CHAPTER IV
The problem which faced Paul, when he had finished a very latebreakfast, was how he should see her soon--the lady in black.
He could not go and call like an ordinary visitor, because he did notknow her name! That was wonderful--did not even know her name, oranything about her, only that his whole being was thrilling withanxiety to see her again.
The simplest thing to do seemed to descend into the hall and look atthe Visitors' List, which he promptly did.
There were only a few people in the hotel; it was not hard, therefore,guessing at the numbers of the rooms, to arrive at the conviction that"Mme. Zalenska and suite" might be what he was searchingfor. Zalenska--she was possibly Russian after all. And what was herchristian name? That he longed to know.
As he stood staring, his fair forehead puckered into a frown ofthought, the silver-haired servant came up behind him and said, withhis respectful, dignified bearing:
"_De la part de Madame_," handing Paul a letter the while.
What could it contain?
But this was not the moment for speculation--he would read and see.
He turned his back on the servant, and walked towards the light, whilehe tore open the envelope. It had the most minute sphinx in thecorner, and the paper was un-English, and rather thin.
This was what he read:
"_Morning_.
"Paul, I am young to-day, and we must see the blue lake and the greentrees. Come to the landing towards the station, and I will call foryou in my launch. And you shall be young, too, Paul--and teach me!Give Dmitry the answer."
"The answer is, 'Yes, immediately'--tell Madame," Paul said.
And then he trod on air until he arrived at the landing she hadindicated. Soon the launch glided up, he saw her there reclining underan awning of striped green.
It was a well-arranged launch, the comfortable deck-chairs were in thebows, and the steering took place from a raised perch behind thecabin, so the two were practically alone. The lady was in grey to-day,and it suited her strangely. Her eyes gleamed at him, full ofmischief, under her large grey hat.
Paul drew his chair a little forward, turning it so that he could lookat her without restraint.
"How good of you to send for me," he said delightedly.
She smiled a radiant smile. "Was it? I am capricious, I did not thinkof the good for you, only I wanted you--to please myself. I wish to befoolish to-day, Paul, and see your eyes dance, and watch the light onyour curls."
Paul frowned; it was as if she thought him a baby.
Then the lady leant back and laughed, the sound was of golden bells.
"Yes, you are a baby!" she said, answering his thoughts. "A great,big, beautiful baby, Paul."
If Paul had been a girl he would have pouted.
She turned from him and gazed over the lake; it was lookingindescribably beautiful, with the colours of the springtime.
"Do you see the green of those beeches by the water, Paul? Look attheir tenderness, next the dark firs--and then the blue beyond--andsee, there is a copper beech, he is king of them all! I would like tobuild a chalet up in some part like that, and come there each year inMay--to read fairy-tales."
For the first time in his life Paul saw with different eyes--just thebeauty of things--and forgot to gauge their sporting possibilities. Aninfinite joy was flooding his being, some sensation he had not dreamedabout even, of happiness and fulfilment.
She appeared to him more alluring than ever, and young and gay--asyoung as Isabella! And then his thoughts caused him to take in hisbreath with a hiss--Isabella--how far away she seemed. Of course hecould never love any one else--but--
"Don't think of it, then," the lady whispered. "Be young like me, andlive under the blue sky."
How was it she knew his thoughts always? He blushed while hestammered: "No--I won't think of it--or anything but you--Princess."
"Daring one!" she said, "who told you to call me that? The hotelpeople have been talking, I suppose."
"No," said Paul, surprised, "I called you Princess just because youseem like one to me--but now I guess from what you say, you are notplain Madame Zalenska."
Her eyes clouded for a second. "Madame Zalenska does to travelwith--but you shall call me what you like."
He grew emboldened.
"I suddenly feel I want so much--I want to know why your eyes were somocking through the trees on the Buergenstock? They drove me nearlymad, you know, and I raced about after you like a dog after a hare!"
"I thought you would--you did not control the expression when yougazed up at me! And so I was the true hare--and ran away!"
She looked down suddenly and was silent for some moments, then sheturned the conversation from these personal things. She led histhoughts into new channels--made him observe the trees and sky, andthe wonderful beauty of it all, and with lightning flashes took himinto unknown speculations on emotions and the meaning of things.
A new existence seemed to open to Paul's view. And all the while shelay back in her chair almost motionless, only her wonderful eyes litup the strange whiteness of her face. There was not a touch of_mauvaise honte_, or explanation of the unusualness of thissituation in her manner. It had a perfect, quiet dignity, as if tolook into the eyes of an unknown young man at night over an ivyterrace, and then spend a day with him alone, were the most naturalthings in the world to do.
Paul felt she was a queen whose actions must be left unquestioned.
Presently they came to a small village, and here she would land andlunch. And from somewhere behind the cabin Dmitry appeared, and wassent on ahead, so that when they walked into the little hotel a simplerepast was waiting for them.
By this time Paul was absolutely enthralled. Never in his whole lifehad he spent such a morning. His imagination was expanded. He saw newvistas. His brain almost whirled. Was it he--Paul Verdayne--who wasseated opposite this divine woman, drinking in her voice, andlistening to her subtle curious thoughts?
And what were the commonplace, ordinary things which had hithertooccupied his mind? How had he ever wasted a moment on them?
It was his first awakening.
When it came to the end--this delightful repast--he called the waiter,and wanted to pay the bill; small enough in all conscience. But a newlook appeared round the lady's mouth--imperious, with an instantaneousflash in her eyes--a pure, steel-grey they were to-day.
"Leave it to Dmitry," she said quickly. "I never occupy myself withmoney. They displease me, these details--and why spoil my day?"
But Paul was an Englishman, and resented any woman's paying for hisfood. His mouth changed, too, and looked obstinate.
"I say, you know--" he began.
Then she turned upon him.
"Understand at once," she said haughtily. "Either you leave meunjarred by your English conventionalities, or you pay these miserablefrancs and go back to Lucerne alone!"
Paul shrugged his shoulders. He was angry, but could not insistfurther.
When they got outside, her voice grew caressing again as she led theway to a path up among the young beeches.
"Paul--foolish one!" she said. "Do you not think I understand and knowyou--and your quaint English ways? But imagine how silly it is. I amquite aware that you have ample money to provide me with a feast ofMidas--all of gold--if necessary, and you shall some day, if youreally wish. But to stop over paltry sums of francs, to destroy thethread of our conversation and thoughts--to make it all banal andeveryday! That is what I won't have. Dmitry is there for nothing elsebut to _eviter_ for me these details. It is my holiday, mypleasure-day, my time of joy. I felt young, Paul. You would not makeone little shadow for me--would you, _ami?_"
No voice that he had ever dreamt of possessed so many tones in it ashers--even one of pathos, as she lingered over the word "shadow," Allhis annoyance melted. He only felt he would change the very mainspringof his life if necessary to give her pleasure and joy.
"Of course I would not make a shadow,--surely you know that,"
hesaid, moved. "Only you see a man generally pays for a woman's food."
"When she belongs to him--but I don't belong to you, baby Paul. You,for the day, belong to me--and are my guest!"
"Very well, then, we won't talk about it," he said, resigned by thecaress in her words. To belong to her! That was something, if but forone day.
"Only it must never come up again, this question", sheinsisted. "Should we spend more hours on this lake, or other lakes--ormountains, or rivers, or towns--let us speak never of money, orpaying. If you only knew of how I hate it! the cruel yellow gold! Ihave heaps of it--heaps of it! and for it human beings have alwayspaid so great a price. Just this once in life let it bring happinessand peace."
He wondered at the concentrated feeling she expressed. What could theprice be? And what was her history?"
"So it is over, our little breeze," she said gently, after apause. "And you will tease me no more, Paul?"
"I would never tease you!" he exclaimed tenderly. And, if he haddared, he would have taken her hand.
"You English are so wonderful! Full of your prejudices," she said in acontemplative way. "Bulldog tenacity of purpose, whether you areright or wrong. Things are a custom, and they must be done, or it isnot 'playing the game,'" and she imitated a set English voice, herbeautiful mouth pursed up, until Paul had to use violent restraintwith himself to keep from kissing it. "A wonderful people--mostlygentlemen and generally honest, but of a common sense that isdisastrous to sentiment or romance. If you were not so polished, andlazy and strong--and beautiful to look at, one would not consider youmuch beyond the German."
"Not consider us beyond a beastly German!" exclaimed Paulindignantly.
And the lady laughed like a child.
"Oh! you darling Paul!" she said. "You dear, insular, arrogantEnglishman! You have no equal in the world!"
Paul was offended.
"If you had said an Austrian now--but a German--" he growled sulkily.
"The Austrians are charming," allowed the lady, "but they err theother way; they have not enough common sense, they are only greatgentlemen. Also, they are naturally awake, whereas you English arenaturally asleep, and you yourself are the Sleeping Beauty, Paul."
They had climbed up the path now some two hundred feet, and all aroundthem were stripling beeches of an unnaturally exquisite green, asfresh and pure and light almost as leaves of the forced lily of thevalley.
The whole world throbbed with youth and freshness, and here and there,wide of the path, by a mossy stone, a gentian raised its azure head,"small essences of sky;" the lady called them.
"Let us sit down on this piece of rock," Paul said. "I want to hearwhy I am the Sleeping Beauty. It is so long since I read the story.But wasn't it about a girl, not a man--and didn't she get wakened upby a--kiss?"
"She did!" said the lady, leaning back against a tree behind her; "butthen it was just her faculties which were asleep, not her soul. Coulda kiss wake a soul?"
"I think so," Paul whispered. He was seated on a part of the rockwhich jutted out a little lower than her resting-place, and he was soclose as to be almost touching her. He could look up under the brim ofthat tantalising hat, which so often hid her from his view as theywalked. He was quivering with excitement at this moment, the result ofthe thought of a kiss--and his blue eyes blazed with desire as theydevoured her face.
"Yes--it is so," said the lady, a low note in her voice. "BecauseHuldebrand gave Undine a soul with a kiss."
"Tell me about it," implored Paul. "I am so ignorant. Who wasHuldebrand, and what did he do?"
So she began in a dreamy voice, and you who have read De la MotteFouque's dry version of this exquisite legend would hardly haverecognised the poetry and pathos and tender sentiment she wove roundthose two, and the varied moods of Undine, and the passion of herknight. And when she came to the evening of their wedding, when theyoung priest had placed their hands together, and listened to theirvows--when Undine had found her soul at last, in Huldebrand'sarms--her voice faltered, and she stopped and looked down.
"And then?" said Paul, and his breath came rather fast. "And then?"
"He was a man, you see, Paul; so when he had won her love, he did notvalue it--he threw it away."
"Oh, no! I don't believe it!" Paul exclaimed vehemently. "It was justthis brute Huldebrand. But you don't know men--to think they do notvalue what they win--you don't know them, indeed!"
She looked down straight into his face, as he gazed up at her, and tohis intense surprise he could have sworn her eyes were green now! asgreen as emeralds. And they held him and fascinated him and paralysedhim, like those of a snake.
"I do not know men?" she said softly. "You think not, Paul?"
But Paul could hardly speak, he buried his face in her lap, like achild, and kept it there, kissing her gloved hands. His straw hat,with its Zingari ribbon, lay on the grass beside him, and a tiny shaftof sunlight glanced through the trees, gilding the crisp waves of hisbrushed-back hair into dark burnished gold.
The lady moved one hand from his impassioned caress, and touched thecurl with her finger-tips. She smiled with the tenderness a mothermight have done.
"There--there!" she said. "Not yet." Then she drew her hand away fromhim and leant back, half closing her eyes.
Paul sat up and stared around. Each moment of the day was providingnew emotions for him. Surely this was what Columbus must have felt,nearing the new world. He pulled himself together. She was not angrythen at his outburst, and his caress--though something in her facewarned him not to err again.
"Tell me the rest," he said pleadingly. "Why did he not value Undine'slove, and what made the fool throw it away?"
"Because he possessed it, you see," said the lady. "That was reasonenough, surely."
Then she told him of the ceasing of Undine's wayward moods after shehad received her soul--of her docility--of her tenderness--ofHuldebrand's certainty of her love. Then of his inevitableweariness. And at last of the Court, and the meeting again withHildegarde, and of all the sorrow that followed, until the end, whenthe fountains burst their stoppings and rushed upwards, wreathingthemselves into the figure of Undine, to take her Love to death withher kiss.
"Oh! he was wise!" Paul said. "He chose to die with her kiss. He knewat last then--what he had thrown away."
"That one learns often, Paul, when it has grown--too late! Come, letus live in the sunshine. Live while we may."
And the lady rose, and giving him her hand, she almost ran into thebright light of day, where even no tender shadows fell.