From the field of the black-eyed Susans Gareth went directly to the Countess. He had written to tell her when he would come and she was waiting for him. Lou had gone to visit Alice Leatherbury, who had been removed to a hospital on the edge of town. Anna, having completed her sweeping and dusting, had retired to the kitchen. The Countess had dressed herself very carefully for this rendezvous, entirely in white, a soft, lace gown with a high lace collar and long lace sleeves, the bodice trimmed with many frills, the skirt with many flounces. In her wide, ivory satin waist-band, which tied in a bow at the back with flowing streamers, she had inserted three purple asters.
After some cogitation, she had arrived at the conclusion that the parlour was too large, too formal, too cold a room in which to receive the boy on this occasion. On the whole she preferred that their meeting should take place in the library. The shutters were closed, as they usually were in the morning, but streaks of light filtered through, falling in bars on the rich, red carpet, making the room less dim.
Curiously, considering the fact that she had not seen Gareth for several days, and that an event had occurred since their last meeting which might in some way affect their future relationship, the Countess felt strangely at peace with herself and the world. A sudden calm had descended upon her spirit, a species of content, or some lack of emotion as near content as it was possible for her to experience. She had almost the sense that she had been disembodied, as though she existed completely outside the flesh. But this unnatural mood was shattered as the onyx clock on the mantel struck eleven and Anna ushered the boy into the room, for, at once aware how much he had been suffering, her accustomed perturbation returned in full force.
Poor Gareth, she murmured softly, leading him to the couch and seating herself beside him.
I hope you understand, she went on, why I have not been to see you. I just couldn't go. It seemed so superfluous for me to parade my feelings. All the time, every moment, you were before my eyes, you and your grief. I was suffering with you, Gareth, just as much as, perhaps more than, you. But I knew: that if you wanted to see me you would say so.
I understood, the boy replied. It was fine of you, wonderful. I am not accustomed to anybody showing so much sensibility. If you had come I couldn't have felt the same satisfaction, the satisfaction of knowing that you were my friend, ready, waiting.
She engaged one of his hands and stroked it softly with her free palm.
It was all so sordid, hard to bear, the boy continued . . . something to get over with . . . my beloved dead and my hated living! That is what I felt. I had to stay there with her, because I wanted to protect her, if you know what I mean, from everything she hated too. It took just this, her death and what has followed, to make me understand just how much she had suffered, how much she had hated him too. And there he was all the time: I stood between him and her . . . but also, he stood between her and me.
My poor boy! Tell me all about it, all about everything you feel. It will do you good. She continued to stroke his limp hand, but he gave no evidence that he was conscious of this attention.
You see, he went on, the day my mother . . . he choked . . . just before she was operated on, my father, in the hospital, told me that I might go to college, that he had promised her . . . How I hated him then! I never knew how much I hated him before. It was almost as if she had sacrificed her life to force him to make this promise. And, at that moment, I knew, too, how she had hated him, how much she had endured for my sake. She went on, nobly, suffering for me, and I don't think I was worth it!
Don't say that! cried the Countess, letting, in her state of torture, his hand fall into his lap. I'm sure that you gave your mother the greatest happiness. The other. well, I'm a woman and I know . . . was easy to bear, just because she was bearing it for you. I've never been a mother, Gareth, but instinctively I know how she must have felt. I would do that for you. I would . . .
The boy began to weep softly. Laying her hand on his head, the Countess caressed his hair. Silently, with great delicacy, she stroked; then, very slowly, very carefully, she leaned nearer to him, rubbing her cheek tenderly against his, the tendrils of her hair brushing his face. This slight contact inflamed her. Now, with one palm still back of his head, with the other she grasped his hand, no longer limp, and slowly, softly, she gradually shifted her position until her lips met his. He did not move, nor did he respond. For a second or two she remained poised; then, swiftly, bending forward still further, she kissed him passionately, an embrace which he returned.
At last, she ceased, drawing back her head a little way. Her cheeks were flushed, her hands trembling, her breasts rising and falling. Seizing the boy's hands in hers, she turned him about until he faced her.
Gareth, she whispered, I love you.
I love you, too, he replied.
Do you understand? she went on, almost as if she were explaining something to a child. I love you . . . that way.
I want you to, was his response.
O, my God! Her arms now thrown about his shoulders, again she pressed her lips against his. Next to her heart she could feel the thumping of his heart.
Mon petit chou! she cried. Ma soisoif! Ma faifaim! Adorable! . . . I will be everything to you: mother, mistress, wife. Tu es mon bébé!
Countess, he began . . .
Call me Ella, call me your fafemme!
Ella!
She interrupted him with another kiss.
I've loved you since the moment I first set eyes on you, she rapidly confessed. I've wanted you, suffered without you. O, I've seen you every day, but that's not enough! I want you completely!
You are all there is in my life, he replied, truthfully enough. There is no one else. I only want you, too.
Ta bouche, ange adorable!
Grasping his cheeks between her palms, again she guided his lips to hers. How moist and warm his mouth was! Dropping her head to his shoulder, she fell back against him.
After a time she became more calm. Rising from the couch she went to the hall doorway to listen for a moment. Then she returned.
You don't want to stay in this town any longer, do you? she demanded.
I'd leave this minute if I could . . . if you were going, he added.
We'll both go . . . to my place at Cannes, first. It's quiet there now. This is not the Riviera season. For a month or two we can be entirely alone. Then we'll motor down into Italy . . . to Bordighera and Spezia, the smaller towns along the shore . . . But why make plans? You shall see everything, do everything you want to do.
But Count—Ella, he continued, you know I have no money. How can I do these things?
Money! she laughed. Money! Don't worry about money. I have heaps of it, tons of it. I have more money than I know what to do with. Money! she cried. It's all yours, my divinity, to do what you please with. Spend it! Go where you desire . . . only . . . be a little kind to me, and take me with you.
Everywhere, he murmured fervently. It will not be difficult to be kind to you. You are all in the world I have to be kind to, and you have been so kind to me.
I can't wait, she cried. When shall we start?
The sooner the better so far as I am concerned. Today. This afternoon if you like. We'll take the four o'clock train east.
She pondered over this; not cautious by nature, she usually acted hastily, on impulse, but his ready acceptance of her plan paradoxically impelled her to hesitate. No, Gareth, she spoke at last, that won't do. If I'm going away it isn't necessary to hurt Lou too much. A scandal would hurt her. Besides—obliged to divulge the real reason for their waiting, she went on, but she blushed—you are not yet of age. If your father discovered our elopement he could stop you. Somebody at the station would be sure to see us take the train: your father would be notified; he would telegraph to Clinton and you would be brought back to Maple Valley a prisoner.
I'll do whatever you tell me to, Gareth asserted, only let it be quick. I can't bear it here any longer. I can't endure the idea of going back to . . . to the house where my father lives. I never want to be reminded of him again.
She was thinking rapidly. Did you tell your father that you would go to college? she demanded at last.
No! I won't go.
Did you tell him that?
I told him nothing.
Her face brightened. Then, it's quite simple, she said. You must go home and explain to him that you have decided to accept his offer. The University of Chicago should begin its fall term in a couple of weeks. Find out the exact time. In a few days, I will leave for Chicago, and wait for you there, arranging, in the meantime, for our passage abroad. We'll leave the country at once, of course. That way there'll be no chance to bring us back, no chance of separation.
I'll tell him today. You'll promise to wait?
Ah! she remonstrated, sadly, doubts already? I love you, Gareth, and I could wait for you for ever. But you? Can I be so sure of you? She paused, and a tear stood in her eye. I am no longer young.
Ella, he exclaimed, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever known!
You say that now.
Grasping her hands, he drew her to him and kissed her.
You swear to meet me, she whispered feebly.
I swear.
I believe you.
There is absolutely no one in my world but you.
I trust you, Gareth, my beloved. In a few days I will leave to wait for you at the Stratford in Chicago. Telegraph me from Clinton the hour you are arriving.
Won't I see you again before you go?
It's better not. I can tell you now that Lou is extremely upset because I have seen so much of you. She hasn't said a word; she doesn't dare, but others have not been so delicate. A sneer played about the lips of the Countess. It doesn't matter what any of them say: I really don't care, but they might do something that would spoil everything. We have eternity before us and the world to play in: Europe, Africa, Asia . . . Why should we risk losing this for the sake of seeing each other again now?
For another half-hour they indulged in fond good-byes, in lovers' passwords, in amorous signals, until at last—the dinner hour was approaching, and Lou was expected momentarily—Gareth rose to go. Once more she pressed his lips to hers; through the screen-door, she watched him until he had descended the stone steps. Then, sighing with happiness, she returned to the library to dream.
Gareth bounded down the street, his spirit light as air. His hour had come; he was at last a man. As he considered the Possibijties of his future, he began to walk more slowly, and a smile spread over his face, for two scenes from literature had invaded his mind: Richard, Duke of Gloster, wooing the Lady Anne over the bier of Henry VI, and Bel-Ami descending the steps of the Madeleine after his marriage with Suzanne Walter.