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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..191ff67 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #65620 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65620) diff --git a/old/65620-0.txt b/old/65620-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index dda5d49..0000000 --- a/old/65620-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5062 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Cruel Enigma, by Paul Bourget - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: A Cruel Enigma - -Author: Paul Bourget - -Translator: Julian Cray - -Release Date: June 15, 2021 [eBook #65620] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Dagny and Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free Literature (Images - generously made available by Hathi Trust Digital Library.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CRUEL ENIGMA *** - -A CRUEL ENIGMA - - -BY PAUL BOURGET - - -AUTHOR OF "A LOVE CRIME" - - - - -TRANSLATED WITHOUT ABRIDGMENT FROM THE 18TH FRENCH EDITION - -BY JULIAN CRAY - - - -LONDON: -_VIZETELLY & CO., 42, CATHERINE ST., STRAND_ -BRENTANOS: NEW YORK, WASHINGTON AND CHICAGO - -1887 - - - - -PAUL BOURGET. - - -A poet of merit, an acute, clear-sighted critic, and an accomplished and -successful novelist, M. Paul Bourget occupies an important position -among the brilliant crowd of modern French _littérateurs_, upon the -younger generation especially of whom he exercises an acknowledged and a -constantly widening influence. Nor will this influence appear other than -natural if it be borne in mind that, gifted with no mean qualifications -for the task, M. Bourget has made a deep and particular study of just -those problems which, to this self-conscious, introspective age of ours, -are possessed of an all-absorbing interest. Complex as his nature -undoubtedly is, and many-sided as its accomplishment might, to a first -and superficial view, appear, he is in all his writings primarily a -critic, while his criticism has, moreover, uniformly occupied itself -with the same objects, with the hidden movements of the mind, that is to -say, considered in their bearings upon external manifestation, with all -the varied promptings which underlie the surface of conduct. - -For the prosecution of such psychological studies, M. Bourget is in -every needful particular well fitted. He possesses keen insight, and a -remarkable power of sympathetically appreciating the play and -counter-play of motives, passions, and delicate shades of feeling; while -he is also endowed with that tact, subtlety, refinement, and, above all, -exact lucidity of expression, by which a writer is enabled to convey his -divinings unimpaired to the reader. This flexibility of sympathy, with -its answering flexibility of language, enabling to the expression alike -of widely sundered and of delicately blending diversities of thought and -emotion, correspond to, and are, perhaps, partly the outcome of, a -richly varied life-experience. Just as M. Bourget has made himself -equally at home in London and in Florence, in Paris and in Morocco, so -is he equally at ease and equally successful whether he be engaged in -indicating some of the consequences wrought by cosmopolitan existence in -the characters of Stendhal, Tourgéniev, and Amiel; in analysing the -conceptions of modern love presented in the writings of Baudelaire and -M. Alexandre Dumas; in measuring the modifications produced by science -in the imaginations and diverse sensibilities of Flaubert, M. Leconte de -Lisle, and M. Taine; or, finally, in living the life of his own -fictitious characters, and portraying for us a Hubert or a Theresa de -Sauve. - -It is evident that the wielder of such exceptional powers must be -obvious to peculiar dangers with which the mere dead-level narrator of -outer phenomena has little or no acquaintance. To the very fulness of -these powers, and to their supremely overmastering presence are due -faults from which less gifted writers are shielded by their mediocrity -as by a wall. It would be possible, did space and inclination serve, to -point out instances of affectation both of idea and of expression in M. -Bourget's writings. As in the case of some of our own premier -authors--George Eliot, for instance, and Mr. George Meredith--his -thought is not invariably worthy of the richness of its setting, while -his analysis is occasionally pushed so far as to be superfluous, not to -say absurd. The charge of "literary dandyism" brought against him by M. -Jules Lemaitre is not destitute of foundation. It must be acknowledged -that his subtlety borders at times on pedantry, and his refinement on -conceit. Having said this, it is only fair to add that these flaws do -not enter excessively into the texture of his work; indeed, they rather -serve, by force of sufficiently rare and sharply defined contrast, to -throw into relief its general sterling excellence. And such -imperfections should not be allowed to weigh overmuch with us in -attempting to estimate the worth of our author's achievement. It is -notorious that--_si parva licet componere magnis_--there are spots on -the sun. - -Conversant as he is with the entire gamut of human feeling, M. Bourget -has in all his novels--with the single exception of the last of them, -"André Cornélis"--elected to direct exclusive attention to the passion -of love. His treatment of this theme is as characteristic as it is -fresh. It is, further, in complete harmony with what appears to be his -doctrine of life. Accuracy of vision, assisted, doubtless, by the -breadth of cosmopolitan experience, has produced in him a result not -uncommon with men of his calibre. In spite of his own protestation to -the contrary, it has, in fact, made him a pessimist. Like Flaubert, with -whom he has some affinity, and one of the most striking of whose phrases -he, in the course of the following pages, unconsciously adopts, he -discerns too clearly to be greatly pleased with what he sees. The -pessimism of the two men was, however, arrived at by somewhat different -routes. Setting aside any origins of a purely physical nature, it arose -with Flaubert mainly from the inconsistency of his external surroundings -with his inward ideals, and denoted simply that his objective world and -his subjective world were at strife. M. Bourget's dissatisfaction flows -from the unpleasing result of his analyses of the inward feelings -themselves. He probes them and penetrates them throughout their complex -ramifications and windings until he reaches some ultimate fact or some -irreducible instinct, from which he draws the moral of an unbending -necessity. And here he finds the aspirings of his imagination and the -decrees of destiny at daggers drawn. - -In these considerations we have a key to the proper interpretation of -the present volume. "Love," its author has said elsewhere, "has, like -death, remained irreducible to human conventions. It is wild and free in -spite of codes and modes. The woman who disrobes to give herself to a -man, lays aside her entire social personality with her garments. For him -she again becomes what he, too, becomes again for her--the natural, -solitary creature to whom no protection can guarantee happiness, and -from whom no decree can avert woe." These lines sum in brief the -teaching of the book. Its author has, after his own fashion, made an -uncompromising analysis of the passion that he undertakes to describe, -and, stripping from it all the adventitious grace and mysticism and -sentiment with which society is wont to shroud it, has found it to -consist, in the last resort, of a single and simple fact: the physical, -fleshly desire of man for woman and woman for man. Hence it is that -Theresa, while receiving, and rejoicing exceedingly in, Hubert's loftier -and more ideal affection, betrays it at the first opportunity for the -sensual brutishness of a hard-living _roué_, and hence, too, it is that -the pure-souled Hubert, even while he scorns his mistress for her -treachery and loathes himself for his weakness, returns loveless and -despairing to her arms. - -The book is a pitiless study of the inevitable. We are made to feel -that, given the particular primary conditions, the results specified -could not but follow. It would almost seem that in the modern scientific -conception of the universal reign of Law, and the comparatively remote -possibilities of modifying its operation, we are approximating to a -renewed, but far more vividly realised, enthronement of the old Greek -idea of that Necessity against which the gods themselves were believed -to strive in vain, and M. Bourget is too completely a man of his century -not to reflect faithfully one of the most striking phases of latter-day -thought. The contemplation of a fatalistic ordering of the moral world -cannot be otherwise than exceptionally painful to one who, like M. -Bourget, is as sensitive to moral and spiritual, as he is to physical -and natural beauty. His nobler nature is wounded by the hard sequence of -inevitable law, and would fain have a deeply different moulding of -circumstance, but for all that the true novelist can tell us only what -he sees, and what he believes to be true, and so it comes to pass that -in M. Bourget's novels, with, perhaps, a single exception, we find the -eternal contrast between the "might be" and the "must be" consistently -indicated. In his "L'Irréparable" and its companion tale, "Deuxième -Amour," in "Crime d'Amour" and in "Cruelle Enigme," the topic which -engrosses him is still the same. In all alike we are sensible of the -antagonism between the cherished aspirations of the moralist and the -conclusions which the psychologist finds himself unwillingly compelled -to draw. And not in them only, but throughout his other writings also, -we can trace the spirit-workings of the man to whom life in its -entirety, no less than certain sorrowful phases of it is "a cruel -enigma." - - -JULIAN CRAY. - - - - -DEDICATION. - - -TO Mr. HENRY JAMES. - - -Allow me, my dear Henry James, to place your name on the first page of -this book in memory of the time at which I was beginning to write it, -and which was also the time when we became acquainted. In our -conversations in England last summer, protracted sometimes at one of the -tables in the hospitable Athenæum Club, sometimes beneath the shade of -the trees in some vast park, sometimes on the Dover esplanade while it -echoed to the tumult of the waves, we often discussed the art of -novel-writing, an art which is the most modern of all because it is the -most flexible, and the most capable of adaptation to the varied -requirements of every temperament. We were agreed that the laws imposed -upon novelists by the various æsthetics resolve themselves ultimately -into this: to give a personal impression of life. Will you find this -impression in "A Cruel Enigma"? I trust so, that this work may be truly -worthy of being offered to one whose rare and subtle talent, intelligent -sympathy, and noble character, I have been able to appreciate as reader, -fellow-worker, and friend. - - -P.B. - -_Paris, 9th February_, 1885. - - - - -CONTENTS -CHAPTER I -CHAPTER II -CHAPTER III -CHAPTER IV -CHAPTER V -CHAPTER VI -CHAPTER VII -CHAPTER VIII -CHAPTER IX -CHAPTER X -CHAPTER XI -CHAPTER XII - - - - -A CRUEL ENIGMA. - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -All men accustomed to feel through their imaginations are well -acquainted with that unique description of melancholy which is inflicted -by too complete a likeness between a mother and her daughter, when the -mother is fifty years old and the daughter twenty-five, and the one -happens thus to exhibit the looked-for spectre of the old age of the -other. How fruitful in bitterness for a lover is such a vision of the -inevitable withering reserved for the beauty that he loves! To the eye -of a disinterested observer such likenesses abound in singularly -suggestive reflections. Rarely, indeed, does the analogy between the -features of the two faces extend to identity, and still more rarely are -the expressions completely alike. There has usually been a sort of -onward march in the common temperament from one generation to the next. -The predominant quality in the physiognomy has become more predominant -still--a visible symbol of a development of character produced by -heredity. Already too refined, the face has become still more so; -sensual, it has been materialised; wilful, it has grown hard and dry. - -But it is especially at the period when life has done its work, when the -mother has passed her sixtieth year and the daughter her fortieth, that -this gradation in likenesses becomes palpable to the student, and with -it the history of the moral circumstances wherein the soul of the race -of which the two beings mark two halting-places has striven. The -perception of fatalities of blood is then so clear that it sometimes -turns to pain. It is in such cases that the implacable, tragical action -of the laws of Nature is revealed even to minds which are the most -destitute of general ideas, and if this action be at all exercised -against creatures who--apart even from love--are dear to us, how it -hurts us to admit it! - -Although a man who had started formerly as a private soldier and has -been retired as General of division, who is seventy-two years old, who -has a liver complaint contracted in Africa, five wounds and the -experience of fifteen campaigns, is not very prone to philosophical -dreamings, it was nevertheless to impressions of this kind that General -Count Alexander Scilly resigned himself one evening, on leaving the -drawing-room of a small house in the Rue Vaneau, where he had left his -old friend Madame Castel, and this friend's daughter, Madame Liauran, -alone together. Eleven had just struck from a clock of the purest style -of the Empire--a gift from Napoleon I. to Madame Castel's father--which -stood on the mantelpiece in this drawing-room, and, as was his custom, -the General had risen at precisely the first stroke, to go to his -carriage, which had been announced. - -Truth to tell, the Count had the strongest reasons in the world to be -dimly and profoundly disquieted. After the campaign of 1870, which had -won him his last epaulets, but in which the ruin of his health had been -completed, this man had found himself at Paris with no relations but -distant cousins whom he did not like, having had grounds of complaint -against them on the occasion of the succession to a common cousin. Had -they not impugned the old lady's will, and made a charge of undue -influence against--whom? Against him, Count Scilly, own son to the -Leipsic hero! Feeling that desire, which distinguishes bachelors of all -ages, to replace, by settled habits, the tranquility of the family that -he lacked, the General had been led to create a home external to the -rooms of the resting soldier. - -Circumstances had thus made him the almost daily guest of the house in -the Rue Vaneau, where the two ladies to whom he had long been attached -resided. The eldest, Madame Marie Alice Castel, was the widow of his -first protector, Captain Hubert Castel, who had been killed at his side -in Algeria, when he, Scilly, was as yet only a plain sergeant. The -second, Madame Marie Alice Liauran, was the widow of his dearest -protégé, Captain Alfred Liauran, who had been killed in Italy. - -All those who have given any study to the character of an old bachelor -and old soldier--a combination of two celibacies in one--will, from the -mere announcement of these facts, understand the place occupied by the -mother and daughter in the General's existence. Whenever he left their -house, and during the whole of the time which it took his carriage to -bring him home again, his one mental occupation was to recur to all the -incidents in his visit. This interval was a long one, for the General -lived on the Quai d'Orléans on the ground floor of an old house which -had been formally bequeathed to him by his cousin. The carriage went but -slowly; it was drawn by an old army horse, very aged and very quiet, -gently driven by an old orderly soldier, faithful Bertrand, who would -not have whipped the animal for a cask of grape-skin brandy, his -favourite drink. - -The carriage itself did not run easily, low and heavy as it was--a -regular dowager's chariot which the General had preserved unaltered, -with the pale green leather of its lining and the dark green shade of -its panels. Is there any need to add that Scilly had inherited this -carriage at the same time as the house? In the ignorance of an old -soldier accustomed to the roughness of a profession to which he had -taken very seriously, he ingenuously considered this lumbering vehicle -as the height of comfort, and seated with his hand in one of the slings, -on the edge of those cushions on which his cousin used once to stretch -herself voluptuously, he unceasingly saw again before him the -drawing-room in the Rue Vaneau, and the two inmates of that calm -retreat--oh! so calm; with its lofty closed windows, beyond which -extended the princely garden reaching from the Rue Vaneau to the Rue de -Babylon; yes, so calm and so well known to him, Scilly, in its slightest -details! - -On the walls hung three large portraits, witnessing that, since the -Revolution, all the men of the family had been soldiers. There was first -the grandfather, Colonel Hubert Castel, represented by the painter Gros -in the dark uniform of the cuirassiers of the Empire, his head bare, his -sturdy neck confined in its blue-black collar, his torso clad in its -cuirass, his arms enclosed in the dark cloth of their sleeves, and his -hands covered with their white rounded gauntlets. Napoleon had fallen -from his throne too soon to reward, as he wished, the officer who had -saved his life in the Russian campaign. Next, there was the son of this -stern cavalier, a captain in the African army, painted by Delacroix in -the blue tunic with its plaited folds, and the wide red trousers, tight -fitting at the feet; then the portrait, painted by Flandrin, of Alfred -Liauran, in the uniform of an officer of the line, such as Scilly -himself had worn. On both sides were miniatures representing Colonel -Castel again, but before he had attained to that rank, and also some men -and women of the old régime; for Madame Castel was a Mademoiselle de -Trans, of the De Transes of Provence, a very numerous and noble family -belonging to the district of Aix. Colonel Castel's father, who had been -merely the steward of Marie Alice's father, had saved the, in truth, -somewhat inconsiderable property of the family during the storm of 1792, -and when in 1829 Mademoiselle de Trans had wished to marry this wealthy -man's grandson, who happened to be the son of a celebrated soldier, she -had met with no opposition. - -All Madame Castel's past, and that of her daughter, was, therefore, -spread over the walls of this drawing-room, which was at once austere -and homely, like all apartments which are much occupied, and occupied by -persons who have cherished recollections. The furniture, which was -composed of a curious mixture of objects of the First Empire, the -Restoration, and the July Monarchy, certainly had no correspondence with -the fortune of the two ladies, which had become very large owing to the -modesty of their mode of life; but of this furniture there was not a -single piece that did not speak of someone dear both to them and to -Scilly, who from childhood had found interest in everything belonging to -this family. Had not his father been made a Count on the same day that -his companion-in-arms, Castel, had been made a Colonel? - -And it was just this intimate acquaintance with the life of these two -women which rendered the old man so strangely sensitive in respect of -them. He had identified himself with them to the extent of being unable -to sleep at night when he had left them visibly pre-occupied. This spare -man, sunk as it were into himself, in whom everything revealed strict -discipline from the stolidity of his look to the regularity of his gait, -and the punctilious rigour of his dress, disclosed, when his two friends -were in question, all those treasures of feeling which his mode of life -had given him little opportunity to expend; and on this evening, in the -month of February, 1880, he was in a state of agitation, like that of a -lover who has seen his mistress's eyes bathed in tears the cause of -which is unknown to him. - -"What subject of grief can they have which they would not tell me?" This -question passed again and again through the General's head while his -carriage drove along, beaten by the wind and lashed by the rain. It was -"regular Prussian weather," as the Count's coachman expressed it; but -his master never thought of pulling up the open window through which -squalls were coming in every five minutes, and he constantly reverted to -his question, for his poor friends had been dreadfully dull the whole -evening, and the General could see them mentally just as his last glance -had caught them. The mother was seated in an easy-chair at the corner of -the fireplace, with her white hair, her profile which had not yet lost -its pride, and her strangely-black eyes set in a face wrinkled with -those long vertical wrinkles which tell of nobleness of life. The -extraordinary paleness of her colourless and, as it were, bloodless -complexion betrayed at all times the great sorrows of a widowhood which -had found nothing to divert or console it. But that evening this -paleness had appeared to the Count even more startling, as, too, had the -restlessness in the physiognomy of the daughter. - -Although Madame Liauran was past forty, not one thread of silver mingled -as yet with the bands of black hair crowning the faded yet not withered -face, in which all her mother's features were reproduced, but with more -emaciation and pain. A nervous complaint kept her always lying on her -couch, which, that evening, was exactly opposite to Madame Castel's easy -chair, so that the General, on leaving the drawing-room had been able to -see both women at once, and to feel confusedly that on the second there -was weighing a double widowhood. No, there was nothing left in this -creature to enable her to support life without suffering. To Scilly, who -knew in what an atmosphere of tenderness and sorrow the second Marie -Alice had grown up, before herself entering an atmosphere of new -troubles, this sort of intensified widowhood afforded an easy -explanation of the existence in the daughter of a sensitiveness that was -already keen in the mother. - -But then, were there not years in which the melancholy of the two widows -was enlivened or rather warded off by the presence of a child, Alexander -Hubert Liauran, who had been born a few months before the Italian war--a -charming creature, somewhat too frail to suit the taste of his -godfather, the General, who was fond of calling him "Mademoiselle -Hubert," and as graceful as all young people are who have been brought -up only by women? In the circumstances in which his mother and -grandmother found themselves, how could this boy have been anything but -the whole world to them? - -"If they are so downcast, it can only be on his account," said the Count -to himself; "yet there is no question of war--" for the old soldier -recollected the promise which the young man had made to him to enlist at -once if ever a new strife should bring Germany and France into conflict. -This one condition had induced him not to dispute the frightened wish of -the two women who had been desirous of keeping the son by their side. -The young man, in fact, had at first been attracted by the military -profession; but the mere idea of seeing their child dressed in uniform -had been too stern a martyrdom for Madame Castel and Madame Liauran, and -the child had remained with them, unprovided with any career but that of -loving and of being loved. - -The remembrance of his godson, Hubert, awakened a fresh train of musing -in the Count. His brougham had gone down the Rue du Bac, and was now -advancing along the quays. A rain-splash fell on the old soldier's cheek -and he closed the pane which had remained open. The sudden sensation of -cold made him shrink further into the corner of his carriage and into -his thoughts. That kind of backset which is produced by physical -annoyance often has the strange effect of heightening the power of -remembrance within us. Such was the case with the General, who suddenly -began to reflect that for several weeks his godson had rarely spent the -evening at the Rue Vaneau. He had not been disturbed by this, knowing -that Madame Liauran was very anxious that her son should go into -society. They were so much afraid lest he should weary of their narrow -life. - -Scilly was now compelled by a secret instinct to connect this absence -with the inexplicable sadness overspreading the faces of the two women. -He understood so well that all the keen forces of the grandmother's and -of the mother's heart, had their supreme centre in the existence of -their child! And he pictured to himself pell-mell the thousand scenes of -passionate affection which he had witnessed since the time of Hubert's -birth. He remembered Madame Castel's recrudescent paleness, and Madame -Liauran's deadly headaches at the slightest uneasiness in the child. He -could see again the days of his education, the course of which was -followed by the mother herself. How many times had he admired the young -woman as, with her elbow resting on a little table, she employed her -evening hours in studying the page of a Latin or Greek book, which the -boy was to repeat next day? - -With a touching, infatuated tenderness such as is peculiar to certain -mothers who would be pained by the slightest divorce between their own -mind and their son's, Madame Liauran had sought to associate herself -hour by hour with the development of her child's intelligence. Hubert -had not taken a lesson in the upper room in the little house at which -his mother was not present, engaged with some piece of charitable work, -such as knitting a coverlet or hemming handkerchiefs for the poor, but -listening with all her attention to what the master was saying. She had -pushed the divine susceptibility of her soul's jealousy so far as to be -unwilling to have a private tutor. Hubert had, therefore, received -instruction from different masters whom Madame Liauran had engaged on -the recommendations of her confessor, the Vicar of Sainte-Clotilde, and -none of them had been able to dispute with her an influence which she -would share only with the grandmother. - -When it was necessary that the youth should learn how to ride and fence, -the poor woman, to whom an hour spent away from her son was a period of -ill-dissembled anguish, had taken months and months to make up her mind. -At last she had consented to fit up a room on the ground floor as a -fencing school. An old regimental instructor, who was settled in Paris, -and whom General Scilly had had under him in the service, used to come -three times a week. The mother did not venture to acknowledge that the -mere noise of the clashing of the swords awakened within her a dread of -some accident, and caused her almost insurmountable emotion. The Count -had likewise induced Madame Liauran to entrust her son to him to be -taken to the riding-school; but she had done so on condition that he -would not leave him for a minute, and every departure for this -horse-exercise had continued to be an occasion of secret agony. - -Foreign as they might be to his own character, all these shades of -feeling, which had made the education of the young man a mysterious poem -of foolish terror, painful felicity, and continual effusiveness, had -been understood by Count Scilly, thanks to the intelligence of the most -devoted affection, and he knew that Madame Castel, though outwardly more -mistress of herself, was little better than her daughter. How many -glances from the pale woman had he not caught, wrapping Marie Alice -Liauran and Hubert in too ardent and absolute idolatry? - -The days had passed away; their child was reaching his twenty-second -year, and the two widows continued to entwine and bind him with the -thousand attentions by which impassioned women, whether mothers, wives, -or lovers, know how to keep the object of their passion beside them. -With a careful minuteness that was fruitful in intimate delight, they -had taken pleasure in furnishing for Hubert the most charming bachelor's -rooms that could be imagined. They had enlarged a pavilion running out -from behind the house into a little garden which was itself contiguous -to the immense garden in the Rue de Varenne. From her own bedroom -windows Madame Liauran could see those of her son, who had thus a little -independent universe to himself. The two women had had the sense to -understand that they could keep Hubert altogether with themselves only -by anticipating the wish for a personal existence inevitable in a man of -twenty. - -On the ground floor of this pavilion were two spacious rooms on a level -with the garden--one containing a billiard table, and the other every -requisite for fencing. It was here that Hubert received his friends, -consisting of some people from the Faubourg Saint-Germain; for, although -Madame Castel and Madame Liauran did not visit, they had maintained -continuous relations with all those in the Faubourg who occupied -themselves with works of charity. These formed a distinct society, very -different from the worldly clan, and united in a mode all the closer, -because its relations were very frequent, serious and personal. But -certainly none of Hubert's young friends moved in an establishment -comparable to that which the two women had organised on the first story -of the pavilion. They who lived in the simplicity of unexpectant widows, -and who would not for the world have modified anything in the antique -furniture of their house, had had modern luxury and comfort suddenly -revealed to them by their feelings towards Hubert. - -The young man's bedroom was hung with prettily and coquettishly -fantastical Japanese stuffs, and all the furniture had come from -England. Madame Castel and Madame Liauran had been charmed with some -specimens which they had seen at the house of a furious Anglomaniac and -distant relation of their own, and with the caprice of love they had -proposed to give themselves the pleasure of affording this original -elegance to their child. Accordingly, the room, which looked towards the -south and always had the sun upon it, contained a charming, -triple-panelled wardrobe, a wooden wainscot and a what-not mirror over -the mantlepiece, two graceful brackets, a low square bed, and arm-chairs -that one could lounge in for ever--in short, it was really such a _home_ -of refined convenience as every rich Englishman likes to obtain. A -bath-room and a smoking-room adjoined this apartment. - -Although Hubert was not as yet addicted to tobacco, the two women had -anticipated even this habit, and it had afforded them a pretext for -fitting up a little room in quite an Oriental fashion, with a profusion -of Persian carpets and a broad divan draped with Algerian stuffs brought -back by the General from his campaigns, while similar stuffs adorned -ceilings and walls, upon which might be seen all the weapons which three -generations of officers had left behind them. Some Egyptian sabres -recalled the first campaign in which Hubert Castel had served in -Buonaparte's retinue. The Captain in the African Army had been the owner -of these Arab weapons, and those memorials of the Crimea bore witness to -the presence of Sub-Lieutenant Liauran beneath the walls of Sebastopol. - -On leaving the smoking-room you entered the study, the windows of which -were double, those inside being of coloured glass, so that on dull days -it was possible not to notice the aspect of the hour. The two women had -endured such frightful recurrences of melancholy on gloomy afternoons, -and beneath cruel skies! A large writing-table standing in the middle of -the room had in front of it one of those revolving arm-chairs which -allows the worker to turn round towards the fireplace without so much as -rising. A little Tronchin table presented its raised desk, if the young -man took a fancy to stand as he wrote, while a couch awaited his -idleness. A cottage piano stood in the corner, and a long, low bookshelf -ran along the back part of the room. - -Perhaps the books with which the shelves of the last-named piece of -furniture were provided interpreted even better than all the other -details the anxious solicitude with which Madame Castel and Madame -Liauran had made every arrangement in order to remain mistresses of the -son during those difficult years which intervene between the twentieth -and the thirtieth. Having both, as soldiers' widows, preserved a -reverence for a life of action while, at the same time, their extreme -tenderness for Hubert rendered them incapable of enduring that he should -face it, they had found a compromise for their consciences in the dream -of a studious life for him. They ingenuously cherished a wish that he -should undertake a large and long work of military history, such as one -of the De Trans family had left behind him in the eighteenth century. -Was not this the best means for ensuring that he would remain a great -deal at home--that is to say, with them? Accordingly, thanks to Scilly's -advice, they had formed a tolerable collection of books suitable for -this project. Some religious works, a small number of novels, and, alone -among modern writers, the works of Lamartine completed the equipment of -the shelves. - -It is right to say that in that corner of the world where no journal was -taken in, contemporary literature was completely unknown. The ideas of -the General and of the two women were identical on this point. And the -case was nearly the same in respect of the whole contemporary world as -it was in respect of literature. Astonishing conversations might have -been heard in that drawing-room in the Rue Vaneau, in the course of -which the Count would explain to his friends that France was governed by -the delegates of the secret societies, with other political theories of -similar scope. The same causes always produce the same effects. -Precisely as happens in very small country towns, monotony of habit had -resulted, with the two widows, in monotony of thought. Feelings were -very deep and ideas very narrow in that old house the entrance gate of -which was opened but rarely. On such occasions the passer-by could see, -at the end of a court, a building on the pediment of which might be read -a Latin motto, engraved in former times in honour of Marshal de Créquy, -the first owner of the house: _Marti invicto atque indefesso_--to -unconquered and indefatigable Mars. The lofty windows of the first -storey and of the ground floor, the old colour of the stone, the -appropriate silence of the court, all harmonised with the characters of -the two residents, whose prejudices were infinite. - -Madame Castel and her daughter believed in presentiments, double sight, -and somnambulists. They were persuaded that the Emperor Napoleon III. -had undertaken the Italian war in fulfilment of a carbonaro oath. Never -would these divinely good women have bestowed their friendship upon a -Protestant or an Israelite. The mere idea that there might be a -conscientious Freethinker would have disconcerted them as though they -had been told of the sanctity of a criminal. In short, even the General -thought them ingenuous. But, as it sometimes happens with officers -condemned to fleeting loves by their roving life and the timid feelings -hidden beneath their martial appearance Scilly was not well enough -acquainted with women to appreciate the reality of this ingenuousness or -the depth of the ignorance of evil in which the two Marie Alices lived. -He supposed that all virtuous women were similar, and he confounded all -others under the term of "queans." When his liver troubled him -excessively he would pronounce this word in a tone which gave grounds -for suspecting some bitter deception in his past life. But who among the -few people that he met at the house of "his two saints," as he called -Madame Castel and her daughter, dreamed of troubling themselves about -whether he had been deceived by some garrison adventuress or not? - -Still lulled by the rolling of his carriage, the General continued to -resign himself to the memory-crisis through which he had been passing -since his departure from the Rue Vaneau, and which had caused him to -review, in a quarter of an hour, the entire existence of his friends. -Other faces also were evoked around these two forms, those, for -instance, of Madame de Trans, Madame Castel's first cousin, who lived in -the country for part of the year, and who used to come with her three -daughters, Yolande, Yseult and Ysabeau, to spend the winter at Paris. -These four ladies used to take up their abode in apartments in the Rue -de Monsieur, and their Parisian life consisted in hearing low mass at -seven o'clock in the morning in the private chapel of a convent situated -in the Rue de La Barouillère, in visiting other convents, or in busying -themselves in workrooms during the afternoon. They went to bed at about -half-past eight, after dining at noon and supping at six. - -Twice a week "those De Trans ladies," as the General called them, spent -the evening with their cousins. On these occasions they returned to the -Rue de Monsieur at ten o'clock, and their servant used to come for them -with a parcel containing their pattens and with a lantern that they -might cross the courtyard of Madame Castel's house without danger. The -Countess de Trans and her three daughters had the sunburnt and freckled -faces of peasant women, dresses home-made by seamstresses chosen for -them by the nuns, parsimonious tastes written in the meanness -of their whole existence, and--a detail revealing their native -aristocracy--charming hands and delicious feet which could not be -disgraced by the ready-made boots purchased in a pious establishment in -the Rue de Sèvres. - -The most singular contrast existed between these four women and George -Liauran, another cousin on the side of the second Marie Alice. He -represented all the fashions in the drawing-room in the Rue Vaneau. He -was a man of forty-five who had been launched into wealthy society with -a fortune that had at first been a moderate one but had increased by -clever speculations on the Bourse. He had his rooms in his club, where -he used to breakfast, and every evening a cover was laid for him in one -of the houses in which he was a familiar guest. He was small, thin, and -very brown. Whether or not he maintained the youth of his pointed beard -and very short hair by the artifice of a dye, was a question that had -long been debated among the three Demoiselles de Trans, who were -stupefied at the sight of George's superior appearance, the varnished -soles of his dress-shoes, the embroidered clocks of his silk socks, the -chased gold studs in his cuffs, the single pearl in his shirt front, by -the slightest knick-knacks, in fact, belonging to this man with the -shrewd lively eyes, whose toilet represented to them a life of thrilling -prodigality. It was agreed among them that he exercised a fatal -influence over Hubert. - -Such was doubtless not Madame Liauran's opinion, for she had desired -George to act as a chaperon to the young man in the life of the world, -when she wished her son to cultivate their family relations. The noble -woman rewarded her cousin's lengthened attention by this mark of -confidence. He had come to the quiet house very regularly for years, -whether it was that the security of this affection was pleasing to him -amid the falsities of Parisian society, or that he had long conceived a -secret adoration for Marie Alice Liauran, such as the purest women -sometimes unconsciously inspire in misanthropes--for George had that -shade of pessimism which is to be met with in nearly all club-livers. -The nature of the character of this man, who was always inclined to -believe the worst of everything, was the object of an astonishment on -the part of the General that custom had failed to allay; but on this -evening he omitted to reflect upon it. The recollection of George only -served to heighten that of Hubert still more. - -Irresistibly the worthy man came to recognise the obviousness of the -fact that his two friends could not be so cruelly downcast except on -account of their child. Yes; but why? This point of interrogation, which -summed up the whole of his reverie, was more present than ever to the -Count's mind as his dowager equipage stopped before his house. Another -carriage was standing on the other side of the gateway, and Scilly -thought that in it he could recognise the little brougham which Madame -Liauran had given to her son. - -"Is that you, John?" he cried to the coachman through the rain. - -"The Count, sir? . . . ." replied a voice which Scilly was startled to -recognise. - -"Hubert is waiting for me within," he said to himself; and he crossed -the threshold of the door a prey to curiosity such as he had not -experienced for years. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -Nevertheless, in spite of his curiosity, the General did not make a -gesture the quicker. The habit of military minuteness was too strong -with him to be vanquished by any emotion. He himself put his stick into -the stand, drew off his furred gloves one after the other and laid them -on the table in the antechamber beside his hat, which was carefully -placed on its side. His servant took off his overcoat with the same -slowness. Not until then did he enter the apartment where, as his -servant had just told him, the young man had been awaiting him for -half-an-hour. - -It was a cheerless looking room, and one which revealed the simplicity -of a life reduced to its strictest wants. Oak shelves overladen with -books, the mere appearance of which indicated official publications, ran -along two sides. Some maps and a few weapon-trophies adorned the rest. A -writing-table placed in the centre of the apartment displayed papers -classified in groups--notes for the great work which the Count had been -preparing for an indefinite time on the reorganisation of the army. Two -lustring sleeves, methodically folded, lay among the squares and rulers; -a bust of Marshal Bugeaud adorned the fireplace, which was furnished -with a grate, in which a coke fire was dying out. - -The tile-paved floor was tinted red, and the carpet scarcely extended -beyond the legs of the table which rested upon them. On the table stood -a bright copper lamp, which was lighted at the present moment, and the -green cardboard shade threw the light upon the face of young Liauran, -who was seated beside it in the straw arm-chair, and was looking at the -fire, with his chin resting on his hand. He was so absorbed in his -reverie that he appeared to have heard neither the rolling of the -carriage-wheels nor the General's entrance into the apartment. Never, -moreover, had the latter been so struck as he was just then with the -astonishing likeness presented by the physiognomy of the child with that -of the two women by whom he had been brought up. - -If Madame Liauran appeared more frail than her mother, and less capable -of coping with the bitterness of life, this fragility was still more -exaggerated in Hubert. The thin cloth of his dress-coat--for he was in -evening dress, with a white nosegay in his button-hole--allowed the -outlines of his slender shoulders to be seen. The fingers extended -across his temple were as delicate as a woman's. The paleness of his -complexion, which, owing to the extreme regularity of his life, was -usually tinged with pink, betrayed, in this hour of sadness, the depth -of vibration awakened by all emotion in this too delicate organism. -There were deep, nacreous circles round his handsome black eyes; but, at -the same time, a touch of pride in the line of the nobly-cut forehead -and almost perfectly straight nose, the curve of the lips with its -slender dark moustache, the set of the chin marked with a manly dimple, -and other tokens still, such as the bar of the knitted eyebrows, -betrayed the heredity of a race of action in the over-petted child of -two lovely women. - -If the General had been as good a connoisseur in painting as he was -skilled in arms, this face would certainly have reminded him of those -portraits of young princes painted by Van Dyck, in which the almost -morbid delicacy of an ancient race is blended with the obstinate pride -of heroic blood. After pausing for a few seconds in contemplation, the -General walked towards the table. Hubert raised the charming head which -his brown ringlets, disordered as they were at that moment, rendered -completely similar to the portraits executed by the painter of Charles -I.; he saw his godfather and rose to greet him. He had a slight and -well-made figure, and merely in the graceful fashion in which he held -out his hand could be traced the lengthened watchfulness of maternal -eyes. Are not our manners the indestructible work of the looks which -have followed us and judged us during our childhood? - -"And so you have come to speak to me on very serious business," said the -General, going straight to the point. "I suspected as much," he added. -"I left your mother and your grandmother more melancholy than I had ever -seen them since the Italian war. Why were you not with them this -evening? If you do not make those two women happy, Hubert, you are -cruelly ungrateful, for they would give their lives for your happiness. -And now, what is going on?" - -The General, in uttering these words, had pursued aloud the thoughts -which had been tormenting him during the drive home from the Rue Vaneau. -He could see the young man's features changing visibly as he spoke. It -was one of the hereditary fatalities in the temperament of this too -dearly loved child that the sound of a harsh voice always gave him a -painful little spasm of the heart; but, no doubt, to the harshness of -Count Scilly's accents there was added the harshness of the meaning of -his words. They brutally laid bare a too sensitive wound. Hubert sat -down as though crushed; then he replied in a voice which, naturally -somewhat clouded, was at this moment more muffled than usual. He did not -even attempt to deny that he was the cause of the sorrow on the part of -the two women. - -"Do not question me, godfather. I give you my word of honour that I am -not guilty, only I cannot explain to you the misunderstanding which -makes me a subject of grief to them. I cannot help it. I have gone out -oftener than usual, and that is my only crime." - -"You are not telling me the whole truth," replied Scilly, softened, in -spite of his anger, by the young man's evident grief. "Your mother and -your grandmother are too fond of keeping you tied to their apron -strings, and I have always thought so. You would have been brought up -more hardily if I had been your father. Women do not understand how to -train a man. But have they not been urging you for the last two years to -go into society? It is not your going out, therefore, that grieves them, -but your motive for doing so." - -As he uttered these words, which he considered very clever, the Count -looked at his godson through the smoke from a little brier pipe which he -had just lighted, a mechanical custom sufficiently explaining the acrid -atmosphere with which the room was saturated. He saw Hubert's cheeks -colour with a sudden inflow of blood, which to a more perspicacious -observer would have been an undeniable confession. Only an allusion or -the dread of an allusion to a woman whom he loves, has the power to -disturb a young man of such evident purity as Hubert was. After a few -moments of this sudden emotion, he replied: - -"I declare to you, godfather, that there is nothing in my conduct of -which I should be ashamed. It is the first time that neither my mother -nor my grandmother has understood me--but I shall not yield to them on -the point in dispute. They are unjust about it, frightfully unjust," he -continued, rising and taking a few steps. - -This time his face was no longer expressive of submission, but of the -indomitable pride which military heredity had infused into his blood. He -did not give the General time to notice his words, which in the mouth of -a son, usually only too submissive, disclosed an extraordinary intensity -of passion. He contracted his eyebrows, shook his head as though to -drive away some tormenting thought, and, once more master of himself, -went on: - -"I have not come here to complain to you, godfather; you would give me a -bad reception, and you would not be wrong. I have to ask a service of -you, a great service. But I would wish all that I am going to confide to -you to remain between ourselves." - -"I never enter into such engagements," said the Count. "A man has not -always the right to be silent," he added. "All that I can promise you is -to keep your secret if my affection for you know whom, does not make it -a duty that I should speak. Come, now, decide for yourself." - -"Be it so," rejoined the young man, after a silence, during which he -had, no doubt, judged of the situation in which he found himself; "you -will do as you please. What I have to say to you is comprised in a short -sentence. Godfather, can you lend me three thousand francs?" - -This question was so unexpected by the Count that it forthwith changed -the current of his thoughts. Since the beginning of the conversation he -had been trying to guess the young man's secret, which was also the -secret of his two friends, and he had necessarily thought that some -intrigue was in question. To tell the truth, he did not consider this -very shocking. Though very devout, Scilly had remained too essentially -a soldier not to have most indulgent theories respecting love. Military -life leads those who follow it to a simplification of thought which -causes them to admit all facts, whatever they may be, in their verity. A -"quean" in Scilly's eyes was a necessary malady with a young man. It was -enough if the malady did not last too long, and if the young man came -out of it with tolerable impunity. Now he had suddenly a misgiving that -was more alarming to him, for, owing to his regimental experience, he -considered cards much more dangerous than women. - -"You have been gambling?" he said abruptly. - -"No, godfather," replied the young man. "I have merely spent more than -my allowance for the last few months; I have debts to settle, and," he -added, "I am leaving for England the day after to-morrow." - -"And your mother knows of this journey?" - -"Undoubtedly; I am going to spend a fortnight in London with my friend, -Emmanuel Deroy, of the Embassy, whom you know." - -"If your mother lets you go," returned the old man, continuing the -logical pursuit of his inquiry, "it is because your conduct in Paris is -grieving her cruelly. Answer me frankly--You have a mistress?" - -"No," replied Hubert, with a fresh rush of purple across his cheeks. "I -have no mistress." - -"If it is neither the Queen of Spades nor the Queen of Hearts," said the -General, who did not doubt his godson's veracity for a moment--he knew -him to be incapable of a falsehood--"will you do me the honour of -telling me what has become of the five hundred francs a month, a -colonel's pay, which your mother gives you for pocket-money?" - -"Ah! godfather," returned the young man, visibly relieved; "you do not -know the requirements of a life in society. Why, to-day I gave a dinner -to three friends at the Café Anglais; that came to very nearly a -hundred and fifty francs. I have sent several bouquets, hired carriages -to go into the country, and given a few keepsakes. The five bank-notes -are so soon at an end! In short, I repeat, I have debts that I want to -pay, I have to meet the expenses of my journey, and I do not want to -apply to my mother or my grandmother just now. They do not know what a -young man's life in Paris is like; I do not want to add a second -misunderstanding to the first. With our present relations what they are -they would see faults where there have been only inevitable necessities. -And, then, I am physically unable to endure a scene with my mother." - -"And if I refuse?" Scilly asked. - -"I shall apply elsewhere," said Alexander Hubert; "it will be terribly -painful to me, but I shall do so." - -There was silence between the two men. The whole story was darkening -again in the General's eyes, like the smoke which he was sending from -his pipe in methodical puffs. But what he did see clearly was the -definitive nature of Hubert's resolve, whatever its secret cause might -be. To refuse him would be perhaps to send him to a money-lender, or at -all events to force him to take some step wounding to his pride. On the -other hand, to advance this sum to his godson was to acquire a right to -follow out more closely the mystery which lay at the bottom of his -excitement, as well as behind the melancholy of the two women. And then, -when all is told, the Count loved Hubert with an affection that bordered -closely on weakness. If he had been deeply moved by Madame Liauran's and -Madame Castel's dull despair, he was now completely upset by the visible -anguish written on the face of this child, who was, in his thoughts, an -adopted son as dear as any real son could have been. - -"My dear fellow," he said at last, taking Hubert's hand, and in a tone -of voice giving no further token of the harshness which had marked the -beginning of their conversation, "I think too highly of you to believe -that you would associate me in any action that could displease your -mother. I will do what you wish, but on one condition----" - -Hubert's eyes betrayed fresh anxiety. - -"It is merely to fix the date on which you expect to repay me the money. -I want to oblige you," continued the old soldier, "but it would not be -worthy of you to borrow a sum that you believed yourself unable to pay -back again, nor of me to lend myself to a calculation of the kind. Will -you come back here to-morrow afternoon? You will bring me an account of -what you can spare from your allowance every month. Ah! it will not do -to offer any more bouquets, or dinners at the Café Anglais, or -keepsakes. But, then, have you not lived for a long time past without -these foolish expenses?" - -This little speech, in which the spirit of order that was essential to -the General, his goodness of heart, and his taste for regularity of life -were blended in equal proportion, moved Hubert so deeply that he pressed -his godfather's fingers without replying, as though crushed by emotions -which he had left unexpressed. He suspected that while this interview -was taking place at the Quai d'Orléans, the evening was being -lengthened out at the house in the Rue Vaneau, and that the two beings -whom he loved so deeply were commenting on his absence. He himself -suffered from the pain that he was causing, as though a mysterious -thread linked him to those two women seated beside their lonely hearth. - -And, indeed, the General once gone, the "two saints" had remained silent -for a long time in the quiet little drawing-room. Nothing of all the -tumult of Parisian life reached them but a vast, confused murmuring -analogous to that of the sea when heard a long way off. The seclusion of -this retired abode, with the hum of life outside, was a symbol of what -had so long been the destiny of Madame Castel and her daughter. Marie -Alice Liauran, lying on her couch, and looking very slight in her black -attire, seemed to be listening to this hum, or to her thoughts, for she -had relinquished the work with which she had been engaged; while her -mother, seated in her easy-chair, and also in black, continued to ply -her tortoiseshell crochet-hook, sometimes raising her eyes towards her -daughter with a look wherein a twofold anxiety might be read. She also -experienced the sensation felt by her daughter, on account both of -Hubert and of this daughter, whose almost morbid sensitiveness she knew. -It was not she, however, who first broke the silence, but Madame -Liauran, who suddenly, and as though pursuing her reverie aloud, began -to lament: - -"What renders my pain still more intolerable is that he sees the wound -which he has dealt my heart, and that he is not to be stopped by it--he -who, from childhood until within the last six months, could never -encounter a shadow in my look or a wrinkle on my forehead without a -change of countenance. That is what convinces me of the depth of his -passion for this woman. What a passion and what a woman!" - -"Do not become excited," said Madame Castel, rising and kneeling in -front of her daughter's couch. "You are in a fever," she said, taking -her hand. Then, in a low voice, and as though probing her consciousness -to the bottom, she went on: "Alas! my child, you are jealous of your -son, as I have been jealous of you. I have spent so many days--I can -tell you this now--in loving your husband----" - -"Ah! mother," replied Madame Liauran, "that is not the same kind of -grief. I did not degrade myself in giving part of my heart to the man -whom you had chosen, while you know that cousin George has told us of -this Madame de Sauve, and of her education by that unworthy mother, and -of her reputation since she has been married, and of the husband who can -suffer his wife to have a drawing-room in which the conversation is more -than free, and of the father, the old prefect, who, on being left a -widower, brought up his daughter helter-skelter with his mistresses. I -confess, mamma, that if there is egotism in maternal love, I have had -that egotism; I have been grieved by anticipation at the thought that -Hubert would marry, and that he would continue his life apart from mine. -But I blamed myself greatly for feeling in that way,--whereas now he has -been taken from me, and taken from me only to be disgraced!" - -For some minutes longer she prolonged this violent lamentation, wherein -was revealed that kind of passionate frenzy which had caused all the -keen forces of her heart to be concentrated about her son. It was not -only the mother that suffered in her, it was the pious mother to whom -human faults were abominable crimes; it was the sad and isolated mother -upon whom the rivalry of a young, rich, and elegant woman inflicted -secret humiliation; in fine, her heart was bleeding at every pore. The -sight of this suffering, however, wounded Madame Castel so cruelly, and -her eyes expressed such sorrowful pity, that Marie Alice broke off her -complaint. She leaned over on her couch, laid a kiss upon those poor -eyes, so like her own, and said: - -"Forgive me, mamma; but to whom should I tell my trouble if not to you? -And then--would you not see it? Hubert is not coming in," she added, -looking at the clock, the pendulum of which continued to move quietly to -and fro. "Do you not think that I ought to have opposed this journey to -England?" - -"No, my child; if he is going to pay a visit to his friend, why should -you exercise your authority in vain? And if he were going from any other -motive, he would not obey you. Remember that he is twenty-two years old, -and that he is a man." - -"I am growing foolish, mother; this journey was settled a long time -ago--I have seen Emmanuel's letters; but, when I am grieved, I can no -longer reason, I can see nothing but my sorrow, and it obstructs all my -thoughts---- Ah! how unhappy I am!" - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -If any proof of the thorough many-sidedness of our nature were required, -it might be found in that law which is a customary object of indignation -with moralists, and which ordains that the sight of the sorrow of our -most loved ones cannot, at certain times, prevent us from being happy. -Our feelings seem to maintain a sort of life and death struggle against -one another in our hearts. Intensity of existence in anyone among them, -though it be but momentary, is only to be obtained at the cost of -weakening all the rest. It is certain that Hubert loved his two -mothers--as he always called the two women who had brought him up--to -distraction. It is certain that he had guessed that for many days they -had been holding conversations together analogous to that of the evening -on which he had borrowed from his godfather the three thousand francs -which he required for settling his debts and meeting the cost of his -journey. - -And yet, on the second day after that evening, when he found himself in -the train which was taking him to Boulogne, it was impossible for him -not to feel his soul steeped, as it were, in divine bliss. He did not -ask himself whether Count Scilly would or would not speak of the step -that he had taken. He put aside the apprehension of this just as he -drove away the recollection of Madame Liauran's eyes at the moment of -his departure, and just as he stifled all the scruples that might be -suggested by his uncompromising piety. - -If he had not absolutely lied to his mother in telling her that he was -going to join his friend Emmanuel Deroy in London, he had nevertheless -deceived this jealous mother by concealing from her that he would meet -Madame de Sauve at Folkestone. Now, Madame de Sauve was not free. Madame -de Sauve was married, and in the eyes of a young man brought up as the -pious Hubert had been, to love a married woman constituted an inexpiable -fault. Hubert must and did believe himself in a condition of mortal sin. -His Catholicism, which was not merely a religion of fashion and posture, -left him in no doubt on this point. But religion, family obligations of -truthfulness, fears for the future, all these phantoms of conscience -appeared to him--conditioned only as phantoms, vain, powerless images, -vanishing before the living evocation of the beauty of the woman who, -five months before had entered into his heart to renew all within it, -the woman whom he loved and by whom he knew himself to be loved. - -Hubert had told the truth, in that he was not Madame de Sauve's lover in -that sense of entire and physical possession in which the term is -understood in our language. She had never belonged to him, and it was -the first time that he was going to be really alone with her, in that -solitude of a foreign land which is the secret dream of everyone who -loves. - -While the train was steaming at full speed through plains alternately -ribbed with hills, intersected with watercourses, and bristling with -bare trees, the young man was absorbed in telling the rosary of his -recollections. The charm of the hours that were gone was rendered still -dearer to him by the expectation of some immense and undefined -happiness. - -Although Madame Liauran's son was twenty-two years of age, the manner of -his education had kept him in that state of purity so rare among the -young men of Paris, who, for the most part, have exhausted pleasure -before they have had so much as a suspicion of love. But a fact of which -the young fellow was not aware was that it had been this very purity -which had acted more powerfully than the most accomplished libertinism -could have done upon the romantic imagination of the woman whose profile -was passing to and fro before his gaze with the motion of the carriage, -and showing itself alternately against woods, hills and dunes. How many -images does a passing train thus bear along, and with them how many -destinies rushing towards weal or woe in the distant and the unknown! - -It was at the beginning of the month of October, in the preceding year, -that Hubert had seen Madame de Sauve for the first time. On account of -Madame Liauran's health, which rendered the shortest journey dangerous -to her, the two women never left Paris; but the young man sometimes went -during the summer or autumn to spend three or four days in some country -house. He was coming back from one of these visits in company with his -cousin George, when, getting into a carriage at a station on the same -northern line along which he was now travelling, he had met the young -lady with her husband. The De Sauves were acquainted with George, and -thus it was that Alexander Hubert had been introduced. - -Monsieur de Sauve was a man of about forty-five years of age, very tall -and strong, with a face that was already too red, and with traces of -wear and tear which were discernible through his vigour, and the -explanation of which might be found, merely by listening to his -conversation, in his mode of regarding life. Existence to him was -self-lavishment, and he carried out this programme in all directions. -Head of a ministerial cabinet in 1869, thrown after the war into the -campaign of Bonapartist propaganda, a deputy since then, and always -re-elected, but an active deputy, and one who bribed his electors, he -had at the same time launched forth more and more freely into society. -He had a _salon_, gave dinners, occupied himself with sport, and still -found sufficient leisure to interest himself competently and -successfully in financial enterprises. Add to this that before his -marriage he had had much experience of ballet dancers, green-rooms of -small theatres, and private supper-rooms. - -There are temperaments of this kind which nature makes into machines at -a great outlay, and consequently with great returns. Everything in -André de Sauve revealed a taste for what is ample and powerful, from -the construction of his great body to his style of dress, or to the -gesture with which he would take a long black cigar from his case to -smoke it. Hubert well remembered how this man, with his hairy hands and -ears, his large feet and his dragon's mien, had inspired him with that -description of physical repulsion which we all endure on meeting with a -physiology precisely contrary to our own. - -Are there not respirations, circulations of blood, plays of muscle which -are hostile to us, thanks, probably, to that indefinable instinct of -life which impels two animals of different species to rend each other as -soon as they come face to face? Truth to tell, the antipathy of the -delicate Hubert was capable of being more simply explained on the ground -of an unconscious and sudden jealousy of Madame de Sauve's husband; for -Theresa, as her husband familiarly called her, had immediately exercised -a sort of irresistible attraction upon the young man. In his childhood -he had often turned over a portfolio of engravings brought back from -Italy by his illustrious grandfather, who had served under Bonaparte, -and at the first glance that fell upon this woman, he could not help -recalling the heads drawn by the masters of the Lombardic school, so -striking was the resemblance between her face and those of the familiar -Herodiases and Madonnas of Luini and his pupils. - -There was the same full, broad forehead, the same large eyes charged -with somewhat heavy eyelids, the same delicious oval at the lower part -of the cheek terminating in an almost square chin, the same sinuosity of -lips, the same delightful union of eyebrow to the rising of the nose, -and over all these charming features, a suffusion, as it were, of -gentleness, grace, and mystery. Madame de Sauve had further, the -vigorous neck and broad shoulders of the women of the Lombardic school, -as well as all the other tokens of a race at once refined and strong, -with a slender waist and the hands and feet of a child. What marked her -out from this traditional type was the colour of her hair, which was not -red and gold but very black, and of her eyes, the mingled grey of which -bordered upon green. The amber paleness of her complexion, as well as -the languishing listlessness of all her movements, completed the -singular character of her beauty. - -In the presence of this creature, it was impossible not to think of some -portrait of past times, although she breathed youth with the purple of -her mouth and the living fluid of her eyes, and although she was dressed -in the fashion of the day, and wore a jacket fitting close to her -figure. The skirt of her dress, made of an English material of a grey -shade, her feet cased in laced boots, her little man's collar, her -straight cravat, fastened with a diamond horseshoe pin, her Swede -gloves, and her round hat, scarcely suggested the toilet of princesses -of the sixteenth century; and yet she presented to the eye a finished -model of Milanese beauty, even in this costume of Parisian elegance. By -what mystery? - -She was the daughter of Madame Lussac, _née_ Bressuire, whose relations -had not left the Rue Saint-Honoré for three generations, and of -Adolphus Lussac, Prefect under the Empire, who had come from Auvergne in -Monsieur Rouher's train. The chronicle of the drawing-rooms would have -answered the question by recalling the Parisian career of the handsome -Count Branciforte, somewhere about the year 1858, his greenish-grey -eyes, his dead-white complexion, his attentions to Madame Lussac, and -his sudden disappearance from surroundings in which for months and -months he had always lived. But Hubert was never to have these -particulars. By education and by nature he belonged to the race of those -who accept life's official gifts and ignore their deep-lying causes, -their thorough animality, and their tragic lining--a happy race, for to -them belongs the enjoyment of the flower of things, but a race devoted -beforehand to catastrophes, for only a clear view of the real will admit -of any manipulation of it. - -No; what Hubert Liauran remembered of this first interview did not -consist of questions concerning the singularity of Madame de Sauve's -charm. Neither had he examined himself as to the shade of character that -might be indicated by the movements of the woman. Instead of studying -her face he had enjoyed it as a child will relish the freshness of the -atmosphere, with a sort of unconscious delight. The complete absence of -irony which distinguished Theresa, and which might be noted in her -gentle smile, her calm gaze, her smooth voice, and her tranquil -gestures, had instantly been sweet to him. He had not felt in her -presence those pangs of painful timidity which the incisive glance of -most Parisian ladies inflicts upon all young men. - -During the journey which they had made together, while De Sauve and -George Liauran were speaking of a law concerning religious -congregations, the tenour of which was at that time exciting every -party, he had sat opposite to her, and had been able to talk to her -softly and, without knowing why, with intimacy. He who was usually -silent about himself, with a vague idea that the almost insane -excitability of his being made him a unique exception, had opened his -mind to this woman of twenty-five, whom he had not known for -half-an-hour, more than he had ever done to people with whom he dined -every fortnight. - -In answer to a question from Theresa about his travels in the summer, he -had naturally, as it were, spoken of his mother and her complaint, then -of his grandmother, and then of their common life. He had given this -stranger a glimpse of the secret retreat in the house in the Rue Vaneau, -not indeed without remorse; but the remorse had been later, when he was -no longer within the range of her glances, and had come less from a -feeling of outraged modesty than from a fear of having been displeasing -to her. How captivating, in truth, were those gentle glances. There -emanated from them an inexpressible caress, and when they settled upon -your eyes, full in your face, the resultant sensation was like that of a -tender touch, and bordered upon physical voluptuousness. - -Days afterwards Hubert still remembered the species of intoxicating -comfort which he had experienced in this first chat merely through -feeling himself looked at in this way, and this comfort had only -increased in succeeding interviews, until it had almost immediately -become a real necessity for him, like breathing or sleeping. When -leaving the carriage she had told him that she was at home every -Thursday, and he had soon learnt the way to the house in the Boulevard -Haussmann, where she lived. In what recess of his heart had he found the -energy for paying this visit, which fell on the next day but one after -their meeting? Almost immediately, she had asked him to dinner. He -remembered so vividly the childish pleasure which he took in reading and -re-reading the insignificant note of invitation, in inhaling its slight -perfume, and in following the details of the letters of his name, -written by the hand of Theresa. It was a handwriting which, from the -abundance of little, useless flourishes, presented a peculiarly light -and fantastic appearance, in which a graphologist would have been -prepared to read the sign of a romantic nature; but, at the same time, -the bold fashion in which the lines were struck and the firmness of the -down-strokes, where the pen pressed somewhat liberally, denoted a -willingly practical and almost material mode of life. - -Hubert did not reason so much as this; but, from the first note, every -letter that he received in the same handwriting became to him a person -whom he would have recognised among thousands, of others. With what -happiness had he dressed to go to that dinner, telling himself that he -was about to see Madame de Sauve during long hours, hours which, -reckoned in advance, appeared infinite to him! He had felt a somewhat -angry astonishment when his mother, at the moment that he was taking -leave of her, had uttered a critical observation on the familiarity that -was customary in society now-a-days. Then, separated though he was by -months from those events, he was able, thanks to the special imagination -with which, like all very sensitive creatures, he was endowed, to recall -the exact shade of emotion which had been caused him by the dinner and -the evening, the demeanour of the guests and that of Theresa. It is -according as we possess a greater or smaller power of imagining past -pains and pleasures anew that we are beings capable of cold calculation, -or slaves to our sentimental life. Alas! all Hubert's faculties -conspired to rivet round his heart the bruising chain of memories that -were too dear. - -Theresa wore, that first evening, a dress of black lace with pink knots, -and, for her only ornament, a heavy bracelet of massive gold on one -wrist. Her dress was not low enough to shock the young man, whose -modesty was of virginal susceptibility on this point. There were some -persons in the drawing-room, not one of whom, with the exception of -George Liauran, was known to him. They were, for the most part, men -celebrated by different titles in the society more particularly -denominated Parisian by those journals which pique themselves on -following the fashion. Hubert's first sensation had been a slight shock, -owing merely to the fact that some of these men presented to the -malevolent observer several of the little toilet heresies familiar to -the more fastidious if they have gone too late into society. Such is a -coat of antiquated cut, a shirt-collar badly made and worse bleached, or -a neck-tie of a white that borders upon blue, and tied by an unskilful -hand. - -These trifles inevitably appeared signs of a touch of Bohemianism--the -word in which correct people confound all social irregularities--in the -eyes of a young man accustomed to live under the continuous -superintendence of two women of rare education, who had sought to make -him something irreproachable. But these small signs of unsatisfactory -dress had rendered Theresa's finished distinction still more graceful in -his eyes, just as, to him, the sometimes cynical freedom of the talk -uttered at table had imparted a charming significance to the silence of -the mistress of the house. Madame Liauran had not been mistaken when she -affirmed that there was very daring conversation at the house of the De -Sauves. - -The evening that Hubert dined there for the first time a divorce suit -was discussed during the first half-hour, and a great lawyer gave some -unpublished details of the case--the abominable character of a -politician who had been arrested in the Champs Elysées, the two -mistresses of another politician and their rivalry--but all related, as -things are related only at Paris, with those hints which admit the -telling of everything. Many allusions escaped Hubert, and he was -accordingly less shocked by such narrations than by other speeches -bearing upon ideas, such as the following paradox, started by one of the -most famous novelists of the day. - -"Ah! divorce! divorce!" said this man, whose renown as a daring realist -had crossed the threshold even of the house in the Rue Vaneau, "it has -some good in it; but it is too simple a solution for a very complicated -problem. Here, as elsewhere, Catholicism has perverted all our ideas. -The characteristic of advanced societies is the production of many men -of very different kinds, and the problem consists in constructing an -equally large number of moralists. For my part, I would have the law -recognise marriages in five, ten, twenty categories, according to the -sensitiveness of the parties concerned. Thus we should have life-unions -intended for persons of aristocratic scrupulosity; for persons of less -refined consciences, we should establish contracts with facilities for -one, two or three divorces; for persons inferior still, we should have -temporary connections for five years, three years, one year." - -"People would marry just as they grant a lease," it was jestingly -observed. - -"Why not?" continued the other; "the age boasts of being a revolutionary -one, and it has never ventured upon what the pettiest legislator of -antiquity undertook without hesitation--interference with morals." - -"I see what you mean," replied André de Sauve; "you would assimilate -marriages with funerals--first, second, or third class----." - -None of the guests who were amused by this tirade and the reply, amid -the brightness of the crystal, the dresses of the women, the pyramids of -fruit and the clusters of flowers, suspected the indignation which such -talk aroused in Hubert. Who would notice the silent and modest youth at -one end of the table? He himself, however, felt wounded to the very soul -in the inmost convictions of his childhood and his youth, and he glanced -by stealth at Theresa. She did not utter fifty words during this dinner. -She seemed to have wandered in thought far away from the conversation -which she was supposed to control, and, as though accustomed to this -absence of mind, no one sought to interrupt her reverie. She used to -pass whole hours in this way, absorbed in herself. Her pale complexion -became warmer; the brilliancy of her eyes was, so to speak, turned -within; and her teeth appeared small and close through her half-opened -lips. What was she thinking of at minutes such as these, and by what -secret magic were these same minutes those which acted most strongly -upon the imagination of those who were sensible of her charm? - -A physiologist would doubtless have attributed these sudden torpors to -passages of nervous emotion, were they not the token of a sensual -aberration against which the poor creature struggled with all her -strength. Hubert had seen in the silence of that evening only a delicate -woman's disapprobation of the talk of her friends and her husband, and -he had found it a supreme pleasure to go up to her and talk to her on -leaving the dinner-table, at which his dearest beliefs had been wounded. -He had seated himself beneath the gaze of her eyes, now limpid once -more, in one of the corners of the drawing-room--an apartment furnished -completely in the modern style, and which, with its opulence that made -it like a little museum, its plushes, its ancient stuffs, and its -Japanese trinkets, contrasted with the severe apartments in the Rue -Vaneau as absolutely as the lives of Madame Castel and Madame Liauran -could contrast with the life of Madame de Sauve. - -Instead of recognising this evident difference and making it a -starting-point for studying the newness of the world in which he found -himself, Hubert gave himself up to a feeling very natural in those whose -childhood has been passed in an atmosphere of feminine solicitude. -Accustomed by the two noble creatures who had watched over his childhood -always to associate the idea of a woman with something inexpressibly -delicate and pure, it was inevitable that the awakening of love should -in his case be accomplished in a sort of religious and reverential -emotion. He must extend to the person he loved, whoever she might be, -all the devotion that he had conceived for the saints whose son he was. - -A prey to this strange confusion of ideas, he had, on that very first -evening on his return home, spoken of Theresa to his mother and his -grandmother, who were waiting for him, in terms which had necessarily -aroused the mistrust of the two women. He understood that now. But what -young man has ever begun to love without being hurried by the sweet -intoxication of the beginnings of a passion into confidences that were -irreparable, and too often deathful, to the future of his feelings? - -In what manner and by what stage had this feeling entered into him? He -could not have told that. When once a man loves, does it not seem as -though he has always loved? Scenes were evoked, nevertheless, which -reminded Hubert of the insensible habituation which had led him to visit -Theresa several times a week. But had he not been gradually introduced -at her house to all her friends, and, as soon as he had left his card, -had he not found himself invited in all directions into that world which -he scarcely knew, and which was composed partly of high functionaries of -the fallen administration, partly of great manufacturers and political -financiers, and partly, again, of celebrated artists and wealthy -foreigners. - -It formed a society free from constraint and full of luxury, pleasure -and life, but one the tone of which ought to have displeased the young -man, for he could not comprehend its qualities of elegance and -refinement, and he was very sensible of its terrible fault--the want of -silence, of moral life, and of long custom. Ah! he was not much -concerned with observations of this kind, occupied solely as he was to -know where he should perceive Madame de Sauve and her eyes. He called to -mind countless times at which he had met her--sometimes at her own -house, seated at the corner of her fireplace, towards the close of the -afternoon, and lost in one of her silent reveries; sometimes visiting in -full costume and smiling with her Herodias lips at conversations about -dresses or bonnets; sometimes in the front of a box at a theatre and -talking in undertones during an interval; sometimes in the tumult of the -street, dashing along behind her bright bay horse and bowing her head at -the window with a graceful movement. - -The recollection of this carriage produced a new association of ideas in -Hubert, and he could see again the moment at which he had confessed the -secret of his feelings for the first time. Madame de Sauve and he had -met that day about five o'clock in a drawing-room in the Avenue du Bois -de Boulogne, and as it was beginning to rain in torrents the young woman -had proposed to Hubert, who had come on foot, to take him in her -carriage, having, she said, a visit to pay near the Rue Vaneau, which -would enable her to leave him at his door on the way. He had, in fact, -taken his seat beside her in the narrow double brougham lined with green -leather, in which there lingered something of that subtle atmosphere -which makes the carriage of an elegant woman a sort of little boudoir on -wheels, with all the trifling objects belonging to a pretty interior. -The hot-water jar was growing lukewarm beneath their feet; the glass, -set in its sheath in front, awaited a glance; the memorandum book placed -in the nook, with its pencil and visiting cards, spoke of worldly tasks; -the clock hanging on the right marked the rapid flight of those sweet -minutes. A half-opened book, slipped into the place where portable -purchases are usually put, showed that Theresa had obtained the -fashionable novel at the bookseller's. - -Outside in the streets, where the lamps were beginning to light up, -there was the wildness of a glacial winter storm. Theresa, wrapped in a -long cloak which showed the outlines of her figure, was silent. In the -triple reflection from the carriage lamps, the gas in the street and the -expiring day, she was so divinely pale and beautiful that Hubert, -overpowered by emotion, took her hand. She did not withdraw it; she -looked at him with motionless eyes, that were drowned, as it were, in -tears which she would not have dared to shed. Without even hearing the -sound of his own words, so intoxicated was he by this look, he said to -her: - -"Ah! how I love you!" - -She grew still more pale, and laid her gloved hand upon his mouth to -make him be silent. He began to kiss this hand madly, seeking for the -place where the opening of the glove allowed him to feel the living -warmth of the wrist. She replied to this caress by that word which all -women utter at like moments--a word so simple, but one into which creep -so many inflexions, from the most mortal indifference to the most -emotional tenderness-- - -"You are a child." - -"Do you love me a little?" he asked her. - -And then, as she looked at him with those same eyes which sent forth a -ray of happiness, he could hear her murmur in a stifled voice: - -"A great deal." - -For most Parisian young men, such a scene would have been the prelude to -an effort towards the complete possession of a woman so evidently -smitten--an effort which might, perhaps, have miscarried; for a woman of -the world who wishes to protect herself finds many means, if she be -anything of a coquette, of avoiding a surrender, even after avowals of -the kind, or still more compromising marks of attachment. But there was -as little coquetry in the case of Madame de Sauve as there was physical -daring in that of the child of twenty-two who loved her. Did not these -two beings find themselves placed by chance in a situation of the -strangest delicacy? He was incapable of any further enterprise by reason -of his entire purity. As for her, how could she fail to understand that -to offer herself to him was to risk a diminution of his love? Such -difficulties are less rare under the conditions imposed upon the -feelings by modern manners than the fatuity of men will allow. - -As manners are at present, all action between two persons who love each -other simultaneously becomes a sign, and how could a woman who knows -this fail to hesitate about compromising her happiness for ever by -seeking to embrace it too soon? Did Theresa obey this prudential motive, -or did she, perchance, find a heart's delight of delicious novelty in -the burning respect of her friend? With all men whom she had met before -this one, love had been only a disguised form of desire, and desire -itself an intoxicated form of self-pride. But whatever the reason might -be, she granted the young man all the meetings that he asked for during -the months following this first avowal, and all these meetings remained -as essentially innocent as they were clandestine. - -While the Boulogne train was carrying Hubert towards the most longed-for -of these meetings he remembered the former ones--those passionate and -dangerous walks, nearly all hazarded across early Paris. They had in -this way adventured their ingenuous and guilty idyll in all the places -in which it seemed unlikely that anyone belonging to their set would -meet them. How many times, for instance, had they visited the towers of -Notre Dame, where Theresa loved to walk in her youthful grace amid the -old stone monsters carved on the balustrades? Through the slender ogive -windows of the ascent they looked alternately at the horizon of the -river confined between the quays, and that of the street confined -between the houses. In one of the buildings crouching in the shadow of -the cathedral, on the side of the Rue de Chanoinesse, there was a small -apartment on the fifth storey running out into a terrace, behind the -panes of which they used to imagine the existence of a romance similar -to their own, because they had twice seen a young woman and a young man -breakfasting there, seated at the same round table, with the window half -open. - -Sometimes the squalls of the December wind would roar round the pile, -and storms of melted snow would heat upon the walls. Theresa was none -the less punctual to the appointment, leaving her cab before the great -doorway and crossing the church to go out of it at the side, and there -join Hubert in the dark peristyle which comes before the towers. Her -delicate teeth shone in her pretty smile, and her slender figure -appeared still more elegant in this ornament of the ancient city. Her -happy grace seemed to work even upon the old caretaker who, surrounded -by her cats, gives out the tickets from the depths of her lodge, for she -used to give her a grateful smile. - -It was on the staircase of one of these ancient towers that Hubert had -ventured, for the first time, to print a kiss upon the pale face that to -him was divine. Theresa was climbing in front of him that morning up the -hollowed steps which turn about the stone pillar. She stopped for a -minute to take breath; he supported her in his arms, and, as she leaned -back gently and rested her head upon his shoulder, their lips met. The -emotion was so strong that he was like to die. This first kiss had been -followed by another, then by ten, then by such numbers of others that -they lost count of them. Oh, those long, thrilling, deep kisses, of -which she used to say tenderly, as though to justify herself in the -thought of her sweet accomplice: - -"I am as fond of kisses as a little girl!" - -They had thus madly peopled all the retreats wherein their imprudent -love had taken shelter with these adorable kisses. Hubert could remember -having embraced Theresa when they both were seated on a tomb-stone in a -deserted walk of one of the Paris cemeteries one bright, warm morning, -while around them stretched the garden of the dead, with its funereal -landscape of evergreens and tombs. He had embraced her again on one of -the benches in the distant park of Montsouris, one of the least known in -the town--a park quite recently planted, crossed by a railway, -overlooked by a pavilion of Chinese architecture, and having a horizon -formed by the factories in the mournful Glacière quarter stretching -around it. - -At other times they had driven in an indeterminate fashion along the -dull slopes of the fortifications, and when it was time to return home -Theresa was always the first to depart. Himself hidden in the cab, which -remained stationary, he could see her crossing the kennels with her -dainty feet. She would walk along the footpath, not a spot of mud -dishonouring her dress, and would turn as though involuntarily to enwrap -him in a last look. It was on such occasions that he was only too -sensible of the dangers which he was causing this woman to incur, but -when he spoke to her of his fears she would reply, shaking her head with -so easily tragic an expression: - -"I have no children. What harm can be done to me unless you are taken -from me?" - -Although they did not belong entirely to each other they had come to -employ those familiarities in language which accompany a mutual passion. -Nearly every morning they wrote notes to each other, a single one of -which, would have been sufficient to prove Theresa to be Hubert's -mistress, and yet she was nothing of the kind. But whatever the detail -over which the young man's memory lingered, he always found that she had -not opposed any of the marks of tenderness which he had asked of her. -However, he had never ventured to imagine anything beyond clasping her -hands, her waist, her face, or resting, like a child, upon her heart. -She had with him that entire, confiding, indulgent abandonment of soul -which is the only token of true love that the most skilful coquetry -cannot imitate. - -And in contrast with this tenderness, and serving to heighten its -sweetness still more, each scene in this idyll had corresponded to some -painful explanation between the young man and his mother, or some cruel -anguish on finding Madame de Sauve in the evening with her husband. The -latter, in reality, paid no attention to Hubert, but Madame Liauran's -son was not yet accustomed to the dishonouring falsehood of the cordial -hand-shake offered to the man who is being deceived. What mattered these -trifles, however, since they were going--he to join her, and she to wait -for him in the little English town at which they were to spend two days -together? Was it to Hubert or to Theresa that this idea had occurred? -The young man could not have told. André de Sauve was in Algeria for -the purpose of a Parliamentary inquiry. - -Theresa had a convent friend who lived in the country, and was -sufficiently trustworthy to allow her to give out that she had gone to -see her. On the other hand she affirmed that the position of Folkestone, -on the way from Paris to London, made it the safest shelter in winter, -because French travellers pass through the town without ever stopping -there. At the mere thought of seeing her again, Hubert's heart melted in -his breast, and, with a quivering impossible of definition, he felt -himself on the point of rolling into a gulf of mystery, of intoxicating -forgetfulness and felicity. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -The packet was approaching the Folkestone pier. The slender hull heaved -on the sea, which was perfectly green, and was scantily striated with -silver foam. The two white funnels gave forth smoke which curved behind -under the pressure of the air rent by the course of the vessel. The two -huge red wheels beat the waves, and behind the boat stretched a hollow -moving track--a sort of glaucous path, fringed with foam. It was a day -with a pale, hazy blue sky, such as frequently occurs on the English -coast towards the end of winter--a day of tenderness, and one which -harmonised divinely with the young man's thoughts. He had rested his -elbows on the netting in the fore part of the vessel, and had not -stirred since the beginning of the passage, which had been one of rare -smoothness. He could now see the smallest details of the approach to the -harbour: the chalky line of coast to the right, with its covering of -meagre turf; to the left the pier resting on its piles; and beyond the -pier, and still more to the left, the little town, with its houses -rising one above another from the base of the cliff to the crest. One by -one he scanned these houses, which stood out with a clearness that grew -constantly more distinct. Which among them all was the refuge where his -happiness was awaiting him in the loved features of Theresa de Sauve? -Which of them was the Star Hotel, chosen by his friend from the -guide-book on account of its name? - -"I am superstitious," she had said childishly; "and then, are you not my -dear star?" - -She would employ these sudden caresses in language which afterwards -occupied Hubert's thoughts for an indefinite time. He was quite aware -that she would not be waiting for him on the quay, and his eyes sought -for her in spite of himself. But she had multiplied precautions even to -arriving herself the evening before by Calais and Dover. The packet is -still approaching. It is possible to distinguish the faces of some -inhabitants of the town, whose only diversion consists in coming to the -end of the pier in order to witness the arrival of the tidal boat. A few -minutes more and Hubert will be beside Theresa. Ah, if she were to fail -him at the rendezvous! What if she had been sick or overtaken, or if she -had died on the way! The whole legion of foolish suppositions file -before the thoughts of the restless lover. - -The boat is in the harbour; the passengers land and hurry to the train. -Hubert was almost the only one to halt in the little town. He allowed -his trunk to go on to London, and took his seat with his portmanteau in -one of the flies standing in front of the terminus. He had felt -something like a touch of melancholy when speaking to the driver and -thus ascertaining how correct and intelligible his English was, -notwithstanding that it was his first journey to England. He recalled -his childhood, his Yorkshire governess, his mother's care to make him -speak every day. If this poor mother were to see him now! Then these -memories were gradually effaced as the light vehicle, drawn by a pony at -a trot, briskly climbed the rude ascent by which the upper part of the -town is reached. - -To the left of the young man stretched the wonderful landscape of the -sea, an immense gulf of pale green, blending in its extreme line with a -gulf of blue, and dotted all over with barques, schooners, and steamers. -On the summit the road turned. - -The carriage left the cliff, entered a street, then a second, and then a -third, all lined with low houses, whose projecting windows showed rows -of red geraniums and ferns behind their panes. At a turning Hubert -perceived the door of a vast Gothic building and a black plate, the mere -inscription on which, in its gilt letters, made his heart leap. He found -himself in front of the Star Hotel. There was an interval for inquiring -at the office whether Madame Sylvie had arrived--this was the name that -Theresa had chosen to assume on account of the initials engraven on all -her toilet articles, and she was to have been entered in the books as a -dramatic artist; for ascending two storeys and passing down a long -corridor; then the servant opened the door of a small apartment, and -there, seated at a table in a drawing-room, the paleness of her face -increased by deep emotion, and her form clad in a garment of a red silky -material whose graceful folds outlined without accentuating her -figure,--there was Theresa. The coal fire glowed in the fireplace, the -inner sides of which were covered with coloured ware. A rotunda-like -window, of the kind that the English call "bow windows," was at the end -of the apartment, to which the furniture usual in such rooms in Great -Britain gave an aspect of quiet homeliness. - -"Ah! it is really you," said the young man, going up to Theresa, who was -smiling at him, and he laid his hand upon his mistress's bosom as though -to convince himself of her existence. This gentle pressure enabled him -to feel beneath the slight material the passionate beatings of the happy -woman's heart. - -"Yes, it is really I," she replied, with more languor than usual. - -He sat down beside her and their lips met. It was one of those kisses of -supreme delight in which two lovers meeting after absence strive to -impart, together with the tenderness of the present hour, all the -unexpressed tendernesses of the hours that have been lost. A tap at the -door separated them. - -"It is for your luggage," said Theresa, pushing her lover away with a -gesture of regret; then, with a subtle smile: "Would you like to see -your room? I have been here since yesterday evening; I hope that you -will be pleased with everything. I thought so much of you in getting the -little room ready." - -She drew him by the hand into an apartment which adjoined the -drawing-room, and the window of which looked upon the garden of the -hotel. The fire was lighted in the fireplace. Vases, gay with flowers, -stood on the bracket and also on the table, over which Theresa, to give -it a more homelike appearance, had spread a Japanese cloth which she had -brought. On it she had placed three frames with those portraits of -herself which the young man preferred. He turned to thank her, and he -encountered one of those looks which make the heart quite faint, and -with which an affectionate woman seems to thank him whom she loves for -the pleasure which he has been pleased to receive from her. But the -presence of the servant engaged in setting down and opening the -portmanteau prevented him from replying to this look with a kiss. - -"You must be tired," she said; "while you are settling down I will go -and tell them to get tea ready in the drawing-room. If you knew how -sweet it is to me to wait on you----." - -"Go," he said, unable to find a phrase in reply, so completely was his -soul possessed with happy emotion. "How I love her!" he added in a -whisper, and to himself, as he watched her disappearing through the door -with that figure and walk of a young girl which were still left her by -her childless marriage; and he was obliged to sit down that he might not -swoon before the evidence of his felicity. The human creature is -naturally so organised for misfortune that there is something ravishing -in the complete realisation of desire, like a sudden entry upon a -miracle or a dream, and, at a certain degree of intensity, it seems as -if the joy were not true. And then, was not the novelty of the situation -bound to act like a sort of opium upon the brain of this child, who -could not comprehend that his mistress had seized upon the circumstance -to evade by this very strangeness the difficulties preliminary to a more -complete surrender of her person? - -Yes, was this joy true? Hubert asked himself the question a quarter of -an hour later, seated beside Madame de Sauve in the little drawing-room -at the square table, on which were placed all the apparatus necessary to -lend it enjoyment: the silver teapot, the ewer of hot water, the -delicate cups. Had she not brought those two cups from Paris with her in -order, doubtless, always to have them? She waited on him, as she had -said, with her pretty hands, from which she had taken her wedding ring, -in order to remove from the young man's thoughts all occasion for -remembering that she was not free. During those afternoon hours, the -silence of the little town was almost palpable around them, and the -sense of a common solitude deepening in their hearts was so intense that -they did not speak, as though they feared that their words might awake -them from the intoxicating kind of sleep which was creeping over their -souls. Hubert had his head resting upon his hand, and was looking at -Theresa. He felt her at this moment so completely his own, so near to -his most secret being, that he had even ceased to experience the need of -her caresses. - -She was the first to break the silence, of which she suddenly became -afraid. She rose from her chair and came and sat down upon the ground at -the young man's feet, with her head on his knees, and, as he still -continued motionless, there was disquiet in her eyes; then submissively, -and in that subdued tone of voice which no lover has ever resisted, she -said: - -"If you knew how I tremble lest I should displease you! I cried -yesterday evening beside the fire in this room, where I was waiting for -you, thinking that you would be sure to love me less after my coming -here. Ah! you will be angry with me for loving you too much, and for -venturing to do what I have done for you!" - -The anguish preying upon this charming woman was so great that Hubert -saw her features change somewhat as she uttered these words. The whole -drama which had been enacted within her from the beginning of this -attachment took form for the first time. At this moment especially, -seeing him so young, so pure, so free from brutality, so completely in -accordance with her dream, she felt a mad longing to lavish marks of her -tenderness upon him, and she trembled more than ever lest she should -offend him, or perhaps--for there are such strange recesses in feminine -consciences--corrupt him. Giving herself up to the pleasure of thinking -aloud upon these things for the first time, she went on: - -"We women, when we love, can do nothing else but love. From the day when -I met you coming back from the country I have belonged to you. I would -have followed you wherever you had asked me to follow you. Nothing has -had any further existence for me--nothing but yourself; no," she added -with a fixed look, "neither good nor evil, nor duty, nor remembrance. -But can you understand that--you who think, as all men do, that it is a -crime to love when one is not free?" - -"I have ceased to know," replied Hubert, bending towards her to raise -her, "except that you are to me the noblest and dearest of women." - -"No, let me remain at your feet, like your little slave," she rejoined, -with an expression of ecstacy; "but is it truly true? Ah! swear to me -that you will never speak ill to yourself of this hour." - -"I swear it," said the young man, who was overcome by his mistress's -emotion without well knowing why. - -At this simple speech she raised her head; she stood up as lightly as a -young girl, and leaning over Hubert began to cover his face with -passionate kisses, then, knitting her brows and making an effort, as it -were, over herself, she left him, drew her hands over her eyes, and said -in a calmer, though still uncertain voice: - -"I am foolish; we must go out. I will go and put on my bonnet and we -will take a drive. Will you be so kind as to ask for a carriage?" she -added in English. - -When she spoke this language her pronunciation became something -perfectly graceful and almost child-like; and giving him a coquettish -little salute with her hand she left the drawing-room by a door opposite -to that of Hubert's apartment. - -This same mixture of fond anxiety, sudden exaltation, and tender -childishness continued on her part through the whole drive, which, to -both of them, was made up of a sequence of supreme emotions. By a chance -such as does not occur twice in the course of a human life, they found -themselves placed precisely in such circumstances as must lift their -souls to the highest possible degree of love. The social world, with its -murderous duties, was far away. It had as little existence for their -minds as the driver, who, perched up behind them and invisible, drove -the light cab in which they found themselves alone together, along the -route from Folkestone to Sandgate and Hythe. The world of hope, on the -other hand, opened up before them like a garden arrayed in the most -beautiful flowers. They saw themselves rewarded--he for his innocence, -and she for the reserve imposed by her upon her reason, with an -experience as delicious as it is rare: they enjoyed the intimacy of -heart which usually comes only after long possession, and they enjoyed -it in all the freshness of timid desire. But this timid desire had in -both cases a background of intoxicating certainty, lucid to Theresa -though still obscure to Hubert; and it was in a vast and noble landscape -that they were filled with these rare sensations. - -They were now following the road from Folkestone to Hythe, a slender -ribbon running along by the sea. The green cliff is devoid of rocks, but -its height is sufficient to give the road over which it hangs that look -of a sheltered retreat which imparts a restful charm to valleys lying at -mountain bases. The shingle beach was covered by the high tide. Not a -bird was flying over the wide, moving sea. Its greenish immensity shaded -to violet as the closing day shadowed the cold azure of the sky. The -vehicle went quickly on its two wheels, drawn by a strong-backed horse, -whose over-large bit forced him at times to throw up his head with a -wrench of his mouth. Theresa and Hubert, close to each other in their -sort of sentry-box on wheels, held each other's hands beneath the -travelling plaid that was wrapped about them. They suffered their -passion to dilate like the ocean, to tremble within them with the -plentitude of the billows, to grow wild like that barren coast. - -Since the young woman had asked that singular oath of her lover, she -seemed somewhat calmer, in spite of flashes of sudden reverie which -dissolved into mute effusions. On his side, he had never loved her so -completely. He could not refrain from taking her ceaselessly to him and -pressing her in his arms. An infinite longing to draw still more closely -to her mounted to his brain and intoxicated him, and yet he dreaded the -coming of the evening with the mortal anguish of those to whom the -feminine universe is a mystery. In spite of the proofs of passion that -Theresa showed him, he felt himself in her presence a prey to an -insurmountable impotence of will, which would have grown to pain had he -not at the same time had an immense confidence in the soul of this -woman. The feeling of an unknown abyss into which their love was about -to plunge, and which might have terrified him with an almost animal -fear, became more tranquil because he was descending into the abyss with -her. In truth she had a charming understanding of the troubles which -must agitate him whom she loved; was it not in order to spare his -overstrung nerves that she had brought him for this drive, during which -the grandeur of the prospect, the breeze from the offing, and the -walking at intervals, kept both herself and him above the disquietude -inevitable to a too ardent desire. - -They went on in this manner until the tragic hour when the stars shine -in the nocturnal sky, now walking over the shingle, now getting into the -little carriage again, ceaselessly following the same paths again and -again, without being able to make up their minds to return, as though -understanding that they might again experience other moments of -happiness, but of happiness such as this, never! The dim intuition of -the universal soul, of which visible forms and invisible feelings are -alike the effect, revealed to them, unknown to themselves, a mysterious -analogy, and, as it were, a divine correspondence between the particular -face of this corner of nature and the undefined essence of their -tenderness. She said to him: - -"To be with you here is a happiness too great to admit of a return to -life," and he did not smile with incredulity at these words, as she felt -assured when he said to her: - -"It seems to me that I have never opened my eyes upon a landscape until -this moment." - -And when they walked it was he who took Theresa's arm and leaned -coaxingly upon it. Without knowing it he thus symbolised the strange -reversal of parts in this attachment in accordance with which he, with -his frail person, his entire innocence, and the purity of his timorous -emotions, had always represented the feminine element. Certainly she, on -her part, was quite a woman, with the suppleness of her gait, the feline -refinement of her manners, and those liquid eyes which threw themselves -into every look. Nevertheless she appeared a stronger creature and one -better armed for life than the delicate child, the fragile handiwork of -the tenderness of two pure women, whom she had enmeshed in so slight a -tissue of seduction, and who, scarcely taller than herself by a quarter -of an inch of forehead, surrendered himself with fraternal confidence; -while the mere movement of their gait spoke clearly enough in its -perfect, rhythmical harmony, of the complete union of their hearts, -causing them to beat at that moment closely together. - -They went in again. The dinner following this afternoon of dreams was a -silent and almost sombre one. It seemed as though they were both afraid -the one of the other. Or was it merely with her a recrudescence of that -dread of displeasing him which had made her defer the surrender of her -person until this hour, and with him that sort of intractable melancholy -which is the last sign of primitive animality, and which precedes in man -every entry into complete love? As happens at such times, their speech -was calmer and more indifferent in proportion as the disquietude of -their hearts was increased. These two lovers, who had spent the day in -the most romantic exaltation, and who were met in the solitude of this -foreign retreat, seemed to have nothing to say to each other but -sentences concerning the world that they had left. - -They separated early, and just as if they had said good-bye until the -following day, although they both knew perfectly well that to sleep -apart from each other was impossible to them. Thus Hubert was not -astonished, although his heart beat as if it would break when, at the -very moment that he was about to seek her, he heard the key turn in the -door, and Theresa entered, clad in a long, pliant wrapper of white lace, -and with an impassioned sweetness in her eyes. - -"Ah!" she said, closing Hubert's eyelids with her perfumed fingers, "I -want so much to rest upon your heart." - -Towards midnight the young man awoke, and seeking the face of his -mistress with his lips, found that her cheeks, which he could not see, -were bathed in tears. - -"You are grieved," he said to her. - -"No," she replied, "they are tears of gratitude. Ah!" she went on, "how -could they fail to take you from me beforehand, my angel, and how -unworthy I am of you!" - -Enigmatic words which Hubert was often to remember later on, and which, -even at this moment, and in spite of the kisses, raised suddenly within -him that vapour of sadness which is the customary accompaniment of -pleasure. Through it he could see, as by a lightning flash, a house that -was familiar to him, and, bending down beneath the lamp, among the -family portraits, the faces of the two women who had reared him. It was -only for a second, and he laid his head upon Theresa's breast, there to -forget all thought, while the vague complaining of the sea reached him, -softened by the distance--a mysterious and distant murmur like the -approach of fate. - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -A fortnight later Hubert Liauran stepped upon the platform of the -Northern Terminus about five o'clock in the evening, on his return from -London by the day train. Count Scilly and Madame Castel were waiting for -him. But what were his feelings when, among the faces pressing around -the doors, he recognised that of Theresa? They had made an appointment -by letter to meet on the evening of that day, which was a Tuesday, in -her box at the Théâtre Français. Nevertheless, she had not withstood -the desire of seeing him again some hours earlier, and in her eyes there -shone supreme emotion, formed of happiness at beholding him and sorrow -at being separated from him; for they could only exchange a bow, which, -fortunately, escaped the grandmother. - -Theresa disappeared, and while the young man was standing in the -luggage-room an involuntary impulse of ill-humour arose within him and -caused him to tell himself that the two old people, who, nevertheless, -loved him so much, really ought not to have been there. This little -painful impression, which, at the very moment of his return, showed him -the weight of the chain of family tenderness, was renewed as soon as he -found himself again face to face with his mother. From the first glance -he felt that he was being studied, and, as he was but little accustomed -to dissimulation, he believed that he was seen through. The fact was -that his own eyes had been changed, as those of a young girl who has -become a woman are changed, with one of those imperceptible alterations -which reside in a shade of expression. - -But how could the mother be deceived by them--she who for so many years -had watched all the reflections of those dark pupils, and who now -grasped within them a depth of intoxicated and fathomless felicity? But -to the putting of a question on the subject the poor woman was not -equal. Shades of feeling, the principal events in the life of the heart, -elude the formulas of phrases, and thence arise the worst -misunderstandings. Hubert was very gay during dinner, with a gaiety that -was rendered somewhat nervous by the prevision of an approaching -difficulty. How would his mother take his going out in the evening? -Half-an-hour had not elapsed since leaving table when he rose like one -who is about to say good-bye. - -"You are leaving us?" said Madame Liauran. - -"Yes, mamma," he replied, with a slight blush on his cheeks; "Emmanuel -Deroy has entrusted me with a commission, which is extremely pressing, -and which I must execute to-night." - -"You cannot put it off until to-morrow, and give us your first evening?" -asked Madame Castel, who wished to spare her daughter the humiliation of -a refusal which she could foresee. - -"Indeed no, grandmother," he replied, in a tone of childish playfulness; -"that would not be courteous to my friend, who has been so kind to me in -London." - -"He is deceiving us," said Madame Liauran to herself, and, as silence -had fallen upon those in the drawing-room after Hubert's departure, she -listened to hear whether the hall-door would be opened immediately. -Half-an-hour passed without her hearing it. She could not stand it, and -she begged the General to go to the young man's room, under pretence of -fetching a book, in order to learn whether he had dressed that evening. -He had, in fact, done so. He was going, then, to Madame de Sauve's -house, or else somewhere in order to meet her again. Such was the -conclusion drawn from this indication by the jealous mother, who, for -the first time, confessed her lengthened anxieties to the Count. The -tone in which she spoke prevented the latter from confessing, in his -turn, the loan of one hundred and twenty pounds which Hubert had -received from him, and which, so he thought to himself, had doubtless -been spent in following this woman. - -"He has deceived me once more," exclaimed Madame Liauran; "he who had -such a horror of deceit. Ah! how she has changed him!" - -Thus the evidence of a metamorphosis of character undergone by her son -tortured her on that first day. It became even worse during those which -followed. She would not, however, admit all at once that her dear, -innocent Hubert was Madame de Sauve's lover. She would not resign -herself to the idea that he could be guilty of an error of the kind -without terrible remorse. She had brought him up in such strict -principles of religion! She did not know that Theresa's first care was -just to lull all the young man's scruples of conscience by leading him -insensibly from timid tenderness to burning passion. Caught in the mesh -of this sweet snare, Hubert had literally never judged his life for the -past five months, and nature had become his lover's accomplice. We -easily repent of our pleasures, but it is difficult to have remorse for -happiness, and the youth was happy with such an absolute felicity as -cannot even see the sufferings that it causes. - -Nevertheless, it was upon the influence of her suffering that Madame -Liauran almost solely relied in the campaign which she had -undertaken--she, a simple woman, who knew nothing of life but its -duties--against a creature whom she imagined as being at once -fascinating and fatal, bewitching and deadly. She had adopted the -ingenuous system which is common to all tender jealousies, and which -consisted in showing her distress. She said to herself, "He will see -that I am in an agony; will not that suffice?" The misfortune was that -Hubert, in the intoxication of his passion, saw in his mother's distress -only tyrannical injustice to a woman whom he looked upon as divine, and -to a love which he considered sublime. When he returned from the Bois de -Boulogne in the morning, after taking a ride on horseback and seeing -Madame de Sauve pass in the carriage drawn by two grey ponies which she -drove herself, he would at breakfast encounter the saddened profile of -his mother, and would say to himself: - -"She has no right to be sad. I have not taken any of my affection from -her." - -He reasoned instead of feeling. His mother laid her bleeding heart in -the way before him and he passed it by. When he was to dine out, and his -mother's good-bye at the moment of his departure forewarned him that -Madame Liauran would spend an evening of melancholy in regretting him, -he would think: - -"Yet what if she knew that Theresa reproaches me for devoting too much -of my time to her love!" - -And it was true. His mistress had the ready generosity of women who know -that they are vastly preferred, and who are very careful not to ask the -man who loves them to act as they wish. There is such a delicate -pleasure in leaving one's lover free, in encouraging him, even, to -sacrifice you, when it is certain what his decision will be! It thus -happened that Hubert would return to the house in the Rue Vaneau after -having a secret meeting with Theresa during the day,--for Emmanuel Deroy -had put his small bachelor abode in the Avenue Friedland at his friend's -disposal. But then, whether it was that the nervous sadness which -accompanies over-keen pleasures made him cruel, or that secret remorse -of conscience came to torment him, or that there was too strong a -contrast between the charming forms assumed by Theresa's tenderness and -the sad ones in which that of Madame Liauran was arrayed, the young man -became really ungrateful. - -Irritation, not pity, increased within him before the sorrow of her -whose idolised son he nevertheless was. Marie Alice apprehended this -shade of feeling, and she suffered more from it than from all the rest, -not divining that the excess of her grief was an irreparable error of -management, and that a demoralising comparison was being set up in -Alexander Hubert's mind between the severities of his relatives and the -fond delights of his chosen affection. - -Spent by continual anxiety, the mother had exhausted her strength when -an event, unexpected though easy to be foreseen, gave still greater -prominence to the antagonism which brought her into ceaseless collision -with her son. It was Holy Week. She had counted upon Hubert's confession -and communion for making a supreme attempt, and inducing him to sever -relations which she considered as yet incompletely guilty, but full of -danger. It could not enter into her head as a fervent Christian that her -son would fail in his paschal duty. Thus she felt no doubt with respect -to his reply as she asked him at a time when they were alone together: - -"On what day will you receive the sacrament this year?" - -"Mamma," replied Hubert, with evident embarrassment, "I ask your -forgiveness for the sorrow that I am going to cause you. I must, -however, confess to you that doubts have come upon me, and that -conscientiously I do not think that I can approach the holy table." - -This reply was the lightning-flash which suddenly showed Marie Alice the -abyss wherein her son had sunk, while she believed him to be merely on -the brink. She was not for a moment deceived by Hubert's imaginary -pretext. And whence could religious doubts come to him who for months -had not read a book? She knew, further, her child's simplicity of soul -towards the instruction over which she had herself presided. No; if he -would not communicate it was because he would not confess. He had a -horror of acknowledging some unacknowledgable fault. And what was this -if not that one which had been the evil work of the past six -months? . . . - -An adulterer! Her son was an adulterer! A terrible word, which to her, -so loyal and pure and pious, described the most repellant baseness, the -ignominy of falsehood mingled with the turpitude of the flesh. In her -indignation she found energy to at last open up her whole heart to -Hubert. Agitated as she was by religious fears for the salvation of her -beloved child, she uttered sentences which she would never have believed -herself capable of pronouncing, mentioning Madame de Sauve by name, -heaping the harshest reproaches upon her, withering her with all the -scorn which a woman who is virtuous can harbour for one who is not, -invoking the memory of their common past, threatening and beseeching in -turns--in short, throwing aside all calculation. - -"You are mistaken, mamma," replied Hubert, who had endured this first -assault without speaking. "Madame de Sauve is not at all what you say; -but as I cannot allow my friends to be insulted in my presence, I warn -you that, on the next conversation of the kind that we have together, I -shall leave the house." - -And with this rejoinder, uttered with all the coolness that the feeling -of his mother's injustice had left him, he quitted the room without -another word. - -"She has perverted his heart, she has made a monster of him," said -Madame Liauran to Madame Castel when telling her of this scene, which -was followed by three weeks of silence between mother and son. The -latter appeared at breakfast, kissed his mother's forehead, asked her -how she was, sat down to table, and did not open his mouth during the -entire meal. Most frequently he was not present at dinner. He had -confided this grief, as he confided all his griefs, to Theresa, who had -entreated him to yield. - -"Do this," she said, "if it be only for me. It is cruel to me to think -that I am the prompter of an evil action in your life." - -"Noble darling!" the young man had said, covering her hands with kisses, -and drowning himself in the look from those eyes which were so sweet to -him. - -But if his love for his mistress had been increased by this generosity, -so, too, had his sensibility to the rancour which the expressions used -in their painful quarrel had stirred up within him against his mother. -The latter, however, had been so shaken by this disagreement as to have -a recurrence of her nervous malady, which she was able to conceal from -him who was its cause. She was almost entirely forbidden to move, which -did not prevent her from dragging herself at night to her window, at the -cost of grievous suffering. She would open the panes and then the -shutters silently, and with the precaution of a criminal, in order to -see the illumination of Hubert's casements on his return, and as she -gazed at this light filtering in a slender stream, and witnessing to the -presence of the son at once so dear and so completely lost, she would -feel her anger relax, and despair take possession of her. - -They were reconciled, thanks to the intervention of Madame Castel, who, -between these two hostilities, suffered a double martyrdom. From the -mother she obtained the promise that Madame de Sauve should never again -be spoken of, and from the son apologies for his sulkiness during so -many days. A fresh period began, in which Marie Alice sought to keep -Hubert at home by some modification in her mode of life. Obstinately -hoping even in despair, as happens whenever the heart holds too -passionate a desire, she told herself that this woman's power over her -son must be largely the result of the recreation that he derived from -the society surrounding her. Was not the home in the Rue Vaneau very -monotonous for an idle young man? - -She now felt that she had been very imprudent in considering Hubert's -health too delicate, and in being, moreover, too desirous of his -presence to give him a profession. She was ingenious enough to tell -herself that she ought to enliven their solitude, and, for the first -time during her widowhood, she gave some large dinner-parties. The doors -of the house were thrown open. The chandeliers were lighted. The old -silver plate, with the De Trans' arms upon it, adorned the table, around -which crowded some old people, and some charming young girls as elegant -and pretty as the De Trans' cousins were countrified and awkward. - -But since Hubert had been in love with Theresa he had, with a sweet -exaggeration of fidelity, forbidden himself ever to look at any woman -but her. And then it was the month of May. The days were warm and -bright. His mistress and he had ventured upon excursions in some of the -woods which surround Paris--at Saint Cloud, at Chaville, and in the -Forest of Marly. Sitting in the dining-room in the Rue Vaneau, Hubert -would recall Theresa's smile on offering him a flower, the alternation -of sunlight and shadow from the foliage upon her forehead, the paleness -of her complexion among the greenness, a gesture that she had made, the -turn of her foot on the grass of a pathway. - -If he listened to the conversation it was to compare the talk of Madame -Liauran's guests with the repartees of Madame de Sauve. The first -abounded in prejudice, which is the inevitable ransom of all very -profound moral life. The second were impregnated with that Parisian wit -the sad vacuity of which was no longer apparent to the young man. He -assisted, then, at his mother's dinners with the face of one whose soul -was elsewhere. - -"Ah! what can I do--what can I do?" sobbed Madame Liauran; "everything -wearies him of us, and everything amuses him with that woman. - -"Wait," replied Madame Castel. - -Wait! It is Wisdom's last word; but the impassioned soul devours itself -grievously in the waiting. As for Marie Alice, whose life was wholly -concentrated upon her child, every hour now was turning the knife about -in the wound. She found it impossible not to abandon herself ceaselessly -to that inquisition into petty details to which the noblest jealousies -are victims. She noticed in her son every new trifle such as young men -wear, and asked herself whether some memory of his guilty love was not -attached to it. - -Thus he had on his little finger a gold wedding ring which she did not -recognise as one of his own. Ah! what would she have given to know -whether there were words and a date engraved on the inside! Sometimes, -when kissing him, she would inhale a scent the name of which she did not -know, and which was certainly that used by his mistress. Whenever Madame -Liauran encountered the penetrating and voluptuous delicacy of this -perfume, it was as though a hand had physically bruised her heart. At -last her passion had reached such a pitch, that everything was bound to -inflict, and did inflict, a wound. If she ascertained that his eyes -looked worn and his complexion pale, she would say to her mother: - -"She will kill me." - -It had always been the custom in this simple-mannered family that the -letters should be given into the hands of Madame Liauran herself, who -afterwards distributed them to their several owners. Hubert had not -ventured to ask Firmin, the doorkeeper, to break the rule for him. Would -not this have been to admit the servant into the secret of the -differences which separated his mother and himself? Now, his mistress -and he used to correspond every day, whether they had already met or -not, with the prodigality of heart characteristic of lovers who know not -how to give enough of themselves to each other. Hubert often succeeded -in preventing his mother from seeing these letters by making an -agreement as to the exact time that Theresa should despatch her note, -and hastening down in time to take the post himself from the -doorkeeper's hands. - -Often, also, the letter would arrive unpunctually, and had to come to -him through Madame Liauran. The latter was never deceived about it. She -recognised the writing which to her was the most hateful in the world. -Often, again, instead of a letter, Theresa would send one of those -little blue, quick-travelling missives, and the sense that this paper -had been handled by her son's mistress an hour before was intolerable to -the poor woman. To save Hubert dishonourable strategies, and herself -such terrible palpitation of the heart, she resolved upon ordering her -son's letters to be delivered directly to himself. But then she lost the -only tokens she possessed of the reality of the young man's relations -with Madame de Sauve, and this was a source of fresh hopes, and -consequently of fresh disillusions. - -In the month of July, Hubert ceased to go out in the evening, and she -imagined that they had quarrelled; then George Liauran, whom she had -made a confidant of her anxieties, because she knew that he was -acquainted with Theresa, informed her that the latter had left for -Trouville, and the deception was a blow the more to her. It is the -privilege and the scourge of those organisms in which nerves -predominate, that griefs, instead of being lulled by habituation, become -incessantly more exaggerated and inflamed. The smallest details -comprehend an infinity of sorrow within them, as a drop of water -comprehends the infinity of heaven. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -Of the few persons composing the home circle in the Rue Vaneau, it was -George Liauran himself who was most anxious about the sorrow of Marie -Alice, because it was to him that she most completely betrayed her pain. -She understood that he was the only one who might some day be of service -to her. At every visit he compared the ravages which her one thought had -wrought upon her. Her features were growing thin, her cheeks hollow, and -her complexion livid, while her hair, hitherto so dark, was whitening in -entire tresses. It sometimes happened that George would go out into -society at the conclusion of one of these visits, and meet his cousin -Hubert, nearly always in the same circle as Madame de Sauve, elegant, -handsome, with brilliant eyes and happy mouth. - -The contrast roused within him strange feelings, which were a mixture of -good and evil. On the one hand, indeed, George was very fond of Marie -Alice, and with an affection which, during the early days of their -youth, had been a very romantic one with them both. On the other, the, -to him, indubitable connection between this charming Hubert and Theresa -irritated him with a nervous anger without his well knowing why. He felt -towards his cousin that insurmountable ill-will which men of more than -forty and less than fifty years of age profess for the very young men -whom they see making their way in society, and, in fact, taking their -own places. - -And then he was one of those who have been hard livers, and who hate -love, whether because they have suffered too much from it, or because -they feel too much regret for it. This hatred of love was complicated -with a complete contempt for women who make slips, and he suspected -Theresa of having already had two intrigues--one with a young deputy, -named Frederick Luzel, and the other with Alfred Fanières, a celebrated -writer. He was one of those who judge a woman by her lovers, wherein he -was wrong, for the reasons which lead a poor creature to surrender -herself are most frequently personal, and foreign to the nature and -character of him who is the cause of the surrender. Now, the great -frankness of Frederick Luzel's manners was a cover to complete -brutality; while Alfred Fanières was a rather handsome fellow of -refined manners, whose cajolery scarcely concealed the fierce egotism of -the skilful artist, with whom everything is simply a means for rising, -from his abilities as a prose writer to his successes of the alcove. - -It was upon the germ of corruption deposited by these two characters in -Theresa's heart that George secretly relied when imagining a probable -termination to Hubert's attachment. He told himself that Madame de Sauve -must have acquired habits of pleasure and exigencies of sensation with -these two men, whose cynicism and morals were known to him. He -calculated that Hubert's purity would some day leave her unsatisfied, -and on that day it was almost inevitable that she should deceive him. -"After all," he said to himself, "it will give him pain, but it will -teach him life." George Liauran, in this respect similar to -three-fourths of those of his own age and social standing, was persuaded -that a young man ought, as soon as possible, to frame for himself a -practical philosophy, that is to say, he should, in accordance with the -old misanthropical formulas, have small belief in friendship, look upon -most women as rogues, and explain all human actions by interest, avowed -or disguised. Worldly pessimism has not much more originality than this. -Unfortunately it is nearly always right. - -Such was the state of mind of Madame Liauran's cousin respecting the -sentiments of Hubert and Theresa, when, in October of the same year, he -happened to find himself dining with five others in a private room at -the Café Anglais. The repast had been refined and well contrived, and -the wines exquisite, and coffee having been served, and cigars lighted, -they were chatting as men do among themselves. The following is a scrap -of dialogue which George overheard between his left-hand neighbour and -one of the guests, and that at a time when he himself had just been -talking with his right-hand neighbour, so that at first the full import -of the words escaped him. - -"We saw them," said the narrator, "through the telescope, from the upper -room in Arthur's, châlet that he uses as a studio, as though they had -been only three yards distant. She entered, in fact, as we had heard -that she did the day before, and she had scarcely done so when he gave -her a kiss--but such a kiss! . . ." and he smacked his lips as he -drained a last drop of liqueur that had remained in his glass. - -"Who is 'he'?" asked George Liauran. - -"La Croix-Firmin." - -"And 'she'?" - -"Madame de Sauve." - -"By Jove!" said George to himself, "this is a strange business; it was -worth while accepting this fool's invitation." - -And with this thought he looked at his host--an exquisite of low -degree--who was exulting with joy at entertaining a few clubmen who were -quite in the fashion. - -"We were expecting something better," the other went on to say, "but she -insisted on lowering the curtains. How we chaffed Ludovic about his -jaded look in the morning! Nothing else was spoken of for a week between -Trouville and Deauville. She suspected it, for she left very quickly. -But I will wager a pony that she will be received everywhere this winter -as well as before. The tolerance of Society is becoming----" - -"Home-like," said the interlocutor, and the talk continued to go round, -the cigars to be smoked, the kummel cognac to fill the little glasses, -and these moralists to pass judgment upon life. The young man who had -told the scandalous anecdote about Madame de Sauve in the course of the -conversation, was about thirty years old, pale, slight, already used up, -and, for the rest, very amiable and one of those whose name universally -attracts the epithet of "good fellow." In fact he would have blown his -brains out sooner than not have paid a gambling debt within the -appointed time. He had never declined an affair of honour, and his -friends could rely upon him for a service though difficult, or an -advance of money though considerable. - -But as to speaking, after drinking, of what one knows about the -intrigues of women of the world, where should we be if we tried to -forbid ourselves this subject of conversation, as well as hypotheses -concerning the secrets of the birth of adulterine children? Perhaps the -very chatterer who had borne eye-witness to the levity of Theresa de -Sauve would have shed genuine tears of sorrow if he had known that his -speech would have been employed as a weapon against the young woman's -happiness. It is an exhaustless source of melancholy for one who mixes -with the world without corrupting his heart, to see how cruelties are -sometimes effected in it with complete security of conscience. But -furthermore, would not George Liauran have learnt from another source -all the details which the indiscretion of his table companion had just -revealed to him so suddenly and with such unassailable precision? - -Truth to tell, he was not astonished by it for a moment. Two or three -times, indeed, on his way home, he repeated the words "Poor Hubert!" to -himself, but he secretly felt the mean and irresistible egotistic -titillation which is nine times out of ten produced by the sight of -other people's misfortunes. Were not his prognostications verified? And -this, too, was not devoid of a certain charm. Vulgar misanthropy has -many such satisfactions, which harden the heart that feels them. When a -man despises humanity with an indiscriminating contempt, he ends by -feeling satisfaction at its wretchedness, instead of being distressed by -it. - -As for doubt, he did not admit it for a moment, especially when -recalling what he knew of Ludovic de la Croix-Firmin. The latter was a -species of coxcomb, who might, on reflection, appear to be devoid of any -superiority; but he was liked by women, for those mysterious reasons -which we men can no more understand than women can understand the secret -of the influence exercised over us by some of themselves. It is probable -that into these reasons there enters a good deal of that bestiality -which is always present at the bottom of our personal relations. La -Croix-Firmin was twenty-seven years old, the age of the fullest vigour, -with light hair bordering upon red, blue eyes, a clear complexion, and -teeth whose whiteness gleamed between a pair of very fresh lips at every -smile. When he smiled in this way, with his dimpled chin, his square -nose, and his curly locks, he recalled that type, immortal through the -races, of the countenance of Faunus, which the ancients made the -incarnation of happy sensuality. - -To complete that quality of physical charm to which many fancies that he -had inspired were due, he had a suppleness of movement peculiar to those -in whom the vital force is very complete. He was of medium height, but -athletic. Although his ignorance was absolute and his intelligence very -moderate, he possessed the gift which renders a man of his make a -dangerous person; he had, in a rare degree, that tact and perception -which reveal the moment when a venture may be made, and when woman, a -creature of rapid moods and fleeting emotions, belongs to the libertine -who can divine it. - -This La Croix-Firmin had had many intrigues, and, although his birth and -his future ought to have made him a perfect gentleman, he liked to -relate them; these indiscretions, instead of ruining him, served him, so -to speak, as advertisements. In spite of his light conversation and his -conceit, he had not made a single enemy among the women who had -compromised themselves for him; perhaps because he imaged to their -memories nothing but happy sensation--"'tis the material of the best -recollections," the cynics say, and, in respect of souls devoid of -loftiness, what can be more true? - -It was precisely upon La Croix-Firmin's indiscretion that George relied -for mustering some fresh proofs in support of the fact which he had -learned at the dinner at the Café Anglais. Being an old bachelor, he -had a gloomy imagination, and could foresee ill-fortune rather than -good. He had, consequently, long been accustomed to see clearly through -the surface of the social world. He understood the art of going in -pursuit of secret truth, and he excelled in combining into a single -whole the scattered sayings floating in the atmosphere of Parisian -conversation. In this particular case there was no need of so many -efforts. It was simply a matter of finding corroboration for a detail -indisputable in itself. - -A few visits to women in society who had spent the season at Trouville, -and a single one to Ella Virieux, a woman belonging to the demi-monde, -and the recognised mistress of La Croix-Firmin's best comrade, were -sufficient for the inquiry. It was quite certain that Ludovic had been -Madame de Sauve's lover, and that the fact was not only one of public -notoriety, but had been established by his own avowal at the seaside. A -hasty departure had alone preserved Theresa from an inevitable affront, -and now that Parisian life was beginning again, ten new scandals were -causing this summer scandal, destined to become dubious like so many -others, to be already forgotten. - -George Liauran perceived in it a sure means of at last breaking the -connection between Hubert and Theresa. It was sufficient for this -purpose to warn Marie Alice. He felt, indeed, a moment's hesitation, for -after all he was meddling with a story which did not at all concern him; -but the unacknowledged hatred towards the two lovers which was hidden at -the bottom of his heart carried him over this delicate scrupulousness, -as well as the real desire to free a woman whom he loved from mortal -distress. - -On the very evening of the day of his conversation with Ella Virieux, -who, without attaching any further importance to the matter, had -reported to him the secrets which Ludovic had confided to her lover, he -was at the Rue Vaneau and relating to Madame Liauran, who was reclining -beside Madame Castel's easy chair, the unlooked-for news which was at a -stroke to change the aspect of the strife between mother and mistress. - -"Ah! the wretch!" cried the poor woman, half-dead from her lengthened -anguish, "she was not even capable of loving him----" - -She uttered these words in a deep tone, wherein were condensed all the -ideas which she had formed so long before about her son's mistress. She -had thought so much about what the nature of this guilty creature's -passion could possibly be to render it more potent over Hubert's heart -than her own love, which, for all that, she knew to be infinite! Shaking -her whitened head, so wearied with musing, she went on: - -"And it is for such a woman as this that he has tortured us! Ah! mamma, -when he compares what he has sacrificed with what he has preferred, he -will not understand his own behaviour." - -Then, holding out her hand to George: - -"Thank you, cousin," she said. "You have saved me. If this horrible -intrigue had lasted, I should have died." - -"Alas, my poor daughter," said Madame Castel, stroking her hair, "do not -feed upon vain hopes. If Hubert has ever loved you he loves you still. -Nothing is changed. There is only one evil action the more committed by -this woman, and she must be accustomed to it." - -"Then you think that he will not know of all this?" said Marie Alice, -raising herself. "But I should be the basest of the base if I were not -to open this unhappy child's eyes. So long as I believed that she loved -him, I was able to keep silence. Guilty as such love might be, it -nevertheless had passion; it was something sincere after all, something -erring, yet exalted--but now, what name can you give such abominations?" - -"Be prudent, cousin," said George Liauran, somewhat disquieted by the -anger with which these last words had been uttered; "remember that we -are not in a position to give poor Hubert such palpable and undeniable -proofs as would baffle all discussion." - -"But what further proof do you want," she broke in, "than the assertion -of a spectator?" - -"Pooh!" said George; "for those who are in love----" - -"You do not know my son," returned the mother, proudly. "There is no -such compliance in him. I only want a promise from you before taking -action. You will relate to him what you have told to us, and as you have -told it to us, if he asks you." - -"Certainly," said George, after a pause; "I will tell him what I know, -and he will draw what conclusions he pleases." - -"And what if he were to pick a quarrel with this Monsieur de la -Croix-Firmin?" asked Madame Castel. - -"He could not," rejoined the mother, whose hopeful over-excitement -rendered her at that moment as keen-sighted respecting the laws of -society as George himself could have been; "our Hubert is too honourable -a man to allow a woman's name to be talked about through him, even -though it were hers." - -Yes, poor Hubert! Hour by hour there was thus drawing closer to him that -destiny which the sound of the sea, as heard in the night, would have -symbolised to him during his divine waking at Folkestone had he -possessed more knowledge of life. It was drawing closer, this destiny, -taking for its instrument alternately George Liauran's malevolent -indifference and Marie Alice's blind passion. The last-named, at least, -believed that she was working for her son's happiness, not understanding -that, when in love, it is better to be deceived even a great deal than -to suspect the fact a little. - -And yet, notwithstanding what she had said in her conversation with her -cousin, she did not feel equal to speaking herself to her son. She was -incapable of enduring the first outbreak of his grief. Assuredly the -proofs given by George appeared to her impossible of refutation, and -again, in her conscience as a pious mother, she considered that it was -her absolute duty to snatch her son from the monster who was corrupting -him. But how could she receive the counter-stroke of rebellion which -would follow the revelation? - -Nevertheless, she hoped that he would return to her in his moments of -despair. She would open her arms to him, and all this nightmare of -misunderstandings would vanish in effusiveness--as of old. -Involuntarily, through a mirage familiar to all mothers as to all -fathers, she took no accurate account of the change of soul which -possibly had been wrought in her son. She still saw in him the child -that once she had known, coming to her with his smallest troubles. - -Through the false logic of her tenderness it seemed to her that, the -obstacle which had separated them once removed, they would find -themselves again face to face and the same as before. Her first thought -was to send him immediately to see George; then, with her delicate -woman's sense, she reflected that this would involve an inevitable -wounding of his pride. Once more, therefore, she had recourse to General -Scilly's old friendship, requesting him to tell the young man all. - -"You are giving me a terribly difficult commission," he replied, when -she had explained everything to him. "I will obey you if you require it. -I have gone through it myself," he added, "and under almost similar -conditions. A quean is a quean, and they are all like one another. But -the first man who had hinted as much to me would have spent a bad -quarter of an hour. Besides, they had not to speak to me about it, for I -learnt it all myself." - -"And what did you do?" asked Marie Alice. - -"What a man does when he has a leg broken by the bursting of a shell," -said the old soldier; "I amputated my heart bravely. It was hard, but I -cut clean." - -"You can quite see that my son must learn all," replied the mother, in a -tone at once of triumph and of pity. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -It was after lunching with one of Madame de Sauve's friends, and tasting -the delicious pleasure of seeing his mistress come in with the coffee, -that Hubert Liauran betook himself to the Quai d'Orléans, where a line -from the General had asked him to be at about three o'clock. The young -man had fancied, on receiving his godfather's note, that it had to do -with the arrears of his debt. He knew that the Count was fastidious, and -he had allowed two months to pass away without clearing off the promised -amount. The conversation accordingly began with some words of excuse, -which he stammered out immediately on entering the apartment on the -ground floor. - -He had not revisited it since the eve of his departure for Folkestone, -and he experienced in thought all his former sensations on finding the -aspect of the room exactly such as he had left it. The notes on the -reorganisation of the army still covered the table; the bust of Marshal -Bugeaud adorned the mantel-piece; and the General, attired in a -pelisse-shaped dressing-jacket, was methodically smoking his briarwood -pipe. To the first words uttered by his godson he merely replied: - -"That is not the question, my dear fellow," in a voice that was at once -grave and sad. - -By the mere intonation Hubert understood too well that a scene was -preparing of capital importance to himself. If it is puerile to believe -in presentiments in the sense in which the crowd take the term, no -creature gifted with refinement can deny that the slightest of details -are sufficient to invoke an accurate perception of approaching danger. -The General was silent, and Hubert could see the name of Madame de Sauve -in his eyes and on his lips, although it had never been uttered between -his godfather and himself. He waited, therefore, for the resumption of -the conversation with that passionate beating of the heart which makes -impatience an almost intolerable torture to highly-strung natures. - -Scilly, whose whole sentimental experience since his youth was summed up -in a single deception in love, now felt himself seized with great pity -for the blow that he was about to inflict upon a youth so dear to -himself, and the phrases which he had been putting together during the -whole of that morning appeared to him to be devoid of common sense. -Nevertheless, it was necessary to speak. At times of supreme uncertainty -it is the characteristic impressed upon us by our callings in life which -usually manifests itself and guides our action. Scilly was a soldier, -brave and exact. He was bound to go, and he did go, straight to the -point. - -"My boy," he said, with a certain solemnity, "you must first know that I -am acquainted with your life. You are the lover of a married woman, who -is called Madame de Sauve. Do not deny it. Honour forbids you to tell me -the truth. But the essential point is to take immediate precautions." - -"Why do you speak to me of this," replied the young man, rising and -taking up his hat, "when you acknowledge that honour commands me not -even to listen to you? Look here, godfather, if you have brought me here -to broach this subject, let us have no more of it. I prefer to bid you -good-bye before quarrelling with you." - -"But it was not to question you nor to lecture you that I asked for this -interview," replied the Count, taking the hand which Hubert had stiffly -held out to him. "It was to tell you a very grave fact, and one of which -you must, yes, must be informed. Madame de Sauve has another lover, -Hubert, who is not yourself." - -"Godfather," said the young man, disengaging his fingers from those of -the old General, and growing pale with sudden anger, "I do not know why -you wish me to cease to respect you. It is infamous to say of a woman -what you have just said of her." - -"If you were not concerned," replied the Count, rising, and the sad -gravity of his countenance contrasted strangely with the wild looks of -his godson, "you know very well that I would not speak to you of Madame -de Sauve or of any other woman. But I love you as I should love a son of -my own, and I tell you what I would tell him. You have misplaced your -love; the woman has another lover!" - -"Who? When? Where? What are your proofs?" replied Hubert, exasperated -beyond all bounds by the insistence and coolness of the General; "tell -me, tell me----" - -"When?--this summer. Who?--a Monsieur de La Croix-Firmin. Where?--at -Trouville. But it is the talk of all the drawing-rooms," continued -Scilly; and, without naming George, he related the indisputable details -which the latter had confided to Madame Liauran, from the statement of -the eye-witness to the indiscreet utterances of La Croix-Firmin. - -The young man listened without interruption, but to one who knew him the -expression of his face was terrible. Anger that was blended of grief and -indignation made him grow pale to the lips. - -"And who told you this story?" he asked. - -"How does that concern you?" said the General, who understood that to -indicate the real author of the whole statement to Hubert just at first -would be to expose George to a scene which might have a tragical issue. -"Yes, how does that concern you since you are not Madame de Sauve's -lover?" - -"I am her friend," rejoined Hubert; "and I have the right to protect -her, as I would protect you, against odious calumnies. Moreover," he -added, looking fixedly at his godfather, "if you refuse to answer my -question, I give you my word of honour that within two days I will find -this Monsieur de La Croix-Firmin who indulges in these knavish -calumnies, and I will have something to say to him without any woman's -name being mentioned." - -The General, seeing Hubert's state of overexcitement, and not knowing -what words to use against a frenzy which he had not foreseen,--for it -was based upon the most absolute incredulity,--said to himself that -Madame Liauran alone possessed the power to calm her son. - -"I have told you what I had to tell you," he returned, in a melancholy -tone; "if you want to know more, ask your mother." - -"My mother?" said the young man violently, "I might have suspected as -much. Well! I will go to her." - -And half-an-hour later he entered the little drawing-room in the Rue -Vaneau, where Madame Liauran was at that moment alone. She was waiting, -in fact, for her son, but with mortal anguish. She knew that it was the -time for his explanation with Scilly, and the issue of it now frightened -her. The sight of Hubert's physiognomy increased her fears. He was -livid, with bistre rings beneath his eyes, and Marie Alice immediately -felt the counter-shock of this visible emotion. - -"I have come from my godfather's, mother," the young man began, "and he -has said things to me that I shall not forgive him as long as I live. -What pained me still more was that he pretended to have from yourself -the calumnies which he repeated to me concerning one whom you may not -like--but I do not recognise your right to brand her to me, to whom she -has always been perfect--" - -"Do not speak to me in that tone, Hubert," said Madame Liauran, "you -hurt me so. It is just as though you were burying a knife in me here." -She pointed to her bosom. - -Ah! it was not only Hubert's tone, his short, hard tone, that was -torturing her; it was above all, and once again, the evidence of the -feeling that bound him to Madame de Sauve. - -"Of us two," she thought, "he would choose her." The immediate result of -her grief was to revive her hatred for the woman who was its cause, and -in her impulse of aversion she found strength to continue the -conversation. - -"You have lost the feelings of our home, my child," she said, in a -calmer voice; "you do not understand what tenderness binds us to -yourself, and what duties it imposes upon us." - -"Strange duties, if they consist in echoing degrading reports about one -whose only offence is that she has inspired me with a deep affection." - -"No," said Madame Liauran, who was growing excited in her turn; "it is -not a question of resuming a discussion which has already set us face to -face as though for a duel," and the glances of mother and son crossed at -that moment like two sword-blades. "It is a question of this--that you -love a creature who is unworthy of you, and that I, your mother, have -had you told so and tell you so again." - -"And I, your son, reply to you--," and he had the word LIE on his lips; -then, as though frightened at what he had been going to say--"that you -are mistaken, mother. I ask your pardon for speaking to you in this -strain," he added, taking her hand and kissing it; "I am not master of -myself." - -"Listen, my child," said Marie Alice, from whose eyes the unlooked-for -kindness of this gesture caused the tears to flow; "I cannot go into all -those sad details with you." Here she touched his hair just as in the -days when he was a little child. "Go to your cousin George. He will -repeat to you all that he has told us. For it was he who, in his -anxiety, thought it his duty to warn us. But remember what your mother -tells you now. I believe in the double sight of the heart. I should not -have hated this woman as I have hated her from the very first, if she -had not been bound to prove fatal to you. Now, good-bye, my child. Kiss -me," she added, in broken tones. Did she understand that from that hour -her son's kisses would never be to her what they had formerly been? - -Hubert dashed from the room, leaped into a cab, and gave the driver the -address of the club at which he hoped to find George--a small and very -aristocratic one in the Rue du Cirque. But while the man, stimulated by -the promise of a large tip, was whipping his horse, the unhappy youth -was beginning to reflect upon the entirely unexpected blow which had -just fallen upon him. The character of the race of action to which he -belonged manifested itself in the recovery of his self-possession. - -From the very first he set aside all notion of calumnious invention on -the part of his mother and godfather. That they both detested Theresa, -he knew. That they were capable of venturing a great deal in order to -detach him from her, had just been proved to him. Yes, Madame Liauran -and the Count might venture upon anything, except falsehood. They -believed, therefore, what they had said, and they believed it on the -word of George Liauran, who had been hawking about one of the thousand -infamous reports of Paris; but with what purpose? Hubert's mind did not, -at this moment, admit that there was an atom of truth in the story of -his mistress's relations with another man. - -He did not wait to discuss the fact within himself; he thought only of -the person from whose lips the tale had come. What motive, then, had -prompted his cousin, to whom he was now going in order to demand an -explanation? He saw him in imagination with his thin face, his pointed -beard, his short hair, and his shrewd look. The vision raised within him -a strangely uncomfortable feeling, which, though he did not suspect it, -was the work of Madame de Sauve. George had never up to the present -spoken to Hubert about her in any way that could admit of allusion or -banter. - -But women possess a sure instinct of mistrust, and from the first she -had noticed that her love was repugnant to Hubert's cousin. She guessed -that he saw only the whim of a _blasée_ woman where she herself saw a -religion. A woman forgives formal slanders sooner than she forgives the -tone in which she is spoken of, and she understood that the accent of -George's voice as he pronounced her name was in absolute disagreement -with the feelings with which she wished to inspire Hubert. And then, to -keep back nothing, she had a past, and George might be acquainted with -that past. A shudder passed through her at the mere idea of this. - -For these diverse reasons she had employed her shrewdest and most secret -diplomacy to part the two cousins from each other. This work was now -bearing its fruit, and was the means of inspiring Hubert with -unconquerable distrust, while the cab was taking him to the club in the -Rue du Cirque. - -"In what way," he thought, "can I question George? I cannot say to him: -'I am Madame de Sauve's lover, and you have accused her of having -deceived me; prove it to me.'" - -The moral impossibility of such a conversation had become a physical one -at the moment when the cab stopped in front of the club. - -"After all," said Hubert to himself, "I am a very child to trouble -myself about what Monsieur George Liauran believes or does not believe." - -He dismissed his cab, and instead of entering the club, walked in the -direction of the Champs Elysées. - -That which constitutes the marvellous essence and the unique charm of -love, is that it gathers, as into a bundle, and sets vibrating in -unison, the three beings within us, of thought, feeling, and -instinct,--the brain, the heart, and all the flesh. But it is also this -unison which forms its terrible infirmity. It remains defenceless -against the encroachment of physical imagination, and this feebleness -appears especially in the birth of jealousy. In this way is explained -the monstrous facility with which suspicion rises in the soul of a man -that knows himself loved above all others, if any particulars frame, -before his mind's eye, a picture wherein he sees his mistress deceiving -him. - -To be sure the lover does not believe in the truth of this picture, yet -he is none the more able to forget it entirely, and it gives him pain -until a proof comes to render the image absurd at every point. But as -there enters a great part of physical life into the formation of the -picture, the more material the proof is the more complete is the cure. -It is exactly what happens to one awaking from a nightmare, when the -assault of surrounding sensations comes to dissipate the torturing image -which has occasioned the hallucination of the sleeper. - -Certainly, for a year past, during which he had been in love with -Theresa de Sauve, Hubert had never, even for a minute, doubted a love of -which, through a feeling of delicacy that was a creature of prudence, he -had never spoken to any one; and even now, after the accusations -formulated against her by Count Scilly and Madame Liauran, he did not -believe her capable of treachery. Nevertheless, these accusations -carried a possible reality with them, and while he was going up again -towards the Arc de Triomphe he was pursued by the recollection of the -phrases uttered by his godfather and his mother, evoking within him the -spectacle of Theresa resigning herself to another man. - -It was but a flash, and scarcely had this vision of hideousness occurred -to Hubert's mind than it induced a reaction. By a violent effort he -drove away the image, which vanished for a few minutes and then -reappeared, this time accompanied by a whole train of probative ideas. -Hubert suddenly recollected that during the trip to Tourville several of -his mistress' letters had been written from day to day in a somewhat -changed hand. She seemed to have sat down to her table in great haste to -perform her labour of love, as though it were a task to be hurriedly -accomplished. Hubert had been pained by this little momentary change, -and then he had reproached himself for a tender susceptibility of heart -which was like ingratitude. - -Yes; but was it not immediately after this short period of negligent -letters that Theresa had left Trouville, under the pretext that the sea -air was doing her no good? Her departure had been decided upon in -twenty-four hours. Hubert could again feel the impulse of wondering joy -which had been caused him by this sudden return. He had not expected to -see his mistress back in Paris before the month of October, and he met -her again in the first week of September The joy of that time was -transformed by retrospection into vague anxiety. Had the evident -perturbation of the letters written before the departure, and had the -departure itself, no connection with the abominable action of which -Theresa was accused? But it was infamous on his part to admit such -ideas, even in imagination. He threw back his head, closed his eyes, -knit his forehead, and, mustering all his energy of soul, was enabled to -drive the suspicion away once more. - -He was now in the highest part of the avenue. He felt so tired that he -did what was for him an extraordinary action, he looked for a café at -which he might stop and rest. He noticed a little English tavern, hidden -in this corner of fashionable Paris, for the use of coachmen and -bookmakers. He went in. Two men, with red faces and of sturdy -appearance, who looked as though they must be redolent of the stable, -were standing before the counter. The shadow of a closing autumn -afternoon was gloomily invading this deserted nook. - -Facing the bar ran an empty bench, and on a long wooden table lay an -English newspaper in several sheets. Here Hubert sat down and ordered a -glass of port wine, which he drank mechanically and which had the effect -of freshly exciting his strained nerves. The vision came back to him a -third time, accompanied by a still greater number of ideas, which -automatically grouped themselves into a single body of argument. Theresa -had then returned to Paris so speedily, and had repaired to one of their -clandestine meetings. But why had she had such a violent fit of sobbing -in his very arms? She was often melancholy in her voluptuousness. The -intoxications of love usually ended with her in sad emotion. But how far -removed was this frenzy of despair from her habitual, dreamy languor! -Hubert had been almost frightened at it, and then she had answered him: - -"It was so long since I had tasted your kisses! They are so sweet to me -that they pain me. But it is a dear pain," she had added, drawing him to -her heart and cradling him in her arms. - -Nevertheless her despair had not entirely disappeared on the following -day or during the weeks which ensued, and which she had spent in the -neighbourhood of Paris at a country house belonging to one of her -friends who was acquainted with Hubert. He had gone there to see her and -had found her as silent as ever, and at times almost dull. She had -returned to Paris in the same condition, and with her face somewhat -altered; but he had attributed the change to physical uneasiness. A -sudden and new association of ideas now caused him to say to himself: - -"What if this were remorse? Remorse for what? Why, for her infamy!" - -He got up, went out of the café, resumed his walk, and shook off this -frightful hypothesis. - -"Fool that I am," he thought, "if she had deceived me it would have been -because she did not love me, and what motive would she then have to lie -to me?" - -This objection, which appeared irrefutable to him, drove away the -suspicion for a few minutes. Then it came back again as it always does: -"But who is this Count de la Croix-Firmin? Has she ever spoken of him to -me?" he asked himself. - -He searched anxiously through all his recollections, but could not find -that this name had ever been uttered by her. Still, if-- Suddenly in a -hidden corner of his memory he perceived the syllables of the already -hateful name. He had seen them printed in a newspaper article on the -festivities at Trouville. It was certainly in a Boulevard paper, and in -a connection in which he had also remarked his mistress's name. By what -chance did this little fact, in itself insignificant, return to torment -him at this moment? - -He had a doubt as to his accuracy, and he took a carriage to go to the -office of the only paper that he read habitually. He searched through -the collection, and laid his hand upon the short paragraph, which he -recollected, doubtless, because he had read it several times on -Theresa's account. It was the report of a garden party given by a -Marchioness de Jussat. Did it merely prove that this Monsieur de la -Croix-Firman had been introduced to Madame de Sauve? - -"Ah!" exclaimed the poor fellow after these murderous reflections, "am I -going to become jealous?" - -This represented an insupportable idea to him, for nothing was more -contrary to the innate loyalty of his whole nature than distrust. Then -he remembered the warm tenderness which she had lavished upon him from -the first, and as he had ever since followed the sweet practice of -opening up his whole heart to her, he said to himself that he had a sure -means of removing this evil vision for ever. He had simply to see -Theresa and tell her everything. In the first place this would warn her -of a calumny which she must immediately put down. Then, he felt that a -single word coming from the lips of this woman would immediately -dissipate every shadow of anxiety in his mind. He entered a post-office -and scrawled on the blue paper of a little pneumatic despatch: - -"Tuesday, five o'clock.--The lover is sad, and cannot do without his -mistress. Wicked persons have been maligning her to him. Who should hear -all this, if not the dear confidante of every sorrow and every joy? Can -she come to-morrow, she knows where, at ten o'clock in the morning? Let -her do so, and she shall be loved still more, if that be possible, by -her H.L.,--which denotes this closing afternoon: Horrible lassitude." - -It was in this strain of tender childishness that he wrote to her, with -the fondness of language wherein passion often dissembles its native -violence. He slipped the slender despatch into the box, and was -astonished to find himself feeling almost placid again. He had acted, -and the presence of the real had driven the vision away. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -At the moment when Theresa de Sauve received Hubert's despatch she was -preparing to dress for dining out. She immediately countermanded her -carriage, and wrote a hasty line, pleading headache as an excuse for -absence. She had been seized with trembling and an icy sweat on reading -the simple phrases of the blue note. She gave orders that she was not at -home, and cowered down in a low chair before her bedroom fire, with her -head in her hands. - -Since her return from Trouville she had been living in continued agony, -and what she had been dreading like death was come. Her darling, whom -she had left so perfectly tranquil and cheerful at two o'clock, could -not have fallen into the state of mind which she could feel through the -graceful childishness of his note, if some catastrophe had not happened. -What catastrophe? Theresa guessed it too well. - -George Liauran had been told the truth. During the unhappy woman's stay -at the seaside there had been enacted in her life one of those secret -dreams of infidelity which frequently occur in the lives of women who -have once deviated from the straight path. But our actions, however -guilty they may be, do not always give the measure of our souls. Madame -de Sauve's nature comprised very lofty portions by the side of very low -ones, and was a singular mixture of corruption and nobility. She might, -indeed, commit abominable faults, but to forgive them in herself, after -the happy custom of most women of the same description, that she could -not do, and now less than ever after what her passion for Hubert had -been to her life for several months. - -Ah! her life! her life! It was this that Theresa de Sauve saw in the -flickering flames in the fireplace that autumn evening, with her heart -racked with apprehension. The whole weight of her former errors, her -criminal errors, was now falling upon her heart, and she remembered her -state of dull agony when she had met Hubert. Theresa de Sauve had been -endowed by nature with those dispositions which are most fatal to a -woman in modern society, unless she marries under rare conditions, or -unless maternity saves her from herself by breaking the energies of her -physical, and engrossing the fervour of her moral, vitality. She had a -romantic heart, while her temperament made her a creature of passion, -that is to say, she fostered both dreams of feeling and unconquerable -appetites for sensation. - -When persons of this kind meet on the threshold of their lives, with a -man who satisfies the twofold needs of their nature, there are between -them and this man such mysterious festivities of love as poets conceive -but never embrace. Where their destiny wills that they shall be -delivered, as Theresa had been to her husband, to a man who treats them -from the very first like courtesans, who initiates them in deed and -thought into the whole science of pleasure, but who has not sufficient -poetry to satisfy the other half of their souls, such women necessarily -become curiosos, capable of falling into the worst experiences, and then -their sterility even becomes a happiness, for they at least do not -transmit that flame of sentimental and sensual life which they have -commonly inherited from a mother's error. - -It was, in fact, from her mother, who, cold though she was, had been led -by weariness and abandonment into guilty misconduct, that Theresa -derived her dreamy imagination, while there flowed in her veins the -burning blood of her true father, the handsome Count Branciforte. -Further, this child of license and infatuation had been brought up -without religious principles or bridle of any kind, by Adolphe Lussac, a -most immoral man, who was amused by the little girl's vivacity, and had -early made her a guest at many dinners, where she heard all that she -ought not to have heard, and guessed all that she ought not to have -known. Who can calculate the amount of influence over the falls of a -woman of twenty-five that is attributable to the conversations listened -to or overheard by the young girl in short frocks? - -Nevertheless, Theresa, who had married when very young, had had only two -intrigues up to the time of her chance meeting with Hubert, and these -two amours had caused her such disgust that she had sworn that she would -never again fall into the folly of taking a lover. The good resolutions -of a woman who has fallen, and who has suffered for her fault, are like -the firm intentions of a gambler who has lost two thousand pounds, or a -drunkard who has told his secrets during his intoxication. The -deep-lying causes which have produced the first adultery continue to -subsist after the fault has given the guilty one cruelly to taste of -every bitterness. - -The woman who takes a lover is not so much attached to this lover as she -is to love, and she continues to be still attached to love when the -chosen lover has deceived her, until disillusion after disillusion -brings her to love pleasure without love, and sometimes pleasure of the -most degrading nature. Theresa de Sauve could never descend so far as -this, because a sentiment of the ideal persisted within her, too feeble -to counterbalance the fever of the senses, but strong enough to illumine -in her own eyes the abyss of her weaknesses. This taciturn woman, -through whom there passed at times the tremors of almost brutal desire, -was no epicurean, no light and cheerful courtesan of the world. - -Conceived amid her mother's remorse, Theresa had a tragic soul. She was -capable of depravity, but incapable of that amused forgetfulness which -plucks the fleeting hour, and cannot, without effort, recall the first -lover's name among all the rest. No; this first lover, this Frederick -Suzel, whom George Liauran had justly suspected, could never be thought -of by her without causing her thorough nausea by the recollection of the -sad motives of her surrender to him. He was a man gay even to -buffoonery, and witty even to cynicism, with that sort of wit which is -current between the Opera House, Tortoni, and the Café Anglais. - -When paying his addresses to Theresa, he had the good sense not to lose -himself in the tricks of fashionable flirtations as did his numerous -rivals--a troop of beasts of prey on the scent of a victim. With great -skilfulness of language and a certain penetration of vice, he had -frankly offered to arrange with her a kind of partnership for pleasure -which should be secret, sure, and with no future, and the unfortunate -woman had accepted his proposal. Why? Because she was dreadfully dull; -because she was carrying off Suzel from one of her friends; because she -was greedy for new sensations, and this person, with his dishonouring -talk, had about him a sort of strange prestige of libertinism. Of this -connection, in which Frederick had at least been faithful to his promise -in not seeking to prolong it, Theresa had soon been deeply ashamed, and -she had escaped from it as from the galleys. - -After a year spent in enduring her remorse, and in feeling herself -sullied by all the knowledge of evil that her intimacy with this man had -revealed to her, she had thought to find satisfaction for the needs of -her heart in the person of Alfred Fanières, one of the most subtle -novelists of the day. Did not all the books of this charming narrator, -from his first and only volume of poetry to his last collection of -tales, reveal the most minute and tender understanding of the gentle -feminine mind? In this second connection, begun with the most -intoxicating hope--that, namely, of consoling all the deceptions of an -admired artist--Theresa had soon struck upon the implacable barrenness -of the inmost nature of the worn-out literary man, in whom there is an -absolute divorce between feeling and written expression. - -Though undeceived, she nevertheless persisted in remaining this man's -mistress, from that reason which causes a woman's second love affair to -be the longest of all in coming to a conclusion. She will admit that the -first has been a mistake; but the mistake of her marriage and the -mistake of her first amour make two; at the third error she acknowledges -that the fault in her conduct is due to herself, and not to the -circumstances of her life, and this is a cruel confession for secret -pride. Then the writer's egotism had manifested itself so harshly, when -he had believed himself sure of her, that the revolt had been too -strong, and Theresa had broken with him. - -It was during the period of hard distress subsequent to this rupture -that she had met Hubert Liauran. From the corner of her solitary hearth, -beside which she watched persistently, she could see so very clearly -what the discovery of this tender child's heart had been to her. In an -existence which had comprised nothing but wounding or disgrace--had not -her keenest sorrows been dishonoured beforehand by their cause?--with -what delighted emotion had she measured the purity of this young man's -heart? What anxiety had she felt, and what a dread of not pleasing him! -What a dread, too, knowing that she had pleased him, of being ruined in -his thoughts! - -How she had trembled lest one of the cruel talkers of society should -reveal her past to Hubert! How had she employed all her woman's art to -make this love an adorable poem, wherein should be lacking nothing that -might enchant a soul innocent and new to life! How had she enjoyed his -reverence, and how had she allowed it to be prolonged! Ah! when she -thought now of those two days at Folkestone she could scarcely believe -that they had been real, and that she had had the courage to survive -them. She remembered that she had gone with Hubert to the terminus in -spite of every consideration of prudence; she had seen him disappear in -the direction of London, leaning out of the carriage window to watch her -the longer; she had re-entered the rooms which they had both occupied, -before herself taking train for Dover, and there she had spent two hours -in the grievous loneliness of a soul overwhelmed with simultaneous -despair and felicity. - -Her soul bent beneath its weight of recollections like a flower -overladen with dew. She had there known a complete union between her two -natures--an almost passionate vibration of her entire being. She had -half forgiven herself the past, excusing herself by saying mentally to -Hubert the words which so many women have said aloud to men jealous of -those bygone days which belonged to others: "I did not know you!" - -On their subsequent return to Paris, how carefully and piously had she -set herself, during the spring and summer, to live in such a way as not -to lose his affection for a single minute! She had resumed all the -modesty admitted by love that is complete, but is ennobled by the soul. -She trembled constantly lest her caresses should be a cause of -corruption to this being, so young both in heart and in body, whom she -wished to intoxicate without defiling. - -Although she was enamoured to distraction, she had desired the meetings -in the little abode in the Avenue Friedland to be far between, lest she -should not long enough preserve in his eyes her charm of divine novelty. -They had not been very numerous--she might have counted them, tasting in -thought the distinct sweetness of each--those afternoons when, with all -the shutters closed, and with no light, she had again found the delights -of the Folkestone time, sunk in her lover's arms, and dead to everything -but the present moment and its intoxication. - -She had gone so far in her idolatry of Hubert as to worship Madame -Liauran, although she well knew that she was hated by her. She -worshipped her for having brought up this son in such an atmosphere of -pure and shrinking sensibility. She worshipped her for having kept him -for her during the years of adolescence and youth, so delicate, so -graceful, so tender, so much her own, so absolutely her own in the past, -the present, and the future. For there was loftiness, almost folly, in -her pride. She would say to him: - -"Yours is beginning and mine is ending. Yes, child, at twenty-six a -woman is almost at the end of her youth, and you have so many years -before you! But never, never will you be loved as I love you, and never -will you forget me, never, never." And at other times: "You will marry," -she would say; "she lives, she breathes, and yet she is not known to me, -she who is to take you from me, and who will sleep every night upon your -heart as I did at Folkestone. Ah! must it indeed be that I have met you -so late, and that I cannot bind you to my kisses." - -And she would encircle his neck with the loosened tresses of her long, -black hair. Since she had belonged to him she had again acquired the -habit which she had had as a young girl, of dressing her own hair, so -that he might handle her beautiful locks. Then when she had dressed them -again quite alone, and was attired and veiled, she would come back to -him, not wishing to bid him good-bye anywhere but in the room where they -had loved each other, and she would understand from the throbbings of -Hubert's heart that no sensation told so much upon him as this good-bye -kiss which she gave him with nearly cold lips. She would depart a prey -to a nameless sadness, but one at least of which she told her lover. For -she did not tell him of every sadness. - -She was married, and although she had at all times had a room of her -own, she was sometimes obliged to receive her husband in it. Alas! it -was all the more necessary because she had a lover. It was a sinister -expiation of her passion, and one which she justified on her part by -telling herself that she owed as much to Hubert. If she ever became a -mother could she fly with him and take from him his whole life? and the -pitiless necessity of baleful lies and degrading partitions would thus -come to torture her at the height of her happiness. She acquitted -herself, nevertheless, since it was for him, her darling, that she lied. - -Yes, but what monstrous enigma suddenly reared itself before her? Oh, -the cruel, cruel enigma! With this divine love in her heart, how had she -been able to do what she had done? For it had been, indeed, herself, and -none other--she, with those feet of hers which now were feeling icy -cold, with those hands which now were pressing her feverishly-throbbing -brow--she, in short, with her whole physical being, who had left for -Trouville at the end of the month of July--she, Theresa de Sauve, who -had installed herself for the season in a villa on the hill. Yes, it had -been herself. And yet no! It was not possible that Hubert's mistress had -done this. What--this? Oh, cruel, cruel enigma! - -From what depths of the memory of her senses had there issued those -strange impulses, those secret, lustful temptations which had commenced -to assail her? But have the senses really a memory? Can it be that the -guilty fevers will not depart for ever from the blood which they have -fired in evil hours? - -Once settled in her villa, she had met again with old friends who had -been greatly neglected since the beginning of her connection with -Hubert. With these women and their admirers--their "fancy men," as a -lady said who mixed in their "set"--she had formed several very cheerful -and innocent country parties, and here she was, day by day, beginning, -not to love Hubert less, but to live somewhat apart from her love, and -to take pleasure anew in habits of masculine familiarities which she had -forbidden to herself for a year past. She was so idle in her villa with -no indoor occupation--not even reading. For she had never liked books -much, and her connection with Alfred Fanières had disgusted her for -ever with the falsity of fine phrases. When she had written lengthily to -Hubert, and then briefly to her husband--who, moreover, came to see her -every week--it was necessary to beguile the tedious hours; and at times -fitful thoughts came to her which she dared not acknowledge to herself. -Hankerings after sensations arose within her, and astonished her. - -She knew by hearsay that almost all men, however tender they may be, and -however dearly loved their mistresses, cannot remain long away from the -latter without experiencing irresistible temptations to deceive her with -the first girl that they meet. But this was true of men, and not of -women. Why, then, did she find herself a prey to this inexplicable -agitation, to this thirst for sensual intoxications, of which she had -believed herself for ever cured by the influence of her ennobling, her -ideal love? The depraved creature that she had formerly been awoke by -degrees. At night, in her sleep, she was haunted by visions of her past. -In vain, had she striven, and in vain had she cursed her secret -perversion. - -Then she had allowed herself to listen to the addresses of the young -Count de la Croix-Firmim. She remembered with horror the kind of nervous -fascination which this man's presence, his smile, and his eyes had -exerted upon her. Then--she would fain have died at the recollection of -this--one afternoon, when he had come up to see her, and there was a -torrid heat, such as makes the will feel itself drooping, he had been -venturesome, and she had given herself to him, faintly at first, and -then impetuously and madly. For three days she had been his mistress--a -prey to the wildness of physical passion--banishing, ever banishing, the -recollection of Hubert, feeling herself rolling into a gulf of infamy, -and flinging herself still further into it, until the day when she had -awakened from this sensual frenzy as from a dream. She had opened her -eyes, measured her shame, and, like a wounded and dying creature, had -fled from the accursed spot and from her detested accomplice to -return--to what?--and to whom? - -A melancholy and heart-breaking return to what had been the restoration -of her entire life, to what she had blasted for ever! She had returned -to the room of those sweet hours, and she had found Hubert, her -Hubert--but could she still call him so?--more tender, more loving, and -more loved than before. Alas! alas! had her inexpiable deceit rendered -her for ever powerless to taste that of which she was no longer worthy? -In the young man's arms, and on his heart, she had remembered the other, -and the ecstacy of former times, the delicious and unspeakable swooning -in the excess of feeling, had fled from her. - -It was then that Hubert had seen her sobbing despairingly, and an -immense sadness had come upon her, a death-like torpor, crossed by a -cruel anxiety lest some indiscreet speech should reach her lover and -awake his suspicions. Her own reputation she heeded but little; she was -well aware that after acting as she did with La Croix-Firmin, she could -count on little but contempt and hatred from him. She also knew what the -honour of those men who make it their profession to have women is worth. -What tortured her, however, was not a fear lest he might compromise her -personal security by speaking. After all, what had she, childless, and -rich with an independent fortune, to dread from her husband? - -But a look of distrust in Hubert's eyes was what she felt to be beyond -her powers of endurance. Perhaps, nevertheless, it might be better that -he should know the frightful truth? He would drive her from him like an -unfortunate; but at times anything seemed preferable to the torment of -having such remorse at her heart, and of lying ceaselessly to so noble a -fellow. She had again set herself to love him with desperate frenzy, -and, as her revolt against the baser part of her nature hurried her to -an extreme in the other or romantic direction, a mad desire came upon -her to tell him everything, that at least the voluntary humiliation of -her confession might be, as it were, a ransom for her infamy. And yet, -although silence was a very lie, this lie she had still the strength to -sustain; but, as for an actual lie, she suffered too much to have the -shameful energy for it, if ever he questioned her. - -And this questioning she was now about to face; she could read it -between the lines of the despatch. Ah! what was she now to do, if she -had guessed aright? She had drunk as much of the gall of shame as she -could bear. Would she have heart enough still to drink this, the -bitterest drop, and once more betray her only love by a fresh deception? -If she were frank Hubert must at least esteem her for her frankness, and -if she were not how could she endure herself? Yes, but to speak was the -death of her happiness. - -Alas! had not this been dead ever since her return? Would she ever -recover what she had once felt? What was the use of disputing with fate -for this mutilated, sullied remnant of a divine dream? And all that -night she was bowed beneath the agony of these thoughts, a poor creature -born for all the nobility of a single and faithful love, who had caught -a glimpse of her dream and had possessed it, to be then dispossessed of -it by the fault of a nature hidden within her, but which, nevertheless, -was not her entire self. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -In the cab which brought her to the Avenue Friedland on the day -following this night of agony, Theresa de Sauve, took none of the -precautions that were habitual with her, such as changing vehicles on -the way, tying a double veil across her face, or peeping at the street -corners through the little pane of glass behind, to see whether anything -of a suspicious nature was accompanying her clandestine drive. All these -timorous secrecies of forbidden love used formerly to please her -delightfully on Hubert's account. Was not the continuance of their -intrigue secured by securing its mysteriousness? There was little -question of that now. In her ungloved hand she held a little gold key -hanging to the chain of a bracelet--a pretty trinket of tenderness which -her lover had had contrived for her. This key, which never left her -wrist, served to open the door of the ground floor lent by Emmanuel -Deroy, the worshipped refuge of the few days during which she had really -lived her life--a dream-oasis to which the unhappy woman was now going -as to a cemetery. - -There was likely to be a storm in the course of the day, for the -atmosphere of the autumn morning was heavy, and completely charged with -a sort of electric torpor, the influence of which irritated still -further her weak, womanish nerves. She did not tell the cabman, as she -always used to do, to drive into the entry,--for the house had two -exits, and the large open gateway allowed her to be brought in the cab -to the very door of the apartments without being seen by the porter, -whose discretion was, moreover, guaranteed by the profits resulting from -the amour of his tenant's friend. She had fastened her eyes the whole -way upon the slightest details in the streets successively passed -through; she knew them well, from the signs of the shops to the look of -the houses, because these images were associated with the happiest -memories of her too short romance. She uttered to them in thought the -same mournful farewell as to her happiness. - -A prey, too, to the hallucinations of terror, she could no longer -distinguish the possible from the real, and she no longer doubted that -Hubert knew all. She read again the note which she had received the day -before, and every word of which, to her who knew the young man's -character so well, betrayed profound anguish. Whence had this anguish -come if not from an event relating to their love? And from what event if -not from a revelation of the horrible deception, the infamous act -committed by her, yes, by herself? Ah! if there were somewhere a lustral -water to cleanse the blood, and with it the recollection of all evil -fevers! But, no; it continues to course in our veins, this blood, laden -with the most shameful sins. There is no interruption between the -beating of our pulse in the hour of our remorse and its beating in the -hour of our fault. And Theresa could again feel pressing upon her face -the kisses of the man with whom she had betrayed Hubert. Yet she had -paid back these frightful kisses. - -"Ah! if he questions me, how could I find strength to lie to him, and -what would be the use?" - -These words had terminated all her meditations since the day before, and -she uttered them to herself again when she found herself in front of the -door within which there was doubtless going to be enacted one of the, to -her, most tragical scenes in the drama of her life. Her fingers trembled -so that she had some trouble in slipping the little gold key into the -lock--the key which had been given to be handled with other feelings! -She knew, beyond doubt, that at the mere sounding of this key turning on -the bolt Hubert would be there behind the door awaiting her. - -He was there, in fact, and received her in his arms. He felt her lips to -be perfectly cold. He looked at her, as he did on each occasion, after -pressing her to him. It seemed as though he wished to persuade himself -of the truth of her presence. This first kiss always gave Theresa a -spasm at the heart, and it needed all her dread of displeasing her lover -to make her release herself from his arms. Even at this moment, and in -spite of all the tortures of the night before, she thrilled to the very -depths of her being, and she was seized with something like a mad desire -to intoxicate Hubert with so many endearments that they should both -forget--he, what he had to ask, and she, what she had to reply. It was -but a quiver, nevertheless, and it died away on simply hearing the young -man's voice questioning her with anxiety. - -"You are ill?" he said. - -Seeing her quite pale, the tender-hearted fellow reproached himself for -having brought her there that morning, and, at the sight of her evident -suffering, he had already forgotten the motive of their meeting. -Moreover, his confidence as to the result of the conversation was such -that he had had no renewal of his suspicions since the day before. - -"You are ill?" he repeated, drawing her into the next room and making -her sit down on a divan. - -As Emmanuel Deroy had been attached to the embassy at Constantinople -before going to London, his apartments were adorned throughout with -Oriental materials, and this large divan, hung with drapery, and placed -just opposite the door of a little garden, was particularly dear to -Hubert and Theresa. They had chatted so much among these cushions, with -their heads resting unitedly upon them, at those moments of intimacy -which follow upon the intoxications of love, and which, by him at least, -were preferred to them; for, although he loved Theresa to the point of -sacrificing everything for her, he had, nevertheless, at the bottom of -his conscience, remained a Catholic, and a dim remorse mingled its -secret bitterness with the sweetness that was given him by the kisses. -He used to think of his own fault, and especially of the sin which he -caused Theresa to commit; for in the simplicity of his heart he imagined -that he had seduced her. - -She sank rather than sat down on the deep divan, and he began to take -off her veil, bonnet, and mantle. She allowed him to do so, smiling at -him the while with infinite tenderness. After her hours of torturing -sleeplessness, there was to her something at once very bitter and very -affecting in the impress of the young man's coaxing. She found him so -affectionate, so delicately intimate, so like himself, that she thought -that she had without doubt been mistaken as to the meaning of the note, -and, to rid herself immediately of uncertainty, she said, in reply to -his question about her health: - -"No, I am not ill; but the tone of your note was so strange that it has -made me uneasy." - -"My note?" rejoined Hubert, pressing her cold hands, in order to warm -them. "Ah! it was not worth while. Look here, I dare not now acknowledge -to you why I wrote it." - -"Acknowledge it all the same," she said, with an already -anguish-stricken insistence, for Hubert's embarrassment had just brought -back to her the anxiety which had caused her so much suffering. - -"People are so strange!" replied the young man, shaking his head. "There -are times when, in spite of themselves they doubt what they know best. -But first you must forgive me beforehand." - -"Forgive you, my angel!" she said. "Ah! I love you too well! Forgive -you!" she repeated; and these syllables, which she heard her own voice -uttering, echoed in an almost intolerable fashion through her -conscience. How willingly, indeed, would she have had reason to forgive -instead of to be forgiven. "But for what?" she asked, in a lower tone, -which revealed the renewal of her inward emotion. - -"For having allowed myself to be disturbed for a moment by an infamous -calumny which persons who hate our love have repeated to me about your -life at Trouville. But what is the matter?" - -These words, and still more the tone of voice in which they were -uttered, had entered like a blade into Theresa's heart. If Hubert had -received her on her arrival with those words of suspicion which men know -how to devise, and every word of which implies an absence of faith that -anticipates the proofs, she might, perhaps, have found in her woman's -pride sufficient energy to face the suspicion and to deny it. - -But from the outset of this explanation, the young man's whole attitude -had displayed that kind of tender and candid confidence which imposes -sincerity upon every soul that possesses any remnant of nobility; and in -spite of her weaknesses, Theresa had not been born for the compromises -of adultery, nor, above all, for the complications of treachery. She was -one of those creatures who are capable of great impulses of conscience -and sudden returns of generosity, and who, after descending to a certain -depth, say: "This is debasement enough," and prefer to destroy -themselves altogether rather than sink still lower. - -Moreover, the remorse of the last few weeks had brought her into that -state of suffering sensibility which impels to the most unreasonable -acts, provided that these acts bring the suffering to an end. And then -the unnerving of the sleepless nights, increased still further by the -uneasiness of the stormy day, rendered it as impossible for her to -dissemble her emotions as it is for a panic-stricken soldier to -dissemble his fear. At that moment her countenance was literally thrown -into confusion by the effect of what she had just been listening to, and -by the expectation of what her unconscious tormentor was going to say. - -For a minute there was a silence that was more than painful to them -both. The young man, seated on the divan by the side of his mistress, -was looking at her with drooping eyelids, his mouth half open and his -face death-like. The excessiveness of her emotion was so astonishingly -significant that all the suspicions which had been raised and banished -the day before awoke simultaneously in the mind of the youth. He -suddenly saw abysses before him by the lightning-flash of one of those -instantaneous intuitions which sometimes illumine the whole brain at -times of supreme emotion. - -"Theresa!" he cried, terror-stricken by his own vision and by the sudden -horror that was seizing upon him. "No, it is not true; it is not -possible--" - -"What?" she said again; "speak, and I will answer you." - -The transition from the tender "thou" of their intimacy to this "you," -rendered so humble by her subdued accents, completed Hubert's -distraction. - -"_No!_" he went on, rising and beginning to walk about the room with an -abrupt step, the sound of which trampled upon the poor woman's heart; "I -cannot formulate that--I cannot--well, yes!" he said, stopping in front -of her; "I was told that you were the mistress of Count de la -Croix-Firmin at Trouville, that it was the talk of the place, that some -young men had seen you entering his room and kissing him, that he -himself had boasted of having been your lover. That is what I was told, -and told with such persistence that for a moment I was maddened by the -calumny, and then I felt the morbid longing to see you, to hear you only -declare to me that it is not true. Answer, my love, that you forgive me -for having doubted you, that you love me, that you have loved me, that -all this is nothing but a hateful lie." - -He had thrown himself at her feet as he said these words; he took her -hands, her arms, her waist; he hung to her as, when drowning, he would -have caught at the body of one who had leapt into the water to save him. - -"It is true that I love you," she replied, in a scarcely audible voice. - -"And all the rest is a lie?" he besought her distractedly. - -Ah! he would have given his life at that moment for a word from those -lips. But the lips remained mute, and upon the woman's pale cheeks slow, -long tears began to flow, without sob or sigh, as though it had been her -soul that was weeping thus. Did not such a silence and such tears, at -such a moment, form the clearest, the most cruel, of all replies? - -"It is true, then?" he asked again. - -And as she continued silent: "But answer, answer, answer," he went on, -with a frightful violence, which wrung from those lips--at the corners -of which the slow tears were still flowing--a "Yes" so feeble that he -could scarcely hear it; and yet he was destined to hear it, for ever! - -He leaped up, and cast his eyes wildly around him. Some weapons hung on -the walls. A temptation seized upon the soldier's son to mangle this -woman with one of those shining blades; and so strong was it that he -recoiled. He looked again at that face, upon which the same tears were -flowing freely. He uttered that "Ah!" of agony--that cry, as of an -animal wounded unto death, which is drawn forth by a sight of horror; -and as though he were afraid of everything--of the sight before him--of -the walls--of this woman--of himself--he fled from the room and the -house, bare-headed and with soul distraught. He had been strong enough -to feel that in five minutes he would have become a murderer. - -He fled, whither? how? by what routes? He never knew with clearness what -he had done that day. On the morrow he recollected, because he had the -palpable proof of it before him, that once he had caught sight of his -haggard face and windblown hair in the glass of a shop window, and that, -with an odd survival of carefulness about his dress, he had entered a -shop to buy a hat. Then he had walked straight before him, passing -through innumerable Paris districts. Houses succeeded houses -indefinitely. At one time he was in the country of the suburbs. The -storm burst, and he had been able to take shelter under a -railway-bridge. How long did he remain thus? The rain fell in torrents. -He was leaning against one of the walls of the bridge. Trains passed at -intervals, shaking all the stones. - -The rain ceased. He resumed his walk, splashing through the puddles of -water, without food since the morning, and heedless of his fast. The -automatic movement of his body was necessary to him that he might not -founder in madness, and instinctively he walked on. The monstrous thing -which he had perceived through the shock of a terrible dread was there -before his eyes; he could see it; he knew it to be real, and he did not -understand it. He was like a crushed man. He experienced a sensation so -intolerable that it had even ceased to be pain, with such completeness -did it suppress the powers of his being and overwhelm them. Evening was -coming on. He found himself again on the road towards home, guided to it -by the mechanical impulse which brings back the bleeding animal in the -direction of its den. About ten o'clock he rang at the door of the house -in the Rue Vaneau. - -"Nothing has happened to you, sir?" asked the doorkeeper; "the ladies -were so anxious----" - -"Let them know that I have come in," said the young man, "but that I am -unwell and wish to be alone, absolutely alone, Firmin; you understand." - -The tone in which these words were uttered cut short all questions on -the lips of the old servant. He followed Hubert, apparently dazed by the -furious lightning which he had just perceived in the eyes of his young -master and by the disorder of his dress. He saw him cross the hall and -enter the pavilion, and went up himself to the drawing-room to give his -mistress the strange message with which he was charged. The mother had -expected her son at luncheon. Hubert had not come in. Although he had -never before failed to appear without giving her notice, she had striven -not to be too anxious about it. The afternoon passed without news, and -then the dinner-hour struck. Still no news. - -"Mamma," Madame Liauran said to Madame Castel, "some misfortune has -happened. Who can tell whither despair has led him?" - -"He has been detained by friends," the old lady replied, concealing her -own in order to control her daughter's anxiety. - -When the door opened at ten o'clock, Madame Liauran, with her quickness -of hearing, caught the sound from the furthest end of the drawing-room, -and said to her mother and to Count Scilly, who had been informed since -dinner; "It is Hubert." - -When Firmin repeated the young man's words the invalid exclaimed: "I -must speak to him." - -And she sat upright, as though forgetting that she was no longer able to -walk. - -"The Count will go to him," said Madame Castel, "and bring him back to -us." - -At the end of ten minutes Scilly returned, but alone. He had knocked at -the door, and then tried to open it. It was double-locked. He had called -Hubert several times, and the latter at last entreated him to leave him. - -"And not a word for us?" asked Madame Liauran. - -"Not a word," replied the General. - -"What have we done?" rejoined the mother. "What good will it do me to -have separated him from this woman if I have lost his heart?" - -"To-morrow," replied Scilly, "you will see him returning to you more -tender than ever. Just at first, it is too much for you. He has been -seeking proofs for what we have told him, and he has found them. This is -the explanation of his absence and his behaviour." - -"And he has not come to grieve with me!" said the mother. "Alas! can it -be that I have loved him for myself alone, while believing that I loved -him for his own sake? Will you ring, General, for them to take me to my -room?" - -And when the easy chair, which she never left now, had been wheeled into -the next room, and she was in bed: - -"Mamma," she said to Madame Castel, "draw back the curtain that I may -look at his windows." - -Then, as Hubert had not closed his shutters, and his shadow could be -seen passing to and fro, "Ah! mamma," she said again, "why do children -grow up? Formerly, he never had a trouble that he did not come and cry -over it on my shoulder, as I do on yours, and now----" - -"Now he is as unreasonable as his mother," said the old lady, who had -scarcely spoken during the whole evening, and who, printing a kiss upon -her daughter's hair, silenced her by letting fall these words, which -revealed her own martyrdom: "My heart aches for you both." - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -In the morning, when Madame Liauran sent to ask for her son, the latter -replied that he would be down for luncheon. He appeared, in fact, at -noon. His mother and he exchanged merely a look, and she at once -understood the extent of the suffering which he had undergone, simply by -the kind of shiver with which he was affected on seeing her again. She -was associated with this suffering as its occasion, if not its cause, -and he could never forget the fact. His eyes had something so -particularly distant in them, and his mouth so close a curve of lip, his -whole face was so expressive of a determination to permit no explanation -of any kind, that neither Madame Liauran nor Madame Castel ventured to -question him. - -For a year past these three persons had had many silent meals in the -antiquely-wainscoted dining-room--an apartment so spacious as to make -the round table placed in the centre appear small. But all three had -never been sensible of an impression, as they were on this day, that, -even when speaking to one another, there would henceforth be a silence -between them impossible to break, something which could not be put into -words, and which, for a very long time, would create a background of -muteness, even behind their most cordial expansions. - -After luncheon, when Hubert, who had scarcely touched the various -dishes, took the handle of the door, in order to leave the little -drawing-room in which he had remained for scarcely five minutes, his -mother felt a timid and almost repentant desire to ask his forgiveness -for the pain that she read on his taciturn countenance. - -"Hubert?" she said. - -"Mamma?" he replied, turning round. - -"You feel quite well to-day?" she asked. - -"Quite well," he replied in a blank tone, such a tone as immediately -suppresses all possibility of conversation; and he added: "I shall be -punctual at dinner-time this evening." - -The young man was now singularly preoccupied. After a night of torture, -so continuously keen that he could not remember having ever undergone -anything like it, he had become master of himself again. He had passed -through the first crisis of his grief, a crisis after which a man ceases -to die from despair, because he has really reached the deepest depth of -sorrow. Then he had recovered that momentary calm which follows upon -prodigious deperditions of nervous energy, and had been able to think. -It was then that he had been seized with anxiety respecting Madame de -Sauve--an anxiety which was devoid of tenderness, for at this moment, -after the assault of grief which he had just sustained, his soul was -dried up, his inward lethargy was absolute, all capacity for feeling was -gone. - -But he had suddenly remembered that he had left Theresa in the little -ground floor apartment in Avenue Friedland, and his imagination dared -not form any conjectures upon what had taken place after his departure. -It was just at the end of luncheon that this thought had assailed him, -and, over and above his main sorrow, it had immediately caused him a -shiver of nervous terror--the only emotion of which he was capable. - -He went straight from the Rue Vaneau to the Avenue, and when he found -himself in front of the house he dared not enter, although he had the -key in his hand. He called the doorkeeper, an ugly individual to whom he -could never speak without repugnance, so hateful to him was his brazen, -glabrous face, his servile and, at the same time, insolent eye, and the -tone which he assumed as a generously-paid accomplice. - -"I beg a thousand pardons, sir," said this man, even before Hubert had -questioned him. "I did not know that the lady was still there. I had -seen you go out, sir, and in the afternoon I went in to give a look -round the place, as I do every day, and found the lady sitting on the -sofa. She seemed to be in great pain. Is she better to-day, sir?" he -added. - -"She is very well," replied Hubert, and as he suddenly felt a strong -repugnance to entering the apartments, and on the other hand wished at -all costs to avoid giving this man, for whom he had such an antipathy, -any grounds for suspecting the drama in his life, he replied, "I have -come to settle your bill. I am going on a journey." - -"But you have already paid me, sir, at the beginning of the month," said -the other. - -"I may be away for a long time," said Hubert drawing a bank-note from -his pocket-book. "You will put this down to the account." - -"You are not coming in, sir?" resumed the doorkeeper. - -"No," said Hubert, and he went away, saying to himself, "I am a -simpleton. Women of that sort don't kill themselves!" - -Women of that sort! The phrase, which had occurred naturally to him, the -youth hitherto so ingenuous, so gentle, and so refined, was a fitting -translation of the kind of feeling which now held the ascendancy over -him, and which lasted for several days. It was a boundless disgust, a -thorough nausea; but so complete and so profound was it, that it left no -room in his heart for anything else. He could not even have told whether -he was suffering, so entirely did contempt absorb all the living -energies of his being. - -He perceived the woman whom he had idolised so religiously and with so -noble a fervour, plunged, as it were, and wallowing in such an abyss of -uncleanness, that he felt as though by loving her he had himself been -rolling in the mire. This was the physical sight of which he was now the -victim from one end of the day to the other, and to such a degree that -he was unable to interpret it or form any hypothesis concerning -Theresa's character. The sight of it was inflicted upon him with a -material exactness which bordered on hallucination. Yes, he could see -the act, and the act alone, without having strength enough to shake off -the hideous, besetting fellowship. It paralysed him with horror, and he -could think of nothing else. - -A sort of unbroken mirage showed him the abominable pollution of his -mistress's prostitution, and, just as a man attacked by jaundice looks -at all objects through bile-infected eyes, so it was, through his -disgust, that he viewed, the whole of life. His soul was as though -saturated with bitterness, and yet was frightfully dry. There was not an -impression that was not transformed in him into this perception of -foulness and melancholy. - -He rose, and spent the morning among his books, opening but not reading -them. He lunched, and the sight of his mother irritated, instead of -softening him. He went back to his room, and resumed the dull idleness -of the morning. He dined, and then, immediately after dinner, left the -drawing-room, so as not to encounter either the General or his cousin, -whose presence was intolerable to him. - -At night he lay awake, continuing to see the accursed scene with the -same impossibility of arriving at relaxation of grief. If he fell -asleep, he had every second time to endure the nightmare of this same -vision. As he had no conception of the physiognomy of the man with whom -his mistress had deceived him, there rose up in his morbid sleep -horrible dreams wherein all kinds of different faces were mingled -together. The distress which such imagining caused him would awake him. -His body would be bathed in sweat, he could feel a rending of the bosom -as though his quick-beating heart were about to leave its place, and -with this suffering there was, as before, such complete prostration of -his affectionate powers, that he was not even anxious to know what had -become of Theresa. - -"After all," he said to himself one morning as he was getting up, "I -lived well enough before I knew her! I have only to put myself again in -thought into the condition in which I was before that 12th of October." -He had an exact recollection of the date. "It was scarcely more than a -year ago; I was so tranquil then! I have had an evil dream, that is all. -But I must destroy everything that might bring back the memory of it to -me." - -He sat down before his writing table after putting fresh wood upon the -fire to increase the blaze, and double-locking the door. Involuntarily, -he recollected that he used so to act formerly, when he wished to see -the precious treasure of his love-relics again. He opened the drawer in -which the treasure was hidden: it consisted of a black morocco box, on -which were entwined two initial letters--a "T." and an "H." Theresa and -he had exchanged two of these boxes, to keep their letters in them. Upon -the one which he had given to his mistress he had caused Theresa's name -to be autographed in full, instead of the two initials. - -"What a child I was!" he thought, as he recollected the thousand little -weaknesses of this order in which he had indulged. There is always -puerility, indeed, in extreme weaknesses; but it is on the day when we -are on the road to hardness of heart that we think so. - -Beside this box lay two objects which Hubert had thrown there on the -evening of the same day on which he had learnt his mistress's treachery: -one was his ring, and the other a slender gold chain, to which hung a -tiny key. He took the little hoop in his hand, and, in spite of himself, -looked at the inner surface. Theresa had had a star engraved there, with -the date of their stay at Folkestone. This simple token suddenly called -up before Hubert an indefinite perspective of reminiscences; he could -again see the door of the hotel, the staircase with its red carpet, the -drawing-room in which they had dined, and the waiter who had waited on -them, with his face of Britannic respectability, his shaven lip, and his -over-long chin. He could hear him say: "I beg your pardon," and -Theresa's smile appeared before him. What languishment swam then in her -eyes--those eyes, whose green-grey shade was at such moments completely -liquid--completely bathed with an entire abandonment of the inmost -nature!--those eyes, wherein slumbered a sleep which seemed to invite -you to be its dream! - -Hubert mechanically slipped the ring upon his finger, and then flung it -almost angrily into the drawer, causing the metal to rebound against the -wood. To open the box it was necessary to handle the chain. It was an -old chain which he had from Theresa. He had given her the bracelet with -the key of the apartments attached to it, and she had given him this -chainlet that he might carry the key of the box at his neck. He had worn -this scapulary of love for months and months, and often had he felt -beneath his shirt for the tiny trinket to hurt himself a little by -pressing it against his breast, and thus remind himself of the tender -mystery of his dear happiness. - -How far away to-day was all this intoxication, ah! how far and how lost -in the abyss of the past, whence there issues so frightful an odour of -death! When he had raised the lid of the box he leaned upon his elbow, -and, with his forehead in his hand, gazed upon what was left of his -happiness, the few nothings so perfectly insignificant to anyone else, -but so full of soul to him; an embroidered handkerchief, a glove, a -veil, a bundle of letters, a bundle of little blue notes, placed within -one another, and forming as it were a tiny book of tenderness. And the -envelopes of the letters had been opened so carefully, and the paper of -the blue notes torn with such precision. The slightest details reminded -Hubert of the scruples of loving piety which he had felt for everything -that came from his mistress. - -Beneath the letters and blue notes there was still a likeness of her, -representing her in the costume which she had worn at Folkestone: a -plain, close-fitting cloth jacket, and a projecting hat which cast a -slight shadow upon the upper part of the face. She had had this portrait -taken for Hubert alone, and, when giving it, she had said to him: - -"I thought so much of ourselves while I was sitting. If you knew how -much this likeness, loves you!" - -And Hubert felt himself really loved by it. It seemed to him that from -the oval face, the slender lips, and the dream-bathed eyes, there -proceeded a tender effluence which encompassed him, and it was there -that, by the side of the vision of perfidy, there began to rise afresh -the vision of Theresa's love. He knew as clearly from the memories of -this woman that she had loved, and still loved him, as he knew from her -own confession that she had betrayed him. He saw her again as he had -left her on the sofa in their retreat, with her face convulsed, and, -above all, her tears--ah, what tears! For the first time since the fatal -hour he perceived the nobility with which she had acknowledged her -fault, when it was so easy for her to speak falsely, and he suddenly -uttered a cry which hitherto had not come to him through his days of -parched and passionate pain: - -"But why? why?" - -Yes, why? why? This anguish of a completely moral order henceforward -accompanied the anguish of physical sight. Hubert began to think, not -only about his trouble, but about the cause of his trouble. To burn -these letters, to tear this likeness, to break and throw away the chain -and ring, to destroy this last remnant of his love, would have been as -impossible to him as to rend with steel his mistress's quivering body. -These objects were living persons with looks, caresses, pantings, -voices. He closed the drawer, unable any longer to endure the presence -of these things which to him seemed made of the very substance of his -heart. - -He threw himself upon the couch and lost himself in the gulf of his -reflection. Yes, Theresa had loved him, and Theresa loved him still. -There are tears, embraces, and a warmth of soul which do not lie. She -loved him and she had betrayed him! With his own name in her heart she -had given herself to another, less than six weeks after leaving him! But -why? why? Driven by what force? Led away by what dizziness? Overwhelmed -by what intoxication? What was the nature--not of women of that sort -now, for he had no longer any such fierceness of thought--but of woman, -that so monstrous an action should be barely possible to her? Of what -flesh was she formed, this deceiving creature, that with all the -appearances and all the realities of love, it was not possible to place -more reliance upon her than upon water. - -How soft they were, those woman's hands, and how loyal they seemed! but -to entrust one's heart to them, believing in a mutual affection, was the -most foolish of follies! She smiles upon you, and weeps for you, and -already she has noticed a passer-by, to whom, if he amuse her for an -hour, she will sacrifice all your tenderness, with flame in her eyes and -grace on her lips! Ah! why? why? Yet what truth can there be in the -world if even love is not true? And what love? Hubert was now thoroughly -investigating his past; he conscientiously examined his attachment to -Theresa, and he did himself the justice to acknowledge that for months -past he had not had a thought that was not for her. He had certainly -made mistakes, but they had always been for her, and even at this hour -he could not repent them. - -He would have found relief for all his pain in kneeling before the -priest who had trained him, and saying: "Father, I have sinned." But no; -it was beyond his power to regret the actions in which Theresa, his -Theresa, had been involved. Yes, he had idolised her with unswerving -fervour, and it was his first love, and it would be the last, or at -least he thought so, and he had shown her his confidence in the -continuance of their feelings with incalculable ingenuousness. Nothing -of all this had had sufficient influence over her to arrest her at the -moment when she committed her infamy,--with the same body. - -He could suddenly breathe its aroma, and again feel its impression over -his whole being; then there was a resurrection of jealousy, painful even -to torture, and continually he harped on the "why? why?"--in despair, -and pitiful, like so many before him, from clashing against the -unanswerable riddle of a woman's soul, guilty once, guilty again, guilty -even to her grey hairs and to her death itself. - -This new form of grief lasted for days and days afterwards. The young -man was giving free rein within himself to a new feeling of which he had -never had a suspicion hitherto, and which he was henceforward to endure -continually--mistrust. From his earliest years he had lived with a -complete faith in the appearances which surrounded him. He had believed -in his mother. He had believed in God. He had believed in the sincerity -of every word and caress. Above all, he had believed in Theresa de -Sauve. He had assimilated her in thought with the rest of his life. All -was truth around him; thus Theresa's love had appealed to him as a -supreme truth, and now, by a mental revolution which betrayed the -primitive flaw in his education, he was assimilating all the rest of his -life with this woman of falsehood. - -His mother had accustomed him to have nothing to say to scepticism. This -is probably the surest method of causing the first deception to -transform the too implicit believer into an absolute negator. It is -never well to expect much from men or from nature, for the former are -wild animals scantily masked with decorum; while, as for the latter, her -apparent harmony is the result of an injustice which knows no remission. -To preserve the ideal within us until death at last releases us from the -dangerous slavery to others and to ourselves, we must early habituate -ourselves to regard the universe of moral beauty as the opium-smoker -regards the dreams of his intoxication. Their charm consists in the fact -that they are dreams, and consequently correspond to nothing that is -real. - -Hubert, quite on the contrary, was so accustomed to move his intellect -in one piece that he was unable to doubt or to believe by halves. If -Theresa had lied to him why should not everyone do the same? This idea -did not frame itself in an abstract form, nor did he arrive at it by the -aid of reasoning: it was the substitution of one mode of feeling for -another. During this cruel period he found himself suspecting Theresa in -their common past. - -He asked himself whether her betrayal at Trouville had been the first, -whether she had not had another lover than himself at the time of their -most infatuated passion. This woman's perfidy was corrupting his very -recollections. It was doing worse. Under this misanthropical influence -he committed the greatest of moral crimes: he doubted his mother's -tenderness. Yes, in Madame Liauran's passionate affection the unhappy -fellow could see nothing but jealous egotism. - -"If she really loved me," he said to himself, "she would not have told -me what she did." - -Thus, he found himself in that state of feeling to which popular -language has given the expressive name of disenchantment. He had seen -the last of the beauty of the human soul, and he was beginning to prove -its misery, and always he fell back upon this question as upon the point -of a sword: - -"But why? why?" - -And he sifted Theresa's character without meeting with any reply. He -might as well have asked why Theresa had senses as well as a heart, and -why at certain times there was set up, as with men, a divorce between -the longings of her heart and the tyranny of her senses. Those -debauchees in whom libertinism has not killed sentimentality know the -secret of these divorces; but Hubert was not a debauchee. He must remain -pure even in his despair, and it never occurred to him to seek -forgetfulness of his trouble in the intoxication of loveless kisses. He -was still ignorant of venal and consoling alcoves--where men lose indeed -their regrets, but at the cost of losing their dreams. - -And yet, since he was young, and since, in his intimacy with Theresa, he -had made a habit of the most ardent pleasure--pleasure which exalts both -mind and body in divine communion--he began, after some weeks of these -sorrows and reflections, to feel a dim desire, an unacknowledged -appetite for this woman of whom he wished to know nothing more, whom he -must regard as dead, and whom he so utterly despised. - -This strange and unconscious return towards the delights of his love, -but a return no longer ennobled by any ideal, manifested itself in a -curiosity such as those are which issue from the unfathomable depths of -our being. He felt a sickly longing to see with his own eyes this man -who had been Theresa's lover, this La Croix-Firmin, to whom his mistress -had given herself, and, in whose arms she had quivered with -voluptuousness as in his own. To a spiritual director who had traced, -period by period, the ravage wrought in this soul by the corrupt leaven -inoculated by Theresa's betrayal, such curiosity would doubtless have -appeared the most decisive symptom of a metamorphosis in this youth who -had grown up amid all modesty. Was it not the transition from that -absolute horror of evil which is the torment and glory of virgin -natures, to that kind of still more frightful attraction which borders -so closely upon depravity? - -But it was especially that frightful facility of imagination about the -impurity of a desired woman, which, by one of the saddest laws of our -nature, brings it to pass that proof of infidelity, while degrading the -lover, and dishonouring the mistress, so frequently kindles love. It is -probable that, in such cases, the conception of the perfidy acts like an -infamous picture, and that this is the explanation of those fits of -sensuality which occur amid the hatred felt, and which astonish the -moralist in certain law-suits founded upon the dramas of jealousy. - -Poor Hubert was certainly not one to harbour such base instincts; and -yet his curiosity to become acquainted with his Trouville rival was -already a very unhealthy one. Its nature was the same as that of -Theresa's fault. It is the obscure, indestructible recollection of the -flesh which operates without the knowledge of the being who is under its -influence. The memory of all the caresses given and received since the -night at Folkestone counted for something in this desire to feast his -eyes on the real existence of the hated man. It became something so -sharp And severe that after struggling for a long time, And with the -feeling that he was lowering himself strangely, Hubert could resist no -longer, and he employed the following almost childish procedure, for the -realisation of his singular desire. - -He calculated that La Croix-Firmin must belong to a fashionable club, -and it was not long before he had discovered his name and address in the -year-book of such a one. It was to this club that he had recourse in -order to ascertain whether the individual in question was in Paris. The -reply was in the affirmative. Hubert reconnoitred the Rue La Peyrouse, -in which his rival lived, and he immediately satisfied himself that by -standing on the footpath of one of the Places intersected by this -street, he could watch the house, which was one of two stories in -height, and which certainly contained but a very small number of -tenants. - -He had said to himself that he would take up a position there one -morning, and wait until he saw some man come out who appeared to be he -whom he sought. He would then question the porter, under some pretext or -other, and would, doubtless, thus receive information. It was a method -of primitive simplicity, and one in which all those who in their youth -have had a passionate adoration for some celebrated writer will -recognise the ingenuousness of the stratagems which they employed to see -their hero. If this plan failed, Hubert could fall back upon an -application to one of those whom he knew among the members of the club; -but he felt a great repugnance to taking such a step. - -Accordingly he found himself on the spot at nine o'clock one cold -December morning. The weather was dry and clear, the sky of a pale blue, -and the half-fashionable, half-exotic quarter given over to the traffic -of its crowd of tradesmen and grooms. Hubert saw emerge successively -from the house which he was examining, some servants, an old lady, a -little boy followed by an abbé, and finally, at about half-past eleven, -a man who was still young, of medium height, fashionably dressed, -slender and strong in his otter-lined overcoat. - -This man was just buttoning up his collar as he proceeded straight in -Hubert's direction. The latter also advanced, and brushed past the -stranger. He saw a somewhat heavy profile, a moustache of the colour of -burnished gold, a complexion already coloured by the cold, and the dull -eye of a hard liver who has gone late to bed, after a night spent at the -gaming table or elsewhere. An inexpressible pain at his heart caused the -jealous lover to hasten to the house. - -"Monsieur de la Croix-Firmin?" he asked. - -"The Count is not at home," replied the doorkeeper. - -"But he made an appointment with me for half-past eleven, and I am -punctual," said Hubert, drawing out his watch; "has he long gone out?" - -"No, sir; you ought to have met him. The Count was here five minutes -ago; he cannot have turned the corner." - -Hubert had learnt what he wanted. He hurried in the direction of the -place where he had passed La Croix-Firmin, and, after a few paces he saw -him again, about to follow the footpath of the Avenue towards the Arc de -Triomphe. It was he, then! Hubert followed him slowly at a little -distance, and watched him with a sort of devouring anguish. He saw him -walking daintily along, with a litheness that was at once refined and -strong. He remembered what had taken place at Trouville, and every one -of La Croix-Firmin's movements revived the physical vision. - -Hubert compared himself mentally, frail and slight as he was, with the -sturdy, haughty fellow, who, half a head taller than himself, was thus -passing along beneath the beautiful sky of this winter's morning, with a -step which spoke the certainty of strength, and holding his stick by the -middle, in the English fashion, at some distance from his body. The -comparison sufficiently explained the determining cause of Theresa's -fault, and for the first time the young man perceived those deadly -causes in their genuine brutishness. "Ah! the why! The why! There it -is!" he thought, as, with painful envy, he observed this man's animal -energy. His first emotion was too bitter for him, and the unhappy fellow -was about to give up his pursuit when he saw La Croix-Firmin get into a -cab. He hailed one himself. - -"Follow that vehicle," he said to the driver. - -The thought that his enemy was going to see Theresa had just restored -all Hubert's frenzy. From time to time he leaned out of the window of -his four-wheeler, and could see the one which conveyed his rival driving -along. This cab, which was of a yellow colour, went down the Champs -Elysées, passed along the Rue Royale, entered the Rue Saint Honoré, -and then stopped in front of the Café-Voisin. La Croix-Firmin was -merely going out to breakfast. Hubert could not repress a smile at the -pitiful result of his curiosity. Mechanically he also entered the café. -The young Count was already seated at a table with two friends, who had -been waiting for him. - -At the other extremity of the hall there was a single table unoccupied, -at which Hubert placed himself. From here he was able, not, indeed, to -hear the conversation of the three guests--the noise in the restaurant -was too loud for that--but to study the physiognomy of the man whom he -detested. He ordered his own meal at random, and sank into a kind of -analysis known to those observers from taste or by profession, who will -enter a theatre, a smoking-room, or a railway carriage with the sole -desire of observing the workings of human physiology, and of tracing the -instinctive manifestations of temperament in gesture, look, sound of -breathing, or posture. It sometimes happened, indeed, that a raising of -the voice would cause a fragmentary sentence to reach Hubert; but he -paid no heed to it, sunk as he was in the contemplation of the man -himself, whom he saw almost in front of him, with his bold eyes, his -rather short neck, and his strong jaws. - -When La Croix-Firmin had entered, his complexion had looked worn and -pimply; but when breakfast was half over the work of digestion began to -send an influx of blood into his face. He ate much and steadily, with -potent slowness. He laughed loudly. His hands, holding his knife and -fork, were strong, and displayed two rings. His forehead, which was -shown in all its narrowness by his short curls, could never have been -lit up by a flame of thought. All this formed a whole which, even in -Hubert's hostile eyes, was not devoid of a manly, healthy beauty; but it -was the brutish beauty of a being of flesh and blood, as to whom it was -impossible for a person of refinement to entertain an illusion for an -hour. To say of a woman that she had given herself to this man was to -say that she had yielded to an instinct of a wholly physical order. - -The more Hubert identified himself by observation with this temperament, -the clearer did this become to him. He was interpreting Theresa's nature -better at this moment than he had ever done before. He grasped its -ambiguousness with frightful certainty, and it was then that there rose -up within him the saddest, but at the same time the noblest, feeling -that he had entertained since his accident, the only one truly worthy of -what his soul had formerly been, that one which, in the presence of -woman's perfidy, is man's preservation from complete ruin of -heart:--pity. - -An emotion of infinite bitterness and melancholy combined came upon him -at the thought that the charming creature whom he had known, his dear -silent one, as he used to call her, she who had shown herself possessed -of such delicate refinement in the art of pleasing him, should have -surrendered herself to the caresses of this man. - -He suddenly recollected the tears of the night at Folkestone, and the -tears, also, at their last interview; and, as though he had at last -understood their meaning, he could find within him but a single -utterance, which he whispered there in the restaurant filled with the -smoke of cigars, then beneath the leafless trees of the Tuileries, then -in the solitude of his own room in the Rue Vaneau--a single utterance, -but one filled with the perception of the degrading fatalities of his -life: - -"What misery! My God, what misery!" - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -What was Theresa doing while he was suffering thus, and why did she -afford him no sign of her existence? Although the young man had -forbidden himself to think about her, he thought of her nevertheless, -and this question came to add anxiety to his other anguish. -Contradictory hypotheses passed in turns through his mind. Had Theresa -died of remorse? Had she ceased to love him? Had she kept La -Croix-Firmin for her lover? Was she pursuing a fresh intrigue. -Everything seemed possible to Hubert, the worst as well as the best, on -the part of this woman whom he had learned to be so strangely compounded -of refinement and libertinism, of treachery and nobility. He then -ascertained by the heart-burning caused him by some of his hypotheses, -by what living fibres he still clung to this being from whom he wished -himself released. - -He was on the point of taking some steps in order at least to learn what -the inclinations of her own soul were at that moment; then he despised -himself for the weakness, and, to strengthen himself, he repeated some -verses which were in correspondence with his condition of mind. He found -them, by a strange irony of destiny which he did not suspect, in the -single collection of poetry by Alfred Fanières. This volume, which had -been reprinted after the poet's novels had made him celebrated, bore a -title which was in itself a revelation of youthfulness: "Early Pride." -Hubert had dined, in company with the writer, at Madame de Sauve's house -without suspecting what the poor woman felt at being obliged by her -husband to receive at her table the lover whom she idolised and the man -with whom she had broken. Fanières had talked cleverly that evening, -and it was after that dinner that the young man, with very natural -curiosity, had obtained the book of verse at a bookseller's. The poem -which pleased him just now was a sonnet, somewhat pretentiously called -"Tender Cruelty":-- - - -"Be still, my heart, but speak thou forth fierce pride, -And tell me that my sway no share must know, -Nor can I pardon her the grievous blow -Who knew another's couch although my bride. -At least, I've seen her as she vainly tried, -Her soul in tears dissolved, and crouching low, -To find the look my eyes could yet forego; -And, kingly silent, I have turned aside. -She knew not that, when grief distraught, were heard -Her plaintive tones entreat a single word, -I suffered even as she, and loved her still. -In silence only, outraged man is strong; -For vengeance tells a tale of secret ill, -And I would be believed above all wrong." - - -"Yes," said Hubert to himself, "he is right: silence--" - -The verses moved him childishly, as happens with ordinary readers of -poetry, who require a literary work merely to excite or to soothe the -inward wound. - -"Silence . . ." he resumed. "Do we speak to one that is dead? Well, -Theresa is dead to me." - -Thus expressing himself in the solitude of his study, where he now spent -nearly all his days, Hubert had no ill-will remaining against his -mistress. As no new fact came to rouse fresh feelings within him, the -old ones, which had existed before the betrayal, reappeared. The images -of his remembrances abounded within him, nor did he drive them away, and -under their influence his anger little by little became something -abstract, rational, and, so to speak, expedient in his eyes; but in -reality he had never loved this woman so much as he did now when he -believed himself sure of never seeing her again. - -He loved her, in fact, as though she were dead; but who does not know -that is the most indestructible and frantic tenderness? When irrevocable -separation has not primarily resulted in the killing of love, it exalts -it on the contrary in a strange fashion. Impossible to embrace, so -present and so far away, the dim shape of the wished-for phantom hovers -before our gaze with the beauty that life will never wither more, and -our whole soul goes out sadly and passionately to meet it. The duration -of days is annihilated. The sweetness of the past flows back in its -fulness within us, and then begins a singular and retrospective kind of -enchantment which is like hallucination in the heart. - -Theresa de Sauve might have been a woman buried, sewn up in a shroud, -laid in the coldness of the funeral vault for ever, and Hubert would not -have abandoned himself more to the gnawings of his memory, to the mad -ardour of love which lacks both hope and desire, and is wholly made up -of ecstacy of what once has been,--and can never be again. By means of -her notes, which he had kept, and which he re-read until he knew every -word by heart, he reconstructed, hour by hour, the delicious months of -his past intoxication. Theresa was in the habit of never dating her -letters, but of simply writing the name of the day at the head of them, -"Thursday," "Wednesday," "Saturday." Hubert found the day of the month -from the post-mark, thanks to the pious care with which he had preserved -all the envelopes, for the childish reason that he could not have -destroyed a line of that handwriting without pain. - -Even after so many weeks, he had failed to become insensible to the -emotion caused him by the sight of the letters of his name traced by -Theresa's hand. Yes; hour by hour he revived the life already lived. The -charm of the bygone moments reappeared so complete, so rapturous, so -heart-breaking! It had passed away as everything does, and the young man -had come to rebel no longer against the enigma of which he was the -victim. The Christian notion of responsibility was succeeded within him -by an obscure fatalism. The termination of his happiness was now -explained in his eyes by the inevitable misery of mankind. He almost -acquitted his phantom of a fault which seemed to him to be bound up with -natural fatalities; and then he began to think that this phantom was not -that of a dead woman with closed eyes, motionless bosom, and shut lips, -but of a living creature with beating eyelids, throbbing heart, and -parted lips that were fresh and warm; and, tormented in spite of himself -by some vague, dim desire, he again began to murmur: - -"What is she doing?" - -What then was Theresa doing, and how was it that she had essayed no -effort to see again the man she loved? What thoughts and what feelings -had she experienced since the terrible scene which had separated her -from Hubert? With her, too, days had succeeded to days, but while the -young man, a prey to a metamorphosis of soul provoked by the most -unlooked-for and tragic of deceptions, suffered these rapid burning days -to slip away as he passed from one extremity of the universe of feeling -to the other, she, the guilty one, the vanquished one, was absorbed in a -single thought. Herein like all women who love, she would have given her -blood-drops, one after another, to cure the sorrow that she had caused -to her lover. It was not that the visible details of her life were -modified. Except for the first week, during which she had been -overthrown, so to speak, by a continuous and shooting headache, she had, -as the result of a reaction from the experience of so many emotions, -resumed her vocation as a woman of fashion, her accustomed course of -drives and visits, great dinners and receptions, theatre-goings or -evening parties. - -But this completely external movement has never been able to hinder -dreams any more than the employment of the needle does in fancy work. -Though a strange fact at first sight, the explanation in the Avenue -Friedland had been followed by a half-soothed relaxation in her soul, -simply because voluntary confession had lessened remorse, as it always -does. It is, too, on this unexplained law of our consciousness that the -subtle psychology of the Catholic Church has based the principle of -confession. If Theresa did not altogether forgive herself for her fault, -she was, at least, no longer compelled by her thoughts of it to endure -the contemplation of absolute baseness. The notion of a certain moral -loftiness was now associated with it, ennobling it in her own eyes. This -sleep of remorse left her free to absorb herself in the remembrance of -Hubert. - -She now lived in a condition of deadly anxiety concerning him, and was -dominated by a steady longing to see him again, not that she hoped to -obtain her forgiveness from him, but she knew that he was unhappy, and -she felt within her such a love for the youth whom she had wounded, that -she would willingly have found means to dress and close the sore. How? -She could not have told that; but it was not possible that such great, -deeply-repentant tenderness could be inefficacious. In any case she -must, at least, show Hubert the scope of the passion which she felt for -him. Could this fail to touch him, to move him, to rescue him from -despair? Now that she was no longer beneath the immediate burden of her -infidelity, she did not judge of it from the essentially masculine -standpoint, that is, as being something absolute and irreparable. - -In woman, who is a creature much more instinctive than we men, and much -closer to nature, the energies of renewing spring-time are much more -unimpaired. A woman who is deceived forgives, provided that she knows -herself to be loved, and a woman who has deceived can scarcely -understand non-forgiveness provided that she loves. The fault committed -is an idea, a shadow, a chimera. The love felt is a fact, a reality. -Thus Theresa had entirely emerged from the period of moral depression, -the extreme limit of which had been marked by her confession. Certainly, -she did not regret the latter, as so many other women would have done in -like circumstances; but it was her longing, her hope, her wish that it -should not have marked the end of her happiness, for, after all, she -loved and was loved. - -Nevertheless, her longing did not blind her to such a degree as to make -her forget what she knew of her lover's character. Proud and pure as she -knew him to be, how difficult it was to effect a reconciliation with -him! And, moreover, what means could she employ to be alone with him -even for an hour? Write? She did so, not once, but ten times. Having -sealed the letter she threw it into a drawer, and did not send it at -all. At first no expression seemed to her sufficiently coaxing and -humble, endearing and tender. Then she was terrified with the -apprehension lest Hubert should not even open the envelope, and should -return it to her without a reply. Meet him again in society? She had a -frightful dread of such an accident. With what courage could she endure -his glance, which would be a cruel one, and one which she could not even -attempt to disarm? Go to the Rue Vaneau and obtain an interview from -him? She knew only too well that this was not possible. Send him a -message? By whom? The only person to whom she had confided her love was -her country friend whom she had employed to post her letters to her -husband, while she herself was at Folkestone. Among all the men whom she -met in society, that one who was sufficiently intimate with Hubert to -act as a messenger in such an embassy was also he in whom her woman's -instinct showed her the probable author of the indiscreet remarks which -had ruined her--George Liauran. She was bound by the thousand tiny -threads which society fastens to the limbs of its slaves. - -At last, without any calculation, and by obeying the impulses of her own -heart, she succeeded in finding a means which appeared almost infallible -to her for coming to an explanation. She experienced an irresistible -longing to visit the little abode in the Avenue Friedland, and she told -herself that Hubert would, sooner or later, feel this longing like -herself. Of inevitable necessity she must meet him face to face on one -of these visits. Under the influence of this idea she began to pay long -solitary visits to those ground floor rooms, whose every nook spoke to -her of her lost happiness. The first time that she came there in this -way, the hour which she spent among the furniture, was the occasion of -such intolerable emotion that she was nearly relapsing into the -extravagance of her first despair. She returned, nevertheless, and by -degrees it became strangely sweet to her to accomplish this pilgrimage -of love nearly every day. The doorkeeper lit the fire; she allowed the -flame to illuminate the little drawing-room with a flickering light -which struggled against the invasion of the twilight; she lay down upon -the divan, to experience a sensation at once torturing and delicious, a -blending of expectation, melancholy, and remembrance. Each time she was -careful to first ask: - -"Has the gentleman been here?" and the negative reply would give her the -hope that chance might cause the young man's visit to coincide with her -own. - -She noticed, with beating heart, the slightest noise. All the objects -around her which were not coloured by the blaze from the fireplace, were -drowned in the shadow. The apartment was scented with the exhalations -from the flowers, the cups and vases of which she used herself to trim, -and she alternately dreaded and desired the entry of Hubert. Would he -forgive her? Would he repel her? And finally she had to leave this -refuge of her last hope, and she departed, her veil drawn down, her soul -flooded by the same sadness that she used formerly to feel when Hubert's -kisses were still fresh on her lips, at once comforted and terrified by -this thought: - -"When shall I see him again? Will it be to-morrow?" - -One afternoon when stretched thus upon the divan and absorbed in her -dreams, she seemed to hear the turning of a key in the lock of the outer -door. She sat up suddenly with a wild throbbing of heart. Yes, the door -was opening and closing. A step sounded in the ante-room. A hand was -opening the second door. She fell back again upon the cushions of the -divan, unable to endure the approach of what she had so greatly hoped -for, and thus finding, through her very sincerity, the vanquished -attitude which the most refined coquetry would have chosen and which was -calculated to work most powerfully upon her lover,--if it were he. But -what other could come, and did she not immediately recognise his step? -Yes, it was indeed Hubert who was just coming in. - -Since their rupture, he, too, had often wished to come back to the -little ground floor rooms, where the clock had struck for him so many -sweet hours,--the clock over which Theresa used gracefully to throw the -black lace of her second veil "in order to veil the time better," she -said. Then he had not ventured. Fond memories made him timid. People are -afraid, in renewing such, both of feeling too much and of feeling too -little. This afternoon, however, was it the influence of the gloomy -winter sky and his own bewitching melancholy? Was it the reading -yesterday of one of Theresa's most charming notes, dated a year back on -the very same day? - -Without thinking about it, Hubert had found himself on the way to the -Avenue Friedland. To reach the latter he had mechanically pursued a -network of winding streets, as he used of old in order to avoid spies. -What need was there of such stratagems to-day? And the contrast had made -his heart heavy. On his way he had to pass a telegraph office which -formerly he used to enter after their meetings to prolong the -voluptuousness of them by writing Theresa a note to surprise her just -after she had reached home--a stifled echo, distant and so tender of the -intoxicated sighs of that day! He saw the door of the office, its dark -colour, its inscription, the opening of the box reserved for telegraph -cards, and he nearly fainted. - -But he was already pursuing the pathway of the fatal Avenue, and he -could see the house, the closed venetian blinds of the front rooms on -the ground floor, and the entrance commanded by the gateway. How did he -feel when the doorkeeper, after asking whether "the gentleman had had a -good journey," added, in his hatefully obsequious tones: "The lady is -there----?" - -He had not yet taken the key from his pocket when this news, less -unexpected, perhaps, than he would acknowledge to himself, struck him -like a full blow upon the breast. What was to be done? Dignity commanded -him to depart immediately. But the lurking, deep desire which he had to -see Theresa again suggested to him one of those sophisms, thanks to -which we always find means to prefer with our reason what we most desire -with our instinct. - -"If I do not go in," he said to himself, looking towards the lodge, -"this odious individual will understand that we have quarrelled. He is -capable of carrying his effrontery so far as to speak to Theresa of my -interrupted visit. I owe it to her to spare her this humiliation, and -besides, the matter of the rooms must be settled once for all. Shall I -never be a man?" - -It was at this moment, after the lightning flash of this sudden -reasoning, that he opened the door, being aware the while that there was -one in the adjoining room who was being thrown into agitation from feet -to hair by this simple noise. He had often warmed those slender feet -with many kisses, and so often handled that long black hair! - -"If she has come, it is because she loves me still." - -This thought moved him in spite of himself, and he was trembling as he -passed into the drawing-room, where the dying of the twilight was -striving with the flames on the hearth. He was surprised by the -caressing aroma of the flowers standing in the vases on the -mantel-shelf, with which was blended the odour of a perfume that he knew -too well. On the divan at the back of the room he saw the prostrate form -of a body, then the movement of a bust, the paleness of a face, and he -found himself face to face with Theresa, now sitting up and looking at -him. - -The silence of both was such that he could hear the sharp beats of his -own heart and the breathing of the woman, who was evidently wild with -emotion. The presence of his mistress had suddenly restored to him all -his nervous anger. What he felt at this moment was that frightful -longing to brutally ill-treat the woman, the being of stratagem and -falsehood, which takes hold of the man, the being of strength and -fierceness, whenever physical jealousy awakes the primitive male within -him, placed opposite the female in the truth of nature. At a certain -depth, all the differences of education and character are annihilated -before the inevitable necessities of the laws of sex. - -It was Theresa who first broke the silence. She understood too well the -gravity of the explanation which was about to ensue not to bring all her -powers of feminine artifice into play. She loved Hubert at this moment -as passionately as on the day when she confessed her inexplicable fault -to him; but she was mistress of herself now, and could measure the scope -of her words. Moreover, she had no play to act. It was enough for her to -show herself just as she was, in the infinite humility of the most -repentant tenderness, and it was in a nearly hoarse voice that she began -to speak from the corner of the shadow in which she remained seated. - -"I ask your forgiveness for being here," she said; "I am just going. -When I allowed myself to come into this room sometimes, quite alone, I -did not think that I was doing anything to displease you. It was the -pilgrimage to that which has been the only happiness in my life; but I -promise you that I will never do so again." - -"It is for me to withdraw, madame," replied Hubert, who, at the sound of -her voice, found himself disquieted by an emotion impossible of -definition. "She has come several times," he thought, and the notion -irritated him, as happens when one is unwilling to give way to a tender -feeling. "I acknowledge," he continued, in quite a loud voice, "that I -did not expect to see you here again after what has taken place. It -seemed to me that you would fly from certain memories rather than seek -for them again." - -"Do not speak harshly to me," she replied, still more softly. "But why -should you speak to me otherwise?" she added, in a melancholy tone; "I -cannot justify myself in your eyes. Yet reflect that had I not clung, as -I did, to the beauty of the feeling which united us, I should not have -been sincere with you as I was. Alas! it was because I loved you as I -love you still, as I shall always love you." - -"Do not employ the word 'love,'" returned Hubert; "you have no longer -the right to do so." - -"Ah!" she replied, with growing excitement; "you cannot prevent me from -feeling. Yes, Hubert, I love you; and if I can no longer hope that my -love is shared, it is none the less living here;" and she struck her -bosom. "And you must know it," she continued. "My only comfort in the -most utter unhappiness will be the thought that I have been able to tell -you one last time what I have so often told you in happy days: I love -you. Do not see in this a dream of forgiveness; I shall not seek to move -you, and you will never condemn me as much as I condemn myself. But it -is none the less true that I love you more than ever." - -"Well!" replied Hubert, "this love will be the only vengeance that I -wish to exact from you. Know then that you have caused this man whom you -love to endure a martyrdom such as may scarcely be survived; you have -rent his heart, you have been his tormentor, the tormentor of every hour -and every minute. There is nothing more within me but a wound, and it is -you, you who have opened it. I have ceased to believe anything, hope for -anything, love anything, and _you_ are the cause. And this will last for -a long time, a long time, and every morning and every evening you will -have to say to yourself: 'He whom I love is in his throes, and I am -killing him.'" - -And so he went on relieving his soul of the sorrow of so many days with -all the cruel words with which his anger supplied him for the woman who -was listening to him with downcast eyelids, disconcerted face, and -frightful paleness, in the shadow wherein resounded the voice that was -terrible in her ears. Was he not, merely by obeying his passion, -inflicting upon her the most torturing of punishments, that of bleeding -in her presence from a wound which she had dealt him and which she was -unable to cure. - -"Strike me," she replied simply, "I have deserved all." - -"These are useless words," said Hubert, after a fresh silence, during -which time he had been walking from one end of the room to the other to -exhaust his passion, "Let us come to deeds. This interview must at least -have a practical conclusion. We shall see each other again in society -and at your house. Need I tell you that I shall act as an honourable -man, and that no one shall suspect anything of what has passed between -us? There remains the matter of these rooms. I shall write to Emmanuel -Deroy to let him know that I shall come here no more. It is useless for -us to meet here again, is it not? We have nothing more to say to each -other." - -"You are right," said Theresa, in a crushed voice; then, as though -forming a supreme resolution, she rose. - -She passed both her hands across her eyes, and loosing from her wrist -the bracelet to which the little key was suspended, she offered the -trinket to Hubert without uttering a word. He took the gold chainlet, -and his fingers met those of the young woman. They looked at each other, -and for the first time since his entry into the room he saw her fully -face to face. Her beauty at that moment was sublime. Her mouth was half -open, as though respiration had failed her, her eyes were laden with -languor, her fingers pressed those of the young man with a lingering -caress, and a quick flame swept suddenly through him. - -As though seized with intoxication he went up to her, took her in his -arms, and gave her a kiss. She gave way, and both fell upon the shadowed -divan together, clasping each other in one of those wild and silent -embraces wherein dissolves all animosity, just or unjust, but all -dignity as well. These are moments when neither man nor woman utters the -words, "I love you," as though feeling that such frenzies have, in fact, -nothing in common with love. - -When they recovered their senses, she looked at him. She trembled lest -she should see him yield to the horrible impulse which is familiar to -men after similar lapses, and which prompts them to punish their -accomplice for their own weakness by loading her with contempt. If -Hubert was seized with a shudder of revolt, he, at least, had the -generosity to spare Theresa the sight of it, and then, in a voice -rendered so captivating by fear: - -"Oh, Hubert!" she said, "I have you again for my own. Could you but know -it, I should not have survived our separation. I should have died of it, -for I love you too much. I will be so kind, so kind to you, I will make -you so happy. But do not leave me. If you love me no longer, let me love -you. Take me, or send me away as your fancy wills. I am your slave, your -thing, your property. Ah, if I could die now!" - -And she covered her lover's wasted face with passionate tears. He -nevertheless remained motionless, with lips and eyes closed, and thought -of his downfall. Now that the intoxication was dispelled, he could -compare what he had felt just then with what he had felt formerly. The -symbol of the change that had been wrought was in the contrast between -the brutality of the pleasure taken thus upon this divan, and the divine -modesty of other days. He had not forgiven Theresa, and he had not been -able to resist her, but for this very reason he had for ever lost the -right of reproaching her with her betrayal. - -And then, though he had had this right anew, how could he have used it? -There was too strong a witchery in this woman's caresses. He foresaw -that he would be subject to it from that day forth, and that his dream -was over. He had loved this woman with the sublimest love, and she now -held him by what was darkest and least noble within him. Something was -dead in his moral life which he would never find again. It was one of -those wrecks of soul which are felt by those suffering them to be -irremediable. He had ceased to value himself after ceasing to value his -mistress. The eternal Delilah had once more accomplished her work, and, -as the lips of the woman were quivering and caressing, he paid her back -her kisses. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -About a fortnight after this scene, Hubert had again begun to dine from -home and to go out nearly every evening, to the great stupefaction of -his mother, who, after being silent in the presence of a grief that she -was powerless to control, now perceived in her son an air of intoxicated -feverishness which frightened her. She could not forbear opening up her -astonishment to George Liauran when the latter had come one evening, as -was his wont, to take his place in that little drawing-room which had -been the witness of so many of the poor woman's agonies. - -The wind was blowing outside as on the night when General Scilly had -commenced to think of his friends' unhappiness; and the old soldier, who -was also present in his customary easy-chair, could not help observing -the ravages which some ten months past had wrought upon the two widows. - -"I do not understand it at all," replied George to the questioning of -his cousin; "Hubert and I have had no interview. It is certain that his -despair is inexplicable if he did not believe in Madame de Sauve's -guilt, and it is certain that he is again on the best of terms with -her." - -"Knowing what he does," said the Count, "he is not proud." - -"What would you?" returned George, "he is like the rest." - -Madame Liauran, lying on her couch, was holding Madame Castel's hand -while her cousin uttered these words, the scope of which he did not -realise. The fingers of mother and grandmother exchanged a pressure by -which the two women told each other of the suffering of which neither -could ever be cured. They had not brought up their child that he might -become like the rest. They caught a glimpse of the inevitable -metamorphosis which was on the eve of its accomplishment in Hubert just -now. - -Alas! it is a profound truth that "man is like his love;" but this love, -why and whence does it come to us? A question without reply, and, like -woman's treachery, like man's weakness, like life itself, A CRUEL, CRUEL -ENIGMA! - - - - -THE END. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CRUEL ENIGMA *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: A Cruel Enigma</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Paul Bourget</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Translator: Julian Cray</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: June 15, 2021 [eBook #65620]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Dagny and Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free Literature (Images generously made available by Hathi Trust Digital Library.)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CRUEL ENIGMA ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/enigma_cover.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h2>A CRUEL ENIGMA</h2> - - -<h3>BY PAUL BOURGET</h3> - - -<h5>AUTHOR OF "A LOVE CRIME"</h5> - - - - -<h5>TRANSLATED WITHOUT ABRIDGMENT FROM THE 18TH FRENCH EDITION</h5> - -<h4>BY JULIAN CRAY</h4> - - - -<h4>LONDON:</h4> - -<h5><i>VIZETELLY & CO., 42, CATHERINE ST., STRAND</i></h5> - -<h5>BRENTANOS: NEW YORK, WASHINGTON AND CHICAGO</h5> - -<h5>1887</h5> - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4>PAUL BOURGET.</h4> - -<p> -A poet of merit, an acute, clear-sighted critic, and an accomplished and -successful novelist, M. Paul Bourget occupies an important position -among the brilliant crowd of modern French <i>littérateurs</i>, upon the -younger generation especially of whom he exercises an acknowledged and a -constantly widening influence. Nor will this influence appear other than -natural if it be borne in mind that, gifted with no mean qualifications -for the task, M. Bourget has made a deep and particular study of just -those problems which, to this self-conscious, introspective age of ours, -are possessed of an all-absorbing interest. Complex as his nature -undoubtedly is, and many-sided as its accomplishment might, to a first -and superficial view, appear, he is in all his writings primarily a -critic, while his criticism has, moreover, uniformly occupied itself -with the same objects, with the hidden movements of the mind, that is to -say, considered in their bearings upon external manifestation, with all -the varied promptings which underlie the surface of conduct. -</p> - -<p> -For the prosecution of such psychological studies, M. Bourget is in -every needful particular well fitted. He possesses keen insight, and a -remarkable power of sympathetically appreciating the play and -counter-play of motives, passions, and delicate shades of feeling; while -he is also endowed with that tact, subtlety, refinement, and, above all, -exact lucidity of expression, by which a writer is enabled to convey his -divinings unimpaired to the reader. This flexibility of sympathy, with -its answering flexibility of language, enabling to the expression alike -of widely sundered and of delicately blending diversities of thought and -emotion, correspond to, and are, perhaps, partly the outcome of, a -richly varied life-experience. Just as M. Bourget has made himself -equally at home in London and in Florence, in Paris and in Morocco, so -is he equally at ease and equally successful whether he be engaged in -indicating some of the consequences wrought by cosmopolitan existence in -the characters of Stendhal, Tourgéniev, and Amiel; in analysing the -conceptions of modern love presented in the writings of Baudelaire and -M. Alexandre Dumas; in measuring the modifications produced by science -in the imaginations and diverse sensibilities of Flaubert, M. Leconte de -Lisle, and M. Taine; or, finally, in living the life of his own -fictitious characters, and portraying for us a Hubert or a Theresa de -Sauve. -</p> - -<p> -It is evident that the wielder of such exceptional powers must be -obvious to peculiar dangers with which the mere dead-level narrator of -outer phenomena has little or no acquaintance. To the very fulness of -these powers, and to their supremely overmastering presence are due -faults from which less gifted writers are shielded by their mediocrity -as by a wall. It would be possible, did space and inclination serve, to -point out instances of affectation both of idea and of expression in M. -Bourget's writings. As in the case of some of our own premier -authors—George Eliot, for instance, and Mr. George Meredith—his -thought is not invariably worthy of the richness of its setting, while -his analysis is occasionally pushed so far as to be superfluous, not to -say absurd. The charge of "literary dandyism" brought against him by M. -Jules Lemaitre is not destitute of foundation. It must be acknowledged -that his subtlety borders at times on pedantry, and his refinement on -conceit. Having said this, it is only fair to add that these flaws do -not enter excessively into the texture of his work; indeed, they rather -serve, by force of sufficiently rare and sharply defined contrast, to -throw into relief its general sterling excellence. And such -imperfections should not be allowed to weigh overmuch with us in -attempting to estimate the worth of our author's achievement. It is -notorious that—<i>si parva licet componere magnis</i>—there are -spots on the sun. -</p> - -<p> -Conversant as he is with the entire gamut of human feeling, M. Bourget -has in all his novels—with the single exception of the last of them, -"André Cornélis"—elected to direct exclusive attention to the passion -of love. His treatment of this theme is as characteristic as it is -fresh. It is, further, in complete harmony with what appears to be his -doctrine of life. Accuracy of vision, assisted, doubtless, by the -breadth of cosmopolitan experience, has produced in him a result not -uncommon with men of his calibre. In spite of his own protestation to -the contrary, it has, in fact, made him a pessimist. Like Flaubert, with -whom he has some affinity, and one of the most striking of whose phrases -he, in the course of the following pages, unconsciously adopts, he -discerns too clearly to be greatly pleased with what he sees. The -pessimism of the two men was, however, arrived at by somewhat different -routes. Setting aside any origins of a purely physical nature, it arose -with Flaubert mainly from the inconsistency of his external surroundings -with his inward ideals, and denoted simply that his objective world and -his subjective world were at strife. M. Bourget's dissatisfaction flows -from the unpleasing result of his analyses of the inward feelings -themselves. He probes them and penetrates them throughout their complex -ramifications and windings until he reaches some ultimate fact or some -irreducible instinct, from which he draws the moral of an unbending -necessity. And here he finds the aspirings of his imagination and the -decrees of destiny at daggers drawn. -</p> - -<p> -In these considerations we have a key to the proper interpretation of -the present volume. "Love," its author has said elsewhere, "has, like -death, remained irreducible to human conventions. It is wild and free in -spite of codes and modes. The woman who disrobes to give herself to a -man, lays aside her entire social personality with her garments. For him -she again becomes what he, too, becomes again for her—the natural, -solitary creature to whom no protection can guarantee happiness, and -from whom no decree can avert woe." These lines sum in brief the -teaching of the book. Its author has, after his own fashion, made an -uncompromising analysis of the passion that he undertakes to describe, -and, stripping from it all the adventitious grace and mysticism and -sentiment with which society is wont to shroud it, has found it to -consist, in the last resort, of a single and simple fact: the physical, -fleshly desire of man for woman and woman for man. Hence it is that -Theresa, while receiving, and rejoicing exceedingly in, Hubert's loftier -and more ideal affection, betrays it at the first opportunity for the -sensual brutishness of a hard-living <i>roué</i>, and hence, too, it is -that the pure-souled Hubert, even while he scorns his mistress for her -treachery and loathes himself for his weakness, returns loveless and -despairing to her arms. -</p> - -<p> -The book is a pitiless study of the inevitable. We are made to feel -that, given the particular primary conditions, the results specified -could not but follow. It would almost seem that in the modern scientific -conception of the universal reign of Law, and the comparatively remote -possibilities of modifying its operation, we are approximating to a -renewed, but far more vividly realised, enthronement of the old Greek -idea of that Necessity against which the gods themselves were believed -to strive in vain, and M. Bourget is too completely a man of his century -not to reflect faithfully one of the most striking phases of latter-day -thought. The contemplation of a fatalistic ordering of the moral world -cannot be otherwise than exceptionally painful to one who, like M. -Bourget, is as sensitive to moral and spiritual, as he is to physical -and natural beauty. His nobler nature is wounded by the hard sequence of -inevitable law, and would fain have a deeply different moulding of -circumstance, but for all that the true novelist can tell us only what -he sees, and what he believes to be true, and so it comes to pass that -in M. Bourget's novels, with, perhaps, a single exception, we find the -eternal contrast between the "might be" and the "must be" consistently -indicated. In his "L'Irréparable" and its companion tale, "Deuxième -Amour," in "Crime d'Amour" and in "Cruelle Enigme," the topic which -engrosses him is still the same. In all alike we are sensible of the -antagonism between the cherished aspirations of the moralist and the -conclusions which the psychologist finds himself unwillingly compelled -to draw. And not in them only, but throughout his other writings also, -we can trace the spirit-workings of the man to whom life in its -entirety, no less than certain sorrowful phases of it is "a cruel -enigma." -</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">JULIAN CRAY.</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4>DEDICATION.</h4> - - -<h4>TO Mr. HENRY JAMES.</h4> - -<p> -Allow me, my dear Henry James, to place your name on the first page of -this book in memory of the time at which I was beginning to write it, -and which was also the time when we became acquainted. In our -conversations in England last summer, protracted sometimes at one of the -tables in the hospitable Athenæum Club, sometimes beneath the shade of -the trees in some vast park, sometimes on the Dover esplanade while it -echoed to the tumult of the waves, we often discussed the art of -novel-writing, an art which is the most modern of all because it is the -most flexible, and the most capable of adaptation to the varied -requirements of every temperament. We were agreed that the laws imposed -upon novelists by the various æsthetics resolve themselves ultimately -into this: to give a personal impression of life. Will you find this -impression in "A Cruel Enigma"? I trust so, that this work may be truly -worthy of being offered to one whose rare and subtle talent, intelligent -sympathy, and noble character, I have been able to appreciate as reader, -fellow-worker, and friend. -</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">P.B.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"><i>Paris, 9th February</i>, 1885.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p><br /></p> - -<h4>CONTENTS</h4> -<p class="nind"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a></p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4>A CRUEL ENIGMA.</h4> - - -<p><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a></h4> - -<p> -All men accustomed to feel through their imaginations are well -acquainted with that unique description of melancholy which is inflicted -by too complete a likeness between a mother and her daughter, when the -mother is fifty years old and the daughter twenty-five, and the one -happens thus to exhibit the looked-for spectre of the old age of the -other. How fruitful in bitterness for a lover is such a vision of the -inevitable withering reserved for the beauty that he loves! To the eye -of a disinterested observer such likenesses abound in singularly -suggestive reflections. Rarely, indeed, does the analogy between the -features of the two faces extend to identity, and still more rarely are -the expressions completely alike. There has usually been a sort of -onward march in the common temperament from one generation to the next. -The predominant quality in the physiognomy has become more predominant -still—a visible symbol of a development of character produced by -heredity. Already too refined, the face has become still more so; -sensual, it has been materialised; wilful, it has grown hard and dry. -</p> - -<p> -But it is especially at the period when life has done its work, when the -mother has passed her sixtieth year and the daughter her fortieth, that -this gradation in likenesses becomes palpable to the student, and with -it the history of the moral circumstances wherein the soul of the race -of which the two beings mark two halting-places has striven. The -perception of fatalities of blood is then so clear that it sometimes -turns to pain. It is in such cases that the implacable, tragical action -of the laws of Nature is revealed even to minds which are the most -destitute of general ideas, and if this action be at all exercised -against creatures who—apart even from love—are dear to us, how -it hurts us to admit it! -</p> - -<p> -Although a man who had started formerly as a private soldier and has -been retired as General of division, who is seventy-two years old, who -has a liver complaint contracted in Africa, five wounds and the -experience of fifteen campaigns, is not very prone to philosophical -dreamings, it was nevertheless to impressions of this kind that General -Count Alexander Scilly resigned himself one evening, on leaving the -drawing-room of a small house in the Rue Vaneau, where he had left his -old friend Madame Castel, and this friend's daughter, Madame Liauran, -alone together. Eleven had just struck from a clock of the purest style -of the Empire—a gift from Napoleon I. to Madame Castel's -father—which stood on the mantelpiece in this drawing-room, and, -as was his custom, the General had risen at precisely the first stroke, -to go to his carriage, which had been announced. -</p> - -<p> -Truth to tell, the Count had the strongest reasons in the world to be -dimly and profoundly disquieted. After the campaign of 1870, which had -won him his last epaulets, but in which the ruin of his health had been -completed, this man had found himself at Paris with no relations but -distant cousins whom he did not like, having had grounds of complaint -against them on the occasion of the succession to a common cousin. Had -they not impugned the old lady's will, and made a charge of undue -influence against—whom? Against him, Count Scilly, own son to the -Leipsic hero! Feeling that desire, which distinguishes bachelors of all -ages, to replace, by settled habits, the tranquility of the family that -he lacked, the General had been led to create a home external to the -rooms of the resting soldier. -</p> - -<p> -Circumstances had thus made him the almost daily guest of the house in -the Rue Vaneau, where the two ladies to whom he had long been attached -resided. The eldest, Madame Marie Alice Castel, was the widow of his -first protector, Captain Hubert Castel, who had been killed at his side -in Algeria, when he, Scilly, was as yet only a plain sergeant. The -second, Madame Marie Alice Liauran, was the widow of his dearest -protégé, Captain Alfred Liauran, who had been killed in Italy. -</p> - -<p> -All those who have given any study to the character of an old bachelor -and old soldier—a combination of two celibacies in one—will, -from the mere announcement of these facts, understand the place occupied -by the mother and daughter in the General's existence. Whenever he left -their house, and during the whole of the time which it took his carriage -to bring him home again, his one mental occupation was to recur to all -the incidents in his visit. This interval was a long one, for the -General lived on the Quai d'Orléans on the ground floor of an old house -which had been formally bequeathed to him by his cousin. The carriage -went but slowly; it was drawn by an old army horse, very aged and very -quiet, gently driven by an old orderly soldier, faithful Bertrand, who -would not have whipped the animal for a cask of grape-skin brandy, his -favourite drink. -</p> - -<p> -The carriage itself did not run easily, low and heavy as it was—a -regular dowager's chariot which the General had preserved unaltered, -with the pale green leather of its lining and the dark green shade of -its panels. Is there any need to add that Scilly had inherited this -carriage at the same time as the house? In the ignorance of an old -soldier accustomed to the roughness of a profession to which he had -taken very seriously, he ingenuously considered this lumbering vehicle -as the height of comfort, and seated with his hand in one of the slings, -on the edge of those cushions on which his cousin used once to stretch -herself voluptuously, he unceasingly saw again before him the -drawing-room in the Rue Vaneau, and the two inmates of that calm -retreat—oh! so calm; with its lofty closed windows, beyond which -extended the princely garden reaching from the Rue Vaneau to the Rue de -Babylon; yes, so calm and so well known to him, Scilly, in its slightest -details! -</p> - -<p> -On the walls hung three large portraits, witnessing that, since the -Revolution, all the men of the family had been soldiers. There was first -the grandfather, Colonel Hubert Castel, represented by the painter Gros -in the dark uniform of the cuirassiers of the Empire, his head bare, his -sturdy neck confined in its blue-black collar, his torso clad in its -cuirass, his arms enclosed in the dark cloth of their sleeves, and his -hands covered with their white rounded gauntlets. Napoleon had fallen -from his throne too soon to reward, as he wished, the officer who had -saved his life in the Russian campaign. Next, there was the son of this -stern cavalier, a captain in the African army, painted by Delacroix in -the blue tunic with its plaited folds, and the wide red trousers, tight -fitting at the feet; then the portrait, painted by Flandrin, of Alfred -Liauran, in the uniform of an officer of the line, such as Scilly -himself had worn. On both sides were miniatures representing Colonel -Castel again, but before he had attained to that rank, and also some men -and women of the old régime; for Madame Castel was a Mademoiselle de -Trans, of the De Transes of Provence, a very numerous and noble family -belonging to the district of Aix. Colonel Castel's father, who had been -merely the steward of Marie Alice's father, had saved the, in truth, -somewhat inconsiderable property of the family during the storm of 1792, -and when in 1829 Mademoiselle de Trans had wished to marry this wealthy -man's grandson, who happened to be the son of a celebrated soldier, she -had met with no opposition. -</p> - -<p> -All Madame Castel's past, and that of her daughter, was, therefore, -spread over the walls of this drawing-room, which was at once austere -and homely, like all apartments which are much occupied, and occupied by -persons who have cherished recollections. The furniture, which was -composed of a curious mixture of objects of the First Empire, the -Restoration, and the July Monarchy, certainly had no correspondence with -the fortune of the two ladies, which had become very large owing to the -modesty of their mode of life; but of this furniture there was not a -single piece that did not speak of someone dear both to them and to -Scilly, who from childhood had found interest in everything belonging to -this family. Had not his father been made a Count on the same day that -his companion-in-arms, Castel, had been made a Colonel? -</p> - -<p> -And it was just this intimate acquaintance with the life of these two -women which rendered the old man so strangely sensitive in respect of -them. He had identified himself with them to the extent of being unable -to sleep at night when he had left them visibly pre-occupied. This spare -man, sunk as it were into himself, in whom everything revealed strict -discipline from the stolidity of his look to the regularity of his gait, -and the punctilious rigour of his dress, disclosed, when his two friends -were in question, all those treasures of feeling which his mode of life -had given him little opportunity to expend; and on this evening, in the -month of February, 1880, he was in a state of agitation, like that of a -lover who has seen his mistress's eyes bathed in tears the cause of -which is unknown to him. -</p> - -<p> -"What subject of grief can they have which they would not tell me?" This -question passed again and again through the General's head while his -carriage drove along, beaten by the wind and lashed by the rain. It was -"regular Prussian weather," as the Count's coachman expressed it; but -his master never thought of pulling up the open window through which -squalls were coming in every five minutes, and he constantly reverted to -his question, for his poor friends had been dreadfully dull the whole -evening, and the General could see them mentally just as his last glance -had caught them. The mother was seated in an easy-chair at the corner of -the fireplace, with her white hair, her profile which had not yet lost -its pride, and her strangely-black eyes set in a face wrinkled with -those long vertical wrinkles which tell of nobleness of life. The -extraordinary paleness of her colourless and, as it were, bloodless -complexion betrayed at all times the great sorrows of a widowhood which -had found nothing to divert or console it. But that evening this -paleness had appeared to the Count even more startling, as, too, had the -restlessness in the physiognomy of the daughter. -</p> - -<p> -Although Madame Liauran was past forty, not one thread of silver mingled -as yet with the bands of black hair crowning the faded yet not withered -face, in which all her mother's features were reproduced, but with more -emaciation and pain. A nervous complaint kept her always lying on her -couch, which, that evening, was exactly opposite to Madame Castel's easy -chair, so that the General, on leaving the drawing-room had been able to -see both women at once, and to feel confusedly that on the second there -was weighing a double widowhood. No, there was nothing left in this -creature to enable her to support life without suffering. To Scilly, who -knew in what an atmosphere of tenderness and sorrow the second Marie -Alice had grown up, before herself entering an atmosphere of new -troubles, this sort of intensified widowhood afforded an easy -explanation of the existence in the daughter of a sensitiveness that was -already keen in the mother. -</p> - -<p> -But then, were there not years in which the melancholy of the two widows -was enlivened or rather warded off by the presence of a child, Alexander -Hubert Liauran, who had been born a few months before the Italian -war—a charming creature, somewhat too frail to suit the taste of -his godfather, the General, who was fond of calling him "Mademoiselle -Hubert," and as graceful as all young people are who have been brought -up only by women? In the circumstances in which his mother and -grandmother found themselves, how could this boy have been anything but -the whole world to them? -</p> - -<p> -"If they are so downcast, it can only be on his account," said the Count -to himself; "yet there is no question of war—" for the old soldier -recollected the promise which the young man had made to him to enlist at -once if ever a new strife should bring Germany and France into conflict. -This one condition had induced him not to dispute the frightened wish of -the two women who had been desirous of keeping the son by their side. -The young man, in fact, had at first been attracted by the military -profession; but the mere idea of seeing their child dressed in uniform -had been too stern a martyrdom for Madame Castel and Madame Liauran, and -the child had remained with them, unprovided with any career but that of -loving and of being loved. -</p> - -<p> -The remembrance of his godson, Hubert, awakened a fresh train of musing -in the Count. His brougham had gone down the Rue du Bac, and was now -advancing along the quays. A rain-splash fell on the old soldier's cheek -and he closed the pane which had remained open. The sudden sensation of -cold made him shrink further into the corner of his carriage and into -his thoughts. That kind of backset which is produced by physical -annoyance often has the strange effect of heightening the power of -remembrance within us. Such was the case with the General, who suddenly -began to reflect that for several weeks his godson had rarely spent the -evening at the Rue Vaneau. He had not been disturbed by this, knowing -that Madame Liauran was very anxious that her son should go into -society. They were so much afraid lest he should weary of their narrow -life. -</p> - -<p> -Scilly was now compelled by a secret instinct to connect this absence -with the inexplicable sadness overspreading the faces of the two women. -He understood so well that all the keen forces of the grandmother's and -of the mother's heart, had their supreme centre in the existence of -their child! And he pictured to himself pell-mell the thousand scenes of -passionate affection which he had witnessed since the time of Hubert's -birth. He remembered Madame Castel's recrudescent paleness, and Madame -Liauran's deadly headaches at the slightest uneasiness in the child. He -could see again the days of his education, the course of which was -followed by the mother herself. How many times had he admired the young -woman as, with her elbow resting on a little table, she employed her -evening hours in studying the page of a Latin or Greek book, which the -boy was to repeat next day? -</p> - -<p> -With a touching, infatuated tenderness such as is peculiar to certain -mothers who would be pained by the slightest divorce between their own -mind and their son's, Madame Liauran had sought to associate herself -hour by hour with the development of her child's intelligence. Hubert -had not taken a lesson in the upper room in the little house at which -his mother was not present, engaged with some piece of charitable work, -such as knitting a coverlet or hemming handkerchiefs for the poor, but -listening with all her attention to what the master was saying. She had -pushed the divine susceptibility of her soul's jealousy so far as to be -unwilling to have a private tutor. Hubert had, therefore, received -instruction from different masters whom Madame Liauran had engaged on -the recommendations of her confessor, the Vicar of Sainte-Clotilde, and -none of them had been able to dispute with her an influence which she -would share only with the grandmother. -</p> - -<p> -When it was necessary that the youth should learn how to ride and fence, -the poor woman, to whom an hour spent away from her son was a period of -ill-dissembled anguish, had taken months and months to make up her mind. -At last she had consented to fit up a room on the ground floor as a -fencing school. An old regimental instructor, who was settled in Paris, -and whom General Scilly had had under him in the service, used to come -three times a week. The mother did not venture to acknowledge that the -mere noise of the clashing of the swords awakened within her a dread of -some accident, and caused her almost insurmountable emotion. The Count -had likewise induced Madame Liauran to entrust her son to him to be -taken to the riding-school; but she had done so on condition that he -would not leave him for a minute, and every departure for this -horse-exercise had continued to be an occasion of secret agony. -</p> - -<p> -Foreign as they might be to his own character, all these shades of -feeling, which had made the education of the young man a mysterious poem -of foolish terror, painful felicity, and continual effusiveness, had -been understood by Count Scilly, thanks to the intelligence of the most -devoted affection, and he knew that Madame Castel, though outwardly more -mistress of herself, was little better than her daughter. How many -glances from the pale woman had he not caught, wrapping Marie Alice -Liauran and Hubert in too ardent and absolute idolatry? -</p> - -<p> -The days had passed away; their child was reaching his twenty-second -year, and the two widows continued to entwine and bind him with the -thousand attentions by which impassioned women, whether mothers, wives, -or lovers, know how to keep the object of their passion beside them. -With a careful minuteness that was fruitful in intimate delight, they -had taken pleasure in furnishing for Hubert the most charming bachelor's -rooms that could be imagined. They had enlarged a pavilion running out -from behind the house into a little garden which was itself contiguous -to the immense garden in the Rue de Varenne. From her own bedroom -windows Madame Liauran could see those of her son, who had thus a little -independent universe to himself. The two women had had the sense to -understand that they could keep Hubert altogether with themselves only -by anticipating the wish for a personal existence inevitable in a man of -twenty. -</p> - -<p> -On the ground floor of this pavilion were two spacious rooms on a level -with the garden—one containing a billiard table, and the other every -requisite for fencing. It was here that Hubert received his friends, -consisting of some people from the Faubourg Saint-Germain; for, although -Madame Castel and Madame Liauran did not visit, they had maintained -continuous relations with all those in the Faubourg who occupied -themselves with works of charity. These formed a distinct society, very -different from the worldly clan, and united in a mode all the closer, -because its relations were very frequent, serious and personal. But -certainly none of Hubert's young friends moved in an establishment -comparable to that which the two women had organised on the first story -of the pavilion. They who lived in the simplicity of unexpectant widows, -and who would not for the world have modified anything in the antique -furniture of their house, had had modern luxury and comfort suddenly -revealed to them by their feelings towards Hubert. -</p> - -<p> -The young man's bedroom was hung with prettily and coquettishly -fantastical Japanese stuffs, and all the furniture had come from -England. Madame Castel and Madame Liauran had been charmed with some -specimens which they had seen at the house of a furious Anglomaniac and -distant relation of their own, and with the caprice of love they had -proposed to give themselves the pleasure of affording this original -elegance to their child. Accordingly, the room, which looked -towards the south and always had the sun upon it, contained a charming, -triple-panelled wardrobe, a wooden wainscot and a what-not mirror over -the mantlepiece, two graceful brackets, a low square bed, and arm-chairs -that one could lounge in for ever—in short, it was really such a -<i>home</i> of refined convenience as every rich Englishman likes to -obtain. A bath-room and a smoking-room adjoined this apartment. -</p> - -<p> -Although Hubert was not as yet addicted to tobacco, the two women had -anticipated even this habit, and it had afforded them a pretext for -fitting up a little room in quite an Oriental fashion, with a profusion -of Persian carpets and a broad divan draped with Algerian stuffs brought -back by the General from his campaigns, while similar stuffs adorned -ceilings and walls, upon which might be seen all the weapons which three -generations of officers had left behind them. Some Egyptian sabres -recalled the first campaign in which Hubert Castel had served in -Buonaparte's retinue. The Captain in the African Army had been the owner -of these Arab weapons, and those memorials of the Crimea bore witness to -the presence of Sub-Lieutenant Liauran beneath the walls of Sebastopol. -</p> - -<p> -On leaving the smoking-room you entered the study, the windows of which -were double, those inside being of coloured glass, so that on dull days -it was possible not to notice the aspect of the hour. The two women had -endured such frightful recurrences of melancholy on gloomy afternoons, -and beneath cruel skies! A large writing-table standing in the middle of -the room had in front of it one of those revolving arm-chairs which -allows the worker to turn round towards the fireplace without so much as -rising. A little Tronchin table presented its raised desk, if the young -man took a fancy to stand as he wrote, while a couch awaited his -idleness. A cottage piano stood in the corner, and a long, low bookshelf -ran along the back part of the room. -</p> - -<p> -Perhaps the books with which the shelves of the last-named piece of -furniture were provided interpreted even better than all the other -details the anxious solicitude with which Madame Castel and Madame -Liauran had made every arrangement in order to remain mistresses of the -son during those difficult years which intervene between the twentieth -and the thirtieth. Having both, as soldiers' widows, preserved a -reverence for a life of action while, at the same time, their extreme -tenderness for Hubert rendered them incapable of enduring that he should -face it, they had found a compromise for their consciences in the dream -of a studious life for him. They ingenuously cherished a wish that he -should undertake a large and long work of military history, such as one -of the De Trans family had left behind him in the eighteenth century. -Was not this the best means for ensuring that he would remain a great -deal at home—that is to say, with them? Accordingly, thanks to -Scilly's advice, they had formed a tolerable collection of books suitable -for this project. Some religious works, a small number of novels, and, -alone among modern writers, the works of Lamartine completed the equipment -of the shelves. -</p> - -<p> -It is right to say that in that corner of the world where no journal was -taken in, contemporary literature was completely unknown. The ideas of -the General and of the two women were identical on this point. And the -case was nearly the same in respect of the whole contemporary world as -it was in respect of literature. Astonishing conversations might have -been heard in that drawing-room in the Rue Vaneau, in the course of -which the Count would explain to his friends that France was governed by -the delegates of the secret societies, with other political theories of -similar scope. The same causes always produce the same effects. -Precisely as happens in very small country towns, monotony of habit had -resulted, with the two widows, in monotony of thought. Feelings were -very deep and ideas very narrow in that old house the entrance gate of -which was opened but rarely. On such occasions the passer-by could see, -at the end of a court, a building on the pediment of which might be read -a Latin motto, engraved in former times in honour of Marshal de Créquy, -the first owner of the house: <i>Marti invicto atque indefesso</i>—to -unconquered and indefatigable Mars. The lofty windows of the first -storey and of the ground floor, the old colour of the stone, the -appropriate silence of the court, all harmonised with the characters of -the two residents, whose prejudices were infinite. -</p> - -<p> -Madame Castel and her daughter believed in presentiments, double sight, -and somnambulists. They were persuaded that the Emperor Napoleon III. -had undertaken the Italian war in fulfilment of a carbonaro oath. Never -would these divinely good women have bestowed their friendship upon a -Protestant or an Israelite. The mere idea that there might be a -conscientious Freethinker would have disconcerted them as though they -had been told of the sanctity of a criminal. In short, even the General -thought them ingenuous. But, as it sometimes happens with officers -condemned to fleeting loves by their roving life and the timid feelings -hidden beneath their martial appearance Scilly was not well enough -acquainted with women to appreciate the reality of this ingenuousness or -the depth of the ignorance of evil in which the two Marie Alices lived. -He supposed that all virtuous women were similar, and he confounded all -others under the term of "queans." When his liver troubled him -excessively he would pronounce this word in a tone which gave grounds -for suspecting some bitter deception in his past life. But who among the -few people that he met at the house of "his two saints," as he called -Madame Castel and her daughter, dreamed of troubling themselves about -whether he had been deceived by some garrison adventuress or not? -</p> - -<p> -Still lulled by the rolling of his carriage, the General continued to -resign himself to the memory-crisis through which he had been passing -since his departure from the Rue Vaneau, and which had caused him to -review, in a quarter of an hour, the entire existence of his friends. -Other faces also were evoked around these two forms, those, for -instance, of Madame de Trans, Madame Castel's first cousin, who lived in -the country for part of the year, and who used to come with her three -daughters, Yolande, Yseult and Ysabeau, to spend the winter at Paris. -These four ladies used to take up their abode in apartments in the Rue -de Monsieur, and their Parisian life consisted in hearing low mass at -seven o'clock in the morning in the private chapel of a convent situated -in the Rue de La Barouillère, in visiting other convents, or in busying -themselves in workrooms during the afternoon. They went to bed at about -half-past eight, after dining at noon and supping at six. -</p> - -<p> -Twice a week "those De Trans ladies," as the General called them, spent -the evening with their cousins. On these occasions they returned to the -Rue de Monsieur at ten o'clock, and their servant used to come for them -with a parcel containing their pattens and with a lantern that they -might cross the courtyard of Madame Castel's house without danger. The -Countess de Trans and her three daughters had the sunburnt and freckled -faces of peasant women, dresses home-made by seamstresses chosen for -them by the nuns, parsimonious tastes written in the meanness -of their whole existence, and—a detail revealing their native -aristocracy—charming hands and delicious feet which could not be -disgraced by the ready-made boots purchased in a pious establishment in -the Rue de Sèvres. -</p> - -<p> -The most singular contrast existed between these four women and George -Liauran, another cousin on the side of the second Marie Alice. He -represented all the fashions in the drawing-room in the Rue Vaneau. He -was a man of forty-five who had been launched into wealthy society with -a fortune that had at first been a moderate one but had increased by -clever speculations on the Bourse. He had his rooms in his club, where -he used to breakfast, and every evening a cover was laid for him in one -of the houses in which he was a familiar guest. He was small, thin, and -very brown. Whether or not he maintained the youth of his pointed beard -and very short hair by the artifice of a dye, was a question that had -long been debated among the three Demoiselles de Trans, who were -stupefied at the sight of George's superior appearance, the varnished -soles of his dress-shoes, the embroidered clocks of his silk socks, the -chased gold studs in his cuffs, the single pearl in his shirt front, by -the slightest knick-knacks, in fact, belonging to this man with the -shrewd lively eyes, whose toilet represented to them a life of thrilling -prodigality. It was agreed among them that he exercised a fatal -influence over Hubert. -</p> - -<p> -Such was doubtless not Madame Liauran's opinion, for she had desired -George to act as a chaperon to the young man in the life of the world, -when she wished her son to cultivate their family relations. The noble -woman rewarded her cousin's lengthened attention by this mark of -confidence. He had come to the quiet house very regularly for years, -whether it was that the security of this affection was pleasing to him -amid the falsities of Parisian society, or that he had long conceived a -secret adoration for Marie Alice Liauran, such as the purest women -sometimes unconsciously inspire in misanthropes—for George had that -shade of pessimism which is to be met with in nearly all club-livers. -The nature of the character of this man, who was always inclined to -believe the worst of everything, was the object of an astonishment on -the part of the General that custom had failed to allay; but on this -evening he omitted to reflect upon it. The recollection of George only -served to heighten that of Hubert still more. -</p> - -<p> -Irresistibly the worthy man came to recognise the obviousness of the -fact that his two friends could not be so cruelly downcast except on -account of their child. Yes; but why? This point of interrogation, which -summed up the whole of his reverie, was more present than ever to the -Count's mind as his dowager equipage stopped before his house. Another -carriage was standing on the other side of the gateway, and Scilly -thought that in it he could recognise the little brougham which Madame -Liauran had given to her son. -</p> - -<p> -"Is that you, John?" he cried to the coachman through the rain. -</p> - -<p> -"The Count, sir? . . . ." replied a voice which Scilly was startled to -recognise. -</p> - -<p> -"Hubert is waiting for me within," he said to himself; and he crossed -the threshold of the door a prey to curiosity such as he had not -experienced for years. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a></h4> - -<p> -Nevertheless, in spite of his curiosity, the General did not make a -gesture the quicker. The habit of military minuteness was too strong -with him to be vanquished by any emotion. He himself put his stick into -the stand, drew off his furred gloves one after the other and laid them -on the table in the antechamber beside his hat, which was carefully -placed on its side. His servant took off his overcoat with the same -slowness. Not until then did he enter the apartment where, as his -servant had just told him, the young man had been awaiting him for -half-an-hour. -</p> - -<p> -It was a cheerless looking room, and one which revealed the simplicity -of a life reduced to its strictest wants. Oak shelves overladen with -books, the mere appearance of which indicated official publications, ran -along two sides. Some maps and a few weapon-trophies adorned the rest. A -writing-table placed in the centre of the apartment displayed papers -classified in groups—notes for the great work which the Count had -been preparing for an indefinite time on the reorganisation of the army. -Two lustring sleeves, methodically folded, lay among the squares and -rulers; a bust of Marshal Bugeaud adorned the fireplace, which was -furnished with a grate, in which a coke fire was dying out. -</p> - -<p> -The tile-paved floor was tinted red, and the carpet scarcely extended -beyond the legs of the table which rested upon them. On the table stood -a bright copper lamp, which was lighted at the present moment, and the -green cardboard shade threw the light upon the face of young Liauran, -who was seated beside it in the straw arm-chair, and was looking at the -fire, with his chin resting on his hand. He was so absorbed in his -reverie that he appeared to have heard neither the rolling of the -carriage-wheels nor the General's entrance into the apartment. Never, -moreover, had the latter been so struck as he was just then with the -astonishing likeness presented by the physiognomy of the child with that -of the two women by whom he had been brought up. -</p> - -<p> -If Madame Liauran appeared more frail than her mother, and less capable -of coping with the bitterness of life, this fragility was still more -exaggerated in Hubert. The thin cloth of his dress-coat—for he was in -evening dress, with a white nosegay in his button-hole—allowed the -outlines of his slender shoulders to be seen. The fingers extended -across his temple were as delicate as a woman's. The paleness of his -complexion, which, owing to the extreme regularity of his life, was -usually tinged with pink, betrayed, in this hour of sadness, the depth -of vibration awakened by all emotion in this too delicate organism. -There were deep, nacreous circles round his handsome black eyes; but, at -the same time, a touch of pride in the line of the nobly-cut forehead -and almost perfectly straight nose, the curve of the lips with its -slender dark moustache, the set of the chin marked with a manly dimple, -and other tokens still, such as the bar of the knitted eyebrows, -betrayed the heredity of a race of action in the over-petted child of -two lovely women. -</p> - -<p> -If the General had been as good a connoisseur in painting as he was -skilled in arms, this face would certainly have reminded him of those -portraits of young princes painted by Van Dyck, in which the almost -morbid delicacy of an ancient race is blended with the obstinate pride -of heroic blood. After pausing for a few seconds in contemplation, the -General walked towards the table. Hubert raised the charming head which -his brown ringlets, disordered as they were at that moment, rendered -completely similar to the portraits executed by the painter of Charles -I.; he saw his godfather and rose to greet him. He had a slight and -well-made figure, and merely in the graceful fashion in which he held -out his hand could be traced the lengthened watchfulness of maternal -eyes. Are not our manners the indestructible work of the looks which -have followed us and judged us during our childhood? -</p> - -<p> -"And so you have come to speak to me on very serious business," said the -General, going straight to the point. "I suspected as much," he added. -"I left your mother and your grandmother more melancholy than I had ever -seen them since the Italian war. Why were you not with them this -evening? If you do not make those two women happy, Hubert, you are -cruelly ungrateful, for they would give their lives for your happiness. -And now, what is going on?" -</p> - -<p> -The General, in uttering these words, had pursued aloud the thoughts -which had been tormenting him during the drive home from the Rue Vaneau. -He could see the young man's features changing visibly as he spoke. It -was one of the hereditary fatalities in the temperament of this too -dearly loved child that the sound of a harsh voice always gave him a -painful little spasm of the heart; but, no doubt, to the harshness of -Count Scilly's accents there was added the harshness of the meaning of -his words. They brutally laid bare a too sensitive wound. Hubert sat -down as though crushed; then he replied in a voice which, naturally -somewhat clouded, was at this moment more muffled than usual. He did not -even attempt to deny that he was the cause of the sorrow on the part of -the two women. -</p> - -<p> -"Do not question me, godfather. I give you my word of honour that I am -not guilty, only I cannot explain to you the misunderstanding which -makes me a subject of grief to them. I cannot help it. I have gone out -oftener than usual, and that is my only crime." -</p> - -<p> -"You are not telling me the whole truth," replied Scilly, softened, in -spite of his anger, by the young man's evident grief. "Your mother and -your grandmother are too fond of keeping you tied to their apron -strings, and I have always thought so. You would have been brought up -more hardily if I had been your father. Women do not understand how to -train a man. But have they not been urging you for the last two years to -go into society? It is not your going out, therefore, that grieves them, -but your motive for doing so." -</p> - -<p> -As he uttered these words, which he considered very clever, the Count -looked at his godson through the smoke from a little brier pipe which he -had just lighted, a mechanical custom sufficiently explaining the acrid -atmosphere with which the room was saturated. He saw Hubert's cheeks -colour with a sudden inflow of blood, which to a more perspicacious -observer would have been an undeniable confession. Only an allusion or -the dread of an allusion to a woman whom he loves, has the power to -disturb a young man of such evident purity as Hubert was. After a few -moments of this sudden emotion, he replied: -</p> - -<p> -"I declare to you, godfather, that there is nothing in my conduct of -which I should be ashamed. It is the first time that neither my mother -nor my grandmother has understood me—but I shall not yield to them on -the point in dispute. They are unjust about it, frightfully unjust," he -continued, rising and taking a few steps. -</p> - -<p> -This time his face was no longer expressive of submission, but of the -indomitable pride which military heredity had infused into his blood. He -did not give the General time to notice his words, which in the mouth of -a son, usually only too submissive, disclosed an extraordinary intensity -of passion. He contracted his eyebrows, shook his head as though to -drive away some tormenting thought, and, once more master of himself, -went on: -</p> - -<p> -"I have not come here to complain to you, godfather; you would give me a -bad reception, and you would not be wrong. I have to ask a service of -you, a great service. But I would wish all that I am going to confide to -you to remain between ourselves." -</p> - -<p> -"I never enter into such engagements," said the Count. "A man has not -always the right to be silent," he added. "All that I can promise you is -to keep your secret if my affection for you know whom, does not make it -a duty that I should speak. Come, now, decide for yourself." -</p> - -<p> -"Be it so," rejoined the young man, after a silence, during which he -had, no doubt, judged of the situation in which he found himself; "you -will do as you please. What I have to say to you is comprised in a short -sentence. Godfather, can you lend me three thousand francs?" -</p> - -<p> -This question was so unexpected by the Count that it forthwith changed -the current of his thoughts. Since the beginning of the conversation he -had been trying to guess the young man's secret, which was also the -secret of his two friends, and he had necessarily thought that some -intrigue was in question. To tell the truth, he did not consider this -very shocking. Though very devout, Scilly had remained too essentially -a soldier not to have most indulgent theories respecting love. Military -life leads those who follow it to a simplification of thought which -causes them to admit all facts, whatever they may be, in their verity. A -"quean" in Scilly's eyes was a necessary malady with a young man. It was -enough if the malady did not last too long, and if the young man came -out of it with tolerable impunity. Now he had suddenly a misgiving that -was more alarming to him, for, owing to his regimental experience, he -considered cards much more dangerous than women. -</p> - -<p> -"You have been gambling?" he said abruptly. -</p> - -<p> -"No, godfather," replied the young man. "I have merely spent more than -my allowance for the last few months; I have debts to settle, and," he -added, "I am leaving for England the day after to-morrow." -</p> - -<p> -"And your mother knows of this journey?" -</p> - -<p> -"Undoubtedly; I am going to spend a fortnight in London with my friend, -Emmanuel Deroy, of the Embassy, whom you know." -</p> - -<p> -"If your mother lets you go," returned the old man, continuing the -logical pursuit of his inquiry, "it is because your conduct in Paris is -grieving her cruelly. Answer me frankly—You have a mistress?" -</p> - -<p> -"No," replied Hubert, with a fresh rush of purple across his cheeks. "I -have no mistress." -</p> - -<p> -"If it is neither the Queen of Spades nor the Queen of Hearts," said the -General, who did not doubt his godson's veracity for a moment—he knew -him to be incapable of a falsehood—"will you do me the honour of -telling me what has become of the five hundred francs a month, a -colonel's pay, which your mother gives you for pocket-money?" -</p> - -<p> -"Ah! godfather," returned the young man, visibly relieved; "you do not -know the requirements of a life in society. Why, to-day I gave a dinner -to three friends at the Café Anglais; that came to very nearly a -hundred and fifty francs. I have sent several bouquets, hired carriages -to go into the country, and given a few keepsakes. The five bank-notes -are so soon at an end! In short, I repeat, I have debts that I want to -pay, I have to meet the expenses of my journey, and I do not want to -apply to my mother or my grandmother just now. They do not know what a -young man's life in Paris is like; I do not want to add a second -misunderstanding to the first. With our present relations what they are -they would see faults where there have been only inevitable necessities. -And, then, I am physically unable to endure a scene with my mother." -</p> - -<p> -"And if I refuse?" Scilly asked. -</p> - -<p> -"I shall apply elsewhere," said Alexander Hubert; "it will be terribly -painful to me, but I shall do so." -</p> - -<p> -There was silence between the two men. The whole story was darkening -again in the General's eyes, like the smoke which he was sending from -his pipe in methodical puffs. But what he did see clearly was the -definitive nature of Hubert's resolve, whatever its secret cause might -be. To refuse him would be perhaps to send him to a money-lender, or at -all events to force him to take some step wounding to his pride. On the -other hand, to advance this sum to his godson was to acquire a right to -follow out more closely the mystery which lay at the bottom of his -excitement, as well as behind the melancholy of the two women. And then, -when all is told, the Count loved Hubert with an affection that bordered -closely on weakness. If he had been deeply moved by Madame Liauran's and -Madame Castel's dull despair, he was now completely upset by the visible -anguish written on the face of this child, who was, in his thoughts, an -adopted son as dear as any real son could have been. -</p> - -<p> -"My dear fellow," he said at last, taking Hubert's hand, and in a tone -of voice giving no further token of the harshness which had marked the -beginning of their conversation, "I think too highly of you to believe -that you would associate me in any action that could displease your -mother. I will do what you wish, but on one condition——" -</p> - -<p> -Hubert's eyes betrayed fresh anxiety. -</p> - -<p> -"It is merely to fix the date on which you expect to repay me the money. -I want to oblige you," continued the old soldier, "but it would not be -worthy of you to borrow a sum that you believed yourself unable to pay -back again, nor of me to lend myself to a calculation of the kind. Will -you come back here to-morrow afternoon? You will bring me an account of -what you can spare from your allowance every month. Ah! it will not do -to offer any more bouquets, or dinners at the Café Anglais, or -keepsakes. But, then, have you not lived for a long time past without -these foolish expenses?" -</p> - -<p> -This little speech, in which the spirit of order that was essential to -the General, his goodness of heart, and his taste for regularity of life -were blended in equal proportion, moved Hubert so deeply that he pressed -his godfather's fingers without replying, as though crushed by emotions -which he had left unexpressed. He suspected that while this interview -was taking place at the Quai d'Orléans, the evening was being -lengthened out at the house in the Rue Vaneau, and that the two beings -whom he loved so deeply were commenting on his absence. He himself -suffered from the pain that he was causing, as though a mysterious -thread linked him to those two women seated beside their lonely hearth. -</p> - -<p> -And, indeed, the General once gone, the "two saints" had remained silent -for a long time in the quiet little drawing-room. Nothing of all the -tumult of Parisian life reached them but a vast, confused murmuring -analogous to that of the sea when heard a long way off. The seclusion of -this retired abode, with the hum of life outside, was a symbol of what -had so long been the destiny of Madame Castel and her daughter. Marie -Alice Liauran, lying on her couch, and looking very slight in her black -attire, seemed to be listening to this hum, or to her thoughts, for she -had relinquished the work with which she had been engaged; while her -mother, seated in her easy-chair, and also in black, continued to ply -her tortoiseshell crochet-hook, sometimes raising her eyes towards her -daughter with a look wherein a twofold anxiety might be read. She also -experienced the sensation felt by her daughter, on account both of -Hubert and of this daughter, whose almost morbid sensitiveness she knew. -It was not she, however, who first broke the silence, but Madame -Liauran, who suddenly, and as though pursuing her reverie aloud, began -to lament: -</p> - -<p> -"What renders my pain still more intolerable is that he sees the wound -which he has dealt my heart, and that he is not to be stopped by -it—he who, from childhood until within the last six months, could -never encounter a shadow in my look or a wrinkle on my forehead without -a change of countenance. That is what convinces me of the depth of his -passion for this woman. What a passion and what a woman!" -</p> - -<p> -"Do not become excited," said Madame Castel, rising and kneeling in -front of her daughter's couch. "You are in a fever," she said, taking -her hand. Then, in a low voice, and as though probing her consciousness -to the bottom, she went on: "Alas! my child, you are jealous of your -son, as I have been jealous of you. I have spent so many days—I can -tell you this now—in loving your husband——" -</p> - -<p> -"Ah! mother," replied Madame Liauran, "that is not the same kind of -grief. I did not degrade myself in giving part of my heart to the man -whom you had chosen, while you know that cousin George has told us of -this Madame de Sauve, and of her education by that unworthy mother, and -of her reputation since she has been married, and of the husband who can -suffer his wife to have a drawing-room in which the conversation is more -than free, and of the father, the old prefect, who, on being left a -widower, brought up his daughter helter-skelter with his mistresses. I -confess, mamma, that if there is egotism in maternal love, I have had -that egotism; I have been grieved by anticipation at the thought that -Hubert would marry, and that he would continue his life apart from mine. -But I blamed myself greatly for feeling in that way,—whereas now he -has been taken from me, and taken from me only to be disgraced!" -</p> - -<p> -For some minutes longer she prolonged this violent lamentation, wherein -was revealed that kind of passionate frenzy which had caused all the -keen forces of her heart to be concentrated about her son. It was not -only the mother that suffered in her, it was the pious mother to whom -human faults were abominable crimes; it was the sad and isolated mother -upon whom the rivalry of a young, rich, and elegant woman inflicted -secret humiliation; in fine, her heart was bleeding at every pore. The -sight of this suffering, however, wounded Madame Castel so cruelly, and -her eyes expressed such sorrowful pity, that Marie Alice broke off her -complaint. She leaned over on her couch, laid a kiss upon those poor -eyes, so like her own, and said: -</p> - -<p> -"Forgive me, mamma; but to whom should I tell my trouble if not to you? -And then—would you not see it? Hubert is not coming in," she added, -looking at the clock, the pendulum of which continued to move quietly to -and fro. "Do you not think that I ought to have opposed this journey to -England?" -</p> - -<p> -"No, my child; if he is going to pay a visit to his friend, why should -you exercise your authority in vain? And if he were going from any other -motive, he would not obey you. Remember that he is twenty-two years old, -and that he is a man." -</p> - -<p> -"I am growing foolish, mother; this journey was settled a long time -ago—I have seen Emmanuel's letters; but, when I am grieved, I can no -longer reason, I can see nothing but my sorrow, and it obstructs all my -thoughts—— Ah! how unhappy I am!" -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a></h4> - -<p> -If any proof of the thorough many-sidedness of our nature were required, -it might be found in that law which is a customary object of indignation -with moralists, and which ordains that the sight of the sorrow of our -most loved ones cannot, at certain times, prevent us from being happy. -Our feelings seem to maintain a sort of life and death struggle against -one another in our hearts. Intensity of existence in anyone among them, -though it be but momentary, is only to be obtained at the cost of -weakening all the rest. It is certain that Hubert loved his two -mothers—as he always called the two women who had brought him -up—to distraction. It is certain that he had guessed that for many -days they had been holding conversations together analogous to that of -the evening on which he had borrowed from his godfather the three -thousand francs which he required for settling his debts and meeting the -cost of his journey. -</p> - -<p> -And yet, on the second day after that evening, when he found himself in -the train which was taking him to Boulogne, it was impossible for him -not to feel his soul steeped, as it were, in divine bliss. He did not -ask himself whether Count Scilly would or would not speak of the step -that he had taken. He put aside the apprehension of this just as he -drove away the recollection of Madame Liauran's eyes at the moment of -his departure, and just as he stifled all the scruples that might be -suggested by his uncompromising piety. -</p> - -<p> -If he had not absolutely lied to his mother in telling her that he was -going to join his friend Emmanuel Deroy in London, he had nevertheless -deceived this jealous mother by concealing from her that he would meet -Madame de Sauve at Folkestone. Now, Madame de Sauve was not free. Madame -de Sauve was married, and in the eyes of a young man brought up as the -pious Hubert had been, to love a married woman constituted an inexpiable -fault. Hubert must and did believe himself in a condition of mortal sin. -His Catholicism, which was not merely a religion of fashion and posture, -left him in no doubt on this point. But religion, family obligations of -truthfulness, fears for the future, all these phantoms of conscience -appeared to him—conditioned only as phantoms, vain, powerless images, -vanishing before the living evocation of the beauty of the woman who, -five months before had entered into his heart to renew all within it, -the woman whom he loved and by whom he knew himself to be loved. -</p> - -<p> -Hubert had told the truth, in that he was not Madame de Sauve's lover in -that sense of entire and physical possession in which the term is -understood in our language. She had never belonged to him, and it was -the first time that he was going to be really alone with her, in that -solitude of a foreign land which is the secret dream of everyone who -loves. -</p> - -<p> -While the train was steaming at full speed through plains alternately -ribbed with hills, intersected with watercourses, and bristling with -bare trees, the young man was absorbed in telling the rosary of his -recollections. The charm of the hours that were gone was rendered still -dearer to him by the expectation of some immense and undefined -happiness. -</p> - -<p> -Although Madame Liauran's son was twenty-two years of age, the manner of -his education had kept him in that state of purity so rare among the -young men of Paris, who, for the most part, have exhausted pleasure -before they have had so much as a suspicion of love. But a fact of which -the young fellow was not aware was that it had been this very purity -which had acted more powerfully than the most accomplished libertinism -could have done upon the romantic imagination of the woman whose profile -was passing to and fro before his gaze with the motion of the carriage, -and showing itself alternately against woods, hills and dunes. How many -images does a passing train thus bear along, and with them how many -destinies rushing towards weal or woe in the distant and the unknown! -</p> - -<p> -It was at the beginning of the month of October, in the preceding year, -that Hubert had seen Madame de Sauve for the first time. On account of -Madame Liauran's health, which rendered the shortest journey dangerous -to her, the two women never left Paris; but the young man sometimes went -during the summer or autumn to spend three or four days in some country -house. He was coming back from one of these visits in company with his -cousin George, when, getting into a carriage at a station on the same -northern line along which he was now travelling, he had met the young -lady with her husband. The De Sauves were acquainted with George, and -thus it was that Alexander Hubert had been introduced. -</p> - -<p> -Monsieur de Sauve was a man of about forty-five years of age, very tall -and strong, with a face that was already too red, and with traces of -wear and tear which were discernible through his vigour, and the -explanation of which might be found, merely by listening to his -conversation, in his mode of regarding life. Existence to him was -self-lavishment, and he carried out this programme in all directions. -Head of a ministerial cabinet in 1869, thrown after the war into the -campaign of Bonapartist propaganda, a deputy since then, and always -re-elected, but an active deputy, and one who bribed his electors, he -had at the same time launched forth more and more freely into society. -He had a <i>salon</i>, gave dinners, occupied himself with sport, and still -found sufficient leisure to interest himself competently and -successfully in financial enterprises. Add to this that before his -marriage he had had much experience of ballet dancers, green-rooms of -small theatres, and private supper-rooms. -</p> - -<p> -There are temperaments of this kind which nature makes into machines at -a great outlay, and consequently with great returns. Everything in -André de Sauve revealed a taste for what is ample and powerful, from -the construction of his great body to his style of dress, or to the -gesture with which he would take a long black cigar from his case to -smoke it. Hubert well remembered how this man, with his hairy hands and -ears, his large feet and his dragon's mien, had inspired him with that -description of physical repulsion which we all endure on meeting with a -physiology precisely contrary to our own. -</p> - -<p> -Are there not respirations, circulations of blood, plays of muscle which -are hostile to us, thanks, probably, to that indefinable instinct of -life which impels two animals of different species to rend each other as -soon as they come face to face? Truth to tell, the antipathy of the -delicate Hubert was capable of being more simply explained on the ground -of an unconscious and sudden jealousy of Madame de Sauve's husband; for -Theresa, as her husband familiarly called her, had immediately exercised -a sort of irresistible attraction upon the young man. In his childhood -he had often turned over a portfolio of engravings brought back from -Italy by his illustrious grandfather, who had served under Bonaparte, -and at the first glance that fell upon this woman, he could not help -recalling the heads drawn by the masters of the Lombardic school, so -striking was the resemblance between her face and those of the familiar -Herodiases and Madonnas of Luini and his pupils. -</p> - -<p> -There was the same full, broad forehead, the same large eyes charged -with somewhat heavy eyelids, the same delicious oval at the lower part -of the cheek terminating in an almost square chin, the same sinuosity of -lips, the same delightful union of eyebrow to the rising of the nose, -and over all these charming features, a suffusion, as it were, of -gentleness, grace, and mystery. Madame de Sauve had further, the -vigorous neck and broad shoulders of the women of the Lombardic school, -as well as all the other tokens of a race at once refined and strong, -with a slender waist and the hands and feet of a child. What marked her -out from this traditional type was the colour of her hair, which was not -red and gold but very black, and of her eyes, the mingled grey of which -bordered upon green. The amber paleness of her complexion, as well as -the languishing listlessness of all her movements, completed the -singular character of her beauty. -</p> - -<p> -In the presence of this creature, it was impossible not to think of some -portrait of past times, although she breathed youth with the purple of -her mouth and the living fluid of her eyes, and although she was dressed -in the fashion of the day, and wore a jacket fitting close to her -figure. The skirt of her dress, made of an English material of a grey -shade, her feet cased in laced boots, her little man's collar, her -straight cravat, fastened with a diamond horseshoe pin, her Swede -gloves, and her round hat, scarcely suggested the toilet of princesses -of the sixteenth century; and yet she presented to the eye a finished -model of Milanese beauty, even in this costume of Parisian elegance. By -what mystery? -</p> - -<p> -She was the daughter of Madame Lussac, <i>née</i> Bressuire, whose -relations had not left the Rue Saint-Honoré for three generations, and of -Adolphus Lussac, Prefect under the Empire, who had come from Auvergne in -Monsieur Rouher's train. The chronicle of the drawing-rooms would have -answered the question by recalling the Parisian career of the handsome -Count Branciforte, somewhere about the year 1858, his greenish-grey -eyes, his dead-white complexion, his attentions to Madame Lussac, and -his sudden disappearance from surroundings in which for months and -months he had always lived. But Hubert was never to have these -particulars. By education and by nature he belonged to the race of those -who accept life's official gifts and ignore their deep-lying causes, their -thorough animality, and their tragic lining—a happy race, for to -them belongs the enjoyment of the flower of things, but a race devoted -beforehand to catastrophes, for only a clear view of the real will admit -of any manipulation of it. -</p> - -<p> -No; what Hubert Liauran remembered of this first interview did not -consist of questions concerning the singularity of Madame de Sauve's -charm. Neither had he examined himself as to the shade of character that -might be indicated by the movements of the woman. Instead of studying -her face he had enjoyed it as a child will relish the freshness of the -atmosphere, with a sort of unconscious delight. The complete absence of -irony which distinguished Theresa, and which might be noted in her -gentle smile, her calm gaze, her smooth voice, and her tranquil -gestures, had instantly been sweet to him. He had not felt in her -presence those pangs of painful timidity which the incisive glance of -most Parisian ladies inflicts upon all young men. -</p> - -<p> -During the journey which they had made together, while De Sauve and -George Liauran were speaking of a law concerning religious -congregations, the tenour of which was at that time exciting every -party, he had sat opposite to her, and had been able to talk to her -softly and, without knowing why, with intimacy. He who was usually -silent about himself, with a vague idea that the almost insane -excitability of his being made him a unique exception, had opened his -mind to this woman of twenty-five, whom he had not known for -half-an-hour, more than he had ever done to people with whom he dined -every fortnight. -</p> - -<p> -In answer to a question from Theresa about his travels in the summer, he -had naturally, as it were, spoken of his mother and her complaint, then -of his grandmother, and then of their common life. He had given this -stranger a glimpse of the secret retreat in the house in the Rue Vaneau, -not indeed without remorse; but the remorse had been later, when he was -no longer within the range of her glances, and had come less from a -feeling of outraged modesty than from a fear of having been displeasing -to her. How captivating, in truth, were those gentle glances. There -emanated from them an inexpressible caress, and when they settled upon -your eyes, full in your face, the resultant sensation was like that of a -tender touch, and bordered upon physical voluptuousness. -</p> - -<p> -Days afterwards Hubert still remembered the species of intoxicating -comfort which he had experienced in this first chat merely through -feeling himself looked at in this way, and this comfort had only -increased in succeeding interviews, until it had almost immediately -become a real necessity for him, like breathing or sleeping. When -leaving the carriage she had told him that she was at home every -Thursday, and he had soon learnt the way to the house in the Boulevard -Haussmann, where she lived. In what recess of his heart had he found the -energy for paying this visit, which fell on the next day but one after -their meeting? Almost immediately, she had asked him to dinner. He -remembered so vividly the childish pleasure which he took in reading and -re-reading the insignificant note of invitation, in inhaling its slight -perfume, and in following the details of the letters of his name, -written by the hand of Theresa. It was a handwriting which, from the -abundance of little, useless flourishes, presented a peculiarly light -and fantastic appearance, in which a graphologist would have been -prepared to read the sign of a romantic nature; but, at the same time, -the bold fashion in which the lines were struck and the firmness of the -down-strokes, where the pen pressed somewhat liberally, denoted a -willingly practical and almost material mode of life. -</p> - -<p> -Hubert did not reason so much as this; but, from the first note, every -letter that he received in the same handwriting became to him a person -whom he would have recognised among thousands, of others. With what -happiness had he dressed to go to that dinner, telling himself that he -was about to see Madame de Sauve during long hours, hours which, -reckoned in advance, appeared infinite to him! He had felt a somewhat -angry astonishment when his mother, at the moment that he was taking -leave of her, had uttered a critical observation on the familiarity that -was customary in society now-a-days. Then, separated though he was by -months from those events, he was able, thanks to the special imagination -with which, like all very sensitive creatures, he was endowed, to recall -the exact shade of emotion which had been caused him by the dinner and -the evening, the demeanour of the guests and that of Theresa. It is -according as we possess a greater or smaller power of imagining past -pains and pleasures anew that we are beings capable of cold calculation, -or slaves to our sentimental life. Alas! all Hubert's faculties -conspired to rivet round his heart the bruising chain of memories that -were too dear. -</p> - -<p> -Theresa wore, that first evening, a dress of black lace with pink knots, -and, for her only ornament, a heavy bracelet of massive gold on one -wrist. Her dress was not low enough to shock the young man, whose -modesty was of virginal susceptibility on this point. There were some -persons in the drawing-room, not one of whom, with the exception of -George Liauran, was known to him. They were, for the most part, men -celebrated by different titles in the society more particularly -denominated Parisian by those journals which pique themselves on -following the fashion. Hubert's first sensation had been a slight shock, -owing merely to the fact that some of these men presented to the -malevolent observer several of the little toilet heresies familiar to -the more fastidious if they have gone too late into society. Such is a -coat of antiquated cut, a shirt-collar badly made and worse bleached, or -a neck-tie of a white that borders upon blue, and tied by an unskilful -hand. -</p> - -<p> -These trifles inevitably appeared signs of a touch of Bohemianism—the -word in which correct people confound all social irregularities—in -the eyes of a young man accustomed to live under the continuous -superintendence of two women of rare education, who had sought to make -him something irreproachable. But these small signs of unsatisfactory -dress had rendered Theresa's finished distinction still more graceful in -his eyes, just as, to him, the sometimes cynical freedom of the talk -uttered at table had imparted a charming significance to the silence of -the mistress of the house. Madame Liauran had not been mistaken when she -affirmed that there was very daring conversation at the house of the De -Sauves. -</p> - -<p> -The evening that Hubert dined there for the first time a divorce suit -was discussed during the first half-hour, and a great lawyer gave some -unpublished details of the case—the abominable character of a -politician who had been arrested in the Champs Elysées, the two -mistresses of another politician and their rivalry—but all related, -as things are related only at Paris, with those hints which admit the -telling of everything. Many allusions escaped Hubert, and he was -accordingly less shocked by such narrations than by other speeches -bearing upon ideas, such as the following paradox, started by one of the -most famous novelists of the day. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah! divorce! divorce!" said this man, whose renown as a daring realist -had crossed the threshold even of the house in the Rue Vaneau, "it has -some good in it; but it is too simple a solution for a very complicated -problem. Here, as elsewhere, Catholicism has perverted all our ideas. -The characteristic of advanced societies is the production of many men -of very different kinds, and the problem consists in constructing an -equally large number of moralists. For my part, I would have the law -recognise marriages in five, ten, twenty categories, according to the -sensitiveness of the parties concerned. Thus we should have life-unions -intended for persons of aristocratic scrupulosity; for persons of less -refined consciences, we should establish contracts with facilities for -one, two or three divorces; for persons inferior still, we should have -temporary connections for five years, three years, one year." -</p> - -<p> -"People would marry just as they grant a lease," it was jestingly -observed. -</p> - -<p> -"Why not?" continued the other; "the age boasts of being a revolutionary -one, and it has never ventured upon what the pettiest legislator of -antiquity undertook without hesitation—interference with morals." -</p> - -<p> -"I see what you mean," replied André de Sauve; "you would assimilate -marriages with funerals—first, second, or third class——." -</p> - -<p> -None of the guests who were amused by this tirade and the reply, amid -the brightness of the crystal, the dresses of the women, the pyramids of -fruit and the clusters of flowers, suspected the indignation which such -talk aroused in Hubert. Who would notice the silent and modest youth at -one end of the table? He himself, however, felt wounded to the very soul -in the inmost convictions of his childhood and his youth, and he glanced -by stealth at Theresa. She did not utter fifty words during this dinner. -She seemed to have wandered in thought far away from the conversation -which she was supposed to control, and, as though accustomed to this -absence of mind, no one sought to interrupt her reverie. She used to -pass whole hours in this way, absorbed in herself. Her pale complexion -became warmer; the brilliancy of her eyes was, so to speak, turned -within; and her teeth appeared small and close through her half-opened -lips. What was she thinking of at minutes such as these, and by what -secret magic were these same minutes those which acted most strongly -upon the imagination of those who were sensible of her charm? -</p> - -<p> -A physiologist would doubtless have attributed these sudden torpors to -passages of nervous emotion, were they not the token of a sensual -aberration against which the poor creature struggled with all her -strength. Hubert had seen in the silence of that evening only a delicate -woman's disapprobation of the talk of her friends and her husband, and -he had found it a supreme pleasure to go up to her and talk to her on -leaving the dinner-table, at which his dearest beliefs had been wounded. -He had seated himself beneath the gaze of her eyes, now limpid once -more, in one of the corners of the drawing-room—an apartment -furnished completely in the modern style, and which, with its opulence -that made it like a little museum, its plushes, its ancient stuffs, and -its Japanese trinkets, contrasted with the severe apartments in the Rue -Vaneau as absolutely as the lives of Madame Castel and Madame Liauran -could contrast with the life of Madame de Sauve. -</p> - -<p> -Instead of recognising this evident difference and making it a -starting-point for studying the newness of the world in which he found -himself, Hubert gave himself up to a feeling very natural in those whose -childhood has been passed in an atmosphere of feminine solicitude. -Accustomed by the two noble creatures who had watched over his childhood -always to associate the idea of a woman with something inexpressibly -delicate and pure, it was inevitable that the awakening of love should -in his case be accomplished in a sort of religious and reverential -emotion. He must extend to the person he loved, whoever she might be, -all the devotion that he had conceived for the saints whose son he was. -</p> - -<p> -A prey to this strange confusion of ideas, he had, on that very first -evening on his return home, spoken of Theresa to his mother and his -grandmother, who were waiting for him, in terms which had necessarily -aroused the mistrust of the two women. He understood that now. But what -young man has ever begun to love without being hurried by the sweet -intoxication of the beginnings of a passion into confidences that were -irreparable, and too often deathful, to the future of his feelings? -</p> - -<p> -In what manner and by what stage had this feeling entered into him? He -could not have told that. When once a man loves, does it not seem as -though he has always loved? Scenes were evoked, nevertheless, which -reminded Hubert of the insensible habituation which had led him to visit -Theresa several times a week. But had he not been gradually introduced -at her house to all her friends, and, as soon as he had left his card, -had he not found himself invited in all directions into that world which -he scarcely knew, and which was composed partly of high functionaries of -the fallen administration, partly of great manufacturers and political -financiers, and partly, again, of celebrated artists and wealthy -foreigners. -</p> - -<p> -It formed a society free from constraint and full of luxury, pleasure -and life, but one the tone of which ought to have displeased the young -man, for he could not comprehend its qualities of elegance and -refinement, and he was very sensible of its terrible fault—the want -of silence, of moral life, and of long custom. Ah! he was not much -concerned with observations of this kind, occupied solely as he was to -know where he should perceive Madame de Sauve and her eyes. He called to -mind countless times at which he had met her—sometimes at her own -house, seated at the corner of her fireplace, towards the close of the -afternoon, and lost in one of her silent reveries; sometimes visiting in -full costume and smiling with her Herodias lips at conversations about -dresses or bonnets; sometimes in the front of a box at a theatre and -talking in undertones during an interval; sometimes in the tumult of the -street, dashing along behind her bright bay horse and bowing her head at -the window with a graceful movement. -</p> - -<p> -The recollection of this carriage produced a new association of ideas in -Hubert, and he could see again the moment at which he had confessed the -secret of his feelings for the first time. Madame de Sauve and he had -met that day about five o'clock in a drawing-room in the Avenue du Bois -de Boulogne, and as it was beginning to rain in torrents the young woman -had proposed to Hubert, who had come on foot, to take him in her -carriage, having, she said, a visit to pay near the Rue Vaneau, which -would enable her to leave him at his door on the way. He had, in fact, -taken his seat beside her in the narrow double brougham lined with green -leather, in which there lingered something of that subtle atmosphere -which makes the carriage of an elegant woman a sort of little boudoir on -wheels, with all the trifling objects belonging to a pretty interior. -The hot-water jar was growing lukewarm beneath their feet; the glass, -set in its sheath in front, awaited a glance; the memorandum book placed -in the nook, with its pencil and visiting cards, spoke of worldly tasks; -the clock hanging on the right marked the rapid flight of those sweet -minutes. A half-opened book, slipped into the place where portable -purchases are usually put, showed that Theresa had obtained the -fashionable novel at the bookseller's. -</p> - -<p> -Outside in the streets, where the lamps were beginning to light up, -there was the wildness of a glacial winter storm. Theresa, wrapped in a -long cloak which showed the outlines of her figure, was silent. In the -triple reflection from the carriage lamps, the gas in the street and the -expiring day, she was so divinely pale and beautiful that Hubert, -overpowered by emotion, took her hand. She did not withdraw it; she -looked at him with motionless eyes, that were drowned, as it were, in -tears which she would not have dared to shed. Without even hearing the -sound of his own words, so intoxicated was he by this look, he said to -her: -</p> - -<p> -"Ah! how I love you!" -</p> - -<p> -She grew still more pale, and laid her gloved hand upon his mouth to -make him be silent. He began to kiss this hand madly, seeking for the -place where the opening of the glove allowed him to feel the living -warmth of the wrist. She replied to this caress by that word which all -women utter at like moments—a word so simple, but one into which -creep so many inflexions, from the most mortal indifference to the most -emotional tenderness— -</p> - -<p> -"You are a child." -</p> - -<p> -"Do you love me a little?" he asked her. -</p> - -<p> -And then, as she looked at him with those same eyes which sent forth a -ray of happiness, he could hear her murmur in a stifled voice: -</p> - -<p> -"A great deal." -</p> - -<p> -For most Parisian young men, such a scene would have been the prelude to -an effort towards the complete possession of a woman so evidently -smitten—an effort which might, perhaps, have miscarried; for a woman -of the world who wishes to protect herself finds many means, if she be -anything of a coquette, of avoiding a surrender, even after avowals of -the kind, or still more compromising marks of attachment. But there was -as little coquetry in the case of Madame de Sauve as there was physical -daring in that of the child of twenty-two who loved her. Did not these -two beings find themselves placed by chance in a situation of the -strangest delicacy? He was incapable of any further enterprise by reason -of his entire purity. As for her, how could she fail to understand that -to offer herself to him was to risk a diminution of his love? Such -difficulties are less rare under the conditions imposed upon the -feelings by modern manners than the fatuity of men will allow. -</p> - -<p> -As manners are at present, all action between two persons who love each -other simultaneously becomes a sign, and how could a woman who knows -this fail to hesitate about compromising her happiness for ever by -seeking to embrace it too soon? Did Theresa obey this prudential motive, -or did she, perchance, find a heart's delight of delicious novelty in -the burning respect of her friend? With all men whom she had met before -this one, love had been only a disguised form of desire, and desire -itself an intoxicated form of self-pride. But whatever the reason might -be, she granted the young man all the meetings that he asked for during -the months following this first avowal, and all these meetings remained -as essentially innocent as they were clandestine. -</p> - -<p> -While the Boulogne train was carrying Hubert towards the most longed-for -of these meetings he remembered the former ones—those passionate and -dangerous walks, nearly all hazarded across early Paris. They had in -this way adventured their ingenuous and guilty idyll in all the places -in which it seemed unlikely that anyone belonging to their set would -meet them. How many times, for instance, had they visited the towers of -Notre Dame, where Theresa loved to walk in her youthful grace amid the -old stone monsters carved on the balustrades? Through the slender ogive -windows of the ascent they looked alternately at the horizon of the -river confined between the quays, and that of the street confined -between the houses. In one of the buildings crouching in the shadow of -the cathedral, on the side of the Rue de Chanoinesse, there was a small -apartment on the fifth storey running out into a terrace, behind the -panes of which they used to imagine the existence of a romance similar -to their own, because they had twice seen a young woman and a young man -breakfasting there, seated at the same round table, with the window half -open. -</p> - -<p> -Sometimes the squalls of the December wind would roar round the pile, -and storms of melted snow would heat upon the walls. Theresa was none -the less punctual to the appointment, leaving her cab before the great -doorway and crossing the church to go out of it at the side, and there -join Hubert in the dark peristyle which comes before the towers. Her -delicate teeth shone in her pretty smile, and her slender figure -appeared still more elegant in this ornament of the ancient city. Her -happy grace seemed to work even upon the old caretaker who, surrounded -by her cats, gives out the tickets from the depths of her lodge, for she -used to give her a grateful smile. -</p> - -<p> -It was on the staircase of one of these ancient towers that Hubert had -ventured, for the first time, to print a kiss upon the pale face that to -him was divine. Theresa was climbing in front of him that morning up the -hollowed steps which turn about the stone pillar. She stopped for a -minute to take breath; he supported her in his arms, and, as she leaned -back gently and rested her head upon his shoulder, their lips met. The -emotion was so strong that he was like to die. This first kiss had been -followed by another, then by ten, then by such numbers of others that -they lost count of them. Oh, those long, thrilling, deep kisses, of -which she used to say tenderly, as though to justify herself in the -thought of her sweet accomplice: -</p> - -<p> -"I am as fond of kisses as a little girl!" -</p> - -<p> -They had thus madly peopled all the retreats wherein their imprudent -love had taken shelter with these adorable kisses. Hubert could remember -having embraced Theresa when they both were seated on a tomb-stone in a -deserted walk of one of the Paris cemeteries one bright, warm morning, -while around them stretched the garden of the dead, with its funereal -landscape of evergreens and tombs. He had embraced her again on one of -the benches in the distant park of Montsouris, one of the least known in -the town—a park quite recently planted, crossed by a railway, -overlooked by a pavilion of Chinese architecture, and having a horizon -formed by the factories in the mournful Glacière quarter stretching -around it. -</p> - -<p> -At other times they had driven in an indeterminate fashion along the -dull slopes of the fortifications, and when it was time to return home -Theresa was always the first to depart. Himself hidden in the cab, which -remained stationary, he could see her crossing the kennels with her -dainty feet. She would walk along the footpath, not a spot of mud -dishonouring her dress, and would turn as though involuntarily to enwrap -him in a last look. It was on such occasions that he was only too -sensible of the dangers which he was causing this woman to incur, but -when he spoke to her of his fears she would reply, shaking her head with -so easily tragic an expression: -</p> - -<p> -"I have no children. What harm can be done to me unless you are taken -from me?" -</p> - -<p> -Although they did not belong entirely to each other they had come to -employ those familiarities in language which accompany a mutual passion. -Nearly every morning they wrote notes to each other, a single one of -which, would have been sufficient to prove Theresa to be Hubert's -mistress, and yet she was nothing of the kind. But whatever the detail -over which the young man's memory lingered, he always found that she had -not opposed any of the marks of tenderness which he had asked of her. -However, he had never ventured to imagine anything beyond clasping her -hands, her waist, her face, or resting, like a child, upon her heart. -She had with him that entire, confiding, indulgent abandonment of soul -which is the only token of true love that the most skilful coquetry -cannot imitate. -</p> - -<p> -And in contrast with this tenderness, and serving to heighten its -sweetness still more, each scene in this idyll had corresponded to some -painful explanation between the young man and his mother, or some cruel -anguish on finding Madame de Sauve in the evening with her husband. The -latter, in reality, paid no attention to Hubert, but Madame Liauran's -son was not yet accustomed to the dishonouring falsehood of the cordial -hand-shake offered to the man who is being deceived. What mattered these -trifles, however, since they were going—he to join her, and she to -wait for him in the little English town at which they were to spend two -days together? Was it to Hubert or to Theresa that this idea had occurred? -The young man could not have told. André de Sauve was in Algeria for -the purpose of a Parliamentary inquiry. -</p> - -<p> -Theresa had a convent friend who lived in the country, and was -sufficiently trustworthy to allow her to give out that she had gone to -see her. On the other hand she affirmed that the position of Folkestone, -on the way from Paris to London, made it the safest shelter in winter, -because French travellers pass through the town without ever stopping -there. At the mere thought of seeing her again, Hubert's heart melted in -his breast, and, with a quivering impossible of definition, he felt -himself on the point of rolling into a gulf of mystery, of intoxicating -forgetfulness and felicity. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></h4> - -<p> -The packet was approaching the Folkestone pier. The slender hull heaved -on the sea, which was perfectly green, and was scantily striated with -silver foam. The two white funnels gave forth smoke which curved behind -under the pressure of the air rent by the course of the vessel. The two -huge red wheels beat the waves, and behind the boat stretched a hollow -moving track—a sort of glaucous path, fringed with foam. It was a day -with a pale, hazy blue sky, such as frequently occurs on the English -coast towards the end of winter—a day of tenderness, and one which -harmonised divinely with the young man's thoughts. He had rested his -elbows on the netting in the fore part of the vessel, and had not -stirred since the beginning of the passage, which had been one of rare -smoothness. He could now see the smallest details of the approach to the -harbour: the chalky line of coast to the right, with its covering of -meagre turf; to the left the pier resting on its piles; and beyond the -pier, and still more to the left, the little town, with its houses -rising one above another from the base of the cliff to the crest. One by -one he scanned these houses, which stood out with a clearness that grew -constantly more distinct. Which among them all was the refuge where his -happiness was awaiting him in the loved features of Theresa de Sauve? -Which of them was the Star Hotel, chosen by his friend from the -guide-book on account of its name? -</p> - -<p> -"I am superstitious," she had said childishly; "and then, are you not my -dear star?" -</p> - -<p> -She would employ these sudden caresses in language which afterwards -occupied Hubert's thoughts for an indefinite time. He was quite aware -that she would not be waiting for him on the quay, and his eyes sought -for her in spite of himself. But she had multiplied precautions even to -arriving herself the evening before by Calais and Dover. The packet is -still approaching. It is possible to distinguish the faces of some -inhabitants of the town, whose only diversion consists in coming to the -end of the pier in order to witness the arrival of the tidal boat. A few -minutes more and Hubert will be beside Theresa. Ah, if she were to fail -him at the rendezvous! What if she had been sick or overtaken, or if she -had died on the way! The whole legion of foolish suppositions file -before the thoughts of the restless lover. -</p> - -<p> -The boat is in the harbour; the passengers land and hurry to the train. -Hubert was almost the only one to halt in the little town. He allowed -his trunk to go on to London, and took his seat with his portmanteau in -one of the flies standing in front of the terminus. He had felt -something like a touch of melancholy when speaking to the driver and -thus ascertaining how correct and intelligible his English was, -notwithstanding that it was his first journey to England. He recalled -his childhood, his Yorkshire governess, his mother's care to make him -speak every day. If this poor mother were to see him now! Then these -memories were gradually effaced as the light vehicle, drawn by a pony at -a trot, briskly climbed the rude ascent by which the upper part of the -town is reached. -</p> - -<p> -To the left of the young man stretched the wonderful landscape of the -sea, an immense gulf of pale green, blending in its extreme line with a -gulf of blue, and dotted all over with barques, schooners, and steamers. -On the summit the road turned. -</p> - -<p> -The carriage left the cliff, entered a street, then a second, and then a -third, all lined with low houses, whose projecting windows showed rows -of red geraniums and ferns behind their panes. At a turning Hubert -perceived the door of a vast Gothic building and a black plate, the mere -inscription on which, in its gilt letters, made his heart leap. He found -himself in front of the Star Hotel. There was an interval for inquiring -at the office whether Madame Sylvie had arrived—this was the name -that Theresa had chosen to assume on account of the initials engraven on -all her toilet articles, and she was to have been entered in the books -as a dramatic artist; for ascending two storeys and passing down a long -corridor; then the servant opened the door of a small apartment, and -there, seated at a table in a drawing-room, the paleness of her face -increased by deep emotion, and her form clad in a garment of a red silky -material whose graceful folds outlined without accentuating her -figure,—there was Theresa. The coal fire glowed in the fireplace, -the inner sides of which were covered with coloured ware. A rotunda-like -window, of the kind that the English call "bow windows," was at the end -of the apartment, to which the furniture usual in such rooms in Great -Britain gave an aspect of quiet homeliness. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah! it is really you," said the young man, going up to Theresa, who was -smiling at him, and he laid his hand upon his mistress's bosom as though -to convince himself of her existence. This gentle pressure enabled him -to feel beneath the slight material the passionate beatings of the happy -woman's heart. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, it is really I," she replied, with more languor than usual. -</p> - -<p> -He sat down beside her and their lips met. It was one of those kisses of -supreme delight in which two lovers meeting after absence strive to -impart, together with the tenderness of the present hour, all the -unexpressed tendernesses of the hours that have been lost. A tap at the -door separated them. -</p> - -<p> -"It is for your luggage," said Theresa, pushing her lover away with a -gesture of regret; then, with a subtle smile: "Would you like to see -your room? I have been here since yesterday evening; I hope that you -will be pleased with everything. I thought so much of you in getting the -little room ready." -</p> - -<p> -She drew him by the hand into an apartment which adjoined the -drawing-room, and the window of which looked upon the garden of the -hotel. The fire was lighted in the fireplace. Vases, gay with flowers, -stood on the bracket and also on the table, over which Theresa, to give -it a more homelike appearance, had spread a Japanese cloth which she had -brought. On it she had placed three frames with those portraits of -herself which the young man preferred. He turned to thank her, and he -encountered one of those looks which make the heart quite faint, and -with which an affectionate woman seems to thank him whom she loves for -the pleasure which he has been pleased to receive from her. But the -presence of the servant engaged in setting down and opening the -portmanteau prevented him from replying to this look with a kiss. -</p> - -<p> -"You must be tired," she said; "while you are settling down I will go -and tell them to get tea ready in the drawing-room. If you knew how -sweet it is to me to wait on you——." -</p> - -<p> -"Go," he said, unable to find a phrase in reply, so completely was his -soul possessed with happy emotion. "How I love her!" he added in a -whisper, and to himself, as he watched her disappearing through the door -with that figure and walk of a young girl which were still left her by -her childless marriage; and he was obliged to sit down that he might not -swoon before the evidence of his felicity. The human creature is -naturally so organised for misfortune that there is something ravishing -in the complete realisation of desire, like a sudden entry upon a -miracle or a dream, and, at a certain degree of intensity, it seems as -if the joy were not true. And then, was not the novelty of the situation -bound to act like a sort of opium upon the brain of this child, who -could not comprehend that his mistress had seized upon the circumstance -to evade by this very strangeness the difficulties preliminary to a more -complete surrender of her person? -</p> - -<p> -Yes, was this joy true? Hubert asked himself the question a quarter of -an hour later, seated beside Madame de Sauve in the little drawing-room -at the square table, on which were placed all the apparatus necessary to -lend it enjoyment: the silver teapot, the ewer of hot water, the -delicate cups. Had she not brought those two cups from Paris with her in -order, doubtless, always to have them? She waited on him, as she had -said, with her pretty hands, from which she had taken her wedding ring, -in order to remove from the young man's thoughts all occasion for -remembering that she was not free. During those afternoon hours, the -silence of the little town was almost palpable around them, and the -sense of a common solitude deepening in their hearts was so intense that -they did not speak, as though they feared that their words might awake -them from the intoxicating kind of sleep which was creeping over their -souls. Hubert had his head resting upon his hand, and was looking at -Theresa. He felt her at this moment so completely his own, so near to -his most secret being, that he had even ceased to experience the need of -her caresses. -</p> - -<p> -She was the first to break the silence, of which she suddenly became -afraid. She rose from her chair and came and sat down upon the ground at -the young man's feet, with her head on his knees, and, as he still -continued motionless, there was disquiet in her eyes; then submissively, -and in that subdued tone of voice which no lover has ever resisted, she -said: -</p> - -<p> -"If you knew how I tremble lest I should displease you! I cried -yesterday evening beside the fire in this room, where I was waiting for -you, thinking that you would be sure to love me less after my coming -here. Ah! you will be angry with me for loving you too much, and for -venturing to do what I have done for you!" -</p> - -<p> -The anguish preying upon this charming woman was so great that Hubert -saw her features change somewhat as she uttered these words. The whole -drama which had been enacted within her from the beginning of this -attachment took form for the first time. At this moment especially, -seeing him so young, so pure, so free from brutality, so completely in -accordance with her dream, she felt a mad longing to lavish marks of her -tenderness upon him, and she trembled more than ever lest she should -offend him, or perhaps—for there are such strange recesses in -feminine consciences—corrupt him. Giving herself up to the -pleasure of thinking aloud upon these things for the first time, she -went on: -</p> - -<p> -"We women, when we love, can do nothing else but love. From the day when -I met you coming back from the country I have belonged to you. I would -have followed you wherever you had asked me to follow you. Nothing has -had any further existence for me—nothing but yourself; no," she added -with a fixed look, "neither good nor evil, nor duty, nor remembrance. -But can you understand that—you who think, as all men do, that it is -a crime to love when one is not free?" -</p> - -<p> -"I have ceased to know," replied Hubert, bending towards her to raise -her, "except that you are to me the noblest and dearest of women." -</p> - -<p> -"No, let me remain at your feet, like your little slave," she rejoined, -with an expression of ecstacy; "but is it truly true? Ah! swear to me -that you will never speak ill to yourself of this hour." -</p> - -<p> -"I swear it," said the young man, who was overcome by his mistress's -emotion without well knowing why. -</p> - -<p> -At this simple speech she raised her head; she stood up as lightly as a -young girl, and leaning over Hubert began to cover his face with -passionate kisses, then, knitting her brows and making an effort, as it -were, over herself, she left him, drew her hands over her eyes, and said -in a calmer, though still uncertain voice: -</p> - -<p> -"I am foolish; we must go out. I will go and put on my bonnet and we -will take a drive. Will you be so kind as to ask for a carriage?" she -added in English. -</p> - -<p> -When she spoke this language her pronunciation became something -perfectly graceful and almost child-like; and giving him a coquettish -little salute with her hand she left the drawing-room by a door opposite -to that of Hubert's apartment. -</p> - -<p> -This same mixture of fond anxiety, sudden exaltation, and tender -childishness continued on her part through the whole drive, which, to -both of them, was made up of a sequence of supreme emotions. By a chance -such as does not occur twice in the course of a human life, they found -themselves placed precisely in such circumstances as must lift their -souls to the highest possible degree of love. The social world, with its -murderous duties, was far away. It had as little existence for their -minds as the driver, who, perched up behind them and invisible, drove -the light cab in which they found themselves alone together, along the -route from Folkestone to Sandgate and Hythe. The world of hope, on the -other hand, opened up before them like a garden arrayed in the most -beautiful flowers. They saw themselves rewarded—he for his innocence, -and she for the reserve imposed by her upon her reason, with an -experience as delicious as it is rare: they enjoyed the intimacy of -heart which usually comes only after long possession, and they enjoyed -it in all the freshness of timid desire. But this timid desire had in -both cases a background of intoxicating certainty, lucid to Theresa -though still obscure to Hubert; and it was in a vast and noble landscape -that they were filled with these rare sensations. -</p> - -<p> -They were now following the road from Folkestone to Hythe, a slender -ribbon running along by the sea. The green cliff is devoid of rocks, but -its height is sufficient to give the road over which it hangs that look -of a sheltered retreat which imparts a restful charm to valleys lying at -mountain bases. The shingle beach was covered by the high tide. Not a -bird was flying over the wide, moving sea. Its greenish immensity shaded -to violet as the closing day shadowed the cold azure of the sky. The -vehicle went quickly on its two wheels, drawn by a strong-backed horse, -whose over-large bit forced him at times to throw up his head with a -wrench of his mouth. Theresa and Hubert, close to each other in their -sort of sentry-box on wheels, held each other's hands beneath the -travelling plaid that was wrapped about them. They suffered their -passion to dilate like the ocean, to tremble within them with the -plentitude of the billows, to grow wild like that barren coast. -</p> - -<p> -Since the young woman had asked that singular oath of her lover, she -seemed somewhat calmer, in spite of flashes of sudden reverie which -dissolved into mute effusions. On his side, he had never loved her so -completely. He could not refrain from taking her ceaselessly to him and -pressing her in his arms. An infinite longing to draw still more closely -to her mounted to his brain and intoxicated him, and yet he dreaded the -coming of the evening with the mortal anguish of those to whom the -feminine universe is a mystery. In spite of the proofs of passion that -Theresa showed him, he felt himself in her presence a prey to an -insurmountable impotence of will, which would have grown to pain had he -not at the same time had an immense confidence in the soul of this -woman. The feeling of an unknown abyss into which their love was about -to plunge, and which might have terrified him with an almost animal -fear, became more tranquil because he was descending into the abyss with -her. In truth she had a charming understanding of the troubles which -must agitate him whom she loved; was it not in order to spare his -overstrung nerves that she had brought him for this drive, during which -the grandeur of the prospect, the breeze from the offing, and the -walking at intervals, kept both herself and him above the disquietude -inevitable to a too ardent desire. -</p> - -<p> -They went on in this manner until the tragic hour when the stars shine -in the nocturnal sky, now walking over the shingle, now getting into the -little carriage again, ceaselessly following the same paths again and -again, without being able to make up their minds to return, as though -understanding that they might again experience other moments of -happiness, but of happiness such as this, never! The dim intuition of -the universal soul, of which visible forms and invisible feelings are -alike the effect, revealed to them, unknown to themselves, a mysterious -analogy, and, as it were, a divine correspondence between the particular -face of this corner of nature and the undefined essence of their -tenderness. She said to him: -</p> - -<p> -"To be with you here is a happiness too great to admit of a return to -life," and he did not smile with incredulity at these words, as she felt -assured when he said to her: -</p> - -<p> -"It seems to me that I have never opened my eyes upon a landscape until -this moment." -</p> - -<p> -And when they walked it was he who took Theresa's arm and leaned -coaxingly upon it. Without knowing it he thus symbolised the strange -reversal of parts in this attachment in accordance with which he, with -his frail person, his entire innocence, and the purity of his timorous -emotions, had always represented the feminine element. Certainly she, on -her part, was quite a woman, with the suppleness of her gait, the feline -refinement of her manners, and those liquid eyes which threw themselves -into every look. Nevertheless she appeared a stronger creature and one -better armed for life than the delicate child, the fragile handiwork of -the tenderness of two pure women, whom she had enmeshed in so slight a -tissue of seduction, and who, scarcely taller than herself by a quarter -of an inch of forehead, surrendered himself with fraternal confidence; -while the mere movement of their gait spoke clearly enough in its -perfect, rhythmical harmony, of the complete union of their hearts, -causing them to beat at that moment closely together. -</p> - -<p> -They went in again. The dinner following this afternoon of dreams was a -silent and almost sombre one. It seemed as though they were both afraid -the one of the other. Or was it merely with her a recrudescence of that -dread of displeasing him which had made her defer the surrender of her -person until this hour, and with him that sort of intractable melancholy -which is the last sign of primitive animality, and which precedes in man -every entry into complete love? As happens at such times, their speech -was calmer and more indifferent in proportion as the disquietude of -their hearts was increased. These two lovers, who had spent the day in -the most romantic exaltation, and who were met in the solitude of this -foreign retreat, seemed to have nothing to say to each other but -sentences concerning the world that they had left. -</p> - -<p> -They separated early, and just as if they had said good-bye until the -following day, although they both knew perfectly well that to sleep -apart from each other was impossible to them. Thus Hubert was not -astonished, although his heart beat as if it would break when, at the -very moment that he was about to seek her, he heard the key turn in the -door, and Theresa entered, clad in a long, pliant wrapper of white lace, -and with an impassioned sweetness in her eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah!" she said, closing Hubert's eyelids with her perfumed fingers, "I -want so much to rest upon your heart." -</p> - -<p> -Towards midnight the young man awoke, and seeking the face of his -mistress with his lips, found that her cheeks, which he could not see, -were bathed in tears. -</p> - -<p> -"You are grieved," he said to her. -</p> - -<p> -"No," she replied, "they are tears of gratitude. Ah!" she went on, "how -could they fail to take you from me beforehand, my angel, and how -unworthy I am of you!" -</p> - -<p> -Enigmatic words which Hubert was often to remember later on, and which, -even at this moment, and in spite of the kisses, raised suddenly within -him that vapour of sadness which is the customary accompaniment of -pleasure. Through it he could see, as by a lightning flash, a house that -was familiar to him, and, bending down beneath the lamp, among the -family portraits, the faces of the two women who had reared him. It was -only for a second, and he laid his head upon Theresa's breast, there to -forget all thought, while the vague complaining of the sea reached him, -softened by the distance—a mysterious and distant murmur like the -approach of fate. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a></h4> - -<p> -A fortnight later Hubert Liauran stepped upon the platform of the -Northern Terminus about five o'clock in the evening, on his return from -London by the day train. Count Scilly and Madame Castel were waiting for -him. But what were his feelings when, among the faces pressing around -the doors, he recognised that of Theresa? They had made an appointment -by letter to meet on the evening of that day, which was a Tuesday, in -her box at the Théâtre Français. Nevertheless, she had not withstood -the desire of seeing him again some hours earlier, and in her eyes there -shone supreme emotion, formed of happiness at beholding him and sorrow -at being separated from him; for they could only exchange a bow, which, -fortunately, escaped the grandmother. -</p> - -<p> -Theresa disappeared, and while the young man was standing in the -luggage-room an involuntary impulse of ill-humour arose within him and -caused him to tell himself that the two old people, who, nevertheless, -loved him so much, really ought not to have been there. This little -painful impression, which, at the very moment of his return, showed him -the weight of the chain of family tenderness, was renewed as soon as he -found himself again face to face with his mother. From the first glance -he felt that he was being studied, and, as he was but little accustomed -to dissimulation, he believed that he was seen through. The fact was -that his own eyes had been changed, as those of a young girl who has -become a woman are changed, with one of those imperceptible alterations -which reside in a shade of expression. -</p> - -<p> -But how could the mother be deceived by them—she who for so many -years had watched all the reflections of those dark pupils, and who now -grasped within them a depth of intoxicated and fathomless felicity? But -to the putting of a question on the subject the poor woman was not -equal. Shades of feeling, the principal events in the life of the heart, -elude the formulas of phrases, and thence arise the worst -misunderstandings. Hubert was very gay during dinner, with a gaiety that -was rendered somewhat nervous by the prevision of an approaching -difficulty. How would his mother take his going out in the evening? -Half-an-hour had not elapsed since leaving table when he rose like one -who is about to say good-bye. -</p> - -<p> -"You are leaving us?" said Madame Liauran. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, mamma," he replied, with a slight blush on his cheeks; "Emmanuel -Deroy has entrusted me with a commission, which is extremely pressing, -and which I must execute to-night." -</p> - -<p> -"You cannot put it off until to-morrow, and give us your first evening?" -asked Madame Castel, who wished to spare her daughter the humiliation of -a refusal which she could foresee. -</p> - -<p> -"Indeed no, grandmother," he replied, in a tone of childish playfulness; -"that would not be courteous to my friend, who has been so kind to me in -London." -</p> - -<p> -"He is deceiving us," said Madame Liauran to herself, and, as silence -had fallen upon those in the drawing-room after Hubert's departure, she -listened to hear whether the hall-door would be opened immediately. -Half-an-hour passed without her hearing it. She could not stand it, and -she begged the General to go to the young man's room, under pretence of -fetching a book, in order to learn whether he had dressed that evening. -He had, in fact, done so. He was going, then, to Madame de Sauve's -house, or else somewhere in order to meet her again. Such was the -conclusion drawn from this indication by the jealous mother, who, for -the first time, confessed her lengthened anxieties to the Count. The -tone in which she spoke prevented the latter from confessing, in his -turn, the loan of one hundred and twenty pounds which Hubert had -received from him, and which, so he thought to himself, had doubtless -been spent in following this woman. -</p> - -<p> -"He has deceived me once more," exclaimed Madame Liauran; "he who had -such a horror of deceit. Ah! how she has changed him!" -</p> - -<p> -Thus the evidence of a metamorphosis of character undergone by her son -tortured her on that first day. It became even worse during those which -followed. She would not, however, admit all at once that her dear, -innocent Hubert was Madame de Sauve's lover. She would not resign -herself to the idea that he could be guilty of an error of the kind -without terrible remorse. She had brought him up in such strict -principles of religion! She did not know that Theresa's first care was -just to lull all the young man's scruples of conscience by leading him -insensibly from timid tenderness to burning passion. Caught in the mesh -of this sweet snare, Hubert had literally never judged his life for the -past five months, and nature had become his lover's accomplice. We -easily repent of our pleasures, but it is difficult to have remorse for -happiness, and the youth was happy with such an absolute felicity as -cannot even see the sufferings that it causes. -</p> - -<p> -Nevertheless, it was upon the influence of her suffering that Madame -Liauran almost solely relied in the campaign which she had -undertaken—she, a simple woman, who knew nothing of life but its -duties—against a creature whom she imagined as being at once -fascinating and fatal, bewitching and deadly. She had adopted the -ingenuous system which is common to all tender jealousies, and which -consisted in showing her distress. She said to herself, "He will see -that I am in an agony; will not that suffice?" The misfortune was that -Hubert, in the intoxication of his passion, saw in his mother's distress -only tyrannical injustice to a woman whom he looked upon as divine, and -to a love which he considered sublime. When he returned from the Bois de -Boulogne in the morning, after taking a ride on horseback and seeing -Madame de Sauve pass in the carriage drawn by two grey ponies which she -drove herself, he would at breakfast encounter the saddened profile of -his mother, and would say to himself: -</p> - -<p> -"She has no right to be sad. I have not taken any of my affection from -her." -</p> - -<p> -He reasoned instead of feeling. His mother laid her bleeding heart in -the way before him and he passed it by. When he was to dine out, and his -mother's good-bye at the moment of his departure forewarned him that -Madame Liauran would spend an evening of melancholy in regretting him, -he would think: -</p> - -<p> -"Yet what if she knew that Theresa reproaches me for devoting too much -of my time to her love!" -</p> - -<p> -And it was true. His mistress had the ready generosity of women who know -that they are vastly preferred, and who are very careful not to ask the -man who loves them to act as they wish. There is such a delicate -pleasure in leaving one's lover free, in encouraging him, even, to -sacrifice you, when it is certain what his decision will be! It thus -happened that Hubert would return to the house in the Rue Vaneau after -having a secret meeting with Theresa during the day,—for Emmanuel -Deroy had put his small bachelor abode in the Avenue Friedland at his -friend's disposal. But then, whether it was that the nervous sadness which -accompanies over-keen pleasures made him cruel, or that secret remorse -of conscience came to torment him, or that there was too strong a -contrast between the charming forms assumed by Theresa's tenderness and -the sad ones in which that of Madame Liauran was arrayed, the young man -became really ungrateful. -</p> - -<p> -Irritation, not pity, increased within him before the sorrow of her -whose idolised son he nevertheless was. Marie Alice apprehended this -shade of feeling, and she suffered more from it than from all the rest, -not divining that the excess of her grief was an irreparable error of -management, and that a demoralising comparison was being set up in -Alexander Hubert's mind between the severities of his relatives and the -fond delights of his chosen affection. -</p> - -<p> -Spent by continual anxiety, the mother had exhausted her strength when -an event, unexpected though easy to be foreseen, gave still greater -prominence to the antagonism which brought her into ceaseless collision -with her son. It was Holy Week. She had counted upon Hubert's confession -and communion for making a supreme attempt, and inducing him to sever -relations which she considered as yet incompletely guilty, but full of -danger. It could not enter into her head as a fervent Christian that her -son would fail in his paschal duty. Thus she felt no doubt with respect -to his reply as she asked him at a time when they were alone together: -</p> - -<p> -"On what day will you receive the sacrament this year?" -</p> - -<p> -"Mamma," replied Hubert, with evident embarrassment, "I ask your -forgiveness for the sorrow that I am going to cause you. I must, -however, confess to you that doubts have come upon me, and that -conscientiously I do not think that I can approach the holy table." -</p> - -<p> -This reply was the lightning-flash which suddenly showed Marie Alice the -abyss wherein her son had sunk, while she believed him to be merely on -the brink. She was not for a moment deceived by Hubert's imaginary -pretext. And whence could religious doubts come to him who for months -had not read a book? She knew, further, her child's simplicity of soul -towards the instruction over which she had herself presided. No; if he -would not communicate it was because he would not confess. He had a -horror of acknowledging some unacknowledgable fault. And what was this -if not that one which had been the evil work of the past six -months? . . . -</p> - -<p> -An adulterer! Her son was an adulterer! A terrible word, which to her, -so loyal and pure and pious, described the most repellant baseness, the -ignominy of falsehood mingled with the turpitude of the flesh. In her -indignation she found energy to at last open up her whole heart to -Hubert. Agitated as she was by religious fears for the salvation of her -beloved child, she uttered sentences which she would never have believed -herself capable of pronouncing, mentioning Madame de Sauve by name, -heaping the harshest reproaches upon her, withering her with all the -scorn which a woman who is virtuous can harbour for one who is not, -invoking the memory of their common past, threatening and beseeching in -turns—in short, throwing aside all calculation. -</p> - -<p> -"You are mistaken, mamma," replied Hubert, who had endured this first -assault without speaking. "Madame de Sauve is not at all what you say; -but as I cannot allow my friends to be insulted in my presence, I warn -you that, on the next conversation of the kind that we have together, I -shall leave the house." -</p> - -<p> -And with this rejoinder, uttered with all the coolness that the feeling -of his mother's injustice had left him, he quitted the room without -another word. -</p> - -<p> -"She has perverted his heart, she has made a monster of him," said -Madame Liauran to Madame Castel when telling her of this scene, which -was followed by three weeks of silence between mother and son. The -latter appeared at breakfast, kissed his mother's forehead, asked her -how she was, sat down to table, and did not open his mouth during the -entire meal. Most frequently he was not present at dinner. He had -confided this grief, as he confided all his griefs, to Theresa, who had -entreated him to yield. -</p> - -<p> -"Do this," she said, "if it be only for me. It is cruel to me to think -that I am the prompter of an evil action in your life." -</p> - -<p> -"Noble darling!" the young man had said, covering her hands with kisses, -and drowning himself in the look from those eyes which were so sweet to -him. -</p> - -<p> -But if his love for his mistress had been increased by this generosity, -so, too, had his sensibility to the rancour which the expressions used -in their painful quarrel had stirred up within him against his mother. -The latter, however, had been so shaken by this disagreement as to have -a recurrence of her nervous malady, which she was able to conceal from -him who was its cause. She was almost entirely forbidden to move, which -did not prevent her from dragging herself at night to her window, at the -cost of grievous suffering. She would open the panes and then the -shutters silently, and with the precaution of a criminal, in order to -see the illumination of Hubert's casements on his return, and as she -gazed at this light filtering in a slender stream, and witnessing to the -presence of the son at once so dear and so completely lost, she would -feel her anger relax, and despair take possession of her. -</p> - -<p> -They were reconciled, thanks to the intervention of Madame Castel, who, -between these two hostilities, suffered a double martyrdom. From the -mother she obtained the promise that Madame de Sauve should never again -be spoken of, and from the son apologies for his sulkiness during so -many days. A fresh period began, in which Marie Alice sought to keep -Hubert at home by some modification in her mode of life. Obstinately -hoping even in despair, as happens whenever the heart holds too -passionate a desire, she told herself that this woman's power over her -son must be largely the result of the recreation that he derived from -the society surrounding her. Was not the home in the Rue Vaneau very -monotonous for an idle young man? -</p> - -<p> -She now felt that she had been very imprudent in considering Hubert's -health too delicate, and in being, moreover, too desirous of his -presence to give him a profession. She was ingenious enough to tell -herself that she ought to enliven their solitude, and, for the first -time during her widowhood, she gave some large dinner-parties. The doors -of the house were thrown open. The chandeliers were lighted. The old -silver plate, with the De Trans' arms upon it, adorned the table, around -which crowded some old people, and some charming young girls as elegant -and pretty as the De Trans' cousins were countrified and awkward. -</p> - -<p> -But since Hubert had been in love with Theresa he had, with a sweet -exaggeration of fidelity, forbidden himself ever to look at any woman -but her. And then it was the month of May. The days were warm and -bright. His mistress and he had ventured upon excursions in some of the -woods which surround Paris—at Saint Cloud, at Chaville, and in the -Forest of Marly. Sitting in the dining-room in the Rue Vaneau, Hubert -would recall Theresa's smile on offering him a flower, the alternation -of sunlight and shadow from the foliage upon her forehead, the paleness -of her complexion among the greenness, a gesture that she had made, the -turn of her foot on the grass of a pathway. -</p> - -<p> -If he listened to the conversation it was to compare the talk of Madame -Liauran's guests with the repartees of Madame de Sauve. The first -abounded in prejudice, which is the inevitable ransom of all very -profound moral life. The second were impregnated with that Parisian wit -the sad vacuity of which was no longer apparent to the young man. He -assisted, then, at his mother's dinners with the face of one whose soul -was elsewhere. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah! what can I do—what can I do?" sobbed Madame Liauran; "everything -wearies him of us, and everything amuses him with that woman. -</p> - -<p> -"Wait," replied Madame Castel. -</p> - -<p> -Wait! It is Wisdom's last word; but the impassioned soul devours itself -grievously in the waiting. As for Marie Alice, whose life was wholly -concentrated upon her child, every hour now was turning the knife about -in the wound. She found it impossible not to abandon herself ceaselessly -to that inquisition into petty details to which the noblest jealousies -are victims. She noticed in her son every new trifle such as young men -wear, and asked herself whether some memory of his guilty love was not -attached to it. -</p> - -<p> -Thus he had on his little finger a gold wedding ring which she did not -recognise as one of his own. Ah! what would she have given to know -whether there were words and a date engraved on the inside! Sometimes, -when kissing him, she would inhale a scent the name of which she did not -know, and which was certainly that used by his mistress. Whenever Madame -Liauran encountered the penetrating and voluptuous delicacy of this -perfume, it was as though a hand had physically bruised her heart. At -last her passion had reached such a pitch, that everything was bound to -inflict, and did inflict, a wound. If she ascertained that his eyes -looked worn and his complexion pale, she would say to her mother: -</p> - -<p> -"She will kill me." -</p> - -<p> -It had always been the custom in this simple-mannered family that the -letters should be given into the hands of Madame Liauran herself, who -afterwards distributed them to their several owners. Hubert had not -ventured to ask Firmin, the doorkeeper, to break the rule for him. Would -not this have been to admit the servant into the secret of the -differences which separated his mother and himself? Now, his mistress -and he used to correspond every day, whether they had already met or -not, with the prodigality of heart characteristic of lovers who know not -how to give enough of themselves to each other. Hubert often succeeded -in preventing his mother from seeing these letters by making an -agreement as to the exact time that Theresa should despatch her note, -and hastening down in time to take the post himself from the -doorkeeper's hands. -</p> - -<p> -Often, also, the letter would arrive unpunctually, and had to come to -him through Madame Liauran. The latter was never deceived about it. She -recognised the writing which to her was the most hateful in the world. -Often, again, instead of a letter, Theresa would send one of those -little blue, quick-travelling missives, and the sense that this paper -had been handled by her son's mistress an hour before was intolerable to -the poor woman. To save Hubert dishonourable strategies, and herself -such terrible palpitation of the heart, she resolved upon ordering her -son's letters to be delivered directly to himself. But then she lost the -only tokens she possessed of the reality of the young man's relations -with Madame de Sauve, and this was a source of fresh hopes, and -consequently of fresh disillusions. -</p> - -<p> -In the month of July, Hubert ceased to go out in the evening, and she -imagined that they had quarrelled; then George Liauran, whom she had -made a confidant of her anxieties, because she knew that he was -acquainted with Theresa, informed her that the latter had left for -Trouville, and the deception was a blow the more to her. It is the -privilege and the scourge of those organisms in which nerves -predominate, that griefs, instead of being lulled by habituation, become -incessantly more exaggerated and inflamed. The smallest details -comprehend an infinity of sorrow within them, as a drop of water -comprehends the infinity of heaven. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a></h4> - -<p> -Of the few persons composing the home circle in the Rue Vaneau, it was -George Liauran himself who was most anxious about the sorrow of Marie -Alice, because it was to him that she most completely betrayed her pain. -She understood that he was the only one who might some day be of service -to her. At every visit he compared the ravages which her one thought had -wrought upon her. Her features were growing thin, her cheeks hollow, and -her complexion livid, while her hair, hitherto so dark, was whitening in -entire tresses. It sometimes happened that George would go out into -society at the conclusion of one of these visits, and meet his cousin -Hubert, nearly always in the same circle as Madame de Sauve, elegant, -handsome, with brilliant eyes and happy mouth. -</p> - -<p> -The contrast roused within him strange feelings, which were a mixture of -good and evil. On the one hand, indeed, George was very fond of Marie -Alice, and with an affection which, during the early days of their -youth, had been a very romantic one with them both. On the other, the, -to him, indubitable connection between this charming Hubert and Theresa -irritated him with a nervous anger without his well knowing why. He felt -towards his cousin that insurmountable ill-will which men of more than -forty and less than fifty years of age profess for the very young men -whom they see making their way in society, and, in fact, taking their -own places. -</p> - -<p> -And then he was one of those who have been hard livers, and who hate -love, whether because they have suffered too much from it, or because -they feel too much regret for it. This hatred of love was complicated -with a complete contempt for women who make slips, and he suspected -Theresa of having already had two intrigues—one with a young deputy, -named Frederick Luzel, and the other with Alfred Fanières, a celebrated -writer. He was one of those who judge a woman by her lovers, wherein he -was wrong, for the reasons which lead a poor creature to surrender -herself are most frequently personal, and foreign to the nature and -character of him who is the cause of the surrender. Now, the great -frankness of Frederick Luzel's manners was a cover to complete -brutality; while Alfred Fanières was a rather handsome fellow of -refined manners, whose cajolery scarcely concealed the fierce egotism of -the skilful artist, with whom everything is simply a means for rising, -from his abilities as a prose writer to his successes of the alcove. -</p> - -<p> -It was upon the germ of corruption deposited by these two characters in -Theresa's heart that George secretly relied when imagining a probable -termination to Hubert's attachment. He told himself that Madame de Sauve -must have acquired habits of pleasure and exigencies of sensation with -these two men, whose cynicism and morals were known to him. He -calculated that Hubert's purity would some day leave her unsatisfied, -and on that day it was almost inevitable that she should deceive him. -"After all," he said to himself, "it will give him pain, but it will -teach him life." George Liauran, in this respect similar to -three-fourths of those of his own age and social standing, was persuaded -that a young man ought, as soon as possible, to frame for himself a -practical philosophy, that is to say, he should, in accordance with the -old misanthropical formulas, have small belief in friendship, look upon -most women as rogues, and explain all human actions by interest, avowed -or disguised. Worldly pessimism has not much more originality than this. -Unfortunately it is nearly always right. -</p> - -<p> -Such was the state of mind of Madame Liauran's cousin respecting the -sentiments of Hubert and Theresa, when, in October of the same year, he -happened to find himself dining with five others in a private room at -the Café Anglais. The repast had been refined and well contrived, and -the wines exquisite, and coffee having been served, and cigars lighted, -they were chatting as men do among themselves. The following is a scrap -of dialogue which George overheard between his left-hand neighbour and -one of the guests, and that at a time when he himself had just been -talking with his right-hand neighbour, so that at first the full import -of the words escaped him. -</p> - -<p> -"We saw them," said the narrator, "through the telescope, from the upper -room in Arthur's, châlet that he uses as a studio, as though they had -been only three yards distant. She entered, in fact, as we had heard -that she did the day before, and she had scarcely done so when he gave -her a kiss—but such a kiss! . . ." and he smacked his lips as he -drained a last drop of liqueur that had remained in his glass. -</p> - -<p> -"Who is 'he'?" asked George Liauran. -</p> - -<p> -"La Croix-Firmin." -</p> - -<p> -"And 'she'?" -</p> - -<p> -"Madame de Sauve." -</p> - -<p> -"By Jove!" said George to himself, "this is a strange business; it was -worth while accepting this fool's invitation." -</p> - -<p> -And with this thought he looked at his host—an exquisite of low -degree—who was exulting with joy at entertaining a few clubmen who -were quite in the fashion. -</p> - -<p> -"We were expecting something better," the other went on to say, "but she -insisted on lowering the curtains. How we chaffed Ludovic about his -jaded look in the morning! Nothing else was spoken of for a week between -Trouville and Deauville. She suspected it, for she left very quickly. -But I will wager a pony that she will be received everywhere this winter -as well as before. The tolerance of Society is becoming——" -</p> - -<p> -"Home-like," said the interlocutor, and the talk continued to go round, -the cigars to be smoked, the kummel cognac to fill the little glasses, -and these moralists to pass judgment upon life. The young man who had -told the scandalous anecdote about Madame de Sauve in the course of the -conversation, was about thirty years old, pale, slight, already used up, -and, for the rest, very amiable and one of those whose name universally -attracts the epithet of "good fellow." In fact he would have blown his -brains out sooner than not have paid a gambling debt within the -appointed time. He had never declined an affair of honour, and his -friends could rely upon him for a service though difficult, or an -advance of money though considerable. -</p> - -<p> -But as to speaking, after drinking, of what one knows about the -intrigues of women of the world, where should we be if we tried to -forbid ourselves this subject of conversation, as well as hypotheses -concerning the secrets of the birth of adulterine children? Perhaps the -very chatterer who had borne eye-witness to the levity of Theresa de -Sauve would have shed genuine tears of sorrow if he had known that his -speech would have been employed as a weapon against the young woman's -happiness. It is an exhaustless source of melancholy for one who mixes -with the world without corrupting his heart, to see how cruelties are -sometimes effected in it with complete security of conscience. But -furthermore, would not George Liauran have learnt from another source -all the details which the indiscretion of his table companion had just -revealed to him so suddenly and with such unassailable precision? -</p> - -<p> -Truth to tell, he was not astonished by it for a moment. Two or three -times, indeed, on his way home, he repeated the words "Poor Hubert!" to -himself, but he secretly felt the mean and irresistible egotistic -titillation which is nine times out of ten produced by the sight of -other people's misfortunes. Were not his prognostications verified? And -this, too, was not devoid of a certain charm. Vulgar misanthropy has -many such satisfactions, which harden the heart that feels them. When a -man despises humanity with an indiscriminating contempt, he ends by -feeling satisfaction at its wretchedness, instead of being distressed by -it. -</p> - -<p> -As for doubt, he did not admit it for a moment, especially when -recalling what he knew of Ludovic de la Croix-Firmin. The latter was a -species of coxcomb, who might, on reflection, appear to be devoid of any -superiority; but he was liked by women, for those mysterious reasons -which we men can no more understand than women can understand the secret -of the influence exercised over us by some of themselves. It is probable -that into these reasons there enters a good deal of that bestiality -which is always present at the bottom of our personal relations. La -Croix-Firmin was twenty-seven years old, the age of the fullest vigour, -with light hair bordering upon red, blue eyes, a clear complexion, and -teeth whose whiteness gleamed between a pair of very fresh lips at every -smile. When he smiled in this way, with his dimpled chin, his square -nose, and his curly locks, he recalled that type, immortal through the -races, of the countenance of Faunus, which the ancients made the -incarnation of happy sensuality. -</p> - -<p> -To complete that quality of physical charm to which many fancies that he -had inspired were due, he had a suppleness of movement peculiar to those -in whom the vital force is very complete. He was of medium height, but -athletic. Although his ignorance was absolute and his intelligence very -moderate, he possessed the gift which renders a man of his make a -dangerous person; he had, in a rare degree, that tact and perception -which reveal the moment when a venture may be made, and when woman, a -creature of rapid moods and fleeting emotions, belongs to the libertine -who can divine it. -</p> - -<p> -This La Croix-Firmin had had many intrigues, and, although his birth and -his future ought to have made him a perfect gentleman, he liked to -relate them; these indiscretions, instead of ruining him, served him, so -to speak, as advertisements. In spite of his light conversation and his -conceit, he had not made a single enemy among the women who had -compromised themselves for him; perhaps because he imaged to their -memories nothing but happy sensation—"'tis the material of the best -recollections," the cynics say, and, in respect of souls devoid of -loftiness, what can be more true? -</p> - -<p> -It was precisely upon La Croix-Firmin's indiscretion that George relied -for mustering some fresh proofs in support of the fact which he had -learned at the dinner at the Café Anglais. Being an old bachelor, he -had a gloomy imagination, and could foresee ill-fortune rather than -good. He had, consequently, long been accustomed to see clearly through -the surface of the social world. He understood the art of going in -pursuit of secret truth, and he excelled in combining into a single -whole the scattered sayings floating in the atmosphere of Parisian -conversation. In this particular case there was no need of so many -efforts. It was simply a matter of finding corroboration for a detail -indisputable in itself. -</p> - -<p> -A few visits to women in society who had spent the season at Trouville, -and a single one to Ella Virieux, a woman belonging to the demi-monde, -and the recognised mistress of La Croix-Firmin's best comrade, were -sufficient for the inquiry. It was quite certain that Ludovic had been -Madame de Sauve's lover, and that the fact was not only one of public -notoriety, but had been established by his own avowal at the seaside. A -hasty departure had alone preserved Theresa from an inevitable affront, -and now that Parisian life was beginning again, ten new scandals were -causing this summer scandal, destined to become dubious like so many -others, to be already forgotten. -</p> - -<p> -George Liauran perceived in it a sure means of at last breaking the -connection between Hubert and Theresa. It was sufficient for this -purpose to warn Marie Alice. He felt, indeed, a moment's hesitation, for -after all he was meddling with a story which did not at all concern him; -but the unacknowledged hatred towards the two lovers which was hidden at -the bottom of his heart carried him over this delicate scrupulousness, -as well as the real desire to free a woman whom he loved from mortal -distress. -</p> - -<p> -On the very evening of the day of his conversation with Ella Virieux, -who, without attaching any further importance to the matter, had -reported to him the secrets which Ludovic had confided to her lover, he -was at the Rue Vaneau and relating to Madame Liauran, who was reclining -beside Madame Castel's easy chair, the unlooked-for news which was at a -stroke to change the aspect of the strife between mother and mistress. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah! the wretch!" cried the poor woman, half-dead from her lengthened -anguish, "she was not even capable of loving him——" -</p> - -<p> -She uttered these words in a deep tone, wherein were condensed all the -ideas which she had formed so long before about her son's mistress. She -had thought so much about what the nature of this guilty creature's -passion could possibly be to render it more potent over Hubert's heart -than her own love, which, for all that, she knew to be infinite! Shaking -her whitened head, so wearied with musing, she went on: -</p> - -<p> -"And it is for such a woman as this that he has tortured us! Ah! mamma, -when he compares what he has sacrificed with what he has preferred, he -will not understand his own behaviour." -</p> - -<p> -Then, holding out her hand to George: -</p> - -<p> -"Thank you, cousin," she said. "You have saved me. If this horrible -intrigue had lasted, I should have died." -</p> - -<p> -"Alas, my poor daughter," said Madame Castel, stroking her hair, "do not -feed upon vain hopes. If Hubert has ever loved you he loves you still. -Nothing is changed. There is only one evil action the more committed by -this woman, and she must be accustomed to it." -</p> - -<p> -"Then you think that he will not know of all this?" said Marie Alice, -raising herself. "But I should be the basest of the base if I were not -to open this unhappy child's eyes. So long as I believed that she loved -him, I was able to keep silence. Guilty as such love might be, it -nevertheless had passion; it was something sincere after all, something -erring, yet exalted—but now, what name can you give such -abominations?" -</p> - -<p> -"Be prudent, cousin," said George Liauran, somewhat disquieted by the -anger with which these last words had been uttered; "remember that we -are not in a position to give poor Hubert such palpable and undeniable -proofs as would baffle all discussion." -</p> - -<p> -"But what further proof do you want," she broke in, "than the assertion -of a spectator?" -</p> - -<p> -"Pooh!" said George; "for those who are in love——" -</p> - -<p> -"You do not know my son," returned the mother, proudly. "There is no -such compliance in him. I only want a promise from you before taking -action. You will relate to him what you have told to us, and as you have -told it to us, if he asks you." -</p> - -<p> -"Certainly," said George, after a pause; "I will tell him what I know, -and he will draw what conclusions he pleases." -</p> - -<p> -"And what if he were to pick a quarrel with this Monsieur de la -Croix-Firmin?" asked Madame Castel. -</p> - -<p> -"He could not," rejoined the mother, whose hopeful over-excitement -rendered her at that moment as keen-sighted respecting the laws of -society as George himself could have been; "our Hubert is too honourable -a man to allow a woman's name to be talked about through him, even -though it were hers." -</p> - -<p> -Yes, poor Hubert! Hour by hour there was thus drawing closer to him that -destiny which the sound of the sea, as heard in the night, would have -symbolised to him during his divine waking at Folkestone had he -possessed more knowledge of life. It was drawing closer, this destiny, -taking for its instrument alternately George Liauran's malevolent -indifference and Marie Alice's blind passion. The last-named, at least, -believed that she was working for her son's happiness, not understanding -that, when in love, it is better to be deceived even a great deal than -to suspect the fact a little. -</p> - -<p> -And yet, notwithstanding what she had said in her conversation with her -cousin, she did not feel equal to speaking herself to her son. She was -incapable of enduring the first outbreak of his grief. Assuredly the -proofs given by George appeared to her impossible of refutation, and -again, in her conscience as a pious mother, she considered that it was -her absolute duty to snatch her son from the monster who was corrupting -him. But how could she receive the counter-stroke of rebellion which -would follow the revelation? -</p> - -<p> -Nevertheless, she hoped that he would return to her in his moments of -despair. She would open her arms to him, and all this nightmare of -misunderstandings would vanish in effusiveness—as of old. -Involuntarily, through a mirage familiar to all mothers as to all -fathers, she took no accurate account of the change of soul which -possibly had been wrought in her son. She still saw in him the child -that once she had known, coming to her with his smallest troubles. -</p> - -<p> -Through the false logic of her tenderness it seemed to her that, the -obstacle which had separated them once removed, they would find -themselves again face to face and the same as before. Her first thought -was to send him immediately to see George; then, with her delicate -woman's sense, she reflected that this would involve an inevitable -wounding of his pride. Once more, therefore, she had recourse to General -Scilly's old friendship, requesting him to tell the young man all. -</p> - -<p> -"You are giving me a terribly difficult commission," he replied, when -she had explained everything to him. "I will obey you if you require it. -I have gone through it myself," he added, "and under almost similar -conditions. A quean is a quean, and they are all like one another. But -the first man who had hinted as much to me would have spent a bad -quarter of an hour. Besides, they had not to speak to me about it, for I -learnt it all myself." -</p> - -<p> -"And what did you do?" asked Marie Alice. -</p> - -<p> -"What a man does when he has a leg broken by the bursting of a shell," -said the old soldier; "I amputated my heart bravely. It was hard, but I -cut clean." -</p> - -<p> -"You can quite see that my son must learn all," replied the mother, in a -tone at once of triumph and of pity. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a></h4> - -<p> -It was after lunching with one of Madame de Sauve's friends, and tasting -the delicious pleasure of seeing his mistress come in with the coffee, -that Hubert Liauran betook himself to the Quai d'Orléans, where a line -from the General had asked him to be at about three o'clock. The young -man had fancied, on receiving his godfather's note, that it had to do -with the arrears of his debt. He knew that the Count was fastidious, and -he had allowed two months to pass away without clearing off the promised -amount. The conversation accordingly began with some words of excuse, -which he stammered out immediately on entering the apartment on the -ground floor. -</p> - -<p> -He had not revisited it since the eve of his departure for Folkestone, -and he experienced in thought all his former sensations on finding the -aspect of the room exactly such as he had left it. The notes on the -reorganisation of the army still covered the table; the bust of Marshal -Bugeaud adorned the mantel-piece; and the General, attired in a -pelisse-shaped dressing-jacket, was methodically smoking his briarwood -pipe. To the first words uttered by his godson he merely replied: -</p> - -<p> -"That is not the question, my dear fellow," in a voice that was at once -grave and sad. -</p> - -<p> -By the mere intonation Hubert understood too well that a scene was -preparing of capital importance to himself. If it is puerile to believe -in presentiments in the sense in which the crowd take the term, no -creature gifted with refinement can deny that the slightest of details -are sufficient to invoke an accurate perception of approaching danger. -The General was silent, and Hubert could see the name of Madame de Sauve -in his eyes and on his lips, although it had never been uttered between -his godfather and himself. He waited, therefore, for the resumption of -the conversation with that passionate beating of the heart which makes -impatience an almost intolerable torture to highly-strung natures. -</p> - -<p> -Scilly, whose whole sentimental experience since his youth was summed up -in a single deception in love, now felt himself seized with great pity -for the blow that he was about to inflict upon a youth so dear to -himself, and the phrases which he had been putting together during the -whole of that morning appeared to him to be devoid of common sense. -Nevertheless, it was necessary to speak. At times of supreme uncertainty -it is the characteristic impressed upon us by our callings in life which -usually manifests itself and guides our action. Scilly was a soldier, -brave and exact. He was bound to go, and he did go, straight to the -point. -</p> - -<p> -"My boy," he said, with a certain solemnity, "you must first know that I -am acquainted with your life. You are the lover of a married woman, who -is called Madame de Sauve. Do not deny it. Honour forbids you to tell me -the truth. But the essential point is to take immediate precautions." -</p> - -<p> -"Why do you speak to me of this," replied the young man, rising and -taking up his hat, "when you acknowledge that honour commands me not -even to listen to you? Look here, godfather, if you have brought me here -to broach this subject, let us have no more of it. I prefer to bid you -good-bye before quarrelling with you." -</p> - -<p> -"But it was not to question you nor to lecture you that I asked for this -interview," replied the Count, taking the hand which Hubert had stiffly -held out to him. "It was to tell you a very grave fact, and one of which -you must, yes, must be informed. Madame de Sauve has another lover, -Hubert, who is not yourself." -</p> - -<p> -"Godfather," said the young man, disengaging his fingers from those of -the old General, and growing pale with sudden anger, "I do not know why -you wish me to cease to respect you. It is infamous to say of a woman -what you have just said of her." -</p> - -<p> -"If you were not concerned," replied the Count, rising, and the sad -gravity of his countenance contrasted strangely with the wild looks of -his godson, "you know very well that I would not speak to you of Madame -de Sauve or of any other woman. But I love you as I should love a son of -my own, and I tell you what I would tell him. You have misplaced your -love; the woman has another lover!" -</p> - -<p> -"Who? When? Where? What are your proofs?" replied Hubert, exasperated -beyond all bounds by the insistence and coolness of the General; "tell -me, tell me——" -</p> - -<p> -"When?—this summer. Who?—a Monsieur de La Croix-Firmin. -Where?—at Trouville. But it is the talk of all the drawing-rooms," -continued Scilly; and, without naming George, he related the -indisputable details which the latter had confided to Madame Liauran, -from the statement of the eye-witness to the indiscreet utterances of La -Croix-Firmin. -</p> - -<p> -The young man listened without interruption, but to one who knew him the -expression of his face was terrible. Anger that was blended of grief and -indignation made him grow pale to the lips. -</p> - -<p> -"And who told you this story?" he asked. -</p> - -<p> -"How does that concern you?" said the General, who understood that to -indicate the real author of the whole statement to Hubert just at first -would be to expose George to a scene which might have a tragical issue. -"Yes, how does that concern you since you are not Madame de Sauve's -lover?" -</p> - -<p> -"I am her friend," rejoined Hubert; "and I have the right to protect -her, as I would protect you, against odious calumnies. Moreover," he -added, looking fixedly at his godfather, "if you refuse to answer my -question, I give you my word of honour that within two days I will find -this Monsieur de La Croix-Firmin who indulges in these knavish -calumnies, and I will have something to say to him without any woman's -name being mentioned." -</p> - -<p> -The General, seeing Hubert's state of overexcitement, and not knowing -what words to use against a frenzy which he had not foreseen,—for it -was based upon the most absolute incredulity,—said to himself that -Madame Liauran alone possessed the power to calm her son. -</p> - -<p> -"I have told you what I had to tell you," he returned, in a melancholy -tone; "if you want to know more, ask your mother." -</p> - -<p> -"My mother?" said the young man violently, "I might have suspected as -much. Well! I will go to her." -</p> - -<p> -And half-an-hour later he entered the little drawing-room in the Rue -Vaneau, where Madame Liauran was at that moment alone. She was waiting, -in fact, for her son, but with mortal anguish. She knew that it was the -time for his explanation with Scilly, and the issue of it now frightened -her. The sight of Hubert's physiognomy increased her fears. He was -livid, with bistre rings beneath his eyes, and Marie Alice immediately -felt the counter-shock of this visible emotion. -</p> - -<p> -"I have come from my godfather's, mother," the young man began, "and he -has said things to me that I shall not forgive him as long as I live. -What pained me still more was that he pretended to have from yourself -the calumnies which he repeated to me concerning one whom you may not -like—but I do not recognise your right to brand her to me, to whom -she has always been perfect—" -</p> - -<p> -"Do not speak to me in that tone, Hubert," said Madame Liauran, "you -hurt me so. It is just as though you were burying a knife in me here." -She pointed to her bosom. -</p> - -<p> -Ah! it was not only Hubert's tone, his short, hard tone, that was -torturing her; it was above all, and once again, the evidence of the -feeling that bound him to Madame de Sauve. -</p> - -<p> -"Of us two," she thought, "he would choose her." The immediate result of -her grief was to revive her hatred for the woman who was its cause, and -in her impulse of aversion she found strength to continue the -conversation. -</p> - -<p> -"You have lost the feelings of our home, my child," she said, in a -calmer voice; "you do not understand what tenderness binds us to -yourself, and what duties it imposes upon us." -</p> - -<p> -"Strange duties, if they consist in echoing degrading reports about one -whose only offence is that she has inspired me with a deep affection." -</p> - -<p> -"No," said Madame Liauran, who was growing excited in her turn; "it is -not a question of resuming a discussion which has already set us face to -face as though for a duel," and the glances of mother and son crossed at -that moment like two sword-blades. "It is a question of this—that you -love a creature who is unworthy of you, and that I, your mother, have -had you told so and tell you so again." -</p> - -<p> -"And I, your son, reply to you—," and he had the word LIE on his -lips; then, as though frightened at what he had been going to -say—"that you are mistaken, mother. I ask your pardon for speaking -to you in this strain," he added, taking her hand and kissing it; "I am -not master of myself." -</p> - -<p> -"Listen, my child," said Marie Alice, from whose eyes the unlooked-for -kindness of this gesture caused the tears to flow; "I cannot go into all -those sad details with you." Here she touched his hair just as in the -days when he was a little child. "Go to your cousin George. He will -repeat to you all that he has told us. For it was he who, in his -anxiety, thought it his duty to warn us. But remember what your mother -tells you now. I believe in the double sight of the heart. I should not -have hated this woman as I have hated her from the very first, if she -had not been bound to prove fatal to you. Now, good-bye, my child. Kiss -me," she added, in broken tones. Did she understand that from that hour -her son's kisses would never be to her what they had formerly been? -</p> - -<p> -Hubert dashed from the room, leaped into a cab, and gave the driver the -address of the club at which he hoped to find George—a small and very -aristocratic one in the Rue du Cirque. But while the man, stimulated by -the promise of a large tip, was whipping his horse, the unhappy youth -was beginning to reflect upon the entirely unexpected blow which had -just fallen upon him. The character of the race of action to which he -belonged manifested itself in the recovery of his self-possession. -</p> - -<p> -From the very first he set aside all notion of calumnious invention on -the part of his mother and godfather. That they both detested Theresa, -he knew. That they were capable of venturing a great deal in order to -detach him from her, had just been proved to him. Yes, Madame Liauran -and the Count might venture upon anything, except falsehood. They -believed, therefore, what they had said, and they believed it on the -word of George Liauran, who had been hawking about one of the thousand -infamous reports of Paris; but with what purpose? Hubert's mind did not, -at this moment, admit that there was an atom of truth in the story of -his mistress's relations with another man. -</p> - -<p> -He did not wait to discuss the fact within himself; he thought only of -the person from whose lips the tale had come. What motive, then, had -prompted his cousin, to whom he was now going in order to demand an -explanation? He saw him in imagination with his thin face, his pointed -beard, his short hair, and his shrewd look. The vision raised within him -a strangely uncomfortable feeling, which, though he did not suspect it, -was the work of Madame de Sauve. George had never up to the present -spoken to Hubert about her in any way that could admit of allusion or -banter. -</p> - -<p> -But women possess a sure instinct of mistrust, and from the first she -had noticed that her love was repugnant to Hubert's cousin. She guessed -that he saw only the whim of a <i>blasée</i> woman where she herself saw a -religion. A woman forgives formal slanders sooner than she forgives the -tone in which she is spoken of, and she understood that the accent of -George's voice as he pronounced her name was in absolute disagreement -with the feelings with which she wished to inspire Hubert. And then, to -keep back nothing, she had a past, and George might be acquainted with -that past. A shudder passed through her at the mere idea of this. -</p> - -<p> -For these diverse reasons she had employed her shrewdest and most secret -diplomacy to part the two cousins from each other. This work was now -bearing its fruit, and was the means of inspiring Hubert with -unconquerable distrust, while the cab was taking him to the club in the -Rue du Cirque. -</p> - -<p> -"In what way," he thought, "can I question George? I cannot say to him: -'I am Madame de Sauve's lover, and you have accused her of having -deceived me; prove it to me.'" -</p> - -<p> -The moral impossibility of such a conversation had become a physical one -at the moment when the cab stopped in front of the club. -</p> - -<p> -"After all," said Hubert to himself, "I am a very child to trouble -myself about what Monsieur George Liauran believes or does not believe." -</p> - -<p> -He dismissed his cab, and instead of entering the club, walked in the -direction of the Champs Elysées. -</p> - -<p> -That which constitutes the marvellous essence and the unique charm of -love, is that it gathers, as into a bundle, and sets vibrating in -unison, the three beings within us, of thought, feeling, and -instinct,—the brain, the heart, and all the flesh. But it is also -this unison which forms its terrible infirmity. It remains defenceless -against the encroachment of physical imagination, and this feebleness -appears especially in the birth of jealousy. In this way is explained -the monstrous facility with which suspicion rises in the soul of a man -that knows himself loved above all others, if any particulars frame, -before his mind's eye, a picture wherein he sees his mistress deceiving -him. -</p> - -<p> -To be sure the lover does not believe in the truth of this picture, yet -he is none the more able to forget it entirely, and it gives him pain -until a proof comes to render the image absurd at every point. But as -there enters a great part of physical life into the formation of the -picture, the more material the proof is the more complete is the cure. -It is exactly what happens to one awaking from a nightmare, when the -assault of surrounding sensations comes to dissipate the torturing image -which has occasioned the hallucination of the sleeper. -</p> - -<p> -Certainly, for a year past, during which he had been in love with -Theresa de Sauve, Hubert had never, even for a minute, doubted a love of -which, through a feeling of delicacy that was a creature of prudence, he -had never spoken to any one; and even now, after the accusations -formulated against her by Count Scilly and Madame Liauran, he did not -believe her capable of treachery. Nevertheless, these accusations -carried a possible reality with them, and while he was going up again -towards the Arc de Triomphe he was pursued by the recollection of the -phrases uttered by his godfather and his mother, evoking within him the -spectacle of Theresa resigning herself to another man. -</p> - -<p> -It was but a flash, and scarcely had this vision of hideousness occurred -to Hubert's mind than it induced a reaction. By a violent effort he -drove away the image, which vanished for a few minutes and then -reappeared, this time accompanied by a whole train of probative ideas. -Hubert suddenly recollected that during the trip to Tourville several of -his mistress' letters had been written from day to day in a somewhat -changed hand. She seemed to have sat down to her table in great haste to -perform her labour of love, as though it were a task to be hurriedly -accomplished. Hubert had been pained by this little momentary change, -and then he had reproached himself for a tender susceptibility of heart -which was like ingratitude. -</p> - -<p> -Yes; but was it not immediately after this short period of negligent -letters that Theresa had left Trouville, under the pretext that the sea -air was doing her no good? Her departure had been decided upon in -twenty-four hours. Hubert could again feel the impulse of wondering joy -which had been caused him by this sudden return. He had not expected to -see his mistress back in Paris before the month of October, and he met -her again in the first week of September The joy of that time was -transformed by retrospection into vague anxiety. Had the evident -perturbation of the letters written before the departure, and had the -departure itself, no connection with the abominable action of which -Theresa was accused? But it was infamous on his part to admit such -ideas, even in imagination. He threw back his head, closed his eyes, -knit his forehead, and, mustering all his energy of soul, was enabled to -drive the suspicion away once more. -</p> - -<p> -He was now in the highest part of the avenue. He felt so tired that he -did what was for him an extraordinary action, he looked for a café at -which he might stop and rest. He noticed a little English tavern, hidden -in this corner of fashionable Paris, for the use of coachmen and -bookmakers. He went in. Two men, with red faces and of sturdy -appearance, who looked as though they must be redolent of the stable, -were standing before the counter. The shadow of a closing autumn -afternoon was gloomily invading this deserted nook. -</p> - -<p> -Facing the bar ran an empty bench, and on a long wooden table lay an -English newspaper in several sheets. Here Hubert sat down and ordered a -glass of port wine, which he drank mechanically and which had the effect -of freshly exciting his strained nerves. The vision came back to him a -third time, accompanied by a still greater number of ideas, which -automatically grouped themselves into a single body of argument. Theresa -had then returned to Paris so speedily, and had repaired to one of their -clandestine meetings. But why had she had such a violent fit of sobbing -in his very arms? She was often melancholy in her voluptuousness. The -intoxications of love usually ended with her in sad emotion. But how far -removed was this frenzy of despair from her habitual, dreamy languor! -Hubert had been almost frightened at it, and then she had answered him: -</p> - -<p> -"It was so long since I had tasted your kisses! They are so sweet to me -that they pain me. But it is a dear pain," she had added, drawing him to -her heart and cradling him in her arms. -</p> - -<p> -Nevertheless her despair had not entirely disappeared on the following -day or during the weeks which ensued, and which she had spent in the -neighbourhood of Paris at a country house belonging to one of her -friends who was acquainted with Hubert. He had gone there to see her and -had found her as silent as ever, and at times almost dull. She had -returned to Paris in the same condition, and with her face somewhat -altered; but he had attributed the change to physical uneasiness. A -sudden and new association of ideas now caused him to say to himself: -</p> - -<p> -"What if this were remorse? Remorse for what? Why, for her infamy!" -</p> - -<p> -He got up, went out of the café, resumed his walk, and shook off this -frightful hypothesis. -</p> - -<p> -"Fool that I am," he thought, "if she had deceived me it would have been -because she did not love me, and what motive would she then have to lie -to me?" -</p> - -<p> -This objection, which appeared irrefutable to him, drove away the -suspicion for a few minutes. Then it came back again as it always does: -"But who is this Count de la Croix-Firmin? Has she ever spoken of him to -me?" he asked himself. -</p> - -<p> -He searched anxiously through all his recollections, but could not find -that this name had ever been uttered by her. Still, if— Suddenly in a -hidden corner of his memory he perceived the syllables of the already -hateful name. He had seen them printed in a newspaper article on the -festivities at Trouville. It was certainly in a Boulevard paper, and in -a connection in which he had also remarked his mistress's name. By what -chance did this little fact, in itself insignificant, return to torment -him at this moment? -</p> - -<p> -He had a doubt as to his accuracy, and he took a carriage to go to the -office of the only paper that he read habitually. He searched through -the collection, and laid his hand upon the short paragraph, which he -recollected, doubtless, because he had read it several times on -Theresa's account. It was the report of a garden party given by a -Marchioness de Jussat. Did it merely prove that this Monsieur de la -Croix-Firman had been introduced to Madame de Sauve? -</p> - -<p> -"Ah!" exclaimed the poor fellow after these murderous reflections, "am I -going to become jealous?" -</p> - -<p> -This represented an insupportable idea to him, for nothing was more -contrary to the innate loyalty of his whole nature than distrust. Then -he remembered the warm tenderness which she had lavished upon him from -the first, and as he had ever since followed the sweet practice of -opening up his whole heart to her, he said to himself that he had a sure -means of removing this evil vision for ever. He had simply to see -Theresa and tell her everything. In the first place this would warn her -of a calumny which she must immediately put down. Then, he felt that a -single word coming from the lips of this woman would immediately -dissipate every shadow of anxiety in his mind. He entered a post-office -and scrawled on the blue paper of a little pneumatic despatch: -</p> - -<p> -"Tuesday, five o'clock.—The lover is sad, and cannot do without his -mistress. Wicked persons have been maligning her to him. Who should hear -all this, if not the dear confidante of every sorrow and every joy? Can -she come to-morrow, she knows where, at ten o'clock in the morning? Let -her do so, and she shall be loved still more, if that be possible, by -her H.L.,—which denotes this closing afternoon: Horrible lassitude." -</p> - -<p> -It was in this strain of tender childishness that he wrote to her, with -the fondness of language wherein passion often dissembles its native -violence. He slipped the slender despatch into the box, and was -astonished to find himself feeling almost placid again. He had acted, -and the presence of the real had driven the vision away. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a></h4> - -<p> -At the moment when Theresa de Sauve received Hubert's despatch she was -preparing to dress for dining out. She immediately countermanded her -carriage, and wrote a hasty line, pleading headache as an excuse for -absence. She had been seized with trembling and an icy sweat on reading -the simple phrases of the blue note. She gave orders that she was not at -home, and cowered down in a low chair before her bedroom fire, with her -head in her hands. -</p> - -<p> -Since her return from Trouville she had been living in continued agony, -and what she had been dreading like death was come. Her darling, whom -she had left so perfectly tranquil and cheerful at two o'clock, could -not have fallen into the state of mind which she could feel through the -graceful childishness of his note, if some catastrophe had not happened. -What catastrophe? Theresa guessed it too well. -</p> - -<p> -George Liauran had been told the truth. During the unhappy woman's stay -at the seaside there had been enacted in her life one of those secret -dreams of infidelity which frequently occur in the lives of women who -have once deviated from the straight path. But our actions, however -guilty they may be, do not always give the measure of our souls. Madame -de Sauve's nature comprised very lofty portions by the side of very low -ones, and was a singular mixture of corruption and nobility. She might, -indeed, commit abominable faults, but to forgive them in herself, after -the happy custom of most women of the same description, that she could -not do, and now less than ever after what her passion for Hubert had -been to her life for several months. -</p> - -<p> -Ah! her life! her life! It was this that Theresa de Sauve saw in the -flickering flames in the fireplace that autumn evening, with her heart -racked with apprehension. The whole weight of her former errors, her -criminal errors, was now falling upon her heart, and she remembered her -state of dull agony when she had met Hubert. Theresa de Sauve had been -endowed by nature with those dispositions which are most fatal to a -woman in modern society, unless she marries under rare conditions, or -unless maternity saves her from herself by breaking the energies of her -physical, and engrossing the fervour of her moral, vitality. She had a -romantic heart, while her temperament made her a creature of passion, -that is to say, she fostered both dreams of feeling and unconquerable -appetites for sensation. -</p> - -<p> -When persons of this kind meet on the threshold of their lives, with a -man who satisfies the twofold needs of their nature, there are between -them and this man such mysterious festivities of love as poets conceive -but never embrace. Where their destiny wills that they shall be -delivered, as Theresa had been to her husband, to a man who treats them -from the very first like courtesans, who initiates them in deed and -thought into the whole science of pleasure, but who has not sufficient -poetry to satisfy the other half of their souls, such women necessarily -become curiosos, capable of falling into the worst experiences, and then -their sterility even becomes a happiness, for they at least do not -transmit that flame of sentimental and sensual life which they have -commonly inherited from a mother's error. -</p> - -<p> -It was, in fact, from her mother, who, cold though she was, had been led -by weariness and abandonment into guilty misconduct, that Theresa -derived her dreamy imagination, while there flowed in her veins the -burning blood of her true father, the handsome Count Branciforte. -Further, this child of license and infatuation had been brought up -without religious principles or bridle of any kind, by Adolphe Lussac, a -most immoral man, who was amused by the little girl's vivacity, and had -early made her a guest at many dinners, where she heard all that she -ought not to have heard, and guessed all that she ought not to have -known. Who can calculate the amount of influence over the falls of a -woman of twenty-five that is attributable to the conversations listened -to or overheard by the young girl in short frocks? -</p> - -<p> -Nevertheless, Theresa, who had married when very young, had had only two -intrigues up to the time of her chance meeting with Hubert, and these -two amours had caused her such disgust that she had sworn that she would -never again fall into the folly of taking a lover. The good resolutions -of a woman who has fallen, and who has suffered for her fault, are like -the firm intentions of a gambler who has lost two thousand pounds, or a -drunkard who has told his secrets during his intoxication. The -deep-lying causes which have produced the first adultery continue to -subsist after the fault has given the guilty one cruelly to taste of -every bitterness. -</p> - -<p> -The woman who takes a lover is not so much attached to this lover as she -is to love, and she continues to be still attached to love when the -chosen lover has deceived her, until disillusion after disillusion -brings her to love pleasure without love, and sometimes pleasure of the -most degrading nature. Theresa de Sauve could never descend so far as -this, because a sentiment of the ideal persisted within her, too feeble -to counterbalance the fever of the senses, but strong enough to illumine -in her own eyes the abyss of her weaknesses. This taciturn woman, -through whom there passed at times the tremors of almost brutal desire, -was no epicurean, no light and cheerful courtesan of the world. -</p> - -<p> -Conceived amid her mother's remorse, Theresa had a tragic soul. She was -capable of depravity, but incapable of that amused forgetfulness which -plucks the fleeting hour, and cannot, without effort, recall the first -lover's name among all the rest. No; this first lover, this Frederick -Suzel, whom George Liauran had justly suspected, could never be thought -of by her without causing her thorough nausea by the recollection of the -sad motives of her surrender to him. He was a man gay even to -buffoonery, and witty even to cynicism, with that sort of wit which is -current between the Opera House, Tortoni, and the Café Anglais. -</p> - -<p> -When paying his addresses to Theresa, he had the good sense not to lose -himself in the tricks of fashionable flirtations as did his numerous -rivals—a troop of beasts of prey on the scent of a victim. With great -skilfulness of language and a certain penetration of vice, he had -frankly offered to arrange with her a kind of partnership for pleasure -which should be secret, sure, and with no future, and the unfortunate -woman had accepted his proposal. Why? Because she was dreadfully dull; -because she was carrying off Suzel from one of her friends; because she -was greedy for new sensations, and this person, with his dishonouring -talk, had about him a sort of strange prestige of libertinism. Of this -connection, in which Frederick had at least been faithful to his promise -in not seeking to prolong it, Theresa had soon been deeply ashamed, and -she had escaped from it as from the galleys. -</p> - -<p> -After a year spent in enduring her remorse, and in feeling herself -sullied by all the knowledge of evil that her intimacy with this man had -revealed to her, she had thought to find satisfaction for the needs of -her heart in the person of Alfred Fanières, one of the most subtle -novelists of the day. Did not all the books of this charming narrator, -from his first and only volume of poetry to his last collection of -tales, reveal the most minute and tender understanding of the gentle -feminine mind? In this second connection, begun with the most -intoxicating hope—that, namely, of consoling all the deceptions of an -admired artist—Theresa had soon struck upon the implacable barrenness -of the inmost nature of the worn-out literary man, in whom there is an -absolute divorce between feeling and written expression. -</p> - -<p> -Though undeceived, she nevertheless persisted in remaining this man's -mistress, from that reason which causes a woman's second love affair to -be the longest of all in coming to a conclusion. She will admit that the -first has been a mistake; but the mistake of her marriage and the -mistake of her first amour make two; at the third error she acknowledges -that the fault in her conduct is due to herself, and not to the -circumstances of her life, and this is a cruel confession for secret -pride. Then the writer's egotism had manifested itself so harshly, when -he had believed himself sure of her, that the revolt had been too -strong, and Theresa had broken with him. -</p> - -<p> -It was during the period of hard distress subsequent to this rupture -that she had met Hubert Liauran. From the corner of her solitary hearth, -beside which she watched persistently, she could see so very clearly -what the discovery of this tender child's heart had been to her. In an -existence which had comprised nothing but wounding or disgrace—had -not her keenest sorrows been dishonoured beforehand by their -cause?—with what delighted emotion had she measured the purity of -this young man's heart? What anxiety had she felt, and what a dread of -not pleasing him! What a dread, too, knowing that she had pleased him, -of being ruined in his thoughts! -</p> - -<p> -How she had trembled lest one of the cruel talkers of society should -reveal her past to Hubert! How had she employed all her woman's art to -make this love an adorable poem, wherein should be lacking nothing that -might enchant a soul innocent and new to life! How had she enjoyed his -reverence, and how had she allowed it to be prolonged! Ah! when she -thought now of those two days at Folkestone she could scarcely believe -that they had been real, and that she had had the courage to survive -them. She remembered that she had gone with Hubert to the terminus in -spite of every consideration of prudence; she had seen him disappear in -the direction of London, leaning out of the carriage window to watch her -the longer; she had re-entered the rooms which they had both occupied, -before herself taking train for Dover, and there she had spent two hours -in the grievous loneliness of a soul overwhelmed with simultaneous -despair and felicity. -</p> - -<p> -Her soul bent beneath its weight of recollections like a flower -overladen with dew. She had there known a complete union between her two -natures—an almost passionate vibration of her entire being. She had -half forgiven herself the past, excusing herself by saying mentally to -Hubert the words which so many women have said aloud to men jealous of -those bygone days which belonged to others: "I did not know you!" -</p> - -<p> -On their subsequent return to Paris, how carefully and piously had she -set herself, during the spring and summer, to live in such a way as not -to lose his affection for a single minute! She had resumed all the -modesty admitted by love that is complete, but is ennobled by the soul. -She trembled constantly lest her caresses should be a cause of -corruption to this being, so young both in heart and in body, whom she -wished to intoxicate without defiling. -</p> - -<p> -Although she was enamoured to distraction, she had desired the meetings -in the little abode in the Avenue Friedland to be far between, lest she -should not long enough preserve in his eyes her charm of divine novelty. -They had not been very numerous—she might have counted them, -tasting in thought the distinct sweetness of each—those afternoons -when, with all the shutters closed, and with no light, she had again -found the delights of the Folkestone time, sunk in her lover's arms, and -dead to everything but the present moment and its intoxication. -</p> - -<p> -She had gone so far in her idolatry of Hubert as to worship Madame -Liauran, although she well knew that she was hated by her. She -worshipped her for having brought up this son in such an atmosphere of -pure and shrinking sensibility. She worshipped her for having kept him -for her during the years of adolescence and youth, so delicate, so -graceful, so tender, so much her own, so absolutely her own in the past, -the present, and the future. For there was loftiness, almost folly, in -her pride. She would say to him: -</p> - -<p> -"Yours is beginning and mine is ending. Yes, child, at twenty-six a -woman is almost at the end of her youth, and you have so many years -before you! But never, never will you be loved as I love you, and never -will you forget me, never, never." And at other times: "You will marry," -she would say; "she lives, she breathes, and yet she is not known to me, -she who is to take you from me, and who will sleep every night upon your -heart as I did at Folkestone. Ah! must it indeed be that I have met you -so late, and that I cannot bind you to my kisses." -</p> - -<p> -And she would encircle his neck with the loosened tresses of her long, -black hair. Since she had belonged to him she had again acquired the -habit which she had had as a young girl, of dressing her own hair, so -that he might handle her beautiful locks. Then when she had dressed them -again quite alone, and was attired and veiled, she would come back to -him, not wishing to bid him good-bye anywhere but in the room where they -had loved each other, and she would understand from the throbbings of -Hubert's heart that no sensation told so much upon him as this good-bye -kiss which she gave him with nearly cold lips. She would depart a prey -to a nameless sadness, but one at least of which she told her lover. For -she did not tell him of every sadness. -</p> - -<p> -She was married, and although she had at all times had a room of her -own, she was sometimes obliged to receive her husband in it. Alas! it -was all the more necessary because she had a lover. It was a sinister -expiation of her passion, and one which she justified on her part by -telling herself that she owed as much to Hubert. If she ever became a -mother could she fly with him and take from him his whole life? and the -pitiless necessity of baleful lies and degrading partitions would thus -come to torture her at the height of her happiness. She acquitted -herself, nevertheless, since it was for him, her darling, that she lied. -</p> - -<p> -Yes, but what monstrous enigma suddenly reared itself before her? Oh, -the cruel, cruel enigma! With this divine love in her heart, how had she -been able to do what she had done? For it had been, indeed, herself, and -none other—she, with those feet of hers which now were feeling icy -cold, with those hands which now were pressing her feverishly-throbbing -brow—she, in short, with her whole physical being, who had left for -Trouville at the end of the month of July—she, Theresa de Sauve, who -had installed herself for the season in a villa on the hill. Yes, it had -been herself. And yet no! It was not possible that Hubert's mistress had -done this. What—this? Oh, cruel, cruel enigma! -</p> - -<p> -From what depths of the memory of her senses had there issued those -strange impulses, those secret, lustful temptations which had commenced -to assail her? But have the senses really a memory? Can it be that the -guilty fevers will not depart for ever from the blood which they have -fired in evil hours? -</p> - -<p> -Once settled in her villa, she had met again with old friends who had -been greatly neglected since the beginning of her connection with -Hubert. With these women and their admirers—their "fancy men," as -a lady said who mixed in their "set"—she had formed several very -cheerful and innocent country parties, and here she was, day by day, -beginning, not to love Hubert less, but to live somewhat apart from her -love, and to take pleasure anew in habits of masculine familiarities -which she had forbidden to herself for a year past. She was so idle in -her villa with no indoor occupation—not even reading. For she had -never liked books much, and her connection with Alfred Fanières had -disgusted her for ever with the falsity of fine phrases. When she had -written lengthily to Hubert, and then briefly to her husband—who, -moreover, came to see her every week—it was necessary to beguile -the tedious hours; and at times fitful thoughts came to her which she -dared not acknowledge to herself. Hankerings after sensations arose -within her, and astonished her. -</p> - -<p> -She knew by hearsay that almost all men, however tender they may be, and -however dearly loved their mistresses, cannot remain long away from the -latter without experiencing irresistible temptations to deceive her with -the first girl that they meet. But this was true of men, and not of -women. Why, then, did she find herself a prey to this inexplicable -agitation, to this thirst for sensual intoxications, of which she had -believed herself for ever cured by the influence of her ennobling, her -ideal love? The depraved creature that she had formerly been awoke by -degrees. At night, in her sleep, she was haunted by visions of her past. -In vain, had she striven, and in vain had she cursed her secret -perversion. -</p> - -<p> -Then she had allowed herself to listen to the addresses of the young -Count de la Croix-Firmim. She remembered with horror the kind of nervous -fascination which this man's presence, his smile, and his eyes had -exerted upon her. Then—she would fain have died at the -recollection of this—one afternoon, when he had come up to see -her, and there was a torrid heat, such as makes the will feel itself -drooping, he had been venturesome, and she had given herself to him, -faintly at first, and then impetuously and madly. For three days she had -been his mistress—a prey to the wildness of physical -passion—banishing, ever banishing, the recollection of Hubert, -feeling herself rolling into a gulf of infamy, and flinging herself -still further into it, until the day when she had awakened from this -sensual frenzy as from a dream. She had opened her eyes, measured her -shame, and, like a wounded and dying creature, had fled from the -accursed spot and from her detested accomplice to return—to -what?—and to whom? -</p> - -<p> -A melancholy and heart-breaking return to what had been the restoration -of her entire life, to what she had blasted for ever! She had returned -to the room of those sweet hours, and she had found Hubert, her -Hubert—but could she still call him so?—more tender, more -loving, and more loved than before. Alas! alas! had her inexpiable -deceit rendered her for ever powerless to taste that of which she was no -longer worthy? In the young man's arms, and on his heart, she had -remembered the other, and the ecstacy of former times, the delicious and -unspeakable swooning in the excess of feeling, had fled from her. -</p> - -<p> -It was then that Hubert had seen her sobbing despairingly, and an -immense sadness had come upon her, a death-like torpor, crossed by a -cruel anxiety lest some indiscreet speech should reach her lover and -awake his suspicions. Her own reputation she heeded but little; she was -well aware that after acting as she did with La Croix-Firmin, she could -count on little but contempt and hatred from him. She also knew what the -honour of those men who make it their profession to have women is worth. -What tortured her, however, was not a fear lest he might compromise her -personal security by speaking. After all, what had she, childless, and -rich with an independent fortune, to dread from her husband? -</p> - -<p> -But a look of distrust in Hubert's eyes was what she felt to be beyond -her powers of endurance. Perhaps, nevertheless, it might be better that -he should know the frightful truth? He would drive her from him like an -unfortunate; but at times anything seemed preferable to the torment of -having such remorse at her heart, and of lying ceaselessly to so noble a -fellow. She had again set herself to love him with desperate frenzy, -and, as her revolt against the baser part of her nature hurried her to -an extreme in the other or romantic direction, a mad desire came upon -her to tell him everything, that at least the voluntary humiliation of -her confession might be, as it were, a ransom for her infamy. And yet, -although silence was a very lie, this lie she had still the strength to -sustain; but, as for an actual lie, she suffered too much to have the -shameful energy for it, if ever he questioned her. -</p> - -<p> -And this questioning she was now about to face; she could read it -between the lines of the despatch. Ah! what was she now to do, if she -had guessed aright? She had drunk as much of the gall of shame as she -could bear. Would she have heart enough still to drink this, the -bitterest drop, and once more betray her only love by a fresh deception? -If she were frank Hubert must at least esteem her for her frankness, and -if she were not how could she endure herself? Yes, but to speak was the -death of her happiness. -</p> - -<p> -Alas! had not this been dead ever since her return? Would she ever -recover what she had once felt? What was the use of disputing with fate -for this mutilated, sullied remnant of a divine dream? And all that -night she was bowed beneath the agony of these thoughts, a poor creature -born for all the nobility of a single and faithful love, who had caught -a glimpse of her dream and had possessed it, to be then dispossessed of -it by the fault of a nature hidden within her, but which, nevertheless, -was not her entire self. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a></h4> - -<p> -In the cab which brought her to the Avenue Friedland on the day -following this night of agony, Theresa de Sauve, took none of the -precautions that were habitual with her, such as changing vehicles on -the way, tying a double veil across her face, or peeping at the street -corners through the little pane of glass behind, to see whether anything -of a suspicious nature was accompanying her clandestine drive. All these -timorous secrecies of forbidden love used formerly to please her -delightfully on Hubert's account. Was not the continuance of their -intrigue secured by securing its mysteriousness? There was little -question of that now. In her ungloved hand she held a little gold key -hanging to the chain of a bracelet—a pretty trinket of tenderness -which her lover had had contrived for her. This key, which never left her -wrist, served to open the door of the ground floor lent by Emmanuel -Deroy, the worshipped refuge of the few days during which she had really -lived her life—a dream-oasis to which the unhappy woman was now going -as to a cemetery. -</p> - -<p> -There was likely to be a storm in the course of the day, for the -atmosphere of the autumn morning was heavy, and completely charged with -a sort of electric torpor, the influence of which irritated still -further her weak, womanish nerves. She did not tell the cabman, as she -always used to do, to drive into the entry,—for the house had two -exits, and the large open gateway allowed her to be brought in the cab -to the very door of the apartments without being seen by the porter, -whose discretion was, moreover, guaranteed by the profits resulting from -the amour of his tenant's friend. She had fastened her eyes the whole -way upon the slightest details in the streets successively passed -through; she knew them well, from the signs of the shops to the look of -the houses, because these images were associated with the happiest -memories of her too short romance. She uttered to them in thought the -same mournful farewell as to her happiness. -</p> - -<p> -A prey, too, to the hallucinations of terror, she could no longer -distinguish the possible from the real, and she no longer doubted that -Hubert knew all. She read again the note which she had received the day -before, and every word of which, to her who knew the young man's -character so well, betrayed profound anguish. Whence had this anguish -come if not from an event relating to their love? And from what event if -not from a revelation of the horrible deception, the infamous act -committed by her, yes, by herself? Ah! if there were somewhere a lustral -water to cleanse the blood, and with it the recollection of all evil -fevers! But, no; it continues to course in our veins, this blood, laden -with the most shameful sins. There is no interruption between the -beating of our pulse in the hour of our remorse and its beating in the -hour of our fault. And Theresa could again feel pressing upon her face -the kisses of the man with whom she had betrayed Hubert. Yet she had -paid back these frightful kisses. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah! if he questions me, how could I find strength to lie to him, and -what would be the use?" -</p> - -<p> -These words had terminated all her meditations since the day before, and -she uttered them to herself again when she found herself in front of the -door within which there was doubtless going to be enacted one of the, to -her, most tragical scenes in the drama of her life. Her fingers trembled -so that she had some trouble in slipping the little gold key into the -lock—the key which had been given to be handled with other feelings! -She knew, beyond doubt, that at the mere sounding of this key turning on -the bolt Hubert would be there behind the door awaiting her. -</p> - -<p> -He was there, in fact, and received her in his arms. He felt her lips to -be perfectly cold. He looked at her, as he did on each occasion, after -pressing her to him. It seemed as though he wished to persuade himself -of the truth of her presence. This first kiss always gave Theresa a -spasm at the heart, and it needed all her dread of displeasing her lover -to make her release herself from his arms. Even at this moment, and in -spite of all the tortures of the night before, she thrilled to the very -depths of her being, and she was seized with something like a mad desire -to intoxicate Hubert with so many endearments that they should both -forget—he, what he had to ask, and she, what she had to reply. It was -but a quiver, nevertheless, and it died away on simply hearing the young -man's voice questioning her with anxiety. -</p> - -<p> -"You are ill?" he said. -</p> - -<p> -Seeing her quite pale, the tender-hearted fellow reproached himself for -having brought her there that morning, and, at the sight of her evident -suffering, he had already forgotten the motive of their meeting. -Moreover, his confidence as to the result of the conversation was such -that he had had no renewal of his suspicions since the day before. -</p> - -<p> -"You are ill?" he repeated, drawing her into the next room and making -her sit down on a divan. -</p> - -<p> -As Emmanuel Deroy had been attached to the embassy at Constantinople -before going to London, his apartments were adorned throughout with -Oriental materials, and this large divan, hung with drapery, and placed -just opposite the door of a little garden, was particularly dear to -Hubert and Theresa. They had chatted so much among these cushions, with -their heads resting unitedly upon them, at those moments of intimacy -which follow upon the intoxications of love, and which, by him at least, -were preferred to them; for, although he loved Theresa to the point of -sacrificing everything for her, he had, nevertheless, at the bottom of -his conscience, remained a Catholic, and a dim remorse mingled its -secret bitterness with the sweetness that was given him by the kisses. -He used to think of his own fault, and especially of the sin which he -caused Theresa to commit; for in the simplicity of his heart he imagined -that he had seduced her. -</p> - -<p> -She sank rather than sat down on the deep divan, and he began to take -off her veil, bonnet, and mantle. She allowed him to do so, smiling at -him the while with infinite tenderness. After her hours of torturing -sleeplessness, there was to her something at once very bitter and very -affecting in the impress of the young man's coaxing. She found him so -affectionate, so delicately intimate, so like himself, that she thought -that she had without doubt been mistaken as to the meaning of the note, -and, to rid herself immediately of uncertainty, she said, in reply to -his question about her health: -</p> - -<p> -"No, I am not ill; but the tone of your note was so strange that it has -made me uneasy." -</p> - -<p> -"My note?" rejoined Hubert, pressing her cold hands, in order to warm -them. "Ah! it was not worth while. Look here, I dare not now acknowledge -to you why I wrote it." -</p> - -<p> -"Acknowledge it all the same," she said, with an already -anguish-stricken insistence, for Hubert's embarrassment had just brought -back to her the anxiety which had caused her so much suffering. -</p> - -<p> -"People are so strange!" replied the young man, shaking his head. "There -are times when, in spite of themselves they doubt what they know best. -But first you must forgive me beforehand." -</p> - -<p> -"Forgive you, my angel!" she said. "Ah! I love you too well! Forgive -you!" she repeated; and these syllables, which she heard her own voice -uttering, echoed in an almost intolerable fashion through her -conscience. How willingly, indeed, would she have had reason to forgive -instead of to be forgiven. "But for what?" she asked, in a lower tone, -which revealed the renewal of her inward emotion. -</p> - -<p> -"For having allowed myself to be disturbed for a moment by an infamous -calumny which persons who hate our love have repeated to me about your -life at Trouville. But what is the matter?" -</p> - -<p> -These words, and still more the tone of voice in which they were -uttered, had entered like a blade into Theresa's heart. If Hubert had -received her on her arrival with those words of suspicion which men know -how to devise, and every word of which implies an absence of faith that -anticipates the proofs, she might, perhaps, have found in her woman's -pride sufficient energy to face the suspicion and to deny it. -</p> - -<p> -But from the outset of this explanation, the young man's whole attitude -had displayed that kind of tender and candid confidence which imposes -sincerity upon every soul that possesses any remnant of nobility; and in -spite of her weaknesses, Theresa had not been born for the compromises -of adultery, nor, above all, for the complications of treachery. She was -one of those creatures who are capable of great impulses of conscience -and sudden returns of generosity, and who, after descending to a certain -depth, say: "This is debasement enough," and prefer to destroy -themselves altogether rather than sink still lower. -</p> - -<p> -Moreover, the remorse of the last few weeks had brought her into that -state of suffering sensibility which impels to the most unreasonable -acts, provided that these acts bring the suffering to an end. And then -the unnerving of the sleepless nights, increased still further by the -uneasiness of the stormy day, rendered it as impossible for her to -dissemble her emotions as it is for a panic-stricken soldier to -dissemble his fear. At that moment her countenance was literally thrown -into confusion by the effect of what she had just been listening to, and -by the expectation of what her unconscious tormentor was going to say. -</p> - -<p> -For a minute there was a silence that was more than painful to them -both. The young man, seated on the divan by the side of his mistress, -was looking at her with drooping eyelids, his mouth half open and his -face death-like. The excessiveness of her emotion was so astonishingly -significant that all the suspicions which had been raised and banished -the day before awoke simultaneously in the mind of the youth. He -suddenly saw abysses before him by the lightning-flash of one of those -instantaneous intuitions which sometimes illumine the whole brain at -times of supreme emotion. -</p> - -<p> -"Theresa!" he cried, terror-stricken by his own vision and by the sudden -horror that was seizing upon him. "No, it is not true; it is not -possible—" -</p> - -<p> -"What?" she said again; "speak, and I will answer you." -</p> - -<p> -The transition from the tender "thou" of their intimacy to this "you," -rendered so humble by her subdued accents, completed Hubert's -distraction. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>No!</i>" he went on, rising and beginning to walk about the room -with an abrupt step, the sound of which trampled upon the poor woman's -heart; "I cannot formulate that—I cannot—well, yes!" he -said, stopping in front of her; "I was told that you were the mistress -of Count de la Croix-Firmin at Trouville, that it was the talk of the -place, that some young men had seen you entering his room and kissing -him, that he himself had boasted of having been your lover. That is what -I was told, and told with such persistence that for a moment I was -maddened by the calumny, and then I felt the morbid longing to see you, -to hear you only declare to me that it is not true. Answer, my love, -that you forgive me for having doubted you, that you love me, that you -have loved me, that all this is nothing but a hateful lie." -</p> - -<p> -He had thrown himself at her feet as he said these words; he took her -hands, her arms, her waist; he hung to her as, when drowning, he would -have caught at the body of one who had leapt into the water to save him. -</p> - -<p> -"It is true that I love you," she replied, in a scarcely audible voice. -</p> - -<p> -"And all the rest is a lie?" he besought her distractedly. -</p> - -<p> -Ah! he would have given his life at that moment for a word from those -lips. But the lips remained mute, and upon the woman's pale cheeks slow, -long tears began to flow, without sob or sigh, as though it had been her -soul that was weeping thus. Did not such a silence and such tears, at -such a moment, form the clearest, the most cruel, of all replies? -</p> - -<p> -"It is true, then?" he asked again. -</p> - -<p> -And as she continued silent: "But answer, answer, answer," he went on, -with a frightful violence, which wrung from those lips—at the corners -of which the slow tears were still flowing—a "Yes" so feeble that he -could scarcely hear it; and yet he was destined to hear it, for ever! -</p> - -<p> -He leaped up, and cast his eyes wildly around him. Some weapons hung on -the walls. A temptation seized upon the soldier's son to mangle this -woman with one of those shining blades; and so strong was it that he -recoiled. He looked again at that face, upon which the same tears were -flowing freely. He uttered that "Ah!" of agony—that cry, as of an -animal wounded unto death, which is drawn forth by a sight of horror; -and as though he were afraid of everything—of the sight before -him—of the walls—of this woman—of himself—he -fled from the room and the house, bare-headed and with soul distraught. -He had been strong enough to feel that in five minutes he would have -become a murderer. -</p> - -<p> -He fled, whither? how? by what routes? He never knew with clearness what -he had done that day. On the morrow he recollected, because he had the -palpable proof of it before him, that once he had caught sight of his -haggard face and windblown hair in the glass of a shop window, and that, -with an odd survival of carefulness about his dress, he had entered a -shop to buy a hat. Then he had walked straight before him, passing -through innumerable Paris districts. Houses succeeded houses -indefinitely. At one time he was in the country of the suburbs. The -storm burst, and he had been able to take shelter under a -railway-bridge. How long did he remain thus? The rain fell in torrents. -He was leaning against one of the walls of the bridge. Trains passed at -intervals, shaking all the stones. -</p> - -<p> -The rain ceased. He resumed his walk, splashing through the puddles of -water, without food since the morning, and heedless of his fast. The -automatic movement of his body was necessary to him that he might not -founder in madness, and instinctively he walked on. The monstrous thing -which he had perceived through the shock of a terrible dread was there -before his eyes; he could see it; he knew it to be real, and he did not -understand it. He was like a crushed man. He experienced a sensation so -intolerable that it had even ceased to be pain, with such completeness -did it suppress the powers of his being and overwhelm them. Evening was -coming on. He found himself again on the road towards home, guided to it -by the mechanical impulse which brings back the bleeding animal in the -direction of its den. About ten o'clock he rang at the door of the house -in the Rue Vaneau. -</p> - -<p> -"Nothing has happened to you, sir?" asked the doorkeeper; "the ladies -were so anxious——" -</p> - -<p> -"Let them know that I have come in," said the young man, "but that I am -unwell and wish to be alone, absolutely alone, Firmin; you understand." -</p> - -<p> -The tone in which these words were uttered cut short all questions on -the lips of the old servant. He followed Hubert, apparently dazed by the -furious lightning which he had just perceived in the eyes of his young -master and by the disorder of his dress. He saw him cross the hall and -enter the pavilion, and went up himself to the drawing-room to give his -mistress the strange message with which he was charged. The mother had -expected her son at luncheon. Hubert had not come in. Although he had -never before failed to appear without giving her notice, she had striven -not to be too anxious about it. The afternoon passed without news, and -then the dinner-hour struck. Still no news. -</p> - -<p> -"Mamma," Madame Liauran said to Madame Castel, "some misfortune has -happened. Who can tell whither despair has led him?" -</p> - -<p> -"He has been detained by friends," the old lady replied, concealing her -own in order to control her daughter's anxiety. -</p> - -<p> -When the door opened at ten o'clock, Madame Liauran, with her quickness -of hearing, caught the sound from the furthest end of the drawing-room, -and said to her mother and to Count Scilly, who had been informed since -dinner; "It is Hubert." -</p> - -<p> -When Firmin repeated the young man's words the invalid exclaimed: "I -must speak to him." -</p> - -<p> -And she sat upright, as though forgetting that she was no longer able to -walk. -</p> - -<p> -"The Count will go to him," said Madame Castel, "and bring him back to -us." -</p> - -<p> -At the end of ten minutes Scilly returned, but alone. He had knocked at -the door, and then tried to open it. It was double-locked. He had called -Hubert several times, and the latter at last entreated him to leave him. -</p> - -<p> -"And not a word for us?" asked Madame Liauran. -</p> - -<p> -"Not a word," replied the General. -</p> - -<p> -"What have we done?" rejoined the mother. "What good will it do me to -have separated him from this woman if I have lost his heart?" -</p> - -<p> -"To-morrow," replied Scilly, "you will see him returning to you more -tender than ever. Just at first, it is too much for you. He has been -seeking proofs for what we have told him, and he has found them. This is -the explanation of his absence and his behaviour." -</p> - -<p> -"And he has not come to grieve with me!" said the mother. "Alas! can it -be that I have loved him for myself alone, while believing that I loved -him for his own sake? Will you ring, General, for them to take me to my -room?" -</p> - -<p> -And when the easy chair, which she never left now, had been wheeled into -the next room, and she was in bed: -</p> - -<p> -"Mamma," she said to Madame Castel, "draw back the curtain that I may -look at his windows." -</p> - -<p> -Then, as Hubert had not closed his shutters, and his shadow could be -seen passing to and fro, "Ah! mamma," she said again, "why do children -grow up? Formerly, he never had a trouble that he did not come and cry -over it on my shoulder, as I do on yours, and now——" -</p> - -<p> -"Now he is as unreasonable as his mother," said the old lady, who had -scarcely spoken during the whole evening, and who, printing a kiss upon -her daughter's hair, silenced her by letting fall these words, which -revealed her own martyrdom: "My heart aches for you both." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a></h4> - -<p> -In the morning, when Madame Liauran sent to ask for her son, the latter -replied that he would be down for luncheon. He appeared, in fact, at -noon. His mother and he exchanged merely a look, and she at once -understood the extent of the suffering which he had undergone, simply by -the kind of shiver with which he was affected on seeing her again. She -was associated with this suffering as its occasion, if not its cause, -and he could never forget the fact. His eyes had something so -particularly distant in them, and his mouth so close a curve of lip, his -whole face was so expressive of a determination to permit no explanation -of any kind, that neither Madame Liauran nor Madame Castel ventured to -question him. -</p> - -<p> -For a year past these three persons had had many silent meals in the -antiquely-wainscoted dining-room—an apartment so spacious as to make -the round table placed in the centre appear small. But all three had -never been sensible of an impression, as they were on this day, that, -even when speaking to one another, there would henceforth be a silence -between them impossible to break, something which could not be put into -words, and which, for a very long time, would create a background of -muteness, even behind their most cordial expansions. -</p> - -<p> -After luncheon, when Hubert, who had scarcely touched the various -dishes, took the handle of the door, in order to leave the little -drawing-room in which he had remained for scarcely five minutes, his -mother felt a timid and almost repentant desire to ask his forgiveness -for the pain that she read on his taciturn countenance. -</p> - -<p> -"Hubert?" she said. -</p> - -<p> -"Mamma?" he replied, turning round. -</p> - -<p> -"You feel quite well to-day?" she asked. -</p> - -<p> -"Quite well," he replied in a blank tone, such a tone as immediately -suppresses all possibility of conversation; and he added: "I shall be -punctual at dinner-time this evening." -</p> - -<p> -The young man was now singularly preoccupied. After a night of torture, -so continuously keen that he could not remember having ever undergone -anything like it, he had become master of himself again. He had passed -through the first crisis of his grief, a crisis after which a man ceases -to die from despair, because he has really reached the deepest depth of -sorrow. Then he had recovered that momentary calm which follows upon -prodigious deperditions of nervous energy, and had been able to think. -It was then that he had been seized with anxiety respecting Madame de -Sauve—an anxiety which was devoid of tenderness, for at this moment, -after the assault of grief which he had just sustained, his soul was -dried up, his inward lethargy was absolute, all capacity for feeling was -gone. -</p> - -<p> -But he had suddenly remembered that he had left Theresa in the little -ground floor apartment in Avenue Friedland, and his imagination dared -not form any conjectures upon what had taken place after his departure. -It was just at the end of luncheon that this thought had assailed him, -and, over and above his main sorrow, it had immediately caused him a -shiver of nervous terror—the only emotion of which he was capable. -</p> - -<p> -He went straight from the Rue Vaneau to the Avenue, and when he found -himself in front of the house he dared not enter, although he had the -key in his hand. He called the doorkeeper, an ugly individual to whom he -could never speak without repugnance, so hateful to him was his brazen, -glabrous face, his servile and, at the same time, insolent eye, and the -tone which he assumed as a generously-paid accomplice. -</p> - -<p> -"I beg a thousand pardons, sir," said this man, even before Hubert had -questioned him. "I did not know that the lady was still there. I had -seen you go out, sir, and in the afternoon I went in to give a look -round the place, as I do every day, and found the lady sitting on the -sofa. She seemed to be in great pain. Is she better to-day, sir?" he -added. -</p> - -<p> -"She is very well," replied Hubert, and as he suddenly felt a strong -repugnance to entering the apartments, and on the other hand wished at -all costs to avoid giving this man, for whom he had such an antipathy, -any grounds for suspecting the drama in his life, he replied, "I have -come to settle your bill. I am going on a journey." -</p> - -<p> -"But you have already paid me, sir, at the beginning of the month," said -the other. -</p> - -<p> -"I may be away for a long time," said Hubert drawing a bank-note from -his pocket-book. "You will put this down to the account." -</p> - -<p> -"You are not coming in, sir?" resumed the doorkeeper. -</p> - -<p> -"No," said Hubert, and he went away, saying to himself, "I am a -simpleton. Women of that sort don't kill themselves!" -</p> - -<p> -Women of that sort! The phrase, which had occurred naturally to him, the -youth hitherto so ingenuous, so gentle, and so refined, was a fitting -translation of the kind of feeling which now held the ascendancy over -him, and which lasted for several days. It was a boundless disgust, a -thorough nausea; but so complete and so profound was it, that it left no -room in his heart for anything else. He could not even have told whether -he was suffering, so entirely did contempt absorb all the living -energies of his being. -</p> - -<p> -He perceived the woman whom he had idolised so religiously and with so -noble a fervour, plunged, as it were, and wallowing in such an abyss of -uncleanness, that he felt as though by loving her he had himself been -rolling in the mire. This was the physical sight of which he was now the -victim from one end of the day to the other, and to such a degree that -he was unable to interpret it or form any hypothesis concerning -Theresa's character. The sight of it was inflicted upon him with a -material exactness which bordered on hallucination. Yes, he could see -the act, and the act alone, without having strength enough to shake off -the hideous, besetting fellowship. It paralysed him with horror, and he -could think of nothing else. -</p> - -<p> -A sort of unbroken mirage showed him the abominable pollution of his -mistress's prostitution, and, just as a man attacked by jaundice looks -at all objects through bile-infected eyes, so it was, through his -disgust, that he viewed, the whole of life. His soul was as though -saturated with bitterness, and yet was frightfully dry. There was not an -impression that was not transformed in him into this perception of -foulness and melancholy. -</p> - -<p> -He rose, and spent the morning among his books, opening but not reading -them. He lunched, and the sight of his mother irritated, instead of -softening him. He went back to his room, and resumed the dull idleness -of the morning. He dined, and then, immediately after dinner, left the -drawing-room, so as not to encounter either the General or his cousin, -whose presence was intolerable to him. -</p> - -<p> -At night he lay awake, continuing to see the accursed scene with the -same impossibility of arriving at relaxation of grief. If he fell -asleep, he had every second time to endure the nightmare of this same -vision. As he had no conception of the physiognomy of the man with whom -his mistress had deceived him, there rose up in his morbid sleep -horrible dreams wherein all kinds of different faces were mingled -together. The distress which such imagining caused him would awake him. -His body would be bathed in sweat, he could feel a rending of the bosom -as though his quick-beating heart were about to leave its place, and -with this suffering there was, as before, such complete prostration of -his affectionate powers, that he was not even anxious to know what had -become of Theresa. -</p> - -<p> -"After all," he said to himself one morning as he was getting up, "I -lived well enough before I knew her! I have only to put myself again in -thought into the condition in which I was before that 12th of October." -He had an exact recollection of the date. "It was scarcely more than a -year ago; I was so tranquil then! I have had an evil dream, that is all. -But I must destroy everything that might bring back the memory of it to -me." -</p> - -<p> -He sat down before his writing table after putting fresh wood upon the -fire to increase the blaze, and double-locking the door. Involuntarily, -he recollected that he used so to act formerly, when he wished to see -the precious treasure of his love-relics again. He opened the drawer in -which the treasure was hidden: it consisted of a black morocco box, on -which were entwined two initial letters—a "T." and an "H." Theresa -and he had exchanged two of these boxes, to keep their letters in them. -Upon the one which he had given to his mistress he had caused Theresa's -name to be autographed in full, instead of the two initials. -</p> - -<p> -"What a child I was!" he thought, as he recollected the thousand little -weaknesses of this order in which he had indulged. There is always -puerility, indeed, in extreme weaknesses; but it is on the day when we -are on the road to hardness of heart that we think so. -</p> - -<p> -Beside this box lay two objects which Hubert had thrown there on the -evening of the same day on which he had learnt his mistress's treachery: -one was his ring, and the other a slender gold chain, to which hung a -tiny key. He took the little hoop in his hand, and, in spite of himself, -looked at the inner surface. Theresa had had a star engraved there, with -the date of their stay at Folkestone. This simple token suddenly called -up before Hubert an indefinite perspective of reminiscences; he could -again see the door of the hotel, the staircase with its red carpet, the -drawing-room in which they had dined, and the waiter who had waited on -them, with his face of Britannic respectability, his shaven lip, and his -over-long chin. He could hear him say: "I beg your pardon," and -Theresa's smile appeared before him. What languishment swam then in her -eyes—those eyes, whose green-grey shade was at such moments -completely liquid—completely bathed with an entire abandonment of -the inmost nature!—those eyes, wherein slumbered a sleep which -seemed to invite you to be its dream! -</p> - -<p> -Hubert mechanically slipped the ring upon his finger, and then flung it -almost angrily into the drawer, causing the metal to rebound against the -wood. To open the box it was necessary to handle the chain. It was an -old chain which he had from Theresa. He had given her the bracelet with -the key of the apartments attached to it, and she had given him this -chainlet that he might carry the key of the box at his neck. He had worn -this scapulary of love for months and months, and often had he felt -beneath his shirt for the tiny trinket to hurt himself a little by -pressing it against his breast, and thus remind himself of the tender -mystery of his dear happiness. -</p> - -<p> -How far away to-day was all this intoxication, ah! how far and how lost -in the abyss of the past, whence there issues so frightful an odour of -death! When he had raised the lid of the box he leaned upon his elbow, -and, with his forehead in his hand, gazed upon what was left of his -happiness, the few nothings so perfectly insignificant to anyone else, -but so full of soul to him; an embroidered handkerchief, a glove, a -veil, a bundle of letters, a bundle of little blue notes, placed within -one another, and forming as it were a tiny book of tenderness. And the -envelopes of the letters had been opened so carefully, and the paper of -the blue notes torn with such precision. The slightest details reminded -Hubert of the scruples of loving piety which he had felt for everything -that came from his mistress. -</p> - -<p> -Beneath the letters and blue notes there was still a likeness of her, -representing her in the costume which she had worn at Folkestone: a -plain, close-fitting cloth jacket, and a projecting hat which cast a -slight shadow upon the upper part of the face. She had had this portrait -taken for Hubert alone, and, when giving it, she had said to him: -</p> - -<p> -"I thought so much of ourselves while I was sitting. If you knew how -much this likeness, loves you!" -</p> - -<p> -And Hubert felt himself really loved by it. It seemed to him that from -the oval face, the slender lips, and the dream-bathed eyes, there -proceeded a tender effluence which encompassed him, and it was there -that, by the side of the vision of perfidy, there began to rise afresh -the vision of Theresa's love. He knew as clearly from the memories of -this woman that she had loved, and still loved him, as he knew from her -own confession that she had betrayed him. He saw her again as he had -left her on the sofa in their retreat, with her face convulsed, and, -above all, her tears—ah, what tears! For the first time since the -fatal hour he perceived the nobility with which she had acknowledged her -fault, when it was so easy for her to speak falsely, and he suddenly -uttered a cry which hitherto had not come to him through his days of -parched and passionate pain: -</p> - -<p> -"But why? why?" -</p> - -<p> -Yes, why? why? This anguish of a completely moral order henceforward -accompanied the anguish of physical sight. Hubert began to think, not -only about his trouble, but about the cause of his trouble. To burn -these letters, to tear this likeness, to break and throw away the chain -and ring, to destroy this last remnant of his love, would have been as -impossible to him as to rend with steel his mistress's quivering body. -These objects were living persons with looks, caresses, pantings, -voices. He closed the drawer, unable any longer to endure the presence -of these things which to him seemed made of the very substance of his -heart. -</p> - -<p> -He threw himself upon the couch and lost himself in the gulf of his -reflection. Yes, Theresa had loved him, and Theresa loved him still. -There are tears, embraces, and a warmth of soul which do not lie. She -loved him and she had betrayed him! With his own name in her heart she -had given herself to another, less than six weeks after leaving him! But -why? why? Driven by what force? Led away by what dizziness? Overwhelmed -by what intoxication? What was the nature—not of women of that sort -now, for he had no longer any such fierceness of thought—but of -woman, that so monstrous an action should be barely possible to her? Of -what flesh was she formed, this deceiving creature, that with all the -appearances and all the realities of love, it was not possible to place -more reliance upon her than upon water. -</p> - -<p> -How soft they were, those woman's hands, and how loyal they seemed! but -to entrust one's heart to them, believing in a mutual affection, was the -most foolish of follies! She smiles upon you, and weeps for you, and -already she has noticed a passer-by, to whom, if he amuse her for an -hour, she will sacrifice all your tenderness, with flame in her eyes and -grace on her lips! Ah! why? why? Yet what truth can there be in the -world if even love is not true? And what love? Hubert was now thoroughly -investigating his past; he conscientiously examined his attachment to -Theresa, and he did himself the justice to acknowledge that for months -past he had not had a thought that was not for her. He had certainly -made mistakes, but they had always been for her, and even at this hour -he could not repent them. -</p> - -<p> -He would have found relief for all his pain in kneeling before the -priest who had trained him, and saying: "Father, I have sinned." But no; -it was beyond his power to regret the actions in which Theresa, his -Theresa, had been involved. Yes, he had idolised her with unswerving -fervour, and it was his first love, and it would be the last, or at -least he thought so, and he had shown her his confidence in the -continuance of their feelings with incalculable ingenuousness. Nothing -of all this had had sufficient influence over her to arrest her at the -moment when she committed her infamy,—with the same body. -</p> - -<p> -He could suddenly breathe its aroma, and again feel its impression over -his whole being; then there was a resurrection of jealousy, painful even -to torture, and continually he harped on the "why? why?"—in despair, -and pitiful, like so many before him, from clashing against the -unanswerable riddle of a woman's soul, guilty once, guilty again, guilty -even to her grey hairs and to her death itself. -</p> - -<p> -This new form of grief lasted for days and days afterwards. The young -man was giving free rein within himself to a new feeling of which he had -never had a suspicion hitherto, and which he was henceforward to endure -continually—mistrust. From his earliest years he had lived with a -complete faith in the appearances which surrounded him. He had believed -in his mother. He had believed in God. He had believed in the sincerity -of every word and caress. Above all, he had believed in Theresa de -Sauve. He had assimilated her in thought with the rest of his life. All -was truth around him; thus Theresa's love had appealed to him as a -supreme truth, and now, by a mental revolution which betrayed the -primitive flaw in his education, he was assimilating all the rest of his -life with this woman of falsehood. -</p> - -<p> -His mother had accustomed him to have nothing to say to scepticism. This -is probably the surest method of causing the first deception to -transform the too implicit believer into an absolute negator. It is -never well to expect much from men or from nature, for the former are -wild animals scantily masked with decorum; while, as for the latter, her -apparent harmony is the result of an injustice which knows no remission. -To preserve the ideal within us until death at last releases us from the -dangerous slavery to others and to ourselves, we must early habituate -ourselves to regard the universe of moral beauty as the opium-smoker -regards the dreams of his intoxication. Their charm consists in the fact -that they are dreams, and consequently correspond to nothing that is -real. -</p> - -<p> -Hubert, quite on the contrary, was so accustomed to move his intellect -in one piece that he was unable to doubt or to believe by halves. If -Theresa had lied to him why should not everyone do the same? This idea -did not frame itself in an abstract form, nor did he arrive at it by the -aid of reasoning: it was the substitution of one mode of feeling for -another. During this cruel period he found himself suspecting Theresa in -their common past. -</p> - -<p> -He asked himself whether her betrayal at Trouville had been the first, -whether she had not had another lover than himself at the time of their -most infatuated passion. This woman's perfidy was corrupting his very -recollections. It was doing worse. Under this misanthropical influence -he committed the greatest of moral crimes: he doubted his mother's -tenderness. Yes, in Madame Liauran's passionate affection the unhappy -fellow could see nothing but jealous egotism. -</p> - -<p> -"If she really loved me," he said to himself, "she would not have told -me what she did." -</p> - -<p> -Thus, he found himself in that state of feeling to which popular -language has given the expressive name of disenchantment. He had seen -the last of the beauty of the human soul, and he was beginning to prove -its misery, and always he fell back upon this question as upon the point -of a sword: -</p> - -<p> -"But why? why?" -</p> - -<p> -And he sifted Theresa's character without meeting with any reply. He -might as well have asked why Theresa had senses as well as a heart, and -why at certain times there was set up, as with men, a divorce between -the longings of her heart and the tyranny of her senses. Those -debauchees in whom libertinism has not killed sentimentality know the -secret of these divorces; but Hubert was not a debauchee. He must remain -pure even in his despair, and it never occurred to him to seek -forgetfulness of his trouble in the intoxication of loveless kisses. He -was still ignorant of venal and consoling alcoves—where men lose -indeed their regrets, but at the cost of losing their dreams. -</p> - -<p> -And yet, since he was young, and since, in his intimacy with Theresa, he -had made a habit of the most ardent pleasure—pleasure which exalts -both mind and body in divine communion—he began, after some weeks of -these sorrows and reflections, to feel a dim desire, an unacknowledged -appetite for this woman of whom he wished to know nothing more, whom he -must regard as dead, and whom he so utterly despised. -</p> - -<p> -This strange and unconscious return towards the delights of his love, -but a return no longer ennobled by any ideal, manifested itself in a -curiosity such as those are which issue from the unfathomable depths of -our being. He felt a sickly longing to see with his own eyes this man -who had been Theresa's lover, this La Croix-Firmin, to whom his mistress -had given herself, and, in whose arms she had quivered with -voluptuousness as in his own. To a spiritual director who had traced, -period by period, the ravage wrought in this soul by the corrupt leaven -inoculated by Theresa's betrayal, such curiosity would doubtless have -appeared the most decisive symptom of a metamorphosis in this youth who -had grown up amid all modesty. Was it not the transition from that -absolute horror of evil which is the torment and glory of virgin -natures, to that kind of still more frightful attraction which borders -so closely upon depravity? -</p> - -<p> -But it was especially that frightful facility of imagination about the -impurity of a desired woman, which, by one of the saddest laws of our -nature, brings it to pass that proof of infidelity, while degrading the -lover, and dishonouring the mistress, so frequently kindles love. It is -probable that, in such cases, the conception of the perfidy acts like an -infamous picture, and that this is the explanation of those fits of -sensuality which occur amid the hatred felt, and which astonish the -moralist in certain law-suits founded upon the dramas of jealousy. -</p> - -<p> -Poor Hubert was certainly not one to harbour such base instincts; and -yet his curiosity to become acquainted with his Trouville rival was -already a very unhealthy one. Its nature was the same as that of -Theresa's fault. It is the obscure, indestructible recollection of the -flesh which operates without the knowledge of the being who is under its -influence. The memory of all the caresses given and received since the -night at Folkestone counted for something in this desire to feast his -eyes on the real existence of the hated man. It became something so -sharp And severe that after struggling for a long time, And with the -feeling that he was lowering himself strangely, Hubert could resist no -longer, and he employed the following almost childish procedure, for the -realisation of his singular desire. -</p> - -<p> -He calculated that La Croix-Firmin must belong to a fashionable club, -and it was not long before he had discovered his name and address in the -year-book of such a one. It was to this club that he had recourse in -order to ascertain whether the individual in question was in Paris. The -reply was in the affirmative. Hubert reconnoitred the Rue La Peyrouse, -in which his rival lived, and he immediately satisfied himself that by -standing on the footpath of one of the Places intersected by this -street, he could watch the house, which was one of two stories in -height, and which certainly contained but a very small number of -tenants. -</p> - -<p> -He had said to himself that he would take up a position there one -morning, and wait until he saw some man come out who appeared to be he -whom he sought. He would then question the porter, under some pretext or -other, and would, doubtless, thus receive information. It was a method -of primitive simplicity, and one in which all those who in their youth -have had a passionate adoration for some celebrated writer will -recognise the ingenuousness of the stratagems which they employed to see -their hero. If this plan failed, Hubert could fall back upon an -application to one of those whom he knew among the members of the club; -but he felt a great repugnance to taking such a step. -</p> - -<p> -Accordingly he found himself on the spot at nine o'clock one cold -December morning. The weather was dry and clear, the sky of a pale blue, -and the half-fashionable, half-exotic quarter given over to the traffic -of its crowd of tradesmen and grooms. Hubert saw emerge successively -from the house which he was examining, some servants, an old lady, a -little boy followed by an abbé, and finally, at about half-past eleven, -a man who was still young, of medium height, fashionably dressed, -slender and strong in his otter-lined overcoat. -</p> - -<p> -This man was just buttoning up his collar as he proceeded straight in -Hubert's direction. The latter also advanced, and brushed past the -stranger. He saw a somewhat heavy profile, a moustache of the colour of -burnished gold, a complexion already coloured by the cold, and the dull -eye of a hard liver who has gone late to bed, after a night spent at the -gaming table or elsewhere. An inexpressible pain at his heart caused the -jealous lover to hasten to the house. -</p> - -<p> -"Monsieur de la Croix-Firmin?" he asked. -</p> - -<p> -"The Count is not at home," replied the doorkeeper. -</p> - -<p> -"But he made an appointment with me for half-past eleven, and I am -punctual," said Hubert, drawing out his watch; "has he long gone out?" -</p> - -<p> -"No, sir; you ought to have met him. The Count was here five minutes -ago; he cannot have turned the corner." -</p> - -<p> -Hubert had learnt what he wanted. He hurried in the direction of the -place where he had passed La Croix-Firmin, and, after a few paces he saw -him again, about to follow the footpath of the Avenue towards the Arc de -Triomphe. It was he, then! Hubert followed him slowly at a little -distance, and watched him with a sort of devouring anguish. He saw him -walking daintily along, with a litheness that was at once refined and -strong. He remembered what had taken place at Trouville, and every one -of La Croix-Firmin's movements revived the physical vision. -</p> - -<p> -Hubert compared himself mentally, frail and slight as he was, with the -sturdy, haughty fellow, who, half a head taller than himself, was thus -passing along beneath the beautiful sky of this winter's morning, with a -step which spoke the certainty of strength, and holding his stick by the -middle, in the English fashion, at some distance from his body. The -comparison sufficiently explained the determining cause of Theresa's -fault, and for the first time the young man perceived those deadly -causes in their genuine brutishness. "Ah! the why! The why! There it -is!" he thought, as, with painful envy, he observed this man's animal -energy. His first emotion was too bitter for him, and the unhappy fellow -was about to give up his pursuit when he saw La Croix-Firmin get into a -cab. He hailed one himself. -</p> - -<p> -"Follow that vehicle," he said to the driver. -</p> - -<p> -The thought that his enemy was going to see Theresa had just restored -all Hubert's frenzy. From time to time he leaned out of the window of -his four-wheeler, and could see the one which conveyed his rival driving -along. This cab, which was of a yellow colour, went down the Champs -Elysées, passed along the Rue Royale, entered the Rue Saint Honoré, -and then stopped in front of the Café-Voisin. La Croix-Firmin was -merely going out to breakfast. Hubert could not repress a smile at the -pitiful result of his curiosity. Mechanically he also entered the café. -The young Count was already seated at a table with two friends, who had -been waiting for him. -</p> - -<p> -At the other extremity of the hall there was a single table unoccupied, -at which Hubert placed himself. From here he was able, not, indeed, to -hear the conversation of the three guests—the noise in the restaurant -was too loud for that—but to study the physiognomy of the man whom he -detested. He ordered his own meal at random, and sank into a kind of -analysis known to those observers from taste or by profession, who will -enter a theatre, a smoking-room, or a railway carriage with the sole -desire of observing the workings of human physiology, and of tracing the -instinctive manifestations of temperament in gesture, look, sound of -breathing, or posture. It sometimes happened, indeed, that a raising of -the voice would cause a fragmentary sentence to reach Hubert; but he -paid no heed to it, sunk as he was in the contemplation of the man -himself, whom he saw almost in front of him, with his bold eyes, his -rather short neck, and his strong jaws. -</p> - -<p> -When La Croix-Firmin had entered, his complexion had looked worn and -pimply; but when breakfast was half over the work of digestion began to -send an influx of blood into his face. He ate much and steadily, with -potent slowness. He laughed loudly. His hands, holding his knife and -fork, were strong, and displayed two rings. His forehead, which was -shown in all its narrowness by his short curls, could never have been -lit up by a flame of thought. All this formed a whole which, even in -Hubert's hostile eyes, was not devoid of a manly, healthy beauty; but it -was the brutish beauty of a being of flesh and blood, as to whom it was -impossible for a person of refinement to entertain an illusion for an -hour. To say of a woman that she had given herself to this man was to -say that she had yielded to an instinct of a wholly physical order. -</p> - -<p> -The more Hubert identified himself by observation with this temperament, -the clearer did this become to him. He was interpreting Theresa's nature -better at this moment than he had ever done before. He grasped its -ambiguousness with frightful certainty, and it was then that there rose -up within him the saddest, but at the same time the noblest, feeling -that he had entertained since his accident, the only one truly worthy of -what his soul had formerly been, that one which, in the presence of -woman's perfidy, is man's preservation from complete ruin of -heart:—pity. -</p> - -<p> -An emotion of infinite bitterness and melancholy combined came upon him -at the thought that the charming creature whom he had known, his dear -silent one, as he used to call her, she who had shown herself possessed -of such delicate refinement in the art of pleasing him, should have -surrendered herself to the caresses of this man. -</p> - -<p> -He suddenly recollected the tears of the night at Folkestone, and the -tears, also, at their last interview; and, as though he had at last -understood their meaning, he could find within him but a single -utterance, which he whispered there in the restaurant filled with the -smoke of cigars, then beneath the leafless trees of the Tuileries, then -in the solitude of his own room in the Rue Vaneau—a single utterance, -but one filled with the perception of the degrading fatalities of his -life: -</p> - -<p> -"What misery! My God, what misery!" -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a></h4> - -<p> -What was Theresa doing while he was suffering thus, and why did she -afford him no sign of her existence? Although the young man had -forbidden himself to think about her, he thought of her nevertheless, -and this question came to add anxiety to his other anguish. -Contradictory hypotheses passed in turns through his mind. Had Theresa -died of remorse? Had she ceased to love him? Had she kept La -Croix-Firmin for her lover? Was she pursuing a fresh intrigue. -Everything seemed possible to Hubert, the worst as well as the best, on -the part of this woman whom he had learned to be so strangely compounded -of refinement and libertinism, of treachery and nobility. He then -ascertained by the heart-burning caused him by some of his hypotheses, -by what living fibres he still clung to this being from whom he wished -himself released. -</p> - -<p> -He was on the point of taking some steps in order at least to learn what -the inclinations of her own soul were at that moment; then he despised -himself for the weakness, and, to strengthen himself, he repeated some -verses which were in correspondence with his condition of mind. He found -them, by a strange irony of destiny which he did not suspect, in the -single collection of poetry by Alfred Fanières. This volume, which had -been reprinted after the poet's novels had made him celebrated, bore a -title which was in itself a revelation of youthfulness: "Early Pride." -Hubert had dined, in company with the writer, at Madame de Sauve's house -without suspecting what the poor woman felt at being obliged by her -husband to receive at her table the lover whom she idolised and the man -with whom she had broken. Fanières had talked cleverly that evening, -and it was after that dinner that the young man, with very natural -curiosity, had obtained the book of verse at a bookseller's. The poem -which pleased him just now was a sonnet, somewhat pretentiously called -"Tender Cruelty":— -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">"Be still, my heart, but speak thou forth fierce pride,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And tell me that my sway no share must know,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Nor can I pardon her the grievous blow</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Who knew another's couch although my bride.</span><br /> -<span class="i2">At least, I've seen her as she vainly tried,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Her soul in tears dissolved, and crouching low,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">To find the look my eyes could yet forego;</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And, kingly silent, I have turned aside.</span><br /> -<span class="i2">She knew not that, when grief distraught, were heard</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Her plaintive tones entreat a single word,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">I suffered even as she, and loved her still.</span><br /> -<span class="i2">In silence only, outraged man is strong;</span><br /> -<span class="i2">For vengeance tells a tale of secret ill,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And I would be believed above all wrong."</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -"Yes," said Hubert to himself, "he is right: silence—" -</p> - -<p> -The verses moved him childishly, as happens with ordinary readers of -poetry, who require a literary work merely to excite or to soothe the -inward wound. -</p> - -<p> -"Silence . . ." he resumed. "Do we speak to one that is dead? Well, -Theresa is dead to me." -</p> - -<p> -Thus expressing himself in the solitude of his study, where he now spent -nearly all his days, Hubert had no ill-will remaining against his -mistress. As no new fact came to rouse fresh feelings within him, the -old ones, which had existed before the betrayal, reappeared. The images -of his remembrances abounded within him, nor did he drive them away, and -under their influence his anger little by little became something -abstract, rational, and, so to speak, expedient in his eyes; but in -reality he had never loved this woman so much as he did now when he -believed himself sure of never seeing her again. -</p> - -<p> -He loved her, in fact, as though she were dead; but who does not know -that is the most indestructible and frantic tenderness? When irrevocable -separation has not primarily resulted in the killing of love, it exalts -it on the contrary in a strange fashion. Impossible to embrace, so -present and so far away, the dim shape of the wished-for phantom hovers -before our gaze with the beauty that life will never wither more, and -our whole soul goes out sadly and passionately to meet it. The duration -of days is annihilated. The sweetness of the past flows back in its -fulness within us, and then begins a singular and retrospective kind of -enchantment which is like hallucination in the heart. -</p> - -<p> -Theresa de Sauve might have been a woman buried, sewn up in a shroud, -laid in the coldness of the funeral vault for ever, and Hubert would not -have abandoned himself more to the gnawings of his memory, to the mad -ardour of love which lacks both hope and desire, and is wholly made up -of ecstacy of what once has been,—and can never be again. By means of -her notes, which he had kept, and which he re-read until he knew every -word by heart, he reconstructed, hour by hour, the delicious months of -his past intoxication. Theresa was in the habit of never dating her -letters, but of simply writing the name of the day at the head of them, -"Thursday," "Wednesday," "Saturday." Hubert found the day of the month -from the post-mark, thanks to the pious care with which he had preserved -all the envelopes, for the childish reason that he could not have -destroyed a line of that handwriting without pain. -</p> - -<p> -Even after so many weeks, he had failed to become insensible to the -emotion caused him by the sight of the letters of his name traced by -Theresa's hand. Yes; hour by hour he revived the life already lived. The -charm of the bygone moments reappeared so complete, so rapturous, so -heart-breaking! It had passed away as everything does, and the young man -had come to rebel no longer against the enigma of which he was the -victim. The Christian notion of responsibility was succeeded within him -by an obscure fatalism. The termination of his happiness was now -explained in his eyes by the inevitable misery of mankind. He almost -acquitted his phantom of a fault which seemed to him to be bound up with -natural fatalities; and then he began to think that this phantom was not -that of a dead woman with closed eyes, motionless bosom, and shut lips, -but of a living creature with beating eyelids, throbbing heart, and -parted lips that were fresh and warm; and, tormented in spite of himself -by some vague, dim desire, he again began to murmur: -</p> - -<p> -"What is she doing?" -</p> - -<p> -What then was Theresa doing, and how was it that she had essayed no -effort to see again the man she loved? What thoughts and what feelings -had she experienced since the terrible scene which had separated her -from Hubert? With her, too, days had succeeded to days, but while the -young man, a prey to a metamorphosis of soul provoked by the most -unlooked-for and tragic of deceptions, suffered these rapid burning days -to slip away as he passed from one extremity of the universe of feeling -to the other, she, the guilty one, the vanquished one, was absorbed in a -single thought. Herein like all women who love, she would have given her -blood-drops, one after another, to cure the sorrow that she had caused -to her lover. It was not that the visible details of her life were -modified. Except for the first week, during which she had been -overthrown, so to speak, by a continuous and shooting headache, she had, -as the result of a reaction from the experience of so many emotions, -resumed her vocation as a woman of fashion, her accustomed course of -drives and visits, great dinners and receptions, theatre-goings or -evening parties. -</p> - -<p> -But this completely external movement has never been able to hinder -dreams any more than the employment of the needle does in fancy work. -Though a strange fact at first sight, the explanation in the Avenue -Friedland had been followed by a half-soothed relaxation in her soul, -simply because voluntary confession had lessened remorse, as it always -does. It is, too, on this unexplained law of our consciousness that the -subtle psychology of the Catholic Church has based the principle of -confession. If Theresa did not altogether forgive herself for her fault, -she was, at least, no longer compelled by her thoughts of it to endure -the contemplation of absolute baseness. The notion of a certain moral -loftiness was now associated with it, ennobling it in her own eyes. This -sleep of remorse left her free to absorb herself in the remembrance of -Hubert. -</p> - -<p> -She now lived in a condition of deadly anxiety concerning him, and was -dominated by a steady longing to see him again, not that she hoped to -obtain her forgiveness from him, but she knew that he was unhappy, and -she felt within her such a love for the youth whom she had wounded, that -she would willingly have found means to dress and close the sore. How? -She could not have told that; but it was not possible that such great, -deeply-repentant tenderness could be inefficacious. In any case she -must, at least, show Hubert the scope of the passion which she felt for -him. Could this fail to touch him, to move him, to rescue him from -despair? Now that she was no longer beneath the immediate burden of her -infidelity, she did not judge of it from the essentially masculine -standpoint, that is, as being something absolute and irreparable. -</p> - -<p> -In woman, who is a creature much more instinctive than we men, and much -closer to nature, the energies of renewing spring-time are much more -unimpaired. A woman who is deceived forgives, provided that she knows -herself to be loved, and a woman who has deceived can scarcely -understand non-forgiveness provided that she loves. The fault committed -is an idea, a shadow, a chimera. The love felt is a fact, a reality. -Thus Theresa had entirely emerged from the period of moral depression, -the extreme limit of which had been marked by her confession. Certainly, -she did not regret the latter, as so many other women would have done in -like circumstances; but it was her longing, her hope, her wish that it -should not have marked the end of her happiness, for, after all, she -loved and was loved. -</p> - -<p> -Nevertheless, her longing did not blind her to such a degree as to make -her forget what she knew of her lover's character. Proud and pure as she -knew him to be, how difficult it was to effect a reconciliation with -him! And, moreover, what means could she employ to be alone with him -even for an hour? Write? She did so, not once, but ten times. Having -sealed the letter she threw it into a drawer, and did not send it at -all. At first no expression seemed to her sufficiently coaxing and -humble, endearing and tender. Then she was terrified with the -apprehension lest Hubert should not even open the envelope, and should -return it to her without a reply. Meet him again in society? She had a -frightful dread of such an accident. With what courage could she endure -his glance, which would be a cruel one, and one which she could not even -attempt to disarm? Go to the Rue Vaneau and obtain an interview from -him? She knew only too well that this was not possible. Send him a -message? By whom? The only person to whom she had confided her love was -her country friend whom she had employed to post her letters to her -husband, while she herself was at Folkestone. Among all the men whom she -met in society, that one who was sufficiently intimate with Hubert to -act as a messenger in such an embassy was also he in whom her woman's -instinct showed her the probable author of the indiscreet remarks which -had ruined her—George Liauran. She was bound by the thousand tiny -threads which society fastens to the limbs of its slaves. -</p> - -<p> -At last, without any calculation, and by obeying the impulses of her own -heart, she succeeded in finding a means which appeared almost infallible -to her for coming to an explanation. She experienced an irresistible -longing to visit the little abode in the Avenue Friedland, and she told -herself that Hubert would, sooner or later, feel this longing like -herself. Of inevitable necessity she must meet him face to face on one -of these visits. Under the influence of this idea she began to pay long -solitary visits to those ground floor rooms, whose every nook spoke to -her of her lost happiness. The first time that she came there in this -way, the hour which she spent among the furniture, was the occasion of -such intolerable emotion that she was nearly relapsing into the -extravagance of her first despair. She returned, nevertheless, and by -degrees it became strangely sweet to her to accomplish this pilgrimage -of love nearly every day. The doorkeeper lit the fire; she allowed the -flame to illuminate the little drawing-room with a flickering light -which struggled against the invasion of the twilight; she lay down upon -the divan, to experience a sensation at once torturing and delicious, a -blending of expectation, melancholy, and remembrance. Each time she was -careful to first ask: -</p> - -<p> -"Has the gentleman been here?" and the negative reply would give her the -hope that chance might cause the young man's visit to coincide with her -own. -</p> - -<p> -She noticed, with beating heart, the slightest noise. All the objects -around her which were not coloured by the blaze from the fireplace, were -drowned in the shadow. The apartment was scented with the exhalations -from the flowers, the cups and vases of which she used herself to trim, -and she alternately dreaded and desired the entry of Hubert. Would he -forgive her? Would he repel her? And finally she had to leave this -refuge of her last hope, and she departed, her veil drawn down, her soul -flooded by the same sadness that she used formerly to feel when Hubert's -kisses were still fresh on her lips, at once comforted and terrified by -this thought: -</p> - -<p> -"When shall I see him again? Will it be to-morrow?" -</p> - -<p> -One afternoon when stretched thus upon the divan and absorbed in her -dreams, she seemed to hear the turning of a key in the lock of the outer -door. She sat up suddenly with a wild throbbing of heart. Yes, the door -was opening and closing. A step sounded in the ante-room. A hand was -opening the second door. She fell back again upon the cushions of the -divan, unable to endure the approach of what she had so greatly hoped -for, and thus finding, through her very sincerity, the vanquished -attitude which the most refined coquetry would have chosen and which was -calculated to work most powerfully upon her lover,—if it were he. But -what other could come, and did she not immediately recognise his step? -Yes, it was indeed Hubert who was just coming in. -</p> - -<p> -Since their rupture, he, too, had often wished to come back to the -little ground floor rooms, where the clock had struck for him so many -sweet hours,—the clock over which Theresa used gracefully to throw -the black lace of her second veil "in order to veil the time better," she -said. Then he had not ventured. Fond memories made him timid. People are -afraid, in renewing such, both of feeling too much and of feeling too -little. This afternoon, however, was it the influence of the gloomy -winter sky and his own bewitching melancholy? Was it the reading -yesterday of one of Theresa's most charming notes, dated a year back on -the very same day? -</p> - -<p> -Without thinking about it, Hubert had found himself on the way to the -Avenue Friedland. To reach the latter he had mechanically pursued a -network of winding streets, as he used of old in order to avoid spies. -What need was there of such stratagems to-day? And the contrast had made -his heart heavy. On his way he had to pass a telegraph office which -formerly he used to enter after their meetings to prolong the -voluptuousness of them by writing Theresa a note to surprise her just after -she had reached home—a stifled echo, distant and so tender of the -intoxicated sighs of that day! He saw the door of the office, its dark -colour, its inscription, the opening of the box reserved for telegraph -cards, and he nearly fainted. -</p> - -<p> -But he was already pursuing the pathway of the fatal Avenue, and he -could see the house, the closed venetian blinds of the front rooms on -the ground floor, and the entrance commanded by the gateway. How did he -feel when the doorkeeper, after asking whether "the gentleman had had a -good journey," added, in his hatefully obsequious tones: "The lady is -there——?" -</p> - -<p> -He had not yet taken the key from his pocket when this news, less -unexpected, perhaps, than he would acknowledge to himself, struck him -like a full blow upon the breast. What was to be done? Dignity commanded -him to depart immediately. But the lurking, deep desire which he had to -see Theresa again suggested to him one of those sophisms, thanks to -which we always find means to prefer with our reason what we most desire -with our instinct. -</p> - -<p> -"If I do not go in," he said to himself, looking towards the lodge, -"this odious individual will understand that we have quarrelled. He is -capable of carrying his effrontery so far as to speak to Theresa of my -interrupted visit. I owe it to her to spare her this humiliation, and -besides, the matter of the rooms must be settled once for all. Shall I -never be a man?" -</p> - -<p> -It was at this moment, after the lightning flash of this sudden -reasoning, that he opened the door, being aware the while that there was -one in the adjoining room who was being thrown into agitation from feet -to hair by this simple noise. He had often warmed those slender feet -with many kisses, and so often handled that long black hair! -</p> - -<p> -"If she has come, it is because she loves me still." -</p> - -<p> -This thought moved him in spite of himself, and he was trembling as he -passed into the drawing-room, where the dying of the twilight was -striving with the flames on the hearth. He was surprised by the -caressing aroma of the flowers standing in the vases on the -mantel-shelf, with which was blended the odour of a perfume that he knew -too well. On the divan at the back of the room he saw the prostrate form -of a body, then the movement of a bust, the paleness of a face, and he -found himself face to face with Theresa, now sitting up and looking at -him. -</p> - -<p> -The silence of both was such that he could hear the sharp beats of his -own heart and the breathing of the woman, who was evidently wild with -emotion. The presence of his mistress had suddenly restored to him all -his nervous anger. What he felt at this moment was that frightful -longing to brutally ill-treat the woman, the being of stratagem and -falsehood, which takes hold of the man, the being of strength and -fierceness, whenever physical jealousy awakes the primitive male within -him, placed opposite the female in the truth of nature. At a certain -depth, all the differences of education and character are annihilated -before the inevitable necessities of the laws of sex. -</p> - -<p> -It was Theresa who first broke the silence. She understood too well the -gravity of the explanation which was about to ensue not to bring all her -powers of feminine artifice into play. She loved Hubert at this moment -as passionately as on the day when she confessed her inexplicable fault -to him; but she was mistress of herself now, and could measure the scope -of her words. Moreover, she had no play to act. It was enough for her to -show herself just as she was, in the infinite humility of the most -repentant tenderness, and it was in a nearly hoarse voice that she began -to speak from the corner of the shadow in which she remained seated. -</p> - -<p> -"I ask your forgiveness for being here," she said; "I am just going. -When I allowed myself to come into this room sometimes, quite alone, I -did not think that I was doing anything to displease you. It was the -pilgrimage to that which has been the only happiness in my life; but I -promise you that I will never do so again." -</p> - -<p> -"It is for me to withdraw, madame," replied Hubert, who, at the sound of -her voice, found himself disquieted by an emotion impossible of -definition. "She has come several times," he thought, and the notion -irritated him, as happens when one is unwilling to give way to a tender -feeling. "I acknowledge," he continued, in quite a loud voice, "that I -did not expect to see you here again after what has taken place. It -seemed to me that you would fly from certain memories rather than seek -for them again." -</p> - -<p> -"Do not speak harshly to me," she replied, still more softly. "But why -should you speak to me otherwise?" she added, in a melancholy tone; "I -cannot justify myself in your eyes. Yet reflect that had I not clung, as -I did, to the beauty of the feeling which united us, I should not have -been sincere with you as I was. Alas! it was because I loved you as I -love you still, as I shall always love you." -</p> - -<p> -"Do not employ the word 'love,'" returned Hubert; "you have no longer -the right to do so." -</p> - -<p> -"Ah!" she replied, with growing excitement; "you cannot prevent me from -feeling. Yes, Hubert, I love you; and if I can no longer hope that my -love is shared, it is none the less living here;" and she struck her -bosom. "And you must know it," she continued. "My only comfort in the -most utter unhappiness will be the thought that I have been able to tell -you one last time what I have so often told you in happy days: I love -you. Do not see in this a dream of forgiveness; I shall not seek to move -you, and you will never condemn me as much as I condemn myself. But it -is none the less true that I love you more than ever." -</p> - -<p> -"Well!" replied Hubert, "this love will be the only vengeance that I -wish to exact from you. Know then that you have caused this man whom you -love to endure a martyrdom such as may scarcely be survived; you have -rent his heart, you have been his tormentor, the tormentor of every hour -and every minute. There is nothing more within me but a wound, and it is -you, you who have opened it. I have ceased to believe anything, hope for -anything, love anything, and <i>you</i> are the cause. And this will last -for a long time, a long time, and every morning and every evening you will -have to say to yourself: 'He whom I love is in his throes, and I am -killing him.'" -</p> - -<p> -And so he went on relieving his soul of the sorrow of so many days with -all the cruel words with which his anger supplied him for the woman who -was listening to him with downcast eyelids, disconcerted face, and -frightful paleness, in the shadow wherein resounded the voice that was -terrible in her ears. Was he not, merely by obeying his passion, -inflicting upon her the most torturing of punishments, that of bleeding -in her presence from a wound which she had dealt him and which she was -unable to cure. -</p> - -<p> -"Strike me," she replied simply, "I have deserved all." -</p> - -<p> -"These are useless words," said Hubert, after a fresh silence, during -which time he had been walking from one end of the room to the other to -exhaust his passion, "Let us come to deeds. This interview must at least -have a practical conclusion. We shall see each other again in society -and at your house. Need I tell you that I shall act as an honourable -man, and that no one shall suspect anything of what has passed between -us? There remains the matter of these rooms. I shall write to Emmanuel -Deroy to let him know that I shall come here no more. It is useless for -us to meet here again, is it not? We have nothing more to say to each -other." -</p> - -<p> -"You are right," said Theresa, in a crushed voice; then, as though -forming a supreme resolution, she rose. -</p> - -<p> -She passed both her hands across her eyes, and loosing from her wrist -the bracelet to which the little key was suspended, she offered the -trinket to Hubert without uttering a word. He took the gold chainlet, -and his fingers met those of the young woman. They looked at each other, -and for the first time since his entry into the room he saw her fully -face to face. Her beauty at that moment was sublime. Her mouth was half -open, as though respiration had failed her, her eyes were laden with -languor, her fingers pressed those of the young man with a lingering -caress, and a quick flame swept suddenly through him. -</p> - -<p> -As though seized with intoxication he went up to her, took her in his -arms, and gave her a kiss. She gave way, and both fell upon the shadowed -divan together, clasping each other in one of those wild and silent -embraces wherein dissolves all animosity, just or unjust, but all -dignity as well. These are moments when neither man nor woman utters the -words, "I love you," as though feeling that such frenzies have, in fact, -nothing in common with love. -</p> - -<p> -When they recovered their senses, she looked at him. She trembled lest -she should see him yield to the horrible impulse which is familiar to -men after similar lapses, and which prompts them to punish their -accomplice for their own weakness by loading her with contempt. If -Hubert was seized with a shudder of revolt, he, at least, had the -generosity to spare Theresa the sight of it, and then, in a voice -rendered so captivating by fear: -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Hubert!" she said, "I have you again for my own. Could you but know -it, I should not have survived our separation. I should have died of it, -for I love you too much. I will be so kind, so kind to you, I will make -you so happy. But do not leave me. If you love me no longer, let me love -you. Take me, or send me away as your fancy wills. I am your slave, your -thing, your property. Ah, if I could die now!" -</p> - -<p> -And she covered her lover's wasted face with passionate tears. He -nevertheless remained motionless, with lips and eyes closed, and thought -of his downfall. Now that the intoxication was dispelled, he could -compare what he had felt just then with what he had felt formerly. The -symbol of the change that had been wrought was in the contrast between -the brutality of the pleasure taken thus upon this divan, and the divine -modesty of other days. He had not forgiven Theresa, and he had not been -able to resist her, but for this very reason he had for ever lost the -right of reproaching her with her betrayal. -</p> - -<p> -And then, though he had had this right anew, how could he have used it? -There was too strong a witchery in this woman's caresses. He foresaw -that he would be subject to it from that day forth, and that his dream -was over. He had loved this woman with the sublimest love, and she now -held him by what was darkest and least noble within him. Something was -dead in his moral life which he would never find again. It was one of -those wrecks of soul which are felt by those suffering them to be -irremediable. He had ceased to value himself after ceasing to value his -mistress. The eternal Delilah had once more accomplished her work, and, -as the lips of the woman were quivering and caressing, he paid her back -her kisses. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a></h4> - -<p> -About a fortnight after this scene, Hubert had again begun to dine from -home and to go out nearly every evening, to the great stupefaction of -his mother, who, after being silent in the presence of a grief that she -was powerless to control, now perceived in her son an air of intoxicated -feverishness which frightened her. She could not forbear opening up her -astonishment to George Liauran when the latter had come one evening, as -was his wont, to take his place in that little drawing-room which had -been the witness of so many of the poor woman's agonies. -</p> - -<p> -The wind was blowing outside as on the night when General Scilly had -commenced to think of his friends' unhappiness; and the old soldier, who -was also present in his customary easy-chair, could not help observing -the ravages which some ten months past had wrought upon the two widows. -</p> - -<p> -"I do not understand it at all," replied George to the questioning of -his cousin; "Hubert and I have had no interview. It is certain that his -despair is inexplicable if he did not believe in Madame de Sauve's -guilt, and it is certain that he is again on the best of terms with -her." -</p> - -<p> -"Knowing what he does," said the Count, "he is not proud." -</p> - -<p> -"What would you?" returned George, "he is like the rest." -</p> - -<p> -Madame Liauran, lying on her couch, was holding Madame Castel's hand -while her cousin uttered these words, the scope of which he did not -realise. The fingers of mother and grandmother exchanged a pressure by -which the two women told each other of the suffering of which neither -could ever be cured. They had not brought up their child that he might -become like the rest. They caught a glimpse of the inevitable -metamorphosis which was on the eve of its accomplishment in Hubert just -now. -</p> - -<p> -Alas! it is a profound truth that "man is like his love;" but this love, -why and whence does it come to us? A question without reply, and, like -woman's treachery, like man's weakness, like life itself, A CRUEL, CRUEL -ENIGMA! -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>THE END.</h4> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CRUEL ENIGMA ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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