CHAPTER XIV.

Atnineo’clockthenextmorninghisservantcameinwithacupofchocolateonatrayandopenedtheshutters.Dorianwassleepingquitepeacefully,lyingonhisrightside,withonehandunderneathhischeek.Helookedlikeaboywhohadbeentiredoutwithplay,orstudy. Themanhadtotouchhimtwiceontheshoulderbeforehewoke,andasheopenedhiseyesafaintsmilepassedacrosshislips,asthoughhehadbeenlostinsomedelightfuldream.Yethehadnotdreamedatall.Hisnighthadbeenuntroubledbyanyimagesofpleasureorofpain.Butyouthsmileswithoutanyreason.Itisoneofitschiefestcharms. Heturnedround,andleaninguponhiselbow,begantosiphischocolate.ThemellowNovembersuncamestreamingintotheroom.Theskywasbright,andtherewasagenialwarmthintheair.ItwasalmostlikeamorninginMay. Graduallytheeventsoftheprecedingnightcreptwithsilent,blood-stainedfeetintohisbrainandreconstructedthemselvestherewithterribledistinctness.Hewincedatthememoryofallthathehadsuffered,andforamomentthesamecuriousfeelingofloathingforBasilHallwardthathadmadehimkillhimashesatinthechaircamebacktohim,andhegrewcoldwithpassion.Thedeadmanwasstillsittingthere,too,andinthesunlightnow.Howhorriblethatwas!Suchhideousthingswereforthedarkness,notfortheday. Hefeltthatifhebroodedonwhathehadgonethroughhewouldsickenorgrowmad.Thereweresinswhosefascinationwasmoreinthememorythaninthedoingofthem,strangetriumphsthatgratifiedthepridemorethanthepassions,andgavetotheintellectaquickenedsenseofjoy,greaterthananyjoytheybrought,orcouldeverbring,tothesenses.Butthiswasnotoneofthem.Itwasathingtobedrivenoutofthemind,tobedruggedwithpoppies,tobestrangledlestitmightstrangleoneitself. Whenthehalf-hourstruck,hepassedhishandacrosshisforehead,andthengotuphastilyanddressedhimselfwithevenmorethanhisusualcare,givingagooddealofattentiontothechoiceofhisnecktieandscarf-pinandchanginghisringsmorethanonce.Hespentalongtimealsooverbreakfast,tastingthevariousdishes,talkingtohisvaletaboutsomenewliveriesthathewasthinkingofgettingmadefortheservantsatSelby,andgoingthroughhiscorrespondence.Atsomeoftheletters,hesmiled.Threeofthemboredhim.Onehereadseveraltimesoverandthentoreupwithaslightlookofannoyanceinhisface.“Thatawfulthing,awoman’smemory!”asLordHenryhadoncesaid. Afterhehaddrunkhiscupofblackcoffee,hewipedhislipsslowlywithanapkin,motionedtohisservanttowait,andgoingovertothetable,satdownandwrotetwoletters.Oneheputinhispocket,theotherhehandedtothevalet. “Takethisroundto152,HertfordStreet,Francis,andifMr.Campbellisoutoftown,gethisaddress.” Assoonashewasalone,helitacigaretteandbegansketchinguponapieceofpaper,drawingfirstflowersandbitsofarchitecture,andthenhumanfaces.SuddenlyheremarkedthateveryfacethathedrewseemedtohaveafantasticlikenesstoBasilHallward.Hefrowned,andgettingup,wentovertothebook-caseandtookoutavolumeathazard.Hewasdeterminedthathewouldnotthinkaboutwhathadhappeneduntilitbecameabsolutelynecessarythatheshoulddoso. Whenhehadstretchedhimselfonthesofa,helookedatthetitle-pageofthebook.ItwasGautier’s“émauxetCamées”,Charpentier’sJapanese-paperedition,withtheJacquemartetching.Thebindingwasofcitron-greenleather,withadesignofgilttrellis-workanddottedpomegranates.IthadbeengiventohimbyAdrianSingleton.Asheturnedoverthepages,hiseyefellonthepoemaboutthehandofLacenaire,thecoldyellowhand“dusuppliceencoremallavée,”withitsdownyredhairsandits“doigtsdefaune.”Heglancedathisownwhitetaperfingers,shudderingslightlyinspiteofhimself,andpassedon,tillhecametothoselovelystanzasuponVenice: Surunegammechromatique, Leseindeperlesruisselant, LaVénusdel’Adriatique Sortdel’eausoncorpsroseetblanc. Lesd?mes,surl’azurdesondes Suivantlaphraseaupurcontour, S’enflentcommedesgorgesrondes Quesoulèveunsoupird’amour. L’esquifabordeetmedépose, Jetantsonamarreaupilier, Devantunefa?aderose, Surlemarbred’unescalier. Howexquisitetheywere!Asonereadthem,oneseemedtobefloatingdownthegreenwater-waysofthepinkandpearlcity,seatedinablackgondolawithsilverprowandtrailingcurtains.Themerelineslookedtohimlikethosestraightlinesofturquoise-bluethatfollowoneasonepushesouttotheLido.Thesuddenflashesofcolourremindedhimofthegleamoftheopal-and-i