Arthur Sherburne Hardy

“ The monosyllable was so charged with interest and encouragement that Diane settled herself in her chair. “It happened in this way,” she began. “Before I went to my father in Africa I read hooks under compulsion, at appointed times, as one eats.” Looking up over her knitting, the Countess smiled. They did not interest me, those books, of counsel and meditation, those lives of saints like wooden dolls. I used to say to myself: Of what use is a saint in a cell?”
“It is easier to be a saint in a cell than in life, my dear. Did you not learn that with the army in Africa?” ”

“ It was called The Literary Remains of—some one whose name I have forgotten. But that does not matter, for the book itself did not interest me, It was the title which captivated me. Literary Remains! I said to myself: Diane, you too will some day die. It may be you will never marry. You will have no children, and there will be absolutely nothing left unless you also have literary remains. So I began my journal, and I assure you,” observing the amusement on the Countess's face, “there are some interesting things in it. Do not imagine it is like Raoul's. ”

“ IN August there was no place in Freyr so cool as the terrace of the Hôtel d'Italie et d'Angleterre. Only when the breeze lifted the leaves of its closely woven roof of vines could a few flecks of sunshine find their way to the gravel below. At the dinner hour the tables in the arbors next the railing along the river wall were always in demand, for there one could see the lights on the bridge dancing in the water-mirror and the fainter reflections from the windows of the château in the background. ”

“ Yet he is content to remain here—one, at least, whom that monster, Paris, cannot devour! Little Diane plays all day in the garden and adores the gardener, who is a murderer. It seems the Countess rescued him in some manner from the police. Every one adores him, he is so good. You remember what my father used to say: to be good one must have a chance. How many have I given you! “There is a portrait of the Countess at eighteen, the year of her marriage, in a room which is not used, as if one wished to put the self of that day out of mind. ”

“ Crumbling M. Achille's bread to to the minnows at the foot of the wall, her face reflected in the water, her shoes projecting through the railing, the author of this explosion had clearly reached the limit of self-restraint. From time to time she threw a crust at the minnows with an energy which scattered them in a flurry of fear. She had come with her husband to spend his month's leave of absence in the quiet of Freyr, and he had just received a telegram from the War Office summoning him to Paris. ”

“ And the peace on the face into which, unobserved, she was gazing seemed a part the peace of Freyr. It was not possible for such peace, she thought, to be the child of conflict or pain.
“There is some truth in what you say. But tell me about this book, this journal must be interesting. Not every woman makes a campaign in Africa.”
“At all events it is not like Raoul's,” said Diane, with her flashing smile. ”

“ One wishes to ask, to know more, but does not dare to. Who was this man whose very name is forbidden? Ask M. de Sade. He knows everything. No, on second thought, do not ask him. I look up from this page into the face of the woman beside me, and I wish to know nothing.”
“How industrious you are!”
Seated in the big chintz chair beside the desk where Diane was writing, the Countess had taken out the knitting which lay in her pocket, always ready for an idle moment like that of any bourgeoise of Freyr. ”

“ My Diane— [for one brief moment the hand which held the page fell into her lap and the eyes closed] ,—It is terribly hot here. As it is Sunday and I have nothing to do, I will write you. I saw de Sade last night at the Club. Though he was winning, he left the table at once to inquire for you. The admiration he has for you is inconceivable [a smile crept into the blue eyes] . Most men certainly, especially a man who prides himself on being one of the first swords in France, would sulk after being disarmed by a woman. ”

“ I do not see any portrait of him. She shook her head. Ah, what manner of wretch must a man be that a wife should flee from him on her marriage day as from the pestilence! But all this is a kind of myth, without substance. ”

“ I see no great resemblance between the two women. The one on the wall would make every woman envy her; the one sitting near me makes every one love her. But why should the one wish to forget the other? ”

“ At that instant a young girl, her face framed in a long veil, appeared in the terrace doorway. Something in her carriage and gray eyes suggested qualities and privileges which M. Achille had hitherto associated only with the married state. ”

“ He says illusions are dangerous, and that you destroyed the last one he cherished. Have I told you it is atrociously hot here? In spite of all I could do I fell asleep in my chair on the terrace after dinner. De Sade wished to drag me to the opera. As you well know, there is but one person who can do that. When I woke he was at my elbow again. He proposed a ride in the Bois. We returned at two in the morning. By the way, I forgot to say I received your first letter. It is extraordinarv, that habit of yours of finding friends everywhere—or shall I say making them? And in Freyr! ”

“ De Sade says as a child he remembers her well—that when he wore curls he was in love with her. He had an idea she was dead. Paris forgets quickly. I expect to finish to-morrow. If possible I shall take the noon train. This place is given over te Americans, whom I am learning to distinguish after your method. Every one has left town except, as de Sade says, a few old bachelors who cannot live beyond the odor of the asphalt. Kiss little Diane.
Raoul. ”