"No, no more!" He leaned his back against the door. "Only this: if you leave this room to-night, it's the end."
She had picked up her cloak again. "The end!" she repeated, and looked contemptuously at him. "I should welcome it, if it were.—But you're wrong. The end, the real end, came long ago. The beginning was the end!—Open that door, and let me out!"
He heard her go along the hall, heard the front door shut behind her, and, after a pause, heard the deeper tone of the house door. The droschke drove away. After that, he stood at the window, looking out into the pitch-dark night. Behind him, the landlady set the room in order, and extinguished the additional candles.
When she had finished, and shut the door, Maurice faced the empty room. His eyes ranged slowly over it; and he made a vague gesture that signified nothing. A few steps took him to the writing-table, on which her muff was lying. He lifted it up, and a bunch of violets fell into his hand. They brought her before him as nothing else could have done. Beside the bed, he went down on his knees, and drawing her pillow to him, pressed it round his head.
The end, the end!—the beginning the end: there was truth in what she had said. Their love had had no stamina in it, no vital power. He was losing her, steadily and surely losing her, powerless to help it—rather it seemed as if some malignant spirit urged him to hasten on the crisis. Their thoughts seemed hopelessly at war.—And yet, how he loved her! He made himself no illusions about her now; he understood just what she was, and what she would always be; the many conflicting impulses of her nature lay bare to him. But he loved her, loved her: all the dead weight of his physical craving for her was on him again, confounding, overmastering. None the less, she had left him; she had no need for him; and the hours would come, oftener and oftener, when she could do without him, when, as now, she voluntarily sought the company of other men. The thought suffocated him; he rose to his feet, and hastened out of the house.
A little before one o'clock, he was stationed opposite the sideentrance to the HOTEL DE PRUSSE. He had a long time to wait. As two o'clock approached, small batches of people emerged, at first at intervals, then more and more frequently. Among the last were Herries and Louise. Maurice remained standing in the shadow of some houses, until they had parted from their companions. He heard her voice above all the rest; it rang out clear and resonant, just as on that former occasion when she had drunk freely of champagne.
With many final words and false partings, she and Herries separated from the group, and turned to walk down the street. As they did so, Maurice sprang out from his hiding-place, and was suddenly in front of them, blocking their progress.
At his unexpected apparition, both started; and when he roughly took hold of her arm, Louise gave a short cry. Herries put out his hand, and smacked Maurice's down.
"What are you doing there? Take your hands off this lady, damn you!" he cried in broken German, not recognising Maurice, and believing that he had to deal with an ordinary NACHTSCHWARMER.
The savageness with which he was turned on, enlightened him. "Damn you!" retorted Maurice in English. "Take your hands off her yourself I She belongs to me—to me, do you hear?—and I intend to keep her."