After the formal reconciliation between the two neighbouring families,
Leo had the Uhlenfelde ferry station, which had of late fallen into
disuse, quickly repaired. The old boat, which seemed to be now hardly
watertight, was replaced by a new one, and the bathing-house, drawn up
almost on to the dyke as a precaution against the coming floods, was
converted into a shelter, so that the waiting groom and horses could
bait there, when he should perchance, deep in conversation with his
friend, have overstayed the hour of his return. And also, if he
suddenly took it into his head to slip over to Uhlenfelde, there would
be no necessity to make his movements known at the house. He would only
have to put up his horse in the shelter and take the key, till the boat
brought him back to the solitary spot, where there was no fear of
incursions from spies and eavesdroppers.
This occurred to him the day after the pastor's visit, as he took his
way over the turnip-fields to Uhlenfelde. It was not so much longing
for his friend's society that drew him constantly thither, as a
torturing uneasiness and a hungry desire to know that all was going
well there.
To-day, when he entered the courtyard, he saw Felicitas standing at one
of the castle windows, nodding and smiling at him.
"I must try, by hook or by crook, to get a private word with her," he
thought, and returned her greeting with a wave of the hand.
"The master has driven in to Muensterberg," said the groom, who appeared
from the coach-house. "It is the sessions to-day."
He muttered an oath. The confounded old priest had put out his
calculations, and he had forgotten the day of the month. And over there
Felicitas was still standing at the window smiling. To sneak away now
would be the action of a coward.
His heart beat quicker as he ascended the steps to the house. Since
that day of the meeting on the island he had never been alone with her.
She received him in the garden salon, the glass doors of which were
partially closed to keep out the autumnal chilliness. She sat with her
hands folded in her lap and did not cease smiling. This smile, in which
melancholy, irony, and forgiveness were mingled, seemed to have been
learnt by heart.
"It almost looks as if you were afraid of me, my friend," she said, as
she hesitatingly offered him her hand.
"In all my life I have never feared death or devil," he said, forcing
himself into a swaggering tone. "And certainly I have never been afraid
of you."
"But you run away from me and avoid me whenever you can. I wouldn't
mind betting that your coming to-day is a mistake. Had you remembered
that Ulrich would not be at home ...?"
"Ah!" he interposed with a click of his tongue.
"But you can be quite easy in your mind. I won't bite you. No, I don't
bite." And she showed the whole of her white set of teeth as she
laughed.
He thought, "Thank God! she isn't fretting." And a feeling of
satisfaction came back.
"You'll stay a few minutes, I hope," she said lightly. "I'll try and
make up for Ulrich."
That sounded modest and ingenuous enough. He bowed assent.
"Then let us go to my room," she said; "there we shan't be disturbed."
A slight aversion came over him at the thought of the boudoir, with its
feminine ornaments and luxury, and its heavily perfumed air which half
stifled him.
"Or perhaps you would rather stay here?" she asked, divining with quick
instinct the ground of his hesitation.
"If it's all the same to you, I would rather."
She spread out her hands--a little gesture which was meant to convey
that her only wish was to do what he wished.
There was a short silence. The late September sunshine filled the
spacious room with warm-toned hues. Autumnally lazy flies buzzed and
fell about on the window panes. No other sound disturbed the afternoon
peacefulness, which seemed almost too sabbatical, too slumbrous, for
this guilty pair.
Felicitas leaned back in a corner of the lounge, and with a sigh of
deep content said, "Thank God."
"Why do you thank God?" he asked.
"That at last I have got you for once all to myself."
"You have got something to be proud of," he said ironically.
"Now, now, Leo!" she remonstrated, smiling. "You don't believe half you
say. Sitting opposite each other like this it is quite unnecessary to
draw the filmiest veil over our souls, or to hide a corner of them from
one another. And that does one good, especially when one has had to go
through life telling so many lies. Ah! I have so longed for truth. It
is a kind of platonic affair, you see, that may be calmly permitted,
because it is quite safe to lead to no harm--and this makes me quite
happy. At least I need not try to appear better than I am to _you_....
As for you ... you sacrifice yourself for my sake, I know, by sitting
like this with me, and you have struggled against it. But you hate
me--hate me!"
"I? Hate you? Nonsense!"
"You can't deny it, my friend. Still, I can put up with it--your great,
grand hate, for I know that there is a little drop of friendship mixed
with it. We two--ah, my God!--we two really ought to be able to have
splendid times together. We have outlived our love, and that is a
delightful state of things--when one cares for a man and yet doesn't
want to love him."
She nestled herself in the cushions as if she were stretching limbs
tired from the heat and burden of the day's work, in the well-earned
repose of a cool bed.
"I might even go so far, my friend, as to say," she continued,
moistening the corners of her mouth with her tongue, "that the present
relations between you and me are the most desirable that can exist
between a man and a woman."
He laughed almost against his will. How comical she was in her
irresponsible _naivete_. Perhaps it wasn't right to take her too
seriously after all. One must listen to her patiently, as one listened
to the chatter of a child and smiled.
"I am in earnest," she went on. "Thousands who have studied human
nature have said that love is nothing but a sort of war. The woman
dislikes the man's desire, yet would dislike still more to forego it.
The man is enraged at the woman's resistance, yet can't endure her not
to resist and give herself to him without a struggle. How stupid it all
is! and how vulgar! Not till it is all over, not till nothing remains
but the memory of a few dreamy hours of bliss----"
"And repentance," he interrupted gloomily.
She gave him a horrified look. "You are cruel," she whispered, twirling
a bow of her dress round her forefinger.
"I only wish to remind you," he replied, "that all is not as it ought
to be between us."
"As if I didn't know it!" she sighed.
"You talk," he went on, "just as if we were heathens, artists, or
Bohemians. That doesn't do. We are made of different material. Our
blood may be hot too, it is true. Opportunity may turn us into thieves
before we know it, but we have always a skeleton in the cupboard in the
shape of our infernal protestant conscience----"
"Don't talk of conscience, I entreat you."
"And a certain residuum of what is called sense of duty."
"Ah! why embitter the first confidential hour we are passing together?"
she murmured faintly.
"We have no confidential hours to pass together," he answered roughly.
She folded her hands. "My God, I know it, I know all. What I said just
now was said to force my own conscience into trying to cheer you....
What good can come of filling each other's ears with lamentations?"
He was silent. How everything was reversed since that morning on the
island! She now defended the standpoint that he had then taken up,
while he let himself be swayed by consciousness of sin as she had done
then. A few minutes before he had feared nothing so much as to hear her
lament, now he himself was driving her to it.
"You are right, Lizzie," he said, "we must quietly contain ourselves,
and spare each other reproaches, for old sins can't be undone. But the
devil take us if we forget the object for which we have entered into
this new alliance."
"How, in God's name, could we forget it?" she cried, putting her hands
before her face.
He breathed a sigh of relief. Now that their mutual purity of motive
had been solemnly attested on both sides afresh, he need no longer be
so much on his guard, and might without suspicion and self-reproach
give himself up to the charm of this dreaded _tete-a-tete_.
And indeed it was not without its charm.
Here was a sympathetic echo to those thoughts which for months had
tormented him, growing harder and more frequent day by day, bound up,
as it were, with every experience, meeting, and memory, and yet
remaining unspoken, so that their weight on his overburdened heart had
been well-nigh unbearable. Out of this pair of blue swimming eyes his
own guilt looked at him confidingly, softened and cleared by the
woman's grace. No harsh judgments blared from those soft lips, and when
they whisperingly alluded to a sin which had better have remained
unmentioned, they did so with a mild self-accusation that in itself was
for him forgiveness. That was comforting--ay, it was comforting. He
leaned back in his chair with a murmur of satisfaction, and asked if he
might light a cigar.
"You know you may do anything you like," she replied, and rose to fetch
him a tray and matches.
"Are you going to wait on me?" he exclaimed, springing up.
"Yes; let me. I like it, and you know it's not the first time," she
said, with her melancholy smile.
He watched her as she glided gracefully across the room in her
pale-blue lounge-gown. The loose lace sleeves swept out from the upper
part of the rounded arms and fell in transparent little folds against
the corset, the stiff whalebone lines of which were visible through the
thin dress, shooting upwards like rays into the full contour of her
breast, where a satin bow gently vibrated. The figure, in its ripeness
and soft outlines, seemed expressive of an exquisite repose, gained
after passion had burnt low and peace had been prayed and fought for.
There was nothing of the Magdalene in it, only her sad, always veiled
eyes knew how to sing with the best effect the song of sweet sin and
bitter repentance.
She sank into her seat again, and gazed out on the park, lost in
dreams. The rapidly sinking sun flooded the room with a purple glow,
and painted arabesques of gold upon the walls.
Leo, occupied with his cigar, let his eyes, follow the rings of smoke
as they encroached on the sunlight's domain and were transformed into
clear flame-edged blue.
"You are a great deal alone now, I suppose?" he asked, by way of
setting the conversation going again.
"Nearly always," she answered.
"What do you do with yourself, all day long?"
She shrugged her shoulders.
"Are you active in the housekeeping line?"