CHAPTER IX
[CHRISTIAN ALMER RECEIVES TWO VISITORS]
Upon Christian Almer's desk lay the note written by Adelaide. He saw it the moment he entered the room, and knew, therefore, that some person had called during his absence. At first he thought it must have been the Advocate, who, not finding him in his room, had left the note for him; but as he opened the envelope a faint perfume floated from it.
"It is from Adelaide," he murmured. "How often and how vainly have I warned her!"
He read the note:
"Dear Christian:
"I cannot sleep until I wish you good-night, with no horrid people around us. Let me see you for one minute only.
"Adelaide."
To comply with her request at such an hour would be simple folly; infatuated as he was he would not deliberately commit himself to such an act.
"Surely she cannot have been here," he thought. "But if another hand placed this note upon my desk, another person must share the secret which it is imperative should never be revealed. I must be firm with her. There must be an end to this imprudence. Fortunately there is no place in Edward's nature for suspicion."
He blushed with shame at the unworthy thought. Five years ago, could he have seen--he who up to that time never had stooped to meanness and deceit--the position in which he now stood, he would have rejected the mere suspicion of its possibility with indignation. But by what fatally easy steps had he reached it!
In the midst of these reflections his heart almost stopped beating at the sound of a light footstep without. He listened, and heard a soft tapping on the door, not with the knuckles, but with the finger-tips; he opened the door, and Adelaide stood smiling before him.
With her finger at her lips she stepped into the room, and closed the door behind her.
"It would not do for me to be seen," she whispered. "Do not be alarmed; I shall not be here longer than one little minute. I have only come to wish you good-night. Give me a chair, or I shall sink to the ground. I am really very, very frightened. Quick; bring me a chair. Do you not see how weak I am?"
He drew a chair towards Her, and she sank languidly into it.
"As you would not come to me," she said, "I was compelled to come to you."
"Compelled!" he said.
They spoke in low tones, fearful lest their voices should travel beyond the room.
"Yes, compelled. I was urged by a spirit."
His face grew white. "A spirit!"
"How you echo me, Christian. Yes, by a spirit, to which you yourself shall give a name. Shall we call it a spirit of restlessness, or jealousy, or love?" She gazed at him with an arch smile.
"Adelaide," he said, "your imprudence will ruin us."
"Nonsense, Christian, nonsense," she said lightly; "ruined because I happened to utter one little word! To be sure I ought, so as to prove myself an apt pupil, to put a longer word before it, and call it platonic love. How unreasonable you are! What harm is there in our having a moment's chat? We are old friends, are we not? No, I will not let you interrupt me; I know what you are going to say. You are going to say, Think of the hour! I decline to think of the hour. I think of nothing but you. And instead of looking delighted, as you should do, as any other man would do, there you stand as serious as an owl. Now, answer me, sir. Why did you not come to me the moment you received my note?"
"I had but just read it when you tapped at my door."
"I forgive you. Where have you been? With the Advocate?"
"No; I have been walking in the grounds."
"You saw nothing, Christian?" she asked with a little shiver.
"Nothing to alarm or disturb me."
"There was a light in the Advocate's study, was there not?"
"Yes."
"He will remain up late, and then he will retire to his room. My life is a very bright and beautiful life with him. He is so tender in his ways--so fond of pleasure--pays me so much attention, and such compliments--is so light--hearted and joyous--sings to me, dances with me! Oh, you don't know him, you don't indeed. I remember asking him to join in a cotillon; you should have seen the look he gave me!" She laughed out loud, and clapped her hand on her mouth to stifle the sound. "I wonder whether he was ever young, like you and me. What a wonderful child he must have been--with scientific toys, and books always under his arm--yes, a wonderful child, holding in disdain little girls who wished him to join in their innocent games. What is your real opinion of him, Christian?"
"It pains me to hear you speak of him in that way."
"It should please you; but men are never satisfied. I speak lightly, do I not, but there are moments when I shudder at my fate. Confess, it is not a happy one."
"It is not," he replied, after a pause, "but if I had not crossed your path, life would be full of joy for you."
It was not this he intended to say, but there was such compelling power in her lightest words that his very thoughts seemed to be under her dominion.
"There would have been no joy in my life," she said, "without you. We will not discuss it. What is, is. Sometimes when I think of things they make my head ache. Then I say, I will think of them no longer. If everybody did the same, would not this world be a great deal pleasanter than it is? Oh, you must not forget what the Advocate called me to-night in your presence--a philosopher in petticoats. Don't you see that even he is on my side, though it is against himself? Of course one can't help respecting him. He is a very learned man. He should have married a very learned woman. What a pity it is that I am not wise! But that is not my fault. I hate learning, I hate science, I hate theories. What is the good of them? They say, this is not right, that is not right. And all we poor creatures can do is to look on in a state of bewilderment, and wonder what they mean. If people would only let the world alone, they would find it a very beautiful world. But they will not let it alone; they will meddle. A flower, now--is it not sweet--is it not enough that it is sent to give us pleasure? But these disagreeable people say, 'Of what is this flower composed--is it as good as other flowers--has it qualities, and what qualities?' What do I care? I put it in my hair, and I am happy because it becomes me, because it is pretty, because Nature sent it to me to enjoy. Why, I have actually made you smile!"
"Because there is a great deal of natural wisdom in what you are saying----"
"Natural wisdom! There now, does it not prove I am right? Thank you, Christian. It comes to you to say exactly the right thing exactly at the right time. I shall begin to feel proud."
"And," continued Almer, "if you were only to talk to me like that in the middle of the day instead of the middle of the night----"
She interrupted him again:
"You have undone it all with your 'ifs.' What does it matter if it is in the middle of the day or the middle of the night? What is right, is right, is it not, without thinking of the time? Don't get disagreeable; but indeed I will not allow you to be anything but nice to me. You have made me forget everything I was going to say."
"Except one thing," he said gravely, "which you came to say, 'Good-night.'"
"The minute is not gone yet," she said with a silvery laugh.
"Many minutes, many minutes," he said helplessly, "and every minute is fraught with danger."
"I will protect you," she said with supreme assurance. "Do not fear. I see quite plainly that if there is a dragon to kill I shall have to be the St. George. Well, I am ready. Danger is sweet when you are with me."
He was powerless against her; he resigned himself to his fate.
"Who brought your letter to my room?" he asked. "Dionetta."
"Have you confided in her?"
"She knows nothing, and she is devoted to me. If the simple maid thought of the letter at all--as to what was in it, I mean--she thought, of course, that it was something I wanted you to do for me to-morrow, and had forgotten to tell you. But even here I was prudent, although you do not give me credit for prudence. I made her promise not to tell a soul, not even her grandmother, that queer, good old Mother Denise, that she had taken a letter from me to you. She did more than promise--she swore she would not tell. I bribed her, Christian--I gave her things, and to-night I gave her a pair of earrings. You should have witnessed her delight! I would wager that she is at this moment no more asleep than I am. She is looking at herself in the glass, shaking her pretty little head to make the diamonds glisten."
"Diamonds, Adelaide! A simple maid like Dionetta with diamond earrings! What will the folks say?"
"Oh, they all know I am fond of her----"
They started to their feet with a simultaneous movement.
"Footsteps!" whispered Almer.
"The Advocate's," said Adelaide, and she glided to the door, and turned the key as softly as if it were made of velvet.
"He will see a light in the room," said Christian. "He has come to talk with me. What shall we do?"
She gazed at him with a bright smile. His face was white with apprehension; hers, red with excitement and exaltation.
"I am St. George," she whispered; "but really there is no dragon to kill; we have only to send him to sleep. Of course you must see him. I will conceal myself in the inner room, and you will lock me in, and put the key in your pocket, so that I shall be quite safe. Do not be uneasy about me; I can amuse myself with books and pictures, and I will turn over the leaves so quietly that even a butterfly would not be disturbed. And when the dragon is gone I will run away immediately. I am almost sorry I came, it has distressed you so."
She kissed the tips of her fingers to him, and entered the adjoining room. Then, turning the key in the door Christian Almer admitted the Advocate.