Indeed, the unusual droop of the finely waxed and pointed moustache, the plaintive look in the soft, brown eyes--and the general limpness and depression that for two whole days enveloped the person of the ordinarily vivacious little man, told their own sad tale.
CHAPTER XIV.
A Bird of Ill Omen.
Stanislas de Güldenfeldt, the subject of so much heart burning, was meanwhile, in the scorching heat of Tokyo, striving as speedily as possible to accomplish the business that had called him to the Capital. It was a tiresome affair that compelled appointments with Ministers and endless interviews with men of business, the latter frequently necessitating the presence of an interpreter--at the best of times a wearisome and tedious performance, and especially so when the thermometer marks, as it frequently did during that torrid summer--97° in the shade. In spite of his somewhat dreary occupations, there were many weary hours of enforced idleness, and the time had to be killed as best it could, a difficult operation with scarcely a creature--much less an acquaintance or a colleague--left in town.
Stanislas' love of reading and research seemed to be a thing of the past. His own life's drama struck him at this time as being so far more thrilling and absorbing than the perusal of any treatise or romance, or even the study of his favourite scientific authors who--until now--had proved the great resource and stand-by of his lonely hours. He no longer had taste for these former delights, and though a once beloved volume might be taken from the bookshelves adorned by the work of many an ancient and distinguished author, instead of being dipped into, studied, or perused, it would remain for hours unopened on his knees.
Thoughts of Pearl, plans for the future, hopes for the future and--on frequent occasions--fears for the future, engrossed instead his mind. Mrs. Nugent's recent and fairly constant fits of irritability had by no means escaped the observation of de Güldenfeldt. Though, so far, he had hardly succeeded in fathoming the true cause of this strange and uncomfortable deviation in a disposition which--he was wont to flatter himself--he had after three years' study thoroughly solved--he, nevertheless, genuinely lamented the existence of these--until now--concealed and undreamt-of traits of character. More than once had he been brought into intimate contact with these uncertain and capricious moods. More than once had he suffered from these fits of nervous excitement, indulged in by one whom he hitherto had considered not only the sweetest and the best, but, above all, an unusually just and reasonable specimen of her sex.
He at times consoled himself with the thought that once married, once leading the daily routine of a calm and settled existence--Pearl would regain that former buoyancy of spirits, that previous equanimity of temperament which in his eyes, had constituted the greater part of her fascination and her charm.
He felt he had indeed achieved much in getting fixed the approximate date of the wedding. He recalled the sweet face which he had kissed so ardently when Pearl had summoned him back on the mountain pass, and the delicious words of love and repentance that in the fulness of her heart, with her arms encircling his neck, she then had uttered,--and his pulses beat, and once more his heart throbbed with joyful anticipation at the thought of that happiness which--he flattered himself--must surely one day be his lot.