“I have no mission toward your soul, Claire,” he said. For another moment the eyes that threatened and allured dwelt on his; then, calling out the address to the cabman, she was driven away.
XIV
Damier, as he drove to the Rue B——, speculated on the rather mystifying significance of the last sentence. He always wanted to speak to her: that she must know; but why now in particular? Since his interview with Claire that morning he had felt almost too shaken by pity for the mother to trust himself with her. He would not be able to help her with counsel and consolation; he would not be able to think of Claire; and at this turning-point in Claire’s life it was for that that the mother needed him.
He found her standing in the salon, evidently pausing to meet him, in a restless pacing to and fro. Her eyes dwelt on him gently and very gravely while she took his hand.
“Who could have expected this swift dénouement? But it is best,” she said, “and I pitied him very deeply.”
“Pitied him—for the past, you mean?” Damier questioned.
“Oh, for the future more!”
Damier wondered over her eyes, over the something tremulous in her smile.
“I saw Claire this morning,” he said. “We talked over the matter; she wished to see me.”