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"Ah," I said, "that is only only at certain times." As we went together from room to room I forgot everything except the fact of her presence. Never was beauty so powerful as hers; never was the power of beauty used so artlessly, with such a complete unconsciousness. I began gloomily to speculate on the chances of her ultimately marrying Alresca, and a remark from her awoke me from my abstraction.
"Yes," said Alresca at length, "I was frightened." "What was it?" "I say I cannot tell you. I do not know." "You are keeping something from me, Alresca," she exclaimed passionately. I was on the point of interfering in order to bring the colloquy to an end, but I hesitated. They appeared to have forgotten that I was there. "How so?" said Alresca in a curious whisper.
Then with abrupt change she laughed. "Don't you agree that I am cursed? Am I not cursed? Say it! say it!" "I will not say it," I answered. "Why should you be cursed? What do you mean?" "I do not know what I mean, but I know what I feel. Look back at my life. My mother died, deserted. My father has died, killed by a mad woman. My dear friend Alresca died who knows how? Clarenceux he too died."
I had mentioned the incidents of that night to no one, and probably not a soul on the planet guessed that the young doctor in attendance upon Alresca had possession of a little toy-weapon which formed a startling link between two existences supposed to be unconnected save in the way of business those of Sir Cyril and Rosetta Rosa.
Two doctors were not needed, and I did not see myself, a young man scarcely yet escaped from the fear of examinations, disputing cases with the redoubtable Toddy. I heard afterwards that he had prolonged his stay in London in order to attend Alresca. So that I had not seen the tenor since his accident. "What does Monsieur Alresca want to see me about?" I demanded cautiously.
Neither of us spoke a word for a few minutes. Then Alresca, taking aim, threw the end of his cigar out of the window. "Yes," I said at length, "that was tragedy, that was!" He proceeded: "The critics are always praising me for the emotional qualities in my singing.
"Carl," Alresca burst out with a start he was decidedly in a mood to be communicative that evening "have you ever been in love?" In the gloom I could just distinguish that he was leaning his head on his arm. "No," I answered; "at least, I think not;" and I wondered if I had been, if I was, in love. "You have that which pleases women, you know, and you will have chances, plenty of chances.
This morning I had a telegram from the manager urging me to go to Paris without delay for the rehearsals." "And are you going?" "That is the question. I may tell you that one of my objects in calling on poor Alresca was to consult him about the point.
"I can just remember a man who must have been my father. I was three years old when he left us. Till then we had lived in a large house in an old city. Can't you guess what house that was? Of course you can. Yes, it was the house at Bruges where Alresca died. We gave up that house, my mother and I, and went to live in Italy. Then my father sold the house to Alresca. I only knew that to-day.
Every evening since the death he has played it at midnight in memory of Alresca." Then he resumed his office. The minutes passed, or rather crawled by, and, if anything, my uneasiness increased. I suffered all the anxieties and tremors which those suffer who pass wakeful nights, imagining every conceivable ill, and victimized by the most dreadful forebodings.
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