Part 32 (1/2)

”He is at present decorating my room with photographs of Madame's late horse, Sultan,” said I.

He was startled, and gave me a quick, sharp look. I did not notice it at the time, but I remembered it later. Then he broke into an indulgent laugh.

”The poor animal!” He turned to Lola. ”How jealous I used to be of him!

And how quickly the time flies. But give yourself the trouble of seating yourself, Monsieur.”

He motioned me to a chair and sat down. He was a man of polished manner and had a pleasant voice. I guessed that in the days when he paid court to Lola, he had been handsome in his dark Norman way, and possessed considerable fascination. Evil living and sordid pa.s.sions had coa.r.s.ened his features, produced bagginess under the eyes and a s.h.i.+ftiness of glance. Idleness and an inverted habit of life were responsible for the nascent paunch and the rolls of fat at the back of his neck. He suggested the revivified corpse of a fine gentleman that had been unnaturally swollen. I had disliked him at the Cercle Africain; now I detested him heartily. The idea of Lola entering the vitiated atmosphere of his life was inexpressibly repugnant to me.

Contrary to her habit, Lola sat bolt upright on the stamped-velvet suite, the palms of her hands pressing the seat on either side of her.

She caught the shade of disgust that swept over my face, and gave me a quick glance that pleaded for toleration. Her eyes, though bright, were sunken, like those of a woman who has not slept.

”Monsieur,” said Vauvenarde, ”my wife informs me that to your disinterested friends.h.i.+p is due this most charming reconciliation.”

”Reconciliation?” I echoed. ”It was quickly effected.”

”_Mon Dieu_,” he said. ”I have always longed for the comforts of a home.

My wife has grown tired of a migratory existence. She comes to find me. I hasten to meet her. There is nothing to keep us apart. The reconciliation was a matter of a few seconds. I wish to express my grat.i.tude to you, and, therefore, I ask you to accept my most cordial thanks.”

”It has always been a pleasure to me,” said I very frigidly, ”to place my services at the disposal of Madame Brandt.”

”Vauvenarde, Monsieur,” he corrected with a smile.

”And is Madame Vauvenarde equally satisfied with the--reconciliation?” I asked.

”I think Monsieur Vauvenarde is somewhat premature,” said Lola, with a trembling lip. ”There were conditions--”

”A mere question of protocol.” He waved an airy hand.

”I don't know what that is,” said Lola. ”There are conditions I must fix, and I thought the advice of my friend, Monsieur de Gex--”

”Precisely, my dear Lola,” he interrupted. ”The principle is affirmed.

We are reconciled. I proceed logically. The first thing I do is to thank Monsieur de Gex--you have a French name, Monsieur, and you p.r.o.nounce it English fas.h.i.+on, which is somewhat embarra.s.sing--But no matter. The next thing is the protocol. We have no possibility of calling a family council, and therefore, I acceded with pleasure to the intervention of Monsieur. It is kind of him to burden himself with our unimportant affairs.”

The irony of his tone belied the suave correct.i.tude of his words. I detested him more and more. More and more did I realise that the dying eumoirist is capable of petty human pa.s.sions. My vanity was being sacrified. Here was a woman pa.s.sionately in love with me proposing to throw herself into another man's arms--it made not a sc.r.a.p of difference, in the circ.u.mstances, that the man was her husband--and into the arms of such a man! Having known me to decline--etcetera, etcetera!

How could she face it? And why was she doing it? To save herself from me, or me from herself? She knew perfectly well that the little pain inside would precious soon settle that question. Why was she doing it?

I should have thought that the first glance at the puffy reprobate would have been enough to show her the folly of her idea. However, it was comforting to learn that she had not surrendered at once.

”If I am to have the privilege, Monsieur,” said I, ”of acting as a family council, perhaps you may forgive my hinting at some of the conditions that doubtless are in Madame's mind.”

”Proceed, Monsieur,” said he.

”I want to know where I am,” said Lola in English. ”He took everything for granted from the first.”

”Are you willing to go back to him?” I asked also in English.

She met my gaze steadily, and I saw a woman's needless pain at the back of her eyes. She moistened her lips with her tongue, and said: