple
question?"
"You had it built for you? A beautiful room, and, if I may say so,
conceived in a patrician spirit."
"That was the spirit which underlay my wishes when it was designed."
"You have some fine books on the shelves."
"How can you tell from such a distance?"
"Their arrangement is dignified, they are well bound, and, from the
backs, I can see that you have some rare editions. I gather from my
survey that there are not many novels among your books."
"Don't you like novels?"
"Life is more interesting. But I am very fond of some novels."
"I'll wager that Balzac is one of your favourites!"
"How do you know?"
"Well, I have learned something about you, anyway."
She laughed, and took the proffered chair.
"Yes, my name!"
"Polish?"
"Ruthenian, and therefore anti-Polish. But my family does actually
come from Poland."
"Were you born in Poland?" He smiled as he added: "Since you are so
kind as to be communicative."
"No, I was born in Macedonia, near the Albanian frontier. Have you a
map?"
"When you were describing the district to me recently you never let
on that you were born there," he said dryly.
His tone put Diana on the alert. Her combative nature was aroused,
as if she suspected a subtle attack. Raising her eyebrows, she
replied:
"I was not asked about myself, Herr Scherer."
"Proud! Easily piqued," thought he. Then, aloud:
"You did not encourage personal questions. Forgive me if I have
offended you. These past three weeks I have made every effort to
avoid doing or saying anything that might annoy you. Surely you will
not be angry with me for one indiscreet remark?"
The spontaneity of his words, and the frank way in which he stretched
out his hand in reconciliation, were enough to make her recover her
composure. That he did not kiss her hand was further to his credit;
and when he drew her arm through his and escorted her into the
dining-room she felt quite herself again.
The doors leading to the garden had been set wide, and the soft
evening air pervaded the room. A little breeze played in the
corners, and sported with the tablecloth, then it fell asleep for a
while. Two or three large moths circled round the electric lamps
which cast an amber light through their shades.
The wide table put a good distance between Scherer and his guest.
Diana for a time sat silently watching the drunken antics of the
moths, whose yearning for immolation seemed to be hindered by some
higher power. Vaguely daring thoughts came to her.
Her host followed the direction of her gaze. He half guessed what
was in her mind, and yet did not venture to intrude upon her
meditations. He ate in silence. At last he tried to rouse her by
asking:
"Are you worrying about those moths? They can't come to any harm."
"Oh, I know, the lights are enclosed."
Her voice came as it seemed to him from very far away, and he
realized that she was thoroughly enjoying her own train of thought.
He let a few minutes elapse, and then said very quietly:
"They are adventurers trying to reach an unsuitable goal!"
She looked up, and, after a momentary hesitation, said in a tone of
voice that contrasted strangely with her previous tone, having as it
were a tinge of mockery in it:
"Maybe they are nothing but unfortunate petites femmes seeking for
excitement without running any risks!"
"Do you dislike women?"
"How can I--am I not myself a woman? I loved my mother. All the
same, I have never had a woman friend."
"How do you account for that?"
Diana took the long-stemmed green glass which the manservant had
filled for the fish course, tasted the wine, and then said:
"Wonderful! Bittersweet! It must be Deidesheimer. I know a cousin
of that vintage."
"But it is robbing me of your answer."
"Not at all. Women seem to me to have much the same qualities as
wines." Her speech had become livelier, and she spoke with the
assurance of a young man. "Most of them are too sweet; some are too
crude. The finest wines, Burgundies, I have only found among men."
"What about me?" Scherer was unusually vivacious, his mood almost
merry. "What am I? When you are overhauling your cellar what label
would you stick on to Scherer?"
Her lips opened, she raised her eyes, shook her head ever so lightly,
and looked at him with youthful roguishness as she replied:
"Herr Scherer? Let me see ... perhaps Deidesheimer Kirchenstuck '93!"
They both laughed at the sally. The servant thought: "She is
dangerous after all," as he reluctantly filled her glass.
By now the serious mood in which they had sat down to their meal had
worn off. They conversed cheerfully about vintages, about travelling
through Burgundy, Upper Hungary, Sicily. When at last they rose and
made for the terrace, Diana laughingly observed:
"Is there anything better than wine in the world?"
"One thing."
She was dreadfully afraid he was going to say love and thereby spoil
everything, and she was duly grateful when he added:
"Music."
Of a sudden she became acutely aware of the loneliness that
surrounded this man. The vision of a grand piano drawn up near a
window, which she had seen in passing, made her realize how he sought
to relieve the solitude of his evenings.
"How boundless must be his dreams," thought Diana.
They sat under the lamp which diffused a gracious light over the
terrace. She held her tiny coffee cup poised in mid-air, her whole
figure standing out in relief against the trellis work. He was
reminded of an English engraving, and told her so.
"I've lived over there," she said composedly. "My grandmother was an
Englishwoman. Do you like England?"
"I have mixed feelings towards that country, feelings which vacillate
between respect and mistrust. No, I can't say I am fond of it. I
cannot help seeing in it the future enemy."
"In Europe?"
"I hope only in the East." He enlarged upon the theme of
Anglo-German interests. "When you consider Aden, Bagdad,
Gibraltar---- Karl, just bring the globe over here--"
The man set it down on the low table between them, and Scherer
pointed to the places he had named, spinning the captive globe round
for his guest to see, while he continued to expatiate upon his
subject. Suddenly, noticing she had ceased to reply, he exclaimed:
"Are you listening?"
"I'm so sorry, do forgive me," said Diana. "The globe set my
thoughts wandering. I cannot see it turning on its axis without
getting excited. Think of it! A ball, hanging obliquely between two
needles, and yet neither more nor less than the stage upon which we
are destined to play our part." She looked up at him inquiringly:
"Have you ever felt like that?"
He did not answer.
This beautiful, young, mysterious woman, who could become enraptured
with the gyrating of a globe, who could see therein something which
touched responsive springs in her own adventurous nature, this woman
who had been true to herself through all the tests he had put her to
and who had thus confirmed him in his estimate of her capabilities,
all these things and, in addition, the vague promptings of an inner
urge, combined to break down the barriers of Scherer's habitual
reserve.
"Would you allow me, Fräulein Wassilko," he began very calmly. But
he broke off, and continued to speak words which surprised even
himself: "Will you let me call you just once by your beautiful name?"
She looked at him kindly, though with some astonishment. The mere
fact of her leniency gave him back his poise, and he resumed in
matter of fact tones:
"Listen, I have a proposal to make. Will you go down there, to the
centre of my interests, where our railway is being built? Will you
act as my eyes, discover if our relations to that power are on a firm
foundation? Above all, will you find out if the ambassador is really
as well posted in local affairs as his abilities would lead me to
suppose? This is an important mission I am proposing to entrust you
with. Take time to think the matter over before you either accept it
or turn it down. The whole question of our railway construction, the
policy of the paper, everything turns upon how you will interpret
things down there. Maybe we shall be strong enough, instead of
having to bow to the sceptical policy of the central administration,
to work along the lines indicated by the ambassador. What this will
mean in a European crisis... Well, think it over; don't hurry with
your answer, but let me have it as soon as you possibly can."
"I can answer now," rejoined Diana promptly.
She had followed his appeal sentence by sentence as he hammered out
his wishes with almost melodramatic earnestness. Her expression was
imperious rather than submissive, and yet it was friendly. While he
was speaking, she sat bolt upright, her two hands grasping the round
arms of the basket chair.
"I can give you your answer at once. I have been watching you day by
day gradually making up your mind to this request. Well, yes, I
should like to take the job on, and I shall do my best, if you, or
your side, will leave me free to follow my own bent in matters of
detail."
Scherer rose to his feet, and strode towards her. But she stopped
him with a gesture, saying:
"I am afraid you will be disappointed in the end. Your fancy has
magnified my capacities!"
He did not offer to shake hands on the bargain, but protested:
"You will not disappoint me--Diana!"
He pronounced her name very deliberately, once only. It was as if
some enthusiast had picked the unique flower of a Victoria regia on
the night of its blossoming.
There was a long silence. He went back to his arm-chair and flung
himself into it, drawing his pencil from his pocket as if he had
notes to jot down. When at last he spoke, his tone was businesslike,
much as if he were in his office.
"Here is what I suggest. You leave on the fifteenth of this month, a
week from now, that is to say. I'll give you a cheque for twenty
thousand marks, out of which you are to pay yourself a salary of
three thousand marks a month. You are to charge your expenses extra.
I'll give you introductions. You are to write your reports yourself,
to me personally, but only when you consider it necessary. Every one
will say you are travelling in my interests, but you are not to admit
the fact under any circumstances. Give me your word--good--and
promise me likewise that you will give no information to any one
else. That's right! We'll draw up our contract together; I don't
want my secretary to have a suspicion of this undertaking of ours.
Agreed?"
"All right," she cried with alacrity as she jumped up and assumed a
military attitude of attention.
He smiled as he accompanied her to the hall. On reaching the music
room she suddenly stopped.
"What had I better say I am doing down there--officially?"
"Oh, studying--museums--anything you like."
"Excavations! That's the thing. Archæological studies. My father
discovered some Phœnician glassware in the neighbourhood."
He noticed that her movements were slower, that her thoughts were
elsewhere. At the house door he bade her farewell, and at last bent
over her hand and kissed it.
"Good-bye," she murmured in a far-away voice as she got wearily into
the carriage.
"She's not been successful after all," thought the manservant as he
closed the door on her.
"She is thoroughly natural and yet a mystery," thought Scherer on his
way back to his rooms.
He looked at the objects around him, things she had touched or had
spoken about. On reaching the window he sniffed the resinous scent
of the walnut tree. The moths were still fluttering round the lamps,
the globe was on the little table. Her answers came back to him as
he mused.
He had quite forgotten that he had entrusted a very unusual and
delicate piece of business to a stranger. Everywhere he felt and saw
the woman.
When undressing he thought of her boylike figure, and after getting
into bed and switching off the light, he said to himself:
"Yes. With such a woman one might be tempted to risk the experiment."
Diana felt tired as she entered her little room. Her body needed
rest and relaxation after the hours of tension. The globe had
stimulated her imagination, and when Scherer laid bare his plans it
seemed to her as if some one had flung wide all the doors of a vast
hall filled with columns. Mirrors reflected the columns again and
again, so that they appeared to be unending. Then, when he had
spoken her name, she had thought: "Can it be that this man has never
called a woman by some loving pet name?"
Her thoughts had already begun to stray while he was outlining his
conditions. She had felt very tired, had longed to be allowed to go
to sleep.