It was something of a surprise to Bressant, after his interview with
Cornelia, that she still continued to avoid him. But, after what she had
said to him, to set his mind at rest regarding the spirit and manner of
their intercourse, she felt an intuition that it would be as well he
should believe that she herself was not over-anxious to be on any terms
with him whatever.
Still, he often saw her, and always carried away a charming impression
of what he saw. Once, she had mounted a chair in the library, and was in
the act of reaching down a book from a high shelf, when he entered
unexpectedly. She turned, caught his eye, and dimpled into a mischievous
smile. All day he could not drive the picture out of his head--the
bounteous, graceful form, the heavy, dark, lustreless hair, the
fascinating face, and the smile. He had but just left Sophie, yet the
fine chords she had struck in him were drowned in Cornelia's sensuous
melody.
Again, one day, coming into the house, he chanced to enter the parlor,
and there sat Cornelia, in an easy-chair, her feet stretched out upon a
stool, fast asleep. He came close up to her, and stood looking. What
artist could ever have hoped to reproduce the warmth, glow, and richness
of color and outline? He watched her, feeling it to be a stolen
pleasure, yet a nameless something, surging up within him, compelled
him to remain. In another moment--who can calculate a man's strength and
weakness?--he might have stooped to kiss her, with no brother's kiss!
But, in that moment, she awoke, and perhaps surprised his half-formed
purpose in his eyes.
She was too clear-headed to regret having awaked, for she saw that he
regretted it. And, because he did not venture, she being awake, to take
the kiss, she knew he was no brother, and knew not what it was to be
one. So she put on a look of annoyance, and told him petulantly to go
about his business. Off he went, and passed his hour with Sophie, who
was as lovely, as fresh, and as purely transparent as ever. But some
turbid element had been stirred in Bressant's depths, which spoiled his
enjoyment for that day, making him moody and silent.
Such little incidents--there were many of them--were far too simple and
natural to be the work of deliberation and forethought. But Cornelia was
disposed to use them, when they did occur, to her best possible
advantage, and therefore they acquired potency to affect Bressant. She
wished that to be, which he had not stamina enough to oppose: thus a
subtle bond was established between them, lending a significance to the
most ordinary actions, such as could never have been recognized between
indifferent persons.
This was all progress for Cornelia, and she well knew it, and yet she
was not at ease nor satisfied. She began to find out that it was no such
light matter to usurp the place of such a woman as Sophie, though the
latter was laboring under the great disadvantage of being ignorant of
the plot against her. In most cases, indeed, the attempt would have been
wellnigh hopeless, but Cornelia had two exceptionally powerful
allies--her own supreme beauty, and Bressant's untrained and
ill-regulated animal nature, which he had not yet learned to understand
and provide against. And there was another thing in her favor, too,
although she knew it not--the demoralizing effect upon the young man's
character--of his failure to fulfil his agreement with the professor.
The evils that are in us link themselves together to drag us down, their
essential quality being identical, whatever their particular
application.