Part 41 (1/2)
He followed her down the pa.s.sage. In the room there was no light except what played on the walls from the streetlamps, the blinds being still undrawn. She had been sitting in the dark. Now, she took the globe off the lamp, and would have lighted it, but she could not find matches.
”Let me do it,” said Maurice, taking out his own; and, over the head of this trifling service, he had a feeling of intense satisfaction. By the light that was cast on the table, he watched her free the roses from their paper, and raise them to her face. She did not mention them again, but it was ample thanks to see her touch several of them singly, as she put them in a jug of water.
But this done, they sat on opposite sides of the table, and had nothing to say to each other. After each ba.n.a.l observation he made came a heart-rending pause; she let a subject drop as soon as it was broached.
It was over two months now since Maurice had seen her, and he was startled by the change that had taken place in her. Her face seemed to have grown longer; and there were hollows in the fine oval of the cheeks, in consequence of which the nose looked larger, and more pinched. The chin-lines were sharpened, the eyes more sunken, while the shadows beneath them were as dark as though they were plastered on with bistre. But it was chiefly the expression of the face that had altered: the lifelessness of the eyes was new to it, and the firm compression of the mouth: now, when she smiled, no thin line of white appeared, such as he had been used to watch for.
Even more marked than this, though, was the change that had taken place in her manner. He had known her as pa.s.sionately self-a.s.sertive; and he could not now accustom himself to the condition of apathy in which he found her. ”Moping to death” had been no exaggeration; help was needed here, and at once, if she were not to be irretrievably injured.
As he thought these things, he talked at random. There were not many topics, however, that could be touched on with impunity, and he returned more than once to the ice and the skating, as offering a kind of neutral ground, on which he was safe. And Louise listened, and sometimes a.s.sented; but her look was that of one who listens to the affairs of another world. Could she not be persuaded to join them on the JOHANNATEICH, he was asking her. What matter though she did not skate! It was easily learned. Madeleine had been a beginner that winter, and now seldom missed an afternoon.
”Oh, if Madeleine is there, I should not go,” she said with a touch of the old arrogance.
Then he told her of the frozen river, with its long, lonely, grey-white reaches. Her eyes kindled at this, he fancied, and in her answer was more of herself. ”I have never trodden on ice in my life. Oh, I should be afraid--horribly afraid!”
For those who did not skate there were chairs, he urged--big, green-painted, sledge-like chairs, which ran smoothly. The ice was many inches thick; there was not the least need to be afraid.
But she only smiled, and did not answer.
”Then I can't persuade you?” he asked, and was annoyed at his own powerlessness. She can go with Eggis, he told himself, and simultaneously spoke out the thought. ”I saw you on the bridge the other day.”
But if he had imagined this would rouse her, he was wrong.
”Yes?” she said indifferently, and with that laming want of curiosity which prevents a subject from being followed up.
They sat in silence for some seconds. With her fingers, she pulled at the fringe of the tablecloth. Then, all of a sudden rising from her chair, she went over to the jug of roses, which she had placed on the writing-table, bent over the flowers with a kind of perceptible hesitation, and as suddenly came back to her seat.
”Suppose we went to-night.” she said, and for the first time looked hard at Maurice.
”To-night?” he had echoed, before he could check himself.
”Ah yes--I forgot. You are going out.”
”That's the least of it,” he answered, and stood up, fearful lest she should sink back into her former listlessness. ”But it's Christmas Eve.
There wouldn't be a soul on the river but ourselves. Are you sure you would like it?”
”Just for that reason,” she replied, and wound her handkerchief in and out of her hands, so afraid was she now that he would refuse. ”I could be ready in five minutes.”
With his brain in a whirl, Maurice went back to the flowershop, and, having written a few words of apology on a card, ordered this to be sent with his purchase to Miss Jensen. When he returned, Louise was ready. But he was not satisfied: she did not know how cold it would be: and he made her put on a heavy jacket under her fur cape, and take a silk shawl, in which, if necessary, she could m.u.f.fle up her head. He himself carried a travelling-rug for her knees.
”As if we were going on a journey!” she said, as she obeyed him. Her eyes shone with a spark of their old light, in approval of the adventurous nature of their undertaking.
The hard-frozen streets, over which a cutting wind drove, were deserted. In many windows, the golden glory of the CHRISTBAUM was visible; the steep blackness of the houses was splashed with patches of light. At intervals, a belated holidaymaker was still to be met with hurrying townwards: only they two were leaving the town, and its innocent revels, behind them. Maurice had a somewhat guilty feeling about the whole affair: they also belonged by rights to the town to-night. He was aware, too, of a vague anxiety, which he could not repress; and these feelings successfully prevented him taking an undue pleasure in what was happening to him. He had swung his skates, fetched in pa.s.sing, over his shoulder; and they walked as quickly as the slippery snow permitted. Louise had not spoken since leaving the house; she also stood mutely by, while the astonished boatman, knocked out in the middle of his festivities, unlocked the boat-shed where the ice-chairs were kept. The Christmas punch had made him merry; he multiplied words, and was even a little facetious at their expense.
According to him, a snow-storm was imminent, and he warned them not to be late in returning.
Maurice helped Louise into the chair, and wrapped the rug round her. If she were really afraid, as she had a.s.serted, she did not show it. Even after they had started, she remained as silent as before; indeed, on looking back, Maurice thought they had not exchanged a word all the way to Connewitz. He pushed in a kind of dream; the wind was with them, and it was comparatively easy work; but the ice was rough, and too hard, and there were seamy cracks to be avoided. The snow had drifted into huge piles at the sides; and, as they advanced, it lay unswept on their track. It was a hazily bright night, but rapid clouds were pa.s.sing. Not a creature was to be seen: had a rift opened in the ice, and had they two gone through it, the mystery of their disappearance would never have been solved.
Slight, upright, unfathomable as the night, Louise sat before him. What her thoughts were on this fantastic journey, he never knew, nor just what secret nerve in her was satisfied by it. By leaning sideways, he could see that her eyes were fixed on the grey-white stretch to be travelled: her warm breath came back to him; and the coil of her hair, with its piquant odour, was so close that, by bending, he could have touched it with his lips. But he was still in too detached a mood to be happy; he felt, throughout, as if all this were happening to some one else, not to him.