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Updated: June 26, 2025
The door opened, and to my amazement William Adolphus ran in, closely followed by Coralie Mansoni. I was past speaking, soon I became past consciousness. The last I remember is that Coralie was kneeling by me, Vohrenlorf still supporting me, the rest standing round. Yet, though I did not know it, I spoke. Varvilliers told me afterward that I muttered, "An accident my fault."
My mother did not appear to desire my presence longer; I had to take up my own position and receive farewells. A dreary half hour passed in this occupation; at last the throng grew thin. I broke away and sauntered off to a buffet for a sandwich and a glass of champagne. There I saw Wetter and Varvilliers standing together and refreshing their jaded bodies.
Immediately opposite me I saw Varvilliers with a party of ladies and men; he bowed and smiled as I caught his eye. In another box I saw Wetter, gazing at the singer as intently as William Adolphus himself. There must certainly be something in a girl who exercised power over two men so different.
Then it needs all your efforts. As if as if, I say it meant something." Varvilliers, laughing, flung himself on a sofa. I stood at the end of the piano, Wetter was gesticulating and muttering on the hearthrug. Struboff put his fingers on the keys again and began to play; after a sigh of weariness Coralie uplifted her voice. It came fresh and full; the weariness was of the spirit only.
I myself had by this time fallen into a severe conflict of feeling. My temperament was not like Varvilliers'. For an hour or two, when I was exhilarated with society and cheered by wine, I could seem to myself such as he naturally and permanently was. But I was not a native of the clime. I raised myself to those heights of unmoral serenity by an effort and an artifice. He forgot himself easily.
And to his mood he wrote it, eloquently, beautifully, charged with the passion of that joy which he realized in imagination, but could not find in his stormy life. I read it two or three days later at Artenberg. "Hey for the wedding-song and one night more!" he cried. We rolled off, we three, in Varvilliers' carriage. There was no doubt that they practised the marriage-song.
Some conception of it may be gained if I say that I have never signed a death-warrant without a struggle against a somewhat similar feeling. Whatever it was, it resulted in an inability to try to kill him. As Varvilliers' voice pronounced in clear quiet tones "Fire!" I shifted my aim gently and imperceptibly.
I was set thinking, though, the next moment, when Varvilliers stepped forward holding a pair of single-barrelled pistols, Wetter opened his lips for the first time: "Why not revolvers?" "If we allow a second shot, Vohrenlorf and I will reload. Pardon, sire, have you any other weapon about you?" I answered "No," and Wetter made the same reply to a like question.
I perceived at once the malice which inspired his remark, but I answered him gaily, and in a tone that was in harmony with the scene. "I wish to heaven," said I, "there were a question about it anywhere else. Alas, it is a certainty." "Why, so is death, sire," cried Varvilliers, "but we do not discuss it at supper." "Does M. de Varvilliers quarrel with my choice of a subject?" asked Wetters.
There was a specious justice in them veneering their cruelty; I am glad to say that I gave utterance to none of them. We were both in the affair, and he is a poor sort of villain who comforts himself by abusing his accomplice. "You're tired?" I asked gently. "Very. But it has been delightful. M. de Varvilliers has been so kind." "He's a delightful fellow, Varvilliers.
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