The mirrors put her nerves on edge. She loathed the reflections staring back at her from every wall. They were like faces peering in at her ... her own face repeated over and over again, tiresomely, for she was not vain and wasted no time over mirrors. No, she would have them down at once. If this was to be her home, she would not be prevented by old Thérèse or Richard himself.
Her body ached from the fatigue of the journey from Marseilles yet it was impossible to rest. Her mind was awake, nervous, irritable, now angry, now frustrated, now cold and resolute, but always in its depths uncertain and muddled in a way it had never been before. Could it be that she was losing her grip upon life? That she was being swallowed up? Always she had known exactly what it was she wanted, what it was she would do. But now....
At length the restlessness became unbearable and, followed by the black dog, she rose and set out to explore the rest of the house. She went from room to room and returned at length to the stairway. The rooms, each one, were associated in some way with Thérèse, with Callendar, with Sabine. In her weariness and confusion, she could not drive them from her mind. They tormented her as she turned down the marble steps. She kept thinking of the night when Sabine had allowed Callendar and herself to drive home together from the house on Murray Hill. She understood now how wise Sabine had been, how subtle. She must have known then who it was that Callendar loved; she must have thought that in the end Callendar would never marry that struggling, gauche young girl who had fascinated him. Neither of them (she thought with satisfaction) had known the strength of that raw young girl. They had thought her, perhaps, stupid and unable to protect herself against such a rich and glamorous lover....
Half down the stairs, in the very midst of these thoughts, she was interrupted by the sound of voices which came from the drawing-room. The shutters had been opened and the curtains flung back and in the twilight which filtered through she saw dimly two figures bending over a little pile of bric-à-brac. The one was Victorine. The other figure was familiar—she could not say in what way. Halting for a moment she watched them and, as they became aware of her presence, the stranger turned toward her and she saw that it was Sabine, materialized, one might have said, out of her very thoughts.
She would have turned back, pretending she had seen nothing (perhaps Sabine would have hidden herself in a closet or behind a sofa, anywhere) but it was too late now. They had seen each other; they had stood for a time staring. It was impossible now to behave in any such idiotic fashion. Ellen smiled and, moving on down the stairs, was certain now of what she had suspected an hour earlier when the housekeeper greeted her—that old Victorine was devoted to the first Mrs. Callendar and looked upon herself as an intruder. Victorine, she fancied, had conspired to let Sabine into the house without announcing her.
Halting only to cuff Hansi and stop his growling, she crossed the great black and white squares of the tesselated hall and stepped into the drawing-room. She smiled and held out her hand.
“No one told me you had come in,” she said. “It’s pleasant to see you.... I arrived only an hour ago from Marseilles.”
She found herself taking Sabine’s hand. Their greeting was like one between two men, old friends—a symbol of the curious understanding which had existed between them since the very beginning. It seemed that they were neither friends, nor enemies, but something in between. They were always being thrown together, though neither would have said that she sought the company of the other.
Sabine laughed, with a disarming air of honesty. “I feel a fool,” she said, and then explained how it was she had to come in. “I took a chance of being able to escape without your knowing it, but I am an unlucky gambler. I’ve never had any luck. I’m sorry.” She laughed again and added, “I’ve no doubt (indicating Victorine) that she is enjoying it all immensely.”
It was true. Victorine stood riveted to the floor, her eyes bright with curiosity. Clearly she was confused and annoyed that they spoke English, which she could not understand.