CONFESSIONS.
Sidonie, panting for breath but still determined, did not stop until
she had led Bruno behind the little hedge back of the cottage. Then,
astonished at her own temerity, she began to be conscious of a feeling
of bewildered embarrassment. What would they think of her?
Ah, in this desperate way she had confessed her love before the
world--and all for one who did not reciprocate her affection. Oh, the
shame of it! What should she do or say?
Until now Bruno himself had not guessed her secret. He had regarded her
as a kind and faithful friend--nothing more. At the same time he felt
that he had betrayed his secret, and he too was confused and silent.
Neither dreamed of speaking, and but this one thought possessed their
minds: “I have proclaimed my unrequited love to the world.”
About to go away, Sidonie raised her eyes and saw Bruno’s sad,
despairing face. Pity filled her soul.
“You are unhappy, Bruno,” she tenderly said, extending her hand in
sympathy, at whose readiness the astonished Bruno burst into sobs. The
pretty little cripple’s heart sank and tear-drops wet her long lashes.
“Oh, why--why do you love her so much?” she asked bitterly.
Bruno understood the reproach and jealousy that prompted the question.
“Can I help it?” he said impulsively. “Am I the master of my own heart?”
“You are bewitched,” she replied, with a shudder.
“Yes, there are moments when I feel powerless.”
“You wish, then, you were free from this thraldom? You wish that you
had never met her?”
“I do indeed. But since I know her I must love her.”
Sidonie was again tempted to go. It was agony to hear him speak thus
of another. And yet how cowardly to run away! No, she must summon the
courage to endure it.
“My good Sidonie,” continued Bruno, “how patient you are--how
sympathetic.”
“How long have you loved her?” ventured Sidonie.
“Even before she married Savin. But I never dared to tell her so. It
was like this, Sidonie: One day I was fishing in the Trinquelin brook
and she came down in the neighboring field. Let me see, that was four
months previous to the death of her father--and you know as well as I
that Monsieur d’Angerolles was never guilty of crime. The accusation
against him was all a network of lies.”
“Well, well, go on,” insisted Sidonie.
“She came into the meadow, as I said, and we joked together over the
fence, and finally she said she would try her luck at fishing for a
while. We cut some willow rods, and taking the bait and tackle we
proceeded along the stream, at intervals casting our lines in little
babbling pools and watching, with interest, for a bite.”
“And were you successful?”
“No. In the places where I cast there did not appear the sign of a
fish.”
“And Catherine?”
“Nearly every time her bait was taken, and I helped her unhook at least
a dozen fish.”
“I tell you, Bruno, she has a sorcerer’s power----”
“No, no. She had in her pocket a little bottle of pistachio, belonging
to her father, and she put some of the essence on the frog bait,
without my knowing it. You know pistachio attracts crabs.”
“And were you not jealous of her success?”
“No. I was only ashamed of my failure.”
“And what did she say?”
“She only laughed. We went on down the stream, and had a merry time;
but, Sidonie, promise that you will never repeat what I tell you.”
“Is it, then, so bad?”
“No; but I do not wish it to be known. If it should get back to
Catherine she might be offended.”
Sidonie, with a sad smile, replied: “Do not fear, I am not a tattler.”
“You promise?”
“I promise, Bruno.”
“Well, while Catherine was trying to extricate her hook from a stump
the overhanging branch to which she was clinging gave way. She slipped
and fell into the stream. The water was deep at that place and the
current strong. Realizing her danger, I plunged in after her.”
“How foolish!”
“Just as I jumped in Catherine rose to the surface, and I seized her
dress. We were instantly whirled among the rocks, but I protected her
as well as I could, and by grasping the rocks kept our heads above
water as we rushed down stream. In the mad race of the current we
were borne along until an enormous rock in the middle of the stream
offered me one chance of escape. With great difficulty I managed to
climb up on the rock with my burden. Catherine’s face was as white as
death. In this wood where the stream had carried us I could see on
the left an open space, and by picking my way from the big rock to
smaller ones that at stepping distances reached to the bank, I was soon
able to place her on the cool grass. Presently she revived. Her lids
fluttered and then opened, and for the first time I was thrilled by her
incomparable beauty.”
Sidonie trembled, but she asked him to continue.
“And then, because without my assistance she probably would have
drowned, I began to feel very near to her. However, I did not really
love her _then_, but she appealed to me. We were drenched, of course,
and the heat of the sun was not sufficient to dry our clothing; but
we were obliged to wait there until Catherine felt a little stronger.
Finally, she rose, looked at me for several seconds, and then silently
put her two arms around my neck, and then----”
Bruno abruptly paused, showing himself to be ill at ease. Just then a
little leaf falling, irresolutely, from a branch, at last reached the
ground. Sidonie’s eyes followed its course. A question came to her
lips, but she dared not ask it. At the same time Bruno was wondering if
he had not said too much. He did not wish to compromise Catherine; but
confession is good for the soul, and he could not resist the impulse to
give utterance to his pent-up feelings.
“Well, she kissed me twice, and then I knew----”
Again he paused. But an instant afterward he said: “She went away,
leaving me all the fish.”
“She was always a little bold, I think,” observed Sidonie, wiping her
eyes.
“No, do not say that. Would you not have done the same had I saved your
life?”
“Yes,” admitted poor Sidonie to herself.
“But,” pursued Bruno, “it would have been far better for me had she
simply thanked me.”
“You realize it, Bruno?”
“Yes, for from that time I have been wretched.”
“But she is married.”
“I know it, my good Sidonie. But still I love her--I love her! But I am
only a peasant and----”
“And what does that matter?”
“Oh, I do not know how to address her in language worthy of her or of
my love. I can only stupidly say, I love her.”
“Ah,” said Sidonie, pathetically, “I should not ask for more.”
“You--you! Perhaps not. But, don’t you see, with her it is different.
She is not a peasant by birth or education.”
Sidonie suffered keenly. Each word of Bruno’s stabbed her tender
heart. She felt that she must leave him. She longed to be alone. And
yet something held her rooted to the spot. All that Bruno had said
in regard to Catherine was but kindred to the feeling the lame girl
possessed for him.
“Oh,” continued Bruno, “could you but know what it is to love as I do!
It is a fever which consumes one! It is torture! Catherine! Catherine!
What would I not do for you? For you I would confront a hundred
dangers; for you I would lay down my life; for you----”
“Be silent!” shouted Sidonie, beside herself.
“Who,” he went on, not heeding her command, “can compare with her in
loveliness? Who is her equal? I would defend her against her husband!
I could kill Firmin did I not know her indifference to him. If at this
moment she were to say, ‘Lie at my feet until you die of love,’ I
should eagerly obey.”
Unable at this moment to control herself, Sidonie seized his hands, and
covering them with passionate kisses, exclaimed: “And I adore you--even
as you adore her.”
And turning away she disappeared, leaving Bruno utterly stupefied. When
at last he realized the situation, he was overpowered. His words must
have seemed so cruel to her.
“Oh, how miserable it all is! Poor, poor Sidonie! How I must have
wounded her loyal heart. Oh, why--why could I not have loved her
instead of Catherine? We might have been so happy! and now only misery
awaits us.”
[Illustration]
[Illustration]