She had been invited to dine out the evening before (Sunday), by Madame Rosenblatt and her sister, together with some gentlemen friends; cousins, brothers-in-law, or what not. If memory serves me rightly, one of them was an officer. I candidly confess that I do not recollect the story properly, as it was rather muddled. In plain words, it was a lie. The only thing that was true, was that she had had what is vulgarly called a jolly good spree, and had dined in a private room with a merry party. I only asked her quite coolly how she managed to elude the vigilance (?) of the silly old grandmother. She replied that Madame Rosenblatt had sent her a false telegram, inviting her to dine with her at her house. The dinner had taken place at the Hôtel-Restaurant Narkola, which I knew from experience to afford bedroom accommodation, as well as meals. She had been so jolly, and drank so much wine, that she had lost a silver purse which hung on the silver chatelaine I never saw. She pretended to be very much put out about this loss, as she was frightened that her Mamma would notice it and ask her awkward questions. There were twenty francs in the purse, too. I replied that there was a slight balance due to me on the commissions I had executed for her father, and I should be pleased to offer her that, and shortly I would give her a new silver purse, although it might not match the one that was gone.
“Oh! That would not matter, but I dare say you think I have told you this story to make you give me something.”
“You should not say that. I only know that you say you have lost a purse with money in it. You therefore need not repay me for the two seats I got for the Opéra Comique, nor shall I claim of you the little sum due to me on your Pa's account. As for the purse-”
“Never mind about that. I thank you for the seats, but I am afraid you will think I expected you pay for them.”
“I do not think anything. I only know that it gives me great pleasure to make you the smallest present in the world and you know very well that it would be impossible for me to accept money from you for theatre tickets.”
She thanked me briefly, and looked up to me with surprise and timidity, as if trying to read me and utterly failing to do so.
I inwardly resolved never to allow her or her people to penetrate my thoughts. The only way was to change my conduct and humour every time I saw them or the daughter. I had no chance at Sonis unless I became a perfect comedian, or walked off altogether.
So I entered on my part at once, instead of showing my suspicions about her virginity, or the absurdity of the story of her dinner with Madame Rosenblatt. I was very gay, respectful, and tender during the finish of our long walk and as we reached the door of the house I gave her the accounts and receipts for her Papa and another volume of Justine. I returned her the letter from Nice, but I kept the typewritten envelope, on which was her name and address. Without asking her to let me into the house, I made as if to go, holding out my hand to say good bye. She broached the subject herself.
“I can't take you into the villa tonight, as Granny won't let me sit up. Even now, she is waiting for me to come to bed, and I shall be scolded for stopping out so late. There is another thing too, that I hardly like to tell you. I am unwell again. I thought it was all over and now I have got what is almost a perte, or flooding, which fatigues me very much.”
“Anyhow you are not enceinte!”
“How amusing you are!” she replied, laughing.
“Poor little girl! I suppose you must suffer too from the 'whites'?”
“How strange you should have guessed that!” She spoke with feigned astonishment.
“I had some fleurs blanches for the first time in my life last Saturday. How ought I to cure them?”
“You must see a doctor and take a course of tonics, and some iron and quinine. I will make you some quinine wine. You should use a syringe with some astringent for the 'whites.'“
“You know I can't take injections!”
This was playing the game rather too strong, but I withheld a bitter laugh, as I bade her a loving farewell and saw her go into the house.
This had been an evening of revelations for me. Papa had left her at home to bring on her periodical flow by hook or by crook, and permission was granted to go with the paying friends and lovers at the accommodating Hôtel-Restaurant Narkola, where I could play the spy the next day if I wanted to know about the banquet. And there was the repeated lie of the maidenhead! Lilian little knew that in habitual liars, persistent, obstinate denigration is equivalent in many cases to an avowal.
I stopped short in my stride on the way to the station, and although it was a frosty night, a heavy sweat broke out upon my brow, as I thought of what might have been. Up to last October, I was deeply struck with Miss Arvel, and had I been rich enough, I do not know where my weakness might have taken me. To think that I might have given my name to her, introduced her into my family, and one day found old Eric in my bed! My marriage would have broken the heart of my poor, sweet, devoted invalid at home. I should have pensioned her off, and sent her to some warm climate-had I been rich. Other men have put away wives and mistresses after years and years of cohabitation; why should not I have done the same-had I been rich? I could have refused nothing to Lilian Arvel, or her parents, and so should never have allowed myself time to analyze their motives-had I been rich.
And I wonder what the few passengers waiting on the platform of the station of Sonis that wintry night, thought of a mad Englishman, who suddenly lifted his head out of the depths of the broad, warm collar of his fur-lined pelisse, and, taking his pipe from between his lips, shrieked aloud:
“Thank God, I'm poor!”
I should not have been human if I had not been extremely annoyed at Lilian's conduct towards me. I was wounded in every way, and I felt there was a lack of confidence; she would tell me nothing of her inmost feelings. I was to be an ordinary victim to her wiles, and this being entirely repugnant to me, I resolved to let her run loose. I was getting tired of her tricky ways.
These thoughts crowded into my brain, as on the twenty-forth of January, I started making her some quinine wine. It was a great success and I manufactured several quarts, which met with the approval of everybody at the villa, as I gave them to her later on.
Lord Fontarcy now reappeared in Paris, and the day after I had made the first lot of wine, we had a quiet bit of luncheon together all alone, as Clara had not accompanied him this time. Naturally, after we had discussed serious matters, the talk reverted to Lilian, and in as few words as possible I stated the case, without seeking to spare my own poor self. His face showed great preoccupation and I could see that he was, in point of fact, quite disgusted with her.