"My dear sir, I do not think I deserve——"
"Oh, I know!" he continued, laughing. "You didn't praise me up to the skies, but, at all events, you did me no harm. And I admit that you showed real insight. You said that though Mlle. Marguerite might not be absolutely happy with me, she would not be unhappy. Well, the prophet Daniel could not have spoken better. The truth is, the dear child will never be absolutely happy with any one, because she will not find in the whole world a husband who will talk poetry to her from morning to night.... They're not to be had. I am no more capable of it than any one else, I own; but—as you were good enough to say—I am an honourable man. And really, when we know one another better, you will be convinced of it. I am not a brute; I am a good fellow. God knows I have faults ... one especially: I am fond of pretty women.... I am, I can't deny it. But what does it matter? It shows that one has a good heart. Besides, here I am in port ... and I am delighted, because—between ourselves—I was getting into a bit of a mess. In short, I mean only to think about my wife and children in future. So, like you, I believe Marguerite will be perfectly happy—that is to say, as far as she could be in this world with ideas like hers. For, after all, I shall be good to her; I shall refuse her nothing, and I shall do even more than she desires. But if she asks me for the moon and the stars, I can't go and fetch them to please her ... that's not possible.... And now, my dear friend, your hand once more."
I gave it him. He got up.
"Good! I hope that you will stay with us now.... Come, let me see that a brighter face! We will make your life as pleasant as possible, but you'll have to help us a bit, you know. You cultivate your sadness, I fancy. You live, if I may say so, too much like an owl. You're a kind of Spaniard such as one rarely sees. You must drop that sort of thing. You are young and good-looking, you have wit and talents; make the best of those qualities. Listen. Why not try a flirtation with little Hélouin.... It would amuse you. She is very charming, and she would suit you. But, deuce take me! I am rather forgetting my promotion to high dignities! ... And now, good-bye, Maxime, till to-morrow, isn't it?"
"Till to-morrow, certainly."
And this honest gentleman—who is the sort of Spaniard one often sees!—left me to my reflections.
October 1st.
A strange thing has happened. Though the results are not, so far, very satisfactory, they have done me good. The blow I had received had left me numb with grief. This at least makes me feel that I am alive, and for the first time for three long weeks I have had the courage to open this book and take up my pen. Every satisfaction having been given to me, I thought there was no longer any reason for leaving, at least suddenly, a position and advantages which, after all, I need, and could not easily replace. The mere prospect of the personal sufferings I had to face, which, moreover, were the result of my own weakness, could not entitle me to shirk duties which involved other interests than my own. And more; I did not intend that Mlle. Marguerite should interpret my sudden flight as the result of pique at the loss of a good match. I made it a point of honour to show her an unruffled front up to the altar itself. As for my heart—that she could not see. So I contented myself with informing M. Laubépin that certain things incident to my situation might at any moment become unbearable, and that I eagerly desired some less lucrative but more independent occupation.
The next day I appeared at the château, where M. de Bévallan received me cordially. I greeted the ladies with all the self-possession I could command. There was, of course, no explanation. Mme. Laroque seemed moved and thoughtful; Mlle. Marguerite was a little highly strung still, but polite. As for Mlle. Hélouin, she was very pale, and kept her eyes fixed on her work. The poor girl could not have been very much delighted with the final result of her diplomacy. She endeavoured once or twice to dart a look of scorn and menace at M. de Bévallan; but though this stormy atmosphere might have troubled a neophyte, M. de Bévallan breathed, moved, and fluttered about in it entirely at his ease. His regal self-possession evidently irritated Mlle. Hélouin, but it quelled her at the same time. I am sure, however, that she would have played him the same sort of trick she had played me the day before, and with far more excuse, if she had not been afraid of ruining herself as well as her accomplice. But it was most likely that if she yielded to her jealous rage, and admitted her ingratitude and duplicity, she would ruin herself only, and she was quite clever enough to see this. In fact, M. de Bévallan was not the kind of man to have run any risks with her, without having provided himself with some very effective weapon which he would use with pitiless indifference. Of course, Mlle. Hélouin might tell herself that the night before they had believed her when she made other false accusations, but she knew that the falsehood which flatters or wounds is much more readily believed than mere general truth. So she suffered in silence, not, I suppose, without feeling keenly that the sword of treachery sometimes turns against the person who makes use of it. During this day and those which followed I had to bear a kind of torture I had foreseen, though without realizing how painful it would be. The marriage was fixed for a month later. All the preparations had to be made at once and in great haste. Regularly each morning came one of Mme. Provost's bouquets. Laces, dresses, jewels poured in and were exhibited every evening to interested and envious ladies. I had to give my opinion and my advice on everything. Mlle. Marguerite begged for them with almost cruel persistence. I responded as graciously as I could, and then returned to my tower and took from a secret drawer the tattered handkerchief I had won at the risk of my life, and I dried my tears with it. Weakness again! But what would you have? I love her. Treachery, enmity, hopeless misunderstandings, her pride and mine, separate us forever! So let it be, but nothing can prevent me from living and dying with my heart full of her.
As for M. de Bévallan, I did not hate him; he was not worthy of it. He is a vulgar but harmless soul. Thank God! I could receive the overtures of his shallow friendliness without hypocrisy, and put my hand tranquilly in his. But if he was too insignificant for my resentment, that did not lessen the deep and lacerating agony with which I recognised his unworthiness of the rare creature he would soon possess—and never know. I cannot, and I dare not, describe the flood of bitter thoughts, of nameless sensations which have been aroused in me at the thought of this odious mésalliance, and have not yet subsided. Love, real true love, has something sacred in it, which gives an almost superhuman character to its pain as to its joy.