Part 51 (2/2)

Again he paused--he was now standing before his friend--the bright eyes gleamed with the intensity of his pa.s.sion, his lips were quivering, and his breast rose and fell with the emotion which the painful memory called forth.

”Laugh, sneer, if you will,” he continued wildly; ”but even as I have seen lightning strike a man dead to earth, her eyes flashed upon me, and reft me of heart, of reason, of soul.”

He paused, and drew a deep sigh.

”I was mad--mad,” he went on, with suppressed emotion, ”and could not help myself. She absorbed all thought, all mind, and I was false to my true mistress, Art. Brush and easel were forgotten that I might seek this woman, and with my eyes drink in her beauty that filled my veins with poison. Her features and form were the perfection of beauty. Ah!

but there--you know too well. Valerie's beauty is that of a divine statue, and only a statue. A very G.o.ddess of loveliness, but carven in cold stone. There is no heart, no life, no soul within. I saw this then clearly, as I see it now, yet still I loved her--I loved her!”

He flung himself into a chair, and, leaning his elbows upon the table, hid his face in his hands.

”Is that all?” inquired Trethowen, looking up from beneath his heavy brows.

”No, no--would to heaven that had been all. I scarcely know how, but we became friends. We were both poor, many of our tastes were in common, and at length I prevailed upon her to visit our shabby _atelier_, where I painted her portrait. It was my best work; I have done nothing to equal it since. She was pleased with it, and favoured me. In my madness I cared not how the favour was obtained. I was in a mad, drunken delirium of joy, and abandoned myself to destruction. Alas! it came. I was dashed from the threshold of paradise into the abyss of despair. I learned that this woman whom I wors.h.i.+pped as an idol was no better than the painted and powdered women who frequented the Bal Bullier and the Moulin Rouge--that she had a lover!”

He laughed a hard, bitter laugh, and then was silent.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

GABRIELLE DEBRIEGE.

A few moments' pause, and the artist resumed.

”She had admitted that she loved me,” he said, in a low quivering tone of anguish. ”But the fact of her relations with the rich Englishman, Nicholson, was forced on me with proof so d.a.m.ning that I could not shut my eyes, even despite myself.”

Pressing his hands upon his brow as if to stay the wild throbbing of his brain, he sat in dejection, while his breath came with difficulty. The confession was wrung from his heart, and the haggard expression of anxiety and despair upon his face told of the mental agony it caused him.

”My jealous nature somehow prompted me to seek acquaintance with this man. Unknown to her I obtained an introduction to him, and with my fellow-student, Glanville, spent several evenings in his rooms in the Boulevard Haussmann. We drank, smoked and played cards together. He and I often dined at the Cafe Riche, and gradually I ingratiated myself with him. I really don't know why I did so; it must have been due to the devil's promptings. Holt and Glanville admired her, and I was flattered by their envy at the favour she bestowed upon me. Ah! poor fools, they did not know the blackness of her heart. Thus things went on for six months. Though I never looked upon Valerie with other thoughts than those of pure, honest love, we met almost daily, sometimes walking in the Bois, and frequently taking long excursions into the country, to Argenteuil, to Lagny, or Choisy-le-Roi, where we could be alone to indulge in those confidential conversations in which lovers delight.”

”Was she aware that you had discovered her intrigue with this man Nicholson?” asked Hugh moodily.

”Yes. One day we had taken the train to Vincennes, and we were walking back through the wood near the Porte de Picpus, when I taxed her with it. At first she denied it; but recognising that I knew too much, burst into tears, and admitted all. Imploring pity, she kissed my hand, a.s.suring me that she had been the victim of circ.u.mstances, that she hated him and loved me alone. My first impulse was to abandon her, and never look upon her face again. Yet, how could I? She was a woman after all, and that cold, calm exterior which chilled one, despite her beauty, might be only the mask of some fierce inward aching. She was a woman, with a woman's heart, a woman's sympathies and yearnings. I felt confident that she was bearing some heavy burden of guilt or sorrow, and that with agony she wore a mask that hid her secret from the world.”

”A pity that, under such circ.u.mstances, you did not put an end to the acquaintances.h.i.+p,” Trethowen observed, without raising his head.

”Ah!” he sighed, ”I was like you yourself have been, powerless in the influence of her presence. I knew I was a miserable fool, undeserving of pity; I knew that it was worse than madness to love her--yet still I loved. I felt that she had been wronged, and sympathised with her. On the one side my reason--calm, cold, and just--pointed to the insanity of my affection; and on the other my heart and Soul. Under the attraction of her beauty, dragged me towards her. I was determined to conquer; nevertheless, when she was near me I was a mere automaton, moving as she indicated, and executing her every desire. It was this inability to resist her that caused me to commit the crime--the crime of murder.”

”Then you admit you stained your hands with blood?” Trethowen exclaimed anxiously.

”Yes, yes; but don't shrink from me,” he cried, in a beseeching tone.

”It was for her sake--for Valerie's sake. Prompted by the beautiful woman, whose loveliness maddened me, I took my rival's life. You will keep my secret, I know, so I will tell you how it came about. We were seated late one night in the Chat Noir, when she told me she had discovered that Nicholson and I were friends. I was not surprised, for I had antic.i.p.ated that sooner or later she would find this out: but in the conversation which ensued I reproached her for continuing her intrigue with him. The words I uttered appeared to cause her a fit of remorse, for she protested that it was through no fault of hers, but under absolute compulsion. She declared that this man was in possession of a secret which, if divulged, would ruin her, and hence he held power over her which made it imperative that she should continue the relations.h.i.+p even against her will. We went out and wandered along the deserted streets. With such terrible earnestness did she speak, entreating pity, and a.s.serting her affection for me, that, like a blind, trusting imbecile that I was, I believed her. Indeed, it was evident that whatever love she had entertained for Nicholson had turned to hate.

The remembrance of that night is so confused that I can scarce recollect the words I uttered. However, it was she who suggested the crime, for she a.s.sured me that if he died she would be willing to marry me. What greater incentive could a jealous lover have to kill the man who barred his happiness? In the few days that followed I tried to tear myself away from her; yet still I was drawn towards her, and at last Valerie--your wife--and I sat together one night actually plotting his death. Blindly I resigned myself to a fate worse than that of the doomed. I promised to murder him!”

He spoke in low, hoa.r.s.e tones, and gazed around the dimly-lit studio with a bewildered, frightened expression in his haggard eyes.

Trethowen stood by him in silent wonder, waiting for him to continue.

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