Ely could not help envying them these faculties of forgetfulness, of freshness, of illusion. But were not the destinies of Marsh, of Verdier, and of Corancez all alike? Had they not all before them space, and the future? Did they not resemble ships sailing upon a vast flood carrying them toward the open ocean? Her destiny, on the contrary, was like that of a boat locked in the narrow turn of a river, arrested and imprisoned by some barrier beyond which lie the rapids, the cataract, the precipice! A word uttered by Yvonne, who was wild with joy at the idea of seeing Niagara, brought this simile up in Ely's mind. The idea pleased her. It was a true image of her sentimental isolation. And while her visitors stayed she looked incessantly at Louise as if she wished to convince herself that there was one witness to her emotions, that there was one heart capable of understanding her, of pitying her, of serving her. Above all, of serving her!
In spite of the conversation she listened to, notwithstanding the questions to which she replied, her thoughts followed one idea. She felt she must know if Pierre had left Cannes. And this was the question that came quite naturally to her lips the instant she was alone with Madame Brion.
"You heard all they said?" she said to her. "I know no more than I did before. Is Pierre still here? And if he is, when is he going away? Ah! Louise!"
She did not finish. The service she wanted to ask of her friend was of too delicate a nature. She was ashamed of her own desire. But the tender creature to whom she spoke understood her and was grateful to her for her hesitation.
"Why do you not speak frankly?" she said. "Would you like me to find out for you?"
"But how can you?" replied Ely, without feeling any astonishment at the facility with which her weak-minded friend lent herself to a mission that was so opposed to her own character, to her principles, and to her reason.
What result could possibly come from this inquiry about Pierre's presence and about his approaching departure? Was not this the occasion for Louise to repeat, with still more energy, the counsels she had given to Ely after her first confidence? There could be nothing but silence and forgetfulness between Madame de Carlsberg and Hautefeuille in future. For them to see each other again would be simply to condemn them to the most useless and painful explanations. For them to recommence their relations would be purgatory. Louise Brion knew all this very well. But she also knew that if she obeyed Ely's wishes, those dear eyes, now so sad, would be brightened by a gleam of joy. And the only reply she gave to the question was to rise and say:—
"How can I arrange it? That is the simplest thing in the world. In half an hour I shall know all you want to know. Have you the list of visitors here?"
"You'll find it on the fourth page of one of the papers," said Ely. "Why do you wish to see it?"
"In order to find the name of a person whom I know and who is staying at the Hôtel des Palmes. I have it. Here it is, Madame Nieul. Try and be patient until I get back."