The weather was not as cold as on the previous day. The gray clouds charged with rain seemed to indicate a sudden thaw, and through them the sun, veiled as before a coming storm, cast a pale light over the dark waves and the sandy shore. The postilion, to favor his horses, rode so close to the water that the waves broke over their pathway. To the right rose the dismal sand-hills, and on that side, as well as before them, nothing was to be seen but sand as far as the eye could reach; to the left, nothing but the tumultuous and threatening waves. Not a house far or near, not a tree, not a blade of grass, not a living creature, save now and then some sea-birds skimming wildly over the waves, adding another melancholy feature to the dreariness of the scene, which with the storm was a sufficiently exact image of the mental condition of him who was regarding it.
As to Fleurange, instead of looking around, she closed her eyes, the better to wander in imagination among the cherished scenes of the past and those she looked forward to. She beheld again the blue waters of the Mediterranean, and the radiant sky whose azure they reflect, and the graceful undulations of the mountains veiled in a pearly mist; then Florence, sparkling and poetical in the golden rays of departing light, and beside her she heard a voice murmuring words once dangerous to hear, but now delicious to recall and repeat to herself. How much she then suffered in struggling against her own impulses! Recalling those sufferings, how could she fear those she was about to brave?—sufferings repaid by the immense happiness of loving!—of loving without fear!—loving without remorse!—Besides, they were both young.—His mother's hopes might be realized.—Yes, perhaps some day they would again behold, and together, that charming region, and then in the restored brilliancy of his former position, with her beside him, he would be convinced, convinced beyond doubt, that that was not the attraction which had won her, but really himself, and only him, whom she loved!
Yes, she was now happy; no fears troubled her; she was full of hope; and, as it is said of the only great and true love that it “believes it may and can do all things,”[133] so earthly love which is its pale but faithful reflection, made every earthly happiness appear possible and certain to Fleurange, inasmuch as the greatest of all was in store for her.
Clement was still absorbed in silent contemplation, and Fleurange in her sweet dreams, when Mademoiselle Josephine awoke from the drowsiness favored by the ample furs in which she was wrapped, which not only excluded the air but the sight of outward objects. She looked up and around for the first time that morning, and gave a sudden start of surprise.
“Ah! mon Dieu! mon Dieu!—” she cried with alarm. “Gabrielle, what is that?”
Fleurange, suddenly recalled from the land of dreams to what was passing around her, replied: “It is the sea. Did you not notice it before?”
“The sea!—the sea!—” repeated Mademoiselle Josephine, as if stupefied. “No, I had not seen it, and [pg 313] never imagined we should go on the sea in a carriage.—What a country! What a journey!” murmured she to herself, endeavoring to conceal the terror she had not ceased to feel as they proceeded on their way and found everything so different from France, and consequently the more alarming. But in her way she made an act of heroism in trying to overcome the surprise and fear caused by so many strange sights. She was especially desirous of not being troublesome to her companions. “Besides,” thought she, “if these two children are not afraid, I must at least appear as brave as they.” Nevertheless, she could not help repeating with astonishment: “Going on the sea in a carriage—it is really very singular!”
Fleurange laughed. “Here, dear mademoiselle, look on this side, and you will see we are not on the sea, but only on the shore.”
“Very near it, however, for we are riding through the water.”
“It is only the waves that break on the shore and then recede. There, you see the land, now.”