CHAPTER XIII
Helena was not at home. Yosef waited several hours for her, walking unquietly up and down in her chamber. He resolved at whatever cost to come out of the false position in which he had been put by his guardianship over the widow and over the countess, but he acknowledged to himself that this resolution brought him pain. That pain was great, almost physical. Yosef had come to ask Helena's hand, but it seemed to him at that moment that he could not endure her. He was rushing toward the other with heart and mind; thou wouldst have said that he felt a prayer in his own breast, that he begged of his own will for a moment more of that other. He loved Lula as only energetic natures can love who are apparently cold.
He prepared himself for the meeting with Helena, and he foresaw that it would cost him no little. There is nothing more repulsive than to tell a woman who is not loved that she is loved. That is one of the least possible hypocrisies for a real manly nature. Yosef on a time had loved Helena, but he had ceased to love her, even before he had observed how and how much he had become attached to Lula. When he saw this he had a moment of weakness; he felt this new love, and he feared to think of it and confess it. When his heart spoke too loudly, he said to it: "Be silent!" And he closed his ears, fearing his own possible actions and especially decisions for the future. This was not in accordance with him, and could not last long.
Augustinovich with his peculiar cynicism cast this love in his eyes, and forced him to meet it face to face. Further evasion was now impossible. Yosef stood up to the battle, and went from it to Helena.
But he did not go without traces of a struggle. He had a fever in his blood, and he could not think calmly. Various pictures of small but dear memories came to his mind, wherewith at that moment he believed more than ever that Lula loved him.
"Have I the right to destroy her happiness too?" This imbecile thought roared in him like the last arrow of conquered warriors. He broke it, however, with the reflection that between him and Helena there was an obligation, between him and Lula nothing.
Other difficulties belonged to the result of Yosef's decision. The decision was honest, but still to turn it into reality he had to lie, and then to lie all his life by pretending love. Evil appeared as a result of good. "Ei, shall I not have to go mad?" thought he. "And this life will be snarled like a thread. Every one is whirling round after happiness, as a dog after his own tail, and every man is chasing it with equal success." Ho! Yosef, who did not love declamation, had still fallen into the dialectics of unhappiness. Such a philosophy has a charm: a man loves his misfortune as a happiness.
Meanwhile evening came, but Helena was not to be seen. Yosef supposed that she must have gone to the cemetery, and he did not himself know why that thought made him angry on that occasion.
He lighted a candle and began to walk through the room. By chance his glance fell on Potkanski. Yosef had not known him, and did not like him, though for the justification of his antipathy he could hardly bring in the words "lord's son."
When he looked again at that broad, calm face, something glittered in his eyes which was almost like hatred.
"And for her I am only the counterfeit of that man there," thought he.
These words were not true, Yosef differed altogether in character from Potkanski, and Helena loved him now for himself; nevertheless the thought pricked him, he would have given much if Helena had not on a time been the wife of that man there, and had not had a child by him. " And I shall have a child," said he, "a son whom I shall rear into a man, strong and practical."
"Ah, if that future child were mine and Lula's!"
He shook feverishly and pressed his lips; a few drops of perspiration glittered on his forehead. In the last thought there was a whole ocean of desire.
He sat in that way for half an hour yet before Helena came. She was dressed in black, with which color her pale complexion and blond hair came out excellently. When she saw Yosef she smiled timidly; but great pleasure was in that smile, for he had been a rare guest in recent times.
Happily for her, she had enough of tact or of feminine foresight not to reproach him; she did not dare, either, to rejoice aloud at his coming, since she knew not what he was bringing. But the palm which she gave him embraced his hand firmly and broadly. That palm quivered with the heartfelt language of movements interpreting fear and feeling when lips are silent.
With a melancholy smile and hand so extended she was enchanting with the inexpressible charm of an enamoured woman. If she had had a star in her hair, she might have passed simply for an angel, perhaps she had even the aureole around her head which love gives, but for Yosef she was not an angel, nor had she an aureole; but he touched her hand with his lips.
"Be seated, Helena, near me, and listen," said he. "I have not been here for a long time, and I wish that the former freedom and confidence should return to us."
She threw aside her cape and hat, arranged her hair with her hand, and sat down in silence. Great alarm was evident on her face.
"I hear thee, Yosef."
"It is four years since the death of Gustav, who confided thee to me. I have kept the promise given him as well as I was able, and as I knew how, but the relation between us has not been such as it should be. This must change, Helena."
He needed to draw breath, he had to pronounce sentence on himself.
In the silence which lasted awhile, the beating of Helena's heart could be heard. Her face was pale, her eyes blinked quickly, as is usual with women who are frightened.
"Must they change?" whispered she, in a scarcely audible voice.
"Be my wife."
"Yosef!"
She placed her hands together, as if for prayer, and looked at him a moment with eyes wandering because of pressing thoughts and feelings.
"Be my wife. The time of which I spoke to thee before has come."
She threw her arms around his neck, and put her head on his breast.
"Thou art not trifling with me, Yosef? No, no! Then I shall be happy yet? Oh, I love thee so!"
Helena's bosom rose and fell, her face was radiant, and her lips approached his.
"Oh, I have been very sad, very lonely," continued she, "but I believed in thee. The heart trusts when it loves. Thou art mine! I only live through thee—what is life? If one laughs and is joyful, if one is sad and weeps, if one thinks and loves—that is life. But I rejoice and I weep only through thee, I think of thee, I love thee. If people wished to divide us I should tear out my hair and bind thy feet with it. I am like a flame which thou mayst blow. I am thine—let me weep! Dost thou love me?"
"I love."
"I have wept for so many years, but not such tears as I shed to-day. It is so bright in my soul! Let me close my eyes and look at that brightness. How much happiness in one word! Oh, Yosef, my Yosef, I know not even how to think of this."
It was grievous for him to hear words like those from Helena; he felt the immense falsehood and discord in which his life had to flow with that woman thenceforward, that woman so beautiful, so greatly loving, and loved so little.
He rose and took farewell of her.
Helena, left alone, placed her burning forehead against a pane of the window, and long did she stand thus in silence. At last she opened the window, and, placing her head on her palm, looked into the broad, sparkling summer night. Silent tears flowed down her face, her golden tresses fell upon her bosom, the moonlight was moving upon her forehead and putting a silvery whiteness on her dress.