"Accept it----! Why, my dear, they laud him to the skies: they hail him as le Messie!"
Lozoncyi had now seated himself opposite her. He brought his fist down upon the table. "Confound it!" he muttered between his teeth.
"You are wrong to be vexed," she said: "he is a good fellow, and your friend. He told me awhile ago with reference to his success, 'It is envy of Lozoncyi that is now standing me in stead.' Let me give you some omelette: it is growing cold."
He allowed her to fill his plate.
Two hours later he was pacing his atelier to and fro in gloomy mood.
He had enjoyed his breakfast, and had been entertained by his wife's chatter. With infinite skill she lured his fancy back to the old, careless, good-humoured Bohemian life in Paris. He questioned her with increasing curiosity as to the works of his fellows there, and she told him stories,--highly spiced but very amusing stories; she peeled his orange for him, and when the sun began to shine full upon the table at which they were sitting they drank their coffee in the studio. A sensation of intense comfort stole over him; but in the midst of it he was conscious of physical uneasiness. She looked at him, and disappeared with a laugh, returning with a pair of easy slippers. It was warm; his boots were tight; he took them off and slipped his feet into the easy shoes she had brought him. He felt as if relieved for the first time for a long while of a certain restraint. He yawned and stretched himself. Suddenly he shivered.
The question suggested itself, Could he ever allow himself such license in Erika's presence?
He started up. The momentarily-restored harmony between himself and his wife was interrupted. In the sudden change of mood to which in the course of years she had become accustomed, he repulsed her,--actually turned her out of the room, rudely, angrily.
Again his every pulse throbbed. He felt as if he should go mad. His revulsion of feeling with regard to Erika clothed itself in a new dress. It was odious, unprincipled, criminal, to take advantage of the enthusiasm of this inexperienced young creature, to drag her down to probable--nay, to certain--misery. He went to his writing-table; he would write to her that for her sake he withdrew from their agreement. But scarcely had he written the first word when a wave of passion swept over his soul, benumbing his energies: he knew that he was as powerless to renounce her as he was to carry out any other resolve. What did he really want? He sprang up, crushed in his hand the sheet of paper which his pen had scarcely touched, and threw it away. Once again he stood before the portrait.
At last, with bowed head, he went into the next room. Erika had left there by accident one or two articles belonging to her,--a lace handkerchief, a glove. He pressed them to his lips.