Julien did not relinquish his dream of love without a great struggle. He remained hidden for several weeks, ashamed of his ugliness. Then, he was shaken by rage. He felt the need to display his large limbs, to force on her sight his rough face, burning with fever. So, he remained for weeks at his window, he wearied her with his regard. Even, on two occasions, he had sent her ardent kisses, with the brutality shown by timid people when they are prompted to audacity. Therese exhibited no anger. When he was concealed from her view he saw her going about with her royal air; and, when he thrust himself upon her, she preserved that air and was even colder and haughtier.
During that first year, the days followed each other without a break. When the summer came around again, he experienced a peculiar sensation: Therese seemed to have acquired a different manner. The same little events took place,—the shutters were opened in the morning and closed at night, there were the same appearances at the accustomed hours; but a new breath seemed to emanate from her room. Therese was paler and taller. On a very feverish day, he dared for the third time to send her a kiss. She looked at him intently, with her disquieting seriousness. It was he who retired from the window, his face crimson.
A single occurrence, toward the end of the summer, upset him, although it was very simple. Nearly every day, at twilight, the casement opposite was closed violently. The noise made him shudder, without his knowing why. For a long time, he could not distinguish whose hand closed the window; but, one evening, he recognized the pale hands of Therese. It was she who turned the fastening with that furious movement. And when, an hour later, she reopened the window,—but without haste, rather with a dignified slowness,—she seemed weary.
One autumn evening, gray and soft, there was a terrible grinding of the window fastening. Julien shuddered and tears sprang to his eyes. He waited for the window to open again. It was thrown wide as violently as it had been closed. Therese appeared. She was very white, with distended eyes and hair falling over her shoulders. She put her ten fingers upon her lips and sent a kiss to Julien.
Distracted, he pressed his fists against his chest and asked if that kiss was for him. Then, Therese, thinking that he had shrunk back, leaned forward and sent him a second kiss. She followed it with a third. He stood rooted, thunderstruck. When she considered that he was vanquished, she glanced over the little square. Then, in a muffled voice, she said simply,—
"Come!"
He went down and approached the mansion. As he raised his head, the door at the top of the steps opened slightly,—that rusty door that was almost sealed with moss. But he walked in a stupor,—nothing astonished him. As soon as he entered, the door closed, and a small icy hand led him upstairs. He went along a corridor, passed through a room, and, at last, found himself in a room that he knew. It was the dreamed-of paradise, the room with the rose silk curtains. He was tempted to sink to his knees. Therese stood before him very erect, her hands tightly clasped, and resolutely holding under control the tremor that had possession of her.
"You love me?" she asked in a low voice.
"Oh! yes, yes!" he stammered.
She made a gesture, as if to forestall any useless words. She continued, with a haughty manner that seemed to render her words natural and chaste.