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worm. In spite of my utter inexperience I had some notion of the images that
rushed into his mind at the sight of any man who had approached Dona Rita.
It was enough to awaken in any human being a movement of horrified
compassion;
but my pity went out not to him but to Dona Rita. It was for her that I felt
sorry; I pitied her for having that damned soul on her track. I pitied her
with tenderness and indignation, as if this had been both a danger and a
dishonour.
I don't mean to say that those thoughts passed through my head consciously.
I had only the resultant, settled feeling. I had, however, a thought, too. It
came on me suddenly, and I asked myself with rage and astonishment: ``Must
I then kill that brute?'' There didn't seem to be any alternative. Between
him and Dona
Rita I couldn't hesitate. I believe I gave a slight laugh of desperation.
The suddenness of this sinister conclusion had in it something comic and
unbelievable. It loosened my grip on my mental processes. A Latin tag came
into my head about the facile descent into the abyss. I marvelled at its
aptness, and also that it should have come to me so pat. But I believe now
that it was suggested simply by the actual declivity of the street of the
Consuls which lies on a gentle slope. We had just turned the corner. All
the houses were dark and in a perspective of complete solitude our two
shadows dodged and wheeled about our feet.
``Here we are,'' I said.
He was an extraordinarily chilly devil. When we stopped I could hear his
teeth chattering again. I don't know what came over me, I had a sort of
nervous fit, was incapable of finding my pockets, let alone the latchkey. I
had the illusion of a narrow streak of light on the wall of the house as if
it had been cracked. ``I hope we will be able to get in,'' I murmured.
Senor Ortega stood waiting patiently with his handbag, like a rescued
wayfarer. ``But you live in this house, don't you?'' he observed.
``No,'' I said, without hesitation. I didn't know how that man would behave
if he were aware that I was staying under the same roof. He was half mad. He
might want to talk all night, try crazily to invade my privacy. How could I
tell? Moreover, I wasn't so sure that I would remain in the house. I had
some notion of going out again and walking up and down the street of the
Consuls till daylight. ``No, an absent friend lets me use . . . I had that
latchkey this morning . . . Ah! here it is.''
The Arrow of Gold
IV
80
Page 86
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I let him go in first. The sickly gas flame was there on duty, undaunted,
waiting for the end of the world to come and put it out. I think that the
blackandwhite hall surprised Ortega. I had closed the front door without
noise and stood for a moment listening, while he glanced about furtively.
There were only two other doors in the hall, right and left. Their panels of
ebony were decorated with bronze applications in the centre.
The one on the left was of course Blunt's door. As the passage leading
beyond it was dark at the further end I
took Senor Ortega by the hand and led him along, unresisting, like a child.
For some reason or other I moved on tiptoe and he followed my example. The
light and the warmth of the studio impressed him favourably; he laid down
his little bag, rubbed his hands together, and produced a smile of
satisfaction; but it was such a smile as a totally ruined man would perhaps
force on his lips, or a man condemned to a short shrift by his doctor. I
begged him to make himself at home and said that I would go at once and hunt
up the woman of the house who would make him up a bed on the big couch there.
He hardly listened to what I said. What were all those things to him! He
knew that his destiny was to sleep on a bed of thorns, to feed on adders.
But he tried to show a sort of polite interest. He asked: ``What is this
place?''
``It used to belong to a painter,'' I mumbled.
``Ah, your absent friend,'' he said, making a wry mouth. ``I detest all
those artists, and all those writers, and all politicos who are thieves; and
I would go even farther and higher, laying a curse on all idle lovers of
women. You think perhaps I am a Royalist? No. If there was anybody in heaven
or hell to pray to I would pray for a revolutiona red revolution
everywhere.''
``You astonish me,'' I said, just to say something.
``No! But there are half a dozen people in the world with whom I would like
to settle accounts. One could shoot them like partridges and no questions
asked. That's what revolution would mean to me.''
``It's a beautifully simple view,'' I said. ``I imagine you are not the only
one who holds it; but I really must look after your comforts. You mustn't
forget that we have to see Baron H. early tomorrow morning.'' And I
went out quietly into the passage wondering in what part of the house
Therese had elected to sleep that night.
But, lo and behold, when I got to the foot of the stairs there was Therese
coming down from the upper regions in her nightgown, like a sleepwalker.
However, it wasn't that, because, before I could exclaim, she vanished off
the first floor landing like a streak of white mist and without the
slightest sound. Her attire made it perfectly clear that she could not have
heard us coming in. In fact, she must have been certain that the house was
empty, because she was as well aware as myself that the Italian girls after
their work at the opera were going to a masked ball to dance for their own
amusement, attended of course by their conscientious father.
But what thought, need, or sudden impulse had driven Therese out of bed
like this was something I couldn't conceive.
I didn't call out after her. I felt sure that she would return. I went up
slowly to the first floor and met her coming down again, this time carrying a
lighted candle. She had managed to make herself presentable in an
extraordinarily short time.
``Oh, my dear young Monsieur, you have given me a fright.''
``Yes. And I nearly fainted, too,'' I said. ``You looked perfectly awful.
What's the matter with you? Are you ill?''
She had lighted by then the gas on the landing and I must say that I had
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