Part 52 (1/2)
”Wonderful indeed!” she exclaimed ”Wonderful Judas! It was he who wrecked the cause. It was he who sold the lives and liberty of all of us for gold.”
”I heard a rumor of that,” Bernadine remarked, ”but I never believed it.”
”It was true,” she declared pa.s.sionately.
”And where is he now?” Bernadine asked.
”Dead!” she answered fiercely. ”Torn to pieces, we believe, one night in a house near Moscow. May it be so!”
She was silent for a moment, as though engaged in prayer. Bernadine spoke no more of these things. He talked to her kindly, keeping up always his role of respectful but hopeful admirer.
”You will come again soon?” he begged, when, at last, she insisted upon going.
She hesitated.
”It is so difficult,” she murmured. ”If my husband knew--”
Bernadine laughed, and touched her fingers caressingly.
”Need one tell him?” he whispered. ”You see, I trust you. I pray that you will come-”
Bernadine was a man rarely moved towards emotion of any sort. Yet even he was conscious of a certain sense of excitement, as he stood looking out upon the Embankment from the windows of Paul Hagon's sitting-room, a few days later. Madame was sitting on the sofa, close at hand. It was for her answer to a certain question that he waited.
”Monsieur,” she said at last, turning slowly towards him, ”it must be no. Indeed, I am sorry, for you have been very charming to me, and without you I should have been dull. But to come to your rooms and dine alone to-night, it is impossible.”
”Your husband cannot return before the morning, Bernadine reminded her.
”It makes no difference,” she answered. ”Paul is sometimes fierce and rough, but he is generous, and all his life he has wors.h.i.+ped me. He behaves strangely at times, but I know that he cares--all the time more, perhaps, than I deserve.”
”And there is no one else,” Bernadine asked softly, ”who can claim even the smallest place in your heart?”
”Monsieur,” the woman begged, ”you must not ask me that. I think that you had better go away.”
Bernadine stood quite still for several moments. It was the climax towards which he had steadfastly guided the course of this mild intrigue.
”Madame,” he declared, ”you must not send me away. You shall not.”
She held out her hand.
”Then you must not ask impossible things,” she answered.
Then Bernadine took the plunge. He became suddenly very grave.
”Sophia,” he said, ”I am keeping a great secret from you and I can do it no longer. When you speak to me of your husband you drive me mad. If I believed that you really loved him, I would go away and leave it to chance whether or not you ever discovered the truth. As it is--”
”Well?” she interposed breathlessly.
”As it is,” he continued, ”I am going to tell you now. Your husband has deceived you--he is deceiving you every moment.”
She looked at him incredulously.