ChapterXIVShe shut herself up; she saw little of her children; she told her friends that she was ill. She was at home to no visitors. She guessed intuitively that people in their circles were speaking of Quaerts and herself. Life hung dull about her in a closely-woven web of tiresome, tedious meshes; and she remained motionless in her corner, to avoid entangling herself in those meshes. Once Jules forced his way to her; he went upstairs, in spite of Greta’s protests; he sought her in the little boudoir and, not finding her, went resolutely to her bedroom. He knocked without receiving a reply, but entered nevertheless. The room was half in darkness, for she kept the blinds lowered; in the shadow of the canopy which rose above the bedstead,with its hangings of old-blue brocade, Cecile lay sleeping. Her tea-gown was open over her breast; the train trailed from the bed and lay creased over the carpet; her hair spread loosely over the pillows; one of her hands was clutching nervously at the tulle bed-curtains.“Auntie!” cried Jules. “Auntie!”He shook her by the arm; and she woke heavily, with heavy, blue-girt eyes. She did not recognize him at first and thought that he was little Dolf.“It’s me, Auntie; Jules....”She knew him now, asked how he came there, what was the matter and if he did not know that she was ill?“I knew, but I wanted to speak to you. I came to speak to you about ... him....”“Him?”“About Taco. He asked me to tell you. He couldn’t write to you, he said.He is going on a long journey with his friend from Brussels; he will be away a long time and he would like ... he would like to take leave of you.”“To take leave?”“Yes; and he told me to ask you if he might see you once more?”She had half-raised herself and was looking at Jules with a vacant air. In an instant the memory ran through her brain of the long look which Jules had directed on her so strangely when she saw Quaerts for the first time and spoke to him coolly and distantly:“Have you many relations in The Hague?... You have no occupation, I believe?... Sport?... Oh!...”Then came the memory of Jules playing the piano, of Rubinstein’s Romance, of the ecstasy of his fantasia: the glittering rainbows and the souls turning to angels.“To take leave?” she repeated.Jules nodded:“Yes, Auntie, he is going away for ever so long.”He could have shed tears himself and there were tears in his voice, but he would not give way and his eyes merely grew moist.“He told me to ask you,” he repeated, with difficulty.“If he can come and take leave?”“Yes, Auntie.”She made no reply, but lay staring before her. An emptiness began to stretch before her, in endless vistas. It was a shadowy image of their evening of rapture, but no light beamed out of the shadow.“Emptiness!” she muttered through her closed lips.“What, Auntie?”She would have liked to ask Jules whether he was still, as formerly, afraid of the emptiness within himself; but a gentleness of pity, a soft feeling, a sweetening of the bitterness which filled her being, stayed her.“To take leave?” she repeated, with a smile of melancholy; and the big tears fell heavily, drop by drop, upon her fingers wrung together.“Yes, Auntie....”He could no longer restrain himself: a single sob convulsed his throat, but he gave a cough to conceal it. Cecile threw her arm round his neck:“You are very fond of ... Taco, are you not?” she asked; and it struck her that this was the first time that she had pronounced the name, for she had never called Quaerts by it: she had never called him by any name.He did not answer at first, but nestled in her arm, in her embrace, and began to cry:“Yes, I can’t tell you how fond I am of him,” he said.“I know,” she said; and she thought of the rainbows and the angels: he had played as out of her own soul.“May he come?” asked Jules, loyally remembering his instructions.“Yes.”“He asks if he might come this evening?”“Very well.”“Auntie, he is going away, because of ... because of ...”“Because of what, Jules?”“Because of you: because you don’t like him and will not marry him! Mamma says so....”She made no reply; she lay sobbing, with her head against Jules’ head.“Is it true, Auntie? No, it is not true, is it?...”“No.”“Why then?”She raised herself suddenly, conquering herself, and looked at him fixedly:“He is going away because he must, Jules. I cannot tell you why. But what he does is right. All that he does is right.”The boy looked at her, motionless, with large wet eyes, full of astonishment:“Is right?” he repeated.“Yes. He is better than any one of us. If you go on loving him, Jules, it will bring you happiness, even if ... if you never see him again.”“Do you think so?” he asked. “Does he bring happiness? Even in that case?...”“Even in that case.”She listened to her own words as shespoke: it was to her as if another were speaking, another who consoled not only Jules but herself as well and who would perhaps give her the strength to take leave of Taco in the manner which would be best, without despair.ChapterXV1“So you are going on a long journey?” she asked.He sat facing her, motionless, with anguish on his face. Outwardly she was very calm, only there was a sadness in her look and in her voice. In her white dress, with the girdle falling before her feet, she lay back among the three pillows of therose-moirésofa; the tips of her little slippers were buried in the white sheepskin rug. On the table before her lay a great bouquet of loose roses, pink, white and yellow, bound together with a broad riband. He had brought them for her and she had not yet placed them. There was a great calm about her;the exquisite atmosphere of the boudoir seemed unchanged.“Tell me, am I not paining you severely?” he asked, with the anguish in his eyes, the eyes which she now knew so well.She smiled:“No,” she said. “I will be honest with you. I have suffered, but I suffer no longer. I have struggled with myself for the second time and I have conquered myself. Will you believe me?”“If you knew the remorse that I feel....”She rose and went to him:“What for?” she asked, in a clear voice. “Because you read me and gave me happiness?”“Did I?”“Have you forgotten?”“No,” he said, “but I thought....”“What?”“I don’t know; I thought that you would ... would suffer so ... and I ... I cursed myself!...”She shook her head gently, with smiling disapproval:“For shame!” she said. “Do not blaspheme!...”“Can you forgive me?”“I have nothing to forgive. Listen to me. Swear to me that you believe me, that you believe that you have given me happiness and that I am not suffering.”“I ... I swear.”“I trust that you are not swearing this merely to satisfy my wish.”“You have been the highest thing in my life,” he said, gently.A rapture shot through her soul.“Tell me only....” she began.“What?”“Tell me if you believe that I, I,I...shall always remain the highest thing in your life.”She stood before him, tall, in her clinging white. She seemed to shed radiance; never had he seen her so beautiful.“I am certain of that,” he said. “Certain, oh, certain!... My God, how can I convey the certainty of it to you?”“But I believe you, I believe you!” she exclaimed.She laughed a laugh of rapture. In her soul a sun seemed to be shooting forth rays on every side. She placed her arm tenderly about his neck and kissed his forehead with a chaste caress.For one moment he seemed to forget everything. He too rose, took her in his arms, almost savagely, and clasped her suddenly to him, as if he were about to crush her against his breast. She just caught sight of his sad eyes; then she saw nothing more, blinded by the kisses ofhis mouth, which scorched her whole face as though with sparks of fire. With the sun-rapture of her soul was mingled a bliss of earth, a yielding to the violence of his embrace. But the thought flashed across her of what she would lose if she yielded. She released herself, put him away and said:“And now ... go.”He felt stunned; he understood that he had no choice:“Yes, yes, I am going,” he said. “I may write to you, may I not?”She nodded yes, with her smile:“Write to me, I shall write to you too,” she said. “Let me always hear from you....”“Then these are not to be the last words between us? This ... this ... is not the end?”“No.”“Thank you. Good-bye, mevrouw,good-bye ... Cecile. Ah, if you knew what this moment costs me!”“It must be. It cannot be otherwise. Go, go. You must go. Do go....”She gave him her hand again, for the last time. A moment later he was gone.2She looked about her strangely, with bewildered eyes, with hands locked together:“Go, go....” she repeated, like one raving.Then she noticed the roses. With something like a faint scream she sank down before the little table and buried her face in his gift, until the thorns wounded her face. The pain—two drops of blood which fell from her forehead—brought her back to her senses. Standing before the Venetian mirror hanging over herwriting-table, she wiped away the red spots with her handkerchief.“Happiness!” she stammered to herself. “His happiness! The highest thing in his life! So he knew happiness, though short it was. But now ... now he suffers, now he will suffer again, as he did before. The remembrance of happiness cannot do everything. Ah, if it could only do that, then everything would be well, everything!... I wish for nothing more, I have had my life, my own life, my own happiness; I now have my children; I now belong to them. To him I must no longer be anything....”She turned away from the mirror and sat down on the settee, as though tired with a great space traversed, and she closed her eyes, as though blinded with too great a light. She folded her hands together, like one in prayer; her facebeamed in its fatigue, from smile to smile.“Happiness!” she repeated, faltering between her smiles. “The highest thing in his life! O my God, happiness! I thank Thee, O God, I thank Thee!...”THE END
ChapterXIVShe shut herself up; she saw little of her children; she told her friends that she was ill. She was at home to no visitors. She guessed intuitively that people in their circles were speaking of Quaerts and herself. Life hung dull about her in a closely-woven web of tiresome, tedious meshes; and she remained motionless in her corner, to avoid entangling herself in those meshes. Once Jules forced his way to her; he went upstairs, in spite of Greta’s protests; he sought her in the little boudoir and, not finding her, went resolutely to her bedroom. He knocked without receiving a reply, but entered nevertheless. The room was half in darkness, for she kept the blinds lowered; in the shadow of the canopy which rose above the bedstead,with its hangings of old-blue brocade, Cecile lay sleeping. Her tea-gown was open over her breast; the train trailed from the bed and lay creased over the carpet; her hair spread loosely over the pillows; one of her hands was clutching nervously at the tulle bed-curtains.“Auntie!” cried Jules. “Auntie!”He shook her by the arm; and she woke heavily, with heavy, blue-girt eyes. She did not recognize him at first and thought that he was little Dolf.“It’s me, Auntie; Jules....”She knew him now, asked how he came there, what was the matter and if he did not know that she was ill?“I knew, but I wanted to speak to you. I came to speak to you about ... him....”“Him?”“About Taco. He asked me to tell you. He couldn’t write to you, he said.He is going on a long journey with his friend from Brussels; he will be away a long time and he would like ... he would like to take leave of you.”“To take leave?”“Yes; and he told me to ask you if he might see you once more?”She had half-raised herself and was looking at Jules with a vacant air. In an instant the memory ran through her brain of the long look which Jules had directed on her so strangely when she saw Quaerts for the first time and spoke to him coolly and distantly:“Have you many relations in The Hague?... You have no occupation, I believe?... Sport?... Oh!...”Then came the memory of Jules playing the piano, of Rubinstein’s Romance, of the ecstasy of his fantasia: the glittering rainbows and the souls turning to angels.“To take leave?” she repeated.Jules nodded:“Yes, Auntie, he is going away for ever so long.”He could have shed tears himself and there were tears in his voice, but he would not give way and his eyes merely grew moist.“He told me to ask you,” he repeated, with difficulty.“If he can come and take leave?”“Yes, Auntie.”She made no reply, but lay staring before her. An emptiness began to stretch before her, in endless vistas. It was a shadowy image of their evening of rapture, but no light beamed out of the shadow.“Emptiness!” she muttered through her closed lips.“What, Auntie?”She would have liked to ask Jules whether he was still, as formerly, afraid of the emptiness within himself; but a gentleness of pity, a soft feeling, a sweetening of the bitterness which filled her being, stayed her.“To take leave?” she repeated, with a smile of melancholy; and the big tears fell heavily, drop by drop, upon her fingers wrung together.“Yes, Auntie....”He could no longer restrain himself: a single sob convulsed his throat, but he gave a cough to conceal it. Cecile threw her arm round his neck:“You are very fond of ... Taco, are you not?” she asked; and it struck her that this was the first time that she had pronounced the name, for she had never called Quaerts by it: she had never called him by any name.He did not answer at first, but nestled in her arm, in her embrace, and began to cry:“Yes, I can’t tell you how fond I am of him,” he said.“I know,” she said; and she thought of the rainbows and the angels: he had played as out of her own soul.“May he come?” asked Jules, loyally remembering his instructions.“Yes.”“He asks if he might come this evening?”“Very well.”“Auntie, he is going away, because of ... because of ...”“Because of what, Jules?”“Because of you: because you don’t like him and will not marry him! Mamma says so....”She made no reply; she lay sobbing, with her head against Jules’ head.“Is it true, Auntie? No, it is not true, is it?...”“No.”“Why then?”She raised herself suddenly, conquering herself, and looked at him fixedly:“He is going away because he must, Jules. I cannot tell you why. But what he does is right. All that he does is right.”The boy looked at her, motionless, with large wet eyes, full of astonishment:“Is right?” he repeated.“Yes. He is better than any one of us. If you go on loving him, Jules, it will bring you happiness, even if ... if you never see him again.”“Do you think so?” he asked. “Does he bring happiness? Even in that case?...”“Even in that case.”She listened to her own words as shespoke: it was to her as if another were speaking, another who consoled not only Jules but herself as well and who would perhaps give her the strength to take leave of Taco in the manner which would be best, without despair.
ChapterXIV
She shut herself up; she saw little of her children; she told her friends that she was ill. She was at home to no visitors. She guessed intuitively that people in their circles were speaking of Quaerts and herself. Life hung dull about her in a closely-woven web of tiresome, tedious meshes; and she remained motionless in her corner, to avoid entangling herself in those meshes. Once Jules forced his way to her; he went upstairs, in spite of Greta’s protests; he sought her in the little boudoir and, not finding her, went resolutely to her bedroom. He knocked without receiving a reply, but entered nevertheless. The room was half in darkness, for she kept the blinds lowered; in the shadow of the canopy which rose above the bedstead,with its hangings of old-blue brocade, Cecile lay sleeping. Her tea-gown was open over her breast; the train trailed from the bed and lay creased over the carpet; her hair spread loosely over the pillows; one of her hands was clutching nervously at the tulle bed-curtains.“Auntie!” cried Jules. “Auntie!”He shook her by the arm; and she woke heavily, with heavy, blue-girt eyes. She did not recognize him at first and thought that he was little Dolf.“It’s me, Auntie; Jules....”She knew him now, asked how he came there, what was the matter and if he did not know that she was ill?“I knew, but I wanted to speak to you. I came to speak to you about ... him....”“Him?”“About Taco. He asked me to tell you. He couldn’t write to you, he said.He is going on a long journey with his friend from Brussels; he will be away a long time and he would like ... he would like to take leave of you.”“To take leave?”“Yes; and he told me to ask you if he might see you once more?”She had half-raised herself and was looking at Jules with a vacant air. In an instant the memory ran through her brain of the long look which Jules had directed on her so strangely when she saw Quaerts for the first time and spoke to him coolly and distantly:“Have you many relations in The Hague?... You have no occupation, I believe?... Sport?... Oh!...”Then came the memory of Jules playing the piano, of Rubinstein’s Romance, of the ecstasy of his fantasia: the glittering rainbows and the souls turning to angels.“To take leave?” she repeated.Jules nodded:“Yes, Auntie, he is going away for ever so long.”He could have shed tears himself and there were tears in his voice, but he would not give way and his eyes merely grew moist.“He told me to ask you,” he repeated, with difficulty.“If he can come and take leave?”“Yes, Auntie.”She made no reply, but lay staring before her. An emptiness began to stretch before her, in endless vistas. It was a shadowy image of their evening of rapture, but no light beamed out of the shadow.“Emptiness!” she muttered through her closed lips.“What, Auntie?”She would have liked to ask Jules whether he was still, as formerly, afraid of the emptiness within himself; but a gentleness of pity, a soft feeling, a sweetening of the bitterness which filled her being, stayed her.“To take leave?” she repeated, with a smile of melancholy; and the big tears fell heavily, drop by drop, upon her fingers wrung together.“Yes, Auntie....”He could no longer restrain himself: a single sob convulsed his throat, but he gave a cough to conceal it. Cecile threw her arm round his neck:“You are very fond of ... Taco, are you not?” she asked; and it struck her that this was the first time that she had pronounced the name, for she had never called Quaerts by it: she had never called him by any name.He did not answer at first, but nestled in her arm, in her embrace, and began to cry:“Yes, I can’t tell you how fond I am of him,” he said.“I know,” she said; and she thought of the rainbows and the angels: he had played as out of her own soul.“May he come?” asked Jules, loyally remembering his instructions.“Yes.”“He asks if he might come this evening?”“Very well.”“Auntie, he is going away, because of ... because of ...”“Because of what, Jules?”“Because of you: because you don’t like him and will not marry him! Mamma says so....”She made no reply; she lay sobbing, with her head against Jules’ head.“Is it true, Auntie? No, it is not true, is it?...”“No.”“Why then?”She raised herself suddenly, conquering herself, and looked at him fixedly:“He is going away because he must, Jules. I cannot tell you why. But what he does is right. All that he does is right.”The boy looked at her, motionless, with large wet eyes, full of astonishment:“Is right?” he repeated.“Yes. He is better than any one of us. If you go on loving him, Jules, it will bring you happiness, even if ... if you never see him again.”“Do you think so?” he asked. “Does he bring happiness? Even in that case?...”“Even in that case.”She listened to her own words as shespoke: it was to her as if another were speaking, another who consoled not only Jules but herself as well and who would perhaps give her the strength to take leave of Taco in the manner which would be best, without despair.
She shut herself up; she saw little of her children; she told her friends that she was ill. She was at home to no visitors. She guessed intuitively that people in their circles were speaking of Quaerts and herself. Life hung dull about her in a closely-woven web of tiresome, tedious meshes; and she remained motionless in her corner, to avoid entangling herself in those meshes. Once Jules forced his way to her; he went upstairs, in spite of Greta’s protests; he sought her in the little boudoir and, not finding her, went resolutely to her bedroom. He knocked without receiving a reply, but entered nevertheless. The room was half in darkness, for she kept the blinds lowered; in the shadow of the canopy which rose above the bedstead,with its hangings of old-blue brocade, Cecile lay sleeping. Her tea-gown was open over her breast; the train trailed from the bed and lay creased over the carpet; her hair spread loosely over the pillows; one of her hands was clutching nervously at the tulle bed-curtains.
“Auntie!” cried Jules. “Auntie!”
He shook her by the arm; and she woke heavily, with heavy, blue-girt eyes. She did not recognize him at first and thought that he was little Dolf.
“It’s me, Auntie; Jules....”
She knew him now, asked how he came there, what was the matter and if he did not know that she was ill?
“I knew, but I wanted to speak to you. I came to speak to you about ... him....”
“Him?”
“About Taco. He asked me to tell you. He couldn’t write to you, he said.He is going on a long journey with his friend from Brussels; he will be away a long time and he would like ... he would like to take leave of you.”
“To take leave?”
“Yes; and he told me to ask you if he might see you once more?”
She had half-raised herself and was looking at Jules with a vacant air. In an instant the memory ran through her brain of the long look which Jules had directed on her so strangely when she saw Quaerts for the first time and spoke to him coolly and distantly:
“Have you many relations in The Hague?... You have no occupation, I believe?... Sport?... Oh!...”
Then came the memory of Jules playing the piano, of Rubinstein’s Romance, of the ecstasy of his fantasia: the glittering rainbows and the souls turning to angels.
“To take leave?” she repeated.
Jules nodded:
“Yes, Auntie, he is going away for ever so long.”
He could have shed tears himself and there were tears in his voice, but he would not give way and his eyes merely grew moist.
“He told me to ask you,” he repeated, with difficulty.
“If he can come and take leave?”
“Yes, Auntie.”
She made no reply, but lay staring before her. An emptiness began to stretch before her, in endless vistas. It was a shadowy image of their evening of rapture, but no light beamed out of the shadow.
“Emptiness!” she muttered through her closed lips.
“What, Auntie?”
She would have liked to ask Jules whether he was still, as formerly, afraid of the emptiness within himself; but a gentleness of pity, a soft feeling, a sweetening of the bitterness which filled her being, stayed her.
“To take leave?” she repeated, with a smile of melancholy; and the big tears fell heavily, drop by drop, upon her fingers wrung together.
“Yes, Auntie....”
He could no longer restrain himself: a single sob convulsed his throat, but he gave a cough to conceal it. Cecile threw her arm round his neck:
“You are very fond of ... Taco, are you not?” she asked; and it struck her that this was the first time that she had pronounced the name, for she had never called Quaerts by it: she had never called him by any name.
He did not answer at first, but nestled in her arm, in her embrace, and began to cry:
“Yes, I can’t tell you how fond I am of him,” he said.
“I know,” she said; and she thought of the rainbows and the angels: he had played as out of her own soul.
“May he come?” asked Jules, loyally remembering his instructions.
“Yes.”
“He asks if he might come this evening?”
“Very well.”
“Auntie, he is going away, because of ... because of ...”
“Because of what, Jules?”
“Because of you: because you don’t like him and will not marry him! Mamma says so....”
She made no reply; she lay sobbing, with her head against Jules’ head.
“Is it true, Auntie? No, it is not true, is it?...”
“No.”
“Why then?”
She raised herself suddenly, conquering herself, and looked at him fixedly:
“He is going away because he must, Jules. I cannot tell you why. But what he does is right. All that he does is right.”
The boy looked at her, motionless, with large wet eyes, full of astonishment:
“Is right?” he repeated.
“Yes. He is better than any one of us. If you go on loving him, Jules, it will bring you happiness, even if ... if you never see him again.”
“Do you think so?” he asked. “Does he bring happiness? Even in that case?...”
“Even in that case.”
She listened to her own words as shespoke: it was to her as if another were speaking, another who consoled not only Jules but herself as well and who would perhaps give her the strength to take leave of Taco in the manner which would be best, without despair.
ChapterXV1“So you are going on a long journey?” she asked.He sat facing her, motionless, with anguish on his face. Outwardly she was very calm, only there was a sadness in her look and in her voice. In her white dress, with the girdle falling before her feet, she lay back among the three pillows of therose-moirésofa; the tips of her little slippers were buried in the white sheepskin rug. On the table before her lay a great bouquet of loose roses, pink, white and yellow, bound together with a broad riband. He had brought them for her and she had not yet placed them. There was a great calm about her;the exquisite atmosphere of the boudoir seemed unchanged.“Tell me, am I not paining you severely?” he asked, with the anguish in his eyes, the eyes which she now knew so well.She smiled:“No,” she said. “I will be honest with you. I have suffered, but I suffer no longer. I have struggled with myself for the second time and I have conquered myself. Will you believe me?”“If you knew the remorse that I feel....”She rose and went to him:“What for?” she asked, in a clear voice. “Because you read me and gave me happiness?”“Did I?”“Have you forgotten?”“No,” he said, “but I thought....”“What?”“I don’t know; I thought that you would ... would suffer so ... and I ... I cursed myself!...”She shook her head gently, with smiling disapproval:“For shame!” she said. “Do not blaspheme!...”“Can you forgive me?”“I have nothing to forgive. Listen to me. Swear to me that you believe me, that you believe that you have given me happiness and that I am not suffering.”“I ... I swear.”“I trust that you are not swearing this merely to satisfy my wish.”“You have been the highest thing in my life,” he said, gently.A rapture shot through her soul.“Tell me only....” she began.“What?”“Tell me if you believe that I, I,I...shall always remain the highest thing in your life.”She stood before him, tall, in her clinging white. She seemed to shed radiance; never had he seen her so beautiful.“I am certain of that,” he said. “Certain, oh, certain!... My God, how can I convey the certainty of it to you?”“But I believe you, I believe you!” she exclaimed.She laughed a laugh of rapture. In her soul a sun seemed to be shooting forth rays on every side. She placed her arm tenderly about his neck and kissed his forehead with a chaste caress.For one moment he seemed to forget everything. He too rose, took her in his arms, almost savagely, and clasped her suddenly to him, as if he were about to crush her against his breast. She just caught sight of his sad eyes; then she saw nothing more, blinded by the kisses ofhis mouth, which scorched her whole face as though with sparks of fire. With the sun-rapture of her soul was mingled a bliss of earth, a yielding to the violence of his embrace. But the thought flashed across her of what she would lose if she yielded. She released herself, put him away and said:“And now ... go.”He felt stunned; he understood that he had no choice:“Yes, yes, I am going,” he said. “I may write to you, may I not?”She nodded yes, with her smile:“Write to me, I shall write to you too,” she said. “Let me always hear from you....”“Then these are not to be the last words between us? This ... this ... is not the end?”“No.”“Thank you. Good-bye, mevrouw,good-bye ... Cecile. Ah, if you knew what this moment costs me!”“It must be. It cannot be otherwise. Go, go. You must go. Do go....”She gave him her hand again, for the last time. A moment later he was gone.2She looked about her strangely, with bewildered eyes, with hands locked together:“Go, go....” she repeated, like one raving.Then she noticed the roses. With something like a faint scream she sank down before the little table and buried her face in his gift, until the thorns wounded her face. The pain—two drops of blood which fell from her forehead—brought her back to her senses. Standing before the Venetian mirror hanging over herwriting-table, she wiped away the red spots with her handkerchief.“Happiness!” she stammered to herself. “His happiness! The highest thing in his life! So he knew happiness, though short it was. But now ... now he suffers, now he will suffer again, as he did before. The remembrance of happiness cannot do everything. Ah, if it could only do that, then everything would be well, everything!... I wish for nothing more, I have had my life, my own life, my own happiness; I now have my children; I now belong to them. To him I must no longer be anything....”She turned away from the mirror and sat down on the settee, as though tired with a great space traversed, and she closed her eyes, as though blinded with too great a light. She folded her hands together, like one in prayer; her facebeamed in its fatigue, from smile to smile.“Happiness!” she repeated, faltering between her smiles. “The highest thing in his life! O my God, happiness! I thank Thee, O God, I thank Thee!...”THE END
ChapterXV1“So you are going on a long journey?” she asked.He sat facing her, motionless, with anguish on his face. Outwardly she was very calm, only there was a sadness in her look and in her voice. In her white dress, with the girdle falling before her feet, she lay back among the three pillows of therose-moirésofa; the tips of her little slippers were buried in the white sheepskin rug. On the table before her lay a great bouquet of loose roses, pink, white and yellow, bound together with a broad riband. He had brought them for her and she had not yet placed them. There was a great calm about her;the exquisite atmosphere of the boudoir seemed unchanged.“Tell me, am I not paining you severely?” he asked, with the anguish in his eyes, the eyes which she now knew so well.She smiled:“No,” she said. “I will be honest with you. I have suffered, but I suffer no longer. I have struggled with myself for the second time and I have conquered myself. Will you believe me?”“If you knew the remorse that I feel....”She rose and went to him:“What for?” she asked, in a clear voice. “Because you read me and gave me happiness?”“Did I?”“Have you forgotten?”“No,” he said, “but I thought....”“What?”“I don’t know; I thought that you would ... would suffer so ... and I ... I cursed myself!...”She shook her head gently, with smiling disapproval:“For shame!” she said. “Do not blaspheme!...”“Can you forgive me?”“I have nothing to forgive. Listen to me. Swear to me that you believe me, that you believe that you have given me happiness and that I am not suffering.”“I ... I swear.”“I trust that you are not swearing this merely to satisfy my wish.”“You have been the highest thing in my life,” he said, gently.A rapture shot through her soul.“Tell me only....” she began.“What?”“Tell me if you believe that I, I,I...shall always remain the highest thing in your life.”She stood before him, tall, in her clinging white. She seemed to shed radiance; never had he seen her so beautiful.“I am certain of that,” he said. “Certain, oh, certain!... My God, how can I convey the certainty of it to you?”“But I believe you, I believe you!” she exclaimed.She laughed a laugh of rapture. In her soul a sun seemed to be shooting forth rays on every side. She placed her arm tenderly about his neck and kissed his forehead with a chaste caress.For one moment he seemed to forget everything. He too rose, took her in his arms, almost savagely, and clasped her suddenly to him, as if he were about to crush her against his breast. She just caught sight of his sad eyes; then she saw nothing more, blinded by the kisses ofhis mouth, which scorched her whole face as though with sparks of fire. With the sun-rapture of her soul was mingled a bliss of earth, a yielding to the violence of his embrace. But the thought flashed across her of what she would lose if she yielded. She released herself, put him away and said:“And now ... go.”He felt stunned; he understood that he had no choice:“Yes, yes, I am going,” he said. “I may write to you, may I not?”She nodded yes, with her smile:“Write to me, I shall write to you too,” she said. “Let me always hear from you....”“Then these are not to be the last words between us? This ... this ... is not the end?”“No.”“Thank you. Good-bye, mevrouw,good-bye ... Cecile. Ah, if you knew what this moment costs me!”“It must be. It cannot be otherwise. Go, go. You must go. Do go....”She gave him her hand again, for the last time. A moment later he was gone.2She looked about her strangely, with bewildered eyes, with hands locked together:“Go, go....” she repeated, like one raving.Then she noticed the roses. With something like a faint scream she sank down before the little table and buried her face in his gift, until the thorns wounded her face. The pain—two drops of blood which fell from her forehead—brought her back to her senses. Standing before the Venetian mirror hanging over herwriting-table, she wiped away the red spots with her handkerchief.“Happiness!” she stammered to herself. “His happiness! The highest thing in his life! So he knew happiness, though short it was. But now ... now he suffers, now he will suffer again, as he did before. The remembrance of happiness cannot do everything. Ah, if it could only do that, then everything would be well, everything!... I wish for nothing more, I have had my life, my own life, my own happiness; I now have my children; I now belong to them. To him I must no longer be anything....”She turned away from the mirror and sat down on the settee, as though tired with a great space traversed, and she closed her eyes, as though blinded with too great a light. She folded her hands together, like one in prayer; her facebeamed in its fatigue, from smile to smile.“Happiness!” she repeated, faltering between her smiles. “The highest thing in his life! O my God, happiness! I thank Thee, O God, I thank Thee!...”THE END
1“So you are going on a long journey?” she asked.He sat facing her, motionless, with anguish on his face. Outwardly she was very calm, only there was a sadness in her look and in her voice. In her white dress, with the girdle falling before her feet, she lay back among the three pillows of therose-moirésofa; the tips of her little slippers were buried in the white sheepskin rug. On the table before her lay a great bouquet of loose roses, pink, white and yellow, bound together with a broad riband. He had brought them for her and she had not yet placed them. There was a great calm about her;the exquisite atmosphere of the boudoir seemed unchanged.“Tell me, am I not paining you severely?” he asked, with the anguish in his eyes, the eyes which she now knew so well.She smiled:“No,” she said. “I will be honest with you. I have suffered, but I suffer no longer. I have struggled with myself for the second time and I have conquered myself. Will you believe me?”“If you knew the remorse that I feel....”She rose and went to him:“What for?” she asked, in a clear voice. “Because you read me and gave me happiness?”“Did I?”“Have you forgotten?”“No,” he said, “but I thought....”“What?”“I don’t know; I thought that you would ... would suffer so ... and I ... I cursed myself!...”She shook her head gently, with smiling disapproval:“For shame!” she said. “Do not blaspheme!...”“Can you forgive me?”“I have nothing to forgive. Listen to me. Swear to me that you believe me, that you believe that you have given me happiness and that I am not suffering.”“I ... I swear.”“I trust that you are not swearing this merely to satisfy my wish.”“You have been the highest thing in my life,” he said, gently.A rapture shot through her soul.“Tell me only....” she began.“What?”“Tell me if you believe that I, I,I...shall always remain the highest thing in your life.”She stood before him, tall, in her clinging white. She seemed to shed radiance; never had he seen her so beautiful.“I am certain of that,” he said. “Certain, oh, certain!... My God, how can I convey the certainty of it to you?”“But I believe you, I believe you!” she exclaimed.She laughed a laugh of rapture. In her soul a sun seemed to be shooting forth rays on every side. She placed her arm tenderly about his neck and kissed his forehead with a chaste caress.For one moment he seemed to forget everything. He too rose, took her in his arms, almost savagely, and clasped her suddenly to him, as if he were about to crush her against his breast. She just caught sight of his sad eyes; then she saw nothing more, blinded by the kisses ofhis mouth, which scorched her whole face as though with sparks of fire. With the sun-rapture of her soul was mingled a bliss of earth, a yielding to the violence of his embrace. But the thought flashed across her of what she would lose if she yielded. She released herself, put him away and said:“And now ... go.”He felt stunned; he understood that he had no choice:“Yes, yes, I am going,” he said. “I may write to you, may I not?”She nodded yes, with her smile:“Write to me, I shall write to you too,” she said. “Let me always hear from you....”“Then these are not to be the last words between us? This ... this ... is not the end?”“No.”“Thank you. Good-bye, mevrouw,good-bye ... Cecile. Ah, if you knew what this moment costs me!”“It must be. It cannot be otherwise. Go, go. You must go. Do go....”She gave him her hand again, for the last time. A moment later he was gone.
1
“So you are going on a long journey?” she asked.He sat facing her, motionless, with anguish on his face. Outwardly she was very calm, only there was a sadness in her look and in her voice. In her white dress, with the girdle falling before her feet, she lay back among the three pillows of therose-moirésofa; the tips of her little slippers were buried in the white sheepskin rug. On the table before her lay a great bouquet of loose roses, pink, white and yellow, bound together with a broad riband. He had brought them for her and she had not yet placed them. There was a great calm about her;the exquisite atmosphere of the boudoir seemed unchanged.“Tell me, am I not paining you severely?” he asked, with the anguish in his eyes, the eyes which she now knew so well.She smiled:“No,” she said. “I will be honest with you. I have suffered, but I suffer no longer. I have struggled with myself for the second time and I have conquered myself. Will you believe me?”“If you knew the remorse that I feel....”She rose and went to him:“What for?” she asked, in a clear voice. “Because you read me and gave me happiness?”“Did I?”“Have you forgotten?”“No,” he said, “but I thought....”“What?”“I don’t know; I thought that you would ... would suffer so ... and I ... I cursed myself!...”She shook her head gently, with smiling disapproval:“For shame!” she said. “Do not blaspheme!...”“Can you forgive me?”“I have nothing to forgive. Listen to me. Swear to me that you believe me, that you believe that you have given me happiness and that I am not suffering.”“I ... I swear.”“I trust that you are not swearing this merely to satisfy my wish.”“You have been the highest thing in my life,” he said, gently.A rapture shot through her soul.“Tell me only....” she began.“What?”“Tell me if you believe that I, I,I...shall always remain the highest thing in your life.”She stood before him, tall, in her clinging white. She seemed to shed radiance; never had he seen her so beautiful.“I am certain of that,” he said. “Certain, oh, certain!... My God, how can I convey the certainty of it to you?”“But I believe you, I believe you!” she exclaimed.She laughed a laugh of rapture. In her soul a sun seemed to be shooting forth rays on every side. She placed her arm tenderly about his neck and kissed his forehead with a chaste caress.For one moment he seemed to forget everything. He too rose, took her in his arms, almost savagely, and clasped her suddenly to him, as if he were about to crush her against his breast. She just caught sight of his sad eyes; then she saw nothing more, blinded by the kisses ofhis mouth, which scorched her whole face as though with sparks of fire. With the sun-rapture of her soul was mingled a bliss of earth, a yielding to the violence of his embrace. But the thought flashed across her of what she would lose if she yielded. She released herself, put him away and said:“And now ... go.”He felt stunned; he understood that he had no choice:“Yes, yes, I am going,” he said. “I may write to you, may I not?”She nodded yes, with her smile:“Write to me, I shall write to you too,” she said. “Let me always hear from you....”“Then these are not to be the last words between us? This ... this ... is not the end?”“No.”“Thank you. Good-bye, mevrouw,good-bye ... Cecile. Ah, if you knew what this moment costs me!”“It must be. It cannot be otherwise. Go, go. You must go. Do go....”She gave him her hand again, for the last time. A moment later he was gone.
“So you are going on a long journey?” she asked.
He sat facing her, motionless, with anguish on his face. Outwardly she was very calm, only there was a sadness in her look and in her voice. In her white dress, with the girdle falling before her feet, she lay back among the three pillows of therose-moirésofa; the tips of her little slippers were buried in the white sheepskin rug. On the table before her lay a great bouquet of loose roses, pink, white and yellow, bound together with a broad riband. He had brought them for her and she had not yet placed them. There was a great calm about her;the exquisite atmosphere of the boudoir seemed unchanged.
“Tell me, am I not paining you severely?” he asked, with the anguish in his eyes, the eyes which she now knew so well.
She smiled:
“No,” she said. “I will be honest with you. I have suffered, but I suffer no longer. I have struggled with myself for the second time and I have conquered myself. Will you believe me?”
“If you knew the remorse that I feel....”
She rose and went to him:
“What for?” she asked, in a clear voice. “Because you read me and gave me happiness?”
“Did I?”
“Have you forgotten?”
“No,” he said, “but I thought....”
“What?”
“I don’t know; I thought that you would ... would suffer so ... and I ... I cursed myself!...”
She shook her head gently, with smiling disapproval:
“For shame!” she said. “Do not blaspheme!...”
“Can you forgive me?”
“I have nothing to forgive. Listen to me. Swear to me that you believe me, that you believe that you have given me happiness and that I am not suffering.”
“I ... I swear.”
“I trust that you are not swearing this merely to satisfy my wish.”
“You have been the highest thing in my life,” he said, gently.
A rapture shot through her soul.
“Tell me only....” she began.
“What?”
“Tell me if you believe that I, I,I...shall always remain the highest thing in your life.”
She stood before him, tall, in her clinging white. She seemed to shed radiance; never had he seen her so beautiful.
“I am certain of that,” he said. “Certain, oh, certain!... My God, how can I convey the certainty of it to you?”
“But I believe you, I believe you!” she exclaimed.
She laughed a laugh of rapture. In her soul a sun seemed to be shooting forth rays on every side. She placed her arm tenderly about his neck and kissed his forehead with a chaste caress.
For one moment he seemed to forget everything. He too rose, took her in his arms, almost savagely, and clasped her suddenly to him, as if he were about to crush her against his breast. She just caught sight of his sad eyes; then she saw nothing more, blinded by the kisses ofhis mouth, which scorched her whole face as though with sparks of fire. With the sun-rapture of her soul was mingled a bliss of earth, a yielding to the violence of his embrace. But the thought flashed across her of what she would lose if she yielded. She released herself, put him away and said:
“And now ... go.”
He felt stunned; he understood that he had no choice:
“Yes, yes, I am going,” he said. “I may write to you, may I not?”
She nodded yes, with her smile:
“Write to me, I shall write to you too,” she said. “Let me always hear from you....”
“Then these are not to be the last words between us? This ... this ... is not the end?”
“No.”
“Thank you. Good-bye, mevrouw,good-bye ... Cecile. Ah, if you knew what this moment costs me!”
“It must be. It cannot be otherwise. Go, go. You must go. Do go....”
She gave him her hand again, for the last time. A moment later he was gone.
2She looked about her strangely, with bewildered eyes, with hands locked together:“Go, go....” she repeated, like one raving.Then she noticed the roses. With something like a faint scream she sank down before the little table and buried her face in his gift, until the thorns wounded her face. The pain—two drops of blood which fell from her forehead—brought her back to her senses. Standing before the Venetian mirror hanging over herwriting-table, she wiped away the red spots with her handkerchief.“Happiness!” she stammered to herself. “His happiness! The highest thing in his life! So he knew happiness, though short it was. But now ... now he suffers, now he will suffer again, as he did before. The remembrance of happiness cannot do everything. Ah, if it could only do that, then everything would be well, everything!... I wish for nothing more, I have had my life, my own life, my own happiness; I now have my children; I now belong to them. To him I must no longer be anything....”She turned away from the mirror and sat down on the settee, as though tired with a great space traversed, and she closed her eyes, as though blinded with too great a light. She folded her hands together, like one in prayer; her facebeamed in its fatigue, from smile to smile.“Happiness!” she repeated, faltering between her smiles. “The highest thing in his life! O my God, happiness! I thank Thee, O God, I thank Thee!...”THE END
2
She looked about her strangely, with bewildered eyes, with hands locked together:“Go, go....” she repeated, like one raving.Then she noticed the roses. With something like a faint scream she sank down before the little table and buried her face in his gift, until the thorns wounded her face. The pain—two drops of blood which fell from her forehead—brought her back to her senses. Standing before the Venetian mirror hanging over herwriting-table, she wiped away the red spots with her handkerchief.“Happiness!” she stammered to herself. “His happiness! The highest thing in his life! So he knew happiness, though short it was. But now ... now he suffers, now he will suffer again, as he did before. The remembrance of happiness cannot do everything. Ah, if it could only do that, then everything would be well, everything!... I wish for nothing more, I have had my life, my own life, my own happiness; I now have my children; I now belong to them. To him I must no longer be anything....”She turned away from the mirror and sat down on the settee, as though tired with a great space traversed, and she closed her eyes, as though blinded with too great a light. She folded her hands together, like one in prayer; her facebeamed in its fatigue, from smile to smile.“Happiness!” she repeated, faltering between her smiles. “The highest thing in his life! O my God, happiness! I thank Thee, O God, I thank Thee!...”THE END
She looked about her strangely, with bewildered eyes, with hands locked together:
“Go, go....” she repeated, like one raving.
Then she noticed the roses. With something like a faint scream she sank down before the little table and buried her face in his gift, until the thorns wounded her face. The pain—two drops of blood which fell from her forehead—brought her back to her senses. Standing before the Venetian mirror hanging over herwriting-table, she wiped away the red spots with her handkerchief.
“Happiness!” she stammered to herself. “His happiness! The highest thing in his life! So he knew happiness, though short it was. But now ... now he suffers, now he will suffer again, as he did before. The remembrance of happiness cannot do everything. Ah, if it could only do that, then everything would be well, everything!... I wish for nothing more, I have had my life, my own life, my own happiness; I now have my children; I now belong to them. To him I must no longer be anything....”
She turned away from the mirror and sat down on the settee, as though tired with a great space traversed, and she closed her eyes, as though blinded with too great a light. She folded her hands together, like one in prayer; her facebeamed in its fatigue, from smile to smile.
“Happiness!” she repeated, faltering between her smiles. “The highest thing in his life! O my God, happiness! I thank Thee, O God, I thank Thee!...”
THE END