Part 6 (2/2)
He took her arm again and they returned to the town thus, arm in arm like good friends, while the glow of the sunset was slowly fading away in a tranquil sea of violets and roses. And seeing them both pa.s.s again, the ancient king, powerful and gentle, leaning against the shoulder of a charming and docile girl, supported by her youth, the women of the faubourg, sitting at their doors, looked after them with a smile of tender emotion.
At La Souleiade Martine was watching for them. She waved her hand to them from afar. What! Were they not going to dine to-day? Then, when they were near, she said:
”Ah! you will have to wait a little while. I did not venture to put on my leg of mutton yet.”
They remained outside to enjoy the charm of the closing day. The pine grove, wrapped in shadow, exhaled a balsamic resinous odor, and from the yard, still heated, in which a last red gleam was dying away, a chillness arose. It was like an a.s.suagement, a sigh of relief, a resting of surrounding Nature, of the puny almond trees, the twisted olives, under the paling sky, cloudless and serene; while at the back of the house the clump of plane trees was a ma.s.s of black and impenetrable shadows, where the fountain was heard singing its eternal crystal song.
”Look!” said the doctor, ”M. Bellombre has already dined, and he is taking the air.”
He pointed to a bench, on which a tall, thin old man of seventy was sitting, with a long face, furrowed with wrinkles, and large, staring eyes, and very correctly attired in a close-fitting coat and cravat.
”He is a wise man,” murmured Clotilde. ”He is happy.”
”He!” cried Pascal. ”I should hope not!”
He hated no one, and M. Bellombre, the old college professor, now retired, and living in his little house without any other company than that of a gardener who was deaf and dumb and older than himself, was the only person who had the power to exasperate him.
”A fellow who has been afraid of life; think of that! afraid of life!
Yes, a hard and avaricious egotist! If he banished woman from his existence, it was only through fear of having to pay for her shoes.
And he has known only the children of others, who have made him suffer--hence his hatred of the child--that flesh made to be flogged.
The fear of life, the fear of burdens and of duties, of annoyances and of catastrophes! The fear of life, which makes us through dread of its sufferings refuse its joys. Ah! I tell you, this cowardliness enrages me; I cannot forgive it. We must live--live a complete life--live all our life. Better even suffering, suffering only, than such renunciation--the death of all there is in us that is living and human!”
M. Bellombre had risen, and was walking along one of the walks with slow, tranquil steps. Then, Clotilde, who had been watching him in silence, at last said:
”There is, however, the joy of renunciation. To renounce, not to live; to keep one's self for the spiritual, has not this always been the great happiness of the saints?”
”If they had not lived,” cried Pascal, ”they could not now be saints.
Let suffering come, and I will bless it, for it is perhaps the only great happiness!”
But he felt that she rebelled against this; that he was going to lose her again. At the bottom of our anxiety about the beyond is the secret fear and hatred of life. So that he hastily a.s.sumed again his pleasant smile, so affectionate and conciliating.
”No, no! Enough for to-day; let us dispute no more; let us love each other dearly. And see! Martine is calling us, let us go in to dinner.”
III.
For a month this unpleasant state of affairs continued, every day growing worse, and Clotilde suffered especially at seeing that Pascal now locked up everything. He had no longer the same tranquil confidence in her as before, and this wounded her so deeply that, if she had at any time found the press open, she would have thrown the papers into the fire as her grandmother Felicite had urged her to do. And the disagreements began again, so that they often remained without speaking to each other for two days together.
One morning, after one of these misunderstandings which had lasted since the day before, Martine said as she was serving the breakfast:
”Just now as I was crossing the Place de la Sous-Prefecture, I saw a stranger whom I thought I recognized going into Mme. Felicite's house.
Yes, mademoiselle, I should not be surprised if it were your brother.”
On the impulse of the moment, Pascal and Clotilde spoke.
”Your brother! Did your grandmother expect him, then?”
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