Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli

by Marie Corelli

  He was puzzled and perplexed. He watched her as she moved, and noted, as he had done several times that evening, the exquisite lightness of her step.

  “Well, at any rate, you are not, physically speaking, any the worse for receiving my treatment once a fortnight?” he asked.

  “Oh, no! I am very well indeed!” she replied at once.

  “I can truthfully assure you I never felt better. Your strange ‘fire-drop’ never gives me any uncanny ‘sensations’ now — I don’t mind it at all. It seems to fill me with a sort of brightness and buoyancy. But I have no actual ‘feeling’ about it — neither pleasure nor pain. That’s rather odd, isn’t it?”

  They were at the entrance door of the hotel, and stood on the steps before going in. The moonlight fell slantwise on Diana’s face and showed it wonderfully fair and calm, like that of a sculptured angel in some niche of a cathedral.

  “Yes — perhaps it is odd,” he answered. “As I have already told you, I am not cognisant of the possible action of the commingled elements I have distilled, — I can only test them and watch their effect upon you, in order to gain the necessary knowledge. But that you have no ‘feeling’ seems to me an exaggerated statement, — for instance, you must have ‘felt’ a good deal of pleasure in your skating to-night?”

  “Not the least in the world!” and the smile she gave him was as chill as a moonbeam on snow. “I skated on the ice with the same volition as a bubble floats along the air, — as unconscious as the bubble — and as indifferent! The bubble does not care when it breaks — nor do I! Good-night!”

  She pushed open the swing door of the hotel and passed in.

  He remained outside in the moonlight, vexed with himself and her, though he could not have told why. He lit a cigar and strolled slowly backwards and forwards in the front of the hotel, trying to soothe his inward irritation by smoking, but the effect was rather futile.

  “She is wonderfully pretty and attractive now,” he mused. “If all succeeds she will be beautiful. And what then? I wonder! With every process of age stopped and reversed, — and with all the stimulating forces of creative regeneration working in every cell of her body it is impossible to tell how she may develop — and yet — her mentality may remain the same! This is easily accounted for, because all one’s experiences of life from childhood make permanent impressions on the brain and stay there. Like the negatives stored in a photographer’s dark room one cannot alter them. And the puzzle to me is, how will her mentality ‘carry’ with her new personality? Will she know how to hold the balance between them? I can see already that men are quite likely to lose their heads about her — but what does that matter! It is not the first time they have maddened themselves for women who are set beyond the pale of mere sex.”

  He looked up at the still sky, — the frostily sparkling stars, — the snowy peaks of the mountains and the bright moon.

  “Thank God I have never loved any woman save my mother!” he said. “For so I have been spared both idleness and worry! To lose one’s time and peace because a woman smiles or frowns is to prove one’s self a fool or a madman!”

  And going into the hotel, he finished his cigar in the lounge where other men were smoking, all unaware that several, of them detested the sight of his handsome face and figure for no other reason than that he seemed ostensibly to be the guardian, as his mother was the chaperon, of the prettiest” girl” of that season at Davos, Diana May, and therefore nothing was more likely than that she should fall in love with him and he with her. It is always in this sort of fashion that the goose-gabble of “society” arranges persons and events to its own satisfaction, never realizing that being only geese they cannot see beyond’ the circle of their own restricted farmyard.

  CHAPTER XVII

  IT was quite the end of the season at Davos before Dimitrius quitted it and took his mother and Diana on to the Riviera. Here, in the warm sunshine of the early Southern spring he began to study with keener and closer interest the progress of his “subject,” whose manner towards him and general bearing became more and more perplexing as time went on. She was perfectly docile and amiable, — cheerful and full of thoughtful care and attention for Madame Dimitrius, — and every fortnight took his mysterious “potion” in his presence without hesitation or question, so that he had nothing to complain of — but there was a new individuality about her which held her aloof in a way that he was at a loss to account for. Wherever she went she was admired, — men stared, talked and sought introductions, and she received all the social attention of an acknowledged “belle” without seeking or desiring it.

  One evening at an hotel in Cannes she was somewhat perturbed by seeing a portly elderly man whom she recognized as a club friend of her father’s, and one who had been a frequent week-end visitor at Rose Lea. She hoped he would not hear her name, but she was too much the observed of all observers to escape notice, and it was with some trepidation that she saw him coming towards her with the rolling gait suggestive of life-long whisky-sodas — a “man-about-town” manner she knew and detested.

  “Pardon me! “he said, with an openly admiring glance, “but I have just been wondering whether you are any relation of some friends of mine in England named May. Curiously enough, they had a daughter called Diana.”

  “Really!” And Diana smiled — a little cold, haughty smile which was becoming habitual with her. “I’m afraid I cannot claim the honour of their acquaintance!”

  She spoke in a purposely repellent manner, whereat the bold intruder was rendered awkward and abashed.

  “I know I should not address you without an introduction,” he said stammeringly. “I hope you will excuse me! But my old friend Polly—”

  “Your old friend — what?” drawled Diana, carelessly, unfurling a fan and waving it idly to and fro.

  “Polly — we call him Polly for fun,” he explained. “His full name is James Polydore May. And his daughter, Diana, was drowned last summer — drowned while bathing.”

  “Dear me, how very sad!” and Diana concealed a slight yawn behind her fan. “Poor girl!”

  “Oh, she wasn’t a girl!” sniggered her informant. “She was quite an old maid — over forty by a good way. But it was rather an unfortunate affair.”

  “Why?” asked Diana. “I don’t see it at all! Women over forty who have failed to get married shouldn’t live! Don’t you agree?”

  He sniggered again.

  “Well, — perhaps I do! — perhaps I do! But we mustn’t be severe — we mustn’t be severe! We shall get old ourselves some day!”

  “We shall indeed!” Diana responded, ironically. “Even you must have passed your twentieth birthday!” He got up a spasmodic laugh at this, but looked very foolish all the same.

  “Did you — in these psychic days — think I might be the drowned old maid reincarnated?” she continued, lazily, still playing with her fan. —

  This time his laugh was unforced and genuine.

  “You! My dear young lady! The Miss May I knew might be your mother! No, — it was only the curious coincidence of names that made me wonder if you were any relative.”

  “There are many people in the world of the same name,” remarked Diana. —

  “Quite so! You will excuse me, I’m sure, and accept my apologies!”

  She bent her head carelessly and he moved away.

  A few minutes later Dimitrius approached her.

  “Come out on the terrace,” he said.” It’s quite warm and there’s a fine moon. Come and tell me all about it!” —

  She looked at him in surprise.

  “All about it? What do you mean?”

  “All about the little podgy man who was talking to you! You’ve met him before, haven’t you? Yes? Come along! — let’s hear the little tale of woe!”

  His manner was so gentle and playful that she hardly understood it — it was something quite new. She obeyed his smiling gesture and throwing a light scarf about her shoulders went out with him on the terrace which dominat
ed the smooth sloping lawn in front of the hotel, where palms lifted their fringed heads to the almost violet sky and the scent of mimosa filled every channel of the moonlit air.

  I heard all he said to you,” went on Dimitrius. “I was sitting behind you, hidden by a big orange tree in a tub, — not purposely hidden, I assure you! And so you are drowned!”

  He laughed, — then, as he saw she was about to speak, held up his hand.

  “Hush! I can guess it all! Not wanted at home, except as a household drudge — unloved and alone in the world, you made an exit — not a real exit — just a stage one! — and came to me! Excellently managed! — for now, being drowned and dead, as the old Diana, you can live in your own way as the young one! And you are quite safe! Your own father wouldn’t know you!”

  She was silent, looking gravely out to sea and the scarcely visible line of the Esterel Mountains.

  “You mustn’t resent my quickness in guessing!” he continued. “I can always put two and two together and make four! Our podgy friend has been unconsciously a very good test of the change in you.”

  She turned her head and looked fixedly at him.

  “Yes. Of the outward change. But of the inward, even you know nothing!”

  “Do I not? And will you not tell me?”

  She smiled strangely.

  “It will be difficult. But as your ‘subject’ I suppose I am bound to tell—” i He made a slight, deprecatory gesture.

  “Not unless you wish.”

  “I have no wishes,” she replied. “The matter is, like everything else, quite indifferent to me. You have guessed rightly as to the causes of my coming to you — my father and mother were much disappointed at my losing all my ‘chances’ as the world puts it, and failing to establish myself in a respectable married position — I was a drag on their wheel, though they are both quite old people, — so I relieved them of my presence in the only way I could think of to make them sure they were rid of me for ever. Then — on the faith of your advertisement I came to you. You know all the rest — and you also know that the ‘experiment’ for which you wanted ‘a woman of mature years’ is — so far — successful. But—”

  “There are no buts,” interrupted Dimitrius. “It is more than fulfilling my hopes and dreams! — and I foresee an ultimate triumph! — a discovery which shall revivify and regenerate the human race! You too — surely you must enjoy the sense of youth — the delight of seeing your own face in the mirror — ?”

  Diana shrugged her shoulders.

  “It leaves me cold!” she said. “It’s a pretty face — quite charming, in fact! — but it seems to me to be the face of somebody else! I don’t feel in myself that I possess it! And the ‘sense of youth’ you speak of has the same impression — it is somebody else’s sense of youth!” Her eyes glittered in the moonlight, and her voice, low and intensely musical, had a curious appealing note in it. “Féodor Dimitrius, it is not human! “He was vaguely startled by her look and manner.

  “Not human?—” he repeated, wonderingly.

  “No — not human! This beauty, this youth which you have recreated in me, are not human! They are a portion of the air and the sunlight — of the natural elements — they make my body buoyant, my spirit restless. I long for some means to lift myself altogether from the gross earth, away from heavy and cloddish humanity, for which I have not a remnant of sympathy! I am not of it! — I am changed, — and it is you that have changed me. Understand me well, if you can! — You have filled me with a strange force which in its process of action is beyond your knowledge, — and by its means I have risen so far above you that Ï hardly know you!”

  She uttered these strange words calmly and deliberately in an even tone of perfect sweetness.

  A sudden and uncontrollable impulse of anger seized him.

  “That is not true!” he said, almost fiercely. “You know me for your master!”

  She bent her head, showing no offence.

  “Possibly! For the present.” And again she looked lingeringly, gravely out towards the sea. “Shall we go in now?”

  “One moment!” he said, his voice vibrating with suppressed passion. “What you feel, or imagine you feel, is no actual business of mine. I have set myself to force a secret of Nature from the darkness in which it has been concealed for ages — a secret only dimly guessed at by the sect of the Rosicrucians — and I know myself to be on the brink of a vast scientific discovery. If you fail me now, all is lost—”

  “I shall not fail you,” she interposed quietly.

  “You may — you may!” and he gave a gesture half of wrath, half of appeal. “Who knows what ‘you will do when the final ordeal comes! With these strange ideas of yours — born of feminine hysteria, I suppose — who can foretell the folly of your actions? — or the obedience? And yet you promised — you promised—”

  She turned to him with a smile.

  “I promised — and I shall fulfil!” she said. “What a shaken spirit is yours! — You cannot trust — you cannot - believe! I have told you, and I repeat it — that I place my life in your hands to do what you will with it — to end it even, if so you decide. But if it continues to be a life that lives, on its present line of change, it will be a life above you and beyond you! That is what I wish you to understand.”

  She drew her scarf about her and moved along the terrace to re-enter the lounge of the hotel The outline of her figure was the embodiment of grace, and the ease of her step suggested an assured dignity.

  He followed her, — perplexed, and in a manner ashamed at having shown anger. Gently she bade him “goodnight” and went at once to her room. Madame Dimitrius, had retired quite an hour previously.

  Once alone, she sat down to consider herself and the position in which she was placed. Before her was her mirror, and she saw reflected therein a young face, and the lustre of young eyes darkly blue and brilliant, which gave light to the features as the sun gives light to the petals of a flower. She saw a dazzlingly clear skin as fair as the cup of a lily, and she studied each point of perfection with the critical care of an analyst or dissector. Every line of age or worry had vanished, — and the bright hair of which she had always been pardonably proud, had gained a deeper sheen, a richer hue, while it had grown much more luxuriant and beautiful.

  “And now,” she mused, “now, — how is it that when I can attract love, I no longer want it? That I do not care if I never saw a human being again? That human beings bore and disgust me? That something else fills me, — desires to which I can give no name?

  She rose from her chair and went to the window. It opened out to a small private balcony facing the Mediterranean, and she stood there as in a dream, looking at the deep splendour of the southern sky. One great star, bright as the moon itself, shone just opposite to her, like a splendid jewel set on dark velvet. She drew a deep breath.

  “To this I belong!” she said, softly—” To this — and only this!”

  She made an exquisite picture, had she known it, — and had any one of her numerous admirers been there to see her, he might have become as ecstatic as Shakespeare’s Romeo. But for herself she had no thought, so far as her appearance was concerned, — something weird and mystical had entered into her being, and it was this new self of hers that occupied all her thoughts and swayed all her emotions.

  Just before they left Cannes to return to Geneva, Dimitrius asked her to an interview with himself and his mother alone. They had serious matters to discuss, he said, and important details to decide upon. She found Madame Dimitrius pale and nervous, with trembling hands and tearful eyes, — while Dimitrius himself had a hard, inflexible bearing as of one who had a disagreeable duty to perform, but who, nevertheless, was determined to see it through.

  “Now, Miss May,” he said, “we have come to a point of action in which it is necessary to explain a few things to you, so that there shall be no misunderstanding or confusion. My mother is now, to a very great extent, in my confidence, as her assistance and co-operation wi
ll be necessary. It is nearing the end of April, and we propose to return to the Château Fragonard immediately. We shall open the house and admit our neighbours and acquaintances to visit us as usual, but — for reasons which must be quite apparent to you — you are not to be seen. It is to be supposed that you have returned to England. You follow me?”

  He spoke with a businesslike formality, and Diana, smiling, nodded a cheerful acquiescence, — then seeing that Madame Dimitrius looked troubled, went and sat down by her, taking her hand and holding it affectionately in her own. “You will keep to your suite of apartments,” Dimitrius continued, “and Vasho will be your sole attendant, — with the exception of my mother and myself!” Here a sudden smile lightened his rather stern expression. “I shall give myself the pleasure of taking you out every day in the fresh air, — fortunately, from our gardens one can see without being seen.”

  Diana, still caressing Madame Dimitrius’s fragile old hand, sat placidly silent.

  “You are quite agreeable to this arrangement?” went on Dimitrius—” You have nothing to suggest on your own behalf?”

  “Nothing whatever!” she answered. “Only — how long is it to last?”

  He raised his eyes and fixed them upon her with a strange expression.

  “On the twenty-first of June,” he said, “I make my final test upon you — the conclusion of my ‘experiment.’ After the twenty-fourth you will be free. Free to go where you please — to do as you like. Like Shakespeare’s ‘Prospero,’ I will give my ‘fine sprite’ her liberty!”

  “Thank you!” and she laughed a little, bending her head towards Madame Dimitrius. “Do you hear that, dear lady? Think of it! What good times there are in store for me! If I can only ‘feel’ that they are good! — or even bad! — it would be quite a sensation!” And she flashed a bright look at Dimitrius as he stood watching her almost morosely. “Well!” she said, addressing him, “after the twenty-fourth of June, if I live, and if you permit it, I want to go back to England. Can that be arranged?”