She was at the railway station first, which surprised him, but she said:
“Before going, I want to speak to you. We have twenty minutes, and that
is more than I shall take for what I have to say.”
She trembled as she hung on his arm, and looked down, her cheeks pale,
as she continued: “I do not want you to be deceived in me, and I shall
not go there with you, unless you promise, unless you swear--not to
do--not to do anything--that is at all improper.”
She had suddenly become as red as a poppy, and said no more. He did not
know what to reply, for he was happy and disappointed at the same time.
He should love her less, certainly, if he knew that her conduct was
light, but then it would be so charming, so delicious to have a little
flirtation.
As he did not say anything, she began to speak again in an agitated
voice and with tears in her eyes. “If you do not promise to respect me
altogether, I shall return home.” And so he squeezed her arm tenderly
and replied: “I promise, you shall only do what you like.” She appeared
relieved in mind, and asked, with a smile: “Do you really mean it?” And
he looked into her eyes and replied: “I swear it.” “Now you may take the
tickets,” she said.
During the journey they could hardly speak, as the carriage was full,
and when they reached Maisons-Laffite they went toward the Seine. The
sun, which shone full on the river, on the leaves and the grass, seemed
to be reflected in their hearts, and they went, hand in hand, along the
bank, looking at the shoals of little fish swimming near the bank, and
they walked on, brimming over with happiness, as if they were walking on
air.
At last she said: “How foolish you must think me!”
“Why?” he asked. “To come out like this, all alone with you.”
“Certainly not; it is quite natural.” “No, no; it is not natural for
me--because I do not wish to commit a fault, and yet this is how girls
fall. But if you only knew how wretched it is, every day the same thing,
every day in the month and every month in the year. I live quite alone
with mamma, and as she has had a great deal of trouble, she is not very
cheerful. I do the best I can, and try to laugh in spite of everything,
but I do not always succeed. But, all the same, it was wrong in me to
come, though you, at any rate, will not be sorry.”
By way of an answer, he kissed her ardently on the ear that was nearest
him, but she moved from him with an abrupt movement, and, getting
suddenly angry, exclaimed: “Oh! Monsieur Francois, after what you swore
to me!” And they went back to Maisons-Laffitte.
They had lunch at the Petit-Havre, a low house, buried under four
enormous poplar trees, by the side of the river. The air, the heat, the
weak white wine and the sensation of being so close together made them
silent; their faces were flushed and they had a feeling of oppression;
but, after the coffee, they regained their high spirits, and, having
crossed the Seine, started off along the bank, toward the village of La
Frette. Suddenly he asked: “What-is your name?”
“Louise.”
“Louise,” he repeated and said nothing more.
The girl picked daisies and made them into a great bunch, while he
sang vigorously, as unrestrained as a colt that has been turned into a
meadow. On their left a vine-covered slope followed the river. Francois
stopped motionless with astonishment: “Oh, look there!” he said.
The vines had come to an end, and the whole slope was covered with
lilac bushes in flower. It was a purple wood! A kind of great carpet of
flowers stretched over the earth, reaching as far as the village,
more than two miles off. She also stood, surprised and delighted, and
murmured: “Oh! how pretty!” And, crossing a meadow, they ran toward that
curious low hill, which, every year, furnishes all the lilac that is
drawn through Paris on the carts of the flower venders.
There was a narrow path beneath the trees, so they took it, and when
they came to a small clearing, sat down.
Swarms of flies were buzzing around them and making a continuous, gentle
sound, and the sun, the bright sun of a perfectly still day, shone over
the bright slopes and from that forest of blossoms a powerful fragrance
was borne toward them, a breath of perfume, the breath of the flowers.
A church clock struck in the distance, and they embraced gently, then,
without the knowledge of anything but that kiss, lay down on the grass.
But she soon came to herself with the feeling of a great misfortune, and
began to cry and sob with grief, with her face buried in her hands.
He tried to console her, but she wanted to start to return and to go
home immediately; and she kept saying, as she walked along quickly:
“Good heavens! good heavens!”
He said to her: “Louise! Louise! Please let us stop here.” But now her
cheeks were red and her eyes hollow, and, as soon as they got to the
railway station in Paris, she left him without even saying good-by.