She tried to withdraw it from his grasp, and met with an obstinate resistance. His gallantry addressed her in sweet words; and his voice destroyed their charm by the dreary monotony of the tone in which he spoke. "On this lovely day, Cristel, Nature pleads for me. Your heart feels the sunshine and softens towards the poor deaf man who worships you. Ah, my dear, it's useless to say No. My affliction is my happiness, when you say cruel things to me. I live in my fool's paradise; I don't hear you." He tried to draw her nearer to him. "Come, my angel; let me kiss you."She made a second attempt to release herself; and this time, she wrenched her hand out of his grasp with a strength for which he was not prepared.
That fiercest anger which turns the face pale, was the anger that had possession of Cristel as she took refuge with her father. "You asked me to bear with that man," she said, "because he paid you a good rent. Itell you this, father; my patience is coming to an end. Either he must go, or I must go. Make up your mind to choose between your money and me."Old Toller astonished me. He seemed to have caught the infection of his daughter's anger. Placed between Cristel and his money, he really acted as if he preferred Cristel. He hobbled up to his lodger, and shook his infirm fists, and screamed at the highest pitch of his old cracked voice:
"Let her be, or I won't have you here no longer! You deaf adder, let her be!"The sensitive nerves of the deaf man shrank as those shrill tones pierced them. "If you want to speak to me, write it!" he said, with rage and suffering in every line of his face. He tore from his pocket his little book, filled with blank leaves, and threw it at Toller's head. "Write,"he repeated. "If you murder me with your screeching again, look out for your skinny throat--I'll throttle you."Cristel picked up the book. She was gratefully sensible of her father's interference. "He shall know what you said to him," she promised the old man. "I'll write it myself."She took the pencil from its sheath in the leather binding of the book.
Controlling himself, the lover whom she hated advanced towards her with a persuasive smile.
"Have you forgiven me?" he asked. "Have you been speaking kindly of me? Ithink I see it in your face. There are some deaf people who can tell what is said by looking at the speaker's lips. I am too stupid, or too impatient, or too wicked to be able to do that. Write it for me, dear, and make me happy for the day."Cristel was not attending to him, she was speaking to me. "I hope, sir, you don't think that father and I are to blame for what has happened this morning," she said. He looked where she was looking--and discovered, for the first time, that I was in the room.
He had alluded to his wickedness a moment since. When his face turned my way, I thought it bore witness to his knowledge of his own character.
"Why didn't you come to my side of the house?" he said to me. "What am Ito understand, sir, by seeing you here?"
Cristel dropped his book on the table, and hurried to me in breathless surprise. "He speaks as if he knew you!" she cried. "What does it mean?""Only that I met him last night," I explained, "after leaving you.""Did you know him before that?"
"No. He was a perfect stranger to me."
He picked up his book from the table, and took his pencil out of Cristel's hand, while we were speaking. "I want my answer," he said, handing me the book and the pencil. I gave him his answer.
"You find me here, because I don't wish to return to your side of the house.""Is that the impression," he asked, "produced by what I allowed you to read?"I replied by a sign in the affirmative. He inquired next if I had brought his portfolio with me. I put it at once into his hand.
In some way unknown to me, I had apparently roused his suspicions. He opened the portfolio, and counted the loose leaves of writing in it carefully. While he was absorbed in this occupation, old Toller's eccentricity assumed a new form. His little restless black eyes followed the movements of his lodger's fingers, as they turned over leaf after leaf of the manuscript, with such eager curiosity and interest that Ilooked at him in surprise. Finding that he had attracted my notice, he showed no signs of embarrassment--he seized the opportunity of asking for information.
"Did my gentleman trust you, sir, with all that writing?" he began.
"Yes."
"Did he want you to read it?"
"He did."
"What's it all about, sir?"
Confronted by this cool inquiry, I informed Mr. Toller that the demands of curiosity had their limits, and that he had reached them. On this ground, I declined to answer any more questions. Mr. Toller went on with his questions immediately.
"Do you notice, sir, that he seems to set a deal of store by his writings? Perhaps you can say what the value of them may be?"I shook my head. "It won't do, Mr. Toller!"
He tried again--I declare it positively, he tried again. "You'll excuse me, sir? I've never seen his portfolio before. Am I right if I think you know where he keeps it?""Spare your breath, Mr. Toller. Once more, it won't do!"Cristel joined us, amazed at his pertinacity. "Why are you so anxious, father, to know about that portfolio?" she asked.
Her father seemed to have reasons of his own for following my example and declining to answer questions. More polite, however, than I had been, he left his resolution to be inferred. His daughter was answered by a few general remarks, setting forth the advantage to the landlord of having a lodger who had lost one of senses.
