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waylaid her in the street。 She would not speak to him； but he insisted on
speaking to her。 He spluttered out words of apology for any wrong he
had committed towards her； he told her he loved her devotedly and begged
her to return to him。 She would not answer； she walked hurriedly； with
averted face。 I imagined him with his fat little legs trying to keep up with
her。 Panting a little in his haste； he told her how miserable he was； he
besought her to have mercy on him； he promised； if she would forgive him；
to do everything she wanted。 He offered to take her for a journey。 He
told her that Strickland would soon tire of her。 When he repeated to me
the whole sordid little scene I was outraged。 He had shown neither sense
nor dignity。 He had omitted nothing that could make his wife despise
him。 There is no cruelty greater than a woman's to a man who loves her
and whom she does not love； she has no kindness then； no tolerance even；
she has only an insane irritation。 Blanche Stroeve stopped suddenly； and
as hard as she could slapped her husband's face。 She took advantage of
his confusion to escape； and ran up the stairs to the studio。 No word had
passed her lips。
When he told me this he put his hand to his cheek as though he still
felt the smart of the blow； and in his eyes was a pain that was heartrending
and an amazement that was ludicrous。 He looked like an overblown
schoolboy； and though I felt so sorry for him； I could hardly help laughing。
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Then he took to walking along the street which she must pass through
to get to the shops； and he would stand at the corner； on the other side； as
she went along。 He dared not speak to her again； but sought to put into
his round eyes the appeal that was in his heart。 I suppose he had some
idea that the sight of his misery would touch her。 She never made the
smallest sign that she saw him。 She never even changed the hour of her
errands or sought an alternative route。 I have an idea that there was some
cruelty in her indifference。 Perhaps she got enjoyment out of the torture
she inflicted。 I wondered why she hated him so much。
I begged Stroeve to behave more wisely。 His want of spirit was
exasperating。
〃You're doing no good at all by going on like this；〃 I said。 〃I think
you'd have been wiser if you'd hit her over the head with a stick。 She
wouldn't have despised you as she does now。〃
I suggested that he should go home for a while。 He had often spoken
to me of the silent town； somewhere up in the north of Holland； where his
parents still lived。 They were poor people。 His father was a carpenter；
and they dwelt in a little old red…brick house； neat and clean； by the side of
a sluggish canal。 The streets were wide and empty； for two hundred
years the place had been dying； but the houses had the homely stateliness
of their time。 Rich merchants； sending their wares to the distant Indies；
had lived in them calm and prosperous lives； and in their decent decay
they kept still an aroma of their splendid past。 You could wander along
the canal till you came to broad green fields； with windmills here and there；
in which cattle； black and white； grazed lazily。 I thought that among those
surroundings； with their recollections of his boyhood； Dirk Stroeve would
forget his unhappiness。 But he would not go。
〃I must be here when she needs me；〃 he repeated。 〃It would be
dreadful if something terrible happened and I were not at hand。〃
〃What do you think is going to happen？〃 I asked。
〃I don't know。 But I'm afraid。〃
I shrugged my shoulders。
For all his pain； Dirk Stroeve remained a ridiculous object。 He might
have excited sympathy if he had grown worn and thin。 He did nothing of
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the kind。 He remained fat； and his round； red cheeks shone like ripe
apples。 He had great neatness of person； and he continued to wear his
spruce black coat and his bowler hat； always a little too small for him； in a
dapper； jaunty manner。 He was getting something of a paunch； and
sorrow had no effect on it。 He looked more than ever like a prosperous
bagman。 It is hard that a man's exterior should tally so little sometimes
with his soul。 Dirk Stroeve had the passion of Romeo in the body of Sir
Toby Belch。 He had a sweet and generous nature； and yet was always
blundering； a real feeling for what was beautiful and the capacity to create
only what was commonplace； a peculiar delicacy of sentiment and gross
manners。 He could exercise tact when dealing with the affairs of others；
but none when dealing with his own。 What a cruel practical joke old
Nature played when she flung so many contradictory elements together；
and left the man face to face with the perplexing callousness of the
universe。
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Chapter XXXII
I did not see Strickland for several weeks。 I was disgusted with him；
and if I had had an opportunity should have been glad to tell him so； but I
saw no object in seeking him out for the purpose。 I am a little shy of any
assumption of moral indignation； there is always in it an element of self…
satisfaction which makes it awkward to anyone who has a sense of
humour。 It requires a very lively passion to steel me to my own ridicule。
There was a sardonic sincerity in Strickland which made me sensitive to
anything that might suggest a pose。
But one evening when I was passing along the Avenue de Clichy in
front of the cafe which Strickland frequented and which I now avoided； I
ran straight into him。 He was accompanied by Blanche Stroeve； and they
were just going to Strickland's favourite corner。
〃Where the devil have you been all this time？〃 said he。 〃I thought you
must be away。〃
His cordiality was proof that he knew I had no wish to speak to him。
He was not a man with whom it was worth while wasting politeness。
〃No；〃 I said； 〃I haven't been away。〃
〃Why haven't you been here？〃
〃There are more cafes in Paris than one； at which to trifle away an idle
hour。〃
Blanche then held out her hand and bade me good…evening。 I do not
know why I had expected her to be somehow changed； she wore the same
gray dress that she wore so often； neat and becoming； and her brow was as
candid； her eyes as untroubled； as when I had been used to see her
occupied with her household duties in the studio。
〃Come and have a game of chess；〃 said Strickland。
I do not know why at the moment I could think of no excuse。 I
followed them rather sulkily to the table at which Strickland always sat；
and he called for the board and the chessmen。 They both took the situation
so much as a matter of course that I felt it absurd to do otherwise。 Mrs。
Stroeve watched the game with inscrutable face。 She was silent； but she
had always been silent。 I looked at her mouth for an expression that
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could give me a clue to what she felt； I watched her eyes for some tell…tale
flash； some hint of dismay or bitterness； I scanned her brow for any
passing line that might indicate a settling emotion。 Her face was a mask
that told nothing。 Her hands lay on her lap motionless； one in the other
loosely clasped。 I knew from what I had heard that she was a woman of
violent passions； and that injurious blow that she had given Dirk； the man
who had loved her so devotedly； betrayed a sudden temper and a horrid
cruelty。 She had abandoned the safe shelter of her husband's protection
and the comfortable ease of a well…provided establishmen