XXVII
THE FAREWELLS AT THE CHÂTEAU
Alfred led his friend into the first road that they came to; his only thought was to take him away from the White House, and from Isaure’s dwelling. The two young men walked a long while at random and without speaking; their hearts were too heavily burdened for them to be able to exchange their thoughts. But, after walking for a considerable distance, with no other object than to escape from the little valley, they stopped, worn out with fatigue and excitement, in a large field. Edouard dropped upon the turf, saying:
"Let us rest here; I feel that I must breathe for a moment."
Alfred seated himself beside his friend. They were both silent again for some time, until at last Edouard said in a trembling voice:
"Are you perfectly sure that that man was your father?"
"My friend, can a son’s eyes be mistaken? Yes, it was certainly he; he was coming toward me, and the moon shone brightly upon his face. I had plenty of time to look at him, to recognize him. Thunderstruck, I stood perfectly motionless, I did not leave the trees which hid me from him; and I thank heaven for it! A son should never compel the author of his days to blush before him. I must no longer seek to discover the motives of my father’s conduct, or the sentiment which he feels for Isaure. Is he not master of his actions? And if he has some weak points, does he not redeem them by a thousand noble qualities? Ah! my dear Edouard, when I think of the ghastly things that might have happened had I not recognized my father,—if the darkness had concealed his features from us both,—I still shudder, my heart stands still! My father, who is so kind, so indulgent to me, whose sole aim is to make me happy, who is a most affectionate friend to me, would be dead by your hands, perhaps, and in his son’s presence!—Ah! believe me, my dear friend, all the griefs of love, all the torments that a woman causes us, will never approach the agony that tears the heart of a son at the thought that he might unconsciously have acted as a second to his father’s murderer!"
"I trust, Alfred, that your mind is at ease now?"
"Yes, I am convinced that you will respect my father; and besides, my dear friend, let us be fair—it is not he who has betrayed you; Isaure alone is guilty; she should not have responded to your love, she should not have given you any hope; but women always yield to their desire to please, without thinking of all that may result from it. In your jealous rage, you wish to fight him who forbids Isaure to see you, to listen to you again! And yet, had he not the right to do it? He has undoubtedly known this girl for a long while.—So this was the motive of those frequent journeys, in which he never proposed that I should accompany him! Yes! oh, yes! he must have been coming to the White House for a long while, a very long while. But a love-affair! I confess that that astonishes me, and I still have difficulty in believing it. Since the death of his second wife, of that Adèle whom he loved so dearly, I have heard him say a hundred times that no woman could touch his heart again. I know very well that men say that, and that that does not prevent it; but I say again that it surprises me. His only mistake was not taking me into his confidence, not saying a word to me of this affair. Am I not his friend, as well as his son? Then we should not have walked in the direction of the White House and made love to the girl, and I should not have been exposed to the risk of becoming my father’s rival! But, since he wishes to conceal this intrigue, let us respect his secret. He has no idea that we are in this neighborhood; I have never had time to write to him, and certainly, if the girl has mentioned an Edouard to him, he will never have suspected that she referred to his son’s friend."
Edouard listened calmly to what Alfred said; he seemed to approve of it all; he was much calmer, for his common sense had made itself heard. The pure, cool night air, the rest which they had taken, had also produced their due effect; their blood circulated more freely, their hearts were less oppressed. The man who abandons himself to all the transports of a jealous frenzy, and dreams of nothing but vengeance, would be much less frantic if he would only walk in the open air for a quarter of an hour. The physical and the mental condition are always dependent upon each other.
After a further silence of a few moments, Edouard said to his friend: