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Page 58
She laughed. 'And now you are big, and you've come back to
Saint-Graal, and your lady-love is at Granjolaye. Why don't you call
on her and offer to redeem your promise?'
'Why doesn't she send for me--bid me to an audience?'
'Perhaps her prophetic soul warns her how you'd disappoint her.'
'Do you think she'd be disappointed in me?'
'Aren't you disappointed in yourself?'
'Oh, dear, no; I think I'm very nice.'
'_I_ should be disappointed in myself, if I were a man who had been
capable of such an innocent, sweet affection as yours for H�l�ne de la
Granjolaye, and had then gone and soiled myself with the mud of what
they call life.' She spoke earnestly; her face was grave and sad.
He was surprised, and a little alarmed. 'Do you mean by that that you
think I'm a bad lot?' he asked.
'You said the other day--yesterday was it?--that you had made a fool
of yourself on various occasions.'
'Well?'
'Did the process not generally involve making a fool of a woman too?'
'Reciprocity? Perhaps.'
'And what was it you always said to them?'
'Oh, I suppose I did.'
'You told them you loved them?'
'I'm afraid so.'
'And was it true?'
'No.'
'Well, then!'
'Ah, but they weren't deceived; they never believed it. That's only a
convention of the game, a necessary formula, like the "Dear" at the
beginning of a letter.'
'You have "lived"; you have "lived." You'd have been so unique, so
rare, so much more interesting, if instead of going and "living" like
other men, you had remained true to the ideal passion of your
childhood.'
'I had the misfortune to be born into the world, and not into a fairy
tale, you see. But it's a perfectly gratuitous assumption, that I have
"lived."'
'Can you honestly tell me you haven't?' she asked, very soberly, with
something like eagerness; her pale face intent.
'As a matter of fact ... Oh, the worst of it is ... I can't honestly
say that I've never ... But then, what do you want to rake up such
matters for? It's not my fault if I've accepted the traditions of my
century. Well, anyhow, you see I can't lie to you.'
'You appear to find it difficult,' she assented, rising.
'Well, what do you infer from that?'
She blew her whistle. 'That--that you're out of training,' she said
lightly, as she mounted her horse.
'Oh,' he groaned, 'you're--'
'What?'
'You beggar language.'
She laughed and rode away.
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