With tears in her eyes, she bent her head and her fresh young lips just touched his withered brow.
“Good-by,” she said. “I am so sorry for you!” And she was gone, leaving him sitting there motionless as though life had departed.
A rattling cab that clattered noisily past the cabildo and calaboza, and swung around the square, aroused the marquis. He arose, stopped the driver, and entered the rickety vehicle.
“The law office of Marks and Culver,” said the marquis.
The man lashed his horse and the attenuated quadruped flew like a winged Pegasus, soon drawing up before the attorneys’ office. Fortunately Culver was in, and, although averse to business on any day––thinking more of his court-yard and his fountain than of his law books––this botanist-solicitor made shift to comply with the marquis’ instructions and reluctantly earned a modest fee. He even refused to express surprise at my lord’s story; one wife in London, another in Paris; why, many a southern gentleman had two families––quadroons being plentiful, why not? Culver unobtrusively yawned, and, with fine courtesy, bowed the marquis out.
Slowly the latter retraced his steps to his home; his feet were heavy as lead; his smile was forced; he glanced frequently over his shoulder, possessed by a strange fantasy.
“I think I will lie down a little,” he said to his valet. “In this easy chair; that will do. I am feeling well; only tired. How that mass is repeated in my mind! That is because it is Palestrina, François; not because it is a vehicle to salvation, employed by the gibbering priests. Never let your heart rule your head, boy. Don’t mistake anything for reality. ‘What have you seen in your travels?’ was asked of Sage Evemere. ‘Follies!’ was the reply. ‘Follies, follies everywhere!’ We never live; we are always in the expectation of living.”
He made an effort to smile which was little more than a grimace.
“A cigar, François!”