The Hillman Part 48

"Of course!"

He slipped in his clutch and drove off through the rain-gleaming streets with the smile and air of a conqueror. Louise pa.s.sed into her little house to find a visitor waiting for her there.

x.x.x

Eugene, Prince of Seyre, had spent the early part of that afternoon in a manner wholly strange to him. In pursuance of an order given to his majordomo immediately on his return from the club after lunch, the great reception rooms of Seyre House, the picture-gallery and the ballroom, were prepared as if for a reception. Dust-sheets were swept aside, masterpieces of painting and sculpture were uncovered, the soft brilliance of concealed electric lights lit up many dark corners.

When all was ready, the prince, with his hands clasped behind him, with expressionless face and slow, thoughtful movements, pa.s.sed from room to room of the treasure-house which had come to him through a long line of distinguished and famous men. Here and there he paused to handle with the fingers of a connoisseur some excellent piece of bronze statuary, some miracle of Sevres china, some treasure of carved ivory, yellow with age. And more than once he stood still for several minutes in rapt contemplation of one of the great masterpieces with which the walls were hung.

As he pa.s.sed, a solitary figure, from one to another of that long chain of lofty, palatial rooms, his stature seemed more than ever insignificant; yet he walked always with the dignity of the master.

Notwithstanding the slight excesses of his immaculate morning dress, his pallid features, his insignificant build, he appeared to belong to these things, to dominate them, to understand them. Every beautiful object upon which he looked brought back to his memory some reminiscence of his years of travel. He knew the history of the chinas and the bronzes, the statuary and the lacquer-work, the friezes, and the great pictures which adorned his house. Perhaps, he thought, as he paused to study some Italian tapestry of his own discovery, he had spent too many years in the contemplative life.

There had been many careers open to him in his younger days. France was still his own country, and he might easily have joined the long line of soldiers whose portraits filled one side of the picture-gallery. Once he had had ambitions, either to wield the sword or to take his place in the world of diplomacy. It was his political inheritance which had deadened them, the awful debt of blood that he still owed to the enemies of his race. He had found the spirit of patriotism dead within him, and in that day he had turned his back upon his country. Since then he had carried his great name through the pleasure places of the world, always upholding its dignity, perhaps, but never adding to its l.u.s.ter.

He was forty-one years old that day, and the few words which John had spoken to him barely an hour ago had made him realize that there was only one thing in life that he desired. The sight of his treasures merely soothed his vanity. It left empty and unsatisfied his fuller and deeper desire of living. He told himself that his time had come. Others of his race had paid a great price for the things they had coveted in life. He, too, must follow their example.

He was in Louise's drawing-room when she returned--Louise, with hair and cheeks a little damp, but with a wonderful light in her eyes and with footsteps that seemed to fall upon air.

"Some tea and a bath this moment, Aline!" she called out, as she ran lightly up the stairs. "Never mind about dinner, I am so late. I will have some toast. Be quick!"

"_Madame_--" Aline began.

"Don't bother me about anything now," Louise interrupted. "I will throw my things off while you get the bath ready."

She stepped into her little room, throwing off her cloak as she entered.

Then she stopped short, almost upon the threshold. The prince had risen to his feet.

"Eugene!"

He came toward her. Even as he stooped to kiss her fingers, his eyes seemed to take in her disheveled condition, the little patches of color in her cheeks, the radiant happiness which shone in her eyes.

"I am not an unwelcome intruder, I hope," he said. "But how wet you are!"

The fingers which he released fell nervelessly to her side. She stood looking at him as if confronted with a sudden nightmare. It was as if this new-found life were being slowly drained from her veins.

"You are overtired," he murmured, leading her with solicitude toward an easy chair. "One would imagine, from your appearance, that I was the bearer of some terrible tidings. Let me a.s.sure you that it is not so."

He spoke with his usual deliberation, but she seemed powerless to recover herself. She was still dazed and white. She sank into the chair and looked at him.

"Nothing, I trust," he went on, "has happened to disturb you?"

"Nothing at all," she declared hastily. "I am tired. I ran up-stairs perhaps a little too quickly. Aline had not told me that there was any one here."

"I had a fancy to see you this afternoon," the prince explained, "and, finding you out, I took the liberty of waiting. If you would rather I went away and came for you later, please do not hesitate to say so."

"Of course not!" she exclaimed. "I do not know why I should have been so silly. Aline, take my coat and veil," she directed, turning to the maid, who was lingering at the other end of the room. "I am not wet. Serve some tea in here. I will have my bath later, when I change to go to the theater."

She spoke bravely, but fear was in her heart. She tried to tell herself that this visit was a coincidence, that it meant nothing, but all the time she knew otherwise.

The door closed behind Aline, and they were alone. The prince, as if anxious to give her time to recover herself, walked to the window and stood for some moments looking out. When he turned around, Louise had at least nerved herself to meet what she felt was imminent.

The prince approached her deliberately. She knew what he was going to say.

"Louise," he began, drawing a chair to her side, "I have found myself thinking a great deal about you during the last few weeks."

She did not interrupt him. She simply waited and watched.

"I have come to a certain determination," he proceeded; "one which, if you will grace it with your approval, will give me great happiness. I ask you to forget certain things which have pa.s.sed between us. I have come to you to-day to beg you to do me the honor of becoming my wife."

She turned her head very slowly until she was looking him full in the face. Her lips were a little parted, her eyes a little strained. The prince was leaning toward her in a conventional att.i.tude; his words had been spoken simply and in his usual conversational manner. There was something about him, however, profoundly convincing.

"Your wife!" Louise repeated.

"If you will do me that great honor."

It seemed at first as if her nerves were strained to the breaking-point.

The situation was one with which her brain seemed unable to grapple. She set her teeth tightly. Then she had a sudden interlude of wonderful clear-sightedness. She was almost cool.

"You must forgive my surprise, Eugene," she begged. "We have known each other now for some twelve years, have we not?--and I believe that this is the first time you have ever hinted at anything of the sort!"

"One gathers wisdom, perhaps, with the years," he replied. "I am forty-one years old to-day. I have spent the early hours of this afternoon in reflection, and behold the result!"

"You have spoken to me before," she said slowly, "of different things.

You have offered me a great deal in life, but never your name. I do not understand this sudden change!"

"Louise," he declared, "if I do not tell you the truth now, you will probably guess it. Besides, this is the one time in their lives when a man and a woman should speak nothing but the truth. It is for fear of losing you--that is why."

Her self-control suddenly gave way. She threw herself back in her chair.

She began to laugh and stopped abruptly, the tears streaming from her eyes. The prince leaned forward. He took her hands in his, but she drew them away.

"You are too late, Eugene!" she said. "I almost loved you. I was almost yours to do whatever you liked with. But somehow, somewhere, notwithstanding all your worldly knowledge and mine, we missed it. We do not know the truth about life, you and I--at least you do not, and I did not."

He rose very slowly to his feet. There was no visible change in his face save a slight whitening of the cheeks.

"And the sequel to this?" he asked.

"I have promised to marry John Strangewey," she told him.

"That," he replied, "is impossible! I have a prior claim."

The light of battle flamed suddenly in her eyes. Her nervousness had gone. She was a strong woman, face to face with him now, taller than he, seeming, indeed, to tower over him in the splendor of her anger. She was like a lioness threatened with the loss of the one dear thing.

"a.s.sert it, then!" she cried defiantly. "Do what you will. Go to him this minute, if you have courage enough, if it seems to you well. Claim, indeed! Right! I have the one right every woman in the world possesses--to give herself, body and soul, to the man she loves! That is the only claim and the only right I recognize, and I am giving myself to him, when he wants me, forever!"

She stopped suddenly. Neither of them had heard a discreet knock at the door. Aline had entered with the tea. There was a moment of silence.