"Horrible!" I said--"I confess, if I were you, I should not care to make
a pet of such an uncanny object. I should kill it, I think."
He kept his bright intent gaze upon me.
"Why?" he asked. "I'm afraid, my dear Geoffrey, you are not disposed to
study science. To kill the poor thing who managed to find life in the
very bosom of death, is a cruel suggestion, is it not? To me, this
unclassified insect is a valuable proof (if I needed one) of the
indestructibility of the germs of conscious existence; it has eyes, and
the senses of taste, smell, touch and hearing,--and it gained these
together with its intelligence, out of the dead flesh of a woman who
lived, and no doubt loved and sinned and suffered more than four
thousand years ago!" He broke off,--then suddenly added--"All the same
I frankly admit to you that I believe it to be an evil creature. I do
indeed! But I like it none the less for that. In fact I have rather a
fantastic notion about it myself. I am much inclined to accept the idea
of the transmigration of souls, and so I please my humour sometimes by
thinking that perhaps the princess of that Royal Egyptian house had a
wicked, brilliant, vampire soul,--and that ... _here it is_!"
A cold thrill ran through me from head to foot at these words, and as I
looked at the speaker standing opposite me in the wintry light, dark and
tall, with the 'wicked, brilliant, vampire soul' clinging to his hand,
there seemed to me to be a sudden hideousness declared in his excessive
personal beauty. I was conscious of a vague terror, but I attributed it
to the gruesome nature of the story, and, determining to combat my
sensations, I examined the weird insect more closely. As I did so, its
bright beady eyes sparkled, I thought, vindictively, and I stepped back,
vexed with myself at the foolish fear of the thing which overpowered me.
"It is certainly remarkable,"--I murmured--"No wonder you value it,--as
a curiosity. Its eyes are quite distinct, almost intelligent in fact."
"No doubt she had beautiful eyes,"--said Rimânez smiling.
"She? Whom do you mean?"
"The princess, of course!" he answered, evidently amused; "The dear dead
lady,--some of whose personality must be in this creature, seeing that
it had nothing but her body to nourish itself upon."
And here he replaced the creature in its crystal habitation with the
utmost care.
"I suppose"--I said slowly, "you, in your pursuit of science, would
infer from this that nothing actually perishes completely?"
"Exactly!" returned Rimânez emphatically. "There, my dear Tempest, is
the mischief,--or the deity,--of things. Nothing can be entirely
annihilated;--not even a thought."
I was silent, watching him while he put the glass case with its uncanny
occupant away out of sight.
"And now for luncheon," he said gaily, passing his arm through
mine--"You look twenty per cent. better than when you went out this
morning, Geoffrey, so I conclude your legal matters are disposed of
satisfactorily. And what else have you done with yourself?"
Seated at table with the dark-faced Amiel in attendance, I related my
morning's adventures, dwelling at length on my chance meeting with the
publisher who had on the previous day refused my manuscript, and who
now, I felt sure, would be only too glad to close with the offer I had
made him. Rimânez listened attentively, smiling now and then.
"Of course!" he said, when I had concluded. "There is nothing in the
least surprising in the conduct of the worthy man. In fact I think he
showed remarkable discretion and decency in not at once jumping at your
proposition,--his pleasant hypocrisy in retiring to think it over, shows
him to be a person of tact and foresight. Did you ever imagine that a
human being or a human conscience existed that could not be bought? My
good fellow, you can buy a king if you only give a long price enough;
and the Pope will sell you a specially reserved seat in his heaven if
you will only hand him the cash down while he is on earth! Nothing is
given free in this world save the air and the sunshine,--everything else
must be bought,--with blood, tears and groans occasionally,--but
oftenest with money."
I fancied that Amiel, behind his master's chair, smiled darkly at
this,--and my instinctive dislike of the fellow kept me more or less
reticent concerning my affairs till the luncheon was over. I could not
formulate to myself any substantial reason for my aversion to this
confidential servant of the prince's,--but do what I would the aversion
remained, and increased each time I saw his sullen, and as I thought,
sneering features. Yet he was perfectly respectful and deferential; I
could find no actual fault with him,--nevertheless when at last he
placed the coffee, cognac, and cigars on the table and noiselessly
withdrew, I was conscious of a great relief, and breathed more freely.
As soon as we were alone, Rimânez lit a cigar and settled himself for a
smoke, looking over at me with a personal interest and kindness which
made his handsome face more than ever attractive.
"Now let us talk,"--he said--"I believe I am at present the best friend
you have, and I certainly know the world better than you do. What do you
propose to make of your life? Or in other words how do you mean to begin
spending your money?"
I laughed. "Well, I shan't provide funds for the building of a church,
or the endowment of a hospital,"--I said--"I shall not even start a Free
Library, for these institutions, besides becoming centres for infectious
diseases, generally get presided over by a committee of local grocers
who presume to consider themselves judges of literature. My dear Prince
Rimânez, I mean to spend my money on my own pleasure, and I daresay I
shall find plenty of ways to do it."
Rimânez fanned away the smoke of his cigar with one hand, and his dark
eyes shone with a peculiarly vivid light through the pale grey floating
haze.
"With your fortune, you could make hundreds of miserable people
happy;"--he suggested.
"Thanks, I would rather be happy myself first"--I answered gaily--"I
daresay I seem to you selfish,--you are philanthropic I know; I am not."
He still regarded me steadily.
"You might help your fellow-workers in literature...."