“My follies,” answered Madame de Rênal in a hard voice whose frigid intonation contained in it a certain element of reproach, “were no doubt known in the town when you left, your conduct was so imprudent. Some time afterwards when I was in despair the venerable Chélan came to see me. He tried in vain for a long time to obtain a confession. One day he took me to that church at Dijon where I made my first communion. In that place he ventured to speak himself——” Madame de Rênal was interrupted by her tears. “What a moment of shame. I confessed everything. The good man was gracious enough not to overwhelm me with the weight of his indignation. He grieved with me. During that time I used to write letters to you every day which I never ventured to send. I hid them carefully and when I was more than usually unhappy I shut myself up in my room and read over my letters.”
“At last M. Chélan induced me to hand them over to him, some of them written a little more discreetly were sent to you, you never answered.”
“I never received any letters from you, I swear!”
“Great heavens! Who can have intercepted them? Imagine my grief until the day I saw you in the cathedral. I did not know if you were still alive.”
“God granted me the grace of understanding how much I was sinning towards Him, towards my children, towards my husband,” went on Madame de Rênal. “He never loved me in the way that I then thought that you had loved me.”
Julien rushed into her arms, as a matter of fact without any particular purpose and feeling quite beside himself. But Madame de Rênal repelled him and continued fairly firmly.
“My venerable friend, M. Chélan, made me understand that in marrying I had plighted all my affections, even those which I did not then know, and which I had never felt before a certain fatal attachment ... after the great sacrifice of the letters that were so dear to me, my life has flowed on, if not happily, at any rate calmly. Do not disturb it. Be a friend to me, my best friend.” Julien covered her hand with kisses. She perceived he was still crying. “Do not cry, you pain me so much. Tell me, in your turn, what you have been doing,” Julien was unable to speak. “I want to know the life you lead at the seminary,” she repeated. “And then you will go.”
Without thinking about what he was saying Julien spoke of the numberless intrigues and jealousies which he had first encountered, and then of the great serenity of his life after he had been made a tutor.
“It was then,” he added, “that after a long silence which was no doubt intended to make me realise what I see only too clearly to-day, that you no longer loved me and that I had become a matter of indifference to you....”
Madame de Rênal wrung her hands.