Frédérique, vol. 1

by Paul de Kock

"No, indeed! Besides, I don't mean to love any more; I have decided. I don't feel sure—whether—I am—right; tell me—if I'm—right. It's very late—isn't it? I must—go to bed. You don't tell me anything; I have to do all the talking myself."

For several minutes Frédérique had had difficulty in fighting against the drowsiness that made her eyelids heavy. While she was talking, she let her head fall on the back of her chair; her eyes closed and still she talked on. But suddenly she ceased—she had fallen asleep.

I turned and leaned over her to gaze upon her at my leisure. I could not tire of contemplating that strange woman, whom I had known so short a time, and with whom I was already on the most friendly terms. I liked that face, which reflected so clearly the impressions of the heart; surely that mouth could not speak falsely! Her forehead was noble and distinguished; at that moment, her lovely hair, through which she had passed her fingers a moment before, fell in long curls about her temples and partly covered her face. I have seldom seen black hair of such brilliancy and of such a beautiful shade. I could understand why she enjoyed changing its arrangement; with that natural adornment she was sure of always looking well.

She was speaking at the moment that sleep overcame her. Her lips were partly open; but her expression was rather serious than smiling. When she fell asleep she threw her body back, so that there was nothing to prevent my examining her bust, her waist, and the graceful figure which the fine, soft fabric of her gown outlined while it concealed them, and which disappeared at one point beneath the clinging folds, only to reappear farther on more alluring than ever.

I took much pleasure in that scrutiny. I can hardly define the sentiment that made my heart beat fast; but I was profoundly moved. I tried to forget the fascinating sleeper for a moment by glancing about the room; but the oddity of my position, the place, the time, and everything within my view, simply intensified the agitation that had taken possession of me. Imagine yourself, in the middle of the night, in a deliciously cosy retreat, near a table at which you have enjoyed a dainty supper, and on which the decanters are still half full of exquisite wines which you have not spared; the lamps diffusing only a dim light; and beside you, seated, or rather reclining in an easy-chair, a young, fascinating, original woman, a woman who addresses you thou and who has confided to you the secrets of her heart; that woman in a ravishing négligé which permits you to admire a portion of her charms and to divine the rest. If all this does not give you a sort of vertigo, upon my word I pity you! As for the third person who was with us, he did not count. He was snoring like a bell ringer, with his head resting on his hands, and his elbows on the table.

I moved nearer to Frédérique, then drew back. I resumed my contemplation of her; and suddenly, unable to resist the impulse that drove me on, I put my lips to hers and stole a kiss in which there was nothing fraternal.

Frédérique woke instantly, pushed me away, and sprang to her feet; her brow was clouded, her bosom rose and fell more quickly, and I thought that her eyes, which she turned away from me, were wet with tears.

"Ah! so this is the way you treat me!" she cried, in a quivering voice. "What do you take me for, monsieur, in heaven's name? I receive you in my house, I look upon you as a friend; and you treat me like one of the women with whom a man seeks to gratify a caprice! Do you suppose that I asked you to my house to make you my lover? that I, the friend of Armantine, whom you love to distraction, asked you to sup with me in order to steal from her the heart of a man who is paying court to her? Ah! you know me very little, monsieur. I do not love you, I shall never love you! It was because I knew that you were in love with Armantine that I invited you this evening and then offered you a brotherly affection. You understand me now. Adieu, monsieur! It is not worth while for you to come to my house again."

She took a lamp and vanished before I had recovered from the shock her words had caused me, or had found anything to say in reply.

But in a few moments my excitement subsided, and I had no other sentiment than irritation at having allowed myself to be so roughly handled by the lady with whom I had supped. I said to myself that when one is dealing with a gaillarde of Frédérique's stamp, it does not pay to do things by halves. If, instead of kissing her so gently, I had been more audacious, would she have shrieked louder? I could not say, but, at all events, she would have had some excuse for shrieking. Oh! these women! I utterly failed to understand that one. The idea of forbidding me her house because I had kissed her! Could she not have scolded me gently, instead of flying into a rage? I decided that I should be a great fool to waste another thought on Madame Dauberny.