“But what is it you would have us do then?” asked Georges.
“As far as I am concerned you can go on vegetating here, if you like; but I can’t understand you fellows not even wanting to see something of the world.”
“Well, now there’s yourself; you have seen the world, as you call it, haven’t you? and what have you gained by it? you are a Jack-of-all-trades, and a master of none; and up to now you haven’t achieved any very brilliant results!” cried Paul, a little out of humour at the contemptuous way in which Vincent had referred to him.
Behind his eye-glass an angry gleam shot forth from Vincent’s dull blue eyes, whilst his thin lips closed.
“And you are forgetting your duties as a host, with your philosophizing,” cried Etienne, pointing to his empty glass.
“I suppose the fact is that I am of a more excitable temperament than you fellows,” said Vincent, in a languid voice. He again filled up the glasses, and sank down wearily beside Georges, and his eyes wandered listlessly about the room.
It was growing very warm, and the tobacco smoke hung in thick clouds about the ceiling. Vincent opened the door. Etienne, who could not take much wine, had become very excited, there were red circles about his eyes, and he had broken his glass. Georges and Paul continued to enjoy his jokes. Vincent, however, listened to him with a faint smile.
And in his mind there arose a strange wondering, a wondering that a man always retained his own individuality, without the power of transforming himself into the personality of any one else. Often, without the slightest cause, he would find himself lost in [[94]]wonder at this idea, in the midst of the most cheerful company, and he would be filled with an indescribable feeling of ennui at the thought of his inevitable fate ever to remain what he was—Vincent Vere; that he never could be transformed into some entirely different being, which would breathe under entirely different circumstances and in an entirely different sphere. He would have liked to have lived through various phases of life, to have existed in different ages, and to have sought his happiness in constantly changing metamorphoses. And this desire appeared to him at the same time very childish, because of its ridiculous impossibility, and very noble because of the grandiose unattainability which it involved; and he believed that no one but him cherished such a desire, and thought himself very much exalted above others. In his musings it seemed to him as though the three others were very far removed from him, as though they were separated from him by the smoky haze. A feeling of lightness suddenly passed through his brain; it was as if he saw every object in brighter colouring, as if their laughter and chat sounded louder and more metallic in his ear, as if the flavour of the tobacco, mingled with the aroma of the wine, assumed a more pungent odour, whilst the veins in his temples and pulse throbbed as if they would burst.
This excitement of his nerves continued for a few seconds, then he saw his guests laughingly looking at him, and although he had not understood a word of what they said, he also laughed lightly, that they might think that he shared their amusement.
“I say, Vere, ’tis getting confoundedly close here, my eyes ache with the smoke,” said Georges; “couldn’t we open a window?”