Ships That Pass in the Night Part 16

"Being interested is not the same as being interfering," she replied quickly.

"It is difficult to be the one without being the other," he said. "It requires a genius. There is a genius for being sympathetic as well as a genius for being good. And geniuses are few."

"But I knew one," Bernardine said. "There was a friend to whom in the first days of my trouble I turned for sympathy. When others only irritated, she could soothe. She had only to come into my room, and all was well with me."

There were tears in Bernardine's eyes as she spoke.

"Well," said the Disagreeable Man kindly, "and where is your genius now?"

"She went away, she and hers," Bernardine said "And that was the end of that chapter!"

"Poor little child," he said, half to himself. "Don't I too know something about the ending of such a chapter?"

But Bernardine did not hear him; she was thinking of her friend. She was thinking, as we all think, that those to whom in our suffering we turn for sympathy, become hallowed beings. Saints they may not be; but for want of a better name, saints they are to us, gracious and lovely presences. The great time Eternity, the great s.p.a.ce Death, could not rob them of their saints.h.i.+p; for they were canonized by our bitterest tears.

She was roused from her reverie by the Disagreeable Man, who got up, and pushed his chair noisily under the table.

"Will you come and help me to develop some photographs?" he asked cheerily. "You do not need to have a straight eye for that!"

Then as they went along together, he said:

"When we come to think about it seriously, it is rather absurd for us to expect to have uninterrupted stretches of happiness. Happiness falls to our share in separate detached bits; and those of us who are wise, content ourselves with these broken fragments."

"But who is wise?" Bernardine asked. "Why, we all expect to be happy.

No one told us that we were to be happy. Still, though no one told us, it is the true instinct of human nature."

"It would be interesting to know at what particular period of evolution into our present glorious types we felt that instinct for the first time," he said. "The suns.h.i.+ne must have had something to do with it.

You see how a dog throws itself down in the suns.h.i.+ne; the most wretched cur heaves a sigh of content then; the sulkiest cat begins to purr."

They were standing outside the room set apart for the photograph-maniacs of the Kurhaus.

"I cannot go into that horrid little hole," Bernardine said. "And besides, I have promised to play chess with the Swedish professor.

And after that I am going to photograph Marie. I promised Warli I would."

The Disagreeable Man smiled grimly.

"I hope he will be able to recognize her!" he said. Then, feeling that he was on dangerous ground, he added quickly:

"If you want any more plates, I can oblige you."

On her way to her room she stopped to talk to pretty Fraulein Muller, who was in high spirits, having had an excellent report from the Doctor.

Fraulein Muller always insisted on talking English with Bernardine; and as her knowledge of it was limited, a certain amount of imagination was necessary to enable her to be understood.

"Ah, Miss Holme," she said, "I have deceived an exquisite report from the Doctor."

"You are looking ever so well," Bernardine said. "And the love-making with the Spanish gentleman goes on well, too?"

"Ach!" was the merry answer. "That is your inventory! I am quite indolent to him!"

At that moment the Spanish gentleman came out of the Kurhaus flower- shop, with a beautiful bouquet of flowers.

"Mademoiselle," he said, handing them to Fraulein Muller, and at the same time putting his hand to his heart. He had not noticed Bernardine at first, and when he saw her, he became somewhat confused. She smiled at them both, and escaped into the flower-shop, which was situated in one of the covered pa.s.sages connecting the mother-building with the dependencies. Herr Schmidt, the gardener, was making a wreath. His favourite companion, a saffron cat, was playing with the wire. Schmidt was rather an ill-tempered man, but he liked Bernardine.

"I have put these violets aside for you, Fraulein," he said, in his sulky way. "I meant to have sent them to your room, but have been interrupted in my work."

"You spoil me with your gifts," she said.

"You spoil my cat with the milk," he replied, looking up from his work.

"That is a beautiful wreath you are making, Herr Schmidt," she said.

"Who has died? Any one in the Kurhaus?"

"No, Fraulein. But I ought to keep my door locked when I make these wreaths. People get frightened, and think they, too, are going to die.

Shall you be frightened, I wonder?"

"No, I believe not," she answered as she took possession of her violets, and stroked the saffron cat. "But I am glad no one has died here."

"It is for a young, beautiful lady," he said. "She was in the Kurhaus two years ago. I liked her. So I am taking extra pains. She did not care for the flowers to be wired. So I am trying my best without the wire.

But it is difficult."

She left him to his work, and went away, thinking. All the time she had now been in Petershof had not sufficed to make her indifferent to the sadness of her surroundings. In vain the Disagreeable Man's preachings, in vain her own reasonings with herself.

These people here who suffered, and faded, and pa.s.sed away, who were they to her?

Why should the faintest shadow steal across her soul on account of them?

There was no reason. And still she felt for them all, she who in the old days would have thought it waste of time to spare a moment's reflection on anything so unimportant as the sufferings of an _individual_ human being.

And the bridge between her former and her present self was her own illness.

What dull-minded sheep we must all be, how lacking in the very elements of imagination, since we are only able to learn by personal experience of grief and suffering, something about the suffering and grief of others!

Yea, how the dogs must wonder at us: those dogs who know when we are in pain or trouble, and nestle nearer to us.

So Bernardine reached her own door. She heard her name called, and, turning round, saw Mrs. Reffold. There was a scared look on the beautiful face.

"Miss Holme," she said, "I have been sent for--I daren't go to him alone--I want you--he is worse. I am" . . . .

Bernardine took her hand, and the two women hurried away in silence.

CHAPTER XVI.

WHEN THE SOUL KNOWS ITS OWN REMORSE.

BERNARDINE had seen Mr. Reffold the previous day. She had sat by his side and held his hand. He had smiled at her many times, but he only spoke once.