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Page 28
"Dear madam--dear child--your kindness, your affection move me to the
depths of my soul; in mercy, be more calm; let me retain a gleam of
reason!"
"Ah! if your heart speaks, listen to it, sir! It is not with reason that I
can be judged! Alas! I feel it! you still doubt me, you still doubt my
past life. Oh, Heavens! that opinion of the world which I have always
scorned, how it is killing me now!"
"No, madam, you are mistaken; but what could I offer you in exchange for
all you wish to sacrifice for my sake--for the habits, the tastes, the
pleasures of your whole life?"
"But that life inspires me with horror! You think that I would regret it?
You think that some day I may again become the woman I have been, the
madcap you have known?--you think so! And how can I help your believing
it? And yet I know very well that I would never cause you that sorrow, nor
any other--never! I have discovered in your eyes a new world I did not
know--a more dignified, more lofty world, of which I had never conceived
the idea--and outside of which I can no longer live. Ah! you must
certainly feel that I am telling you the truth!"
"Yes, madam, you are telling me the truth--the truth of the hour--of a
moment of fever and excitement; but this new world, which appears dimly to
you now--this ideal world in which you desire to seek an eternal refuge
against mere transient evils--would never keep all it seems to promise.
Disappointment, regret, misery await you within it--and do not await you
alone. I know not if there be a man gifted with a sufficiently noble mind,
with a sufficiently lofty soul to make you love the new existence of which
you are dreaming to preserve in the reality the almost divine character
which your imagination imparts to it; but I do know that such a task,
sweet as it might be, is beyond my strength; I would be insane, I would be
a wretch, if I were to accept it."
"Is that your final decision? Cannot reflection alter it in any way?"
"In no way."
"Farewell then, sir--ah! unhappy woman that I am!--farewell!"
She grasped my hand, which she wrung convulsively, and then left me.
After she had disappeared, I sat down on the bench, upon which she had
been seated. There, my dear Paul, my whole strength gave way. I hid my
head in my hands and I wept like a child. Thank God, she did not return!
I had at last to gather all my courage in order to appear once more and
for a moment in the ball-room. There was nothing to indicate that my
absence had been noticed, or unfavorably commented upon. Madame de Palme
was dancing and displaying a degree of gayety amounting almost to
delirium. Soon after, supper was announced, and I availed myself of the
general commotion attending that incident, to retire to my room.
Early this morning, I requested a private interview with Madame de
Malouet. It appeared to me that my entire confidence was due to her. She
heard me with profound sadness, but without manifesting any surprise.
"I had guessed," she told me, "something of the kind--I did not sleep all
night. I believe that you have done your duty as a wise man and as an
honest man. Yes, you have. Still, it seems very hard. Society life is
detestable in this, that it creates fictitious characters and passions,
unexpected situations, subtle shades, which complicate strangely the
practice of duty, and obscure the straight path which ought to be always
simple and easy to discover. And now you wish to leave, I suppose?"
"Certainly, madam."
"Very well; but you had better stay two or three days longer. You will
thus remove from your departure the semblance of flight which, after what
may have been observed, might prove somewhat ridiculous and perhaps
damaging. It is a sacrifice I ask of you. To-day, we are all to dine at
Madame de Breuilly's; I'll undertake to excuse you. In this manner, this
day at least will rest lightly upon you. To-morrow, we'll act for the
best. Day after to-morrow, you can leave."
I accepted these terms. I shall soon see you again, then, Paul. But in the
meantime, how lonely and forsaken I feel! How I long to grasp your firm
and loyal hand; to hear your voice tell me: "You have done right!"
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