‘I don’t understand.’
Adrienne was now deadly serious. The pupils of her amber eyes narrowed to pinpoints as she looked out over the shining valley of the Almas and across the wooded hills to the faint bluish line of the distant mountains beyond. She leaned her chin on her closed fist forcing her mouth into a sulky, discontented line, sad and stubborn.
Then she spoke again, softly, in broken phrases, as if it were difficult for her to find the right words. ‘I have decided that I will not bring any more Uzdys into the world. Why should I? They’d only be taken away from me like the first one. No! Never again! Never! Am I to be only a brood mare, a cow in calf? No! If it happens again …’ She was silent for a while, and then went on slowly with great determination: ‘If I can find no other way I will shoot myself.’ She laughed again, even more bitterly than before and behind her bitterness Balint could sense a certain malicious delight. ‘That is going to be the surprise for Uzdy that I wrote to you about!’
Balint listened to her words. He felt he had been turned to stone and he was filled with terrible foreboding and a deep pity for the girl who had been brought to this dreadful decision. His eyes filled with tears.
‘Addy! My darling Addy! You must never do that! Never!’
He took her soft yielding hand in his, that hand which he had so often held before and whose fingers were so lissom they might have had no bones in them; and he stroked her arm until he wanted above all things in the world to draw her close to him. At once she stiffened and her hand tightened round his with sudden strength and violence. Then she pushed him away: ‘Not that! Not now! You must not touch me now.’ She got up and started to walk towards the tower, chatting light-heartedly as if she was determined to make him forget the harshness of what she had just said. They walked together in the ruins for some little time and the sun was already beginning to set when they started for home.
When they had crossed the grassy slope just below the tower they started down the rocky hillside on separate paths: Balint chose the higher, while Adrienne set off on another, slightly lower down, which soon turned a corner of the cliff-face. She was walking very close to the edge, too close, thought Balint, for there was a sharp fall on the outer side. He was just about to call out a warning to her when Adrienne suddenly flung up her arms and disappeared into the abyss, It looked as though she had jumped deliberatedly, for she had made no sound, not a word, not a cry of terror or surprise. No stones followed her fall.
After a moment in which he was too stunned with horror to move, Balint leapt down from the path above and scrambled across the rocks to where he had last seen her.
Crazed with anguish he looked over the edge to see Adrienne on her feet on a grassy shelf not far below. She was wiping the palm of one of her gloves for she had muddied it when she fell. She laughed, looking guiltily up and lied: ‘It’s too silly, I slipped! It’s lucky the ground is so soft here. No, no, I didn’t hurt myself … I didn’t fall very far. The cliff’s not very high. We used to jump far further in the gymnastic class. You know when I was at school I could always jump farther than any of the others, always …’ And she gabbled on, making a joke of it. But Balint saw that she was very pale and did not regain her normal colour until they were almost home.
Adrienne did not come down for dinner that night.
‘My daughter-in-law isn’t feeling very well,’ explained Countess Clémence in her cool, formal manner. Uzdy seemed worried and unusually distracted, with a deep crease between his slanting devil’s eyebrows. Nevertheless, he kept the conversation going and even essayed a mild joke or two; though Balint had the impression that his perpetual sardonic smile stayed on his face only through force of habit. Twice in the course of the evening he left the drawing-room for short periods. Later a carriage could be heard being swiftly driven away from the castle, its wheels crunching over the gravel as it raced out of the forecourt. No one spoke in the drawing-room and Balint could hear the clatter of the horses’ hoofs as they faded into the night. About ten o’clock everyone went to bed.
Balint lay down but could not sleep. With teeth tightly clenched he tried to sort out in his mind what he had discovered that day. Only now did he understand that what she had feared had already happened. Poor, poor Addy! How desperate and how determined she was. He saw everything clearly now. Poor Addy!
Towards midnight he again heard the sound of a carriage, this time coming back to the castle. There was the sound of whispered conversation in the passage and hurried steps. Presumably the doctor had been sent for and had just arrived. Then there was deep silence again and it was so quiet that the young man fancied he could count the seconds by the beating of his heart.
Balint was deeply distressed and worried, but there was nothing he could do.
Poor Addy! It was nearly dawn before he fell asleep and at some moment when he must still have been half awake he heard again the sound of a carriage driving swiftly away.
Despite everything that had happened Balint awoke early, though without feeling rested. Someone could be heard moving about the corridor outside his room and Balint looked to see who it was. It was Maier, the butler, with one of his underlings.
‘I’ll bring your Lordship’s breakfast at once,’ he said, and hurried away to the pantry. In a few minutes he was back with a tray.
‘Is Count Uzdy up?’ asked Balint, simply for something to say.
The butler’s big grey eyes seemed even sadder than usual. ‘His Lordship left at dawn, my Lord.’
‘Left?’ said Balint, astonished.
‘Before dawn, my Lord. He’s gone to his estate at Bihar.’
Balint hesitated. He wanted to ask after Adrienne but could not find the right words, so that it was not until Maier had almost left the room that he said: ‘The young Countess … tell me …?’
The butler answered only with a silent gesture. He raised his right hand, shrugged his shoulders to indicate that he knew nothing, and left the room.
This was terrible, thought Balint. He would be leaving that morning and it was unthinkable that he should go not knowing how she was or what had happened in the night. He had to know. He had to find some way of discovering the truth. For a few moments he thought, and then a plan began to form in his mind. He could hardly ask Countess Clémence; and even if he did she would not tell him anything. He had already tried Maier. It would be beneath his dignity to question the other servants. What, then? Indeed, why? As Balint paused, not knowing quite what to do, he was torn between his conflicting feelings for Adrienne, between the emotions of a faithful friend motivated by old acquaintance and pity, and those of the lover whose motives were far from selfless. For a moment Balint understood himself, but he soon chased away the thought, telling himself that if he had to see Adrienne it was out of pure compassion. He knew that he must see her and he knew, too, how to arrange it. He sat down at the writing table, pulled out a sheet of paper and scribbled a few words. He wrote:
I shall be leaving at midday. U. has gone away. It would be dreadful to leave without seeing you. Who knows when we shall meet again? I beg you to let me come up to you, even if it’s only for a single minute — what does convention matter? Please! I beseech you most humbly …
Then he found an envelope, slipped the note into it and sealed it firmly.
When he had finished dressing Balint packed his bags and stepped out into the corridor. He walked up and down, apparently aimlessly, but he was waiting for Adrienne’s maid, Jolan, whom he had known in Kolozsvar and who was sure, sooner or later, to pass down the corridor on her way to her mistress’s rooms. At last she appeared.