“Yes, oh yes,” she pushed the hair back from her damp brow. “I must go at once.”
She walked slowly towards her bedroom. The clumsy gait, the fragile, swollen body struck Alexis for the first time. Filled with compassion and a sick sort of repulsion of which he was fiercely ashamed, he turned to Dr. Elliott.
“Will you please see that Claire has a nurse? A nice, cheerful one. I don’t want her to be lonely. There is a cleaning woman who comes in by the day who will cook for them until we can procure some one better.”
“I’ll telephone for one.” Elliott shot a glance charged with meaning after the tragic figure retreating up the hall. “For God’s sake be kind to her, Petrovskey!” He whispered huskily, as Claire’s door closed behind her.
Alexis passed a hand over his trembling mouth. “I’ll try to, God knows! But you ought to have married her, Elliott. You could have made her happy!” he replied with aching humility.
They walked slowly back to the living room.
Elliott slipped into the ante-room to telephone. As he waited for his number there was a stoic, Indian savagery about his face. Wild, unbidden thoughts rose like green scum to the clear surface of his mind. If Claire’s child should die, all might yet be well. The last link between her and Alexis sundered, she might possibly be induced to give him up forever. But if—it lived——! With a knowing leer, temptation nudged his elbow, puffing its vile breath into his clean nostrils. He shook the beast off angrily and responded to the operator’s voice when it came with detached calm.
Meanwhile, Alexis had flung himself into a chair beside the living-room table, burying his face upon its surface. For him the radiant dream was over. He had awakened to the same grim and joyless world which had once before tried to slay him.
Mme. Petrovskey had come out from her room at the sound of their return. She approached Alexis stealthily. Her bulk cast a bloated shadow on the wall. It crouched over him like a beast of prey. “So you have let yourself be conquered by a nobody, an unloved waif? Fie, you are weak! You are allowing yourself to be dragged into a mediocrity more loathsome than death. That is not for you. You are a genius. Spread your wings, fly away before you lose all capacity to soar. Fly away! Your bird of paradise awaits you. Do such as you mate with the sparrows?”
His mother’s words, or his own subconscious mind? What matter? It voiced his weeping soul.