XVIII

"This is a wretchedly devised falsehood," said Raymon, as soon as the

sound of Ralph's footsteps had died away. "Sir Ralph needs a lesson, and

I will administer it in such shape----"

"I forbid it," said Indiana, in a cold, determined tone: "my husband is

here: Ralph never lied. You and I are lost. There was a time when the

thought would have frozen me with horror; to-day it matters little to

me!"

"Very well!" said Raymon, seizing her in his arms excitedly, "since

death encompasses us, be mine! Forgive everything, and let your last

word in this supreme moment be a word of love, my last breath a breath

of joy."

"This moment of terror and courage might have been the sweetest moment

in my life," she said, "but you have spoiled it for me."

There was a rumbling of wheels in the farmyard, and the bell at the gate

of the château was rung by a strong and impatient hand.

"I know that ring," said Indiana, watchful and cool. "Ralph did not lie;

but you have time to escape; go!"

"I will not," cried Raymon; "I suspect some despicable treachery and you

shall not be the only victim. I will remain and my breast shall protect

you----"

"There is no treachery--listen--the servants are stirring and the gate

will be opened directly. Go: the trees in the garden will conceal you,

and the moon is not fairly out yet. Not a word more, but go!"

Raymon was compelled to obey; but she accompanied him to the foot of the

stairs and cast a searching glance about the flower-garden. All was

silent and calm. She stood a long while on the last stair, listening

with terror to the grinding of his footsteps on the gravel, entirely

oblivious of her husband's arrival. What cared she for his suspicions

and his anger, provided that Raymon was out of danger?

As for him he crossed the stream and hurried swiftly through the park.

He reached the small gate and, in his excitement, had some difficulty in

opening it. He was no sooner in the road than Sir Ralph appeared in

front of him and said with as much _sang-froid_ as if he were accosting

him at a party:

"Be good enough to let me have that key. If there should be a search for

it, it would be less inconvenient for it to be found in my hands."

Raymon would have preferred the most deadly insult to this satirical

generosity.

"I am not the man to forget a well-meant service," said he; "I am the

man to avenge an insult and to punish treachery."

Sir Ralph changed neither his tone nor his expression.

"I want none of your gratitude," he rejoined, "and I await your

vengeance tranquilly; but this is no time to talk. There is your

path--think of Madame Delmare's good name."

And he disappeared.

This night of agitation had overturned Raymon's brain so completely that

he would readily have believed in witchcraft at that moment. He reached

Cercy at daybreak and went to bed with a raging fever.

As for Madame Delmare, she did the honors of the breakfast table for her

husband and cousin with much calmness and dignity. She had not as yet

reflected upon her situation; she was absolutely under the influence of

instinct, which enjoined _sang-froid_ and presence of mind upon her. The

colonel was gloomy and thoughtful, but it was his business alone that

preoccupied him, and no jealous suspicion found a place in his thoughts.

Toward evening Raymon mustered courage to think about his love; but that

love had diminished materially. He loved obstacles; but he hated to be

bored and he foresaw that he should be bored times without number now

that Indiana had the right to reproach him. However, he remembered at

last that his honor demanded that he should inquire for her, and he sent

his servant to prowl around Lagny and find out what was going on there.

The servant brought him the following letter which Madame Delmare

herself had handed him:

"I hoped last night that I should lose either my reason or my life.

Unhappily for me I have retained both; but I will not complain, I have

deserved the suffering that I am undergoing; I chose to live this

tempestuous life; it would be cowardly to recoil to-day. I do not know

whether you are guilty, I do not want to know. We will never return to

that subject, will we? It causes us both too much suffering: so let this

be the last time it is mentioned between us.

"You said one thing at which I felt a cruel joy. Poor Noun! from your

place in heaven forgive me! you no longer suffer, you no longer love,

perhaps you pity me! You told me, Raymon, that you sacrificed that

unhappy girl to me, that you loved me better than her. Oh! do not take

it back; you said it, and I feel so strongly the need to believe it that

I do believe it. And yet your conduct last night, your entreaties, your

wild outbreaks, might well have made me doubt it. I forgave you on

account of the mental disturbance under which you were laboring; but now

you have had time to reflect, to become yourself once more; tell me,

will you renounce loving me in that way? I, who love you with my heart,

have believed hitherto that I could arouse in you a love as pure as my

own. And then I had not thought very much about the future; I had not

looked ahead very far, and I had not taken alarm at the thought that the

day might come when, conquered by your devotion, I should sacrifice to

you my scruples and my repugnance. But to-day, it can no longer be the

same; I can see in the future only a ghastly parallel between myself and

Noun! Oh! the thought of being loved no more than she was! If I believed

it! And yet she was lovelier than I, far lovelier! Why did you prefer

me? You must have loved me differently and better.--That is what I

wanted you to say. Will you give up being my lover in the way that you

have been? In that case I can still esteem you, believe in your remorse,

your sincerity, your love; if not, think of me no more, you will never

see me again. I shall die of it perhaps, but I would rather die than

descend so low as to be your mistress."

Raymon was sorely embarrassed as to how he should reply. This pride

offended him; he had never supposed hitherto that a woman who had thrown

herself into his arms could resist him thus outspokenly and give reasons

for her resistance.

"She does not love me," he said to himself; "her heart is dry, she is

naturally overbearing."

From that moment he loved her no longer. She had ruffled his

self-esteem; she had disappointed his hope of triumph, defeated his

anticipations of pleasure. In his eyes she was no more than Noun had

been. Poor Indiana! who longed to be so much more! Her passionate love

was misunderstood, her blind confidence was spurned. Raymon had never

understood her; how could he have continued to love her?

Thereupon he swore, in his irritation, that he would triumph over her;

he swore it not from a feeling of pride but in a revengeful spirit. It

was no longer a matter of snatching a new pleasure, but of punishing an

insult; of possessing a woman, but of subduing her. He swore that he

would be her master, were it for but a single day, and that then he

would abandon her, to have the satisfaction of seeing her at his feet.

On the spur of the moment he wrote this letter:

"You want me to promise. Foolish girl, can you think of such a thing? I

will promise whatever you choose, because I can do nothing but obey you;

but, if I break my promises I shall be guilty neither to God nor to you.

If you loved me, Indiana, you would not inflict these cruel torments on

me, you would not expose me to the risk of perjuring myself, you would

not blush at the thought of being my mistress. But you think that in my

arms you would be degraded----"

He felt that his bitterness was making itself manifest, despite his

efforts; he tore up this sheet, and, after taking time to reflect, began

anew:

"You admit that you nearly lost your reason last night; for my part, I

lost mine altogether. I was culpable--but no, I was mad! Forget those

hours of suffering and excitement. I am calm now; I have reflected; I am

still worthy of you. Bless you, my angel from heaven, for saving me from

myself, for reminding me how I ought to love you. Now, Indiana, command

me! I am your slave, as you well know. I would give my life for an hour

in your arms; but I can suffer a whole lifetime to obtain a smile from

you. I will be your friend, your brother, nothing more. If I suffer, you

shall not know it. If my blood boils when I am near you, if my breast

takes fire, if a cloud passes before my eyes when I touch your hand, if

a sweet kiss from your lips, a sisterly kiss, scorches my forehead, I

will order my blood to be calm, my brain to grow cool, my mouth to

respect you. I will be gentle, I will be submissive, I will be

unhappy,--if you will be the happier therefor and enjoy my agony,--if

only I may hear you tell me again that you love me! Oh! tell me so! give

me back your confidence and my joy! tell me when we shall meet again. I

know not what result the events of last night may have had; how does it

happen that you do not refer to the subject, that you leave me in an

agony of suspense? Carle saw you all three walking together in the park.

The colonel seemed ill or depressed, but not angry. In that case that

Ralph did not betray us! What a strange man! But to what extent can we

rely on his discretion; and how shall I dare show myself at Lagny now

that our fate is in his hands? But I will dare. If it is necessary to

stoop so low as to implore him, I will silence my pride, I will overcome

my aversion, I will do anything rather than lose you. A word from you

and I will burden my life with as much remorse as I am able to carry;

for you I would abandon my mother herself; for you I would commit any

crime. Ah! if you realized the depth of my love, Indiana!"

The pen fell from Raymon's hands; he was terribly fatigued, he was

falling asleep. But he read over his letter to make sure that his ideas

had not suffered from the influence of drowsiness; but it was impossible

for him to understand his own meaning, his brain was so affected by his

physical exhaustion. He rang for his servant, bade him go to Lagny

before daybreak; then slept that deep, refreshing sleep whose tranquil

delights only those who are thoroughly satisfied with themselves really

know. Madame Delmare had not retired; she was unconscious of fatigue and

passed the night writing. When she received Raymon's letter she answered

it in haste:

"Thanks, Raymon, thanks! you restore my strength and my life. Now I can

dare anything, endure anything; for you love me, and the most severe

tests do not alarm you. Yes, we will meet again--we will defy everybody.

Ralph may do what he will with our secret. I am no longer disturbed

about anything since you love me; I am not even afraid of my husband.

"You want to know about our affairs? I forgot to mention them yesterday,

and yet they have taken a turn which has an important bearing on my

fortunes. We are ruined. There is some talk of selling Lagny, and even

of going to live in the colonies. But of what consequence is all that? I

cannot make up my mind to think about it. I know that we shall never be

parted. You have sworn it, Raymon; I rely on your promise, do you rely

on my courage. Nothing will frighten me, nothing will turn me back. My

place is established at your side, and death alone can tear me from it."

"Mere woman's effervescence!" said Raymon, crumpling the letter.

"Romantic projects, perilous undertakings, appeal to their feeble

imaginations as bitter substances arouse a sick man's appetite. I have

succeeded; I have recovered my influence; and, as for all this imprudent

folly with which she threatens me, we will see! It is all characteristic

of the light-headed, false creatures, always ready to undertake the

impossible and making of generosity a show virtue which must be attended

with scandal! Who would think, to read this letter, that she counts her

kisses and doles out her caresses like a miser!"

That same day he went to Lagny. Ralph was not there, and the colonel

received him amicably and talked to him confidentially. He took him into

the park, where they were less likely to be disturbed, and told him that

he was utterly ruined and that the factory would be offered for sale on

the following day. Raymon made generous offers of assistance, but

Delmare declined them.

"No, my friend," he said, "I have suffered too much from the thought

that I owed my fate to Ralph's kindness; I was in too much of a hurry to

repay him. The sale of this property will enable me to pay all my debts

at once. To be sure, I shall have nothing left, but I have courage,

energy and business experience; the future is before us. I have built up

my little fortune once, and I can begin it again. I must do it for my

wife's sake, for she is young, and I don't wish to leave her in poverty.

She still owns an estate of some little value at Ile Bourbon, and I

propose to go into retirement there and start in business afresh. In a

few years--in ten years at most--I hope that we shall meet again."

Raymon pressed the colonel's hand, smiling inwardly at his confidence,

at his speaking of ten years as of a single day, when his bald head and

enfeebled body indicated a feeble hold upon existence, a life near its

close. Nevertheless he pretended to share his hopes.

"I am delighted to see," he said, "that you do not allow yourself to be

cast down by these reverses. I recognize your manly heart, your

undaunted courage. But does Madame Delmare display the same courage? Do

you not anticipate some resistance on her part to your project of

expatriation?"

"I shall be very sorry," the colonel replied, "but wives are made to

obey, not to advise. I have not yet definitely made my purpose known to

Indiana. With the exception of yourself, my friend, I do not know what

there is here that she should feel any regret at leaving; and yet I

anticipate tears and nervous attacks, from a spirit of contradiction, if

nothing else. The devil take the women! However, my dear Raymon, I rely

upon you all the same to make my wife listen to reason. She has

confidence in you; use your influence to prevent her from crying. I

detest tears."

Raymon promised to come again the next day and inform Madame Delmare of

her husband's decision.

"You will do me a very great favor," said the colonel. "I will take

Ralph to the farm, so that you may have a good chance to talk with her."

"Well, luck is on my side!" thought Ralph, as he took his leave.