Part 15 (1/2)
”To Venice!” said Paul in delight. ”To Venice!”
”Yes--I cannot endure any more of Lucerne, parted from you, with only the prospect of s.n.a.t.c.hed meetings. It is not to be borne. We shall go to that home of strange joy, my lover, and there for a s.p.a.ce at least we can live in peace.”
Paul asked no better gift of fate. Venice he had always longed to see, and now to see it with her! Ah! the very thought was ecstasy to him, and made the blood bound in his veins.
”When, when, my darling?” he asked. ”Tomorrow? When?”
”To-day is Friday,” she said. ”One must give Dmitry time to make the arrangements and take a palace for us. Shall we say Sunday, Paul? I shall go on Sunday, and you can follow the next day--so by Tuesday evening we shall be together again, not to part until--the end.”
”The end?” said Paul, with sinking heart.
”Sweetheart,” she whispered, while she drew his face down to hers, ”think nothing evil. I said the end--but fate alone knows when that must be. Do not let us force her hand by speculating about it. Remember always to live while we may.”
And Paul was more or less comforted, but in moments of silence all through the day he seemed to hear the echo of the words--The End.
CHAPTER XV
It was a beautiful apartment that Dmitry had found for them on the Grand Ca.n.a.l in Venice, in an old palace looking southwest. A convenient door in a side ca.n.a.l cloaked the exit and entry of its inhabitants from curious eyes--had there been any to indulge in curiosity; but in Venice there is a good deal of the feeling of live and let live, and the _dolce far niente_ of the life is not conducive to an over-anxious interest in the doings of one's neighbours.
Money and intelligence can achieve a number of things in a short s.p.a.ce of time, and Dmitry had had both at his command, so everything, including a _chef_ from Paris and a retinue of Italian servants, was ready when on the Tuesday evening Paul arrived at the station.
What a wonderland it seemed to him, Venice! A wonderland where was awaiting him his heart's delight--more pa.s.sionately desired than ever after three days of total abstinence.
As after the Friday afternoon he had spent more or less in hiding in the terrace-room, his lady had judged it wiser for him not to come at all to Lucerne, and on the Sat.u.r.day had met him at a quiet part of the sh.o.r.e of the lake, beyond the landing-steps of the _funiculaire,_ and for a few short hours they had cruised about on the blue waters--but her sweetest tenderness and ready wit had not been able entirely to eliminate the feeling of unrest which troubled them. And then there were the nights, the miserable evenings and nights of separation. On the Sunday she had departed to Venice, and after she had gone, Paul had returned for one day to Lucerne, leaving again on the Monday, apparently as unacquainted with Madame Zalenska as he had been the first night of his arrival.
He had not seen her since Sat.u.r.day. Three whole days of anguis.h.i.+ng longing. And now in half an hour at least she would be in his arms. The journey through the beautiful scenery from Lucerne had been got through at night--all day from Milan a feverish excitement had dominated him, and prevented his taking any interest in outward surroundings. A magnetic attraction seemed drawing him on--on--to the centre of light and joy--his lady's presence.
Dmitry and an Italian servant awaited his arrival; not an instant's delay for luggage called a halt. Tompson and the Italian were left for that, and Paul departed with his trusty guide.
It was about seven o'clock, the opalescent lights were beginning to show in the sky, and their reflection in the water, as he stooped his tall head to enter the covered gondola. It was all too beautiful and wonderful to take in at once, and then he only wanted wings the sooner to arrive, not eyes to see the pa.s.sing objects. Afterwards the strange soft cry of the gondoliers and the sights appealed to him; but on this first evening every throb of his being was centred upon the one moment when he should hold his beloved one to his heart.
He could hardly contain his impatience, and walk sedately beside Dmitry when they ascended the great stone staircase--he felt like bounding up three steps at a time. Dmitry had been respectfully silent. Madame was well--that was all he would say. He opened the great double door with a latch-key, and Paul found himself in vast hall almost unfurnished but for some tapestry on the walls, and a huge gilt marriage-chest, and a couple of chairs. It was ill lit, and there was something of decay and gloom in its aspect.
On they went, through other doors to a salon, vast and gloomy too, and then the glory and joy of heaven seemed to spring upon Paul's view when the shrine of the G.o.ddess was reached--a smaller room, whose windows faced the Grand Ca.n.a.l, now illuminated by the setting sun in all its splendour, coming in shafts from the balcony blinds. And among the quaintest and most old-world surroundings, mixed with her own wonderful personal notes of luxury, his lady rose from the tiger couch to meet him.
His lady! His Queen!
And, indeed, she seemed a queen when at last he held her at arms'-length to look at her. She was garbed all ready for dinner in a marvellous garment of s.h.i.+mmering purple, while round her shoulders a scarf of brilliant pale emerald gauze, all fringed with gold, fell in two long ends, and on her neck and in her ears great emeralds gleamed--a pear-shaped one of unusual brilliancy fell at the parting of her waves of hair on to her white smooth forehead. But the colour of her eyes he could not be sure of--only they were two wells of love and pa.s.sion gazing into his own.
All the simplicity of the Burgenstock surroundings was gone. The flowers were in the greatest profusion, rare and heavy-scented; the pillows of the couch were more splendid than ever; cloths of gold and silver and wonderful shades of orange and green velvet were among the purple ones he already knew. Priceless pieces of brocade interwoven with gold covered the screens and other couches; and, near enough to pick up when she wanted them, stood jewelled boxes of cigarettes and bonbons, and stands of perfume.
Her expression, too, was altered. A new mood shone there; and later, when Paul learnt the history of the wonderful women of _cinquecento_ Venice, it seemed as if something of their exotic voluptuous spirit now lived in her.
This was a new queen to wors.h.i.+p--and die for, if necessary. He dimly felt, even in these first moments, that here he would drink still deeper of the mysteries of life and pa.s.sionate love.
_”Beztzenny-moi,”_ she said, ”my priceless one. At last I have you again to make me _live_. Ah! I must know it is really you, my Paul!”
They were sitting on the tiger by now, and she undulated round and all over him, feeling his coat, and his face, and his hair, as a blind person might, till at last it seemed as if she were twined about him like a serpent. And every now and then a narrow shaft of the glorious dying sunlight would strike the great emerald on her forehead, and give forth sparks of vivid green which appeared reflected again in her eyes. Paul's head swam, he felt intoxicated with bliss.