The Wings of Ecstacy Read online

  There was another man with him whom Zena thought must be Anton and a few seconds later an elderly man carrying what was obviously a doctor’s bag joined them.

  It was difficult for her to take her eyes from the Comte but she looked to where at the other end of the clearing the Marquis was talking to his two seconds and another doctor.

  As the sky rapidly grew lighter she could now see them clearly and she thought that the Marquis looked particularly unpleasant and even more debauched than when he was at la Païva’s house.

  His eyes seemed dark and sinister and his lips were set in a cruel line, which convinced her that he was determined to injure the Comte.

  Her eyes returned irresistibly to the man she loved and she found herself praying with a fervour which came from her heart and soul.

  ‘Please – God – save him! Please – God let him – win. Don’t let him be hurt. Please – God – help us.’

  She repeated the words over and over, feeling as if they were carried on wings into the sky and God who had given her love must understand and listen to her plea.

  Nothing seemed to be happening and she wondered why they did not carry on with the duel.

  Then, as another man appeared and walked into the clearing, she understood that they had been waiting for the Referee.

  He was much older than either of the contestants and looked extremely distinguished. He beckoned to them both and spoke to them for a few minutes.

  Zena was certain he was admonishing them as to their behaviour.

  Then the box containing the duelling-pistols was opened and, as the Marquis considered he was the person who had been insulted, he had the first choice of weapons.

  Then obviously on the Referee’s instructions the duellists walked into the centre of the clearing to stand back to back waiting for the contest to begin.

  Both men were wearing smartly cut day coats and top hats.

  The Comte, Zena noticed, as she had yesterday when they had driven in the Bois, wore his hat at a somewhat raffish angle, and it gave her the impression that he was confident that he could defeat the Marquis despite the latter’s reputation.

  Because she was so afraid, she intensified her prayers feeling that somehow she could give him extra support and extra strength, and perhaps intensify his skill in handling his weapon.

  Then, as if she could not bear the tension of only watching and not hearing what was happening, she let down the window and as she did so she could hear the Referee begin to count.

  “One – two – three – ”

  As each number was called the two contestants moved a pace away from each other and went on walking.

  “Four – five – six – seven – eight – nine – ten!”

  At the last word the Marquis and the Comte turned and Zena thought she must close her eyes because she could not bear to see what happened.

  Two shots rang out almost simultaneously, then as she looked only at the Comte she saw, as the smoke came from his pistol, that he staggered.

  She could not control her fear any longer and, flinging open the door of the carriage she ran towards him as swiftly as her feet could carry her, knowing that nothing and nobody should stop her from reaching the man she loved when he had been wounded.

  Finding that the Comte was still on his feet when she reached him, she flung her arms around him crying frantically,

  “You are – hurt! Oh, darling – darling – I cannot bear it!”

  She thought the Comte looked at her in astonishment, then one arm went around her.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  Before Zena could reply a voice said,

  “Let me see, monsieur, if the bullet penetrated your arm.”

  Zena gave a little cry of horror and moved away a little as the doctor began gently to inspect the Comte’s arm.

  “The shot was a little wide,” the Comte said.

  “It was you, monsieur, who hit the Marquis,” the doctor replied.

  For the first time Zena looked away from the Comte.

  She could see three men bending over something on the ground and she realised that it was the Marquis.

  She drew in her breath, but before she could speak Kendric was beside her.

  “I told you to stay in the carriage!” he demanded sharply.

  “I thought the – Comte was – hit,” Zena murmured, but Kendric was not listening.

  “You were magnificent!” he said to the Comte. “I have never seen such a fast shot!”

  “I have had quite a lot of practice,” the Comte replied, “not at men but at game birds.”

  The doctor had pulled his coat from his shoulder and now Zena could see that the Marquis’s shot had passed through the sleeve of the coat and through his shirt leaving a long red weal across the surface of his arm.

  It was bleeding but not badly and the doctor bandaged it as she stood watching.

  “I think you would do well to enquire as to the condition of Monsieur le Marquis,” the Comte said to Kendric.

  “I hope you have made it impossible for him to go on making a nuisance of himself,” Kendric answered.

  “Let’s go and find out,” Anton said beside him.

  Kendric looked at Zena.

  “I will take Zena home,” the Comte suggested before Kendric could speak, “and perhaps you will follow in your own carriage.”

  The way he spoke was so decisive that Kendric after a moment’s hesitation walked away with Anton.

  The Comte thanked the doctor, gave him what seemed to Zena to be an enormous number of francs and then with his coat slung over one shoulder he said,

  “Shall we go? As you are well aware, you have no right to be here.”

  “I am – sorry,” Zena said in a contrite tone. “I promised Kendric I would not leave the carriage – but when I saw you – stagger I could not – help it.”

  “I am glad I did not know you were watching me,” the Comte said. “It was very brave and very touching of you to come.”

  The Comte’s carriage was waiting on the other side of the trees and Zena climbed in, choosing her position on the seat carefully so that she would not be on the side of his injured arm.

  The carriage started off and, as she looked at him pleadingly, the Comte exclaimed,

  “My darling, you look tired.”

  “How could I sleep when I knew you were in – danger?” Zena replied.

  “I felt you praying for me.”

  “Desperately – and my prayers were answered. I am more – grateful than I can possibly – say.”

  She gave a little sigh, then she added anxiously,

  “You don’t think you will run a temperature and become feverish?”

  “It is only a scratch,” the Comte answered, “and to tell the truth now it is over I feel rather elated that I have managed to defeat a man with such a formidable reputation as a duellist.”

  “You were wonderful!”

  “Perhaps I had an unfair advantage with your prayers and my love for you to support me,” he said gently.

  Zena made an inarticulate little sound and put her head against his shoulder.

  “Look at me, my darling,” the Comte said.

  She raised her face obediently and he looked down at her in the light of the pale morning sun coming through the windows of the carriage.

  “You are even more beautiful that I have seen you before, without all that paint and powder on your face,” he sighed.

  Zena gave a little start.

  She remembered how she had washed in cold water before she left the apartment and, because she was so unused to cosmetics, she had not remembered to mascara her eyelashes or redden her lips as she had done ever since she came to Paris.

  “As you are now,” the Comte went on, “you look very very young, innocent and – untouched.”

  It was as if he was speaking to himself rather than to her.

  Then, as Zena was wondering what she could say in reply, his lips found hers and he was k
issing her gently and tenderly, without passion, but it was marvellous.

  He kissed her until the horses turned into the Rue St. Honoré and as he raised his head Zena said as if the words burst from her,”

  “I love – you! I love you until it is – difficult to think of – anything else but you in my – life.”

  “Just as I think of you and, my darling, when I come back and fetch you at luncheon time, we have to talk about our future together, for I know now I cannot live without you.”

  “Our – future,” Zena stammered.

  It was as if an icy cold hand suddenly clutched at her heart.

  “We have to be together,” the Comte persisted. “Although we have known each other for only a very short while, you fill my heart until I know that nothing else is of any importance except you.”

  He kissed her again, and, as he did so, the horses came to a standstill. The footman got down to open the door and the Comte said’

  “Don’t worry about anything, my darling. Leave everything to me. Go to bed and sleep as I intend to do. I will fetch you at one o’clock and then we will discuss everything that concerns ourselves.”

  Zena gave him a smile, then, as she saw he was about to follow her out of the carriage, she pleaded with him,

  “Please – stay where you are. You know as well as I do you should move your arm as little as possible until the – bleeding has – stopped.”

  “Are you taking care of me?” the Comte asked with a smile.

  “It is – something I would – like to do.”

  Their eyes met and it was hard to look away.

  Then quickly Zena got out of the carriage and, in case he should follow her, she ran through the outer door without looking back.

  *

  Zena was fast asleep when she heard Kendric calling her.

  It was difficult to come back to consciousness and she hoped that he would go away and she could go on sleeping.

  Then she felt his hand on her shoulder.

  “Wake up, Zena! Wake up!”

  “What – is it?” she asked.

  She was so sleepy that for a moment it was difficult even to focus her eyes. Then she saw he was standing beside her bed, dressed as he had been when they went to the duel.

  “Wake up, Zena!” Kendric said insistently. “We have to leave here at once!”

  “L-leave – where for?”

  “For home!”

  As if he had thrown cold water on her face, Zena sat up abruptly and opened her eyes.

  “What is wrong – what has – happened?”

  “We have to leave Paris at once,” Kendric said, “and if you hurry we can catch a train to Hoyes that leaves at eleven o’clock.”

  “But – we cannot go – why should we?”

  Kendric sat down on the side of the bed and pulled off his top hat.

  “The Press are asking questions,” he said, “and you know what they are like when they sense there is a story that might cause a sensation.”

  “You mean – they intend to – write about the – duel?”

  “Not because it is an ordinary duel of which there are plenty,” Kendric replied, “about one a day I should think, but this one, for the Press, is exceptional.”

  “Why? Why?” Zena screamed.

  “Because it really is news that the Marquis should have lost a duel – with a serious injury to his arm.”

  “How serious?” Zena asked.

  “He will not have to have it amputated or anything like that,” Kendric replied, “but the fact that he has been injured in a duel over a woman and lost it is the sort of story all Paris will enjoy, especially when they know the name of the woman.”

  Zena gave a little cry of horror.

  “So – that is – what they are – trying to find – out!”

  “Exactly!” Kendric replied. “They already know that you came to Paris with me and that I am supposedly the Vicomte de Villerny.”

  “But Kendric, how can they have found that out?”

  “How should I know. I expect the Marquis talked. He had a great deal more to drink after you left La Païva’s house last night, and I heard him saying in a loud voice that he would not only fight the Comte but me, to make sure he gained you.”

  Zena gave a little groan.

  “ It is – all my – fault.”

  “You cannot help looking as you do,” Kendric said. “I suppose it is something we might have anticipated when we came to Paris.”

  “What can we do to – prevent them from – finding out who we are?” Zena asked in a frightened voice.

  “There is only one thing we possibly can do,” Kendric answered, “and that is to disappear.”

  He paused before he added,

  “If we stay it is quite obvious they will ferret out that I am not de Villerny and, if they start making enquiries in Wiedenstein there is always the chance that your extraordinary likeness to the Princess Marie-Therese will be noticed.”

  Zena gave an audible cry of horror and Kendric stood up.

  “I have already told Renée to come upstairs and start packing for you,” he said, “and I have also ordered a carriage. You have only an hour to be ready to leave for the station.”

  “But – Kendric – what can I do about – the Comte?” Zena implored him.

  “Forget him!” Kendric replied harshly.

  Zena started to dress as Renée quickly but not very skilfully packed her gowns in the trunk they had come with.

  “It is sad that you must leave us, m’mselle,” she said. “It has been a pleasure having you here.”

  “Thank you,” Zena replied absent-mindedly.

  Then she added,

  “Renée, will you do something for me?”

  “Of course, m’mselle.”

  “When Monsieur le Comte comes to call for me as he has promised to do, will you hand him a letter?”

  “Oui, m’mselle.”

  Zena at first thought it would be wisest to go away without making any explanation. Then she had known it was something she could not do.

  She loved the Comte and he loved her.

  Before she went to sleep she had thought despairingly that it would be very difficult to listen to him trying to make plans for their future and not to confess the truth.

  She thought that perhaps Fate had taken a hand and to go away without explanation was better than having to lie.

  At the same time every instinct in her body that loved him told her she was being a fool.

  But what could she say?

  How could she confess there was no possibility of any future for them together and that their love was just something wonderful and glorious that had come into their lives for a fleeting moment.

  When she was dressed for the journey and Renée was packing the last few things into her bag, Zena ran into the sitting room and taking some pieces of writing paper and an envelope from the secretaire carried them with her to her bedroom.

  She had the feeling that if Kendric saw her writing he would think it a mistake and perhaps argue with her, which she could not bear.

  Then, as she sat down at her dressing table and wrote the first words, she heard his voice talking to Renée’s father who had been helping him pack.

  Quickly because there was now no time, she scribbled,

  “I love you, I love you! But I have to go away. And yet because I must tell you how kind and wonderful you have been and that I shall never forget you, I will write to you once again when I reach my destination.

  My Love and my Prayers,

  Zena.”

  As she finished and folded the letter into the envelope, Kendric was at the door.

  “Are you ready, Zena! We must go!”

  “Everything is packed, monsieur,” Renée informed him.

  The maid diverted his attention from his sister and, while he was giving instructions to the concierge to carry the trunk downstairs, Zena managed to give the letter to Renée and with it a ten franc note.

&nb
sp; Renée slipped both into the pocket of her apron.

  “Merci, m’mselle,” she said in a voice that Kendric could hear.

  Then she added quietly,

  “I will not forget to do as you have asked, m’mselle.”

  The luggage was piled on the roof of the carriage and, as they drove away down the Rue St. Honoré, Zena looked up at the windows of the sitting room.

  She was thinking of how the Comte had kissed her and she had never guessed how perfect and glorious a kiss could be. She knew she would never forget the rapture and the ecstasy that had made her feel he carried her to the heart of the sun.

  ‘How can I live and never know such happiness again?’ she asked herself and felt as if the whole world was dark.

  *

  It took them nearly two hours to reach Hoyes and there they had to wait for the slow train to carry them on to Ettengen.

  They had picked a compartment to themselves when they left Paris, but Zena had said very little to Kendric because he was tired after not being able to go to bed all night and he soon fell asleep.

  She too felt tired, but she could only think of the Comte and wonder what he would think and feel when Renée gave him her note and he learnt that she and Kendric had left Paris.

  She remembered all the words of love he had ever spoken to her and she knew that she would repeat them and repeat them all her life and they would be her only comfort and help in the years of misery which lay ahead.

  At Hoyes, Kendric, as if he needed exercise, began to walk up and down the platform.

  Zena sat on the hard wooden seat feeling no impatience to continue their journey, but only a dull disinterest in everything that now happened.

  Finally the slow train from the Capital arrived and Kendric found an empty First Class carriage and Zena stepped into it.

  Then, as Kendric tipped the porter, the man piped up,

  “Excuse me, monsieur, but has anybody ever told you you’ve a striking resemblance to our Crown Prince?”

  Kendric smiled.

  “I believe I have heard that before.”

  “Uncanny it is, monsieur, you might be almost his double.”

  “I will take that as a compliment,” Kendric joked.

  “He’s a very fine young man, and we’re exceedingly proud of him,” the porter said. “In time he’ll make us a good Ruler.”

  “I hope he does not disappoint you,” Kendric remarked.