To wait still longer! It was not to be dreamed of, and I turned impetuously upon my superintendent.
“No, no, not some day soon—immediately. I wish to see her, to speak to her. I will learn from her why it is that she avoids me. I insist upon it.”
But in the face of M. Mairieux as he confronted me, there was the same resolution which had so much surprised me when I first observed it, and which I felt was invincible. Influenced by it despite myself, I modified my language.
“Allow me to see her, I beg of you, if only for a few moments. I will talk to her before you, before her mother. Don’t you understand my suffering?”
Mme. Mairieux, who had been incessantly encouraging me with all kinds of significant looks, now turned to her husband.
“My dear,” said she, “see how he suffers. It is inconceivable. Do you wish me to go back to Raymonde?”
But, reaching his own decision, he rebuffed her.
“I will go myself,” he said, and walked to the door.
“I will go with you,” said his wife.
He instructed her to keep me company instead, and disappeared. His absence seemed long to me, though I do not believe that it was really so. Mme. Mairieux deluged me throughout this period of expectation with the most consoling flattery, and the consoling flattery of Mme. Mairieux had the gift of exasperating me. I began to walk up and down the room, now fast, now slow.