“I have nothing to forgive,” she answered, simply—“I am your paid ‘subject,’—not a woman at all in your eyes. And being so, I am content to live—or die—in your service.”
He hesitated another moment,—then possessing himself of the small hand that moved steadily across the paper on which she was writing, he dexterously drew the pen from it and raised it to his lips with a grave and courteous gentleness. Then, releasing it, without look or word he went from the room, treading softly, and closing the door behind him.
CHAPTER XIV
So she knew! She knew that, as usual, she was, personally, a valueless commodity. So far as herself, her own life and feelings were concerned, her fate continued to follow her—no one was kindly or vitally interested in her,—she was just a “subject” for experiment. She had suspected this all along—yet now that she had heard the fact stated coldly and dispassionately, she was more or less resentful. She waited a few minutes, her heart beating quickly and the vexed blood rising to her brows and making her cheeks burn,—waited till she was sure Dimitrius would not re-enter,—then, suddenly flinging down her pen, she rose and paced the room hurriedly to and fro, scarce knowing what she did. Was it not hard,—hard! she said to herself, with an involuntary clenching of her hands as she walked up and down, that she should never be considered more than a passive “thing” to be used for other folks’ advantage or convenience? How had it happened that no one in all the world had ever thought of putting himself (or herself) to “use” for Her sake! The calm calculations of Féodor Dimitrius on her possible death under his treatment had (though she would not admit it to herself) inwardly hurt her. Yet, after all, what had she any right to expect? She had answered a strange, very strange advertisement, and through that action had come into association with the personality of a more than strange man of whose character and reputation she knew little or nothing. And, so far, she had “fallen on her feet,”—that is to say, she had secured a comfortable home and handsome competence for the services she had pledged herself to render. Then, as she had taken the whole thing on trust had she any cause to complain of the nature of those services? No!—and in truth she did not complain,—she only felt—felt, to the core of her soul the callous indifference which Dimitrius had plainly expressed as to her fate in the dangerous “experiment” he had already commenced upon her. Hot tears sprang to her eyes,—she struggled with them, ashamed and humiliated.
“Children and girls cry!” she said, with self-contempt. “I, being a woman ‘of mature years,’ ought to know better! But, oh, it is hard!—hard!”
Her thoughts flew to Madame Dimitrius,—had she followed her first feminine impulse, she would have run to that kind old lady and asked for a little pity, sympathy and affection!—but she knew such an act would seem weak and absurd. Still walking up and down, her steps gradually became more measured and even,—with one hand against her eyes, she pressed away the tear drops that hung on her lashes—then, pausing, looked again, as she so often looked at the never stopping steel instrument that struck off its little fiery sparks with an almost wearisome exactitude and monotony. Stretching out her hand, she tried to catch one of the flying dots of flame as one would catch a midge or a moth,—she at last succeeded, and the glowing mote shone on her open palm like a ruby for about half a minute—then vanished, leaving no trace but a slight tingling sensation on the flesh it had touched.
“A mystery!” she said—“as involved and difficult to understand as my ‘master’ himself!”
She looked through the window at the grey-cold winter landscape, and let her eyes travel along the distant peaks of the Alpine ranges, where just now the faintest gleam of sunshine fell. The world,—the natural world—was beautiful!—but how much more beautiful it would seem if one had the full heart and vigour to enjoy its beauty! If, with youth to buoy up the senses, one had the trained eye and mind to perceive and appreciate the lovely things of life!—could one ask for greater happiness?
“When we are quite young we hardly see Nature,” she mused. “It is only in later years that we begin to find out how much we have missed. Now, if I, with my love of beauty, were young——”
Here her meditations came to an abrupt halt. Had not Dimitrius promised that if he succeeded in his experiment, youth would be hers again?—youth, united to experience?—but would that be a desirable result? She wondered.