I thought it best to keep away from Marie, as a meeting would be painful to both. And so we never met.
At last a report got about the village that Marie was going to be married.
I could no longer keep away from her now, and she, too, appeared anxious that we should meet. In a very few days we were once more side by side.
There was no need of me to speak. She read my question in my eyes: of her own accord she answered:
"Yes, Pierre, it is quite true."
"But, Pierre," added she in tears, "I am yours, and must be yours for ever. Unless I can get you to say, Marry Jacques, I will remain single all my life. But my mother begs me to get married; and what can I do? She is very old, and very ill just now. I feel I too have got a duty to fulfil."
I uttered a cry of despair.
"Pierre," said Marie, still weeping, "you must know how dearly I love you. My fate is that I must love you still. But, for all that, Pierre, I cannot let my mother die."
I could not bear to hear her weep; but what comfort could I give? At last the devil entered into my heart, [{117}] and I broke forth in bitter curses at my fate, and what I chose to call her inconstancy.
"I don't deserve this," said Marie very softly; "and I hardly expected that I should ever hear these words from your lips. Still, I believe you love me, after all. I hope you will feel, when you think over all that has passed, that I am not heartless, and that I deserve some answer to the question which my lips almost refuse to ask. You will give me an answer, I am sure, by-and-by."