Three Weeks Page 19

  CHAPTER XIX

  No Englishwoman would have thought of the details which made the Feast ofthe Full Moon so wonderful in Paul's eyes. It savoured rather of othercenturies and the days of Imperial Rome, and indeed, had his lady been oneof Britain's daughters, he too might have found it a little _bizarre_. Asit was, it was all in the note--the exotic note of Venice and her spells.

  The lady had gone to her room when he woke on the loggia, and he had onlytime to dress before the appointed moment when he was to meet her in thelittle salon.

  She was seated on the old Venetian chair she had bought in Lucerne whenPaul entered--the most radiant vision he had yet seen. Her garment waspale-green gauze. It seemed to cling in misty folds round her exquisiteshape; it was clasped with pearls; the most magnificent ones hung in a rowround her throat and fell from her ears. A diadem confined her glorioushair, which descended in the two long strands twisted with chains ofemeralds and diamonds. Her whole personality seemed breathing magnificenceand panther-like grace. And her eyes glowed with passion, and mystery, andforce.

  Paul knelt like a courtier, and kissed her hand. Then he led her to theirfeast.

  Dmitry raised the curtain of the loggia door as they approached, and what asight met Paul's view!

  The whole place had been converted into a bower of roses. The walls wereentirely covered with them. A great couch of deepest red ones was at oneside, fixed in such masses as to be quite resisting and firm. From the roofchains of roses hung, concealing small lights--while from above the screenof lilac-bushes in full bloom the moon in all her glory mingled with therose-shaded lamps and cast a glamour and unreality over the whole.

  The dinner was laid on a table in the centre, and the table was coveredwith tuberoses and stephanotis, surrounding the cupid fountain of perfume.The scent of all these flowers! And the warm summer night! No wonder Paul'ssenses quivered with exaltation. No wonder his head swam.

  They had scarcely been seated when from the great salon, whose open doorswere hidden by falling trellises of roses, there came the exquisite soundsof violins, and a boy's plaintive voice. A concert of all sweet airs playedsoftly to further excite the sense. Paul had not thought such musicianscould be obtained in Venice, and guessed, and rightly, that, like the cookand the artist who had designed it, they hailed from Paris, to beautifythis night.

  Throughout the repast his lady bewildered him with her wild fascination.Never before had she seemed to collect all her moods into one subtle whole,cemented together by passionate love. It truly was a night of the gods, andthe exaltation of Paul's spirit had reached its zenith.

  "My Paul," she said, when at last only the rare fruits and the golden wineremained, and they were quite alone--even the musicians had retired, andtheir airs floated up from a gondola below. "My Paul, I want you never toforget this night--never to think of me but as gloriously happy, clasped inyour arms amid the roses. And see, we must drink once more together of ourwedding wine, and complete our souls' delight."

  An eloquence seemed to come to Paul and loosen his tongue, so that hewhispered back paeans of worship in language as fine as her own. And themoon flooded the loggia with her light, and the roses gave forth theirscent. It was the supreme effort of art and nature to cover them withglorious joy.

  "My darling one," the lady whispered in his ear, as she lay in his arms onthe couch of roses, crushed deep and half buried in their velvet leaves,"this is our souls' wedding. In life and in death they can never partmore."

  * * * * *

  Dawn was creeping through the orchid blinds of their sleeping chamber whenthis strange Queen disengaged herself from her lover's embrace, and bentover him, kissing his young curved lips. He stirred not--the languor ofutter prostration was upon him, and held him in its grasp. In the uncertainlight his sleep looked pale as death.

  The lady gazed at him, an anguish too deep for tears in her eyes. For wasnot this the end--the very end? Fierce, dry sobs shook her. There wassomething terrible and tigerish in her grief. And yet her will made hernot linger--there was still one thing to do.

  She rose and turned to the writing-table by the window, then drawing theblind aside a little she began rapidly to write. When she had finished,without reading the missive over, she went and placed it with a flatleather jewel-case on her pillow beside Paul. And soon she commenced amadness of farewells--all restrained and gentle for fear he should awake.

  "My love, my love," she wailed between her kisses, "God keep yousafe--though He may never bring you back to me."

  Then with a wild, strangled sob, she fled from the room.