"This house is full of
costly objects. So are all his other
houses, so is his place in Paris - that
mysterious Pavilion hidden
away in Passy somewhere."
Mills knew the Pavilion. The wine had, I suppose, loosened his
tongue. Blunt, too, lost something of his reserve. From their
talk I gathered the notion of an
eccentricpersonality, a man of
great
wealth, not so much
solitary as difficult of
access, a
collector of fine things, a
painter known only to very few people
and not at all to the public market. But as
meantime I had been
emptying my Venetian
goblet with a certain regularity (the amount
of heat given out by that iron stove was
amazing; it parched one's
throat, and the straw-coloured wine didn't seem much stronger than
so much
pleasantly flavoured water) the voices and the impressions
they conveyed acquired something
fantastic to my mind. Suddenly I
perceived that Mills was sitting in his shirt-sleeves. I had not
noticed him
taking off his coat. Blunt had unbuttoned his
shabbyjacket, exposing a lot of starched shirt-front with the white tie
under his dark shaved chin. He had a strange air of
insolence - or
so it seemed to me. I addressed him much louder than I intended
really.
"Did you know that
extraordinary man?"
"To know him
personally one had to be either very
distinguished or
very lucky. Mr. Mills here . . ."
"Yes, I have been lucky," Mills struck in. "It was my cousin who
was
distinguished. That's how I managed to enter his house in
Paris - it was called the Pavilion - twice."
"And saw Dona Rita twice, too?" asked Blunt with an
indefinitesmile and a marked
emphasis. Mills was also
emphatic in his reply
but with a serious face.
"I am not an easy
enthusiast where women are
concerned, but she was
without doubt the most
admirable find of his
amongst all the
priceless items he had accumulated in that house - the most
admirable. . . "
"Ah! But, you see, of all the objects there she was the only one
that was alive,"
pointed out Blunt with the slightest possible
flavour of sarcasm.
"Immensely so," affirmed Mills. "Not because she was restless,
indeed she hardly ever moved from that couch between the windows -
you know."
"No. I don't know. I've never been in there," announced Blunt
with that flash of white teeth so
strangely without any
characterof its own that it was merely disturbing.
"But she radiated life," continued Mills. "She had plenty of it,
and it had a quality. My cousin and Henry Allegre had a lot to say
to each other and so I was free to talk to her. At the second
visit we were like old friends, which was
absurdconsidering that
all the chances were that we would never meet again in this world
or in the next. I am not meddling with
theology but it seems to me
that in the Elysian fields she'll have her place in a very special
company."
All this in a
sympathetic voice and in his
unmoved manner. Blunt
produced another disturbing white flash and muttered:
"I should say mixed." Then louder: "As for
instance . . . "
"As for
instance Cleopatra," answered Mills quietly. He added
after a pause: "Who was not exactly pretty."
"I should have thought rather a La Valliere," Blunt dropped with an
indifference of which one did not know what to make. He may have
begun to be bored with the subject. But it may have been put on,
for the whole
personality was not clearly definable. I, however,
was not
indifferent. A woman is always an interesting subject and
I was
thoroughly awake to that interest. Mills pondered for a
while with a sort of dispassionate benevolence, at last:
"Yes, Dona Rita as far as I know her is so
varied in her simplicity
that even that is possible," he said. "Yes. A
romantic resigned
La Valliere . . . who had a big mouth."