“Well!... A pretty gentleman!...” exclaimed the young girl in a tone of burning contempt when Boerzell had finished.
“Nothing surprises me from that fellow!” declared M. Raindal. “Just the same, we owe M. Gaussine a fine debt of gratitude!”
He did not complain that day of the length of the hours. Comforting thoughts occupied him until dinner-time. So far he had never dared, under any circumstances, to sound Thérèse concerning the visits of Boerzell. He stood in fear of reprisals and oft-repeated conventional inquiries concerning the Chambannes’ household. However, now that Dastarac seemed to be annihilated, crushed as it were, to the disgust of Thérèse herself, why should not the sympathy which he noticed existed between the young people follow its normal course? Why should they not, from being comrades, become husband and wife? And then, besides the joy of getting his daughter married, what an opportunity for the master, and what a liberation! No one would remain as a witness of his outings but Mme. Raindal who, entirely occupied with her religious duties, was an easy-going woman totally without severity, provided her faith was not interfered with. No longer any control; no more watch set on him; no further need to invent new lies or preserve silence! M. Raindal promised himself that he would keep his eye on this affair with caution and diplomacy so as not to spoil it.
Yet an oft-recurrent anxiety seized him again after dinner. He was thinking of the summer and the forthcoming vacation, those three months which he would, doubtless, have to spend far away from Mme. Chambannes. As he recollected his impatience, his recent fears during one single month of privation, he felt a sudden sensation of choking anguish. Where would she go? To what seashore or mountain resort? How many miles away would she be? And with whom?
He had discreetly put these questions in the course of many lessons given to his little pupil. She had replied vaguely. She affected not to have made up her mind yet and to be still hesitating between Les Frettes, the seaside, Switzerland or some watering-place. She would decide on her choice at the time of a certain trip which George was shortly to make to Bosnia. She sighed as she said that. A melancholy shadow veiled the tenderness of her eyes. She turned the conversation to another subject.
His dear little friend!... Who knew but that some torment similar to his own oppressed her gentle little soul? Who knew but that she also was afflicted by the idea of the approaching separation?... M. Raindal was not so far lacking in modesty that he imagined himself alone the subject of all her possible regrets. However, he did not abandon the idea that perhaps he could claim a share of them. And he was quite right, too.
It was indeed true that Mme. Chambannes darkened whenever the master questioned her. But the baseness of Raldo was the only cause of her sorrow. This problem of their summer vacation was now debated at each of their meetings. Gerald, whose treachery had only strengthened his despotism, clung to a project of settling down at Deauville with his father for the month of August. There were invitations, “de la jolie femme,” pigeon shooting, polo playing, and racing—in short, everything called him there. Against the attraction of so many pleasures, Mme. Chambannes’ silent tears made no more impression than drops of rain on a window-pane.
“You can come there,” he told her. “I sha prevent you from coming!”
She shrugged her shoulders. Could she not foresee the torments she would have to endure at Deauville, without friends, without relations, and separated from her lover!... Could she not in advance see herself separated from Raldo and the set which he frequented by that impalpable barrier, more efficient than an iron railing, which everywhere surrounded the flock of good society? She would be exposed to the snobbish glances of those women, the insulting echoes of their joy, the spectacle of their flirtations, and the social humiliation which can only be measured at close range.... Zozé, for the sake of her love, and to safeguard her passion, preferred a thousand times to go into retreat and abandon it for a time. These sacrifices pierced her heart beforehand. She took to crying silently, weeping intermittent tears after holding them back too long, and, between kisses, in the middle of an embrace, they would unexpectedly wet the cheeks of her Raldo.
How could she be revenged on him, how reply to his pitiless selfishness? Ah! Zozé was at last beginning to find out that there is no equality in love. Otherwise, would she not have punished the recent treachery of Gerald with an immediate betrayal? That was continuing now; would she not reply with some barbarous plan, say, to choose for her holiday some place where one or the other of the men who were in love with her happened to be going? There was Dieppe, for instance, where Givonne was going, Bagneres, where Pums was to take a cure, or Dinard, where Burzig, as an authentic Englishman, had taken a little villa. None of these reprisals satisfied her. She soon convinced herself that Gerald would not be disturbed by any of these. What, therefore, was the use of her going to those fashionable resorts which, owing to their similarity, would forever carry her dreams back to Deauville? Would it not be much better for her to go and hide at Les Frettes, to seek slumber for her mind and forgetfulness in that peaceful spot, to plunge herself into the emptiness of country life till her wicked Raldo came back?