Part 37 (1/2)
CHAPTER XXIV. A FRIEND'S ADVICE
After she came out of her faint, Madame de Bergenheim remained for a long time in a dazed condition, and did not realize, save in a confused manner, her real position. She saw vaguely, at her first glance, the curtains of the bed upon which she lay, and thought that she had awakened from an ordinary sleep. Little by little, her thoughts became clearer, and she saw that she was fully dressed, also that her room seemed brighter than it usually was with only her night-lamp lighted.
She noticed between the half-open curtains a gigantic form reflected almost to the ceiling opposite her bed. She sat up and distinctly saw a man sitting in the corner by the fireplace. Frozen with terror, she fell back upon her pillow as she recognized her husband. Then she remembered everything, even the slightest details of the scene in the small parlor.
She felt ready to faint again when she heard Christian's steps upon the carpet, although he walked with great precaution.
The Baron looked at her a moment, and then, opening the bed-curtains, he said:
”You can not pa.s.s the night thus, it is nearly three o'clock. You must go to bed as usual.”
Clemence s.h.i.+vered at these words, whose accent, however, was not hard.
She obeyed mechanically; but she had hardly risen when she was obliged to recline upon the bed, for her trembling limbs would not support her.
”Do not be afraid of me,” said Bergenheim, drawing back a few steps; ”my presence should not frighten you. I only wish that people should know that I have pa.s.sed the night in your chamber, for it is possible that my return may arouse suspicion. You know that our love is only a comedy played for the benefit of our servants.”
There was such affected lightness in these remarks that the young woman was cut to the very quick. She had expected an explosion of anger, but not this calm contempt. Her revolted pride gave her courage.
”I do not deserve to be treated thus,” said she; ”do not condemn me without a hearing.”
”I ask nothing of you,” replied Christian, who seated himself again beside the mantel; ”undress yourself, and go to sleep if it is possible for you to do so. It is not necessary for Justine to make any comments tomorrow about your day clothes not having been removed.”
Instead of obeying him, she went toward him and tried to remain standing in order to speak to him, but her emotion was so intense that it took away her strength and she was obliged to sit down.
”You treat me too cruelly, Christian,” said she, when she had succeeded to recover her voice. ”I am not guilty; at least, not so much as you think I am--” said she, drooping her head.
He looked at her attentively for a moment, and then replied, in a voice which did not betray the slightest emotion:
”You must know that my greatest desire is to be persuaded of this by you. I know that too often appearances are deceitful; perhaps you will be able to explain to me what took place last evening; I am still inclined to believe your word. Swear to me that you do not love Monsieur de Gerfaut.”
”I swear it!” said she, in a weak voice, and without raising her eyes.
He went to the bed and took down a little silver crucifix which was hanging above it.
”Swear it to me upon this crucifix,” said he, presenting it to his wife.
She tried in vain to raise her hand, which seemed fastened to the arm of her chair.
”I swear it!” she stammered a second time, while her face became as pale as death.
A savage laugh escaped Christian's lips. He put the crucifix in its place again without saying a word, then he opened the secret panel and, taking out the casket, placed it upon the table before his wife. She made a movement as if to seize it, but her courage failed her.
”You have perjured yourself to your husband and to G.o.d!” said Bergenheim slowly. ”Do you know what kind of woman you are?”
Clemence remained for some time powerless to reply; her respiration was so painful that each breath seemed like suffocation; her head, after rolling about on the back of the chair, fell upon her breast, like a blade of gra.s.s broken and bruised by the rain.
”If you have read those letters,” she murmured, when she had strength enough to speak, ”you must know that I am not as unworthy as you think.
I am very guilty--but I still have a right to be forgiven.”
Christian, at this moment, had he been gifted with the intelligence which fathoms the mysteries of the heart, might have renewed the bonds which were so near being broken; he could at least have stopped Clemence upon a dangerous path and saved her from a most irreparable fall. But his nature was too unrefined for him to see the degrees which separate weakness from vice, and the intoxication of a loving heart from the depravity of a corrupt character. With the obstinacy of narrow-minded people, he had been looking at the whole thing in its worst light, and for several hours already he had decided upon his wife's guilt in his own mind; this served now as a foundation for his stern conduct. His features remained perfectly impa.s.sive as he listened to Clemence's words of justification, which she uttered in a weak, broken voice.
”I know that I merit your hatred-but if you could know how much I suffer, you would surely forgive me--You left me in Paris very young, inexperienced; I ought to have fought against this feeling better than I did, but I used up in this struggle all the strength that I had--You can see how pale and changed I have become within the past year. I have aged several years in those few months; I am not yet what you call a--a lost woman. He ought to have told you that--”
”Oh, he has! of course he has,” replied Christian with bitter irony.