Chapter III: Front Matter (3)

I had divined as much as this, but I was careful not to say so; nor did I open my mouth on the subject of Jeff. It was sufficient for me to perceive that Jeff and the young lady in the case were probably not far apart, and that to find one would be to find both. Meanwhile I would not deprive Madame of the gratification of believing that I was acting in her interests only. So, entreating her to be tranquil and to expect my return with her daughter in less than a quarter of an hour, I clambered into the boat with all possible dignity and despatch and bade my men shove off. Madame observed my departure with eyes that were genuinely moist.

It was a tolerably mild piece of heroism. Had I been ten years younger I might have wished that the waves had been running mountains high, but at thirty-five--the age of sense and of feeling combined--I was better pleased with the conditions as they were. I was not in love with anybody, and wished only to combine courtesy and good breeding with the fulfilment of a private duty. It had gratified me to observe, in my brief conversation with Madame, her appreciation of the altered aspect of one whom she had first known as an idiot and a scarecrow: not to mention his fluency in speaking the language of the most polished people in the world. I admired, too, the kindly ingenuity with which Fate had brought me acquainted with the mamma of the beautiful pagan, and under circumstances so promising.

But it is unsafe to call Fate good-humoured: it spoils her temper. Our boat was barely afloat when an event occurred which rendered our proposed voyage unnecessary. Somehow or other, without noise and without premonition, the fog rolled swiftly back to the horizon whence it came; and there was Mademoiselle not more than a hundred yards from shore. She was paddling in with admirable coolness and indifference; and close behind her I was happy to see the black head and rosy visage of the poet, who was swimming on his back with every appearance of ease and comfort.

IV.

I hastened to get on shore again and offer to Madame my congratulations. She replied that her obligations to Monsieur were none the less. His courtesy, his chivalry, had been such as one never sees paralleled.

Monsieur, covered with confusion at consideration so undeserved, changes the subject by calling the attention of Madame to the charming picture made by Mademoiselle in approaching the beach. Had he had his sketch-book with him, he would have been tempted to make a little drawing of Mademoiselle.

Ah! Monsieur was, then, an artist? Madame, and Mademoiselle likewise, were all given to artists. They had made purchase of several pictures during their residence in Paris.

Monsieur will venture to call himself an artist, and will, furthermore, have the assurance to make Madame acquainted with his name--M. Claude Campbell, at the service of Madame.

But truly! and did Monsieur Campbell happen to know this Campbell,--he, the great Campbell, he who painted this picture divine which exhibited itself at the last Salon, and was entitled the 'Ruined Rampart'?

Monsieur, even in blushing and being overwhelmed, assures Madame that he is that same fortunate Campbell whose unworthy effort Madame comes from qualifying with such generosity.

Great God! Monsieur is he, then, indeed that sublime, that adored man of genius? What happy chance! What charming _rencontre_! But in this case Madame hopes that the name of the Countess Semaroff will be to Monsieur not altogether unfamiliar?

Oh! Heaven! Is it possible that Monsieur is so happy as to kiss the hand of the noble lady who deigned to constitute herself the purchaser of the above-mentioned 'Ruined Rampart'? Monsieur is of a verity transported.

The Countess Semaroff observes that Mademoiselle--the Countess Almara in effect--will partake of her mamma's enchantment in meeting Monsieur Campbell, of whose genius she is an ardent admirer.

Our rude and artless talk was suspended at this point by the disembarkation of the Countess Almara. Apprehending that the simplicity of her costume might render my immediate presentation undesirable, I exchanged a cordial _au revoir_ with the Countess Semaroff and discreetly withdrew. The beautiful pagan, after exchanging a few sentences with her mother, the latter speaking earnestly and the former laughingly, proceeded to take her turn upon the diving-board, and acquitted herself in a manner truly admirable. She dove like a plummet, and her white feet flashed beneath the surface as succinctly as a mermaid's tail. Up she came again, fresh and dripping, within a few yards of my returned prodigal, the Boston poet; but no signal of recognition that I could detect passed between them. To suppose that the ardent and romantic Jefferson had failed to improve the occasion of being isolated from the world under such peculiar circumstances with the subject of his late rhapsodies seemed to me, however, highly improbable. But the young Countess had doubtless played discretion under the watchful maternal eye; and Jeff, perhaps, intended to conceal his escapade from my friendly inquisition. I was resolved nevertheless to penetrate his reticence, and promised myself the pleasure of listening to an entertaining story over our _déjeuner_. As to my own accidental introduction to the Countess mother, and the unexpected tie between us, I judged it advisable to forbear mentioning it just at present.

The poet reached his depth and waded ashore. I stepped forward to meet him, raising my cap.

'Captain Webb, I presume?'

'Oh--but, Campbell!' exclaimed he with an ineffable look, 'was she not heavenly?'

'Postpone your ecstasies; you'll be a rheumatic cripple for life as it is. Do you know you've been in an hour?'

'It doesn't seem ten minutes--and yet I have lived a lifetime too!'

'You have water on the brain. Do you know where your peignoir is?'

Somewhat to my mortification, he did know, and, as he threw it over his shoulders, remarked placidly, 'But really I'm not in the least cold. Men of my age have hearts, Campbell, and a heart on fire keeps the blood warm under all circumstances.'

'It takes a Bostonian to have a heart warranted to burn under water for an hour.'

'And then,' he continued without heeding me, 'did not a goddess keep the flame alive with her ambrosial breath?'

'Decidedly he must have had an adventure,' thought I. 'But despatch your toilet, young man, and then you shall _déjeuner_ with me, and we'll have chablis and cigarettes.'

'I shall be most happy, indeed. I won't be a moment dressing,' said the poet beamingly; and he dodged into his cabin.

'Pathetic little youth!' thought I as I paced the parade to and fro. 'Good fellow at bottom, but so soft!--the sort of creature that men trample on and women make game of. He has that most offensive of qualities--inoffensiveness. But, luckily for his peace of mind, he idolises himself, and is too slow-witted to comprehend the contempt of other people. After all, his self-conceit has as much justification as anybody's. He sees a pretty face when he looks in the glass, writes pretty verses with conscientious rhymes, utters pretty sentiments, and uses pretty phrases. How is he to know that the world reads all this prettiness without the _r_? But Providence, in emptying his skull, has mercifully filled his pockets. With ten thousand pounds a year he can buy something. What he can't buy is the ability to win for a wife such a woman as this young countess. Is he in love with her? He thinks so, no doubt, and means to make himself poetically miserable about her. His type of men are for ever losing their hearts miles above the reach of their heads. He has been getting off some inane namby-pambyism to her this morning, disgusting or amusing her as the case may be, and has come off serene in the conviction of having made a delightful impression. And now--confound him!--he will be for prosecuting the acquaintance and expecting me to back him up. What shall I do? It would be friendly to dissuade him from having anything more to say to them; but he's obstinate and won't be dissuaded. Well, the spectacle of such a wooing can't fail to be entertaining, and, since I can't prevent it, why shouldn't I enjoy it? To augment excitement I might give Mademoiselle Almara a quiet hint to tip him an occasional dose of encouragement. Poor Jeff! Ah! here he comes! Now let us watch him expand under the influence of chablis.'

The unsuspecting poet took my arm, and we set out for my lodgings.

'How charming the Old World is,' he remarked presently.

'You are an American, and everything here delights you by contrast.'

'But I'm patriotic--very. I'm a descendant of the Puritans, and my forefathers fought on Bunker Hill.'

'Yes, you Yankees are always bringing up the men of '76, whom, were you to meet them on Beacon Street to-day, you would cut dead. Since you have really contrived to civilise yourselves a little in the last century, why do you insist upon falling back on the reputations of a parcel of tagrag farmers who were shot ages before you were born? If I were a Yankee I'd keep mum about them.'

'Ah, you may talk, but at least you know America is the greatest country on earth,' rejoined my friend with unruffled good-humour. 'I'm sure you were delighted with your visit last year.'

'I confess to some scenery; beyond that one sees in the States only things which he thanks Heaven he hasn't got at home. America makes Europeans grateful and contented.'

'I defy you to put your finger on one feature of civilisation here that does not exist in a superior form in the States. There now!'

'To begin with, then, why did you take the trouble to come over here to get a wife, if there are more desirable wives to be had in Boston?'

'How did you know that?'

'How? Have I heard anything from you this morning except about pagan goddesses?'

'Oh, you mean her? Yes; oh, yes!'

'Good heavens! does the man mean to insinuate that he has any other woman in this hemisphere in his eye?'

'Why, to tell you the truth, my father sent me over here just for that very purpose--that and the pipes.'

'What and the pipes?'

'To meet the young lady I am going to marry.'

'And is your beautiful pagan the young lady you are to marry, pray?'

'Ah! I just wish she was!' said Jeff very ruefully.

'This is becoming interesting, my young friend. But here's my house: we'll have our breakfast, and then a consultation over our wine. Come in.'

V.

I repressed my curiosity during the meal, but when we had settled down to our second bottle and the cigarettes I fixed my eyes on my companion and said--

'Well?'

'Did you see that dive?' asked he.

'Hers?'

'Hers of course. Everything I say or do means her, now and for ever, one and inseparable!' cried Jeff, upon whom the wine was evidently beginning to work.

'But what about the other young lady----?'

'Sink the other young lady, sir! I never have seen her, and I never want to.'

'Well, then, about the pagan. Did the fog reveal your souls to one another?'

'Now, Campbell, I wish you would please not chaff,' said Jeff seriously. 'I don't like a man to be always cynical. Is there really nothing sacred to you anywhere? We Bostonians are not brought up so; and this is a sacred subject to me.'

'Not more so than to me, my dear fellow. You shan't have cause to complain of me again.'

'I accept your apology,' said Jeff with dignity. 'Your health.'

We emptied our glasses.

'Who was that handsome middle-aged lady you were talking with?' Jeff asked.

The question rather took me aback. 'You are more the traditional Yankee than I had imagined; you pretend to tell a story and only ask a question. As for that lady, I never saw her before in my life. I should fancy her a Pole or an Austrian. But do get on with your story.'

'There is no real story with a beginning, middle, and end. Real life doesn't arrange itself in that way.'

'There is always a middle, at any rate.'

'I will plunge _in medias res_, then. Did you observe her paddling out?'

'To be sure I did.'

'And did you divine her object?'

'Well, as to that----'

'My dear Campbell, don't you see that it was a case of _fugit inter salices_? She paddled out in order that I might pursue her.'

'Oh! How did you find out that?'

'By intuition,' cried the poet enthusiastically. 'We are in such complete sympathy, she and I, that I feel what she feels. A motion of the shoulder, a turn of the neck, a flirt of the paddle, all bear a secret meaning to my eye. Why, for a quarter of an hour after starting out this morning, I could see nothing but her back; and you know there isn't ordinarily much--conversation in a person's back.'

'I believe you are right, Jeff.'

'But in this case,' he continued warmly, 'I saw through her back all that was going on in her mind.'

'Poetic insight. I have heard of it before, but never knew it to act so powerfully as it does with you.'

'Yes; and, in proof that I'm not mistaken, she did just what I knew she would do beforehand.'

'And what was that?'

'How good this chablis is! The first thing she did was to paddle straight out to sea. She did that to try my faith.'

'Did she succeed?'

'A poet's faith can move mountains,' said Jeff, a little inconsequently. 'Had I been as others--had I been less terribly in earnest--I should have got discouraged or offended and given up the chase. But that is not the Puritan style. I kept right on, and at last I forced her to alter her tactics.'

'And all this through the back of her head? Wonderful!'

'Well, so she altered her tactics, and--what do you think?'

'I haven't a glimmering.'

'She stopped--short,' said Jeff, leaning across the table with his blue eyes wide open and speaking in an impressive undertone; 'and there she sat perfectly still, with her back still turned towards me.'

'So that you might continue to read her thoughts?'

'Campbell, I trust you are not scoffing?'

'My dear fellow----'

'You are my friend, but there are some things----'

'Nothing injures friendship so much as unjust suspicions, Jeff,' I said, with a solemnity almost equalling his own. He softened at once.

'Forgive me, old fellow; I was hasty. The blood of Bunker Hill, you know. Well, and so I gained upon her--and here's her health, Campbell.'

'Bumpers!' said I; and again we set down our glasses empty. I began to feel a little warmed up myself.

'At last I was within ten yards of her. Just then I ran into one of those horrid blue jelly-fish, and it startled me so that I made a splash, and she----'

'Turned round?' I suggested, for he had paused agitatedly.

'Any other woman would have turned round: she did not. She started perceptibly, dipped her paddle on the right side of the canoe, and shot diagonally towards the left. For a moment I saw her in profile.'

'Well, didn't she tip you a wink? I beg your pardon, Jeff, upon my word. I mean, did she not, at the moment of the profile, bend upon you a smile or a glance of encouragement?'

'What encouragement did I need? Besides, the time for encouragement had not yet come; I was still at the period of probation.'

'Her tacking, then, was a fresh trial of your constancy?'

'Not of my constancy--that was already confirmed--but of another quality, my self-respect. Respect, Campbell, is ever the basis of true love. This was a most critical juncture in our acquaintance. Had I slavishly followed her tack I should have lost more ground morally than I gained materially. No, I did not tack; I kept straight on, and, as she had paused again, I was soon beyond her. It was at that supreme moment that we found ourselves enveloped in the fog--alone together, between sea and heaven!'

'Jeff, this is becoming exciting.'

'I kept on. By-and-by, however, I stopped. I could now barely detect the outlines of her canoe through the pallid film of mist; but anon the outlines grew distincter--she was approaching!

Right on she came with graceful strength,
And paused within a paddle's length,
A moment eye to eye they stayed,
The poet and the pagan maid.'

'Jeff, this is poetry.'

'A verse I composed at the time. Do you like it?'

'Can you ask? But this suspense is wearing me out. Do, pray, come to the point.'

'What point, dear Campbell?'

'Hang it! the point of contact.'

'Sir, I fail to understand you,' said the majestic Jeff.

'Gammon! Who understands better than a poet the dramatic necessity of a point of contact? Here are your characters lost--I mean, here are your poet and your pagan maid lost in your fog, and staying eye to eye. Beyond reach of outside help, you are all in all to each other. "Bonjour, Countess." "Bonjour, Monsieur." "We appear to be lost." "I fear you are fatigued," she says. "The delight of conversing with the Countess Almara would suffice to restore me, were that the case." "Perhaps, if you were to rest your hand on the gunwale," she continues. "You overwhelm me," murmur you. "Nay, I would keep you from being overwhelmed," she smiles. "You are my guiding star!" you exclaim. "If I only knew whither to guide you. And mamma will be so anxious," she sighs. "Knows the Countess Semaroff that we are together?" you enquire. Just at this instant another of those horrid blue jelly-fish comes along, causing you to give another splash and sink. She screams, stretches out her hand to save you; you catch it, press it impulsively to your lips.... Well, there's your point of contact. Now go ahead.'

The close and serious attention which Jeff had given to this sally of mine had stimulated me to make it as absurd as possible, and may be that last glass of chablis had something to do with my sprightliness. But in proportion as I warmed Jeff seemed to cool; he leaned his cheek upon his hand, and directed a profound gaze into the bottom of his empty wine-glass. At length he muttered these singular words--

'How curiously things come out!'

'But what happened after you kissed her hand?'

'I didn't kiss it,' sighed the poet.

'Not after accepting the support of her canoe?'

'I didn't accept it; she didn't offer it.'

'Nor speak about it at all?'

'She said nothing; I said nothing; neither of us said anything.'

'Then why, in the name of stupefaction, did you take the trouble to get lost in the fog with her? Better have stayed on shore.'

'Had I known the Countess Semaroff was there, perhaps I should,' said Jeff, looking up.

I coloured in spite of myself. I, a man of five-and-thirty, had been carried away to reveal to this boy the secret of my acquaintance with these ladies. I should now have no excuse to offer for not introducing him. Verily that chablis cut both ways. I hastened to revert to our original topic.

'So there was no point of contact after all?'

'Not what you would call such, O you English materialist,' said the poet eloquently. 'But our points of view are so incompatible. Is not the soul more than the body? and, if so, is not a look of the eyes more than a touch of the hand? Our spirits met, Campbell, though our earthly frames held aloof.'

'But would your spirits have met any less had your earthly frames behaved in a more materialistic and intelligible way?'

Jeff shook his head dreamily.

'You are of those who know not how to enjoy the rose upon its stalk. You must needs cull it and insert it in your _boutonnière_. You are not sensitive enough to apprehend the rarest delight of the _grande passion_--that of regarding the beloved object in her intact state ere the pure sphere of her personality has been invaded by materialistic approach.'

'Well, Jeff, it's evident you know more about women than I do. But, admitting what you say, I still maintain (provided your intentions with the Countess are really serious) that you are not taking the nearest way to a matrimonial issue. The flesh is sluggish, but it has its compensations.'

The inspired Bostonian took his cigarette between two fingers and waved it in an illustrative manner as he said--

'Suppose, dear Campbell, you were starting on a journey through a delicious tract of country--a winding valley, say--and suppose, before setting out, you climbed a hill commanding this valley, and took a bird's-eye view of your proposed route. Would you enjoy that journey more or less for having anticipated it spiritually by that glance?'

'Ha! methinks I conceive you. Your psychological business is merely a sort of barmecide feast, designed to whet the palate for solid viands to follow. Having brought the transcendental part of your love-making to a happy issue, you now propose to pursue the game upon a practical basis?'

Jeff blew a serene cloud and regarded me with a complacent smile.

'Yes, I mean to marry her now,' said he.

'And leave the other without even a bird's-eye view?'

'By-the-by, I must tell you about that. You know I was saying this morning that the Russian commissioner, our friend, had married. Well, he had a daughter, and this daughter and I were by our respective papas destined for each other.'

'I see--a union of policy, like those of the royal families of Europe.'

'To me the idea of utilising the sacred covenant of marriage in the interest of mere business always seemed horrible and revolting. I told my father so.'

'And he, I'll venture to say, told you you were a sentimental young idiot.'

'If that had been all----' said Jeff, wagging his head significantly.

'Well, what was there more?'

'Only this. After I had protested one day, with all the eloquence I could muster, against the cold-blooded inhumanity of binding down two fresh young souls, who had never seen each other, to such a contract, he replied (you remember his dogmatic, high-handed way), "Either you marry her or you live on three hundred pounds per annum."'

'In that case,' said I, not without a secret feeling of relief, 'you certainly won't marry the pagan maid?'

'Why not?'

'Because, to go no further, you won't get her to take you at three hundred pounds per annum. You don't know what living on such an income means. I do; and I can tell you that, even without a wife and children, it's no joke.'

'But, dear Campbell, you seem to forget that I love her.'

'Take the advice of a man who has seen more of the world than you have, and forget it yourself. I am talking seriously now, Jeff, and for your good. You do not love this Countess Almara, and, to be frank with you, it is not possible that she ever should care for you. You have a strong will; use it on the side of common sense and--filial piety. Where were you to meet your intended?'

'Paris was the rendezvous appointed, but----'

'Pack up your traps and be off to Paris this very afternoon.'

'But it wasn't for a week yet that----'

'Never mind. Get away from here; that's the main point. Don't remain within reach of temptation.'

'Campbell, this is not temptation; it's a foregone conclusion. I am going to marry the Countess Almara. Our meeting here was fated. I shall not go to Paris.'

'But I tell you the Countess Almara won't have you.'

Jeff was silent awhile. Presently he looked up and said--

'How do you know she won't?'

'Well--never mind,' I thought it prudent to reply.

There was another silence. Suddenly Jeff said, 'Campbell, if I went to Paris would you go with me?'

This turn embarrassed me again. It would not exactly suit my convenience to go to Paris that afternoon. There were some things I wanted to--attend to. I wondered whether my young friend was becoming suspicious.

'Could I be of any service to you there?' I enquired.

'After all I don't know that you could,' said he after a moment's reflection. 'Besides, thanking you all the same for your advice, dear Campbell, I've made up my mind to stay here. I can never love, much less marry, any other woman than the Countess Almara.'

There was a certain element of nobility in the placid obstinacy of the young fellow, who was committing the amazing folly of resigning ten thousand a year for the sake of a girl to whom he had never spoken, and until the last two or three days never seen, that touched me a little and made me resolve not to let him ruin himself without another effort to save him.

'Jeff, you are an ass,' I said bluntly. 'Your brain has been addled with the pursuit of what you are pleased to imagine poetry, until you have grown to believe that a man can live on love and lyrics instead of on beefsteak and bullion. You say you can never love any but the Countess Almara; I say it is, at all events, your duty to try. Go to Paris, and at least make the acquaintance of the young lady your father has selected for you. If you find her unlovable, at all events that will be some satisfaction.'

'Thank you very much, Campbell, but I can't, really.'

'You persist in running your head against a wall?'

Jeff smiled mildly and said nothing.

'All right; _liberavi animam meam_. I wash my hands of you. One thing: I can't take the responsibility of giving you an introduction.'

'You know them both, then?'

'Well, I have not been presented to the young lady yet, but----'

'I shall be happy to present you when I know her myself,' said Jeff forgivingly; 'and when we are married I trust you and I will be better friends than ever.'

'Oh! fathomless self-conceit and fatuity of Bostonian youth!' I muttered to myself as I lit a final cigarette and preceded the poet to the door. 'Poor Jeff! upon my soul I am sorry for him!'

And when we parted outside I shook his hand with a feeling not far removed from respect mingling with my impatience, and I watched him walk away with the kindly hope that the Providence which presides over children and fools might keep a beneficent eye upon the poor little poet.

VI.

I was in rather an ill-humour that afternoon. After a short turn about the town I returned to my _atelier_ and tried to paint; but colour had lost its harmony for me, and composition its meaning. I took up Balzac's _Deux Frères_, and plunged into the details of the miseries of Agatha, the villainy of Philip, and the genius of Joseph; but the appalling truth of the picture depressed and irritated me. I stretched myself on the lounge and gave way to moody reverie. I pictured to myself a man five-and-thirty years of age, who had had his romance and got cured of it a dozen summers ago, who piqued himself on his sceptical and unimpassive temperament, who had fallen into confirmed bachelorhood, who was prolific of cynical and pro-Malthusian doctrines to erotic young fellows under thirty, and whose eminence in the world of art was due to the unalloyed devotion of both heart and brain which he had hitherto lavished upon it. I asked myself what was the fitting punishment for such a man's apostasy from his principles.

'Such a man,' I answered myself, 'is not fit to be trusted abroad. I condemn him to pack up his traps and go home, and I give him two hours to complete his preparations for starting.'

The clock--the tall Norman clock with its round face of embossed brass and its huge slow-swinging pendulum--struck half-past three. I got up and rung the bell. Presently a withered old lady appeared, in a black gown, white cap and apron, neat blue stockings, and low shoes.

'Madame Enault,' I said, 'I shall leave you this afternoon. That a porter be here at five o'clock to take my baggage to the diligence; and, if you please, that we make up our little accounts.'

Madame Enault was crushed. She was sent to grass! Monsieur going to leave that very day even?

'Perfectly.'

Monsieur had perhaps encountered something to miscontent him? Madame Enault would do anything in her power to render things more satisfactory to Monsieur.

'Madame misconstrues me. It is that affairs demand my departure.'

'Monsieur will he pardon Madame Enault?'

'But without doubt.'

'Monsieur will, then, recollect that, in coming here, he was so good as to engage the rooms for six weeks, whereas only one week has elapsed....'

'You are completely in reason, Madame, and you will be paid for the whole six weeks precisely as if I had remained.'

Madame drops a curtsey and will instantly apprise a porter of Monsieur's intentions.

I now proceeded to pack my trunks and painting gear, and then, it being a little after four, I sallied forth for a farewell stroll on the parade.

It was a magnificent afternoon. A fresh cool breeze had replaced the lazy calm of the morning. The horizon line and the profile of the cliffs were defined sharp and clear. Great white castellated clouds sailed across the blue, and rhythmic waves came tumbling in frothy profusion along the beach. The whole scene was like a shout of joy, and it had never spoken so feelingly to me as now that I was saying good-bye to it.

As I turned away after a long look seaward, I met the Countess Semaroff and her daughter face to face.

I bowed. Madame smiled and gave me her hand, and before withdrawing it she looked at her daughter and said--

'My very dear, this is Monsieur Campbell. Ah, Monsieur, it has been a dream of my daughter to meet you.'

'I trust Mademoiselle will not find in me an illustration of the proverb, "Songe mensonge,"' I said, clumsily enough.

Mademoiselle smiled slightly, as courtesy required, but all the while her eyes rested upon me searchingly and doubtfully, as though to satisfy herself whether I were to be believed in or distrusted, whether she might expect to find in the artist the complement and justification of his works. No kind of look, perhaps, is so difficult to sustain with composure as this. The most redoubtable artist is conscious that the inspiration of his best efforts comes from a source superior to himself, in comparison with which the average level of his thoughts and motives makes but a sorry show. The merciless and undisguised inquisition of an ardent and unsophisticated young woman is thus apt to become not a little trying, especially when the inquisitrix is furnished with such a pair of eyes as nature had endowed the Countess Almara withal.

Indeed, strange and striking in other respects as was the beauty of the young Countess, it was her eyes that individualised her and rendered her a paragon among women. Large and perfectly black they were--so black that it was a wonder to see them so full of light. The iris was of breadth so unusual that, like a black sun between two clouds, its upper and lower rims were infringed upon by the imperial eyelids. The human eye, as every portrait painter knows, has in itself but a narrow range of expression: it is the setting that imports. Now, the Countess Almara's upper eyelid was falconlike--straight above the pupil, and falling away thence towards the cheek in a long sweeping curve--a bold, lavish eyelid, indicative of keen intelligence and a noble temper. In singular contrast with this was the lower lid, most sensitively and changefully fashioned, responsive to every shifting emotion, sad, mirthful, wistful, pleasurable, tender; this it was that betrayed the woman, as the other announced the countess. Like the shimmer of light upon water, the delicate nerves in this region were never at rest; here, as upon a photographic plate, was legible the impress of each word or unuttered thought. Thus it might be affirmed of the Countess Almara that she had two eyes where other women have but one; and certainly she was able to do four times more execution with her pair than most daughters of Eve can accomplish.

There was a fine unconventionality in the cast of her features which was in itself an element of life. The low and broad forehead terminated in far-reaching and strongly defined eyebrows. The nose, long and finely chiselled, especially about the nostrils, descended from between the eyes in a line which, towards the end, had just enough of an upward tendency to redeem it from classic tameness. Tameness, in fact, is the word most expressive of everything that the young Countess was not. Her mouth was generous; the upper lip, short and slender, lay like a coral snake upon the full and voluptuously moulded lip below; thence curved forth the chin, clean cut and mettlesome, which she habitually carried high, and to which she communicated movements of fascinating wilfulness. Her profile, as a whole, was therefore of the concave rather than the convex order, and possessed a charmingly wild, barbaric quality, by no means inconsistent with a thorough refinement.

Of her grand figure I have already spoken. Her bearing was elastic and vigorous, yet pervaded always by the subtle and inevitable dignity of a high-bred lady. A kind of scarlet barret-cap surmounted the heavy black coil of her hair; and she wore a close-fitting dress of black serge, with a scarlet bow fluttering at the throat and a scarlet belt around the waist. It was a costume simple to severity, but in which she looked diabolically handsome. Her only ornaments on this occasion were two broad hoops of gold in her ears, and, on her left hand, an antique ring with an enormous ruby in it. Such a ruby not one lady in a thousand would dare to put on; it must have come to her, I thought, from the tomb of some early royal ancestress. It harmonised well with what I took to be the essential character of the Countess Almara.

Here, however, has been more than enough of personal description, which is never so futile as when it attempts to catch the secret of a lovely woman's charm. As an artist I have dwelt upon details which to the ordinary eye would have combined for the production of a single effect more or less acutely pleasurable. I looked at her with the instinctive longing which an artist feels to interpret beauty upon canvas; and the critical admiration of my glance met and partly disconcerted the critical inquiry of her own.

'I have much happiness in speaking to Monsieur Campbell,' she said after a moment in a deep fresh voice. 'To me it is not as if I were speaking to a stranger.'

We walked on slowly, the young Countess between her mother and me. I felt a childish desire to utter something brilliant and profound; and, knowing by experience that such a wish is always fatal to the deed, I took refuge in the intensity of commonplace.

'Mademoiselle finds this place enjoyable?'

'After the city, truly, yes.'

'Paris is indeed hot in this month.'

'It is from St. Petersburg that we come here.'

'Mademoiselle the Countess is, then, a Russian?'

Here the elder lady interposed with a smile, 'Not altogether Russian, monsieur. For my part, I am a Circassian. My father was attached to the Court of the Czar after the conquest of our poor country. I was married among our conquerors--what will you? For Almara, she may be called the Reconciliation, is it not?'

'If all quarrels could find such reconciliation----' I began.

The Countess Semaroff laughed good-naturedly. 'There, you are _spirituel_; one sees you have lived much in Paris,' she was kind enough to say.

'But it is not in the _salons_ of Paris that you have found the power to conceive your pictures. I refer not to the execution--the _technique_--all that which labour and experience may acquire; but it is the thought, look you, the life that is in your work; and this can be found not in any city, not in any society, but only in the man himself who feels, who sees.'

It was the young Countess who spoke thus, and with an energy of tone and expression that caused those nerves of self-approbation which are situated somewhere in the back part of a man's throat to thrill pleasantly. I had not expected to find in so young a woman an appreciation at once so earnest and intelligent.

'You have studied art yourself?' I said to her.

'Behold, my very dear, you will permit that I sit on the bench and read my letter while you and Monsieur Campbell have your little debate. When you are fatigued you shall rejoin me. Go, then.' And with this the good Countess established herself upon a seat sheltered from the breeze, but which we would pass and repass at every turn of our promenade. Our conversation continued.

'I do not name myself student; I am a lover,' said the Countess Almara. 'My life has not been a school; it has been a passion. I cannot talk learnedly, as do many; I know not the names of things; but I know what reaches my heart: that I understand and never forget.'

'It is, then, that your heart has taught you more than the heads of many students teach them.'

'I should like to believe that,' she exclaimed with animation. 'I like not to be told, "You must believe this; you must say that." I would believe and say because I cannot help it. Figure to yourself that my life has not been altogether after the convenances. A child, I lived in a grand château beside a lake; beyond the lake was a mountain, and on all sides a forest. I had a gun, I hunted, and I swam and rowed upon the lake, and I had my horses and my dogs. To sew, to play with dolls, look you, I cared not for it. I am not as the French, not even as the Russians; like my mother, I am Circassian; yes, I am more Circassian than she instead of less.'

'I believe it well. But later you left this château--you travelled?'

'I have been to many places and seen much society, and I have learned to behave _comme il faut_ and to speak the French. But it is only a little comedy that I act; I feel that within me remains always the little girl of the lake and forest, but dressed differently, and with a face that does not tell the truth, as then. I can look happy when I am sad, and grave when I wish to laugh.'

'But you are happier than you were before?'

'Oh, for example, behold a question of difficulty,' said the Countess, shrugging her shoulders. 'One is never happy as in childhood; but, in fine, one finds a way to be happy. To love what is beautiful is happiness, but then it is a happiness full of all that is most sad.'

'It is not often that one has discovered that truth at your age, mademoiselle.'

'But it is true, is it not? For beauty dies; or if not beauty, then the eye, the soul, that has enjoyed it. Why was it ever shown to us? It only makes us long for what never comes, for what can never be.'

This gloomy philosophy, uttered by one who should have seen as yet only the sunshine of life, roused me to attempt what, for me, was the anomaly of vindicating the more hopeful view. Some platitude I brought forth about the soul finding in another world the fulfilment of unsatisfied aspirations, and I asked her whether she doubted immortality.

We were leaning on the broad wooden railing of the promenade, looking seaward. The Countess was turning her ring absently on her forefinger.

'There ought to be immortality,' said she, 'to recompense us, not for what we have suffered in the world, but for what we have enjoyed!'

'Yes, you could not have hit upon a stronger argument,' returned I after a moment's thought.

'Is it strong enough?'

'Strong enough certainly to justify hope.'

'Ah, my God, one hopes without any justification at all. You conceive, monsieur, I am not of those who believe all we are told of the holy Greek Church. To believe, and after all to be deceived! I could not bear it. I have not found anyone so wise as to make all doubts seem foolish. But I have found many things that tell me, "Destiny mocks you." Yes,' she added, turning towards me with a kind of fierceness in her look, 'yes, destiny mocks me.'

'This girl has sustained some terrible injustice in her life,' I thought to myself. 'It glows in her words like the fire in her ruby.'

After a pause she spoke again.

'Figure to yourself, monsieur, a life that feels itself strong and capable of all enjoyments and aspirations; and this life, in the midst of its joy and freedom, one day meets its destiny, which says, "You are a slave: your aspirations are ashes; your joy shall make you weep; you shall become all that you despise. If you struggle to be free, you shall but dig your dungeon deeper. So it shall be to the end; but I do not forbid you to hope." Well, is not that mockery?'

'Destiny has not that power over us. I who speak to you have suffered, mademoiselle, but I have not found that suffering degrades. It chills, perhaps.'

'Ah, you speak of men. I am a woman; it is another thing that! But behold me who discourse thus to you, who see me for the first time--who think me mad.'

'Oh, Countess!...'

'Do you know why I say to you these things, which I have said before to no one--to no one, Monsieur Campbell? It is because they grew in my mind as I looked at your picture--your picture, that is now mine as well. Many hours have I looked at it, and I said, "The man who has conceived that he has known what are the secrets of life. If I meet him I will tell him these secrets of mine; he is worthy to hear them. He can interpret mysteries." But your interpretation is profound, monsieur; not everyone can read it.'

'If I could always paint for such as you, Countess, I might some day realise my ideal.'

She stood meditatively, her hands hanging folded and her eyes dreaming.

'When I saw that picture,' she said at length, 'I felt that it was the picture of my soul. There she sits within her rampart, which was once whole and sound. But now there is a breach, and that breach will never be built up again--never, never. Once the enemy has entered; and though for years and years she may watch and guard, yet at some hour, some moment even, her eyes will droop and her hand waver.... Then he springs and clutches her, and it is ended. See him where he lurks there outside among the bushes. He waits; he is sure. And she--regard that terror in her eyes. Monsieur, it is a sublime thing to be a great painter.'

She held out her hand to me impulsively; there were tears in her eyes, but she smiled them away with a wilful defiance. Our hands just touched; then she withdrew hers. 'You see I have not had your picture for nothing; I have looked at it,' she said.

I was deeply touched. 'You have seen through it into the heart that conceived it.'

'Let us talk of other things,' she exclaimed abruptly in a lighter tone. 'Come, let us walk, else madame my mother will think again that I am lost.'

We resumed our promenade accordingly, but for awhile in silence.

'You look at my ruby. Do you find it handsome?' She had been turning and twisting the ring upon her finger, and my eyes had more than once been drawn to it. Almost as soon as she had spoken she slipped the ring off and laid it in my hand.

'It is a real antique,' I said, concealing the surprise this sudden act inspired in me. 'It is an heirloom in your family, perhaps?'

'It is a magic ring; there is a spell connected with it,' said the Countess, laughing.

'Let me not be the breaker of the spell,' I rejoined, holding it towards her. But instead of taking it from me, she extended her long taper finger, and I put the ring on it.

'There, you have put it on, and now it will never come off,' she said with a strange smile. 'It is the ring of my destiny.'

'Yours should be a rich destiny, then.'

'Yes, I shall be rich; I shall make a figure in the world,' she replied still smiling. 'Nevertheless the spell is a curse; for so long as I wear the ring I must be miserable, and if I lose it I shall be wicked.'

'Is there no third alternative?'

'There was, but now the moment is passed. That is your fault, monsieur.'

'My fault?'

'If, when I gave you the ring just now, and it was in your power, you had flung it far, far away into the sea, then the curse would have left me, and I should have been free always.'

'If that be all I'll soon set you at liberty. Give me the ring.'

She shook her head. 'It is now too late. Such a chance can come only once. Have I not told you destiny mocks always? Behold my mother who beckons us.'

We approached Madame, who took her daughter's hand affectionately in hers. 'My very dear, we dine to-day at half-past four; we must make our toilette early. But, my God! how your hand is cold, my child. You have been chilled by that fog this morning.'

The Countess Almara laughed. 'It was not I; it was that poor young man with the black hair and the blue eyes who was swimming so far out; that he should have been chilled I could believe it. In effect it was droll,' she continued, turning to me. 'Figure yourself this little man--he was very little--little like that,' and she held her palm about four feet from the ground. 'Well, he swims out a fine distance, even as far as I go in the canoe. When the fog comes I hear a splash; I look round; I perceive this unfortunate infant. I think he shall be drowned, and I go towards him to preserve him. Then I see that this infant it is a man; and this man he seems to fear me more than to be drowned, for he swims away when I approach. So I return towards the shore, but slowly, so that he may see me and follow me; and, in fine, when we are nearly arrived the fog dissolves itself, and behold us.'

'Do you by hazard know this gentleman?' inquired the Countess Semaroff of me. 'He has the air of an Englishman.'

'No; he is an American,' I answered with a touch of prevarication.

'Ah, these Americans, how I hate them!' murmured the Countess Almara.

Madame rose with a shrug of her shoulders. 'We shall have the pleasure of seeing Monsieur Campbell at the dance this evening?'

'Without doubt--that is--no. I am to depart by the diligence even at the present hour.'

'Depart to-day? Impossible! After having met Monsieur to lose him so soon!'

'Madame, I am desolated, but--affairs.'

'You will not go to-day,' said the Countess Almara, in a voice so low it could have been audible only to myself.

'Perhaps, indeed, I could manage to postpone for a few days----' I resumed, still addressing myself to Madame.

'Good. We remain here but a few days longer ourselves; and when we go you shall accompany us. That will be charming. Is it agreed?'

'Madame, a thousand acknowledgments.'

'Till this evening, then.'

I bowed low. The Countess Almara laid her hand in mine, our eyes met, her lips seemed to form the word 'Merci,' but she did not utter it aloud; then she turned brusquely and followed her mother, and they were soon out of sight.

VII.

I drew a long breath, stroked my beard thoughtfully, looked at my watch, and set out at a brisk pace for my lodgings. Before I had gone far I heard my name called, and turning, saw Mr. Jefferson Montgomery, who signalled to me with one gloved hand while with the other he lifted his hat in adieu to an elderly gentleman with a tremendous sweep of moustachios. My friend now hastened towards me, his white teeth flashing, his blue eyes beaming, and with a general air of prosperity and benevolence.

'I am so glad to see you, dear Campbell. But they told me you were going to leave us. Surely you're not?'

'What an idea! I shall be here at least a week.'

Jeff took my arm with perfect cordiality and good faith. I did not want him, but there was nothing for it but to let the poor little man come. Arrived at my house, I sent him upstairs while I stopped to have a word with my landlady.

'Madame Enault, I shall be able to remain another week.'

Madame Enault was delighted, but would Monsieur pardon her?

'Freely and completely. What then?'

Only that, since Monsieur's notice to leave another monsieur had engaged the rooms, and Madame Enault had agreed with him for a month.

'Then let him know that you misunderstood me and that he must go elsewhere.'

To a marvel; only, alas! this gentleman had deposited the hire of the rooms in advance.

'You will return his deposit to him.'

Perfectly, but that, having had a heavy bill to meet, Madame Enault had been constrained to pay the money away.

'Ah! and Madame requires me to supply her with the cash in question?'

Monsieur had exactly divined the necessity that unfortunately existed.

Providence had treated me too well for me to be severe with so thrifty and unimpeachable a landlady; accordingly a financial transaction took place, the porter was remanded, and I went upstairs.

'And so you have been introduced,' said Jeff. He was reclining Adonis-like upon the lounge, exquisitely dressed.

'To whom do you refer?'

'Now don't be English and reticent. Whom should I mean but my countess? I do so want to hear your opinion of her.'

I could not help laughing a little, for to be seriously angry with the bard of Beacon Street was not easy.

'Unless you wish to write yourself down irrevocably an ass, my dear boy, you will not again apply the possessive pronoun to the Countess Almara. It sounds much as if a horse-fly should speak of his proprietorship of a four-in-hand.'

'My dear Campbell, you are really impolite.'

'I know it, and I hold you responsible for forcing me to address you with such brutality. I'm not accustomed to it.'

'How you do go on!' sighed Jeff, wiping his eyebrows with his cambric handkerchief. 'One never knows when you're in earnest. But really don't you think we shall make a first-rate match?'

'Gracious Powers! Do you know that there are probably not two men living for whom the Countess Almara would not be more than a match?'

'Exactly. In fact, there is only one who could mate with her on equal terms, and--well, I happen to be he.' Jeff uttered this with perfect modesty and conviction.

'My young friend, your chances with that young lady are not hopeless; they are ridiculous. She actually cannot maintain gravity at the thought of you. Must I reveal that she speaks of the "pauvre enfant," that she is convinced you are only four feet high, and that she declares she frightened you terribly in the fog this morning? Eloquent looks and sympathy of souls indeed!' and I laughed rudely.

'I don't believe a word you say,' replied Jeff, laughing also. 'But there is one thing that I do begin to believe.'

'What is that?'

'That I've got a rival, eh? ha, ha, ha!'

'You have an entirely too lively imagination,' was my cold reply.

'Ah, Campbell, you are very deep--very. If I were less sure of my countess than I am I declare I should feel uneasy.'

'Merely for curiosity's sake, where do you find encouragement?'

'You were in earnest, then, when you said this morning that you knew less than I about women? Your difficulty is, probably, that you regard woman as a species of man, when in fact no woman who amounts to anything has a particle of masculinity about her. They may pretend to it sometimes, just to bamboozle fellows who are inexperienced; but they drop it in the presence of a man who sees through them.'

'Through their backs. I understand.'