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Page 73
The eyes of Hildegarde von Mitter burned and burned. Could she but
read what lay behind that impassive face! And he took it all with a
smile! What would he do? what would he do now? kept recurring in her
mind. She knew the man, or at least she thought she did; and she was
aware that there existed in his soul dark caverns which she had never
dared to explore. Yes, what would he do now? How would he put his
hand upon this gold? She trembled with apprehension.
And later, when she found the courage to put the question boldly, he
answered with a laugh, so low and yet so wild with fury that she drew
away from him in dumb terror.
CHAPTER XIX
BREITMANN MAKES HIS FIRST BLUNDER
The secretary nerved himself and waited; and yet he knew what her reply
would be, even before she framed it, knew it with that indescribable
certainty which prescience occasionally grants in the space of a
moment. Before he had spoken there had been hope to stand upon, for
she had always been gentle and kindly toward him, not a whit less than
she had been to the others.
"Mr. Breitmann, I am sorry. I never dreamed of this;" nor had she.
She had forgotten Europeans seldom understand the American girl as she
is or believe that the natural buoyancy of spirit is as free from
purpose or intent as the play of a child. But in this moment she
remembered her little and perfectly inconsequent attentions toward this
man, and seeing them from his viewpoint she readily forgave him.
Abroad, she was always on guard; but here, among her own compatriots
who accepted her as she was, she had excusably forgotten. "I am sorry
if you have misunderstood me in any way."
"I could no more help loving you than that those stars should cease to
shine to-night," his voice heavy with emotion.
"I am sorry," she could only repeat. Men had spoken to her like this
before, and always had the speech been new to her and always had a
great and tender pity charged her heart. And perhaps her pity for this
one was greater than any she had previously known; he seemed so lonely.
"Sorry, sorry! Does that mean there is no hope?"
"None, Mr. Breitmann, none."
"Is there another?" his throat swelling. But before she could answer:
"Pardon me; I did not mean that. I have no right to ask such a
question."
"And I should not have answered it to any but my father, Mr.
Breitmann." She extended her hand. "Let us forget that you have
spoken. I should like you for a friend."
Without a word he took the hand and kissed it. He made no effort to
hold it, and it slipped from his clasp easily.
"Goodnight."
"Good night." And he never lost sight of her till she entered the
salon-cabin. He saw a star fall out of nothing into nothing. She was
sorry! The moment brewed a thousand wild suggestions. To abduct her,
to carry her away into the mountains, to cast his dream to the four
winds, to take her in spite of herself. He laid his hand on the teak
railing, wondering at the sudden wracking pain, a pain which unlinked
coherent thought and left his mind stagnant and inert. For the first
time he realized that his pain was a recurrence of former ones similar.
Why? He did not know. He only remembered that he had had the pain at
the back of his head and that it was generally followed by a burning
fury, a rage to rend and destroy things. What was the matter?
The damp rail was cool and refreshing, and after a spell the pain
diminished. He shook himself free and stood straight, his jaws hard
and his eyes, absorbing what light there was from the stars, chatoyant.
Sorry! So be it. To have humbled himself before this American girl
and to be snubbed for his pains! But, patience! Two million francs
and his friends awaiting the word from him. She was sorry! He
laughed, and the laughter was not unlike that which a few nights gone
had startled the ears of the other woman to whom he had once appealed
in passionate tones and not without success.
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