“You are indeed!” returned the stranger, his deep tones still vibrating with the silvery clang of veiled satire—“So frank that I cannot fail to understand you. Briefly, and without courtesy, you resent my visit this evening and wish I had not come!”
This open declaration of my mood sounded so brusque that I made haste to deny it, though I knew it to be true. Truth, even in trifles, always seems unpleasant!
“Pray do not think me so churlish,”—I said—“The fact is, I only opened your letter a few minutes ago, and before I could make any arrangements to receive you, the lamp went out, with the awkward result that I am forced to greet you in this unsociable darkness, which is almost too dense to shake hands in.”
“Shall we try?” my visitor enquired, with a sudden softening of accent that gave his words a singular charm; “Here is my hand,—if yours has any friendly instinct in it the twain will meet,—quite blindly and without guidance!”
I at once extended my hand, and it was instantly clasped in a warm and somewhat masterful manner. At that moment a light flashed on the scene,—my landlady entered, bearing what she called ‘her best lamp’ alit, and set it on the table. [p 20] I believe she uttered some exclamation of surprise at seeing me,—she may have said anything or nothing,—I did not hear or heed, so entirely was I amazed and fascinated by the appearance of the man whose long slender hand still held mine. I am myself an average good height, but he was fully half a head taller than I, if not more than that,—and as I looked straightly at him, I thought I had never seen so much beauty and intellectuality combined in the outward personality of any human being. The finely shaped head denoted both power and wisdom, and was nobly poised on such shoulders as might have befitted a Hercules,—the countenance was a pure oval, and singularly pale, this complexion intensifying the almost fiery brilliancy of the full dark eyes, which had in them a curious and wonderfully attractive look of mingled mirth and misery. The mouth was perhaps the most telling feature in this remarkable face,—set in the perfect curve of beauty, it was yet firm, determined, and not too small, thus escaping effeminacy,—and I noted that in repose it expressed bitterness, disdain and even cruelty. But with the light of a smile upon it, it signified, or seemed to signify, something more subtle than any passion to which we can give a name, and already with the rapidity of a lightning flash, I caught myself wondering what that mystic undeclared something might be. At a glance I comprehended these primary details of my new acquaintance’s eminently prepossessing appearance, and when my hand dropped from his close grasp I felt as if I had known him all my life! And now face to face with him in the bright lamp-light, I remembered my actual surroundings,—the bare cold room, the lack of fire, the black soot that sprinkled the nearly carpetless floor,—my own shabby clothes and deplorable aspect, as compared with this regal-looking individual, who carried the visible evidence of wealth upon him in the superb Russian sables that lined and bordered his long overcoat which he now partially unfastened and threw open with a carelessly imperial air, the while he regarded me, smiling.
“I know I have come at an awkward moment,” he [p 21] said—“I always do! It is my peculiar misfortune. Well-bred people never intrude where they are not wanted,—and in this particular I’m afraid my manners leave much to be desired. Try to forgive me if you can, for the sake of this,”—and he held out a letter addressed to me in my friend Carrington’s familiar handwriting. “And permit me to sit down while you read my credentials.”
He took a chair and seated himself. I observed his handsome face and easy attitude with renewed admiration.
“No credentials are necessary,” I said with all the cordiality I now really felt—“I have already had a letter from Carrington in which he speaks of you in the highest and most grateful terms. But the fact is——well!—really, prince, you must excuse me if I seem confused or astonished ... I had expected to see quite an old man ...”
And I broke off, somewhat embarrassed by the keen glance of the brilliant eyes that met mine so fixedly.
“No one is old, my dear sir, nowadays!” he declared lightly—“even the grandmothers and grandfathers are friskier at fifty than they were at fifteen. One does not talk of age at all now in polite society,—it is ill-bred, even coarse. Indecent things are unmentionable—age has become an indecent thing. It is therefore avoided in conversation. You expected to see an old man you say? Well, you are not disappointed—I am old. In fact you have no idea how very old I am!”