第167章

It was not until near the end of the passage that we ran out of the storm.A morning came when I went on deck to survey spaces of a blue and white sea swept by the white March sunlight;to discern at length against the horizon toward which we sped a cloud of the filmiest and most delicate texture and design.Suddenly I divined that the cloud was France!Little by little,as I watched,it took on substance.I made out headlands and cliffs,and then we were coasting beside them.That night I should be in Paris with Maude.My bag was packed,my steamer trunk closed.I strayed about the decks,in and out of the saloons,wondering at the indifference of other passengers who sat reading in steamer-chairs or wrote last letters to be posted at Havre.I was filled with impatience,anticipation,yes,with anxiety concerning the adventure that was now so imminent;with wavering doubts.Had I done the wisest thing after all?I had the familiar experience that often comes just before reunion after absence of recalling intimate and forgotten impressions of those whom I was about to see again the tones of their voices,little gestures....

How would they receive me?

The great ship had slowed down and was entering the harbour,carefully threading her way amongst smaller craft,the passengers lining the rails and gazing at the animated scene,at the quaint and cheerful French city bathed in sunlight....I had reached the dock and was making my way through the hurrying and shifting groups toward the steamer train when Isaw Maude.She was standing a little aside,scanning the faces that passed her.

I remember how she looked at me,expectantly,yet timidly,almost fearfully.I kissed her.

"You've come to meet me!"I exclaimed stupidly."How are the children?""They're very well,Hugh.They wanted to come,too,but I thought it better not."Her restraint struck me as extraordinary;and while I was thankful for the relief it brought to a situation which might have been awkward,I was conscious of resenting it a little.I was impressed and puzzled.As Iwalked along the platform beside her she seemed almost a stranger:I had difficulty in realizing that she was my wife,the mother of my children.

Her eyes were clear,more serious than I recalled them,and her physical as well as her moral tone seemed to have improved.Her cheeks glowed with health,and she wore a becoming suit of dark blue.

"Did you have a good trip,Hugh?"she asked.

"Splendid,"I said,forgetting the storm.We took our seats in an empty compartment.Was she glad to see me?She had come all the way from Paris to meet me!All the embarrassment seemed to be on my side.Was this composure a controlled one or had she indeed attained to the self-sufficiency her manner and presence implied?Such were the questions running through my head.

"You've really liked Paris?"I asked.

"Yes,Hugh,and it's been very good for us all.Of course the boys like America better,but they've learned many things they wouldn't have learned at home;they both speak French,and Biddy too.Even I have improved.""I'm sure of it,"I said.

She flushed.

"And what else have you been doing?"

"Oh,going to galleries.Matthew often goes with me.I think he quite appreciates the pictures.Sometimes I take him to the theatre,too,the Francais.Both boys ride in the Bois with a riding master.It's been rather a restricted life for them,but it won't have hurt them.It's good discipline.We have little excursions in an automobile on fine days to Versailles and other places of interest around Paris,and Matthew and I have learned a lot of history.I have a professor of literature from the Sorbonne come in three times a week to give me lessons.""I didn't know you cared for literature.""I didn't know it either."She smiled."Matthew loves it.Monsieur Despard declares he has quite a gift for language."Maude had already begun Matthew's education!

"You see a few people?"I inquired.

"A few.And they have been very kind to us.The Buffons,whom I met at Etretat,and some of their friends,mostly educated French people."The little railway carriage in which we sat rocked with speed as we flew through the French landscape.I caught glimpses of solid,Norman farm buildings,of towers and keeps and delicate steeples,and quaint towns;of bare poplars swaying before the March gusts,of green fields ablaze in the afternoon sun.I took it all in distractedly.Here was Maude beside me,but a Maude I had difficulty in recognizing,whom I did not understand:who talked of a life she had built up for herself and that seemed to satisfy her;one with which I had nothing to do.I could not tell how she regarded my re-intrusion.As she continued to talk,a feeling that was almost desperation grew upon me.I had things to say to her,things that every moment of this sort of intercourse was making more difficult.And I felt,if I did not say them now,that perhaps I never should:that now or never was the appropriate time,and to delay would be to drift into an impossible situation wherein the chance of an understanding would be remote.

There was a pause.How little I had anticipated the courage it would take to do this thing!My blood was hammering.

"Maude,"I said abruptly,"I suppose you're wondering why I came over here."She sat gazing at me,very still,but there came into her eyes a frightened look that almost unnerved me.She seemed to wish to speak,to be unable to.Passively,she let my hand rest on hers.