Part 13 (2/2)
”Because if one cannot command affection which does not exist, one can at least command affection which does exist; and it is because I am sure yours exists that I commanded it.”
”Good!” I cried, in a transport of joy; ”I have a right then to order yours also, since you have told me that it certainly exists. . . .
Edmee, I order you to kiss me.”
”Let go, Bernard!” she cried; ”you are breaking my arm. Look, you have sc.r.a.ped it against the bars.”
”Why have you intrenched yourself against me?” I said, putting my lips to the little scratch I had made on her arm. ”Ah, woe is me! Confound the bars! Edmee, if you would only bend your head down I should be able to kiss you . . . kiss you as my sister. Edmee, what are you afraid of?”
”My good Bernard,” she replied, ”in the world in which I live one does not kiss even a sister, and nowhere does one kiss in secret. I will kiss you every day before my father, if you like; but never here.”
”You will never kiss me!” I cried, relapsing into my usual pa.s.sion.
”What of your promise? What of my rights?”
”If we marry,” she said, in an embarra.s.sed tone, ”when you have received the education I implore you to receive, . . .”
”Death of my life! Is this a jest? Is there any question of marriage between us? None at all. I don't want your fortune, as I have told you.”
”My fortune and yours are one,” she replied. ”Bernard, between near relations as we are, mine and thine are words without meaning. I should never suspect you of being mercenary. I know that you love me, that you will work to give me proof of this, and that a day will come when your love will no longer make me fear, because I shall be able to accept it in the face of heaven and earth.”
”If that is your idea,” I replied, completely drawn away from my wild pa.s.sion by the new turn she was giving to my thoughts, ”my position is very different; but, to tell you the truth, I must reflect on this; I had not realized that this was your meaning.”
”And how should I have meant otherwise?” she answered. ”Is not a woman dishonoured by giving herself to a man who is not her husband? I do not wish to dishonour myself; and, since you love me, you would not wish it either. You would not do me an irreparable wrong. If such were your intention you would be my deadliest enemy.”
”Stay, Edmee, stay!” I answered. ”I can tell you nothing about my intentions in regard to you, for I have never had any very definite.
I have felt nothing but wild desires, nor have I ever thought of you without going mad. You wish me to marry you? But why--why?”
”Because a girl who respects herself cannot be any man's except with the thought, with the intention, with the certainty of being his forever. Do you not know that?”
”There are so many things I do not know or have never thought of.”
”Education will teach you, Bernard, what you ought to think about the things which must concern you--about your position, your duties, your feelings. At present you see but dimly into your heart and conscience.
And I, who am accustomed to question myself on all subjects and to discipline my life, how can I take for master a man governed by instinct and guided by chance?”
”For master! For husband! Yes, I understand that you cannot surrender your whole life to an animal such as myself . . . but that is what I have never asked of you. No, I tremble to think of it.”
”And yet, Bernard, you must think of it. Think of it frequently, and when you have done so you will realize the necessity of following my advice, and of bringing your mind into harmony with the new life upon which you have entered since quitting Roche-Mauprat. When you have perceived this necessity you must tell me, and then we will make several necessary resolutions.”
She withdrew her hand from mine quickly, and I fancy she bade me good-night; but this I did not hear. I stood buried in my thoughts, and when I raised my head to speak to her she was no longer there. I went into the chapel, but she had returned to her room by an upper gallery which communicated with her apartments.
I went back into the garden, walked far into the park, and remained there all night. This conversation with Edmee had opened a new world to me. Hitherto I had not ceased to be the Roche-Mauprat man, nor had I ever contemplated that it was possible or desirable to cease to be so.
Except for some habits which had changed with circ.u.mstances, I had never moved out of the narrow circle of my old thoughts. I felt annoyed that these new surroundings of mine should have any real power over me, and I secretly braced my will so that I should not be humbled. Such was my perseverance and strength of character that I believed nothing would ever have driven me from my intrenchment of obstinacy, had not Edmee's influence been brought to bear upon me. The vulgar comforts of life, the satisfactions of luxury, had no attraction for me beyond their novelty.
Bodily repose was a burden to me, and the calm that reigned in this house, so full of order and silence, would have been unbearable, had not Edmee's presence and the tumult of my own desires communicated to it some of my disorder, and peopled it with some of my visions. Never for a single moment had I desired to become the head of this house, the possessor of this property; and it was with genuine pleasure that I had just heard Edmee do justice to my disinterestedness. The thought of coupling two ends so entirely distinct as my pa.s.sion and my interests was still more repugnant to me. I roamed about the park a prey to a thousand doubts, and then wandered into the open country unconsciously.
It was a glorious night. The full moon was pouring down floods of soft light upon the ploughed lands, all parched by the heat of the sun.
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