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Updated: May 7, 2025
Only one thing he must know. "Where is Count Sykypri?" he asked hoarsely. "Mimo has gone away, back to his own country," she said simply, wondering at his tone. "Alas! I shall perhaps never see him again." A petrifying sensation of astonishment crept over Tristram. With all her meek gentleness she had still the attitude of a perfectly innocent person.
All little boys go to school, and come home for the holidays. You know Maman would have wished you to be educated like a gentleman." "But I hate other boys, and you have taught me so well. Oh! Chérisette, what shall I do? And to whom play my violin, who will understand?" "Oh, but Mirko mio, it is a splendid offer! Think, dear child, a comfortable home and no anxieties," Mimo said.
It will be like old times, we will get some cakes and other things on the way, and boil the kettle on the fire." So Mimo gladly got in with her and they started. He had a new suit of clothes and a new felt hat, and looked a wonderfully handsome foreign gentleman; his manner to women was always courteous and gallant.
She was oblivious in her grief of any other presence and the dying child opened his eyes and called faintly, "Maman!" Then Mimo saw Tristram by the door, and advanced with his finger on his quivering lips to meet him. "Ah, sir," he said. "Alas! you have come too late. My child is going to God!" And all the manhood in Tristram's heart rose up in pity.
Tristram, who was already down the steps by the concierge's desk, turned and saw her open it, with a look of intense strain. He saw that as she read her eyes widened and stared out in front of them for a moment, and that her face grew pale. For Mimo had wired, "Mirko not quite so well."
Instinct told her there would be no use even suggesting to her uncle that the child should stay with Mimo, the situation would have become an impasse if the boy had held out, and between them they would have had only this forty pounds until Christmas and then very little more and the life of hand-to-mouth poverty would have gone on and on, while here were comfort and probable health, with a certainty of welfare, and education, and a competence in the future.
She rose unsteadily to meet him, as he gave an exclamation of surprise and yes pain. "Tristram!" she faltered. It seemed as if her voice had gone again, and the words would make no sound. But she gathered her strength, and, with pitiful pleading, stretched out her arms. "Tristram I have come to tell you I have never had a lover: Mimo was at last married to Maman.
Whether she would tell him or no she must decide, he would not do anything to make her existence more difficult than it must naturally be. And then when all this was done the passionate jealousy of a man overcame him again, and when he thought of Mimo he once more longed to kill. It was late in the afternoon when Zara got back to her uncle's house.
And suddenly Zara thought of her last picnic, with Mimo and Mirko in the Neville Street attic, when the poor little one had worn the paper cap, and had taken such pleasure in the new rosy cups. And the Crow who was watching her closely, wondered why this gay scene should make the lovely bride look so pitifully sad.
Surely she must know that no man with any spirit would put up with such treatment as this to be spoken to as though he had been an impudent stranger bursting into her room! Then his tempestuous thoughts went back to Mimo, that foreign man whom he had seen under her window. What if, after all, he was her lover and that accounted for the reason she resented his Tristram's desire to caress?
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