Gerfaut accompanied these words with such a withering glance that the one for whom they were intended felt her blood freeze in her veins, and withdrew the hand her husband had kept till then in his; she soon arose and seated herself at the other side of the table, under the pretext of getting nearer the lamp to work, but in reality in order to withdraw from Christian’s vicinity. Clemence had expected her lover’s anger, but not his scorn; she had not strength to endure this torture, and the conjugal love which had, not without difficulty, inflamed her heart for the last few days, fell to ashes at the first breath of Octave’s indignation.
Mademoiselle de Corandeuil greeted the Vicomte’s words indulgently; for, from consummate pride, she separated herself from other women.
“So then,” said she, “you pretend that if to-day love is painted under false and vulgar colors, the fault is the model’s, not the artist’s.”
“You express my thought much better than I could have done it myself,” said Gerfaut, in an ironical tone; “where are the angels whose portraits are called for?”
“They are in our poetical dreams,” said Marillac, raising his eyes to the ceiling with an inspired air.
“Very well! tell us your dreams then, instead of copying a reality which it is impossible for you to render poetic, since you yourselves see it without illusions.”
Gerfaut smiled bitterly at this suggestion, artlessly uttered by the Baron.
“My dreams,” he replied, “I should tell them to you poorly indeed, for the first blessing of the awakening is forgetfulness, and to-day I am awake. However, I remember how I allowed myself to be once overcome by a dream that has now vanished, but still emits its luminous trail in my eyes. I thought I had discovered, under a beautiful and attractive appearance, the richest treasure that the earth can bestow upon the heart of man; I thought I had discovered a soul, that divine mystery, deep as the ocean, ardent as a flame, pure as air, glorious as heaven itself, infinite as space, immortal as eternity! It was another universe, where I should be king. With what ardent and holy love I attempted the conquest of this new world, but, less fortunate than Columbus, I met with shipwreck instead of triumph.”
Clemence, at this avowal of her lover’s defeat, threw him a glance of intense contradiction, then lowered her eyes, for she felt her face suffused with burning blushes.
When he entered his room that night, Gerfaut went straight to the window. He could see in the darkness the light which gleamed in Clemence’s room.