The Price of Things | Page 7

the prickings of conscience which even most rogues experience at
times, and so draws no demagnetising nervous uncertain currents. If it
were not for an insatiable extravagance, and a capricious fancy for
different jewels, she would be impossible to deal with. She has
information, obtained from what source I do not as yet know, which is
of vital importance to me. Were it not for that, one could simply enjoy
her as a mistress and take delight in studying her idiosyncrasies."
"She has lovers?"
"Has had many; her rôle now is that of a great lady and so all is of a
respectability! She is so stupid that if that instinct of self-preservation
were not so complete as to be like a divine guide, she would commit
bêtises all the time. As it is, when she takes a lover it is hidden with the
cunning of a fox."
"Who did you say the first husband was--?"
"A German of the name of Von Wendel--he used to beat her with a
stick, it is said--so naturally such a nature adored him. I did not meet
her until she had got rid of him and he had disappeared. She would
sacrifice any one who stood in her way."
"Your friend, the present husband, looks pretty épuisé--one feels sorry
for the poor man."
Then, as ever, at the mention of the débacle of Stanislass,
Verisschenzko's eyes filled with a fierce light.
"She has crushed the hope of Poland--for that, indeed, one day she must
pay."
"But I thought you Russians did not greatly love the Poles?" Denzil
remarked.
"Enlightened Russians can see beyond their old prejudices--and

Stanislass was a lifetime friend. One day a new dawn will come for our
Northern world."
His eyes grew dreamy for an instant, and then resumed their watch of
Harietta. Denzil looked at him and did not speak for a while. He had
always been drawn to Stépan, from a couple of terms at Oxford before
the Russian was sent down for a mad freak, and did not return. He was
such a mixture of idealism and brutal commonsense, a brain so alert
and the warm heart of a generous child--capable of every frenzy and of
every sacrifice. They had planned great things for their afterlives before
the one joined his regiment, and learned discipline, and the other
wandered over many lands--and as they sat there in the Café de Paris,
the thoughts of both wandered back to old days gapping the encounters
for sport in Russia and in India between.
"They were glorious times, Denzil, weren't they?" Verisschenzko said
presently, aware by that wonderfully delicately attuned faculty of his of
what his friend was thinking. "We had thought to conquer the sun,
moon and stars--and who knows, perhaps we will yet!"
"Who knows? I feel my real life is only just beginning. How old are we,
Stépan? Twenty-nine years old!"
Afterwards, as they went out, they passed the Boleskis close, and the
two rose and spoke to Verisschenzko, with empressement. He
introduced Captain Ardayre and they talked for a few minutes, Harietta
Boleski all smiles and flattering cajoleries now--and then they said
good-night and went out.
But as Stépan passed, a man half hidden behind a pillar leaned forward
and looked at him, and in his light blue eyes there burned a jealous
hate.
"Ah, Gott in Himmel!" he growled to himself. "It is he whom she
loves--not the pig-fool who we gave her to--one day I shall kill him--"
and he raised his glass of Rhine wine and murmured "Der Tag!"
That evening Sir John Ardayre had taken his bride to dine in the Bois,

and they were sitting listening to the Tziganes at Arménonville.
Amaryllis was conscious that the evening lacked something. The
circumstances were interesting--a bride of ten days, and the
environment so illuminating--and yet there was John smoking an
expensive cigar and not saying _anything!_ She did not like people
who chattered--and she could even imagine a delicious silence wrought
with meaning. But a stolid respectable silence with Tziganes playing
moving airs and the romantic background of this Paris out-of-door
joyous night life, surely demanded some show of emotion!
John loved her she supposed--of course he did--or he never would have
asked her to marry him, rich as he was and poor as she had been. She
could not help going over all their acquaintance; the date of its
beginning was only three months back!
They had met at a country house and had played golf together, and then
they had met again a month later at another house, in March, but she
could not remember any love-making--she could not remember any of
those warm looks and those surreptitious hand-clasps when occasion
was propitious, which Elsie Goldmore had told her men were so
prodigal