During all these years I had only met him as one man of the world meets another and cared nothing about his private life. He had frequently begged me to come and see him at his suburban dwelling at Sonis-sur-Marne, which, as all the world knows, is about twenty minutes ride by train from the Eastern station of Paris, but I had always refused, or put him off on some specious pretext, as I was very diffident about making fresh acquaintances, and if there was one thing I hated more than another it was pushing myself into people's houses. But in 1895, having been bitten by a mania for possessing and rearing dogs, I happened to have a very fine litter of fox terriers, and I asked Mr. Arvel if he would care to accept a bitch six months old, who promised to make a nice animal. He seemed very pleased at the offer, telling me that he wanted a dog who would be watchful and give the alarm down in the country, and he asked me to come to lunch and bring the puppy, who I had christened Lili. Oddly enough, I found that my friend's house was called Villa Lilian, and this name was cut into the stone at the side of the gate. The name of Lilian or Lily is destined to play a great part in my life, as my mistress-for I have a mistress, as every Parisian has-was also named Lily. This latter lady plays but an insignificant part in this narrative, and so I pass her by for the present.
But the story is of my love and I will introduce her at once, as I am dying to write her description. My pen moved slowly as I tried to conjure up the heavy, sullen, dull figure of my host and now it runs fast; my pulse quickens and my heart beats, as I endeavor to give a faint idea of the lineaments and bearing of the girl who was destined to offer me a little pleasure and cause me plenty of pain.
And her name was Lilian, too. She was a pronounced brunette, and at first sight you could scarcely call her handsome. But she was full of expression and, when pleased, and her face lighted up in the heat of conversation, was very pretty. Her visage might be compared to an unfinished sketch; the features were good, taken one by one, but they lacked completion and rounding off. Her eyes were beautiful, of a rich brown, large and liquid, like those of an intelligent hound, with long lashes, and symmetrical bushy black eyebrows overshadowed them. The sign of jealousy was unmistakably there, for the brows met above the bridge of a sharply cut nose, which was perhaps a trifle too long. There was an air of decision about the pointed chin, but this singular young girl possessed a remarkable mouth, which could not fail to attract a masculine observer and which was in perfect harmony with her other features. It was long and large and the fleshy lips seemed to be never still. All her emotions, all the secret inward movements of her mind betrayed themselves by the ever-changing unrest of these two rosy cushions. Sometimes the corners rose up, unveiling a chaplet of pretty white teeth, as pointed as those of a young wolf, and their pearly enamel contrasted with the brilliant carmine of the lips, which she was always biting and licking with the end of her tongue. Her sensual mouth resembled a brutal red wound across the dark olive tint of her face. Sometimes these strange lips pursed themselves together in a rapid pout or, half-opened, appeared to be drinking in a delightful draught of air, or better still imploring the white heat of a lascivious lover's scalding kiss. When out of temper, she was positively ugly: two black circles appeared round the eyes, which became gloomy; a dull, bluish tinge overcast her skin and the mysterious lips turned positively violet. She possessed an admirable forest of splendid blue-black hair and needed but a blood rose behind her ear and a lace mantilla on her shapely head to be the living picture of a cigar maker of Seville, and this was not to be wondered at, as she had Spanish blood in her veins. She was of middle height, thin, with no bust, and the lines of her figure were perfect, there being nothing angular about her. Her waist was naturally small, while her hips and the lower part of her frame were well developed. She was quick, deft in her manner, with a pleasing voice, and possessed the gift of being at ease in society, thus making those who approached her happy to be in her company. She spoke English with a slight accent, which was an additional charm, and was fairly well educated, writing both English and French with very few faults. She was domesticated, and knew how to sew, cut out and make dresses, and cook a little, but thanks be to Heaven, she was no musician and although the Villa Lilian boasted a piano when I first knew her she could only tease it with one tapering finger. Her Papa had some peculiar theories about the necessity for a young lady to be able to earn her own living, and he had placed her for some years at Myrio's, in the rue de la Paix, a celebrated house for making ladies' head-coverings. So Lilian was a milliner, and she made hats and bonnets for the wealthy little bourgeoisies of Sonis and the wives of the retired tradespeople who inhabited the mansions and châteaux in the sleepy village during the summer, so Lilian had several workgirls in a kiosque in the garden, and was supposed to be lucratively employed in her leisure hours until such time as the proverbial Mr. Right should come along and take her away to bear him a strictly limited number of children and become a staid married lady. But this was not to be.
On my first visit to the Villa Lilian, in the middle of May, 1895, I was received with great cordiality. The little bitch seemed to please Monsieur, Madame, and Mademoiselle.
I must say at once that Mr. Arvel was not married and the lady who was at the head of his household was not his wife. She was a short, stout, little Frenchwoman, about forty-five years of age, as far as I could judge, with the fine eyes, black hair, and pearly teeth that she had handed down to her daughter Lilian. She was very vulgar and quite uneducated but was a fine specimen of the French middle-class housewife, having all the qualities and faults of the Gallic peasantess. She was very frugal, avaricious, a foe to dusty corners and untidiness, and an excellent cook. I think Eric Arvel, who was a tremendous eater, loved her for the dainty dishes she used to set before him. Her greatest pleasure was to see him gorge, and all her guests were bound to overeat themselves to please her. She seemed tolerably artful, cunning, and hot-tempered. Besides her daughter Lilian, there was a son, two years younger, Raoul, but he was being brought up in England and I was not destined to meet him until three years later.
I already had a slight bowing acquaintance with Madame Adèle, Arvel's mistress, and I knew he had lived with her as her husband for about sixteen or seventeen years when this story opens. He told me frankly of his position, and how everybody at Sonis believed them to be married, and I found that he had brought up the boy and girl, his mistress being left a widow only three years after the birth of the children, and, they had lived together ever since. He intended to marry her eventually and although they quarreled now and again, she was evidently fond of her lord and master, but he, very hasty, obstinate, and despotic, did not seem to care much for her. He liked his house, his garden, his dogs, his pipe and his bicycle, and when his routine work was done, dashed off with sufficient facility, his pleasure consisted of a heavy meal, a pipe, and desultory reading.
His house was a pretty one, and had been bought cheaply with the economies of Madame, to whom it belonged. A year after I knew him, some adjoining ground being in the market, he bought it, enlarged the garden and improved the house. I must not forget that Adèle's mother occasionally appeared on the scene, but she was a silly old lady, slightly eccentric, inasmuch as she tried to doctor everybody with mysterious herb medicines and was a general nuisance. Eventually, Mr. Arvel pensioned her off, to stop her coming to the house. He was the breadwinner, and I could see that his mistress and the girl did all they could to make him a comfortable home, as they were entirely dependent on him. He spent plenty of money on the villa and garden, meaning it as a little piece of property for Adèle, if anything should happen to him.