"Raymond, come here ... it is your turn to keep the warrior awake." ...
M. de Villiers approached the table and began to examine the bouquet I
had brought. "Ah! I recognise these flowers!" he looked at me and I
blushed. "I do too," said Edgar, without taking in the true sense of the
words, and he pointed to the prettiest flowers in the bouquet, and
said: "these are the flowers of the _pelargonium diadematum coccineum_."
I exclaimed at the dreadful name. M. de Villiers repeated: "_Pelargonium
diadematum coccineum_!" in an undertone, with a most fascinating smile,
and said: "Oh! I did not mean that!" ... I could not help looking at him
and smiling in complicity; now why should Edgar be so learned?
I suppose you think it very childish to write you these particulars, but
the most trifling details of this day are precious to me, and I must
confide them to some one. Towards midnight we separated, and I rejoiced
at being alone with my happiness. The emotion I felt was so lively that
I hastened to carry it far away from everybody, even from him, its
author. I wished for solitude that I might ask myself what had caused
this agitation--nothing of importance had occurred this day, no word of
engagement for the future had been made, and yet my whole life wore a
different aspect ... my usually calm heart was throbbing violently--my
mind always so uneasy was settled; who had thus changed my fate?... A
stranger ... and what had he done to merit this sudden preference? He
had picked up some flowers ... But this stranger wore on his brow the
aureola of the dreamed-of ideal, his musical voice had the imperative
accent of a master, and from the first moment he looked at me, there
existed between us that mysterious affinity of fraternal instincts, that
spontaneous alliance of two hearts suddenly mated, unfailing gratitude,
irresistible sympathy, mutual echo, reciprocal exchange, quick
appreciation, ardent and sublime harmony, that creates in one
moment--the poets are right--that creates in one moment eternal love!
To restore my tranquillity, I sat down to write to you, but had not the
courage to put my thoughts on paper, and I remained there all night,
trembling and meditative, oppressed by this powerful emotion; I did not
think, I did not pray, I did not live; I loved, and absorbed in loving,
taking no note of time, I sat there till daybreak; at five o'clock I
heard a noise of rakes and scythes in the garden, and wishing to cool
my hot eyes with a breath of fresh air, I descended to the terrace.
Everybody was asleep in the château and all the blinds closed, but I
opened the glass door leading into the garden, and after walking up and
down the gravel-path, crossed the bridge over the brook, and went by way
of the little thicket where I had rested yesterday; I was led by some
magnetic attraction to the covered spring; I did not go up the
poplar-walk, but took a little by-path seldom used by any one, and
almost covered with grass; I reached the spring, and suddenly ... before
me ... I saw him ... Valentine!... he was there alone, ... sitting on
the bench by the fountain, with his beautiful eyes fastened on the spot
where he had seen me the day before! And oh, the sad wistfulness of his
look went straight to my heart! I stood still, happy, yet frightened; I
wished to flee; I felt that my presence was a confession, a proof of his
empire; I was right when I said he called me and I obeyed the call!...
He looked up and saw me, ... and oh, how pale he turned,... he seemed
more alarmed than I had been the day previous! His agitation restored my
calmness; it convinced me that during these hours of separation our
thoughts had been the same, and that our love was mutual. He arose and
approached me, saying:--
"This is your favorite place, madame, and I will not intrude any longer,
but before I go you can reward this great sacrifice by a single word:
confess frankly that you are not astonished at finding me here?" I was
silent, but my blushes answered for me. As he stood there looking at me
I heard a noise near us; it was only a deer coming to drink at the
spring; but I trembled so violently that M. de Villiers saw by my alarm
that it would distress me to be found alone with him; he was moving
away, when I made a sign for him to remain, which meant: Stay, and
continue to think of me.... I then quickly returned to the château. I
have seen him since; we passed the day together, with Madame de Meilhan
and her son, playing on the piano, or entertaining the country
neighbors, but under it all enjoying the same fascinating
preoccupation, an under-current of bliss, a secret intoxication. Edgar
is uneasy and Madame de Meilhan is contented; the serious love of her
son alarmed her; she sees with pleasure an increasing rivalry that may
destroy it. I know not what is about to happen, but I dread anything
unpleasant occurring to interrupt my sweet contentment; any
explanations, humiliations, adieux, departures--a thousand
annoyances,... but it matters not, I am happy, I am in love, and I know
there is nothing so satisfying, so sweet as being in love!
This time I say nothing of yourself, my dear Valentine, of yourself, nor
of our old friendship, but is not each word of this letter a proof of
tender devotion? I confide to you every thought and emotion of my
heart--so foolish that one would dare not confess them to a mother. Is
not this the same as saying to you: You are the beloved sister of my
choice?
Give my dear little goddaughter Irene a kiss for me. Oh, I am so glad
she is growing prettier every day!