Part 27 (1/2)

Fearing that they might be overheard and in order to keep him at a distance, she had been speaking as though to a friend. But her lover's sadness broke down her reserve.

”No, I love you... . I shall always love you.”

The simplicity with which she said this and her sudden tenderness of tone revived Desnoyers' hopes.

”And the other one?” he asked anxiously.

Upon receiving her reply, it seemed to him as though something had just pa.s.sed across the sun, veiling its light temporarily. It was as though a cloud had drifted over the land and over his thoughts, enveloping them in an unbearable chill.

”I love him, too.”

She said it with a look that seemed to implore pardon, with the sad sincerity of one who has given up lying and weeps in foreseeing the injury that the truth must inflict.

He felt his hard wrath suddenly dwindling like a crumbling mountain. Ah, Marguerite! His voice was tremulous and despairing. Could it be possible that everything between these two was going to end thus simply? Were her former vows mere lies? ... They had been attracted to each other by an irresistible affinity in order to be together forever, to be one... .

And now, suddenly hardened by indifference, were they to drift apart like two unfriendly bodies? ... What did this absurdity about loving him at the same time that she loved her former husband mean, anyway?

Marguerite hung her head, murmuring desperately:

”You are a man, I am a woman. You would never understand me, no matter what I might say. Men are not able to comprehend certain of our mysteries... . A woman would be better able to appreciate the complexity.”

Desnoyers felt that he must know his fate in all its cruelty. She might speak without fear. He felt strong enough to bear the blow... . What had Laurier said when he found that he was being so tenderly cared for by Marguerite? ...

”He does not know who I am... . He believes me to be a war-nurse, like the rest, who pities him seeing him alone and blind with no relatives to write to him or visit him... . At certain times, I have almost suspected that he guesses the truth. My voice, the touch of my hands made him s.h.i.+ver at first, as though with an unpleasant sensation. I have told him that I am a Beigian lady who has lost her loved ones and is alone in the world. He has told me his life story very sketchily, as if he desired to forget a hated past... . Never one disagreeable word about his former wife. There are nights when I think that he knows me, that he takes advantage of his blindness in order to prolong his feigned ignorance, and that distresses me. I long for him to recover his sight, for the doctors to save that doubtful eye--and yet at the same time, I feel afraid. What will he say when he recognizes me? ... But no; it is better that he should see, no matter what may result. You cannot understand my anxiety, you cannot know what I am suffering.”

She was silent for an instant, trying to regain her self-control, again tortured with the agony of her soul.

”Oh, the war!” she resumed. ”What changes in our life! Two months ago, my present situation would have appeared impossible, unimaginable... .

I caring for my husband, fearing that he would discover my ident.i.ty and leave me, yet at the same time, wis.h.i.+ng that he would recognize me and pardon me... . It is only one week that I have been with him. I disguise my voice when I can, and avoid words that may reveal the truth ... but this cannot keep up much longer. It is only in novels that such painful situations turn out happily.”

Doubt suddenly overwhelmed her.

”I believe,” she continued, ”that he has recognized me from the first.

... He is silent and feigns ignorance because he despises me ...

because he can never bring himself to pardon me. I have been so bad!

... I have wronged him so!”...

She was recalling the long and reflective silences of the wounded man after she had dropped some imprudent words. After two days of submission to her care, he had been somewhat rebellious, avoiding going out with her for a walk. Because of his blind helplessness, and comprehending the uselessness of his resistance, he had finally yielded in pa.s.sive silence.

”Let him think what he will!” concluded Marguerite courageously. ”Let him despise me! I am here where I ought to be. I need his forgiveness, but if he does not pardon me, I shall stay with him just the same.

... There are moments when I wish that he may never recover his sight, so that he may always need me, so that I may pa.s.s my life at his side, sacrificing everything for him.”

”And I?” said Desnoyers.

Marguerite looked at him with clouded eyes as though she were just awaking. It was true--and the other one? ... Kindled by the proposed sacrifice which was to be her expiation, she had forgotten the man before her.

”You!” she said after a long pause. ”You must leave me... . Life is not what we have thought it. Had it not been for the war, we might, perhaps, have realized our dream, but now! ... Listen carefully and try to understand. For the remainder of my life, I shall carry the heaviest burden, and yet at the same time it will be sweet, since the more it weighs me down the greater will my atonement be. Never will I leave this man whom I have so grievously wronged, now that he is more alone in the world and will need protection like a child. Why do you come to share my fate? How could it be possible for you to live with a nurse constantly at the side of a blind and worthy man whom we would constantly offend with our pa.s.sion? ... No, it is better for us to part. Go your way, alone and untrammelled. Leave me; you will meet other women who will make you more happy than I. Yours is the temperament that finds new pleasures at every step.”

She stood firmly to her decision. Her voice was calm, but back of it trembled the emotion of a last farewell to a joy which was going from her forever. The man would be loved by others ... and she was giving him up! ... But the n.o.ble sadness of the sacrifice restored her courage. Only by this renunciation could she expiate her sins.

Julio dropped his eyes, vanquished and perplexed. The picture of the future outlined by Marguerite terrified him. To live with her as a nurse taking advantage of her patient's blindness would be to offer him fresh insult every day... . Ah, no! That would be villainy, indeed! He was now ashamed to recall the malignity with which, a little while before, he had regarded this innocent unfortunate. He realized that he was powerless to contend with him. Weak and helpless as he was sitting there on the garden bench, he was stronger and more deserving of respect than Julio Desnoyers with all his youth and elegance. The victim had amounted to something in his life; he had done what Julio had not dared to do.