Part 14 (1/2)

Apparently his answer was satisfactory, for she looked relieved, and presently, seated on the terrace, they had a merry tea--the last they would have on mountain tops, for she broke it gently to Paul that on the morrow she must return to Lucerne. Paul felt as if his heart had stopped beating. Return to Lucerne! O G.o.d! not to part--surely not to part--so soon!

”No, no,” she said, the thought making her whiten too. ”Oh no! my Paul, not that--yet!”

Ah--he could bear anything if it did not mean parting, and he used no arguments to dissuade her. She was his Queen and must surely know best.

Only he listened eagerly for details of how matters could be arranged there. Alas! they could never be the same as this glorious time they had had.

”You must wait two days, sweetheart,” she said, ”before you follow me.

Stay still in our nest if you will, but do not come on to Lucerne.”

”I could not stand it,” said Paul. ”Oh! darling, don't kill me with aching for your presence two whole days! It is a lifetime! not to be endured--”

”Impatient one!” she laughed softly. ”No--neither could I bear not to see you, sweetheart, but we must not be foolish. You must stay on in our rooms and each morning I will meet you somewhere in the launch. Dmitry knows every inch of the lake, and we can pa.s.s most of days thus, happy at last--”

”But the nights!” said Paul, deep distress in his voice. ”What on earth do you think I can do with the nights?”

”Spend them in sleep, my beloved one,” the lady said, while she smiled a soft fine smile.

But to Paul this idea presented the poorest compensation--and in spite of his will to the contrary his thoughts flew ahead for an instant to the inevitable days and nights when--Ah! no, he could not face the picture.

Life would be finished for him when that time came.

The thought of only a temporary parting on the morrow made them cling together for this, their last evening, with almost greater closeness and tenderness than usual. Paul could hardly bear his lady out of his sight, even while she dressed for dinner, when they got back to the Burgenstock, and twice he came to the door and asked plaintively how long she would be, until Anna took pity on him, and implored to be allowed to ask him to come in while she finished her mistress's hair. And that was a joy to Paul! He sat there by the dressing-table, and played with the things, opening the lids of gold boxes, and sniffing bottles of scent with an air of right and possession which made his lady smile like a purring cat. Then he tried on her rings, but they would only go on to the second joint of his little finger, as he laughingly showed her--and finally he pushed Anna aside, and insisted upon putting the last touches himself to the glorious waves of black hair.

And all the while he teased the maid, and chaffed her in infamous French, to her great delight, while his lady looked at him, whole wells of tenderness deep in her eyes. Paul had adorable ways when he chose. No wonder both mistress and maid should wors.h.i.+p him.

The moon was growing larger, her slender contours more developed, and the stars seemed fainter and farther off. Nothing more exquisite could be dreamed of, thought Paul, than the view from their balcony windows, the light on the silver snows. And he would let no thought that it was the last night they would see it together mar the pa.s.sionate joy of the hours still to be. His lady had never been more sweet; it was as if this wayward Undine had at last found her soul, and lay conquered and unresisting in her lover's strong arms.

Thus in perfect peace and happiness they; pa.s.sed their last night on the Burgenstock.

CHAPTER XIV

The desolation which came over Paul when next day before lunch time he found himself alone on the terrace, looking down vainly trying to distinguish his lady's launch as it glided over the blue waters, seemed unendurable. An intense depression filled his being. It was as if a limb had been torn from him; he felt helpless and incomplete, and his whole soul drawn to Lucerne.

The green trees and the exquisite day seemed to mock him. Alone, alone--with no prospect of seeing his Queen until the morrow, when at eleven he was to meet her at the landing-steps at the foot of the _funiculaire_.

But that was to-morrow, and how could he get through to-day?

After an early lunch he climbed to their rock at the summit, and sat there where they had sat together--alone with his thoughts.

And what thoughts!

What was this marvellous thing which had happened to him? A fortnight ago he was in Paris, disgusted with everything around him, and fancying himself in love with Isabella Waring. Poor Isabella! How had such things ever been possible? Why, he was a schoolboy then--a child--an infant! and now he was a man, and knew what life meant in its greatest and best. That was part of the wonder of this lady, with all her intense sensuousness and absence of what European nations call morality; there was yet nothing low or degrading in her influence, its tendency was to exalt and elevate into broad views and logical reasonings. Nothing small would ever again appeal to Paul. His whole outlook was vaster and more full of wide thoughts.

And then among the other emotions in his breast came one of deep grat.i.tude to her. For, apart from her love, had she not given him the royalest gift which mankind could receive--an awakened soul? Like her story of Undine it had truly been born with that first long kiss.

Then his mind flew to their after-kisses, the immense divine bliss of these whole six days.

Was it only six days since they had come there? Six days of Paradise. And surely fate would not part them now. Surely more hours of joy lay in store for them yet. The moon was seven days old--and his lady had said, ”While she waxes our love will wax.” Thus, even by that calculation, there was still time to live a little longer.

Paul's will was strong. He sternly banished all speculations as to the future. He remembered her counsel of the riddle which lay hidden in the eyes of the Sphinx--to live in the present and quaff life in its full.