The Hillman by E. Phillips Oppenheim
X
The Prince of Seyre handed his hat and stick to the parlor maid andseated himself upon the divan.
"I should be very sorry," he said politely, as the maid left the room,"if my coming has hastened the departure of your visitors."
"Not in the least," Louise assured him. "They were leaving when you wereannounced. Sophy and I are taking Mr. Strangewey to a Bohemianrestaurant and a music-hall afterward."
"Fortunate Mr. Strangewey!" the prince sighed. "But, forgive me, why nota more dignified form of entertainment for his first evening?"
"The poor man has no clothes," Louise explained. "He came to Londonquite unexpectedly."
"No clothes?" the prince repeated. "It is a long journey to take in sucha fashion. A matter of urgent business, perhaps?"
Louise shrugged her shoulders. She had risen to her feet and was busyrearranging some roses in the bowl by her side.
"Mr. Strangewey has just come into a large fortune, as you know," shesaid. "Probably there are many things to be attended to."
The prince made no further comment. He drew a tortoise-shell-and-goldcigarette-case from his pocket.
"It is permitted that one smokes?" he inquired.
"It is always permitted to you," was the gracious reply.
"One of my privileges," he remarked, as he blew out the match; "in fact,almost my only privilege."
She glanced up, but her eyes fell before his.
"Is that quite fair?"
"I should be grieved to do anything or to say anything to you that wasnot entirely fair."
She crushed one of the roses to pieces suddenly in her hands and shookthe petals from her long, nervous fingers.
"To-day," she said, "this afternoon--now--you have come to me withsomething in your mind, something you wish to say, something you are notsure how to say. That is, you see, what Henri Graillot calls myintuition. Even you, who keep all your feelings under a mask, canconceal very little from me."
"My present feelings," the prince declared, "I do not wish to conceal. Iwould like you to know them. But as words are sometimes clumsy, I wouldlike, if it were possible, to let you see into my heart, or, in thesedays, shall I not say my consciousness? I should feel, then, thatwithout fear of misunderstanding you would know certain things which Iwould like you to know."
She came over and seated herself by his side on the divan. She even laidher hand upon his arm.
"Eugene," she expostulated, "we are too old friends to talk always inveiled phrases. There is something you have to say to me. I amlistening."
"You know what it is," he told her.
"You are displeased because I have changed my mind about that littlejourney of ours?"
"I am bitterly disappointed," he admitted.
She looked at him curiously and then down at her rose-stained fingers.
"That does not sound quite like you," she said. "And yet I ought to knowthat sometimes you do feel things, even though you show it so little. Iam sorry, Eugene."
"Why are you sorry?"
"Because I feel that I cannot take that journey."
"You mean that you cannot now, or that you cannot at any time?"
"I do not know," she answered. "You ask me more than I can tell you.Sometimes life seems so stable, a thing one can make a little chart ofand hang up on the wall, and put one's finger here and there--'To-day Iwill do this, to-morrow I will feel that'--and the next morning comesand the chart is in the fire. I wish I understood myself a littlebetter, Eugene!"
"Self-understanding is the rarest of all gifts," the prince remarked."It is left for those who love us to understand us."
"And you?"
"I believe that I understand you better, far better, than you understandyourself," he declared. "That is why I also believe that I am necessaryto you. I can prevent your making mistakes."
"Then prevent me," she begged. "Something has happened, and the chart isin the fire to-day."
"You have only," he said, "to give your maid her orders, to give me thislittle hand, and I will draw out a fresh one which shall direct to theplace in life which is best for you. It is not too late."
She rose from beside him and walked toward the fireplace, as if to touchthe bell. He watched her with steady eyes but expressionless face. Therewas something curious about her walk. The spring had gone from her feet,her shoulders were a little hunched. It was the walk of a woman whogoes toward the things she fears.
"Stop!" he bade her.
She turned and faced him, quickly, almost eagerly. There was a look inher face of the prisoner who finds respite.
"Leave the bell alone," he directed. "My own plans are changed. I do notwish to leave London this week."
Her face was suddenly brilliant, her eyes shone. Something electricseemed to quiver through her frame. She almost danced back to her placeby his side.
"How foolish!" she murmured. "Why didn't you say so at once?"
"Because," he replied, "they have only been changed during the last fewseconds. I wanted to discover something which I have discovered."
"To discover something?"
"That my time has not yet come."
She turned away from him. She was oppressed with a sense almost of fear,a feeling that he was able to read the very thoughts forming in herbrain; to understand, as no one else in the world could understand, thethings that lived in her heart.
"I must not keep you," he remarked, glancing at the clock. "It was verylate for me to call, and you will be wanting to join your friends."
"They are coming here for me," she explained. "There is really no hurryat all. We are not changing anything. It is to be quite a simpleevening. Sometimes I wish that you cared about things of that sort,Eugene."
He blew through his lips a little cloud of smoke from the cigarettewhich he had just lit.
"I do not fancy," he replied, "that I should be much of a success as afourth in your little expedition."
"But it is silly of you not to visit Bohemia occasionally," shedeclared, ignoring the meaning that lay beneath his words. "It isrefreshing to rub shoulders with people who feel, and who show freelywhat they feel; to eat their food, drink their wine, even join in theirpleasures."
The prince shook his head.
"I am not of the people," he said, "and I have no sympathy with them. Idetest the _bourgeoisie_ of every country in the world--my own moreparticularly."
"If you only knew how strangely that sounds!" she murmured.
"Does it?" he answered. "You should read my family history, read of themen and women of my race who were butchered at the hands of thatdrunken, lustful mob whom lying historians have glorified. I am one ofthose who do not forget injuries. My estates are administered moreseverely than any others in France. No penny of my money has ever beenspent in charity. I neither forget nor forgive."
She laughed a little nervously.
"What an unsympathetic person you can be, Eugene!"
"And for that very reason," he replied, "I can be sympathetic. Because Ihate some people, I have the power of loving others. Because it pleasesme to deal severely with my enemies, it gives me joy to deal generouslywith my friends. That is my conception of life. May I wish you apleasant evening?"
"You are going now?" she asked, a little surprised.
He smiled faintly as he raised her fingers to his lips. She had made alittle movement toward him, but he took no advantage of it.
"I am going now."
"When shall I see you again?" she inquired, as she came back fromringing the bell.
"A telephone-message from your maid, a line written with your ownfingers," he said, "will bring me to you within a few minutes. If I hearnothing, I may come uninvited, but it will be when the fancy takes me.Once more, Louise, a pleasant evening!"
He passed out of the door, which the parlor maid was holding open forhim. Crossing to the window, Louise watched him leave the house andenter his waiting automobile. He gave no sign of haste ordisappointment. He l
As the car drove off without his having once glanced up at the window,she shivered a little. There was a silence which, it seemed to her,could be more minatory even than accusation.