Heyst, returning from the town, where he had
discovered that there would be difficulties in the way of getting away
at once, was crossing the compound, disappointed and worried. He had
walked almost unwittingly into the straggling group of Zangiacomo's
performers. It was a shock to him, on coming out of his brown study, to
find the girl so near to him, as if one waking suddenly should see the
figure of his dream turned into flesh and blood. She did not raise her
shapely head, but her glance was no dream thing. It was real, the most
real impression of his detached existence--so far.
Heyst had not acknowledged it in any way, though it seemed to him
impossible that its effect on him should not be visible to anyone who
happened to be looking on. And there were several men on the
veranda, steady customers of Schomberg's table d'hote, gazing in his
direction--at the ladies of the orchestra, in fact. Heyst's dread arose,
not out of shame or timidity, but from his fastidiousness. On getting
amongst them, however, he noticed no signs of interest or astonishment
in their faces, any more than if they had been blind men. Even Schomberg
himself, who had to make way for him at the top of the stairs, was
completely unperturbed, and continued the conversation he was carrying
on with a client.
Schomberg, indeed, had observed "that Swede" talking with the girl in
the intervals.
Pages:
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128