They sat down to dinner, and soon the little skirmish was forgotten in the general merriment which followed a day spent in the open air and in physical exercise.
Isabelle, less aggressive now, amused everybody including even her enemy. Alice, seated between Marcel and Armand de Marthenay, tried to make herself agreeable to both of them, though showing as usual considerable reserve. When they left the table she forgot the bouquet of cyclamen, which she had worn in her belt in the afternoon. Marcel promptly seized it. The girl noticed this.
“Will you give it to me?” he asked, but his voice was scarcely that of a suppliant. However, he added, “You thought so little of it that you left it behind and the flowers are quite faded already.”
She did not answer, but she smiled and blushed. In her smile he read her preference.
Marcel left first, to get back to Le Maupas early and not to cause his mother needless worry. The night was so lovely that, getting out at the station at Chambéry about 10 o’clock, he thought he would walk home. It was but two miles of a flat country along an avenue of plane-trees and up a little wooded hill.
He walked quickly, inhaling from time to time the still fresh scent of the cyclamens. As he neared Le Maupas in the twofold darkness of the night and the trees he could see just a few stars, which shone through the leaves, their brightness augmented by the dark dome of the heavens. Greedily he breathed the fresh, balmy air. He inflated his chest and felt a new thrill through his whole being.
Was he in love? He did not know yet. But the sight of a young girl had been enough to revive all his youthful fire.
A memory suddenly came to him. He felt that he was transported back to Algiers some years ago. It was one of those never-to-be-forgotten nights of the East, with their dark skies, their warm, soft breezes. Alone on horseback he was riding slowly through the bush, when suddenly his horse stopped. Round him he could see only the silhouettes of a few stunted shrubs. Neither pats nor spurs had any effect; the animal refused to move and his body trembled. Was there some living thing in the shadow beside them? In the dead silence of the dark and deserted plain some invisible presence made itself felt. But even in the face of this mysterious peril, from which there was no escape, he did not feel afraid. On the contrary, he felt conscious of all his strength and energy.
With a violent effort he forced his horse forward until it galloped away into the darkness. And he never knew if the animal had shuddered at some imaginary fear or if they really had passed within reach of death....
Why should this memory come back to him at this hour? He lived through the same strange feelings of that night of long ago. As then, he guessed at an unknown danger; he could not tell if it were a future of joy or of sorrow that was awaiting him. But he felt all his power now as he did then. He put his hand to his breast, inhaled deep breaths of the soft, fragrant night air, and drew himself up to his full height; then intoxicated with hope and pride he began to run.