“You have suffered on account of some woman?”
He replied abruptly:
“Say, rather, that I am suffering like a wretch.”
“But come out on my balcony. A name rose to my lips just now which I
dared not utter; for if you had said 'Dead' as you did of Sophie Astier,
I should have fired a bullet into my brain, this very day.”
We had gone out on the wide balcony from whence we could see two gulfs,
one to the right and the other to the left, enclosed by high gray
mountains. It was just twilight and the reflection of the sunset still
lingered in the sky.
He continued:
“Is Jeanne de Limours still alive?”
His eyes were fastened on mine and were full of a trembling anxiety. I
smiled.
“Parbleu--she is prettier than ever.”
“Do you know her?”
“Yes.”
He hesitated and then said:
“Very well?”
“No.”
He took my hand.
“Tell me about her,” he said.
“Why, I have nothing to tell. She is one of the most charming women,
or, rather, girls, and the most admired in Paris. She leads a delightful
existence and lives like a princess, that is all.”
“I love her,” he murmured in a tone in which he might have said “I am
going to die.” Then suddenly he continued:
“Ah! For three years we lived in a state of terror and delight. I almost
killed her five or six times. She tried to pierce my eyes with that
hairpin that you saw just now. Look, do you see that little white
spot beneath my left eye? We loved each other. How can I explain that
infatuation? You would not understand it.”
“There must be a simple form of love, the result of the mutual impulse
of two hearts and two souls. But there is also assuredly an atrocious
form, that tortures one cruelly, the result of the occult blending of
two unlike personalities who detest each other at the same time that
they adore one another.”
“In three years this woman had ruined me. I had four million francs
which she squandered in her calm manner, quietly, eat them up with a
gentle smile that seemed to fall from her eyes on to her lips.”
“You know her? There is something irresistible about her. What is it?
I do not know. Is it those gray eyes whose glance penetrates you like a
gimlet and remains there like the point of an arrow? It is more likely
the gentle, indifferent and fascinating smile that she wears like a
mask. Her slow grace pervades you little by little; exhales from her
like a perfume, from her slim figure that scarcely sways as she passes
you, for she seems to glide rather than walk; from her pretty voice with
its slight drawl that would seem to be the music of her smile; from her
gestures, also, which are never exaggerated, but always appropriate, and
intoxicate your vision with their harmony. For three years she was the
only being that existed for me on the earth! How I suffered; for she
deceived me as she deceived everyone! Why? For no reason; just for the
pleasure of deceiving. And when I found it out, when I treated her as a
common girl and a beggar, she said quietly: 'Are we married?'
“Since I have been here I have thought so much about her that at last I
understand her. She is Manon Lescaut come back to life. It is Manon,
who could not love without deceiving; Marion for whom love, amusement,
money, are all one.”
He was silent. After a few minutes he resumed:
“When I had spent my last sou on her she said simply:
“'You understand, my dear boy, that I cannot live on air and weather. I
love you very much, better than anyone, but I must live. Poverty and I
could not keep house together.”
“And if I should tell you what a horrible life I led with her! When I
looked at her I would just as soon have killed her as kissed her. When I
looked at her... I felt a furious desire to open my arms to embrace and
strangle her. She had, back of her eyes, something false and intangible
that made me execrate her; and that was, perhaps, the reason I loved her
so well. The eternal feminine, the odious and seductive feminine,
was stronger in her than in any other woman. She was full of it,
overcharged, as with a venomous and intoxicating fluid. She was a woman
to a greater extent than any one has ever been.”
“And when I went out with her she would look at all men in such a
manner that she seemed to offer herself to each in a single glance.
This exasperated me, and still it attached me to her all the more. This
creature in just walking along the street belonged to everyone, in spite
of me, in spite of herself, by the very fact of her nature, although she
had a modest, gentle carriage. Do you understand?
“And what torture! At the theatre, at the restaurant she seemed to
belong to others under my very eyes. And as soon as I left her she did
belong to others.
“It is now ten years since I saw her and I love her better than ever.”
Night spread over the earth. A strong perfume of orange blossoms
pervaded the air. I said:
“Will you see her again?”
“Parbleu! I now have here, in land and money, seven to eight thousand
francs. When I reach a million I shall sell out and go away. I shall
have enough to live on with her for a year--one whole year. And then,
good-bye, my life will be finished.”
“But after that?” I asked.
“After that, I do not know. That will be all, I may possibly ask her to
take me as a valet de chambre.”