Part 20 (1/2)
One day a young man is pa.s.sing in the street, he brushes against a woman, looks at her, turns, goes on his way. He does not know the woman, and she has pleasures, griefs, loves, in which he has no part. He does not exist for her, and perhaps, if he spoke to her, she would only laugh at him, as Marguerite had laughed at me. Weeks, months, years pa.s.s, and all at once, when they have each followed their fate along a different path, the logic of chance brings them face to face. The woman becomes the man's mistress and loves him. How? why? Their two existences are henceforth one; they have scarcely begun to know one another when it seems as if they had known one another always, and all that had gone before is wiped out from the memory of the two lovers. It is curious, one must admit.
As for me, I no longer remembered how I had lived before that night.
My whole being was exalted into joy at the memory of the words we had exchanged during that first night. Either Marguerite was very clever in deception, or she had conceived for me one of those sudden pa.s.sions which are revealed in the first kiss, and which die, often enough, as suddenly as they were born.
The more I reflected the more I said to myself that Marguerite had no reason for feigning a love which she did not feel, and I said to myself also that women have two ways of loving, one of which may arise from the other: they love with the heart or with the senses. Often a woman takes a lover in obedience to the mere will of the senses, and learns without expecting it the mystery of immaterial love, and lives henceforth only through her heart; often a girl who has sought in marriage only the union of two pure affections receives the sudden revelation of physical love, that energetic conclusion of the purest impressions of the soul.
In the midst of these thoughts I fell asleep; I was awakened by a letter from Marguerite containing these words:
”Here are my orders: To-night at the Vaudeville.
”Come during the third entr'acte.”
I put the letter into a drawer, so that I might always have it at band in case I doubted its reality, as I did from time to time.
She did not tell me to come to see her during the day, and I dared not go; but I had so great a desire to see her before the evening that I went to the Champs-Elysees, where I again saw her pa.s.s and repa.s.s, as I had on the previous day.
At seven o'clock I was at the Vaudeville. Never had I gone to a theatre so early. The boxes filled one after another. Only one remained empty, the stage box. At the beginning of the third act I heard the door of the box, on which my eyes had been almost constantly fixed, open, and Marguerite appeared. She came to the front at once, looked around the stalls, saw me, and thanked me with a look.
That night she was marvellously beautiful. Was I the cause of this coquetry? Did she love me enough to believe that the more beautiful she looked the happier I should be? I did not know, but if that had been her intention she certainly succeeded, for when she appeared all heads turned, and the actor who was then on the stage looked to see who had produced such an effect on the audience by her mere presence there.
And I had the key of this woman's room, and in three or four hours she would again be mine!
People blame those who let themselves be ruined by actresses and kept women; what astonishes me is that twenty times greater follies are not committed for them. One must have lived that life, as I have, to know how much the little vanities which they afford their lovers every day help to fasten deeper into the heart, since we have no other word for it, the love which he has for them.
Prudence next took her place in the box, and a man, whom I recognised as the Comte de G., seated himself at the back. As I saw him, a cold s.h.i.+ver went through my heart.
Doubtless Marguerite perceived the impression made on me by the presence of this man, for she smiled to me again, and, turning her back to the count, appeared to be very attentive to the play. At the third entr'acte she turned and said two words: the count left the box, and Marguerite beckoned to me to come to her.
”Good-evening,” she said as I entered, holding out her hand.
”Good-evening,” I replied to both Marguerite and Prudence.
”Sit down.”
”But I am taking some one's place. Isn't the Comte de G. coming back?”
”Yes; I sent him to fetch some sweets, so that we could talk by ourselves for a moment. Mme. Duvernoy is in the secret.”
”Yes, my children,” said she; ”have no fear. I shall say nothing.”
”What is the matter with you to-night?” said Marguerite, rising and coming to the back of the box and kissing me on the forehead.
”I am not very well.”
”You should go to bed,” she replied, with that ironical air which went so well with her delicate and witty face.
”Where?”
”At home.”