Three Weeks | Page 6

eyes, so that when she had finally disappeared he was still unaware of their colour or expression.
But what a figure she had! Sinuous, supple, rounded, and yet very slight.
"She must have the smallest possible bones," Paul said to himself, "because it looks all curvy and soft, and yet she is as slender as a gazelle."
She was tall, too, though not six feet--like Isabella!
The waiters and ma?tre d'h?tel all bowed and stood aside as she left, followed by her elderly, stately, silver-haired servant.
Of course it would have been an easy matter to Paul to find out her name, and all about her. He would only have had to summon Monsieur Jacques, and ask any question he pleased. But for some unexplained reason he would not do this. Instead of which he scowled in front of him, and finished his fourth glass of port. Then his head swam a little, and he went outside into the night. The rain had stopped and the sky was full of stars scattered in its intense blue. It was warm, too, there, under the clipped trees, Paul hoped he wasn't drunk--such a beastly thing to do! And not even good port either.
He sat on a bench and smoked a cigar. A strange sense of loneliness came over him. It seemed as if he were far, far away from any one in the world he had ever known. A vague feeling of oppression and coming calamity passed through him, only he was really as yet too material and thoroughly, solidly English to entertain it, or any other subtle mental emotion for more than a minute. But he undoubtedly felt strange to-night; different from what he had ever done before. He would have said "weird" if he could have thought of the word. The woman and her sinuous, sensuous black shape filled the space of his mental vision. Black hair, black hat, black dress--and of course black eyes. Ah! if he could only know their colour really!
The damp bench where he sat was just under the ivy hanging from the balustrade of the small terrace belonging to the ground-floor suite at the end.
There was a silence, very few people passed, frightened no doubt by the recent rain. He seemed alone in the world.
The wine now began to fire his senses. Why should he remain alone? He was young and rich and--surely even in Lucerne there must be--. And then he felt a beast, and looked out on to the lake.
Suddenly his heart seemed to swell with some emotion, a faint scent of tuberoses filled the air--and from exactly above his head there came a gentle, tender sigh.
He started violently, and brusquely turned and looked up. Almost indistinguishable in the deep shadow he saw the woman's face. It seemed to emerge from a mist of black gauze. And looking down into his were a pair of eyes--a pair of eyes. For a moment Paul's heart felt as if it had stopped beating, so wonderful was their effect upon him. They seemed to draw him--draw something out of him--intoxicate him--paralyse him. And as he gazed up motionless the woman moved noiselessly back on to the terrace, and he saw nothing but the night sky studded with stars.
Had he been dreaming? Had she really bent over the ivy? Was he mad? Yes--or drunk, because now he had seen the eyes, and yet he did not know their colour! Were they black, or blue, or grey, or green? He did not know, he could not think--only they were eyes--eyes--eyes.
The letter to Isabella Waring remained unfinished that night.
CHAPTER II
Paul's head ached a good deal next morning and he was disinclined to rise. However, the sun blazed in at his windows, and a bird sang in a tree.
His temper was the temper of next day--sodden, and sullen, and ashamed. He even resented the sunshine.
But what a beautiful creature he looked, as later he stepped into a boat for a row on the lake! His mother, the Lady Henrietta, had truly reason to be proud of him. So tall and straight, and fair and strong. And at the risk of causing a second fit among some of the critics, I must add, he probably wore silk socks, and was "beautifully groomed," too, as all young Englishmen are of his class and age. And how supple his lithe body seemed as he bent over the oars, while the boat shot out into the blue water.
The mountains were really very jolly, he thought, and it was not too hot, and he was glad he had come out, even though he had eaten no breakfast and was feeling rather cheap still. Yes, very glad.
After he had advanced a few hundred yards he rested on his oars, and looked up at the hotel. Then wonder came back to him,