“You!” she went on with a cry.
“Why! it’s madness!”
“Yes! isn’t it?” There was both despair and triumph in her voice. She
straightened herself, or rather flung herself backwards.
“Now I know what there remains for me to do,” she added indistinctly,
as she opened the door of the garden, which she slammed violently
behind her.
* * * * *
My brain and heart were in a whirl. I felt the blood throbbing in my
temples. One sole idea survived in the confusion of my spirits--to find
Abel; he, perhaps, would be able to explain the singular behaviour of
the two sisters. But I dared not go back to the drawing-room, where I
thought everyone would see my agitation. I went out. The icy air of the
garden calmed me; I stayed in it some time. Evening was falling, and
the sea-mist hid the town; there were no leaves on the trees; earth
and sky seemed one immense desolation. The sound of voices singing
rose upon the air; no doubt it was the choir of children gathered
round the Christmas tree. I went in by the entrance hall. The door of
the drawing-room and inner hall were open; in the drawing-room, which
was now deserted, I caught sight of my aunt, where she was sitting,
partly concealed by the piano, talking to Juliette. In the inner hall
the guests were thronging round the lighted tree. The children had
finished their hymn; there was a silence, and Pasteur Vautier, standing
up in front of the tree, began a sort of sermon. He never missed an
opportunity of what he called “sowing the good seed.” I felt the lights
and heat uncomfortably oppressive, and was going out. Abel was standing
beside the door; he had, no doubt, been there some time. He was looking
at me in a hostile manner, and when our eyes met he shrugged his
shoulders. I went towards him.
“Fool!” he said in a whisper; and then, abruptly, “oh, let’s go out;
I’m fed up with preaching.”
And as soon as we were outside, “You fool!” he said again, as I looked
at him anxiously, without speaking. “Why, it’s you she loves, you fool!
Couldn’t you have told me?”