I was upon the point of knocking at it,—I wished to speak to Gaguine one instant longer, to ask his sister's hand,—but a proposal of marriage at such an hour! "To-morrow," I thought, "to-morrow I shall be happy."
Happiness has no to-morrow; it has no yesterday; it remembers not the past; it has no thought of the future; it knows only the present, and yet this present is not a day, but an instant.
I know not how I returned to Z.—It was not my legs that carried me, it was not a boat that took me to the other side; I was wafted along, so to speak, by strong, large wings.
I passed a thicket where a nightingale was singing. I stopped, listened a long time; it seemed to be singing of my love and my happiness.
XXI.
The next morning, on approaching the white house, I was astonished to see the windows open, also the entrance door. Some pieces of paper were scattered about the threshold; a servant, her broom in her hand, appeared at the door. I approached her.
"They have gone!" she exclaimed, before I could ask whether Gaguine were at home.
"Gone!" I repeated; "how is that? Where have they gone?"
"They went this morning at six o'clock, and did not say where they were going. But are you not Monsieur N——?"