Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli

by Marie Corelli

  “Well!” he said. “Courageous as ever?”

  “Is there anything to be afraid of?” she asked. “To me it looks wonderful! —— beautiful!”

  “Yes — it is the essence of all wonder and all beauty,” he answered. “It is a form of condensed light, — the condensation which, when imprisoned by natural forces within a mine under certain conditions, gives you rubies, diamonds and other precious stones. And in the water beneath, which you cannot see just now, owing to the vapour, there is sufficient radium to make me ten times a millionaire.”

  “And you will not part with any of it?”

  “I do part with some of it when I find it useful to do so,” he said. “But very seldom. I am gradually testing its real properties. The scientists will perhaps be five hundred years at work discussing and questioning what I may prove in a single day! But I do not wish to enter upon these matters with you, — you are my ‘subject,’ as you know, and I want to prepare you. The time has come when you must be ready for anything—”

  “I am!” she interrupted, quickly.

  “You respond eagerly!” — and he fixed his eyes upon her with a strange, piercing look. “But that is because you are strong and defiant of fate. You are beginning to experience that saving vanity which deems itself indestructible!”

  She made no answer. She lifted her eyes to the highest point of the slowly turning wheel, and its opaline flare falling through the rose mist gave her face an unearthly lustre.

  “We are going to Davos Platz,” he continued, “because it will not do to remain here through the winter. I want the finest, clearest air, rarefied and purified by the constant presence of ice and snow, to aid me in my experiment, — moreover, certain changes in you will soon become too apparent to escape notice, and people will talk. Already Baroness Rousillon is beginning to ask questions—”

  “About me?” asked Diana, amused.

  “About you. Tell me, have you looked in your mirror lately?”

  “Only just to do my hair,” she answered. I avoid looking at my own face as much as possible.”

  “Why?”

  She hesitated.

  “Well! I don’t want to be deluded into imagining myself good-looking when I’m not.”

  He smiled.

  “Resolute woman! Now listen! From this day forward I shall give you one measure of what you call my ‘golden fire’ every fortnight. You have experienced its first effect. What future effects it may have I cannot tell you. But as the subject of my experiment you must submit to the test. If you suffer bodily pain or mental confusion from its action tell me at once, and I will do my best to spare you unnecessary suffering. You understand?”

  She had grown very pale, even to the lips, — but she answered, quietly:

  “I understand! You have never asked me exactly what I did feel the first time I took it. I may as well confess now that I thought I was dying.”

  “You will think so again and yet again,” he said, coolly. “And you may die! That’s all I have to say about it!”

  She stood immovable, bathed, as it were, in the rosy radiance exhaled by the slow and now almost solemn movement of the great Wheel. She thought of the kindliness of Professor Chauvet, — his plain and unadorned proposal of marriage, — his simple admission that he had “grown fond” of her, — his offer of his name and position united to a house in Paris and ten thousand a year! — and contrasted all this with the deliberate, calculating callousness of the man beside her, lost to every consideration but the success or failure of his “experiment,” — and a passionate resentment began to burn in her soul. But she said nothing. She had rushed upon her own fate, — there was no way out of it now.

  He moved away from her to unlock the tiny fairylike shrine, which concealed the slow dropping of the precious liquid mysteriously distilled by the unknown process which, apparently involved so much vast mechanism, and, placing a small phial under the delicate tube from which the drops fell at long, slow intervals, waited till one, glittering like a rare jewel, was imprisoned within it. She watched him, with more disdain than fear, — and her eyes were brilliant and almost’ scornful as he raised himself from his stooping position and faced her. The pale blue dress she wore was transformed by the rosy light around her into a rich purple, and as she stood fixedly regarding him there was something so proud and regal in her aspect that he paused, vaguely astonished.

  “What is the matter with you?” he asked. “Are you angry?”

  “Who am Ï that I should be angry?” she retorted. “I am only your slave!”

  He frowned.

  “Are you going to play the capricious woman at this late hour and show temper?” he said, impatiently!’ “I am in no humour for reproaches. You promised loyalty—”

  “Have I broken my promise?” she demanded.

  “No — not yet! But you look as if you might break it!”

  She gave a slight, yet expressive gesture of contempt.

  “What a poor thing you are as a, man, after all!” she exclaimed. “Here, in the presence of the vast forces ‘you have bent to your use, — here, with your ‘subject,’ a mere woman, entirely at your disposal, you doubt! — you disbelieve in my sworn word, which is as strong as all your science, perhaps stronger! Come! — you look like a conspirator who has extracted poison from some mysterious substance, and who is longing to try it on a victim! Do you want me to take it now?”

  He gazed at her with a sudden sense of fear. Almost her courage overmastered his will. There was something austere and angelic in that slight figure with the rosy waves of vapour playing about it and turning its azure draperies to royal purple and for the first time he wondered whether there was not something deliberately brutal in his treatment of her. Rallying his self-possession he answered “When we are outside this place you can take it, if you will—”

  “Why not inside?” she asked. “Here, where the vapours of your witches’ cauldron simmer and steam — where I can feel your melting fires pricking every vein and nerve!” and she stretched out her arms towards the Wheel of strange opalescent light which now revolved almost at a snail’s pace. “Make short work of me, Dr. Dimitrius! — this is the place for it!”

  On a sudden impulse he sprang to her side and seized her hand.

  “Diana! You think me a pitiless murderer!”

  She looked straight into his eyes.

  “No, I don’t. I think you simply a man without any feeling except for yourself and your own aims. There are thousands, — aye, millions of your sex like you, — you are not extraordinary.”

  “If I succeed you will have cause to thank me—”

  “Possibly!” she answered, with a slight smile. “But you know gratitude sometimes takes curious and unexpected forms! One of the commonest is hatred of the person who has done you a kindness! Come, give me that fire-drop, — it is restless in its prison! We are fighting a strange duel, you and I — you are all for self, and your own ultimate triumph — I am selfless, having nothing to lose or to win —

  “Nothing?” he repeated. “Foolish woman! — you cannot foresee — you cannot project yourself into the future. Suppose I gave you youth? — suppose with youth I gave you beauty? — Would you then call me selfish?”

  “Why, yes, of course!” she answered, composedly. “You would not give such gifts to me because you had any desire to make me happy — nor would you give them if you could secure them for yourself without endangering your life! If you succeed in your attempts they would fall to my lot naturally as part of your ‘experiment,’ and would prove your triumph. But as far as my personality is concerned, you would not care what became of me, though with youth and beauty I might turn the tables on you!” She laughed, — then said again:— “Give me my dose!”

  “I told you before that it would be better to take it when we go outside the laboratory,” he answered. “Suppose you became insensible! I could not leave you here.”

  “Why not?” she demanded, recklessly. “It would not matter to yo
u. Please give it to me! — Whether I live or die I like doing things quickly!”

  With a certain sense of mingled compassion, admiration and reluctance, he handed her the phial. She looked with intent interest at the shining drop pent within, which glowed like a’ fine topaz, now fiery orange, now red, now pale amber, and moved up and down as rapidly and restlessly as quicksilver.

  “How pretty it is!” she said. “If it would only condense and harden into a gem one would like to wear it in a ring! It would outshine all Professor Chauvet’s jewels. Well, Dr. Dimitrius, good-night! If I fall into your! dark pool don’t trouble to fish me out! — but if not, don’t leave me here till morning!”

  And, smiling, she put the phial to her lips and swallowed its contents.

  Dimitrius stood, silently watching. Would she swoon, as she almost did the last time? — or would she be convulsed? No! — she remained erect, — unswerving: — but, as if by some automatic movement, she lifted her arms slowly and clasped her hands above her head in an attitude of prayer. Her eyes closed — her breathing was scarcely perceptible — and so she remained as though frozen into stone. Moved beyond his usual calm by wonderment at this unexpected transformation of a living woman into a statue, he called her, — but she gave no answer. And then another remarkable thing happened. An aureole of white light began to form round her figure, beginning from the head and falling in brilliant rays to the feet, — her dress seemed a woven tissue of marvellous colours such as one finds painted for the robes of saints in antique missals, and her features, outlined against the roseate mist that filled the laboratory, were pure and almost transparent as alabaster. Thrilled with excitement, he could not speak — he dared not move, — he could only look, look, as though all his forces were concentrated in his eyes. How many minutes passed he could not determine, but he presently saw the light begin to pale, — one ray after another disappeared, quite slowly and as though each one were absorbed by some mysterious means into the motionless figure which had seemingly projected them, — then, with equal slowness, Diana’s upraised hands relaxed and her arms dropped to her sides — her eyes opened, brilliant and inquiring.

  He went to her side.

  “Diana!” he said, in carefully hushed tones. “Diana—”

  “Why did you wake me?” she asked plaintively, in a voice of melting sweetness. “Why take me away from the garden I had found? It was all mine! — and there were many friends — they said they had not seen me for centuries! I should have liked to stay with them a little longer!”

  He listened, in something of alarm. Had she lost her senses? He knew it was possible that the potent force of his mysterious distillation might so attack the centres of the brain as to reverse their normal condition. He touched her hand, — it was warm and soft as velvet.

  “Still dreaming, Diana?” he said, as gently as he could. “Will you not come with me now?”

  She turned her eyes upon him. There was no sign of brain trouble in those clear orbs of vision — they were calm mirrors of sweet expression.

  “Oh, it is you!” she said in more natural tones. “I really ‘thought I had gone away from you altogether! It was a delightful experience!”

  He was a trifle vexed. He hardly cared to hear that going away from him altogether was “a delightful experience.” She was rapidly recovering from her trance-like condition, and swept back her hair from her brows with a relieved, yet puzzled gesture.

  “So it’s all over!” she said. “I’m here just the same as ever! I was sure I had gone away!”

  Where?” he asked.

  “Oh, ever so far!” she answered. “I was carried off by people I couldn’t see — but they were kind and careful, and it was quite easy going. And then I came to a garden — oh! — such an exquisite place, full of the loveliest flowers — somebody said it was mine! I wish it were!”

  ‘“You were dreaming,” he said, impatiently. “There’s nothing in dreams! The chief point to me is that you have not suffered any pain. You have nothing to complain of?”

  She thought a minute, trying to recall her sensations. “No,” she answered, truthfully, “nothing.”

  “Good! Then I can proceed without fear,” he said. “Enough for to-night — we will go.”

  Her eyes were fixed on the revolving Wheel.

  “It goes slowly because the sunshine has gone, I suppose?” she asked. “And all the light it produces now is from the interior stores it has gathered up in the day?” He was surprised at the quickness of her perception.

  “Yes — that is so,” he said.

  “Then it never stops absolutely dead?”

  “Never.”

  She smiled.

  “Wonderful Dimitrius! You have built up a little mechanical universe of your own and you are the god of it! You must be very pleased with yourself!”

  “I am equally pleased with you,” he said. “You surpass all my expectations.”

  “Thanks so much!” and she curtsied to him playfully. “May I say good-night? Will not your mother wonder where we are?”

  “My mother is too sensible a woman to question my movements,” he replied. “Come! You are sure you feel strong and well?”

  “ Quite sure!” she said, then paused, — surprised at the intense way he looked at her.

  “Have you ever heard these lines?” he asked, suddenly:

  “O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night, Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ear —

  Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!”

  Diana smiled happily.

  “Of course! Shakespeare’s utterance! Who else has ever written or could write such lines?”

  “I’m glad you know them!” he said, musingly. “They occurred to me just now — when—”

  He broke off abruptly.

  “Come!” he repeated. “We shall not see this place again for a couple of months — perhaps longer. And — the sooner we get away the better!”

  “Why?” asked Diana, surprised.

  “Why?” and a curious half-frowning expression darkened his brows. “You must wait to know why! You will not have to wait long!”

  He signed to her to keep close behind him, and together they moved like phantom figures through the rosy mist that enveloped them, till, at the touch of his wizard hand, the door swung upwards to give them egress and descended again noiselessly as they passed out. The corridor, previously dark, was now dimly lit, but it was more a matter of groping than seeing, and Diana was glad when they reached the pleasantly warm and well-illumined hall of the house. There he turned and faced her.

  “Now, not a word!” he said, with imperative sharpness. “Not a word of what you have seen, or — dreamed — to my mother! Say good-night to her, and go!”

  She lifted her eyes to his in something of wonder and protest, — but obeyed his gesture and went straight into the drawing-room where Madame Dimitrius sat as usual, quietly knitting.

  “I am to bid you good-night!” she said, smiling, as she knelt down for a moment by the old lady’s chair. “Dear, your son is very cross! — and I’m going to bed!”

  Madame Dimitrius gazed upon her in utter amazement and something of fear. The face uplifted to hers was so radiant and fair that for a moment she was speechless, and the old hands that held the knitting trembled. Remembering her son’s command in good time, she made a strong effort to control herself, and forced a smile.

  “That’s right, my dear!” she said. “Bed is the best place when you’re tired. I don’t think Féodor means to be cross—”

  “Oh, no!” agreed Diana, springing up from her kneeling attitude, and kissing Madame’s pale cheek. “He doesn’t ‘mean’ to be anything — but he is! Good-night, dearest lady! You are always kind and sweet to me — and I’m grateful!”

  With those words and an affectionate wave of her hand, she went, — and the moment she had left the room Dimitrius entered it. His mother rose from her chair, and made a gesture with her hands as
though she were afraid and sought to repel him. He took those nervous, wavering hands and held them tenderly in his own.

  “What’s the matter, mother mine?” he asked, playfully. “You have seen her?”

  “Féodor! Féodor! You are dealing with strange powers! — perhaps powers of evil! Oh, my son! be careful, be careful what you do!” she implored, almost tearfully. “You may not go too far!”