As I gazed with alarmed eyes into the face of that strange, forbidding
personality, the gaiety of my mood went out like a match in a breeze.
The uncomfortable idea oppressed me that I was being surely caught and
enveloped in a net of adverse circumstances, that I was the
unconscious victim of a deep and terrible conspiracy which proceeded
slowly forward to an inevitable catastrophe. On each of the previous
occasions when this silent and malicious man had crossed my path I had
had the same feeling, but in a less degree, and I had been able to
shake it off almost at once. But now it overcame and conquered me.
The train thundered across Grosvenor Bridge through the murky weather
on its way to the coast, and a hundred times I cursed it for its lack
of speed. I would have given much to be at the journey's end, and away
from this motionless and inscrutable companion. His eyes were
constantly on my face, and do what I would I could not appear at ease.
I tried to read the paper, I pretended to sleep, I hummed a tune, I
even went so far as to whistle, but my efforts at sang-froid were
ridiculous. The worst of it was that he was aware of my despicable
condition; his changeless cynical smile made that fact obvious to me.
At last I felt that something must happen. At any rate, the silence of
the man must be broken. And so I gathered together my courage, and
with a preposterous attempt at a friendly smile remarked: "Beastly weather we're having. One would scarcely expect it so early
in September."
It was an inane speech, so commonplace, so entirely foolish. And the
man ignored it absolutely. Only the corners of his lips drooped a
little to express, perhaps, a profounder degree of hate and scorn.
This made me a little angry.
"Didn't I see you last in the cathedral at Bruges?" I demanded curtly,
even rudely.
He laughed. And his laugh really alarmed me.
The train stopped at that moment at a dark and deserted spot, which
proved to be Sittingbourne. I hesitated, and then, giving up the
struggle, sped out of the compartment, and entered another one lower
down. My new compartment was empty. The sensation of relief was
infinitely soothing. Placing the jewel-case carefully on my knees, I
breathed freely once more, and said to myself that another quarter of
an hour of that detestable presence would have driven me mad.
I began to think about Rosetta Rosa. As a solace after the
exasperating companionship of that silent person in the other
compartment, I invited from the back of my mind certain thoughts about
Rosetta Rosa which had been modestly waiting for me there for some
little time, and I looked at them fairly, and turned them over, and
viewed them from every side, and derived from them a rather thrilling
joy. The fact is, I was beginning to be in love with Rosa. Nay, I was
actually in love with her. Ever since our first meeting my meditations
had been more or less busy with her image. For a long period, largely
owing to my preoccupation with Alresca, I had dreamed of her but
vaguely. And now, during our interviews at her hotel and in the church
of St. Gilles, she had, in the most innocent way in the world, forged
fetters on me which I had no desire to shake off.