Part 10 (1/2)
”Do you wish to send me away, then, master? Maxime is very good, and I thank him from the bottom of my heart. But to leave everything, my G.o.d!
To leave all that love me, all that I have loved until now!”
She made a despairing gesture, indicating the place and the people, taking in all La Souleiade.
”But,” responded Pascal, looking at her fixedly, ”what if Maxime should need you, what if you had a duty to fulfil toward him?”
Her eyes grew moist, and she remained for a moment trembling and desperate; for she alone understood. The cruel vision again arose before her--Maxime, helpless, driven, about in a little carriage by a servant, like the neighbor whom she used to pity. Had she indeed any duty toward a brother who for fifteen years had been a stranger to her? Did not her duty lie where her heart was? Nevertheless, her distress of mind continued; she still suffered in the struggle.
”Listen, Maxime,” she said at last, ”give me also time to reflect. I will see. Be a.s.sured that I am very grateful to you. And if you should one day really have need of me, well, I should no doubt decide to go.”
This was all they could make her promise. Felicite, with her usual vehemence, exhausted all her efforts in vain, while the doctor now affected to say that she had given her word. Martine brought a cream, without thinking of hiding her joy. To take away mademoiselle! what an idea, in order that monsieur might die of grief at finding himself all alone. And the dinner was delayed, too, by this unexpected incident.
They were still at the dessert when half-past eight struck.
Then Maxime grew restless, tapped the floor with his foot, and declared that he must go.
At the station, whither they all accompanied him he kissed his sister a last time, saying:
”Remember!”
”Don't be afraid,” declared Felicite, ”we are here to remind her of her promise.”
The doctor smiled, and all three, as soon as the train was in motion, waved their handkerchiefs.
On this day, after accompanying the grandmother to her door, Dr. Pascal and Clotilde returned peacefully to La Souleiade, and spent a delightful evening there. The constraint of the past few weeks, the secret antagonism which had separated them, seemed to have vanished. Never had it seemed so sweet to them to feel so united, inseparable. Doubtless it was only this first pang of uneasiness suffered by their affection, this threatened separation, the postponement of which delighted them. It was for them like a return to health after an illness, a new hope of life.
They remained for long time in the warm night, under the plane trees, listening to the crystal murmur of the fountain. And they did not even speak, so profoundly did they enjoy the happiness of being together.
IV.
Ten days later the household had fallen back into its former state of unhappiness. Pascal and Clotilde remained entire afternoons without exchanging a word; and there were continual outbursts of ill-humor. Even Martine was constantly out of temper. The home of these three had again become a h.e.l.l.
Then suddenly the condition of affairs was still further aggravated. A Capuchin monk of great sanct.i.ty, such as often pa.s.s through the towns of the South, came to Pla.s.sans to conduct a mission. The pulpit of St. Saturnin resounded with his bursts of eloquence. He was a sort of apostle, a popular and fiery orator, a florid speaker, much given to the use of metaphors. And he preached on the nothingness of modern science with an extraordinary mystical exaltation, denying the reality of this world, and disclosing the unknown, the mysteries of the Beyond. All the devout women of the town were full of excitement about his preaching.
On the very first evening on which Clotilde, accompanied by Martine, attended the sermon, Pascal noticed her feverish excitement when she returned. On the following day her excitement increased, and she returned home later, having remained to pray for an hour in a dark corner of a chapel. From this time she was never absent from the services, returning languid, and with the luminous eyes of a seer; and the Capuchin's burning words haunted her; certain of his images stirred her to ecstasy. She grew irritable, and she seemed to have conceived a feeling of anger and contempt for every one and everything around her.
Pascal, filled with uneasiness, determined to have an explanation with Martine. He came down early one morning as she was sweeping the dining-room.
”You know that I leave you and Clotilde free to go to church, if that pleases you,” he said. ”I do not believe in oppressing any one's conscience. But I do not wish that you should make her sick.”
The servant, without stopping in her work, said in a low voice:
”Perhaps the sick people are those who don't think that they are sick.”
She said this with such an air of conviction that he smiled.
”Yes,” he returned; ”I am the sick soul whose conversion you pray for; while both of you are in possession of health and of perfect wisdom.
Martine, if you continue to torment me and to torment yourselves, as you are doing, I shall grow angry.”
He spoke in so furious and so harsh a voice that the servant stopped suddenly in her sweeping, and looked him full in the face. An infinite tenderness, an immense desolation pa.s.sed over the face of the old maid cloistered in his service. And tears filled her eyes and she hurried out of the room stammering: