They met daily at the theatre, and they went for walks together.
Nanteuil was playing almost every night, and was eagerly working at her
part of Cécile. She was gradually recovering her peace of mind; her
nights were less disturbed; she no longer made her mother hold her hand
while she fell asleep and no longer found herself suffocating in
nightmares. A fortnight went by in this fashion. Then, one morning,
while sitting at her dressing-table, combing her hairs she bent her head
toward the glass, as the weather was overcast, and she saw in it, not
her own face, but the face of the dead man. A thread of blood was
trickling from one corner of his mouth; he was smiling and gazing at
her.
Thereupon she decided to do what she thought would be the proper and
efficacious thing. She took a cab and drove off to see him. Going down
the Boulevard Saint-Michel she bought a bunch of roses at her florist's.
She took them to him. She went down on her knees before the tiny black
cross which marked the spot where they had laid him. She spoke to him,
she begged him to be reasonable, to leave her in peace. She asked his
forgiveness for having treated him formerly with harshness. People did
not always understand one another in life. But now he ought to
understand and forgive her. What good did it do to him to torment her?
She asked no better than to retain a kindly memory of him. She would
come and see him from time to time. But he must cease to persecute and
frighten her.
She sought to flatter and soothe him with gentle phrases.
"I can understand that you wanted to revenge yourself. It was natural.
But you are not wicked at heart. Don't be angry any more. Don't frighten
me any more. Don't come to see me any more. I'll come to you; I'll come
often. I'll bring you flowers."
She longed to deceive him, to soothe him with lying promises, to say to
him "Stay where you are; do not be restless any longer; stay where you
are, and I swear to you that I will never again do anything to offend
you; I promise to submit to your will." But she dared not lie over a
grave, and she was sure that it would be useless, that the dead know
everything.
A little wearied, she continued awhile, more indolently, her prayers
and supplications, and she realized that she no longer felt the horror
with which the tombs had formerly inspired her; that she had no fear of
the dead man. She sought the reason for this, and discovered that he did
not frighten her because he was not there.
And she mused:
"He is not there; he is never there; he is everywhere except where they
laid him. He is in the streets, in the houses, in the rooms."
And she rose to her feet in despair, feeling sure that henceforth she
would meet him everywhere except in the cemetery.