Part 25 (1/2)
When I ordered the horses I had no idea that we would really go, I wished merely to make a trial, but circ.u.mstances bid fair to force me to carry my plans farther than I at first intended. I opened the door.
”It must be!” I said to myself. ”It must be!” I repeated aloud.
”What do you mean by that, Brigitte? What is there in those words that I do not understand? Explain yourself, or I will not go. Why must you love me?”
She fell on the sofa and wrung her hands in grief.
”Ah! Unhappy man!” she cried, ”you will never know how to love!”
”Yes, I think you are right, but, before G.o.d, I know how to suffer. You must love me, must you not? Very well, then you must answer me. Were I to lose you forever, were these walls to crumble over my head, I will not leave this spot until I have solved the mystery that has been torturing me for more than a month. Speak, or I will leave you. I may be a fool who destroys his own happiness, I may be demanding something that is not for me to possess, it may be that an explanation will separate us and raise before me an insurmountable barrier, that it will render our tour, on which I have set my heart, impossible; whatever it may cost you and me, you shall speak or I will renounce everything.”
”No, I will not speak.”
”You will speak! Do you fondly imagine I am the dupe of your lies? When I see you change between morning and evening until you differ more from your natural self than does night from day, do you think I am deceived?
When you give me, as a cause, some letters that are not worth the trouble of reading, do you imagine that I am to be put off with the first pretext that comes to hand because you do not choose to seek another? Is your face made of plaster that it is difficult to see what is pa.s.sing in your heart? What is your opinion of me? I do not deceive myself as much as you suppose, and take care lest, in default of words, your silence discloses what you so obstinately conceal.”
”What do you imagine I am concealing?”
What do I imagine? You ask me that! Is it to brave me you ask such a question? Do you think to make me desperate and thus get rid of me? Yes, I admit it, offended pride is capable of driving me to extremes. If I should explain myself freely, you would have at your service all feminine hypocrisy; you hope that I will accuse you, so that you can reply that such a woman as you does not stoop to justify herself. How skilfully the most guilty and treacherous of your s.e.x contrive to use proud disdain as a s.h.i.+eld! Your great weapon is silence; I did not learn that yesterday.
You wish to be insulted and you hold your tongue until it comes to that; come, come, struggle against my heart; where yours beats, you will find it; but do not struggle against my head, it is harder than iron, and it has served me as long as yours!”
”Poor boy!” murmured Brigitte; ”you do not want to go?”
”No, I shall not go except with my mistress and you are not that now. I have struggled, I have suffered, I have eaten my own heart long enough.
It is time for day to break, I have loved long enough in the night. Yes or no, will you answer me?”
”No.”
”As you please; I will wait.”
I sat down on the other side of the room determined not to rise until I had learned what I wished to know. She appeared to be reflecting and walked back and forth before me.
I followed her with an eager eye, while her silence gradually increased my anger. I was unwilling to have her perceive it and was undecided what to do. I opened the window.
”You may drive off,” I called to those below, ”and I will see that you are paid. I shall not start to-night.”
”Poor boy!” repeated Brigitte. I quietly closed the window and sat down as though I had not heard her; but I was so furious with rage that I could hardly restrain myself. That cold silence, that negative force, exasperated me to the last point. Had I been really deceived and convinced of the guilt of the woman I loved, I could not have suffered more. As I had condemned myself to remain in Paris, I reflected that I must compel Brigitte to speak at any price. In vain, I tried to think of some means of forcing her to enlighten me; for such power, I would have given all I possessed. What could I do or say? She sat there calm and unruffled looking at me with sadness. I heard the sound of the horses'
hoofs on the pavement as the carriage drew out of the court. I had merely to turn my hand to call them back, but it seemed to me that there was something irrevocable about their departure. I slipped the bolt on the door; something whispered in my ear: ”You are face to face with the woman who must give you life or death.”
While thus buried in thought, I tried to invent some expedient that would lead to the truth, I recalled one of Diderot's romances in which a woman, jealous of her lover, resorted to a novel plan, for the purpose of clearing away her doubts. She told him that she no longer loved him and that she wished to leave him. The Marquis des Arcis, the name of the lover, falls into the trap, and confesses that he, himself, has tired of the liaison. That piece of strategy, which I had read at too early an age, had struck me as being very skilful and the recollection of it at this moment made me smile. ”Who knows?” said I to myself, ”if I should try this with Brigitte, she might be deceived and tell me her secret.”
My anger had become furious when the idea of resorting to such trickery occurred to me. Was it so difficult to make a woman speak in spite of herself? This woman was my mistress; I must be very weak if I could not gain my point. I turned over on the sofa with an air of indifference.
”Very well, my dear,” said I gaily, ”this is not a time for confidences then?”
She looked at me in astonishment.
”And yet,” I continued, ”we must some day come to the truth. Now I believe it would be well to begin at once; that will make you confiding, and there is nothing like an understanding between friends.”