I told her I would remain until she was asleep. I saw her close her beautiful eyes, and heard her murmur something in her sleep as I bent over and kissed her adieu. Then I went away with a tranquil heart, promising myself that I would henceforth enjoy my happiness and allow nothing to disturb it.
But the next day Brigitte said to me, as though by chance:
"I have a large book in which I have written my thoughts, everything that has occurred to my mind, and I want you to see what I said of you the first day I met you."
We read together what concerned me, to which we added a hundred foolish comments, after which I began to turn the leaves in a mechanical way. A phrase, written in capital letters caught my eye on one of the pages I was turning; I distinctly saw some words that were insignificant enough and I was about to read the rest when Brigitte stopped me and said:
"Do not read that."
I threw the book on the table.
"Why, certainly not," I said, "I did not think what I was doing."
"Do you still take things seriously?" she asked, smiling, doubtless seeing my malady coming on again; "take the book, I want you to read it."
The book lay on the table within easy reach, and I did not take my eyes from it. I seemed to hear a voice whispering in my ear, and I thought I saw, grimacing before me, with his glacial smile, and dry face, Desgenais. "What are you doing here, Desgenais?" I asked, as if I really saw him. He looked as he did that evening, when he leaned over my table and unfolded to me his catechism of vice.
I kept my eyes on the book and I felt vaguely stirring in my memory some forgotten words of the past. The spirit of doubt hanging over my head had injected into my veins a drop of poison; the vapor mounted to my head and I staggered like a drunken man. What secret was Brigitte concealing from me? I knew very well that I had only to bend over and open the book; but at what place? How could I recognize the leaf on which my eye had chanced to fall?