Wethersfield High School - Elm Yearbook (Wethersfield, CT)

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him with cruel, cutting words. She berated him with bitter remarks. Jaques was hurt, hurt deeply. His throat burnedg he could say nothing. Then, she was gone. He had scarcely known when she had stopped. She had gone-he knew-because he heard the echo of her footsteps, her high heels beating defiantly into the night. After that, it was quiet, he heard the little old clock in the corner ticking away the minutes-slow, slow minutes. Somewhere a child cried. Mere! Ma mere! Jaques leaned against the window. It was open. The cool night air ruffled his hair. Poor little baby, he whispered. He too felt like crying, only somehow he couldn't. He wondered vaguely, staring up at the stars, what would happen if he should sud- denly weep and call, ma mere-ma mere into the darkness. It was a curious thought, he played with it, and all the while the little clock was ticking--oh, so slowly. He counted the ticks by the stars, for every beat, he chose one star. There was a heaven of stars, there were end- less minutes to count. The next day Jaques went away. IV. It was night. Collette sat by the Window in her room, thinking. lt was a week since Jaques had leftg during that time her anger and resentment had surpassed the loss she would otherwise have felt at his going. But now she was lonelyg for the first time she realized that Jaques was actually gone. All day a sense of emptiness had been creep- ing over her, making her miserable. She wanted to cry, but she could notg she was dry-eyed and still. It was all so unbelievable. Surely if she should slip out into the darkness and run along the narrow path- fbeir path-she would find him waiting for her. Suddenly she was afraid. She wanted to turn her head quickly and look behind her, yet she dared not for fear of what might be before her. She could not moveg her fear seemed to freeze her. She tried to scream, she could make no sound. Her head was hotg she managed to touch it with her hand, her Hngers were icy. She did not know how long she sat there stiff and dumb with awful fearg it seemed hours. At last through sheer will-power, she forced herself to cross the room. She fell panting on the bedg her brain whirledg her head seemed to ring with countless thousands of bells. At dawn, exhausted, she fell asleep. In the week that followed she grew to dread the nights. She told no one of her fear. Her face looked drawn--her eyes hollow and fear- ful. Then one day she broke under the straing her nerves had snapped. It was then that she found relief in talking. Little by little dur- ing the slow weeks of her recovery, she cold of those nights. Before long, she discovered that she was no longer afraid. But she had come through the ordeal feeling olderg she thought a great deal, and deeplyg most of the child-like Collette was gone.

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l'Why, Jaques? Why? Collette was wide-eyed, hurt. Because-I do not know why! he said irritably. It does not live, he finished lamely. He wished she would not look so-so tragicg it made him feel cruel. The picture-he could barely understand what had happened. He had always been so happy, so free, so alive. Why then could he not portray the happiness, the vitality, that glowed from Collette? She talked on and on. Jaques could not bear the look in her eyes. You will go to Rossieux, Jaques? she was begging him. How could he tell her how he felt? He knew that his picture lacked a soul. A great picture must have a soul, someone had said. I will go.', He smiled gently as he saw the gladness sweep into her face. Now? she demanded eagerly. Will you go now?,' Now,,' he answered dully. But Collette was too happy to notice. He left her there, putting his things straight, singing to herself. He counted the steps, going down slowly. His feet dragged as he went out the door. It had begun to rain a little. He hardly noticed it. He only knew that a curious empty feeling of dismay was creep- ing over himg it was almost like being very, very hungry. He could not rid himself of it. It was a terrible feeling. It kept growing and growing as he walked along. lt was dusk when he returned. Collette was waiting for him ex- pectantly. He forced his eyes to meet hers. Collette-I-I could not go inf' A puzzled look came into her eyes, driving away the gladness that had been there. You did not go in-you did not see RossieuX? she queried in- credulously. Her voice was strained. I could not,', he repeated. ls it-they wouldn't let you in, Jaques! She pounced upon this explanation thankfully, that was itg they had turned away her Jaques at the door. That is all right-you shall go again-we shall go together-we shall get in! Already she was planning. No, it was not that. Jaques was hollow-eyed, a little dazed. Collette, I--I was-afraid! he forced the words. Afraid! You! Collette whispered in an awed voice. My Jaques afraid? she said slowly. 'Yes.', He looked away from her. She was very serious, more serious than he had ever seen her before, she was as serious as death. You have failed me, Jaques. You are-useless. You are not big enoughf' she paused a moment, for the gift that God gave you. He could barely hear her words, so gently she spoke. I believed in you! I loved you--a coward. I built my dreams about a coward, a life-time of dreams, Jaques!,' Her voice was beautiful. He held his breath and listened for the sob that was hidden beneath the words. It did not come. She was suddenly very angry. She stunned

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V. A duster, you want? queried Madeline softly. Collette lowered her eyes. Yes-the-his room--it must be very dustyf, She pushed back .1 lock of her dark hairg it was a childish little movement. But Collette's face was not childish, it was very pale, it was older. Dear child,', said Madeline. She brought her a duster. Very wisely she said nothing more, she stood quietly in the big kitchen and listened to the echo of the girl's feet on the stairs. Collette reached the door of the long room and stood looking in. The sun was streaming in at the windows. An easel standing near one of them threw its long shadow across the floor, there were other smaller shadows, and all the rest was golden with the sun. It was very silent and lovely and warm. Collette had not been in the room since that day when Jaques had gone away. She walked in slowly. Suddenly half-way in, she stopped short. In a corner a finger of sunlight touched a canvasg it had been a portrait of a lovely dark girl. There were two vicious slashes across its surface, a little palette-knife lay on the floor quite near it. Collette did not touch it. She moved over to the big chair and sat staring at the ruined canvas. All at once she began to cry, presently she was sobbing. She pressed her white fingers over her lips and tried to stop the sobs. She could not. It was not meant that she shouldg it was the first time she had cried since Jaques had gone away. VI You have worked a long time-are you not tired?,' No, You like it here in my work-room? It is-good, said Jaques softly, fingering a bit of charcoal. The other looked at him quickly. Sit down, he suggested. Would you-care to-talk? he asked carefully. Yes, said Jaques simply, I should like very much to talk with you. He took the cigarette offered him, lit it, and for a few moments stared before him, absentlyg then he began to talk. It was very diiiicult, especially at first, to put into words the things that he had tried to force himself to forget. Days when he had tramped hungry and sick in mind and body, black days in the French mines, where he had cursed his slim white hands. There had been one time when he had felt almost happy-that had been when he had joined a traveling circus and had earned his way about by doing rapid-fire sketchesg it had been very hard to get his hand back into form againg somehow he had done it. But this had not lasted. Then had come long days when his hunger had been terrible. After a time it had seemed to go, but he could not remember things, he had been dazed--starving. In some way he had wandered to the bank of a little