The Moonlit Way: A Novel Page 5

  III

  SUNSET

  On the edge of evening she came out of the Palace of Mirrors andcrossed the wet asphalt, which already reflected primrose lights froma clearing western sky.

  A few moments before, he had been thinking of her, never dreaming thatshe was in America. But he knew her instantly, there amid the rush andclatter of the street, recognised her even in the twilight of thepassing storm--perhaps not alone from the half-caught glimpse of hershadowy, averted face, nor even from that young, lissome figure socelebrated in Europe. There is a sixth sense--the sense of nearness towhat is familiar. When it awakes we call it premonition.

  The shock of seeing her, the moment's exciting incredulity, passedbefore he became aware that he was already following her throughswarming metropolitan throngs released from the toil of a long, wetday in early spring.

  Through every twilit avenue poured the crowds; through everycross-street a rosy glory from the west was streaming; and in itsmagic he saw her immortally transfigured, where the pink lightsuffused the crossings, only to put on again her lovely mortality inthe shadowy avenue.

  At Times Square she turned west, straight into the dazzling fire ofsunset, and he at her slender heels, not knowing why, not even askingit of himself, not thinking, not caring.

  A third figure followed them both.

  The bronze giants south of them stirred, swung their great hammersagainst the iron bell; strokes of the hour rang out above the din ofHerald Square, inaudible in the traffic roar another square away,lost, drowned out long before the pleasant bell-notes penetrated toForty-second Street, into which they both had turned.

  Yet, as though occultly conscious that some hour had struck on earth,significant to her, she stopped, turned, and looked back--looked quitethrough him, seeing neither him nor the one-eyed man who followed themboth--as though her line of vision were the East itself, where, acrossthe grey sea's peril, a thousand miles of cannon were sounding thehour from the North Sea to the Alps.

  He passed her at her very elbow--aware of her nearness, as thoughsuddenly close to a young orchard in April. The girl, too, resumed herway, unconscious of him, of his youthful face set hard with controlledemotion.

  The one-eyed man followed them both.

  A few steps further and she turned into the entrance to one of thosesprawling, pretentious restaurants, the sham magnificence of whichbecomes grimy overnight. He halted, swung around, retraced his stepsand followed her. And at his heels two shapes followed them verysilently--her shadow and his own--so close together now, against thestucco wall that they seemed like Destiny and Fate linked arm in arm.

  The one-eyed man halted at the door for a few moments. Then he, too,went in, dogged by his sinister shadow.

  The red sunset's rays penetrated to the rotunda and were quenchedthere in a flood of artificial light; and there their sun-bornshadows vanished, and three strange new shadows, twisted andgrotesque, took their places.

  She continued on into the almost empty restaurant, looming dimlybeyond. He followed; the one-eyed man followed both.

  The place into which they stepped was circular, centred by a waterfallsplashing over concrete rocks. In the ruffled pool goldfish glimmered,nearly motionless, and mandarin ducks floated, preening exoticplumage.

  A wilderness of tables surrounded the pool, set for the expectedpatronage of the coming evening. The girl seated herself at one ofthese.

  At the next table he found a place for himself, entirely unnoticed byher. The one-eyed man took the table behind them. A waiter presentedhimself to take her order; another waiter came up leisurely to attendto him. A third served the one-eyed man. There were only a few inchesbetween the three tables. Yet the girl, deeply preoccupied, paid noattention to either man, although both kept their eyes on her.

  But already, under the younger man's spellbound eyes, an odd andunforeseen thing was occurring: he gradually became aware that, almostimperceptibly, the girl and the table where she sat, and the sleepywaiter who was taking her orders, were slowly moving nearer to him ona floor which was moving, too.

  He had never before been in that particular restaurant, and it tookhim a moment or two to realise that the floor was one of those trickfloors, the central part of which slowly revolves.

  Her table stood on the revolving part of the floor, his upon fixedterrain; and he now beheld her moving toward him, as the circle oftables rotated on its axis, which was the waterfall and pool in themiddle of the restaurant.

  A few people began to arrive--theatrical people, who are obliged todine early. Some took seats at tables placed upon the revolvingsection of the floor, others preferred the outer circles, where he satin a fixed position.

  Her table was already abreast of his, with only the circular crack inthe floor between them; he could easily have touched her.

  As the distance began to widen between them, the girl, her glovedhands clasped in her lap, and studying the table-cloth with unseeinggaze, lifted her dark eyes--looked at him without seeing, and oncemore gazed through him at something invisible upon which her thoughtsremained fixed--something absorbing, vital, perhaps tragic--for herface had become as colourless, now, as one of those translucentmarbles, vaguely warmed by some buried vein of rose beneath the snowysurface.

  Slowly she was being swept away from him--his gaze following--herslost in concentrated abstraction.

  He saw her slipping away, disappearing behind the noisy waterfall.Around him the restaurant continued to fill, slowly at first, thenmore rapidly after the orchestra had entered its marble gallery.

  The music began with something Russian, plaintive at first, thenbeguiling, then noisy, savage in its brutal precision--somethingsinister--a trampling melody that was turning into thunder with thethrob of doom all through it. And out of the vicious, Asiaticclangour, from behind the dash of too obvious waterfalls, glided thegirl he had followed, now on her way toward him again, still seated ather table, still gazing at nothing out of dark, unseeing eyes.

  It seemed to him an hour before her table approached his own again.Already she had been served by a waiter--was eating.

  He became aware, then, that somebody had also served him. But he couldnot even pretend to eat, so preoccupied was he by her approach.

  Scarcely seeming to move at all, the revolving floor was steadilydrawing her table closer and closer to his. She was not looking at thestrawberries which she was leisurely eating--did not lift her eyes asher table swept smoothly abreast of his.

  Scarcely aware that he spoke aloud, he said:

  "Nihla--Nihla Quellen!..."

  Like a flash the girl wheeled in her chair to face him. She had lostall her colour. Her fork had dropped and a blood-red berry rolled overthe table-cloth toward him.

  "I'm sorry," he said, flushing. "I did not mean to startle you----"

  The girl did not utter a word, nor did she move; but in her dark eyeshe seemed to see her every sense concentrated upon him to identify hisfeatures, made shadowy by the lighted candles behind his head.

  By degrees, smoothly, silently, her table swept nearer, nearer,bringing with it her chair, her slender person, her dark, intelligenteyes, so unsmilingly and steadily intent on him.

  He began to stammer:

  "--Two years ago--at--the Villa Tresse d'Or--on the Seine.... And wepromised to see each other--in the morning----"

  She said coolly:

  "My name is Thessalie Dunois. You mistake me for another."

  "No," he said, in a low voice, "I am not mistaken."

  Her brown eyes seemed to plunge their clear regard into the depths ofhis very soul--not in recognition, but in watchful, dangerousdefiance.

  He began again, still stammering a trifle:

  "--In the morning, we were to--to meet--at eleven--near the fountainof Marie de Medicis--unless you do not care to remember----"

  At that her gaze altered swiftly, melted into the exquisite relief ofrecognition. Suspended breath, released, parted her blanched lips; herlittle guardian heart, relieved of fear,
beat more freely.

  "Are you Garry?"

  "Yes."

  "I know you now," she murmured. "You are Garret Barres, of the rued'Eryx.... You _are_ Garry!" A smile already haunted her dark youngeyes; colour was returning to lip and cheek. She drew a deep,noiseless breath.

  The table where she sat continued to slip past him; the distancebetween them was widening. She had to turn her head a little to facehim.

  "You do remember me then, Nihla?"

  The girl inclined her head a trifle. A smile curved her lips--lips nowvivid but still a little tremulous from the shock of the encounter.

  "May I join you at your table?"

  She smiled, drew a deeper breath, looked down at the strawberry on thecloth, looked over her shoulder at him.

  "You owe me an explanation," he insisted, leaning forward to span theincreasing distance between them.

  "Do I?"

  "Ask yourself."

  After a moment, still studying him, she nodded as though the nodanswered some silent question of her own:

  "Yes, I owe you one."

  "Then may I join you?"

  "My table is more prudent than I. It is running away from anexplanation." She fixed her eyes on her tightly clasped hands, asthough to concentrate thought. He could see only the back of her head,white neck and lovely dark hair.

  Her table was quite a distance away when she turned, leisurely, andlooked back at him.

  "May I come?" he asked.

  She lifted her delicate brows in demure surprise.

  "I've been waiting for you," she said, amiably.

  The one-eyed man had never taken his eyes off them.