“The old, old story!” she sighed. “The old legend of Faust and the devil!—the thirst of mankind for a longer extension of youth and life!—only, in my case, I have not asked for these things, nor have I tried to summon up the devil. I am just an unwanted woman,—unwanted so far as the world is concerned, but useful just now as a ‘subject’ for the recharging of cells!”
She gave a half weary, half scornful gesture, and resumed her work, and for an hour or more sat patiently translating and writing. But her thoughts were rebels and went breaking into all manner of unfamiliar places,—moreover, she herself felt more or less rebellious and disposed to fight against destiny. At midday the sun, which had been teasing the earth with shy glimpses of glory all the morning, shone out superbly, and set such a coronal of light on her hair as she sat at her desk, that if she could have seen herself she might have been flattered at the effect. But she was only conscious of the brightness that filled the room—a brightness that equally took possession of her mind and filled her with cheerfulness. She even allowed herself a little run into the realms of fancy.
“Suppose that he should succeed in his perfectly impossible task,” she said. “I,—his ‘subject’—shall have him in my power! I never thought of that! Yet it’s worth thinking about! I shall have given him the triumph of his life! He will set some value upon me then,—and he’ll never be able to forget me! More than that, according to his own assertion, I shall be young!—and he spoke of beauty too!—all nonsense, of course—but if!—if!—if he makes me the crowning success of all his studies, I shall hold him in the hollow of my hand!”
Stimulated by this thought, she sprang up and stood proudly erect, a smile on her lips and radiance in her eyes.
“With all his learning, his calculations and his cold-blooded science,—yes—I shall hold him in the hollow of my hand!”
Recalling herself to her duties, she put all her papers and writing materials neatly away in order for the next morning’s work, and leaving the library, went out in the garden for a turn in the fresh air before luncheon. The noonday sunshine was at the full, and her whole being responded to its warmth and brightness. A new outlook had presented itself to her view, and all hesitation, vexation, fear and depression vanished like a mist blown aside by the wind. She was entirely resolved now to go through with whatsoever strange ordeals Dimitrius might ordain, no matter how much physical or mental suffering she might have to endure.
“The die is cast!” she said, gaily—addressing herself to a group of pine trees stiff with frost—“I’m all for youth and beauty!—or—Death! On, on, Diana!”
That afternoon she went off for a walk by herself as it was frequently her custom to do. She was allowed perfect freedom of action after the morning working hours,—she could go and come as she liked,—and both Dr. Dimitrius and his mother made it plainly evident that they trusted her implicitly. She avoided Geneva—she instinctively felt that it would be wiser not to be seen there, as the people of the hotel where she had stayed might recognise her. One of her favourite walks was along the Mornex road to a quaint little villa occupied by Professor Chauvet. This somewhat grim and ironical man of much learning had taken a great fancy to her, and she always made herself charming in his company, partly out of real liking for him and partly out of compassion for his loneliness. For, apparently, he had no one in the world to care whether he lived or died, the only person to attend upon him being a wrinkled, toothless old woman from the Canton Grisons, whose cooking was execrable, while her excessive cleanliness was beyond reproach. Diana loved to hear the Professor’s half-cynical, half-kindly talk,—she laughingly encouraged him to “lay down the law,” as he delighted to do, on all things human and divine, and she was never tired of turning over his really unique and wonderful collection of unset gems, of which he had enough to excite the cupidity of any American wife of a millionaire,—enough certainly to make him rich, though he lived in the style of an exceedingly poor man.
“You have the saddest fire I ever saw!” she said, on this particular afternoon, as she entered his study without warning, as she was now quite accustomed to do, and found him sitting absorbed over a book, regardless of the smouldering wood in the grate which threatened to become altogether extinguished. “Let me make it cheerful for you!”
She set to work, while he pushed his spectacles up from his eyes to his forehead and regarded her with unassisted vision.