by Max Brand, Achmed Abdullah, E. K. Means, and Perley Poore Sheehan
SECOND TALE
OUT OF THE DARK
BY MAX BRAND
The principality of Pornia is not a large country and in the ordinarycourse of history it should have been swallowed entire, centuries ago,by one of the kingdoms which surround it. Its situation has saved itfrom this fate, for it is the buffer state between two great monarchieswhose jealousy has preserved for Pornia an independent existence.
Despite its independence, Pornia has never received much considerationfrom the rest of Europe, and the aim of its princes for many generationshas been to foist it into the great councils by a strong alliance withone of the two kingdoms to which it serves as a buffer.
The long-desired opportunity came at last in the reign of Alexander VI,who, one morning, commanded Rudolph of Herzvina to appear at the palace.As soon as the worthy old baron appeared, Alexander spoke to him asfollows: "Rudolph, you are an old and respected counselor, a devotedservant of the State, and therefore I am delighted to announce that thegreatest honor is about to descend upon your family, an honor so greatthat the entire State of Pornia will be elevated thereby. The CrownPrince Charles wishes to make your daughter his wife!"
At this he stepped back, the better to note the joy with which oldRudolph would receive this announcement, but, to his astonishment, thebaron merely bowed his head and sighed.
"Your highness," said Rudolph of Herzvina, "I have long known of theattachment which the crown prince has for my daughter, Bertha, but Ifear that the marriage can never be consummated."
"Come, come!" said the prince genially. "It is a far leap indeed fromBaron of Herzvina to father-in-law to Prince Charles, but there havebeen stranger things in history than this, though never anything thatcould so effectually elevate Pornia. Have no fear of Charles. He lovesyour daughter; he is strong-minded as the very devil; he will overrideany opposition from his father. As a matter of fact, it is no secretthat Charles is already practically the ruler over his kingdom. Sorejoice, Herzvina, and I will rejoice with you!"
But the baron merely shook his head sadly and repeated: "I fear themarriage can never be consummated."
"Why not?" said the prince in some heat. "I tell you, his royal highnessloves the girl. I could read passion even in the stilted language of hisambassador's message. Why not?"
"I was not thinking of his royal highness, but of the girl. She will notmarry him."
The prince dropped into a chair with jarring suddenness.
Rudolph continued hastily: "I have talked with Bertha many times andseriously of the matter; I have tried to convince her of her duty; butshe will not hear me. The foolish girl says she does not love hishighness."
The prince smote his hands together in an ecstasy of impatience.
"Love! Love! In the name of God, Herzvina, what has love to do withthis? This is the thing for which Pornia has waited during centuries.Through this alliance I can make a treaty that will place Pornia onceand forever upon the map of the diplomatic powers. Love!"
"I have said all this to her, but she is obdurate."
"Does she expect some fairy prince? She is not a child; she is noteven--forgive me--beautiful."
"True. She is not even pretty, but even homely women, your highness,will sometimes think of love. It is a weakness of the sex."
He was not satirical; he was very earnest indeed. He continued: "I havetried every persuasion. She only says in reply: 'He is too old. I cannotlove him.'"
An inspiration came to Alexander of Pornia. Under the stress of it herose and so far forgot himself as to clap a hand upon the shoulder ofHerzvina. In so doing he had to reach up almost as high as his head, forthe princes of Pornia have been small men, time out of mind.
"Baron," he said, "will you let me try my hand at persuasion?"
"It would be an honor, sire. My family is ever at the disposal of myprince."
He answered with a touch of emotion: "I know it, Rudolph; but will youtrust the girl in my hands for a number of days? A thought has come tome. I know I can convince her that this love of which she dreams is athing of the flesh alone, a physical necessity. Come, send her to me,and I shall tear away her illusions. She will not thank me for it, butshe will marry the crown prince."
"I will send her to the palace to-day."
"Very good; and first tell her why I wish to speak with her. It may bethat of herself she will change her mind when she learns the wishes ofher prince. Farewell."
And the prince rode off to a review of the troops of the city guard. Soit was that Bertha of Herzvina sat for a long time in a lonely room,after her arrival at the palace before the door opened, a man in liverybowed for the entrance of the prince, and she found herself alone withher sovereign.
Automatically she curtsied, and he let her remain bowed while he slowlydrew off his white gloves. He still wore his general's uniform with thestiff padding which would not allow his body to grow old, for a princeof Pornia must always look the soldier.
"Sit down," he ordered, and as she obeyed he commenced to walk the room.
He never sat quietly through an interview if he could avoid it; aconstitutional weakness of the nerves made it almost impossible for himto meet another person's eyes. The pacing up and down gave a plausiblereason for the continual shifting of his glance.
"A good day, a very good day," he said. "The hussars were wonderful."
His shoulders strained further back. The prince himself always rode atthe head of the hussars; in her childhood she had admired him. Hestopped at a window and hummed a marching air. That was a plannedmaneuver, for his back was far more royal than his face, with its tallforehead and diminutive mouth and chin. She felt as if she were in thepresence of a uniformed automaton.
He broke off his humming and spoke without turning.
"Well?"
"My decision is unchanged."
"Impossible! In the length of a whole day even a woman must thinktwice."
"Yes, many times."
"You will not marry him?"
"I cannot love him."
He whirled, and the pale blue eyes flashed at her a brief glance whichmade her cringe. It was as if an X-ray had been turned on her heart.
"Love!" he said softly, and she shuddered again. "Because he is old?Bertha, you are no longer a child. Other women marry for what they mayterm love. It is your privilege to marry for the State. That is thenobler thing."
He smiled and nodded, repeating for his own ear: "The nobler thing! Whatis greater than such service--what is more glorious than to forget selfand marry for the good of the thousands?"
"I have an obligation to myself."
"Who has filled you with so many childish ideas?"
"They have grown of themselves, sire."
The pacing up and down the room recommenced. "Child, have you no desireto serve me? I mean, your country?"
She answered slowly, as if feeling for her words: "It is impossible thatI should be able to serve you through my dishonor. If I should marrythe crown prince, my life would be one long sleep, sire. I would notdare awaken to the reality."
His head tilted and he laughed noiselessly. A weakness of the throatprevented him from raising his voice even in times of the greatestexcitement.
"A soul that sleeps, eh? The kiss of love will awaken it?"
He surveyed her with brief disdain.
"My dear, you scorn titles, and yet as an untitled woman you are not amatch for the first red-faced tradesman's daughter. Stand up!"
She rose and he led her in front of a pier glass. Solemnly he studiedher pale image.
"A sleeping soul!" he repeated.
She covered her face.
"Will that bait catch the errant lover, Bertha?"
"God will make up the difference."
He cursed softly. She had not known he could be so moved.
"Poor child, let me talk with you."
He led her back to a chair almost with kindness and sat somewhat behindher so that he need not meet her eyes.
"This love you wait for--i
t is not a full-grown god, dear girl, but ablind child. Given a man and a woman and a certain propinquity, andnature does the rest. We put a mask on nature and call it love, we namean abstraction and call it God. Love! Love! Love! It is a prettydisguise--no more. Do you understand?"
"I will not."
She listened to his quick breathing.
"Bertha, if I were to chain you with a ten-foot chain to the first manoff the streets and leave you alone with him for three days, what wouldhappen?"
Her hand closed on the arm of the chair. He rose and paced the room ashis idea grew.
"Your eyes would criticize him and your shame would fight in behalf ofyour--soul? And the sight of your shame would keep the man in check. Butsuppose the room were dark--suppose you could not see his face andmerely knew that a man was there--suppose _he_ could not see and merelyknew that a woman was there? What would happen? Would it be love? Pah!Love is no more deified than hunger. If it is satisfied, it goes tosleep; if it is satiated, it turns to loathing. Aye, at the end of thethree days you would be glad enough to have the ten-foot chain cut. Butfirst what would happen?"
The vague terror grew coldly in her, for she could see the idea takinghold of him like a hand.
"If I were to do this, the world might term it a shameful thing, but Iact for Pornia--not for myself. I consider only the good of the State.By this experiment I prove to you that love is not God, but blindnature. Yes, and if you knew it as it is, would you oppose me longer?The thought grows upon me! Speak!"
Her smile made her almost beautiful.
"Sire, in all the world there is only one man for every woman."
"Book talk."
He set his teeth because he could not meet her eyes.
"And who will bring you this one man?"
"God."
Once more the soundless laugh.
"Then I shall play the part of God. Bertha, you must now make yourdecision: a marriage for the good of the State, or the ten-foot chain,the dark room--and love!"
"Even you will not dare this, sire."
"Bertha, there is nothing I do not dare. What would be known? I giveorders that this room be utterly darkened; I send secret police to seizea man from the city at random and fetter him to a chain in that room;then I bring you to the room and fasten you to the other end of thechain, and for three days I have food introduced into the room. Results?For the man, death; for you, a knowledge first of yourself and,secondly, of love. The State will benefit."
"It is bestial--incredible."
"Bestial? Tut! I play the part of God and even surpass Him. I put youface to face with a temptation through which you shall come to knowyourself. You lose a dream; you gain a fact. It is well. Shame willguard the secret in your heart--and the State will benefit. Still yousee that I am paternal--merciful. I do not punish you for your pastobstinacy. I still give you a choice. Bertha, will you marry as I wish,or will you force me to play the part of God?"
"I shall not marry."
"Ah, you will wait for God to make up the difference. It is well--verywell; _le Dieu c'est moi_. Ha! That is greater than the phrase of LouisXIV. You shall have still more time, but the moment the sun goes down,if I do not hear from you, I shall ring a bell that will send my secretpolice out to seize a man indiscriminately from the masses of the city.I shall not even stipulate that he be young. My trust in natureis--absolute. _Adieu!_"
She made up her mind the moment he left the room. She drew on her cloak.Before the pier glass she paused.
"Aye," she murmured, "I could not match the first farmer's daughter. Butstill there must be one man in the world--and God will make up thedifference!"
She threw open the door which gave on a passage leading to a sideentrance. A grenadier of the palace guard jumped to attention andpresented arms.
"Pardon," he said.
He completely blocked the hall; the prince had left nothing to chance.She started to turn back and then hesitated and regarded the mancarefully.
"Fritz!" she said at last, for she recognized the peasant who had been astable-boy on her father's estate before he took service in thegrenadiers. "You are Fritz Barr!"
He flushed with pleasure.
"_Madame_ remembers me?"
"And my little black pony you used to take care of?"
"Yes, yes!"
He grinned and nodded; and then she noted a revolver in the holster athis side.
"What are your orders, Fritz?"
"To let no one pass down this hall. I am sorry, _madame_."
"But if I were to ask you for your revolver?"
He stirred uneasily and she took money from her purse and gave it tohim.
"With this you could procure another weapon?"
He drew a long breath; the temptation was great.
"I could, _madame_."
"Then do so. It will never be known from whom I received the gun--and myneed is desperate--desperate!"
He unbuckled the weapon without a word, and with it in her hand shereturned to the room.
There was a tall western window, and before this she drew up a chair towatch the setting of the sun.
"Will he ring the bell when the edge of the sun touches the hills orwhen it is completely set?" she thought.
The white circle grew yellow; then it took on a taint of orange, bulgingoddly at the sides into a clumsy oval. From the gardens below came astir of voices and then the thrill of a girl's laughter. She smiled asshe listened, and, leaning from the window, the west wind blew to herthe scent of flowers. She sat there for a long time, breathing deeply ofthe fragrance and noting all the curves of the lawn with a still, sadpleasure. The green changed from bright to dark; when she looked up thesun had set.
As she turned from the gay western sky, the room was doubly dim and thebreeze of the evening set the curtains rustling and whispering. Silenceshe was prepared for, but not those ghostly voices, not the shift andsweep of the shadows. She turned the electric switch, closing her eyesto blur the shock of the sudden deluge of light. The switch clicked, butwhen she opened her eyes the room was still dark; they had cut theconnecting wires.
Thereafter her mind went mercifully blank, for what she faced was, likebirth and death, beyond comprehension. Noise at the windows roused herfrom the daze at last and she found that a number of workmen weresealing the room so that neither light nor sound could enter or escape.The only air would be from the ventilator. And still she could notrealize what had happened, what was to happen, until the last sounds ofthe workmen ceased and the deep, dread silence began; silence that had apulse in it--the beating of her heart.
She was standing in the middle of the room when the first shapes formedin the black night, and terror hovered about her suddenly, touching heras with cold fingers. She felt her way back to a corner and crouchedthere against the wall, waiting, waiting. They had seized the doomedman long before this. They must have bound and gagged him and carriedhim to the palace.
A thousand types of men passed before her inward eye--thin-faced clerks,men as pale as the belly of a dead fish; bearded monsters, gross andthick-lipped, with thunderous laughter; laborers, stamped with patientweariness--and all whom she saw carried the sign of the beast in theireyes. She tried to pray, but the voice of the prince rang in her ears:"_Le Dieu, c'est moi!_" and when she named God in her prayers, shevisualized Alexander's face, the pale, small eyes, the colorless hair,the lofty brow, the mouth whose tight lips could not be disguised byeven the careful mustache. When a key turned in a door, she sprang toher feet with a cry of horror.
"It is I," said the prince.
"I am dying; I cannot stay here; I will marry whom and when you will."
"Ah, my dear, you should have spoken before sunset. I warned you, and Inever change my mind. It is only for three days, remember. Also, it isin the interest of science. Beyond that, I have quite taken a fancy toplaying God for you for three days. Do you understand?"
The even, mocking tones guided her to him. She fell at his feet andstrained his thin knees against
her breast.
"Come! Be reasonable, Bertha. This is justice."
"Sire, I want no justice. For God's sake, be merciful."
She heard the shaken breath of his soundless laughter.
"Is it so? You should be grateful to me. Trust me, child, I am bringingyou the love of which you have dreamed. Ha! Ha! _Le Dieu, c'est moi!_"
The clanking of the chain which he carried stilled her voice. It hushedeven the thunder of her heart. She rose and waited patiently while themanacle was affixed to her wrist. The prince crossed the room and tappedon the door, which opened, and by a faint light from without Berthadiscovered two men carrying a third into the room. She strained hereyes, but could make out no faces. The burden was laid on the floor; ametallic sound told her that she was fettered to the unknown.
The prince said: "You are a brave girl. All may yet be well. Then humannature is finer than I think. We shall see. As for your lover, your giftfrom God, he is sleeping soundly now. It may be an hour before theeffects of the drug wear away. During that time you can think of love.Food will be placed three times a day within the door yonder. You canreadily find it by feeling your way around the wall. Farewell."
When the door closed she started to retreat to her corner, but the chaininstantly drew taut with a rattle. Strangely enough, much of her fearleft her now that she was face to face with the danger; temptation, theprince had called it. She smiled as she remembered. When the man awokeand learned their situation, she had no doubt as to how he would act.She had seen the sign of the beast in the eyes of many men, great andsmall; she had seen it and understood. The revolver might save her for atime, but what if she slept? She knew it would be almost impossible toremain awake during three days and nights.
The moment her eyes closed the end would come. It seemed better that sheshould fire the bullet now.
When he recovered his senses, it would be difficult to shoot effectivelyin the dark, for this was not the gloom of night--it was an absolutevoid, black, thick, impenetrable. She could not make out her hand at theslightest distance from her eyes. He might even attack her from behindand knock the revolver from her hand before she could shoot. Sooner orlater the man must die. Even if she did not kill him it would beaccomplished by the command of the prince at the end of the three days.
Far better that it should be done at once--that he should never awakenfrom his sleep. She reached the decision calmly and crept forward tohim. Very lightly she passed her hand over his clothes. She had to movehis arm to uncover the breast over his heart; the arm was a limp weight,but the muscles were firm, round, and solid. The first qualm troubledher as she realized that this must be a young man, at least a man in theprime of his physical strength.
Then it occurred to her that often bullets fired into the breast aredeflected from the heart by bones; it would be far more certain to laythe muzzle against the temple--press the trigger--the soul would depart.
The soul! She paused with a thrill of wonder. A little touch would loosethe swift spirit. The soul! For the first time she saw the tragedy fromthe viewpoint of the unknown man. His life was cut in the middle; trulya blind fate had reached out and chosen him from a whole city. Yet shewas merely hastening the inevitable. She reached out and found hisforehead.
It was broad and high. Tracing it lightly with the tips of her fingersshe discovered two rather prominent lumps of bony structure over theeyes. Some one had told her that this represented a strong power ofmemory. She tried to visualize that feature alone, and very suddenly, asa face shows when a man lights his cigarette on the street at night, shesaw in memory the figure of Rembrandt's "Portrait of a Young Painter."He sits at his drawing board, his pencil poised, ready for the strokewhich shall give vital character to his sketch. There is only one highlight, falling on the lower part of the face. Inspiration has tightenedthe sensitive mouth; the questing eyes peer out from the shadow of thesoft cap. She broke off from her vision to realize with a start thatwhen she touched the trigger she would be stepping back through thecenturies and killing her dream of the original of Rembrandt's picture.A foolish fancy, truly, but in the dark a dream may be as true, as vividas reality.
The unconscious man sighed. She leaned close and listened to hisbreathing, soft, hurried, irregular as if he struggled in his sleep, asif the subconscious mind were calling to the conscious: "Awake! Death ishere!"
At least there was plenty of time. She need not fire the shot until hemoved. She laid the revolver on her lap and absently allowed her handsto wander over his face, lingering lightly on each feature. She grewmore alert after a moment. Every particle of her energy was concentratedon seeing that face--on seeing it through her sense of touch. The blind,she knew, grow so dextrous that the delicate nerves of their finger tipsrecord faces almost as accurately as the eyes of the normal person.
Ah, for one moment of that power! She tried her best. The nose, she toldherself, was straight and well modeled. The eyes, for she traced thebony structure around them, must be large; the cheek bones high, a signof strength; the chin certainly square and prominent; the lips full andthe mouth rather large; the hair waving and thick; the throat large. Oneby one she traced each detail and then, moving both hands rather swiftlyover the face, she strove to build the mental picture of the whole--andshe achieved one, but still it was always the young painter whom greatRembrandt had drawn. The illusion would not go out of her mind.
An artist's hands, it is said, must be strong and sinewy. She took thesehands and felt the heavy bones of the wrist and strove to estimate thelength of the fingers. It seemed to her that this was an ideal hand fora painter--it must be both strong and supple.
He sighed again and stirred; she caught up the weapon with feverishhaste and poised it.
"Ah, it is well," said the sleeper in his dream.
She made sure that he was indeed unconscious and then leaned low,whispering: "Adieu, my dear."
At some happy vision he laughed softly. His breath touched her face.Surely he could never know; he had so short a moment left for living;perhaps this would pass into his latest dream on earth and make ithappy.
"Adieu!" she whispered again, and her lips pressed on his.
She laid the muzzle of the revolver against his temple, and, summoningall her will power, she pressed the trigger. It seemed as if she werepulling against it with her full strength, and yet there was no report.Then she realized that all her might was going into an inward struggle.She summoned to her aid the voice of the prince as he had said: "We puta mask on nature and call it love; we name an abstraction and call itGod. _Le Dieu, c'est moi!_" She placed the revolver against the templeof the sleeper; he stirred and disturbed the surety of her direction.She adjusted the weapon again.
Up sprang the man, shouting: "Treason! Help!"
Then he stood silent a long moment; perhaps he was rehearsing the sceneof his seizure.
"This is death," he muttered at last, "and I am in hell. I have alwaysknown what it would be--dark--utter and bitter loss of light."
As his hand moved, the chain rattled. He sprang back with such violencethat his lunging weight jerked her to her feet.
"It is useless to struggle," she cried.
"A woman! Where am I?"
"You are lost."
"But what has happened? In God's name, _madame_, are we chainedtogether?"
"We are."
"By whose power? By whose right and command?"
"By one against whom we cannot appeal."
"My crime?"
"None."
"For how long--"
"Three days."
He heaved a great sigh of relief.
"It is merely some practical joke, I see. That infernal Franz, I knew hewas meditating mischief! Three days--and then free?"
"Yes, for then you die."
Once more he was silent.
Then: "This is a hideous dream. I will waken from it at once--at once.My dear lady--"
She heard him advancing.
"Keep the chain taut, sir, I am armed; I
will fire at the slightestprovocation."
He stopped and laughed.
"Come, come! This is not so bad. You have been smiling in your sleep atme. Up with the lights, my dear. If Franz has engaged you for thisbusiness, let me tell you that I'm a far better fellow than he must haveadvertised me. But what a devil he is to rig up such an elaborate hoax!By Jove, this chain--this darkness--it's enough to turn a fellow's hairwhite! The black night gets on my nerves. Lights! Lights! I yearn to seeyou; I prophesy your beauty by your voice! Still coy? Then we'll trypersuasion!"
His breast struck the muzzle of the revolver.
She said quietly: "If I move my finger a fraction of an inch you die,sir. And every word I have spoken to you is the truth."
"Well, well! You do this finely. I shall compliment Franz on rehearsingyou so thoroughly. Is this the fair Daphne of whom he told me--"
And his hand touched her shoulder.
"By everything that is sacred, I will fire unless you stand back--backto the end of the chain."
"Is it possible? The Middle Ages have returned!"
He moved back until the light chain was taut.
"My mind whirls. I try to laugh, but your voice convinces me. _Madame_,will you explain my situation in words of one syllable?"
"I have explained it already. You are imprisoned in a place from whichyou cannot escape. You will be confined here, held to me by this chain,for three days. At the end of that time you die."
"Will you swear this is the truth?"
"Name any oath and I will repeat it."
"There's no need," he said. "No, it cannot be a jest. Franz would neverrisk the use of a drug, wild as he is. Some other power has taken me.What reason lies behind my arrest?"
"Think of it as a blind and brutal hand which required a victim andreached out over the city to find one. The hand fell upon you. There isno more to say. You can only resign yourself to die an unknown death."
He said at last: "Not unknown, thank God. I have something which willlive after me."
Her heart leaped, for she was seeing once more the artist fromRembrandt's brush.
"Yes, your paintings will not be forgotten."
"I feel that they will not, and the name of--"
"Do not speak of it!"
"Why?"
"I must not hear your name."
"But you know it already. You spoke of my painting."
"I have never seen your face; I have never heard your name; you werebrought to me in this room darkened as you find it now."
"Yet you knew--"
Her voice was marvelously low: "I touched your face, sir, and in someway I knew."
After a time he said: "I believe you. This miracle is no greater thanthe others. But why do you not wish to know my name?"
"I may live after you, and when I see your pictures I do not wish tosay: 'This is his work; this is his power; this is his limitation.' Canyou understand?"
"I will try to."
"I sat beside you while you were unconscious, and I pictured your faceand your mind for myself. I will not have that picture reduced toreality."
"It is a delicate fancy. You are blind? You see by the touch of yourhands?"
"I am not blind, but I think I have seen your face through the touch."
"Here! I have stumbled against two chairs. Let us sit down and talk. Iwill slide this chair farther away if you wish. Do you fear me?"
"No, I think I am not afraid. I am only very sad for you. Listen: I havelaid down the revolver. Is that rash?"
"_Madame_, my life has been clean. Would I stain it now? No, no! Sithere--so! My hand touches yours--you are not afraid?--and a thrill leapsthrough me. Is it the dark that changes all things and gives eyes toyour imagination, or are you really very beautiful?"
"How shall I say?"
"Be very frank, for I am a dying man, am I not? And I should hear thetruth."
"You are a profound lover of the beautiful?"
"I am a painter, _madame_."
She called up the image of her face--the dingy brown hair, long andsilken, to be sure; the colorless, small eyes; the common features whichthe first red-skinned farmer's daughter could overmatch.
"Describe me as you imagine me. I will tell you when you are wrong."
"May I touch you, _madame_, as you touched me? Or would that troubleyou?"
She hesitated, but it seemed to her that the questing eyes ofRembrandt's portrait looked upon her through the dark--eyes reverent andeager at once.
She said: "You may do as you will."
His unmanacled hand went up, found her hair, passed slowly over itsfolds.
"It is like silk to the touch, but far more delicate, for there is lifein every thread of it. It is abundant and long. Ah, it must shine whenthe sun strikes upon it! It is golden hair, _madame_, no pale-yellowlike sea-sand, but glorious gold, and when it hangs across thewhiteness of your throat and bosom the hearts of men stir. Speak! Tellme I have named it!"
She waited till the sob grew smaller in her throat.
"Yes, it is golden hair," she said.
"I could not be wrong."
His hand passed down her face, fluttering lightly, and she sensed theeagerness of every touch. Cold fear took hold of her lest thosesearching fingers should discover the truth.
"Your eyes are blue. Yes, yes! Deep-blue for golden hair. It cannot beotherwise. Speak."
"God help me!"
"_Madame?_"
"I have been too vain of my eyes, sir. Yes, they are blue."
The fingers were on her cheeks, trembling on her lips, touching chin andthroat.
"You are divine. It was foredoomed that this should be! Yes, my life hasbeen one long succession of miracles, but the greatest was reserveduntil the end. I have followed my heart through the world in search ofperfect beauty and now I am about to die, I find it. Oh, God! For onemoment with canvas, brush, and the blessed light of the sun! It cannotbe! No miracle is complete; but I carry out into the eternal night oneperfect picture. Canvas and paint? No, no! Your picture must be drawn inthe soul and colored with love. The last miracle and the greatest! Threedays? No, three ages, three centuries of happiness, for are you nothere?"
Who will say that there is not an eye with which we pierce the night? Toeach of these two sitting in the utter dark there came a vision.Imagination became more real than reality. He saw his ideal of thewoman, that picture which every man carries in his heart to think of inthe times of silence, to see in every void. And she saw her ideal ofmanly power. The dark pressed them together as if with the force ofphysical hands. For a moment they waited, and in that moment each knewthe heart of the other, for in that utter void of light and sound, theysaw with the eyes of the soul and they heard the music of the spheres.
Then she seemed to hear the voice of the prince: "You should be gratefulto me. Trust me, child, I am bringing you that love of which youdreamed. _Le Dieu, c'est moi!_"
Yes, it was the voice of doom which had spoken from those sardonic lips.The dark which annihilates time made their love a century old.
"In all the world," she whispered, "there is one man for every woman. Itis the hand of Heaven which gives me to you."
"Come closer--so! And here I have your head beside mine as Godforedoomed. Listen! I have power to look through the dark and to seeyour eyes--how blue they are!--and to read your soul beneath them. Wehave scarcely spoken a hundred words and yet I see it all. Through athousand centuries our souls have been born a thousand times and inevery life we have met, and known--"
And through the utter dark, the merciful dark, the deep, strong music ofhis voice went on, and she listened, and forgot the truth and closed hereyes against herself.
* * * * *
On the night which closed the third day the prince approached the doorof the sealed room. To the officer of the secret police, who stood onguard, he said: "Nothing has been heard."
"Early this afternoon there were two shots, I think."
"Nonsense. There
are carpenters doing repair work on the floor above.You mistook the noise of their hammers."
He waved the man away, and as he fitted the key into the lock he waslaughing softly to himself: "Now for the revelation, the downward head,the shame. Ha! Ha! Ha!"
He opened the door and flashed on his electric lantern. They lay upon acouch wrapped in each other's arms. He had shot her through the heartand then turned the weapon on himself; his last effort must have been todraw her closer. About them was wrapped the chain, idle and loose.Surely death had no sting for them and the grave no victory, for thecold features were so illumined that the prince could hardly believethem dead.
He turned the electric torch on the painter. He was a man about fifty,with long, iron-gray hair, and a stubble of three days' growth coveringhis face. It was a singularly ugly countenance, strong, but savagelylined, and the forehead corrugated with the wrinkles of long, mentallabor. But death had made Bertha beautiful. Her eyes under the shadowof her lashes, seemed a deep-sea blue, and her loose, brown hair,falling across the white throat and breast, seemed almost golden underthe light of the torch. A draft from the open door moved the hair andthe heart of the prince stirred in him.
He strove to loosen the arms of the painter, but they were frozen stiffby death.
"She was a fool, and the loss is small," sighed the prince. "After all,perhaps God was nearer than I thought. I bound them together with achain. He saw my act and must have approved, for see! He has locked themtogether forever. Well, after all--_le Dieu, c'est moi!_"