The King in Yellow Read online

  II

  Some work that I was doing about this time on the decorations forGenevieve's boudoir kept me constantly at the quaint little hotel in theRue Sainte-Cecile. Boris and I in those days laboured hard but as wepleased, which was fitfully, and we all three, with Jack Scott, idled agreat deal together.

  One quiet afternoon I had been wandering alone over the house examiningcurios, prying into odd corners, bringing out sweetmeats and cigars fromstrange hiding-places, and at last I stopped in the bathing-room. Boris,all over clay, stood there washing his hands.

  The room was built of rose-coloured marble excepting the floor, which wastessellated in rose and grey. In the centre was a square pool sunkenbelow the surface of the floor; steps led down into it, sculpturedpillars supported a frescoed ceiling. A delicious marble Cupid appearedto have just alighted on his pedestal at the upper end of the room. Thewhole interior was Boris' work and mine. Boris, in his working-clothes ofwhite canvas, scraped the traces of clay and red modelling wax from hishandsome hands, and coquetted over his shoulder with the Cupid.

  "I see you," he insisted, "don't try to look the other way and pretendnot to see me. You know who made you, little humbug!"

  It was always my role to interpret Cupid's sentiments in theseconversations, and when my turn came I responded in such a manner, thatBoris seized my arm and dragged me toward the pool, declaring he wouldduck me. Next instant he dropped my arm and turned pale. "Good God!" hesaid, "I forgot the pool is full of the solution!"

  I shivered a little, and dryly advised him to remember better where hehad stored the precious liquid.

  "In Heaven's name, why do you keep a small lake of that gruesome stuffhere of all places?" I asked.

  "I want to experiment on something large," he replied.

  "On me, for instance?"

  "Ah! that came too close for jesting; but I do want to watch the actionof that solution on a more highly organized living body; there is thatbig white rabbit," he said, following me into the studio.

  Jack Scott, wearing a paint-stained jacket, came wandering in,appropriated all the Oriental sweetmeats he could lay his hands on,looted the cigarette case, and finally he and Boris disappeared togetherto visit the Luxembourg Gallery, where a new silver bronze by Rodin and alandscape of Monet's were claiming the exclusive attention of artisticFrance. I went back to the studio, and resumed my work. It was aRenaissance screen, which Boris wanted me to paint for Genevieve'sboudoir. But the small boy who was unwillingly dawdling through a seriesof poses for it, to-day refused all bribes to be good. He never rested aninstant in the same position, and inside of five minutes I had as manydifferent outlines of the little beggar.

  "Are you posing, or are you executing a song and dance, my friend?" Iinquired.

  "Whichever monsieur pleases," he replied, with an angelic smile.

  Of course I dismissed him for the day, and of course I paid him for thefull time, that being the way we spoil our models.

  After the young imp had gone, I made a few perfunctory daubs at my work,but was so thoroughly out of humour, that it took me the rest of theafternoon to undo the damage I had done, so at last I scraped my palette,stuck my brushes in a bowl of black soap, and strolled into thesmoking-room. I really believe that, excepting Genevieve's apartments, noroom in the house was so free from the perfume of tobacco as this one. Itwas a queer chaos of odds and ends, hung with threadbare tapestry. Asweet-toned old spinet in good repair stood by the window. There werestands of weapons, some old and dull, others bright and modern, festoonsof Indian and Turkish armour over the mantel, two or three good pictures,and a pipe-rack. It was here that we used to come for new sensations insmoking. I doubt if any type of pipe ever existed which was notrepresented in that rack. When we had selected one, we immediatelycarried it somewhere else and smoked it; for the place was, on the whole,more gloomy and less inviting than any in the house. But this afternoon,the twilight was very soothing, the rugs and skins on the floor lookedbrown and soft and drowsy; the big couch was piled with cushions--I foundmy pipe and curled up there for an unaccustomed smoke in thesmoking-room. I had chosen one with a long flexible stem, and lighting itfell to dreaming. After a while it went out, but I did not stir. Idreamed on and presently fell asleep.

  I awoke to the saddest music I had ever heard. The room was quite dark, Ihad no idea what time it was. A ray of moonlight silvered one edge of theold spinet, and the polished wood seemed to exhale the sounds as perfumefloats above a box of sandalwood. Some one rose in the darkness, and cameaway weeping quietly, and I was fool enough to cry out "Genevieve!"

  She dropped at my voice, and, I had time to curse myself while I made alight and tried to raise her from the floor. She shrank away with amurmur of pain. She was very quiet, and asked for Boris. I carried her tothe divan, and went to look for him, but he was not in the house, and theservants were gone to bed. Perplexed and anxious, I hurried back toGenevieve. She lay where I had left her, looking very white.

  "I can't find Boris nor any of the servants," I said.

  "I know," she answered faintly, "Boris has gone to Ept with Mr. Scott. Idid not remember when I sent you for him just now."

  "But he can't get back in that case before to-morrow afternoon, and--areyou hurt? Did I frighten you into falling? What an awful fool I am, but Iwas only half awake."

  "Boris thought you had gone home before dinner. Do please excuse us forletting you stay here all this time."

  "I have had a long nap," I laughed, "so sound that I did not know whetherI was still asleep or not when I found myself staring at a figure thatwas moving toward me, and called out your name. Have you been trying theold spinet? You must have played very softly."

  I would tell a thousand more lies worse than that one to see the look ofrelief that came into her face. She smiled adorably, and said in hernatural voice: "Alec, I tripped on that wolf's head, and I think my ankleis sprained. Please call Marie, and then go home."

  I did as she bade me, and left her there when the maid came in.