"It is gone?" she murmured.
"Yes," I said, "the curse is lifted."
She smiled, and only our ardent glances spoke.
* * * * *
"How came you to think of it?" I asked.
"I was sitting in my room after dinner, thinking and thinking. And
suddenly I could see this room, and you, and the spectre, as plainly
as I see you now. I felt your terror; I knew every thought that was
passing in your brain, the anguish of it! And then, and then, an idea
struck me. I had never appealed in vain to Lord Clarenceux in
life--why should I not appeal now? I threw a wrap over my shoulders
and ran out. I didn't take a cab, I ran--all the way. I scarcely knew
what I was doing, only that I had to save you. Oh, Carl, you are
free!"
"Through you," I said.
She kissed me, and her kiss had at once the pure passion of a girl and
the satisfied solicitude of a mother.
"Take me home!" she whispered.
Outside the hotel an open carriage happened to be standing. I hailed
the driver, and we got in. The night was beautifully fine and mild. In
the narrow lane of sky left by the high roofs of the street the stars
shone and twinkled with what was to me a new meaning. For I was once
more in accord with the universe. I and Life were at peace again.
"Don't let us go straight home," said Rosa, as the driver turned
towards us for instructions. "It seems to me that a drive through
Paris would be very enjoyable to-night."
And so we told the man to proceed along the quays as far as he could,
and then through the Champs Elysées to the Bois de Boulogne. The Seine
slept by its deserted parapets like a silver snake, and only the low
rumble of the steam-car from Versailles disturbed its slumber. The
million lights of the gas-lamps, stretching away now and then into the
endless vistas of the boulevards, spoke to me of the delicious
companionship of humanity, from which I had so nearly been snatched
away. And the glorious girl by my side--what of her companionship? Ah,
that was more than a companionship; it was a perfect intercourse which
we shared. No two human beings ever understood one another more
absolutely, more profoundly, than did Rosa and myself, for we had been
through the valley and through the flood together. And so it happened
that we did not trouble much with conversation. It was our souls, not
our mouths which talked--talked softly and mysteriously in the
gracious stillness and obscurity of that Paris night. I learnt many
things during that drive--the depth of her love, the height of her
courage, the ecstasy of her bliss. And she, too, she must have learnt
many things from me--the warmth of my gratitude to her, a warmth which
was only exceeded by the transcendent fire of my affection.