Part 8 (2/2)
A woman who, curled up like a black lizard, had been slumbering in the opposite corner suddenly started up and cast an angry look at the unwelcome disturber of her solitude.
However, the blonde young man in plain Sunday clothing, with a portfolio under his arm and a worn-out travelling satchel with old-fas.h.i.+oned embroidery in his hand, seemed to strike her as nothing remarkable. She replied to his courteous greeting and awkward excuse with a haughty, scarcely perceptible inclination of her head; drew her wrap's black silk hood once more over her forehead, and prepared to continue her interrupted slumber as unconcernedly as if, instead of a new fellow-traveller, merely one more piece of luggage had been put in the compartment.
The young man, feeling that he was regarded as an intruder, took good care not to remind her of his presence by any unnecessary noise; indeed, for the first five minutes, although he had been running violently, he held his breath as long as he could, and remained steadily in the uncomfortable position which he had at first a.s.sumed.
He merely took off his hat, and wiped the perspiration from his brow with a handkerchief, looking discreetly out of the window the while, as if he could only atone for his appearance in a higher sphere by the most modest behavior. But since the sleeper did not stir, and the pa.s.sing landscape outside had no charm for him, he finally ventured to turn his eyes toward the interior of the _coupe_; and, after having sufficiently admired the broad, red plush cus.h.i.+ons and the mirror on the wall, he even dared to look more closely at the stranger, slowly and cautiously surveying her from the tip of the tiny shoe peeping from beneath her gown, to her shoulders, and at length to the fine lines of the face turned towards him.
Undoubtedly a very high-born dame--that was instantly clear to him--and, furthermore, a Russian, Pole, or Spaniard. Everything she had on and about her bore the stamp of an aristocratic origin;--her gown; the fine red travelling satchel against which she placed her tiny feet so regardlessly; the elegant tan gloves whereon she was resting her cheek. Moreover, a peculiar fragrance, not of any aromatic essence, but of Russia leather and cigarettes, surrounded her, and on the carpet of the _coupe_ there actually lay several white half-smoked stumps, scattered about with their ashes and some Russian tobacco. A book had also fallen on the floor. Unable to content himself with letting it lie there, he picked it up carefully and saw that it was a French novel.
All this filled him with that secretly pleasing horror apt to seize young men who have been brought up in provincial circles, when they are unexpectedly brought into contact with a woman of the fas.h.i.+onable world. To the natural power of woman over man is then added the romantic charm which the unknown and independent customs, the imagined pa.s.sionate joys and sorrows of the upper cla.s.ses, exercise over a fledgeling of the lower. The gulf yawning between the two cla.s.ses merely increases this attraction; for, the opportunity sometime offering, the man probably feels a visionary, foolhardly desire to show his strength and cross the seemingly impa.s.sable abyss.
To be sure, the young traveller did not contemplate any such adventurous boldness. But when he was sufficiently convinced that the sleep of his strange neighbor was unfeigned, he quietly drew from his vest pocket a small book bound in gray linen, and furtively began to sketch the sleeper's fine and pale, though somewhat haughty, profile.
It was no light undertaking, although the rapid motion of the express helped him over several difficulties. He was obliged to keep himself half-poised on the seat and make each stroke with unerring certainty.
But the head was well worth the trouble; and as, peering through the dim light, he studied the quiet face lightly framed by the folds of the hood, he said to himself that he had never seen such cla.s.sic features on any living being. She seemed somewhat past her first youth, and the mouth with its delicate lips occasionally a.s.sumed, even in sleep, a peculiar expression of bitterness or disgust; but the brow, the shape of the eyes, and the rich ma.s.ses of soft, wavy hair were still remarkably beautiful.
He had drawn zealously for about ten minutes and had almost finished the sketch, when the sleeper roused herself calmly, and demanded in the best of German:
”Do you know, sir, that it is not allowable to rob travellers in their sleep?”
The poor offender, greatly confused, let the book sink upon his knee, and said, blus.h.i.+ng furiously: ”Pardon me, my lady, I did not think--I believed--it is merely a very hasty sketch--merely for remembrance.”
”Who gave you the right to remember me, and to a.s.sist your memory so obviously?” replied the woman, measuring him somewhat coldly and scornfully with her keen blue eyes.
She gradually raised herself to an upright position; and as the hood fell upon her shoulders, he saw the fine contour of her head, and in spite of his embarra.s.sment, continued to study her with an artist's eye.
”In truth, I must confess that I have behaved like a veritable highwayman,” he replied, trying to turn the matter into a jest; ”but perhaps you will allow mercy to precede justice, when I return my booty, not with intent to propitiate justice, but to show you how little it is that I have appropriated.”
He offered her the open sketch-book. She cast a hasty glance at her picture; then nodded kindly, though with a quick gesture of rejection.
”It is like,” she said, ”but idealized. You are a portrait painter, sir?”
”No, my lady; in that case I could have made the sketch really characteristic. I paint architectural pictures mainly. But just because my eyes are sharpened for beautiful proportions and graceful lines, and as they are not found in a human face every day--”
At a loss for a conclusion, he stared at the tip of his boot, attempted to smile, and blushed again.
Without noticing this, the stranger said, ”Doubtless you have some of your sketches and paintings in that portfolio there. May I see them?”
”Certainly.” He handed her the portfolio, and spread the contents sheet by sheet before her. They were mere aquarelles, representing in a versatile manner and with thoroughly artistic conception old buildings, Gothic turrets, and streets of gabled houses. The stranger allowed one after the other to pa.s.s, without addressing any questions to the artist. But she studied many pages for a long time, and returned them with a certain hesitation.
”The things are not perfectly finished yet,” said he, excusing this and that hasty study, ”but they all belong to the same cycle. I availed myself of Easter day to talk them over with an art-dealer in Nuremberg.
I wish to publish all these sketches in chromo-lithographic work. To be sure, I have many predecessors, but Rothenburg is not even yet as well known as it deserves to be.”
”Rothenburg?”
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