The Second Class Passenger: Fifteen Stories

a-down her rich attire; Her mad shoes

Quille

of late. The high poise of its walls, like the sides of a well, the pale shine of the north light in the roof, the lumber of naked marble and formal armor and the rest, peopling its shadows, were

him, his eyes wide and bewi

O'Neill curtly, ent

one cannot tell whether he sleeps or wakes.

d from the draughts of the door by a tall screen of gilt leather. From behind this

n the pillow, and the long, beautiful hands that lay on the coverlet were oddly pathetic in contrast to the potency of the unconscious face. Even in sleep it preserved its cast of high assurance, its note of ideals

reported. "Talked a

t was th

cks?" ask

nder 'is nose at the first gasp

t some supper now, Truelove. I'll at

fireplace at the end of the room, whence he could keep watch on the still profile that showed against the gold of the screen. From without t

y amiable little man, blonde and plump, a creat

ught: 'This is delirium. He is returning to the age of his innocence.' But his

talk about?"

"Of his wife," he a

married?" demanded O

hat has happened to him. One might have guessed it, hein?-a life like that! Ah, my f

. "He's had a beastly life, if that's wha

guessed that, too," s

d see,"

it hung Regnault's famous picture, "The Dancer," all s

laimed O'Ne

d; he had force

she," he

he bedside lamp, with a fresh interest in its significance. He saw with new understanding the conventionalism of the pose-hip thrust out, arm akimbo, shoulder cocked-contrasted against the

his elbow; then he turned away and went back

ied Lola!" he sai

aphically. "Many years ago, of course.

saying about he

and reluctance? Yes? Well, he woke like that before I knew he had ceased to sleep. 'I should like to see her now,' he said. 'Whom?' I asked, and he smiled. 'Lola,' he answered, and he went on to say that she was the one w

to be here if she's his wife," he said. "Is s

let. "Nobody knows, but I have

re of the fervor with which she had lived. It was an old chronicle of passion and undiscipline, of a vehement personality naming through the capitals of Europe, its trail marked by scandals and violences, ending in the quick oblivion which comes to compensate for such lives. On the whole, he th

y to the great man's intimate. O'Neill saw no reason to set them right, but he knew himself that he had come by a loss in his close acquaintance with the Master. To know him at a distance, to be sure of just enough to interpret his work by

ossed to the bed. Regnault's jaw had set; his eyes were wide and rigid. On the instant his forehead shone with sweat. Deftly and swiftly O

glare sank down; and Regnault shuddered and sighed. Buscarlet, t

thin hand to stop him. "It takes

conscious fullness, the deliberate inflection

'Neill. "Were

iled. "A peu pr

certain matters-d

llow, and his eyes traveled t

somebody." His quick look, with its suggestion of mockery, r

o, I'll do it, of course,

change the pillow- cover, conscious that Regna

arked Buscarlet. "They come for s

t;-"everything. Who

ly, for he knew that any movem

f commonplace conversation. "That doctor-the on

own on the fo

did his best to be impressive. He thought we

overlet, "I can be serious when I like. I'm serious n

id you'd break like the stem o

f closed. "Metaphor, eh?

not to be much amused or surprised-in fact, you were to keep absolutely quiet. He sugge

"They teach them all that in the hospitals. Then, in

dea," said O'

The amyl had brought color back to his face; except for the d

ng," he said at lengt

nswered O'Neill, but the same

t. "For this good Buscarlet it is another thing. I sh

ed and gurgled. Reg

said, "and carry it to 'The

his bidding. O'Neill frown

aid, in a low v

"this is not an emoti

and scarlet of the picture, the high light on the bare shoulder, the warm tint of the naked arm, the cheap dia

an instant of forgetfulness his delicate face was ingenuous and exp

e reve doit finir, Un age ou l'ame

arlet was fitting the

ome to that, after all. He told you, eh? Bu

ill. "Would you like

things. We parted-of course; but not in weariness, not in the grey staleness of fatigue and boredom. No; but in a splendid wreck of wrath

Paris?" ask

a house of small windows and strong doors. She is religious, Lola is; she fears hell.

ote," began

t would you write? 'He is dying,' you would say, 'Poof!' sh

, what do y

ed out one long slender hand in a sudden gesture of urgenc

are due. She will receive you. Speak to her; tell her-tell her of this gloomy room and its booming echoes and the littl

'Neill stared at him in astonishment. Reg

ll, "I don't quite k

nau

phrase from him with a

eligious that you hesitate! You think I am an offence to her religion? O'Neill, I wi

ne denied it you. Now, what strikes me is this. Your wife ought to be with you, as a matter of decent usage and-and all that. But if you w

tanding behind the bed, was t

O'Neill, "so long as you're playing fair.

I say to you? Will you not trust me, O'Neill, in a ques

ordinary affection and-well, and becau

l write you her name and address. And, O'Neill, I have an idea! I will give you,

y on the paper wh

he had done. "And now

forth of the door, f

On the threshold he ta

ncs," he whispered, with startled e

ws on the warm brick flooring, and a little industrious fountain dribbled through a veil of ferns. There was a shrine in the room; its elaboration of gilt

d him in all that nest of cool chambers. The thought of it awoke in him new speculation as to the woman he had come to see, who had buried the ashes of her fiery youth in this serene retreat. He had thought about her with growing curiosity thro

d, and he was conscious that he was not alone. He started to

the faultless precision of the English-speaking Spa

when she was seated, he regarded her with all an artist's quick curiosity. As Regnault had said, she was not much less than fifty years old, but they were years that had trodden lightly. There was nothing of age in the strong brows and the tempestuous eyes that were dark under

be denied admittance he had penciled on it, below his n

him steadily, awa

message," she said

where he could cont

age, in truth, from his last bed, the bed he is to die on. And that may be at any moment. His is a disease that touches the heart; any emo

s intent upon hi

all this disea

answered. She nodded slowly. Her interest

upon the most sluggish; for him, with all his vivacity of temperament, his ardor, his quickness, it is a rack upon which he is stretched. You do not know the studio he has now, Senora! It is a great room, with walls of black pa

s, rewarded him. Her hands, cross

there is a narrow bed where he lies through the days and nights, camping on the borders of the grave. There are some of us that share the watches by his bedside, to be r

blance to the pictured face in Paris strangely accentuated by the

"It belongs to that world in which I have now no part, Senior. No part at

nd the rest is quickly told. It is Regnault's request, his

a quick sun. "I guessed it. I-to come to him! You should be

The whole woman was transformed; she sat up in her chair, and her br

one hand

not the time to be discriminating in my service to him, and also because I am glad to help him to do right. I will take b

the words in a manner of perplexity

aspects of his task which made him unfit for i

ubt, and very late; but his mood is not to die as he has lived. He asks, not for those who would come at a word

Regnault had chosen his messenger. His lean, brown

t her keen gaz

bitterness, "he regrets, eh? H

ink so," ans

rd in a sudden eagerness-"why does he ask for me? If he is

ness. "Senora," he said, "you shou

of quiet and atonement were stripped from her like a flimsy garment. The

icture of him. He has heard that I have made religion the pillow of my conscience, eh? He folds his hands, eh?-thin, waxen hands, clas

into his face, leaning fo

said O'Neill. "I

her seat and stood thinking. Suddenly she laughed, and strode to the middle of the room. Her gait ha

!" She opened her arms with a sweep. "Tell me," she cried, "am I old? Am I the nun you looked for?" Her voice pealed scornfully. "Scarlet," she said; "I w

ra," he protested, "you must

from him to the gilt shrine and plucked a flower from

are"-she paused, smiling-"you are my impre

n her hand and curtsied to h

unstable caprice, her full-blooded force conserved and undiminished. It was like the bursting of one of those squalls that come up with a breathless loom of cloud, hang still and brooding, and then flash without warning into tempest. She faced him at the station with an electric vivacity; her voice was harsh and impe

ola," she cried. "There shoul

lf. It was impossible to think of her and her years in the same breath. She had cast the long restraint from her completely; all her sad days of quiet were obliterated. She was once again the stormy, uneasy thing that had dominated her loose worl

ng that did not touch him, but it would have been mere torment to battle on with that one topic. When she did speak of him it was with the s

uming some conversation-"then h

sked O'Neill, caught u

ick to

r the level brows embarra

rightened?"

in the least frighten

ith the shape of a s

she said. "I know. There is nothing in al

still star

a little child. "You see, with us, we guess. We guess at what comes after. We are sure-certain and very sure-th

in the Senora could never conceive the idea, of its utter extinction. D

of silence while she twis

s. But he thinks himself safe from me. He imagines me sour, decorous, with a skinny neck. Because

o retire to the compartment in

en I must make my toilet." She smiled down on him a

glance. She was covered in a long cloak of black silk that hid her figure entirely; the hood of it rose over her hair

erty to remind you that we are goi

scorn. "Yes," she replied. "

ith her breathing; her eyes traveled over him

e urged, "if you have it in mind to compass any

. And then, with a hissing vehemence: "He sent for

surged upon him that he had no words with which to speak to people like this. They lived on

treets. He saw, through the window, the brisk tides of the pavement, the lights and the cafes; they seemed remot

drew up at last. He was prepared to carry this point if h

ill," she

the stairs. As he guided her to it, a tou

le while," he promised

he door to him, with Truelove

t. "Oh, but we have been eager for y

e stairs, in the alco

d in amaze. "You have broug

ll no

" ejaculate

ed O'Neill. "Sti

eplied. "Still keeping

might say. Softened w

mean?" dema

uch of hesitation, "it isn't for me to judge, but I shou

Let me see him," he said shortly, and they followed

ed was white, and on it Regnaul

d the faint flush rose in his face. "Hush!" he said, with a forefi

hat was a near thing, O'Neill. I a

, was gone. A rosary sprawled on his breast; O'Neill recognized it for a

Regnault was saying, in a still, silken v

ks and closed his eyes. His long fingers slid on the ivory beads and his lips moved.

re absence of mind, when a footfall

rd!" h

perb scarlet. Against her background of shadow her neck and arms and the abundance of her breast shone like silver. Ere he could go to her sh

ce. She, undisturbed by the suddenness of it all, held yet her posture of the stage, glowing in her silk with something dangerous and ominous about her, something blatant and yet potent, like a knife in a stocking. It was as though she wrought in violence for the

pointed at her. None moved; none could. His laugh rang and broke, and rang again, outrageous and uncontrollable, merry and hearty and hateful. The woma

, the laugh checked and choked. It freed them from t

and they were all about h

ok a minute to find it on the floor. O'Neill smashed a couple, and thrust his hand into the waxen face-and waited. Buscarl

urned to Truelove. "He's got it,

t, where she knelt at the bedside, with her head bow

He did not