Part 53 (2/2)

He set his teeth.

”You are as cruel as a--a devil, or a woman,” he said.

”What you call cruelty,” she answered, gently, ”is merely a weapon which we sometimes thrust too far. When you talk to me in this way, you force me to use it.” And she added, flippantly, ”Some day I may thrust it to your heart.”

”I wish to G.o.d you would!”

But she laughed merrily and led him to impersonal topics, talking rapidly, with a constant play of her slim, white hands. She allowed him no time for protestations. It was all bright, frivolous gossip of the day, with no hint of seriousness. As she talked, there was no sign that her ears were straining for an expected sound, or her flesh quivering with impatience.

At last he rose to go.

”You are the only woman I know,” he remarked, as he looked at her with his easy and familiar glance, ”who is never dull. How do you manage it?”

”Oh, it is not difficult,” she answered. ”To laugh is much easier than to cry.”

”And much more agreeable. I detest a woman who weeps.”

Her brilliant laugh rang out.

”And so do I,” she said.

When he had gone, and the house door had closed after him, she crossed to the heavily hanging curtains, pushed them aside, and looked out.

Only dust and wind and gray streets and the sound of the footsteps of a pa.s.ser-by. From out the blue mist a single light burst, then another and another. She held her head erect, a scornful smile curving her lips.

Again the bell rang, and again she quivered and started forward, listening to the steps that crossed the hall. The door opened.

”Mr. Buisson!”

She hesitated a moment, and then went forward with the same cordial gesture of her cold, white hand.

CHAPTER XI

Father Algarcife was working like a man spurred by an invisible lash. At the breaking of the cold winter dawns he might be seen on his rounds in the mission districts, which began before the early Ma.s.s, to end long after dusk, when the calls of his richer paris.h.i.+oners had been treated and dismissed. During the morning celebrations one of the younger priests often noticed that he appeared faint from exhaustion, and attributed it to the strain of several hours' work without nourishment.

One morning, shortly after New Year, John Ellerslie joined him and went in with him to breakfast. It was then he noticed that Father Algarcife ate only cold bread with his coffee, while he apologized for the scantiness of the fare. ”It is lack of appet.i.te with me,” he explained, ”not injudicious fasting;” and he turned to the maid: ”Agnes, will you see that Father Ellerslie has something more substantial?” But when cakes and eggs were brought, he pushed them aside, and crumbled, without eating, his stale roll.

The younger man remonstrated, his face flus.h.i.+ng from embarra.s.sment.

”I am concerned for your health,” he said. ”Will you let me speak to Dr.

Salvers?”

Father Algarcife shook his head.

”It is nothing,” he answered. ”But I expect to see Dr. Salvers later in the day, and I'll mention it to him.”

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