When he found himself seated on the stone, he was taken with a fit of weakness. He remained there, broken, his spine curved, his legs hanging, in the relaxed attitude of a tired pedestrian. And he contemplated the sleeping surface, where the laughing ripples had reappeared. One thing was certain,—little Colombel had tried to drag him down with him.
Then, he recalled Therese. She was waiting for him. He could see her standing at the head of the ruined steps, in her white silk dress with its sweet briar blossoms, all white and their hearts touched with red. But perhaps, she had felt cold and had gone to her room to wait for him.
No woman had ever waited for him before. Just one minute more, and then he would be at the rendezvous! But his legs were numb, and he feared that he would fall asleep. Was he a coward, then? And, to rouse himself, he pictured Therese as he had seen her at her toilet. He saw again her arms raised, moving her delicate elbows and her pale hands. He recalled that room of terrible voluptuousness, where he had known a mad intoxication. Was he to renounce that passion offered him, a foretaste of which was burning his lips? No; he would sooner drag himself upon his knees, if his legs refused to carry him!
But it was already a lost battle, in which his vanquished love had just expired. The image of Therese paled; a black wall arose, separating him from her. He had but one irresistible desire,—to sleep, to sleep forever! He would not go to the office to-morrow,—it would be useless. He would never again play the flute; he would never again sit by his window. So, why not sleep forever? His existence was ended,—he could go to bed. And he looked again at the river, trying to see if little Colombel was still there.
The surface spread, dimpled by the rapid smiles of its currents The Chanteclair sang musically, while the country softened under the shadow of a sovereign peace. Julien murmured the name of "Therese." Then, he let himself go, and, rolling over, he fell like a bundle into the water, sending up great splashes of foam. And the Chanteclair continued its song among the grasses.
When the two bodies were found, it was thought there had been a combat, and a story was invented forthwith. Julien must have lain in wait for little Colombel to avenge his mocking; and he must have jumped into the river after killing his enemy with a blow on the temple.
Three months later, Mademoiselle Therese de Marsanne married the young Count de Veteuil. She wore a white dress, and her face was beautiful in its haughty purity.