Part 36 (1/2)

”I know that Denzil went to see you, my dear little girl. He has told me about it. And I know that you love each other. There is only one chance for us in the future--and that lies with the child. It may be that when it comes to you it may fill your life and satisfy you. This is my prayer--otherwise we must see what can be arranged about things; because I cannot allow you to be unhappy. You were an innocent factor in all this, and it would be unjust that you should be hurt.”

How good and generous John had always been.

And his letter to his lawyers! To make things smooth for her--and for Denzil--how marvellously kind!

Her mourning for John was real and deep, as it would have been for a brother. But during the month of intense anxiety about Denzil everything else was numbed, even her interest in her son.

By the end of August he was out of danger, although little hope was entertained that he would ever walk easily. But this was a minor thing--and gradually it began to be some consolation to the two women who loved him to know that he was safely wounded and would probably not be fit for active service again for a very long time.

They wrote letters to one another, but they decided not to meet.

Six months must elapse at least, they both felt--even in spite of John's commands.

Another sh.e.l.l must have fallen not far off, for his body was never found--only his field gla.s.ses, broken and battered. And there would have been no actual information about his death had not Denzil seen him die.

Harietta Boleski and Stanisla.s.s and Ferdinand Ardayre had remained in Paris, with visits to Fontainebleau.

When John had been killed, Harietta had been extremely perturbed.

”Now Stepan will be able to marry that odious bit of bread and b.u.t.ter, and he is sure to do it after the year!” This thought rankled with her and embittered everything. Nothing pleased her. She grew more than ever rebellious at the dullness she had to live in. War was an imposition which ought not to be tolerated and she often told Hans so. At last she grew to take quite an interest in her spying for lack of more agreeable things to do.

And so the months went by and November came, and a madness of jealousy was gradually augmenting in Harietta for Amaryllis Ardayre.

Verisschenzko had gone to Russia in September, and she was convinced that he loved Amaryllis and that the child was his child. She could not conceive of a spiritual devotion, and something had altered all Stepan's ways. From the moment he returned to Paris until he had left she had tried and been unable to invoke any response in him, and she had felt like a foiled tigress when another has eaten her prey.

As the impossibility of moving him forced itself upon her unwilling understanding, so the wildest pa.s.sion for him grew, and when he left in September she was quite ill for a week with chagrin; then she became moody and more than ever capricious, and made Stanisla.s.s' life a h.e.l.l, while Ferdinand Ardayre had little less misery to endure.

An incident late in November caused her jealousy to burst into flame.

She heard that Verisschenzko had returned from Russia and she went to his rooms to see him. The Russian servant who was accustomed to receive her was there waiting for his master who had not yet arrived. Without a word she pa.s.sed the old man when he opened the door, and made her way into the sitting room, and then into the bedroom beyond. She did not believe that Stepan was not there and wanted to make sure. It was empty but a light burned before an Ikon, the doors of which were closed.

Curiosity made Harietta go close and examine it. She knew the room so well and had never seen it there before. The table beneath it was arranged like an altar, and the Ikon was let in to the carved boiserie of the wall. It must have been since he had parted with her that this ridiculous thing had been done! She had not entered his _appartement_ since June. She felt angry that the shrine should be closed and that she could not look upon it, for it must certainly be something which Verisschenzko prized.

She bent nearer and shook the little doors; they resisted her, and her temper rose. Then some force seemed to propel her to commit sacrilege.

She shook and shook and tore at the golden clasp, her irritation giving strength and cunning to her hands; and at last the small bolt came undone and the doors flew open--and an exquisitely painted modern picture of the Virgin disclosed itself, holding the Christ child in her arms. But for all the saintliness in the eyes of Mary, the face was an exact portrait of Amaryllis Ardayre!

A frenzy of rage seized Harietta. Her rival reigned now indeed! This was positive proof to her, not of spiritual meaning--not of the mystic, abstract aloofness of wors.h.i.+p which lay deep in Stepan's nature and had caused him to have Amaryllis transfigured into the symbol of purity, a daily reminder that she must always be for him the lady of his soul--such things had no meaning for Harietta. The Ikon was merely a material proof that Verisschenzko loved Amaryllis--and, of course, as soon as the year of mourning should be over he would make her his wife.

She trembled with pa.s.sionate resentment. Nothing had ever moved her so forcibly. She took out her pearl hatpin and stabbed out the eyes of the Virgin, almost shaking with pa.s.sion, and scratched and obliterated the face of the Christ child. This done, she extinguished the little lamp and slammed to the doors.

She laughed savagely as she went back into the sittingroom.

”The Virgin indeed!--and _his_ child!--well, I've taught him!” and she flung past the Russian servant with a look which was a curse, so that the old man crossed himself and quickly barred the entrance door, when she stamped off down the stairs.

Arrived in her gilded salon at the Universal, she would like to have wrung some one's neck. She had never been so full of rage in her life.

She did find a little satisfaction in a kick at Fou-Chow, who fled whining to his faithful Marie who had come in to carry away her mistress'

sable cloak.

The maid's face became thunderous. A look of sullen hate gleamed in her dark eyes.