Yes, this was plainly an
intrigue of the genuine order, and the mari would doubtless arrive
from England later. All was plain, and he stood with a patronising
smile by the table, while I scribbled a note to Lucia.
"My Dearest Life,--I am rushing, flying to you now. I will be with
you as soon as fiacre can bring me."
"VICTOR."
I closed it, and made him wait while I sealed it, lest he should
interfere with it. Then I handed it to him with a two-franc piece,
and with bon jours and remerciments and grins he withdrew.
I dressed hurriedly and yet carefully, and shaved with a dangerously
trembling hand. The first fiacre that was passing as I left the
hotel I took, and was driven, through the bright sunshine that
filled the Paris boulevards, to the Grand. I sat back in it, with my
arms folded, feeling my heart like a stone within me. Lucia's
coming, that, thirty-six hours back, would have infused the extreme
of delight through me, was now useless, worthless.
I could do nothing, say nothing. I was a prisoner again, fettered,
bound, as if I had an iron collar on my neck, and manacles on my
wrists. I looked through the shining, quivering sunlight that fell
on every side with blank, unseeing eyes, and the bitterest curses
against Howard rose to my lips, checked only by the knowledge that I
had forgiven him.
When I reached the hotel, and mentioned her name, I was shown up to
a private sitting-room on the first floor, facing the gay Paris
boulevard, and with the bright light streaming in through its half-
closed persiennes.
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