“But, monsieur,” she said, “we can’t pass the night sitting in your big easy-chair.”
She was quite right; that would have been too dangerous.
“You will sleep in my bed,” I replied, “and I will pass the night on the sofa in my study. No objections, mademoiselle; I insist upon it. You will be at liberty to double-lock my study door; you can go to sleep without the slightest fear. Does that suit you?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
We went back into my bedroom; I lighted another candle, and carried the couch into my study, with Nicette’s assistance. I confess that that operation was a painful one to me. However, it was done at last.
“Now you may go to bed and sleep in peace. Good-night, Nicette!”
I took my candle and retired to my study, closing the door behind me. There we were, in our respective quarters. I blew out the candle and threw myself on the couch. If only I could sleep; time passes so quickly then! And yet, we sleep about a third part of our lives! and we are always glad to plunge into that oblivion, albeit we stand in fear of death, which is simply a never-ending sleep, during which it is certain that one is not disturbed by bad dreams!
Sleep, indeed! In vain did I stretch myself out, and twist and turn in every direction. I could not sleep; it was impossible. I concluded to resign myself to the inevitable, and I began to recall the incidents of my extraordinary evening; I thought of Caroline, of the charming woman at the theatre, of that infernal cabman. I tried to put Nicette out of my thoughts; but she constantly returned; I strove in vain to banish her. The idea that she was close at hand, within a few feet of me, that only a thin partition separated me from her—that idea haunted me! When I thought that I might be beside her, that I might hold her in my arms and give her her first lessons in love and pleasure—then I lost my head, my blood boiled. Only Nicette’s consent was needed to make us happy, and she would not give it! To be sure, that same happiness might have results most embarrassing to her.
I had the fidgets in my legs. I rose and paced the floor, but very softly; perhaps she was asleep, and I would not wake her. Poor child! she had had trouble enough during the evening, and I was afraid that still greater trouble was in store for her; for if her mother persisted in her refusal to take her in, what would she do? Until that moment, I had not given a thought to her future.