Part 11 (1/2)
For ten years I'd been a political spy--yes. But I owed a grudge to Russia, which I'd promised my father to pay: and France is Russia's ally. Besides, it seems less vile to betray a country than to deceive a man you adore, who adores you in return. We women are true as truth itself to those we love. For them we would sacrifice the greatest cause.
Always I had known this, and I had thought that I could prove myself truer than the truest, if I ever loved. Yet now I had betrayed my lover and sold his country; and, realising what I had done, as I hardly had realised it till this moment, I suffered torture in his arms.
Even if, by something like a miracle, we were saved from ruin, nothing on earth could wash the stain from my heart, which Raoul believed so good, so pure.
What can be more terrible for a woman than the secret knowledge that to hold a man's respect she must always keep one dark spot covered from his eyes? Such a woman needs no future punishment. She has all she deserves in this world. My punishment had begun, and it would always go on through my life with Raoul, I knew, even if no great disaster came. Into the heart of my happiness would come the thought of that hidden spot; how often, oh, how often, would I feel that thought stir like a black bat!
I could no longer rest with my eyes shut, at peace after the storm. I shuddered and sobbed, though my lids were dry, and Raoul tried to soothe me, thinking it was but my excitement in playing for the first time a heavy and exacting part. He little guessed how heavy and exacting it really was!
”Darling,” he said, ”you were wonderful. And how proud I was of you--how proud I am. I thought it would be impossible to wors.h.i.+p you more than I did. But I love you a thousand times more than ever to-night.”
It was true, I knew. I could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice.
Since his dreadful misfortune in losing the diamonds, since I had comforted him for their loss, and insisted on giving him all I had to help him out of his trouble, he had seen in me the angel of his salvation. To-night his heart was almost breaking with love for me, who so ill deserved it. Now, I had news for him, which would make him long to shout for joy. If I chose, I could tell him that the jewels were safe. He would love me still more pa.s.sionately in his happiness, which I had given, than in his grief; and I would take all his love as if it were my right, hiding the secret of my treachery as long as I could. But how long would that be? How could I be sure that the theft of the treaty had not already been discovered, and that the avalanche of ruin was not on its way to blot us for ever out of life and love?
The fear made me nestle nearer to him, and cling tightly, because I said to myself that perhaps I might never be in his arms again: that this might be the last time that his eyes--those eyes that are not cold--might look at me with love in them, as now.
”Suppose all these people out there had hated and hissed me, instead of applauding?” I asked. ”Would you still be proud of me, still care for me?”
”I'd love you better, if there could be a 'better,'” he answered, holding me very close.
”You know, dearest one, most beautiful one, that I'm a jealous brute. I can't bear you to belong to others--even to the public that appreciates you almost as much as you deserve to be appreciated. Of course I'm proud that they adore you, but I'd like to take you away from them and adore you all by myself. Why, if the whole world turned against you, there'd be a kind of joy in that for me. I'd be so glad of the chance to face it for you, to s.h.i.+eld you from it always.”
”Then, what _is_ there would make you love me less?” I went on, dwelling on the subject with a dreadful fascination, as one looks over the brink of a precipice.
”Nothing on G.o.d's earth--while you kept true to me.”
”And if I weren't true--if I deceived you?”
”Why, I'd kill you--and myself after. But it makes me see red--a blazing scarlet--even to think of such a thing. Why should you speak of it--when it's beyond possibility, thank Heaven! I know you love me, or you wouldn't make such n.o.ble sacrifices to save me from ruin.”
I s.h.i.+vered: and I shall not be colder when they lay me in my coffin. I wished that I had not looked over that precipice, down into blackness.
Why dwell on horrors, when I might have five minutes of happiness--perhaps the last I should ever know? I remembered the piece of good news I had for Raoul. I would have told him then, but he went on, saying to me so many things sweet and blessed to hear, that I could not bear to cut him short, lest never after this should he speak words of love to me.
Then--long before it ought, so it seemed--the clock in mydressing-room struck, and I knew that I hadn't another instant to spare. On some first nights I might have been willing to risk keeping the curtain down (though I am rather conscientious in such ways), but to-night I wanted, more than anything else, to have the play over, and to get home by midnight or before, so that my suspense might be ended, and I might know the worst--or best.
”I must go. You must leave me, dear,” I said. ”But I've some good news for you when there's time to explain, and a great surprise. I can't give you a minute until the last, for you know I've almost to open the third and fourth acts. But when the curtain goes down on my death scene, come behind again. I shan't take any calls--after dying, it's too inartistic, isn't it? And I never do. I'll see you for just a few more minutes here, in this room, before I dress to go home.”
”For a few minutes!” Raoul caught me up. ”But afterwards? You promised me long ago that I should have supper with you at your house--just you and I alone together--on the first night of the new play.”
My heart gave a jump as he reminded me of this promise. Never before had I forgotten an engagement with Raoul. But this time I had forgotten.
There had been so many miserable things to think of, that they had crowded the one pleasant thing out of my tortured brain. I drew away from him involuntarily with a start of surprise.
”You'd forgotten!” exclaimed Raoul, disappointed and hurt.
”Only for the instant,” I said, ”because I'm hardly myself. I'm tired and excited, unstrung, as I always am on first nights. But--”
”Would you rather not be bothered with me?” he asked wistfully, as I paused to think what I should do.
His eyes looked as if the light had suddenly gone out of them, and I couldn't bear that. It might too soon be struck out for ever, and by me.