La confession d'un enfant du siècle. English

  CHAPTER V. AN INTERVIEW

  The fever kept me in bed a week. When I was able to write I assuredMadame Pierson that she should be obeyed, and that I would go away. Iwrote in good faith, without any intention to deceive, but I was veryfar from keeping my promise. Before I had gone ten leagues I ordered thedriver to stop, and stepped out of the carriage. I began to walk alongthe road. I could not resist the temptation to look back at the villagewhich was still visible in the distance. Finally, after a period offrightful irresolution, I felt that it was impossible for me to continueon my route, and rather than get into the carriage again, I would havedied on the spot. I told the driver to turn around, and, instead ofgoing to Paris as I had intended, I made straight for N------, whitherMadame Pierson had gone.

  I arrived at ten in the night. As soon as I reached the inn I had a boydirect me to the house of her relatives, and, without reflecting what Iwas doing, at once made my way to the spot. A servant opened the door.I asked if Madame Pierson was there, and directed him to tell her thatsome one wished to speak to her on the part of M. Desprez. That was thename of our village cure.

  While the servant was executing my order I remained alone in a sombrelittle court; as it was raining, I entered the hall and stood atthe foot of the stairway, which was not lighted. Madame Pierson soonarrived, preceding the servant; she descended rapidly, and did notsee me in the darkness; I stepped up to her and touched her arm. Sherecoiled with terror and cried out:

  "What do you wish of me?"

  Her voice trembled so painfully and, when the servant appeared with alight, her face was so pale, that I did not know what to think. Wasit possible that my unexpected appearance could disturb her in such amanner? That reflection occurred to me, but I decided that it was merelya feeling of fright natural to a woman who is suddenly touched.

  Nevertheless, she repeated her question in a firmer tone.

  "You must permit me to see you once more," I replied. "I will go away, Iwill leave the country. You shall be obeyed, I swear it, and that beyondyour real desire, for I will sell my father's house and go abroad; butthat is only on condition that I am permitted to see you once more;otherwise I remain; you need fear nothing from me, but I am resolved onthat."

  She frowned and cast her eyes about her in a strange manner; then shereplied, almost graciously:

  "Come to-morrow during the day and I will see you." Then she left me.

  The next day at noon I presented myself. I was introduced into a roomwith old hangings and antique furniture. I found her alone, seated on asofa. I sat down before her.

  "Madame," I began, "I come neither to speak of what I suffer, nor todeny that I love you. You have written me that what has passed betweenus can not be forgotten, and that is true; but you say that on thataccount we can not meet on the same footing as heretofore, and you aremistaken. I love you, but I have not offended you; nothing is changedin our relations since you do not love me. If I am permitted to seeyou, responsibility rests with me, and as far as your responsibility isconcerned, my love for you should be sufficient guarantee."

  She tried to interrupt me.

  "Kindly allow me to finish what I have to say. No one knows better thanI that in spite of the respect I feel for you, and in spite of all theprotestations by which I might bind myself, love is the stronger. Irepeat I do not intend to deny what is in my heart; but you do not learnof that love to-day for the first time, and I ask you what has preventedme from declaring it up to the present time? The fear of losing you;I was afraid I would not be permitted to see you, and that is what hashappened. Make a condition that the first word I shall speak, the firstthought or gesture that shall seem to be inconsistent with the mostprofound respect, shall be the signal for the closing of your door; as Ihave been silent in the past, I will be silent in the future, You thinkthat I have loved you for a month, when in fact I have loved you fromthe first day I met you. When you discovered it, you did not refuse tosee me on that account. If you had at that time enough esteem for me tobelieve me incapable of offending you, why have you lost that esteem?

  "That is what I have come to ask you. What have I done? I have bent myknee, but I have not said a word. What have I told you? What you alreadyknew. I have been weak because I have suffered. It is true, Madame, thatI am twenty years of age and what I have seen of life has only disgustedme (I could use a stronger word); it is true that there is not at thishour on earth, either in the society of men or in solitude, a place,however small and insignificant, that I care to occupy.

  "The space enclosed within the four walls of your garden is the onlyspot in the world where I live; you are the only human being who hasmade me love God. I had renounced everything before I knew you; whydeprive me of the only ray of light that Providence has spared me? Ifit is on account of fear, what have I done to inspire it? If it is onaccount of dislike, in what respect am I culpable? If it is on accountof pity and because I suffer, you are mistaken in supposing that I cancure myself; it might have been done, perhaps, two months ago; but Ipreferred to see you and to suffer, and I do not repent, whatever maycome of it. The only misfortune that can reach me is to lose you. Put meto the proof. If I ever feel that there is too much suffering for me inour bargain I will go away; and you may be sure of it, since you send meaway to-day, and I am ready to go. What risk do you run in giving me amonth or two of the only happiness I shall ever know?"

  I waited her reply. She suddenly rose from her seat, and then sat downagain. Then a moment of silence ensued.

  "Rest assured," she said, "it is not so."

  I thought she was searching for words that would not appear too severe,and that she was anxious to avoid hurting me.

  "One word," I said, rising, "one word, nothing more. I know who you areand if there is any compassion for me in your heart, I thank you; speakbut one word, this moment decides my life."

  She shook her head; I saw that she was hesitating.

  "You think I can be cured?" I cried. "May God grant you that solace ifyou send me away--"

  I looked out of the window at the horizon, and felt in my soul sucha frightful sensation of loneliness at the idea of going away that myblood froze in my veins. She saw me standing before her, my eyes fixedon her, awaiting her reply; all my life was hanging in suspense upon herlips.

  "Very well," she said, "listen to me. This move of yours in coming tosee me was an act of great imprudence; however, it is not necessary toassume that you have come here to see me; accept a commission that Iwill give you for a friend of my family. If you find that it is a littlefar, let it be the occasion of an absence which shall last as long asyou choose, but which must not be too short. Although you said a momentago," she added with a smile, "that a short trip would calm you. Youwill stop in the Vosges and you will go as far as Strasburg. Then in amonth, or, better, in two months, you will return and report to me; Iwill see you again and give you further instructions."