The Magician by W. Somerset Maugham (ebook reader macos TXT) 📕

from deep sleep, he went out at Margaret’s side. They walked along the passage. Though the door was closed behind them and they were out of earshot, Margaret seemed not withstanding to hear Susie’s passionate sobbing. It gave her a horrible delight. The tavern to which they went was on the Boulevard des Italiens, and at this date the most frequented in Paris. It was crowded, but Arthur had reserved a table in the middle of the room. Her radiant loveliness made people stare at Margaret as she passed, and her consciousness of the admiration she excited increased her beauty. She was satisfied that amid that throng of the best-dressed women in the world she had cause to envy no one. The gaiety was charming. Shaded lights gave an opulent cosiness to the scene, and there were flowers everywhere. Innumerable mirrors reflected women of the world, admirably gowned, actresses of renown, and fashionable courtesans. The noise was very great. A Hungarian band played in a distant corner, but the music was drowned by the loud talking of excited men and the boisterous laughter of women. It was plain that people had come to spend their money with a lavish hand. The vivacious crowd was given over with all its heart to the pleasure of the fleeting moment. Everyone had put aside grave thoughts and sorrow.

Margaret had never been in better spirits. The champagne went quickly to her head, and she talked all manner of charming nonsense. Arthur was enchanted. He was very proud, very pleased, and very happy. They talked of all the things they would do when they were married. They talked of the places they must go to, of their home and of the beautiful things with which they would fill it. Margaret’s animation was extraordinary. Arthur was amused at her delight with the brightness of the place, with the good things they ate, and with the wine. Her laughter was like a rippling brook. Everything tended to take him out of his usual reserve. Life was very pleasing, at that moment, and he felt singularly joyful.

“Let us drink to the happiness of our life,” he said.

They touched glasses. He could not take his eyes away from her.

“You’re simply wonderful tonight,” he said. “I’m almost afraid of my good fortune.”

“What is there to be afraid of?” she cried.

“I should like to lose something I valued in order to propitiate the fates. I am too happy now. Everything goes too well with me.”

She gave a soft, low laugh and stretched out her hand on the table. No sculptor could have modelled its exquisite delicacy. She wore only one ring, a large emerald which Arthur had given her on their engagement. He could not resist taking her hand.

“Would you like to go on anywhere?” he said, when they had finished dinner and were drinking their coffee.

“No, let us stay here. I must go to bed early, as I have a tiring day before me tomorrow.”

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

“Nothing of any importance,” she laughed.

Presently the diners began to go in little groups, and Margaret suggested that they should saunter towards the Madeleine. The night was fine, but rather cold, and the broad avenue was crowded. Margaret watched the people. It was no less amusing than a play. In a little while, they took a cab and drove through the streets, silent already, that led to the quarter of the Montparnasse. They sat in silence, and Margaret nestled close to Arthur. He put his arm around her waist. In the shut cab that faint, oriental odour rose again to his nostrils, and his head reeled as it had before dinner.

“You’ve made me very happy, Margaret,” he whispered. “I feel that, however long I live, I shall never have a happier day than this.”

“Do you love me very much?” she asked, lightly.

He did not answer, but took her face in his hands and kissed her passionately. They arrived at Margaret’s house, and she tripped up to the door. She held out her hand to him, smiling.

“Goodnight.”

“It’s dreadful to think that I must spend a dozen hours without seeing you. When may I come?”

“Not in the morning, because I shall be too busy. Come at twelve.”

She remembered that her train started exactly at that hour. The door was opened, and with a little wave of the hand she disappeared.

X

Susie stared without comprehension at the note that announced Margaret’s marriage. It was a petit bleu sent off from the Gare du Nord, and ran as follows:

“When you receive this I shall be on my way to London. I was married to Oliver Haddo this morning. I love him as I never loved Arthur. I have acted in this manner because I thought I had gone too far with Arthur to make an explanation possible. Please tell him.

“Margaret.”

Susie was filled with dismay. She did not know what to do nor what to think. There was a knock at the door, and she knew it must be Arthur, for he was expected at midday. She decided quickly that it was impossible to break the news to him then and there. It was needful first to find out all manner of things, and besides, it was incredible. Making up her mind, she opened the door.

“Oh, I’m so sorry Margaret isn’t here,” she said. “A friend of hers is ill and sent for her suddenly.”

“What a bore!” answered Arthur. “Mrs. Bloomfield as usual, I suppose?”

“Oh, you know she’s been ill?”

“Margaret has spent nearly every afternoon with her for some days.”

Susie did not answer. This was the first she had heard of Mrs. Bloomfield’s illness, and it was news that Margaret was in the habit of visiting her. But her chief object at this moment was to get rid of Arthur.

“Won’t you come back at five o’clock?” she said.

“But, look here, why shouldn’t we lunch together, you and I?”

“I’m very sorry, but I’m expecting