“Much love, and grateful thanks for all your help and kindness to “Your ‘departed’ friend, “DIANA MAY.”
This letter, with its bank-note enclosure, she sealed; and then, taking a leisurely walk along the Rue du Mont Blanc to the General Post Office, she patiently filled in the various formal items for the act of registration which the Swiss postal officials make so overwhelmingly tiresome and important, and finally got her packet safely despatched. This done, she felt as if the last link binding her to her former life was severed. Gone was “Pa;” gone was “Ma!” — gone were the few faded sentiments she had half unconsciously cherished concerning the man she had once loved and who had heartlessly “jilted” her, — gone, too, were a number of sad and solitary years, — gone, as if they had been a few unimportant numerals wiped off a slate, — and theirs was the strangest “going” of all. For she had lived through those years, — most surely she had lived through them, — yet now it did not seem as if they had ever been part of her existence. They had suddenly become a blank. They counted for nothing except the recollection of long hours of study. Something new and vital touched her inner consciousness, — a happiness, a lightness, a fresh breathing-in of strength and self-reliance. From the Rue du Mont Blanc she walked to the Pont, and stood there, gazing for some time at the ravishing view that bridge affords of the lake and mountains. The sun shone warmly with that mellow golden light peculiar to early autumn, and the water was blue as a perfect sapphire, flecked by tiny occasional ripples of silver, like sudden flashing reflections of sunbeams in a mirror; one or two pleasure-boats with picturesque “lateen” sails looked like great sea-birds slowly skimming along on one uplifted wing; The scene, was indescribably lovely, and a keen throb of pure joy pulsated through her whole being, moving her to devout thankfulness for simply being alive, and able to comprehend such beauty. “If I had been really and truly drowned I think it would have been a pity!” she thought, whimsically. “Not on account of any grief it might have caused — for I have no one to grieve for me, — but solely on my own part, for I should have been senseless, sightless, and tucked away in the earth, instead of being here in the blessed sunshine! No! — I shouldn’t have been tucked away in the earth, unless they had found my body and had a first-class funeral with Ma’s usual wreath lying on the coffin, — I should have been dashed about in the sea, and eaten by the fishes. Not half so pleasant as standing on the Pont du Mont Blanc and looking at the snowy line of the Alps! When people commit suicide they don’t think, poor souls! — they don’t realize that there’s more happiness to be got out of the daily sunshine than either money, food, houses, or friends can ever give! And one can live on very little, if one tries.” Here she laughed. “Though I shall have no chance to try! A thousand a year for a single woman, with a lovely home and ‘board’ thrown in, does not imply much effort in managing to keep body and soul together! Of course my work may be both puzzling and strenuous — I wonder what it will really be?”
And she started again on her old crusade of “wonder.”
Yet she did not find anything particular to wonder at in the appearance, manner, or conversation of Dr. Dimitrius. She had always “wondered” at stupidity, — but never at intelligence. Dimitrius spoke intelligently and looked intelligent; he did not “pose” as a wizard or a seer, or a prophet. And she felt sure that his mother would not limit her conversation to the various items of domestic business; she could not fancy her as becoming excited over a recipe for jam, or the pattern for a blouse. These sort of subjects were the conversational stock-in-trade of English suburban misses and matrons whose talk on all occasions is little more than a luke-warm trickle of words which mean nothing. There would be some intellectual stimulus in the Dimitrius household, — of that she felt convinced. But in what branch of scientific research, or what problem of chemistry her services would be required, she could not, with all her capacity for wondering, form any idea.
She walked leisurely back to the hotel, looking at the shops on her way, — at the little carved wooden bears carrying pin-cushions, pen-trays and pipe-racks, — at the innumerable clocks, with chimes and without, — at the “souvenirs” of pressed and mounted edelweiss, inscribed with tender mottoes suitable for lovers to send to one another in absence, — and before one window full of these she paused, smiling.
“What nonsense it all is!” she said to herself. “I used to keep the faded petals of any little flower I chanced to see in his buttonhole, and put them away in envelopes marked with his initials and the date l — what a fool I. was! — as great a fool as that sublime donkey, Juliette Drouet, who raved over her ‘little man’ Victor Hugo! And the silly girls who send this edelweiss from Switzerland to the men they are in love with, ought just to see what those men do with it! That would sure them! Like the Professor who totalled up his butcher’s bill on the back of one of Charlotte Bronté’s fervent letters, nine out of ten of them are likely to use it as a ‘wedge’ to keep a window or door from rattling!”
Amused with her thoughts, she went on, reached her hotel and had luncheon, after which she paid her bill.
“Madame is leaving us?” said the cheery dame du comptoir, speaking very voluble French. “Alas, we are sorry her stay is so short! Madame goes on to Montreux, no doubt?”
“Madame” smiled at the amiable woman’s friendly inquisitiveness, “No,” she answered. “And yet — perhaps — yes! — I am taking a long holiday and hope to see all the prettiest places in Switzerland!”
“Ah, there is much that is grand — beautiful!” declared the proprietress. “You will occupy much time! You will perhaps return here again?”
“Oh, yes! That is very likely!” replied Diana, with a flagrant assumption of candour. “I have been very comfortable here.”
“Madame is too good to say so! We are charmed! The luggage has gone to the station? Yes? That is well! Au revoir, Madame!”
And with many gracious nods and smiles and repeated au revoirs, Diana escaped at last, and went towards the station, solely for the benefit of the hotel people, servants included, who stood at the doorway watching her departure. But once out of their sight she turned rapidly down a side street which she had taken note of in the morning, and soon found her way to the close little alley under trees with the steps which led to the border of the lake, but which was barred to strangers and interlopers by an iron gate through which she had already passed, and of which she had the key. There was no difficulty in unlocking it and locking it again behind her, and she drew a long breath of relief and satisfaction when she found herself once more in the grounds of the Château Fragonard.
“There!” she said half aloud—” I have shut away the old world! — welcome to the new! I’m ready for anything now — life or death! — anything but the old jog-trot, loveless days of monotonous commonplace, — there will be something different here. Loveless I shall always be — but I’m beginning to think there’s another way of happiness than love! — though old Thomas à Kempis says:
‘Nothing is sweeter than love, nothing more pleasant, nothing fuller and better in Heaven and earth;’ but he meant the love of God, not the love of man.”
She grew serious and absorbed in thought, yet not so entirely abstracted as to be unconscious of the beauty of the gardens through which she was walking, — the well-kept lawns, the beds and borders of flowers, — the graceful pergolas of climbing roses, and the shady paths which went winding in and out through shrubberies and under trees, here and there affording glimpses of the lake, glittering as with silver and blue. Presently at a turn in one of these paths she had a view of the front of the Château Fragonard, with its fountains in full play on either side, and was enchanted with the classic purity of its architectural design, which seemed evidently copied from some old-world model of an Athenian palace, “I don’t think it’s possible to see anything lovelier!” she said to herself. “And what luck it is for me to live here! Who could have guessed it! It’s like a dream of fairyland!”
She
gathered a rose hanging temptingly within reach, and fastened it in her bodice.
“Let me see!” she went on, thinking—” It’s just a week since I was ‘drowned’ in Devon! Such a little while! — why Ma hasn’t had time yet to get her mourning properly fitted! And Pa! I wonder how he really ‘carries’ himself, as they say, under his affliction! I think it will be a case of ‘bearing up wonderfully,’ for both of them. One week! — and my little boat of life, tied so long by a worn rope to a weedy shore, has broken adrift and floated away by itself to a veritable paradise of new experience. But, — am I counting too much on my good fortune, I wonder? Perhaps there will be some crushing drawback, — some terrorizing influence — who knows! And yet — I think not. Anyhow, I have signed, sealed, and delivered myself over to my chosen destiny; — it is wiser to hope for the best than imagine the worst.”
Arrived at the hall door of the-Château she found it open, and passed in unquestioned, as an admitted member of the household. She saw a neat maid busying herself with the arrangement of some flowers, and of her she asked the way to her rooms. The girl at once preceded her up the wide staircase and showed her the passage leading to the beautiful suite of apartments she had seen in the morning, remarking:
“Madame will be quite private here — this passage is shut off from the rest of the house, and is an entry to these rooms only, and if Madame wants any service she will ring and I will come. My name is Rose.”
“Thank you, Rose!” and Diana smiled at her, feeling a sense of relief to know that she could have the attention of a simple ordinary domestic such as this pleasant-looking little French femme-de-chambre, — for somehow she had connected, the dumb negro who had at first admitted her to the Château with a whole imagined retinue of mysterious persons, sworn to silence in the service of Dimitrius. “I will not trouble you more than I can help — hark! — what is that noise?”
A low, organ-like sound as of persistent thudding and humming echoed around her — it suggested suppressed thunder. The girl Rose looked quite unconcerned.
“Oh, that is the machine in the Doctor’s laboratory,” she said. “But it does not often make any noise. We do not know quite what it is, — we are not permitted to see!” She smiled, and added “But Madame will not long be disturbed — it will soon cease.”
And indeed the thunderous hum died slowly away as she spoke, leaving a curious sense of emptiness on the air. Diana still listened, vaguely fascinated, — but the silence remained unbroken. Rose nodded brightly, in pleased affirmation of her own words, and left the room, closing the door behind her.
Alone, Diana went to the window and looked out. What a glorious landscape was spread before her! — what a panorama of the. Divine handiwork in Nature! Tears sprang to her eyes — tears, not of sorrow, but of joy.
“I hope I am grateful enough!” she thought. “For now I have every reason to be grateful. I tried hard to feel grateful for all my blessings at home, — yet somehow I couldn’t be! — there seemed no way out of the daily monotony — no hope anywhere! — but now — now, with all this unexpected good luck I could sing ‘Praise God from whom all blessings flow!’ with more fervour than any Salvationist!”
She went into the cosy bedroom which adjoined her salon to see if she looked neat and well-arranged enough in her dress to go down to tea, — there was a long mirror there, and in it she surveyed herself critically. Certainly that navy “model” gown suited her slim figure to perfection—” And,” she said to herself, “if people only looked at my hair and my too, too scraggy shape, they might almost take me for ‘young!’ But woe’s me!” — and she touched the corners of her eyes with the tips of her fingers—” here are the wicked crow’s-feet! — they won’t go! — and the ‘lines from nose to chin’ which the beauty specialists offer to eradicate and can’t, — the ugly ruts made by Time’s unkind plough and any own too sorrowful habit of thought, — they won’t go either! However, here it doesn’t matter, — the Doctor wanted ‘a woman of mature years’ — and he’s got her!” She smiled cheerfully at herself in the mirror which reflected a shape that was graceful in its outline if somewhat too thin—” distinctly willowy “as she said — and then she began thinking about clothes, like any other feminine creature. She was glad Sophy had made her buy two charming tea-gowns, and one very dainty evening party frock; and she was now anxious to give the “number” of the luggage she had left at the Salle des Bagages to Dr. Dimitrius, so that it might be sent for without delay. Meanwhile she looked at all the elegancies of her rooms, and noted the comfort and convenience with which everything was arranged. One novelty attracted and pleased her, — this was a small round dial, put up against the wall, and marked with the hours at which meals were served. A silver arrow, seemingly moved by interior clockwork, just now pointed to “Tea, five o’clock,” and while she was yet looking at it, a musical little bell rang very persistently behind the dial for about a minute, and then ceased.
“Tea-time, of course!” she said, and glancing at her watch she saw it was just five o’clock. “What a capital invention! One of these in each room saves an the ugly gong-beating and bell-ringing which is common in most houses; I had better go.”
She went at once, running down the broad staircase with light feet as buoyantly as a girl, and remembering her way easily to the room where she had ‘breakfasted in the morning. Madame Dimitrius was there alone, knitting placidly, and looking the very picture of contentment, She smiled a welcome as Diana entered, “So you have come back to us!” she said. “I am very glad! One lady who answered my son’s advertisement, went to see after her luggage in the same manner as you were told to do — and — ran away!”
“Ran away!” echoed Diana. “What for?”
The old lady laughed.
“Oh, I think she got afraid at the last moment! Something my son said, or looked, scared her! But he was not surprised, — he has always given every applicant a chance to run away!”
“Not me!” said Diana, merrily. “For he made me sign an agreement, and gave me some of my salary in advance — he would hardly expect me to run away with his money?”
“Why not?” and Dimitrius himself entered the room. “Why not, Miss May? ‘Many a woman and many a man has been known to make short work with an agreement, — what is it but ‘a scrap of paper?’ And there are any number of Humans who would judge it ‘clever’ to run off with money confidingly entrusted to them!”
“You are cynical,” said Diana. “And I don’t think you mean what you say. You know very well that honour stands first with every right-thinking man or woman.”
“Right-thinking! Oh, yes! — I grant you that,” — and he drew a chair up to the tea-table where his mother had just seated herself. “But ‘right-thinking’ is a compound word big enough to cover a whole world of ethics and morals. If ‘right-thinking’ were the rule instead of the exception, we should have a real Civilization instead of a Sham!”
Diana looked at him more critically and attentively than she had yet done. His personality was undeniably attractive, — some people would have considered him handsome. He had wonderful eyes, — they were his most striking feature — dark, deep, and sparkling with a curiously brilliant intensity. He had spoken of his Russian nationality, but there was nothing of the Kalmuck about him, — much more of the picturesque Jew or Arab. An indefinable grace distinguished his movements, unlike the ordinary type of lumbersome man, who, without military or other training, never seems to know what to do with Ms hands or his feet. He noticed Diana’s intent study of him, and smiled — a charming smile, indulgent and kindly.
“I mystify you a little already!” he said. “Yes, I am sure I do! — but there are so many surprises in store for you that I think you had better not begin putting the pieces of the puzzle together till they are all out of the box! Never mind what I seem to you, or what I may turn out to be, — enjoy for the present the simple safety of the Commonplace; there’s nothing so balancing to the mind as a quiet contemplation of the
tea-table!
Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli Page 843