Part 43 (1/2)

”I do not know what I mean, nor what she means, either!” exclaimed Paul, rising, and beginning to pace the floor.

”My dear Patoff,” I said, ”you made a grave mistake in making me find your brother. Excuse my abruptness, but that is my opinion.”

He turned suddenly upon me, and his face was very pale, while his eyes gleamed disagreeably and his lip trembled.

”So you have noticed that, too,” he said in a low voice. ”Well--go on!

What do you advise me to do? How am I to get him out of the way?”

”There can be no doubt that Balsamides would advise you to cut his throat,” I replied. ”As for me, I advise you to wait, and see what comes of it. He must soon go home and rejoin his regiment.”

”Wait!” exclaimed Paul impatiently. ”Wait! Yes,--and while I am waiting he will be working, and he will succeed! With that angel's face of his, he will certainly succeed! Besides, my mother will help him, as you know.”

”Look here,” said I. ”Either Miss Carvel loves you, or she does not. If she does, she will not love your brother. If she does not love you, you had better not marry her. That is the reasonable view.”

”No doubt,--no doubt. But I do not mean to be reasonable in that way.

You forget that I love her. The argument might have some weight.”

”Not much. After all, why do you love her? You do not know her well.”

Paul stared at me as though he thought I were going mad. I dare say that I must have appeared to him to be perfectly insane. But I was disconcerted by the gravity of the situation, and I believed that he had a bad chance against Alexander. It was wiser to accustom his mind to the idea of failure than to flatter him with imaginary hopes of success. A man in love is either a hero or a fool; heroes who fail are generally called fools for their pains, and fools who succeed are sometimes called heroes. Paul stared, and turned away in silence.

”You do not seem to have any answer ready,” I observed. ”You say you love a certain lady. Is there any reason, in the nature of things, why some one else should not love her at the same time? Then it follows that the most important point is this,--she must love you. If she does not, your affection is wasted. I am not an old man, but I am far from being a young one, and I have seen much in my time. You may a.n.a.lyze your feelings and those of others, when in love, as much as you please, but you will not get at any other result. Unless a woman loves you, it is of very little use that you love her.”

”What in the world are you talking about, Griggs?” asked Paul, whose ideas, perhaps, did not coincide with mine. ”What can you know about love? You are nothing but a hardened old bachelor; you never loved a woman in your life, I am sure.”

I was much struck by the truth of this observation, and I held my peace.

A cannibal cannot be expected to understand French cooking.

”I tell you,” continued Paul, ”that Miss Carvel has promised to marry me, and I constantly speak to her of our marriage.”

”But does she speak to you of it?” I asked. ”I fancy that she never alludes to it except to tell you not to go to her father.”

In his turn Paul was silent, and bent his brows. He must have been half distracted, or he would not have talked to me as he did. I never knew a less communicative man.

”This is a very delicate matter,” I said presently. ”You ask my advice; I will give you the best I can. Do one of two things. Either go to Mr.

Carvel without his daughter's permission, or else fight it out as you can until your brother goes. Then you will have the field to yourself.”

”The difficulty lies in the choice,” said Paul.

”The choice depends upon your own state of mind, and upon your strength, or rather upon the strength of your position. If Miss Carvel has promised to marry you, I think you have a right to push matters as fast as you can.”

”I will,” said Paul. ”Good-by.”

He left me at once, and I began to reflect upon what had pa.s.sed. It seemed to me that he was foolish and irrational, altogether unlike himself. He had asked my advice upon a point in which his own judgment would serve him better than mine, and it was contrary to his nature to ask advice at all in such matters. He was evidently hard pressed and unhappy, and I wished I could help him, but it was impossible. He was in a dilemma from which he could issue only by his own efforts; and although I was curious to see what he would do, I felt that I was not in a position to suggest any very definite line of action. I looked idly out of the window at the people who pa.s.sed, and I began to wonder whether even my curiosity to see the end could keep me much longer in Pera. The crowd jostled and elbowed itself in the narrow way, as usual.

The fez, in every shade of red, and in every condition of newness, shabbiness, and mediocrity, with ta.s.sel and without, rocked, swayed, wagged, turned, and moved beneath my window till I grew sick of the sight of it, and longed to see a turban, or a tall hat, or no hat at all,--anything for a change of head-dress. I left the window rather wearily, and took up one of the many novels which lay on the table, pondering on the probable fate of Paul Patoff's love for his cousin.

XX.