only eighteen. Did you know it?"
"No, I didn't."
"And Thusis is twenty."
I thought deeply for a while, then:
"We'd better keep away from them except when business requires an interview," I concluded.
"Why," he pointed out in annoyance, "that leaves me out entirely."
"Of course. I shall not think of Thusis at all except on terms of business. That's the safe idea, Smith, business, – strictly business. It neutralizes everything; it's a wet blanket on folly; it paralyzes friskiness; it slays sentiment in its tracks. Become a business man. Engage in some useful occupation. Suppose, for example, I pay you a franc a week to feed my chickens."
"I've plenty to do, I tell you."
"Then do it, old top, and steer shy of that little blue-eyed parlor maid of mine."
He made no answer. We prowled about until nearly lunch-time. But the odd thing was that I had lost my appetite. It may have happened because I'd begun to worry a little about Thusis.
What the deuce had that girl been doing in Zurich all this while? She was too attractive to go about that seething city alone with market-cart and horse. Some fresh young officer —
"Smith?"
He looked up, mildly surprised at my vehemence.
"Where the devil do you suppose Thusis is?" I asked.
"In Zurich, isn't she?"
"Yes, but she's been gone a long time and she ought to be back."
"Probably," he said, "she's gallivanting with some handsome young fellow along the Lake promenade. Possibly she's lunching at the Baur-au-Lac with some fascinating lieutenant. Or maybe they've strolled over to the Café de la Terrasse or to Rupps; or," he went on as though interested in his irritating speculations, "it may be that Thusis has gone out in a motor launch with some sprightly cavalier; or she may be at the Tonhalle, or at Belvoir Park."
"No doubt," said I, exasperated. "You needn't speculate further."
"Business over, why shouldn't Thusis kick up her pretty heels a bit?" he inquired.
"Because Thusis isn't that sort."
"How do you know that she isn't that sort?"
I didn't, and his question made me the madder.
"Luncheon ought to be ready," he reminded me presently. I could actually hear the grin in his voice.
"All right," said I. "I'm hungry." Which was a lie. Then, as we turned toward the house, Thusis drove into the yard.
Blue ribbons fluttered from her whip, from the fat horse's head-stall, from his braided tail. There were bows of blue ribbon on her peasant's apron, too, which danced saucily in the wind. I went over to aid her descend from the cart, but she laughed and jumped out with a flash of white stockings and blue garters.
"I've been wondering," said I, "why you were so long."
"Were you worried?"
The demurely malicious glance she flung at me became a laugh. She turned to Smith:
"Did he think somebody might kidnap his young and silly housekeeper?" she inquired. "Pas de chance! I am horridly wise!" – she touched her forehead with the tip of one finger – "and a thousand years old!" – she laid one hand lightly over her heart. And turned to me. "I am a thousand years of age," she repeated, smiling. "Such as I are not kidnapped, Monsieur O'Ryan. Au contraire. I myself am far more likely to kidnap – "
She looked Smith gaily in the eye " – some agreeable young man – some day." And very slowly her gray eyes included me.
Then she tossed the reins to Raoul who had come up beside the cart:
"A protean moment," she said to me, "and I shall reappear as a very presentable waitress to wait upon you at luncheon."
And off went this amazing housekeeper of mine dancing lightly away across the grass with the buckles on her little peasant slippers twinkling and every blue ribbon a-flutter.
I turned and looked at Raoul. He returned my gaze with an odd smile.
"Of what," said I, "are you thinking?"
"I was thinking," he replied seriously, "that the world is a very droll place, – agreeable for the gay, but hell for those born without a sense of humor."
VI
MASTER AND MAID
I had become tired of following Smith about and of trying to keep an eye on Clelia. The little minx was so demure that it seemed difficult to believe she deliberately offered Smith opportunities for philandering. Otherwise my household caused me no anxiety; everything went smoothly. Thusis waited on table and ran the place, Josephine Vannis cooked to perfection, Raoul had started a garden and the bottling works; and no tourists had bothered us by interrupting the régime and demanding food and shelter.
Outwardly ours was a serene and emotionless life, undisturbed by that bloody frenzy which agitated the greater surface of the globe.
Here in the sunny silence of our little valley ringed by snow peaks, the soft thunder of some far avalanche or the distant tinkle of cow-bells were the loudest interruptions that startled us from the peaceful inertia consequent upon good food and idle hours.
Outwardly as I say, calm brooded all about us. True the Zurich and Berne newspapers stirred me up, and the weekly packages of New York papers which Smith and I received caused a tense silence in our rooms whither we always retired to read them.
Smith once remarked that it was odd I never received any Chilean papers. To which I replied that it seemed queer no Norwegian newspapers came to him.
We let it rest there. As for my household I never saw Josephine Vannis at all except by accident in the early evening when I sometimes noticed her in the distance strolling with Raoul.
On Clelia, I kept an unquiet eye as I have said. Thusis I saw only on strictly business interviews. And Smith thought it strange that there was so much business to be discussed between us. But every day I felt it my duty to go over my household accounts with Thusis, checking up every item. In these daily conferences there were, of course, all sorts of matters to consider, such as the farm and dairy reports from Raoul, the bottling reports, daily sales of eggs, butter, and bottled spring-water – a cart arriving from Zurich every morning to take away these surplus items to the Grand Hotel, Baur-au-Lac, with which Thusis had made a thrifty contract.
This was a very delightful part of the day to me, – the hour devoted to business with Thusis, while Smith fumed in his room. Possibly Clelia fumed with him – I was afraid of that – and it was the only rift in the lute.
Every morning I tried to prolong that business interview with Thusis, – she looked so distractingly pretty in her peasant garb. But though her gray eyes were ever on duty and her winning smile flashed now and then across the frontier of laughter, always and almost with malice, she held me to the matter of business under discussion, discouraging all diversions I made toward other topics, refusing to accompany me on gay excursions into personalities, resisting any approach toward that little spot of unconventional ground upon which we had once stood face to face.
For since that time when, for hours afterward, my hand remained conscious of her soft, cool hand's light contact – since that curious compact between us which had settled her status, and my own, here under this common roof above us, she had permitted no lighter conversation to interrupt our business conferences, no other subject to intrude. Only now and then I caught a glimpse of tiny devils dancing in her gray eyes; only at long intervals was the promise of the upcurled corners of her mouth made good by the swift, sweet laughter always hidden there.
There was no use attempting any less impersonal footing any more; Thusis simply evaded it, remaining either purposely dull and irresponsive or, gathering up her accounts, she would rise, curtsey, and back out with a gravity of features and demeanor that her mocking eyes denied.
Once, as I have said, I discovered a fishing rod in the attic, dug some worms, and started out