The Lloyd steamer made its way into the harbour of Piræus twelve
hours overdue. Scherer, who had left Berlin on the twenty-third, had
thought to arrive in Athens on the last day of February. Now, as he
put his foot on land this morning of March 1st, he asked himself
whether the omen was a favourable one or otherwise. He had
unwillingly to admit that he was superstitious, and would have done
much to rid himself of this "sign of weakness," as he named it. In
this he was successful for the most part, but the superstitious mood
always reappeared when he had something important on hand.
And this day seemed to him an important one. Scherer's serious and
thoroughgoing methods of negotiation, his ways of thinking and of
feeling, had now depended upon the reports of this woman for
something like nine months, a woman he had had under personal
observation for no more than a couple of weeks and with whom he had
talked intimately for one evening only. Her quick perceptions and
her practical good sense had amazed him at the outset, and it was not
until he had received proof of her capacity that the fact of her
beauty began to penetrate his mind and senses. Just as his intellect
built up the separate elements of the world of things, gradually,
into a synthetic whole, so had he pieced together, bit by bit, the
atoms which went into the composition of this strange young woman.
On the evening when they had dined together, he had for the first
time got a more or less coherent picture, but even then the splendid
unity of form and content baffled him.
How could all this be encompassed within the framework of one woman,
he had asked himself. The unusual tension of his nerves had informed
him that it was, indeed, the woman in her which stirred him. When he
sent her to see after his interests in the Near East, he hardly
realized how much he had been influenced by the fear lest her
presence near him might distract him from the work he had in hand.
He wanted to have her at a distance; and yet, when she had gone, he
found he missed her sorely.
The purely business nature of their correspondence (for never a word
of personal news slipped into their letters from either side) removed
her to an objective distance. But when rumour coupled her name with
the count's, when gossip became rife in political circles, a feeling
of envy began to stir in Scherer's heart. For just as Scherer was
many other things besides being a clever thinker, and Count
Münsterberg many things besides being a Don Juan, yet this
fundamental contrast between the two men was bound in the end to lead
to friction. They realized the possibility themselves. There was,
indeed, a conflict in Scherer's mind. The more his own
representative, by her intimacy with the representative of the
country, was able to turn this friendship to Scherer's account, the
more uneasy did he become; and yet the count's passion was welcome as
the confirmation of Scherer's personal impression of the young woman.
The news of the tragedy had first reached the circles in which he
moved with Linnartz's gloss on it, a gloss not only expressing the
baron's personal pique, but likewise subservient to the design of
advancing the writer in his career. To most people, therefore, the
fatal shot was the symbol of time's revenges against a man of
adventurous temperament; and no one thought that the countess's
honour might be tarnished by such an interpretation, for every one
considered her blameless. Meanwhile, those in the know had learned
the true motives that lay at the back of the affair. A week after
the first tidings had come to hand, the second version was all the
rage, and was the more readily believed because of its piquant
implications. Scherer had guessed the truth almost at once, and had
pierced to the heart of Baron Linnartz's intrigue. It speedily
became obvious that Linnartz was going to fight tooth and nail
against Münsterberg's last wishes in the matter of a successor to the
ambassadorial post. Scherer set about countering Linnartz's
activities. Diana had not interrupted her correspondence with her
employer. On the contrary, she furnished him with such a wealth of
detail that he was able to confute page after page of Linnartz's
first report to the foreign secretary.
Although as business man and as observer Scherer had felt the count's
death keenly, yet at the same time this removal of a rival had made
him easier in his mind, especially at first. As he paced up and down
his library that night, he could not help exclaiming: "She is free!"
Next day came her wire: "Compelled to leave. Wassilko." Nothing
more. No reason given for her sudden departure, no mention of where
she was going. The major had coded the message himself, so that it
need not go through the office; and it was unlikely that its contents
caused any curiosity at the capital seeing that every one's interests
were otherwise engaged. So Scherer waited. He was confident of
hearing from her as soon as she was in a position to communicate with
him anew. As for seeing Diana in Berlin, he knew this was unlikely,
for she would have to avoid the metropolis for a time. When, a week
later, he received her first dispatch, it came from Athens. He
thereupon made up his mind to leave town and seek her out.
He was fond of Athens from of old. As a young man he had been
attracted to that place in preference to Rome, for he had been
trained in the humanities and he loved to come into close contact
with the relics of the most orderly and magnificent of civilizations.
Again, fairly recently, on the return voyage from Ceylon, he had
renewed his earlier impressions, and come nearer perhaps to
understanding the secrets of Athens' attraction. But he was not the
man to yield to a romantic lure, and to crown these early weeks of
spring by an intrigue with a lovely woman. He had come here with a
definite purpose, for he had resolved to ask Diana to marry him. His
chances, he surmised, would be all the better if he tried his luck
soon, while she was still stunned by her recent adventure, and when
the security of a comfortable home such as he had to offer would make
a specially strong appeal.
He sent his luggage on to the hotel where he had ordered a room.
Ignoring even the light railway linking harbour to town, he set forth
on foot for Diana's quarters. It was now ten o'clock; the morning
was bright, and so warm that every one was sporting summer attire.
He was informed that the lady had gone out early. Scherer took a
seat on the terrace, turning his back on the sea he had been gazing
at so many days, and facing the Acropolis. From no other point, it
would appear, could so fine a view of the temple be obtained, for the
west front lay fully exposed, and from this distance, the slight
damages in the pediment were invisible. One therefore got the
impression of a well-preserved building. Scherer knew the view of
old, and enjoyed it once again in the morning radiance which seemed
to filter through the very substance of the structure.
"I wonder how long she'll be?"
What with the dazzling light, and a certain restlessness that had
come upon him, he got up and made for the marble hall which ran round
the inner side of the terrace. Force of habit led him to the table
where journals of all sorts lay; and since he had not seen his own
newspaper since leaving Trieste he seized upon that one first. "It
must have come by a faster boat," thought he, "by way of Venice most
likely." His feelings were mixed as he scanned these familiar
columns; for in part he contemplated them with the boredom of an
expert weary of the stale tricks of journalism; and in part he was
animated by a wish to detect some flaw which would after all prove
his presence at the head of things to be indispensable.
He sat leaning back, his legs crossed. One saw light-grey trousers,
a huge newspaper hiding most of the reader's body, and a face in
profile to the entrance. It was thus Diana glimpsed him on her
return. A whole minute she stood looking at him, unnoticed,
motionless, after her first gesture of surprise. "Scherer!" At that
instant she became acutely aware that she was a woman.
Scherer put down his paper, and saw Diana, who stood smiling at him
from the doorway. He rose and went calmly up to her, while she moved
towards him, her gait timed to a nicety so that it was a trifle
slower than his.
"My word, she is beautiful," thought the man.
Diana, whom he had always before seen dressed in light colours, now
stood before him clothed entirely in black. Her tightly clinging
gown was almost too narrow in the skirt to be fashionable, and her
wide-brimmed hat was not such as were being worn at the time. A long
silver chain hung down to below the waist-line; gauntlet gloves of
grey doeskin were pulled well up the forearm. A huge bunch of Greek
violets was pinned into her bodice at the breast. Her face was
tanned as he had always seen it; but she looked slimmer, and prouder
of mien, than his memory of her had led him to expect. Though her
lips were parted in a smile, they seemed to him more reticent than
ever, and sad. She stretched out a hand in welcome:
"Good-morning. So you've come all the way to Phaleron to read your
own paper! When did you arrive? How did you get here? You look the
picture of health!"
Her voice rang out clear and steady. His voice, too, sounded like
true metal as he answered:
"You are looking well, likewise; and since, as each new day dawns,
Dame Rumour has it that tomorrow you will die, I thought I'd look you
up so as to give her and all of them the lie." They laughed.
"Are you going to stay down here?" asked she.
"No, in the town."
"Got some decent rooms?"
"I hope so. I've not seen them yet, only just landed, came here
straight from the boat."
"It's a shame to have kept you waiting! I usually go up to the hill
of the gods in the morning."
Scherer thought: "Her questions are apt. Now she knows that I have
come on her account, her use of the word 'waiting' makes the whole
thing clear."
Diana thought: "So soon? He lets me know at once that he has come
here only to see me. Probably he has a definite scheme in mind."
She proposed a walk along the sea-front, and while questioning him
about everything and anything in which they were mutually interested
(though naturally avoiding a reference to the duel and its
consequences), her eyes travelled over the coastline, the hills, and
the islands and, lest this semi-political conversation should
dissipate itself in chatter about the landscape, she drew his
attention to the works then in progress for the fortification of the
shore, and to the new hangar for the seaplanes. Scherer showed a
lively interest, and yet he was at pains to bring the talk back to
personal topics. After a while he said with a smile:
"May I express a wish that even here, though you are on furlough, you
will continue your work? ..."
She laughed, but more out of courtesy than because she was amused.
"There's twelve sounding. Shall we go in to lunch?"
As Scherer awaited her in the hall his mood underwent a change.
Diana had stirred him to the depths. She seemed so alone; as she
walked along by the blue sea, a forlorn little figure in black,
mourning for the beloved, the scent of those wonderful violets around
her, her form outlined through the folds of her tightly fitting
dress, she had, all unawares, awakened the man in Scherer. He, who
had left his artificially warmed office in the capital where the
lords of winter still held sway, had paced the deck of a little
steamship for days, his heart beating in anticipation, had hoped to
find her shaken by her recent experiences. He had, besides, for many
years voluntarily renounced all intimate friendship with women.
Diana had always appealed to him; now it was the feminine in her that
made a special impression; indeed, at this moment she affected him
more than any woman had ever done before. So greatly were his senses
stirred that he, usually so self-controlled, could not keep his
thoughts off her, but needs must allow his errant fancy to follow her
to her room and picture her as she slipped off her morning dress and
put on an afternoon gown. He even went so far as to regret his
tactfulness in taking rooms elsewhere, and wished he had put up at
her hotel. But when she came back she was in the same black dress,
and said as they passed into the dining-room together:
"I like wearing black just now, and anyway nobody knows me here...."
As luncheon was nearing an end, Scherer said:
"It is nine months since for the first and only time we sat at table
together."
"So long, already?"
"To a day. It was on the first of June."
"How is your beautiful house?"
"My house is empty."
Her hand went to her bosom with a gesture as of defence. Then, to
give herself countenance, she took the flowers from her bodice and
asked the waiter for a glass of water into which she put the drooping
violets.
"They are rather tired, poor things. But it's amazing how quickly
they revive. I buy a big bunch every morning. My room is full of
them. In no land I have ever visited have I come across such huge
violets. Nor have I ever experienced such a spring. Yes, they come
from Attica. So different from the small, modest violets of the
north. Huge blossoms which seem to open melancholy eyes as if to
express the language of passion."
She spoke very quietly, almost to herself; but her last words seemed
to him a sign, or, at least, they seemed to give him permission to
broach the subject of his thoughts.
"Are you vexed that I should have looked you up?"
"No, no; I am grateful to you for coming. I've been alone for three
weeks with only Mary to talk to. She's my old servant, who came away
with me in the little sailing boat."
"Did you have favourable winds?" This was the first he had heard of
the method of her escape.
"One day it was a bit slack, but otherwise brisk, mainly from the
north-east."
"It was good of you to think of wiring."
"I did not dare to be more explicit. The prince made himself
responsible. Oh, no, it was the major who saw after it. And it was
he who managed to smuggle me out of the port."
Scherer was glad that the major's name had come up. He seized his
opportunity to say:
"... The major loves you."
Diana looked up quickly.
"Did he tell you that?"
"Very nearly."
Diana thought: "Felix is absolutely incorrigible. What can I do to
distract Scherer's mind?"
"Do you know that you've just come in time for the carnival?" she
said aloud. "The whole town is full of music and laughter. Nearly a
week it lasts. Shall we go and have a look at it?"
They agreed to meet later at his hotel. He bade her good-bye for the
time, and went to his rooms. Here he changed, read his
correspondence, answered what was necessary. Then he stepped out on
the balcony which looked on to the gardens adjoining the royal
palace, and on to the big square. Every minute the number of
masqueraders increased; they must form at least half of all those who
are now promenading the streets, he thought. The bright colours
swamped the sober greys and blacks of everyday fashion. As soon as
he caught sight of Diana driving up, he went downstairs to meet her,
and soon they were lost in the crowd of merry-makers.
In order not to be too conspicuous, she had put on a grey dress, and
a violet-coloured veil almost covered her hat. As they reached the
corner by his hotel, they stopped, and for a moment they were
completely surrounded. Women and boys, addressing them in a medley
of languages, were pressing their wares upon them: great branches of
apple blossom, round and resplendent like buxom women; delicate pink
almond sprays, willowy and tall; huge bundles of blue hyacinths;
cascades of yellow tulips; and, conspicuous among them all, the huge
bunches of violets whose dreamlike flowers seemed to resent the
restricting string which bound them together.
"These people know me," said Diana, laughing. "I have to trundle the
whole cart load off to Phaleron most days. Today..."
Suddenly, she had an idea. She separated one lad from his comrades,
gave him a note, and told him to take the whole contents of his
handcart to the hotel and ask the porter to put them in Herr
Scherer's room. Scherer gathered from her gestures what she had in
mind, and, turning to another vender, bought a bunch of violets for
her to wear. He gave it to her, saying:
"So little, for so much."
His voice trembled slightly as he spoke. It was the first time she
had known him to be deeply moved. "He is indeed poor, this man; for
all his millions could not buy that barrow of flowers I (who tomorrow
may be penniless) have just sent to his room!"