But what a figure she had! Sinuous, supple, rounded, and yet very slight.
"She must have the smallest possible bones," Paul said to himself, "because it looks all curvy and soft, and yet she is as slender as a gazelle."
She was tall, too, though not six feet--like Isabella!
The waiters and maître d'hôtel all bowed and stood aside as she left, followed by her elderly, stately, silver-haired servant.
Of course it would have been an easy matter to Paul to find out her name, and all about her. He would only have had to summon Monsieur Jacques, and ask any question he pleased. But for some unexplained reason he would not do this. Instead of which he scowled in front of him, and finished his fourth glass of port. Then his head swam a little, and he went outside into the night. The rain had stopped and the sky was full of stars scattered in its intense blue. It was warm, too, there, under the clipped trees, Paul hoped he wasn't drunk--such a beastly thing to do! And not even good port either.
He sat on a bench and smoked a cigar. A strange sense of loneliness came over him. It seemed as if he were far, far away from any one in the world he had ever known. A vague feeling of oppression and coming calamity passed through him, only he was really as yet too material and thoroughly, solidly English to entertain it, or any other subtle mental emotion for more than a minute. But he undoubtedly felt strange to-night; different from what he had ever done before. He would have said "weird" if he could have thought of the word. The woman and her sinuous, sensuous black shape filled the space of his mental vision. Black hair, black hat, black dress--and of course black eyes. Ah! if he could only know their colour really!
The damp bench where he sat was just under the ivy hanging from the balustrade of the small terrace belonging to the ground-floor suite at the end.
There was a silence, very few people passed, frightened no doubt by the recent rain. He seemed alone in the world.
The wine now began to fire his senses. Why should he remain alone? He was young and rich and--surely even in Lucerne there must be--. And then he felt a beast, and looked out on to the lake.
Suddenly his heart seemed to swell with some emotion, a faint scent of tuberoses filled the air--and from exactly above his head there came a gentle, tender sigh.