CHAPTER XIV
So she knew! She knew that, as usual, she was, personally, a valueless commodity. So far as herself, her own life and feelings were concerned, her fate continued to follow her—no one was kindly or vitally interested in her,—she was just a “subject” for experiment. She had suspected this all along—yet now that she had heard the fact stated coldly and dispassionately, she was more or less resentful. She waited a few minutes, her heart beating quickly and the vexed blood rising to her brows and making her cheeks burn,—waited till she was sure Dimitrius would not re-enter,—then, suddenly flinging down her pen, she rose and paced the room hurriedly to and fro, scarce knowing what she did. Was it not hard,—hard! she said to herself, with an involuntary clenching of her hands as she walked up and down, that she should never be considered more than a passive “thing” to be used for other folks’ advantage or convenience? How had it happened that no one in all the world had ever thought of putting himself (or herself) to “use” forHersake! The calm calculations of Féodor Dimitrius on her possible death under his treatment had (though she would not admit it to herself) inwardly hurt her. Yet, after all, what had she any right to expect? She had answered a strange, very strange advertisement, and through that action had come into association with the personality of a more than strange man of whose character and reputation she knew little or nothing. And, so far, she had “fallen on her feet,”—that is to say, she had secured a comfortable home and handsome competence for the services she had pledged herself to render. Then, as she had taken the whole thing on trust had she any cause to complain of the nature of those services? No!—and in truth she did not complain,—she onlyfelt—felt, to the core of her soul the callous indifference which Dimitrius had plainly expressed as to her fate in the dangerous “experiment” he had already commenced upon her. Hot tears sprang to her eyes,—she struggled with them, ashamed and humiliated.
“Children and girls cry!” she said, with self-contempt. “I, being a woman ‘of mature years,’ ought to know better! But, oh, it is hard!—hard!”
Her thoughts flew to Madame Dimitrius,—had she followed her first feminine impulse, she would have run to that kind old lady and asked for a little pity, sympathy and affection!—but she knew such an act would seem weak and absurd. Still walking up and down, her steps gradually became more measured and even,—with one hand against her eyes, she pressed away the tear drops that hung on her lashes—then, pausing, looked again, as she so often looked at the never stopping steel instrument that struck off its little fiery sparks with an almost wearisome exactitude and monotony. Stretching out her hand, she tried to catch one of the flying dots of flame as one would catch a midge or a moth,—she at last succeeded, and the glowing mote shone on her open palm like a ruby for about half a minute—then vanished, leaving no trace but a slight tingling sensation on the flesh it had touched.
“A mystery!” she said—“as involved and difficult to understand as my ‘master’ himself!”
She looked through the window at the grey-cold winter landscape, and let her eyes travel along the distant peaks of the Alpine ranges, where just now the faintest gleam of sunshine fell. The world,—the natural world—was beautiful!—but how much more beautiful it would seem if one had the full heart and vigour to enjoy its beauty! If, with youth to buoy up the senses, one had the trained eye and mind to perceive and appreciate the lovely things of life!—could one ask for greater happiness?
“When we are quite young we hardly see Nature,” she mused. “It is only in later years that we begin to find out how much we have missed. Now, if I, with my love of beauty, were young——”
Here her meditations came to an abrupt halt. Had not Dimitrius promised that if he succeeded in his experiment, youth would be hers again?—youth, united to experience?—but would that be a desirable result? She wondered.
“The old, old story!” she sighed. “The old legend of Faust and the devil!—the thirst of mankind for a longer extension of youth and life!—only, in my case, I have not asked for these things, nor have I tried to summon up the devil. I am just an unwanted woman,—unwanted so far as the world is concerned, but useful just now as a ‘subject’ for the recharging of cells!”
She gave a half weary, half scornful gesture, and resumed her work, and for an hour or more sat patiently translating and writing. But her thoughts were rebels and went breaking into all manner of unfamiliar places,—moreover, she herself felt more or less rebellious and disposed to fight against destiny. At midday the sun, which had been teasing the earth with shy glimpses of glory all the morning, shone out superbly, and set such a coronal of light on her hair as she sat at her desk, that if she could have seen herself she might have been flattered at the effect. But she was only conscious of the brightness that filled the room—a brightness that equally took possession of her mind and filled her with cheerfulness. She even allowed herself a little run into the realms of fancy.
“Suppose that heshouldsucceed in his perfectly impossible task,” she said. “I,—his ‘subject’—shall have him in my power! I never thought of that! Yet it’s worth thinking about! I shall have given him the triumph of his life! He will set some value upon me then,—and he’ll never be able to forget me! More than that, according to his own assertion, I shall be young!—and he spoke of beauty too!—all nonsense, of course—but if!—if!—if he makesmethe crowning success of all his studies, I shall hold him in the hollow of my hand!”
Stimulated by this thought, she sprang up and stood proudly erect, a smile on her lips and radiance in her eyes.
“With all his learning, his calculations and his cold-blooded science,—yes—I shall hold him in the hollow of my hand!”
Recalling herself to her duties, she put all her papers and writing materials neatly away in order for the next morning’s work, and leaving the library, went out in the garden for a turn in the fresh air before luncheon. The noonday sunshine was at the full, and her whole being responded to its warmth and brightness. A new outlook had presented itself to her view, and all hesitation, vexation, fear and depression vanished like a mist blown aside by the wind. She was entirely resolved now to go through with whatsoever strange ordeals Dimitrius might ordain, no matter how much physical or mental suffering she might have to endure.
“The die is cast!” she said, gaily—addressing herself to a group of pine trees stiff with frost—“I’m all for youth and beauty!—or—Death! On, on, Diana!”
That afternoon she went off for a walk by herself as it was frequently her custom to do. She was allowed perfect freedom of action after the morning working hours,—she could go and come as she liked,—and both Dr. Dimitrius and his mother made it plainly evident that they trusted her implicitly. She avoided Geneva—she instinctively felt that it would be wiser not to be seen there, as the people of the hotel where she had stayed might recognise her. One of her favourite walks was along the Mornex road to a quaint little villa occupied by Professor Chauvet. This somewhat grim and ironical man of much learning had taken a great fancy to her, and she always made herself charming in his company, partly out of real liking for him and partly out of compassion for his loneliness. For, apparently, he had no one in the world to care whether he lived or died, the only person to attend upon him being a wrinkled, toothless old woman from the Canton Grisons, whose cooking was execrable, while her excessive cleanliness was beyond reproach. Diana loved to hear the Professor’s half-cynical, half-kindly talk,—she laughingly encouraged him to “lay down the law,” as he delighted to do, on all things human and divine, and she was never tired of turning over his really unique and wonderful collection of unset gems, of which he had enough to excite the cupidity of any American wife of a millionaire,—enough certainly to make him rich, though he lived in the style of an exceedingly poor man.
“You have the saddest fire I ever saw!” she said, on this particular afternoon, as she entered his study without warning, as she was now quite accustomed to do, and found him sitting absorbed over a book, regardless of the smouldering wood in the grate which threatened to become altogether extinguished. “Let me make it cheerful for you!”
She set to work, while he pushed his spectacles up from his eyes to his forehead and regarded her with unassisted vision.
“What have you been doing to yourself?” he asked, then. “Are you sure you are quite well?”
She looked up from the logs she was piling dexterously together, surprised and smiling.
“Quite well? Of course I am! Never felt better! Do I look ill?”
Professor Chauvet got up and stretched his legs.
“Not ill,” he replied,—“No,—but feverish! Singularly so! Eyes too bright—lips too red,—spiteful women would say you had put belladonna in the one and carmine on the other! Let me feel your pulse!”
She laughed, and gave him her hand. He pressed his fingers on the cool, firm wrist.
“No—nothing the matter there!” he said, wrinkling his fuzzy brows in a puzzled line. “It is the pulse of youth and strong heart action. Well! What is it?”
“What iswhat?” queried Diana, merrily, as she settled the logs to her satisfaction, and kindled them into sparkling flame. “I know of nothing in myself that is, or isn’t!”
He smiled a wry smile.
“There you express the sum and substance of all philosophy!” he said. “Plato himself could go no further! All the same, there’s anISabout you thatWASN’T! What do you make ofthat? And if you haven’t been doing anything to yourself what has our friend Féodor Dimitrius been doing to you?”
The question, though put suddenly, did not throw her off her guard. She met it with clear, upraised eyes and a look of wonder.
“Why, what on earth should he do?” she asked, lightly. “He’s giving me quite a pleasant time in Switzerland—that’s all!”
“Oh! That’s all, eh?” repeated Chauvet, baffled for the moment. “Well, I’m glad you are having a pleasant time. Judging by your looks, Switzerland agrees with you. But Dimitrius is a queer fellow. It’s no use falling in love with him, you know!”
She laughed very merrily.
“My dear Professor! You talk as if I were a girl, likely to ‘moon’ and sentimentalise over the first man that comes in my way! I’m not young enough for that sort of thing.”
The Professor stuck his hands deep in his pockets and appeared to meditate.
“No—perhaps not,” he said. “But experience has taught me that people fall in love at the most unexpected ages. I have seen a child of four,—a girl,—coquetting with a boy of seven,—and I have also seen an old gentleman of seventy odd making himself exceedingly unpleasant by his too rabid admiration of a married lady of forty. These thingswilloccur!”
“But that’s not love!” laughed Diana, seating herself in a deep easy chair opposite to him. “Come, come, Professor! You know it isn’t! It’s nonsense!—and in the case of the old gentleman, very distressing nonsense! Now, show me that jewel you spoke of the other day—one that I’ve never seen—it’s called the Eye of something or somebody——”
“The Eye of Rajuna,” said Chauvet, solemnly, “a jewel with the history of a perished world behind it. Now, Miss May, you must not look at this remarkable stone in a spirit of trifling—it carries, compressed within its lustre, the soul’s despair of a great Queen!”
He paused, as if thinking,—then went to an iron-bound safe which stood in one corner of the room, and unlocked it. Fumbling for a minute or two in its interior recesses, he presently produced a curious case made of rough hide and fastened with a band of gold. Opening it, a sudden flash of light sparkled from within—and Diana raised herself in her chair to look, with a little exclamation of wonderment. The extraordinary brilliancy of the jewel disclosed was like nothing she had ever seen—the stone appeared to be of a deep rose colour, but in its centre there was a moving point, as of blood-red liquid. This floating drop glittered with an unearthly lustre, and now and again seemed to emit rays as of living light.
“What a marvellous gem!” Diana murmured. “And how beautiful! What do you call it?—a ruby or a coloured diamond?”
“Neither,” answered Chauvet. “It does not belong to any class of known gems. It is the ‘Eye of Rajuna’—and in ages past it was set in the centre of the forehead of the statue of an Assyrian queen. She was a strange person in her day—of strong and imperious primitive passions,—and she had rather a violent way of revenging herself for a wrong. She had a lover—all good-looking queens have lovers—it is only the ugly ones who are virtuous—and he grew tired of her in due course, as lovers generally tire——”
“Do they?” put in Diana.
“Of course they do! That’s why the bond of marriage was invented—to tie a man fast up to family duties so that he should not wander where he listeth—though he wanders just as much—but marriage is the only safeguard for his children. Rajuna, the Queen, however, did not approve of her lover’s wandering—and being, in her day, a great ruler, she could of course do as she liked with him. So she had him brought before her in chains, and slowly hacked to pieces in her presence—a little bit here and a little bit there, keeping him alive as long as possible so that he might see himself cut up—and finally when the psychological moment came, she had herself robed and crowned in full imperial style, and, taking a sharp knife in her own fair hands, cut out his heartherselfand threw it to her dogs in the palace courtyard below! This was one of the many jewels she wore on that historic occasion!—and it was afterwards placed in the forehead of the statue which her people erected to the memory of their ‘good and great Queen Rajuna!’”
Diana listened with fascinated interest—her eyes fastened on the weird jewel, and her whole expression one of complete absorption in the horror of the story she had heard. She was silent so long that Chauvet grew impatient.
“Well! What do you think of it all?” he demanded.
“I think she—that Assyrian queen—was quite right!” she answered, slowly. “She gave her false lover, physically, what he had given her morally. He had hackedherto pieces,—bit by bit!—he had taken her ideals, her hopes and confidences, and cut them all to shreds—and he had tornherheart out from its place! Yes!—she was quite right!—a traitor deserves a traitor’s death!—I would have done the same myself!”
He stared and glowered frowningly.
“You?You,—a gentle Englishwoman?—you would have done the same?”
She took the jewel from its case and held it up to the light, its red brilliance making her slender fingers rosy-tipped.
“Yes, I would!” and she smiled strangely. “I think women are all made in much the same mould, whether English or Assyrian! There is nothing they resent so deeply as treachery in love.”
“Yet they are treacherous themselves pretty often!” said the Professor.
“When they are they are not real women,” declared Diana. “They are pussy-cats,—toys! A true woman loves once and loves always!”
He looked at her askance.
“I think you have been bitten, my dear lady!” he said. “Your eloquence is the result of sad experience!”
“You are right!” she answered, quietly, still holding the “Eye of Rajuna” and dangling it against the light. “Perfectly so! I have been ‘bitten’ as you put it—but—it is long ago.”
“Yet you cherish the idea of vengeance?”
She laughed a little.
“I don’t know! I cannot say! But when one has had life spoilt for one all undeservedly, onemaywish to see the spoiler morally ‘hung, drawn and quartered’ in a sort of good old Tudor way! Yet my story is quite a common one,—I was engaged to a man who threw me over after I had waited for him seven years—lots of women could tell the same tale, I dare say!—he’s married, and has a very fat wife and five hideous children——”
“And are you not sufficiently avenged?” exclaimed Chauvet, melodramatically, with uplifted hands. “A fat wife and five hideous children! Surely far worse than the Eye of Rajuna!”
Her face was clear and radiant now as she put the jewel back in its case.
“Yes, possibly! But I sometimes fancy I should like to make sure that itisworse! I’m wickedly human enough to wish to see him suffer!”
“And yet he’s not worth such an expenditure of nerve force!” said Chauvet, smiling kindly. “Why not spare yourself for somebody else?”
She looked at him with something of pathos in her eyes.
“Somebody else? My dear Professor, there’s not a soul in all the world that cares for me!”
“You are wrong,—Icare!” he replied, with an emphasis that startled her—“I care so much that I’ll marry you to-morrow if you’ll have me!”
She was so amazed that for the moment she could not speak. He, perfectly calm and collected, continued with a kind of oratorical fervour:
“I will marry you, I say! I find you charming and intelligent. Charm in woman is common—intelligence is rare. You are a happy combination of the two. You are not a girl—neither am I a boy. But if you take me, you will not take a poor man. I am rich—much richer than anybody knows. I have become interested in you—more than this, I have grown fond of you. I would try my best—for the rest of my life—which cannot be very long—to make you happy. I would give you a pretty house in Paris—and all the luxuries which dainty women appreciate. And I promise I would not bore you. And at my death I would leave you all I possess—even the ‘Eye of Rajuna!’ Stop now, before you speak! Think it over! I wish to give you plenty of time”—here his voice trembled a little—“for it will be a great blow—yes, a very great blow to me if you refuse!”
Taken by surprise as she was, Diana could not but appreciate the quiet and chivalrous manner of the Professor, as after having made his declaration and proposal, he stood “at attention” as it were, waiting for her first word.
She rose from her chair and laid one hand on his arm.
“Dear Professor——” she began, hesitatingly.
“Yes—that’s good!” he said. “‘Dear Professor’ is very good! And after that, what next?”
“After that, just this,” said Diana. “That I thank you for your kind and generous offer with all my heart! Still more do I thank you for saying you have grown fond of me! Nobody has said that for years! But I will not do you such wrong as to take advantage of your goodness to a woman you know nothing of—not, at any rate, till you know something more! And,—to be quite honest with you—I don’t think I have it in my heart to love any man now!”
The Professor took the hand that rested on his arm and patted it encouragingly.
“My dear lady, I am not asking for love!” he said. “I would not do such an absurd thing for the world! Love is the greatest delusion of the ages,—one of the ‘springes to catch woodcocks,’ as your Shakespeare says. I don’t want it,—I never had it, and don’t expect it. I merely ask for permission to take care of you and make you as happy as I can for the rest of my life. I should like to do that!—I should indeed! The stupid and conventional world will not allow me to do it without scandal, unless I marry you—therefore I ask you to go through this form with me. I would not be selfish,—I would respect you in every way——”
He broke off—and to close an embarrassing sentence gently kissed the hand he held.
Tears stood in Diana’s eyes.
“Oh, you are good, you are good!” she murmured. “And I feel so ungrateful because I cannot please you by at once saying ‘yes!’ But I should feel worse than ungrateful if I did—because it would be unfair to you!—it would, really! And yet——”
“Don’t say an absolute ‘No,’ my dear!” interrupted the Professor, hastily. “Take time! I’ll give you as long as you like—and live in hope!”
She smiled, though her eyes were wet. Her thoughts were all in a whirl. How had it chanced that she, so long content to be considered “an old maid,” should now receive an offer of marriage? Had she a right to refuse it? Professor Chauvet was a distinguished man of science, well known in Paris; his wife would occupy a position of dignity and distinction. Hersalonwould be filled with men of mark and women of high social standing. And he “had grown fond of her” he said. That was the best and most wonderful thing of all! That anyone should be “fond” of her seemed to poor, lonely Diana the opening of the gates of Paradise.
“May I—may I——” she faltered, presently.
“You may do anything!” replied Chauvet, soothingly. “You may even box my ears, if it will relieve your feelings!”
She laughed, and looked up at him. It was a kind, rugged, clever face she saw—plain, but shrewd, and though marked like a map with lines of thought and care, not without character and impressiveness.
“I was rude to you the first night we met!” she said, irrelevantly.
“So was I to you,” he responded. “And you got the better of me. That’s probably why I like you!”
She hesitated again. Then:
“May I wait——”
“Of course!” he said. “Any time! Not too long—I want to settle it before I die!”
“Will it do when I have finished my visit to Madame Dimitrius?” she asked. “She wishes me to stay with her for some months—she likes my company——”
“I should think she does!” interposed Chauvet. “So should I!”
She laughed again.
“You really are very nice!” she said. “You ought to have married long ago!”
“That’s neither here nor there,” he answered. “I’m glad I didn’t—I might have had a fat wife and five hideous children, like your old lover—and my life wouldn’t have been worth asou!”
“Wouldn’t it?” She was quite playful by this time, and taking a knot of violets from her own dress, pinned them in his buttonhole, much to his delight.
“Of course not! With a fat wife and five children what would have become of my work? I should never have done anything. As it is the world may have to thank me for a few useful discoveries,—though I dare say it will have to thank Féodor Dimitrius more.”
Her heart gave a quick throb.
“Do you think him very clever?” she asked.
“Clever? Clever as the devil! There never was such a man for bold experiment! I wonder he hasn’t killed himself before now with his exploits in chemistry. However, let us keep to the point. As I understand it, you give me a little hope. You will not say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ till your time with Madame Dimitrius is expired—till your visit to the Château Fragonard is ended. Is that so?”
She bent her head.
“And may I walk on air—buoyed up by hope—till then?”
She looked a little troubled.
“Dear Professor, I cannot promise anything!” she said. “You see I am taken altogether by surprise—and—and gratitude—give me time to think!”
“I will!” he said, kindly. “And meanwhile, we will keep our own confidence—and the subject shall be closed till you yourself reopen it. There! You can rely upon me. But think it all over well, reasonably, and clearly—a husband who would care much for you, ten thousand a year, a house in Paris and every comfort and luxury you could wish for is not an absolutely melancholy prospect! Bless you, my dear! And now I’ll lock up the ‘Eye of Rajuna’—it has looked upon us and has seen nothing of falsehood or treachery to warrant the shedding of blood!”
He moved away from her to place the jewel in his safe, and as he did so, said:
“I have an aqua-marine here which is the colour of a Sicilian sea in full summer—and I should like to give it to you now,—I intend it for you—but the hawk eye of Dimitrius would notice it if you wore it, and you would suffer the cross-examination of a Torquemada! However, you shall have it very soon—as soon as I can invent a little fable to give cover to its presentation. And,—let me see!——” here he turned round, smiling.—“Well, upon my word, you have made up the fire capitally! Quite bright and cheery!—and full of hope!”