Immediately Tihamer had told him that there would be no duel that day he had decided to go to Adrienne. Her husband was still in the Club and her mother-in-law away in Meran and so he was sure that if he went quickly he would be sure to find her at home alone. He was convinced that her illness had only been an excuse, but even so she would not have gone out if she wanted to keep up the deception. Also it was certain that she would have heard something about this idiotic duel as the whole town was talking of nothing else. It was an ideal opportunity for him to see her. Perhaps she was even a little worried on his behalf. He would be foolish not to take advantage of the situation.
When he reached the square he hailed a cab and told the driver to take him quickly to the Uzdy villa on the Monostor road. As Balint sat back in the carriage he started to think out his strategy. He was seized with all the excitement of a hunter at the start of the chase. He would make no direct reference to the duel, he decided, though perhaps it would be as well to let drop some slight allusion, vague but unmistakable in its implications. The most important thing would be, somehow, to kiss her as soon as possible. It would be difficult but once achieved the rest would be easy. With the threat of death hanging over him she could hardly refuse one last embrace. No one could be so heartless. Once they kissed the ice would be broken and then he could ask for more, always a little more until she surrendered completely. And the thought of such ecstasy made him so excited that he quickly tried to banish such fancies, wishing above all to remain calm, collected and in full control of himself.
The cab stopped and Balint quickly paid off the driver and sent him away.
The shutters of the main building were still closed showing that no one was in residence. Balint walked across the snow-covered path to the glazed veranda in front of the entrance to Adrienne’s apartment where he found the old maid doing some work.
‘Is Countess Adrienne at home?’ he asked.
‘The Countess is not at home to anyone, my lord,’ said the old servant. ‘She is indisposed.’
Balint took a visiting card from his case and scribbled on it: ‘I shall probably have to go away tomorrow for a long time. Please see me!’ This he gave to Jolan, saying: ‘Pray give this card to her Ladyship all the same. I’ll wait here for an answer.’
The maid disappeared into the house, leaving Balint on the veranda. He waited for what seemed an eternity though in reality it was only a few minutes before Jolan reappeared.
‘If your Lordship pleases,’ she said, gesturing to him to follow her to the drawing-room door, which she opened, and then stood aside for him to enter.
The room was at least thirty feet long. It was lit by three large windows through which the last rays of the afternoon sun cast a soft glow over the white walls which were hung with portraits of former Uzdys who looked down with frozen, meaningless smiles. Most of the furniture dated from the late Empire period, as in so many Transylvanian houses. An unusual feature of the room was the wide fireplace sunk deep in the walls between crudely carved limestone columns. This was the only reminder that the room had once been the villa’s kitchen. The fireplace was quite large enough to roast a whole calf on the spit of which there were still traces on the stone columns.
In all other respects, except one, the room was just like countless others at Kolozsvar and in the country around. What was unusual and surprising was that on the floor in front of the fireplace lay a large white carpet with a deep pile and on it were strewn a quantity of soft cushions covered in different shades of red silk. In the centre of these cushions Balint could see a deep indentation as if someone had just been lying there. Adrienne, however, got up from a small sofa in the corner of the room.
‘I’m glad you’ve come,’ she said smiling. ‘I hardly dared hope you would.’
‘I had to see you once more, before … before I leave. I wanted to take with me the memory of your face, as a sort of parting gift.’ He spoke seriously but calmly, in a low musical tone. ‘There are so few who mean anything, but I wanted to be sure that … well, that there might be one person who would remember me …’
Balint went on. He started repeating himself, for he was far less at ease than he had planned and, indeed, as soon as he started speaking his plan of campaign went completely out of his head. There was nothing artificial either in his manner or in the words he spoke; words of resignation and farewell which came directly from his heart. The idea that he would never see her again had so taken hold of him that the elation of the hunter that had so possessed him in the carriage had completely given place to the despair of the rejected lover. He spoke ever more softly: ‘… so I was sure I’d find you at home, alone. It had to be alone. I had to tell you, just once more, quite soberly, without passion … you had to know how much I love you. I know I’ve told you already; but you have to know it’s true. I thought if I came and told you now … now that … well, perhaps you’d believe it. And I had to hold your hand once more, your beautiful soft hand, just feel your touch in mine, not by force, but humbly, very humbly …’
Adrienne did not resist. Indeed, on the contrary, she offered him her hand as a gift when, rather tentatively, he put out his own towards her. Gently, rhythmically he caressed her palm, looking deep into her eyes, talking, persuading, cajoling.
As they sat there the room grew darker and darker. Adrienne’s golden onyx eyes seemed to Balint to glow with an inner light. He was not sure but he thought he heard a clock chime somewhere. And just at that moment Adrienne leant forward and murmured: ‘I love you too!’
‘Thank you!’ whispered Balint. ‘Thank you!’
For a long time they sat together in silence, lost in each other. Their faces were very close and Balint, conscious only of his joy, gave himself up to the ecstasy that flooded his soul. Now he felt only a deep longing that absorbed him almost to the point that had he died then, he would have died happy.
‘Give me one kiss, just one, before I go!’
For a brief moment it seemed as if Adrienne’s glance faltered. Then she lifted her head and offered him her lips. For a long time they remained in a close embrace, Balint kissing her closed mouth and holding her, very lightly, by the waist. Then, holding her more tightly, he made as if to bring her body more closely to his. Adrienne pushed him gently away.
‘Now you must go,’ she murmured. ‘Please!’
They rose and moved slowly towards the door, their hands entwined like brother and sister. They did not speak. When they reached the door Balint turned to Adrienne and bent over her hand to kiss it.
‘If … if … you don’t have to go away,’ she said in a whisper, a catch in her throat, ‘how will I know?’
‘Then I’ll come at the same time as today!’
Balint spent the evening quietly at home with his mother. He tried hard to keep her amused by telling her little jokes and anecdotes about people she knew, but somehow it was not a success, for try as he would he was too absentminded to be convincing. This was not due to thoughts about the next morning’s dueclass="underline" his mind was filled only with Adrienne. Even when he was giving orders to be called early he was thinking of the time he had spent in her drawing-room that afternoon, how she had murmured ‘I love you, too!’; how they had gazed silently into each other’s eyes without speaking, and how, when they kissed, it had been as if he were embracing a young inexperienced girl who knew nothing of love between a man and a woman.