The Estray - Chapter 12 The Leopardess

That was the sort of night he had spent and the next day he passed in
a lethargy. He had no heart to face the future now that the great
purpose of his life had failed. Holliwell's God of comfort and
forgiveness forsook him. What did he want with a God when that one
comrade of his lonely, young, human life was out there lost by his own
cruelty! Perhaps she was dead. Perhaps the wound had killed her. For
all these years she might have been lying dead somewhere in the snow,
under the sky. Sharp periods of pain followed dull periods of stupor.
Now it was night again and a recollection of Jasper's theater ticket
had dragged him to a vague purpose. He wanted to see again that woman
who had so vivified his memory of Joan. It would be hateful to see her
again, but he wanted the pain. He dressed and groomed himself
carefully. Then, feeling a little faint, he went out into the
clattering, glaring night.

Pierre's experience of theater-going was exceedingly small. He had
never been in so large a play-house as this one of Morena's; he had
never seen so large and well-dressed an audience; never heard a full
and well-trained orchestra. In spite of himself, he began to be
distracted, excited, stirred. When the curtain rose on the beautiful
tropical scene, the lush island, the turquoise sea, the realistic
strip of golden sand, Pierre gave an audible oath of admiration and
surprise. The people about him began to be amused by the excitement of
this handsome, haggard young man, so graceful and intense, so
different with his hardness and leanness, the brilliance of his eyes,
the brownness of his skin. His clothes were good enough, but they
fitted him with an odd air of disguise. An experienced eye would
inevitably have seen the appropriateness of flannel shirt, gay silk
neck-handkerchief, boots, spurs, and chaparreras. Pierre was
entirely unaware of being interesting or different. At that moment,
caught up in the action of the play, he was as outside of himself as a
child.