“Sing me your chanson.”
“You are mocking at me; my voice is false, as you well know; but I will consent to recite it to you. The rhymes are not rich—I am no son of Parnassus.”
With these words, lowering his voice, not daring to look her in the face, he recited the couplets.
“Your chanson is very pretty,” said she; “but it does not tell the truth, for here we are sitting together on this bench; we have not lost each other at all.”
She was so innocent that she had no idea of the torture she was inflicting, and he saw this so plainly that he could not so much as have the satisfaction of finding fault with her; yet he asked himself whether in the best woman’s heart there was not a foundation of cruelty, of unconscious ferocity. He felt the tears start to his eyes; he scarcely could restrain them; he abruptly bowed his head, and began to examine a beautiful horned beetle, which was just crossing the gravel-path at a quick pace, apparently having some very important affairs to regulate. When M. Langis raised his head his eyes were dry, his face serene, his lips smiling.
“It is very certain,” he observed, “that two years ago I must have appeared supremely ridiculous to you. This little playmate of old, this foolish little Camille, to attempt to transform himself into a husband! The pretension was absurd indeed.”
“Not at all,” she replied; “but I thought at once that it was a mistake. Little Camilles are apt to be hot-headed and fanciful; they are subject to self-deceptions regarding their sentiments. Friendship and love, however, are two entirely different things! I once said to Mlle. Moiseney that a woman never should marry an intimate friend, because it would be a sure way of losing him as such, and friends are good to keep.”
“Bah! How much do you care now for yours? I find my role very modest, very insignificant. Open the trap-door—it is time for me to disappear.”
“Bad counsel! I shall not open the trap-door. One always has need of friends. I can readily imagine the possibility of the very happiest married woman needing some advice or assistance that she could not ask of her husband, for husbands do not understand everything. If ever such a thing happens to me, Camille, I shall turn to you.”
“Agreed!” he cried; “to help you out of embarrassment, I would run, if necessary, all the way from Transylvania.”