On a sudden impulse Flamen, going through the woodland shadows to the
city, paused and turned back; all his impulses were quick and swayed him
now hither, now thither, in many contrary ways.
He knew that the hour was come--that he must leave her and spare her, as
to himself he phrased it, or teach her the love words that the daisies
whisper to women.
And why not?--anyway she would marry Jeannot.
He, half-way to the town, walked back again and paused a moment at the
gate; an emotion half pitiful, half cynical, stirred in him.
Anyway he would leave her in a few days: Paris had again opened her arms
to him; his old life awaited him; women who claimed him by imperious,
amorous demands reproached him; and after all this day he had got the
Gretchen of his ideal, a great picture for the future of his fame.
As he would leave her anyway so soon, he would leave her unscathed--poor
little field flower--he could never take it with him to blossom or wither
in Paris.
His world would laugh too utterly if he made for himself a mistress out
of a little Fleming in two wooden shoes. Besides--
Besides, something that was half weak and half noble moved him not to
lead this child, in her trust and her ignorance, into ways that when she
awakened from her trance would seem to her shameful and full of sorrow.
For he knew that Bébée was not as others are.
He turned back and knocked at the hut door and opened it.
Bébée was just beginning to undress herself; she had taken off her white
kerchief and her wooden shoes; her pretty shoulders and her little neck
shone white in the moon; her feet were bare on the mud floor.
She started with a cry and threw the handkerchief again on her shoulders,
but there was no fear of him; only the unconscious instinct of her
girlhood.
He thought for a moment that he would not go away until the morrow--
"Did you want me?" said Bébée softly, with happy eyes of surprise and yet
a little startled, fearing some evil might have happened to him that he
should have returned thus.
"No; I do not want you, dear," he said gently; no--he did not want her,
poor little soul; she wanted him, but he--there were so many of these
things in his life, and he liked her too well to love her.
"No, dear, I did not want you," said Flamen, drawing her arms about him,
and feeling her flutter like a little bird, while the moonlight came in
through the green leaves and fell in fanciful patterns on the floor. "But
I came to say--you have had one happy day. Wholly happy, have you not,
poor little Bébée?"
"Ah, yes!" she sighed rather than said the answer in her wondrous
gladness; drawn there close to him, with the softness of his lips upon
her. Could he have come back only to ask that?
"Well, that is something. You will remember it always, Bébée?" he
murmured in his unconscious cruelty. "I did not wish to spoil your
cloudless pleasure, dear--for you care for me a little, do you not?--so I
came back to tell you only now, that I go away for a little while
to-morrow."
"Go away!"
She trembled in his arms and turned cold as ice; a great terror and
darkness fell upon her; she had never thought that he would ever go
away. He caressed her, and played with her as a boy may with a bird
before he wrings its neck.
"You will come back?"
He kissed her: "Surely."
"To-morrow?"
"Nay--not so soon."
"In a week?"
"Hardly."
"In a month, then?"
"Perhaps."
"Before winter, anyway?"
He looked aside from the beseeching, tearful, candid eyes, and kissed her
hair and her throat, and said, "Yes, dear--beyond a doubt."
She clung to him, crying silently; he wished that women would not weep.
"Come, Bébée, listen," he said coaxingly, thinking to break the
bitterness to her. "This is not wise, and it gives me pain. There is so
much for you to do. You know so little. There is so much to learn. I will
leave you many books, and you must grow quite learned in my absence. The
Virgin is all very well in her way, but she cannot teach us much, poor
lady. For her kingdom is called Ignorance. You must teach yourself. I
leave you that to do. The days will go by quickly if you are laborious
and patient. Do you love me, little one?"
For an answer she kissed his hand.
"You are a busy little Bébée always," he said, with his lips caressing
her soft brown arms that were round his neck. "But you must be busier
than ever whilst I am gone. So you will forget. No, no, I do not mean
that:--I mean so the time will pass quickest. And I shall finish your
picture, Bébée, and all Paris will see you, and the great ladies will
envy the little girl with her two wooden shoes. Ah! that does not
please you?--you care for none of these vanities. No. Poor little Bébée,
why did God make you, or Chance breathe life into you? You are so far
away from us all. It was cruel. What harm has your poor little soul ever
done that, pure as a flower, it should have been sent to the hell of this
world?"
She clung to him, sobbing without sound. "You will come back? You will
come back?" she moaned, clasping him closer and closer.
Flamen's own eyes grew dim. But he lied to her: "I will--I promise."
It was so much easier to say so, and it would break her sorrow. So
he thought.
For the moment again he was tempted to take her with him--but, he
resisted it--he would tire, and she would cling to him forever.
There was a long silence. The bleating of the little kid in the shed
without was the only sound; the gray lavender blew to and fro.
Her arms were close about his throat; he kissed them again, and kissed
her eyes, her cheek, her mouth; then put her from him quickly and went
out.
She ran to him, and threw herself on the damp ground and held him there,
and leaned her forehead on his feet. But though he looked at her with wet
eyes, he did not yield, and he still said,--
"I will come back soon--very soon; be quiet, dear, let me go."
Then he kissed her once more many times, and put her gently within the
door and closed it.
A low, sharp, sudden cry reached him, went to his heart, but he did not
turn; he went on through the wet, green little garden, and the curling
leaves, where he had found peace and had left desolation.