Part 21 (2/2)
He burst open the door of Emile's sitting-room, and entered headlong.
The sun-blinds were all drawn, making everything appear pitch dark after the blinding glare of the streets.
”I want some matches, Poleski! By luck, I've got some cigarettes. One never has both matches and cigarettes at the same time.” He had come to a dead stop and stood staring.
”Fatalite! Fatalite! The G.o.ds are kind for once! If only I had known you were here sooner.”
The half-full box of cigarettes descended to the floor, and its contents went in all directions, and he was kneeling beside her chair and holding both her hands. It was Arith.e.l.li not ”Fatalite” who smiled back at him. The little mask-like face changed and grew soft till she looked more a girl, less an embodied tragedy. Vardri's wild spirits were infectious, and, as on the night of the Hippodrome fiasco, Youth called and Love made answer.
”_Mon ami_, I am so glad you have come.”
”Is this the first time you have been out? Who said you could get up?
The doctor?”
”No, it was Emile.”
Vardri nodded towards the communicating door of the bedroom. ”Poleski is here then?”
”No, and he doesn't know I'm here. He has gone to Saria and will not be back till late. I was horribly irritable this morning, so he thinks I'm all right now.” A ripple of amus.e.m.e.nt broke her voice as their eyes met.
”My sweet, you must ask me to believe some other little _histoire_.”
”Oh! but it's true. You should have heard us! I knew that it was funny afterwards, but there was no one to laugh with at the time. It was about that dreadful old coat of Emile's. He threw it on my bed, and--I can't help being a Jewess, can I? and I so loathe dust and dirt, and I said so. Emile was furious. 'Very well,' he said. 'If you are strong enough to grumble, you are strong enough to get up.' So when he had gone I dressed and came here. I was so glad to get away from that room.”
”Not as glad as I am to see you here. And I've heard you laugh, Fatalite. You're a little girl today.”
”I have moods, dear. I shall depress you sometimes.”
Vardri smiled scornfully, and slid down to the floor, his head resting against her knee. ”_Je suis bien content_! What cool hands you have, and how still you keep. No other woman in the world was ever so restful. You love to be quiet, don't you? I know you better to-day than I ever did. You were always in the wrong atmosphere at the Hippodrome.”
”And I have to go back to it,” the girl said under her breath. ”And I may be hissed again. You will not be there now, and we shall miss you.
I and Don Juan and Cavaliero, and El Rey, and Don Quixote. Some of the grooms are horrible, and the animals get so badly treated.”
”It seems to me that everything gets badly treated here,” Vardri muttered. ”Women and horses, it's all the same. Don't let us talk about it. It drives me mad to think, I shan't be able to be near you.
I was some use to you there.”
He jumped up and began to move about the room collecting the scattered cigarettes.
”Shall I play to you, _mon ange_? I suppose the piano hasn't been tuned yet.” He struck a few notes, and made a rueful grimace. ”It's worse than ever.”
”I'm afraid it never will be tuned now that I've been ill and caused so much expense. Emile always says he will go without cigarettes to afford it, and I say I will go without powder, but neither of us keep our heroic resolutions, and the piano gets worse and worse.”
Vardri shut down the lid with a bang.
”Well, anyway it doesn't matter,” he said, ”I don't want to play or do anything; I just want to be with you.”
”Bring up a chair, and sit and smoke, _mon camarade_.” She held out her hand with a gesture of invitation, and Vardri took it and kissed it, and went back to his former position at her feet.
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