“… grand miroir
De mon désespoir.”
And do you know what I have been engaged in doing ever since? In hating Vincent. Yes, my dear, love seemed too tasteless, so we have gone in for hating each other. In reality it began long before; really, as soon as we got on board; at first it was only irritation, a smouldering animosity, which didn’t prevent closer encounters. With the fine weather, it became ferocious. Oh! I know now what it is to feel passion for someone. …
The letter went on for some time longer.
“I don’t need to read any further,” said Edouard, giving it back to Passavant. “When is he coming back?”
“Lady Griffith doesn’t speak of returning.”
Passavant was mortified that Edouard showed so little appetite for this letter. Since he had allowed him to read it, such a lack of curiosity must be considered as an affront. He enjoyed rejecting other people’s offers, but could not endure to have his own disdained. Lilian’s letter had filled him with delight. He had a certain affection for her and Vincent; and had even proved to his own satisfaction that he was capable of being kind to them and helpful; but as soon as one got on without it, his affection dwindled. That his two friends should not have set sail for perfect bliss when they left him, tempted him to think: “Serves them right!”
As for Edouard, his early morning felicity was too genuine for him not to be made uncomfortable by the picture of such outrageous feelings. It was quite unaffectedly that he gave the letter back.
Passavant felt it essential to recover the lead at once:
“Oh! I wanted to say too—you know that I had thought of making Olivier editor of a review. Of course there’s no further question of that.”
“Of course not,” rejoined Edouard, whom Passavant had unwittingly relieved of a considerable anxiety. He understood by Edouard’s tone that he had played into his hand, and without even giving himself the time to bite his lips:
“Olivier’s things are in the room he was occupying. You have a taxi, I suppose? I’ll have them brought down to you. By the by, how is he?”
“Very well.”
Passavant had risen. Edouard did the same. They parted with the coldest of bows.
The Comte de Passavant had been terribly put out by Edouard’s visit. He heaved a sigh of relief when Strouvilhou came into the room.
Although Strouvilhou, on his side, was perfectly able to hold his own, Passavant felt at ease with him—or, to be more accurate, treated him in a free and easy manner. No doubt his opponent was by no means despicable, but he considered himself his match, and piqued himself on proving it.
“My dear Strouvilhou, take a seat,” said he, pushing an armchair towards him. “I am really glad to see you again.”
“Monsieur le Comte sent for me. Here I am entirely at his service.”
Strouvilhou liked affecting a kind of flunkey’s insolence with Passavant, but Passavant knew him of old.
“Let’s get to the point; it’s time to come out into the open. You’ve already tried your hand at a good many trades. … I thought today of proposing you an actual dictatorship—only in the realms of literature, let us hasten to add.”
“A pity!” Then, as Passavant held out his cigarette case: “If you’ll allow me, I prefer. …”
“I’ll allow nothing of the kind. Your horrid contraband cigars make the room stink. I can’t understand how anyone can smoke such stuff.”
“Oh! I don’t pretend that I rave about them. But they’re a nuisance to one’s neighbours.”
“Playful as ever?”
“Not altogether an idiot, you know.”
And without replying directly to Passavant’s proposal, Strouvilhou thought proper to establish his positions; afterwards he would see. He went on:
“Philanthropy was never one of my strong points.”
“I know, I know,” said Passavant.
“Nor egoism either. That’s what you don’t know. … People want to make us believe that man’s single escape from egoism is a still more disgusting altruism! As for me, I maintain that if there’s anything more contemptible and more abject than a man, it’s a lot of men. No reasoning will ever persuade me that the addition of a number of sordid units can result in an enchanting total. I never happen to get into a tram or a train without hoping that a good old accident will reduce the whole pack of living garbage to a pulp; yes, good Lord! and myself into the bargain. I never enter a theatre without praying that the chandelier may come crashing down, or that a bomb may go off; and even if I had to be blown up too, I’d be only too glad to bring it along in my coat pocket—if I weren’t reserving myself for something better. You were saying? …”
“No, nothing; go on, I’m listening. You’re not one of those orators who need the stimulus of contradiction to keep them going.”
“The fact is, I thought I heard you offer me some of your incomparable port.”
Passavant smiled.
“Keep the bottle beside you,” he said, as he passed it to him. “Empty it if you like, but talk.”
Strouvilhou filled his glass, sat comfortably back in his big armchair and began:
“I don’t know if I’ve got what people call a hard heart; in my opinion, I’ve
