It was a dark, freezing night; the sky was laden with clouds which hung
so low, that they nearly touched the roofs of the houses; and a furious
wind was shaking the black branches of the trees in the Champs Elysees,
passing through the air like a fine dust of snow.
Daniel rushed in feverish haste, like an escaped convict, headlong on,
without aim or purpose, solely bent upon escaping. But, when he had gone
some distance, the motion, the cold night-air, and the keen wind playing
in his hair, restored him to consciousness. Then he became aware that he
was still in evening costume, bareheaded, and that he had left his hat
and his overcoat in Miss Brandon’s house. Then he remembered that Count
Ville-Handry was waiting for him in the great reception-room, together
with M. Elgin and Mrs. Brian. What would they say and think? Unhappy
man, in what a sad predicament he found himself!
There might have been a way to escape from that hell; and he himself, in
his madness, had closed it forever.
Like one of those dissipated men who awake from the heavy sleep after a
debauch, with dry mouth and weary head, he felt as if he had just been
aroused from a singular and terrible dream. Like the drunkard, who, when
he is sobered, tries to recall the foolish things he may have done under
the guidance of King Alcohol, Daniel conjured up one by one all his
emotions during the hour which he had just spent by Miss Brandon’s
side,--an hour of madness which would weigh heavily upon his future
fate, and which alone contained in its sixty minutes more experiences
than his whole life so far.
At no time had he been so near despair.
What! He had been warned, put on his guard, made fully aware of all of
Miss Brandon’s tricks; they had told him of the weird charm of her eyes;
he himself had caught her that very evening in the open act of deceiving
others.
And in spite of all this, feeble and helpless as he was, he had let
himself be caught by the fascinations of this strange girl. Her voice
had made him forget every thing, every thing--even his dear and beloved
Henrietta, his sole thought for so many years.
“Fool!” he said to himself, “what have I done?”
Unmindful of the blast of the tempest, and of the snow which had begun
to fall, he had sat down on the steps of one of the grandest houses in
Circus Street, and, with his elbows on his knees, he pressed his brow
with his hands, as if hoping that he might thus cause it to suggest to
him some plan of salvation. Conjuring up the whole energy of his will,
he tried to retrace his interview with Miss Brandon in order to find out
by what marvellous transformation it had begun as a terrible combat, and
ended as a love-scene. And recalling thus to his memory all she had told
him in her soft, sweet voice, he asked himself if she had not really
been slandered; and, if there was actually something amiss in her
past life, why should it not rather be laid at the door of those two
equivocal personages who watched over her, M. Elgin and Mrs. Brian.
What boldness this strange girl had displayed in her defence! but also
what lofty nobility! How well she had said that she did not love Count
Ville-Handry with real love, and that, until now, no man had even
succeeded in quickening her pulse! Was she of marble, and susceptible
only of delight in foolish vanity?
Oh, no! a thousand times no! The most refined coquetry never achieved
that passionate violence; the most accomplished artist never possessed
that marvellous contagion which is the sublime gift of truth alone. And,
whatever he could do, his head and heart remained still filled with Miss
Brandon; and Daniel trembled as he remembered certain words in which,
under almost transparent illusions, the secret of her heart had betrayed
itself. Could she have told Daniel more pointedly than she had actually
done, “He whom I could love is none other but you”? Certainly not!
And as he thought of it his heart was filled with a sense of eager and
unwholesome desires; for he was a man, no better, no worse, than other
men; and there are but too many men nowadays, who would value a few
hours of happiness with a woman like Miss Brandon more highly than a
whole life of chaste love by the side of a pure and noble woman.
“But what is that to me?” he repeated. “Can I love her, I?”
Then he began again to revolve in his mind what might have happened
after his flight from the house.
How had Miss Brandon explained his escape? How had she accounted for her
own excitement?
And, drawn by an invincible power, Daniel had risen to return to the
house; and there, half-hid under the shadow of the opposite side, in a
deep doorway, he watched anxiously the windows, as if they could have
told him any thing of what was going on inside. The reception-room
was still brilliantly lighted, and people came and went, casting their
shadows upon the white curtains. A man came and leaned his face against
the window, then suddenly he drew back; and Daniel distinctly recognized
Count Ville-Handry.
What did that mean? Did it not imply that Miss Brandon had been taken
suddenly ill, and that people were anxious about her? These were
Daniel’s thoughts when he heard the noise of bolts withdrawn, and doors
opened. It was the great entrance-gate of Miss Brandon’s house, which
was thrown open by some of the servants. A low _coupe_ with a single
horse left the house, and drove rapidly towards the Champs Elysees.
But, at the moment when the _coupe_ turned, the light of the lamp fell
full upon the inside, and Daniel thought he recognized, nay, he did
recognize, Miss Brandon. He felt as if he had received a stunning blow
on the head.
“She has deceived me!” he exclaimed, grinding his teeth in his rage;
“she has treated me like an imbecile, like an idiot!”