But the house soon filled up, for Lewis was always known to be in during the morning. Clients, Stock Exchange runners, commission agents and brokers began to arrive. The telephone rang continuously in a sharp querulous way, punctuated by the alphabetic hail of typewriters. A private exchange was installed at the head of his bed, keeping him in touch with his offices, his engineers, his desk at the Bourse. (When he woke late he could listen to the tidal sound of buying and selling from the depths of his bed clothes.) All this agitation, this modern comfort, this life of violence, of expenditure of nervous energy and of speculation was in curious contrast with the portly seventeenth-century mansion in a leafy road on the Rive Gauche. Through the windows a Le Nôtre garden unfolded itself, restored in every detail (even to a reinforced concrete pergola) by the actual owners, who were Mexicans. The trees and artificial lakes were blue with frost, for it was mid-winter. There was nothing to remind one of Sicily but some labelled samples of sulphur in a bowl, and occasional patches of ultramarine in the sky.
Lewis was dictating from his bed, laying down the facts of some disputed question.
"I am only an amateur, really," he used to say. "I don't work to 'woo the fickle goddess Fortune' or to be a 'money baron' or any of the other Yellow Press expressions. I work to amuse myself. Negotiating loans amuses me more than yachting, and floating companies more than playing poker. That's all it is."
Lewis did not lay the results of his journey to Sicily before the directors of the Franco-African. Obstinately, in accordance with his first idea, he got together the necessary capital and floated a limited company on his own account; the share certificates were being printed. As soon as they were fully issued he would have them quoted on the Paris Bourse; in a year they would be quoted at Trieste and in New York. A whole army of technical men, chemists, mechanics, etc., was on its way out. Lewis counted on work being seriously begun at San Lucido by the end of the month.
The effect of this satisfactory state of affairs on him was to develop in him a moroseness almost amounting to neurasthenia. Like many men of his generation, Lewis was at once practical and imbalanced, matter-of-fact and neurotic. He complained that success clung to him like a "bad patch" to a gambler. He always made a profit even from the riskiest ventures; it was about this time that the Steel and Smelting Company managed to keep four huge furnaces of two hundred and fifty tons capacity each alight at Gebel Hadid, in spite of the industrial crisis, and everyone knows in what an enormous profit that resulted. What irritated him most was the impression of success he gave everyone, when all his successes were far smaller than he expected. He had left the card room at the club the day before because he was bored with winning. "Financiers," he said, "are only clear-sighted in financial matters. It is a gift, a kink; in everything else they're idiots. The entire French nation goes in for nothing but finance. It's the last straw."
Was Lewis in love with Irene?
He had imagined himself so often to be in love, always either stopping himself or being stopped in due course, that he did not like to answer the question. He would have been afraid of driving himself into it. Lewis imagined that he lived in perfect harmony with himself in a kind of solitary egoism from which he never emerged save to satisfy his instincts, and he meant to go on living like that. It must not be forgotten that Lewis had no great strength of character. Very far from it. He always said that in love it is never dangerous to hit above the belt. He did not believe in too much self-examination. Neither pride nor personal integrity mattered to turn, as he always acted on impulse. His reflexes stood him in the stead of morals and education.
This indifference did not now prevent him from feeling his heart sink occasionally beneath the load of some obscure weight, some feeling of uneasiness. Where did this chronic condition originate? In Sicily?
His self-esteem had not been called into play at all. At no moment had he, as the Orientals say, "lost face." Quite the contrary. And yet, ever since those few words which he spoke to put an end to the conversation of that one evening, he had felt himself dominated, kept in check by an invisible will, by the emanations of a personality whose influence neither distance nor time could weaken. On the occasion of Pascal's centenary, Lewis had read in his diary some of the thoughts of that too little-known author. He remembered one: "The first effect of love is to inspire a profound respect." It had made him laugh, and then it had made him think. As a rule he only thought of Irene as of a business rival. Sometimes as a human being as well. But that any woman was not made to sacrifice herself (to him, of course) amazed him; that a woman could have any duties unconnected with love shocked him.
Lewis sought for help against these strange and new sentiments which beset him amongst other people. Most of them failed him, as usual. But he had at least the consolation of taking hostages and sacrificing victims.