'Now you've done it,' she said. 'Helene is not at home.'
'Tant mieux,' I replied, 'she's probably on her way here, and really you ought to understand how terribly impatient I am to see her.'
'But why on earth did you have to write to her I' Madame Lecerf cried. 'You don't even know her. And I had promised you she would be here today. What more could you wish? And if you didn't believe me, if you wanted to control me – alors vous кtes ridicule, cher Monsieur.'
'Oh, look here,' I said quite sincerely, 'that never entered my head. I only thought, well… butter can't spoil the porridge, as we Russians say.'
'I think I don't much care for butter… or Russians,' she said. What could I do? I glanced at her hand lying near mine. It was trembling slightly, her frock was flimsy – and a queer little shiver not exactly of cold passed down my spine. Ought I to kiss that hand? Could I manage to achieve courteousness without feeling rather a fool?
She sighed and stood up.
'Well, there's nothing to be done about it. I'm afraid you, have put her off and if she does come – well, no matter. We shall see. Would you like to go over our domain? I think it is warmer outside than in this miserable house – que dans cette triste demeure.'
The 'domain' consisted of the garden and grove I had already noticed. It was all very still. The black branches, here and there studded with green, seemed to be listening to their own inner life. Something dreary and dull hung over the place. Earth had been dug out and heaped against a brick wall by a mysterious gardener who had gone and forgotten his rusty spade. For some odd reason I recalled a murder that had happened lately, a murderer who had, buried his victim in just such a garden as this.
Madame Lecerf was silent; then she said: 'You must have been very fond of your half-brother, if you make such a fuss about his past. How did he die? Suicide?'
'Oh, no,' I said, 'he suffered from heart-disease.'
'I thought you said he had shot himself. That would have been so much more romantic. I'll be disappointed in your book if it all ends in bed. There are roses here in summer – here, on that mud – but catch me spending the summer here ever again.'
'I shall certainly never think of falsifying his life in any way,' I said.
'Oh, all right. I knew a man who published the letters of his dead wife and distributed them among his friends. Why do you suppose the biography of your brother will interest people?'
'Haven't you ever read' – I began, when suddenly a smart-looking though rather mud-bespattered car stopped at the gate.
'Oh, bother,' said Madame Lecerf.
'Perhaps it's she,' I exclaimed.
A woman had scrambled out of the car right into a puddle.
'Yes, it's she all right,' said Madame Lecerf. 'Now you stay where you are, please.'
She ran down the path, waving her hand, and upon reaching the newcomer, kissed her and led her to the left where they both disappeared behind a clump of bushes. I espied them again a moment later when they had skirted the garden and were going up the steps. They vanished into the house. I had really seen nothing of Helene von Graun except her unfastened fur coat and bright-coloured scarf.
I found a stone bench and sat down. I was excited and rather pleased with myself for having captured my prey at last. Somebody's cane was lying on the bench and I poked the rich brown earth. I had succeeded! This very night after talking to her I would return to Paris, and…. A thought strange to the rest, a changeling, a trembling oaf, slipped in, mingling with the crowd…. Would I return tonight? How was it, that breathless phrase in that second-rate Maupassant story: 'I have forgotten a book.' But I was forgetting mine too.
'So that's where you are,' said Madame Lecerf's voice. 'I thought perhaps you had gone home.'
'Well, is everything all right?'
'Far from it,' she answered calmly. 'I have no idea what you wrote, but she thought it referred to a film affair she's trying to arrange. She says you've entrapped her. Now you'll do what I tell you. You won't speak to her today or tomorrow or the day after. But you'll stay here and be very nice to her. And she has promised to tell me everything, and afterwards perhaps you may talk to her. Is that a bargain?'
'It's really awfully good of you to take all this trouble,' I' laid.
She sat down on the bench beside me, and as the bench was very short and I am rather – well – on the sturdy side – her shoulder touched mine. I moistened my lips with my tongue and scrawled lines on the ground with the stick I was holding.
'What are you trying to draw?' she asked and then cleared' her throat.
'My thought-waves,' I answered foolishly.
'Once upon a time,' she said softly, 'I kissed a man just because he could write his name upside down.'
The stick dropped from my hand. I stared at Madame Lecerf. I stared at her smooth white brow, I saw her violet dark eyelids, which she had lowered, possibly mistaking my stare – saw a tiny pale birth-mark on the pale cheek, the delicate wings of her nose, the pucker of her upper lip, as she bent her dark head, the dull whiteness of her throat, the lacquered rose-red nails of her thin fingers. She lifted her face, her queer velvety eyes with that iris placed slightly higher than usual, looked at my lips.
I got up.
'What's the matter,' she said, 'what are you thinking about?'
I shook my head. But she was right. I was thinking of something now – something that had to be solved, at once…
'Why, are we going in?' she asked as we moved up the path.
I nodded.
'But she won't be down before another minute, you know. Tell me why are you sulking?'
I think I stopped and stared at her again, this time at her I slim little figure in that buff, close-fitting frock.
I moved on, brooding heavily, and the sun-dappled path seemed to frown back at me.
'Vous n'кtes guиre amiable,' said Madame Lecerf.
There was a table and several chairs on the terrace. The silent blond person whom I had seen at lunch was sitting there examining the works of his watch. As I sat down I clumsily jolted his elbow and he let drop a tiny screw.
'Boga radi,' he said (don't mention it) as I apologized.
(Oh, he was Russian, was he? Good, that would help me.)
The lady stood with her back to us, humming gently, her foot tapping the stone flags.
It was then that I turned to my silent compatriot who was ogling his broken watch.
'Ah-oo-neigh na-sheiky pah-ook,' I said softly.
The lady's hand flew up to the nape of her neck, she turned on her heel.
'Shto?' (what?) asked my slow-minded compatriot, glancing at me. Then he looked at the lady, grinned uncomfortably and fumbled with his watch.
'J'ai quelque chose dans le cou…. There's something on my neck, I feel it,' said Madame Lecerf.
'As a matter of fact,' I said, 'I have just been telling this Russian gentleman that I thought there was a spider on your neck. But I was mistaken, it was a trick of light.'
'Shall we put on the gramophone?' she asked brightly.
'I'm awfully sorry,' I said, 'but I think I must be going home. You'll excuse me won't you?'
'Mais vous кtes fou,' she cried, 'you are mad, don't you want to see my mend?'
'Another time perhaps,' I said soothingly, 'another time.'
'Tell me,' she said following me into the garden, 'what is the matter?'
'It was very clever of you,' I said, in our liberal grand Russian language, 'it was very clever of you to make me believe you were talking about your friend when all the time you were talking about yourself. This little hoax would have gone on for quite a long time if fate had not pushed your elbow, and now you've spilled the curds and whey. Because I happen to have met your former husband's cousin, the one who could write upside down. So I made a little test. And when you subconsciously caught the Russian sentence I muttered aside….' No, I did not say a word of all this. I just bowed myself out of the garden. She will be sent a copy of this book and will understand.