Part 6 (2/2)

”What more can I do for you than I have done?”

”You can procure me admission to the house.”

”That is not such an easy matter.”

”Bah! You can manage it quite well. You must! you must!”

He talked, coaxed, caressed, until she gave in and promised.

Whatever the reason, her attempt was a failure.

”If I asked my father to receive a young man who has not been introduced to him, he would misunderstand me,” said Mary. Alice admitted this at once. She was angry with herself for not having thought of it. Instead of consulting with Mary as to whether the thing might not be managed in another way, she gave up the project altogether. She was still annoyed when she communicated the result to Frans Roy; she had the feeling, she said, that Mary objected to the interference of any third person. She impressed on him again that he must be careful. Frans was miserable.

Alice made no attempt to comfort him.

He came back next day. ”I cannot give it up,” said he. ”And I cannot think of anything else.”

So long did he sit there, so often did he repeat exactly the same thing in different words, and so unhappy was he, that good-natured Alice became sorry for him.

”Listen!” she said. ”I'll invite you and the Krogs here together. Then perhaps the invitation to their house will come of itself.”

He jumped up. ”That is a splendid idea! Please do, dear Alice!”

”I can't do it immediately. Mr. Krog is ill. We must wait.”

He stood looking at her, much disappointed. ”But can you not arrange a meeting between us two again?”

”Yes, that I might do.”

”Do it then--as soon as possible! dear, dear Alice--as soon as possible!”

This time Alice was successful. Mary was quite ready to meet him again.

They met at Alice's house, to drive together to the exhibition in the Champs Elysees.

To stand together before works of art is the real conversation without words. The few words that are spoken awake hundreds. But these remain unspoken. The one friend feels through the other, or at least they both believe that they do so. They meet in one picture, to separate in another. An hour thus spent teaches them more of each other than weeks of ordinary intercourse. Alice led the two from picture to picture, but was absorbed in her own thoughts--the more completely the farther they went. She saw as an artist sees. The others, who began with the pictures, gradually pa.s.sed on to discovery of each other through these.

With them it was soon a play of undertones, rapid glances, short e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns, pointing fingers. But those who feel their way to each other by secret paths enjoy the process exceedingly, and generally allow it to be perceived that they do so. They play a game like that of a pair of sea-birds that dive and come up again far away from each other--to find their way back to each other. The happiness of the moment was increased by the number of eyes which were turned on them.

Downstairs amongst the statuary, Alice led them straight to the centre room. She stopped in front of an empty pedestal and turned to the official in charge. ”Is the acrobat not ready yet?” ”No, Mademoiselle,”

he answered; ”unfortunately not.”

”There must have been another accident?”

”I do not know, Mademoiselle.”

Alice explained to Mary that the statue of an acrobat had been broken in the process of setting it up.

”An acrobat?” called Frans Roy. He was standing a short way off; now he hastened up to them. ”An acrobat? Did I hear you speaking about an acrobat?”

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