Joyselle closed the door, and, to her surprise, turned the key. Then he
faced her.
"Brigit," he said, clearing his throat, "do you love me?"
"Love you?" she faltered. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that for thirty-six hours I have doubted you, and that I have
been----" He broke off short, his vivid face intensely expressive.
"But why? Thirty-six hours? That means that--but I did not even see you
yesterday!"
He stood, his arms hanging by his sides, looking at her without a word.
Then, when the pause had grown unbearable, he returned slowly: "The
night before last I saw you with Théo--on the lawn."
A painful blush burnt her face, and, unwontedly abashed, she turned
away. It seemed to her almost monstrous that Joyselle should have
witnessed the little scene in the moonlight.
"You--you saw him kiss me?" she faltered.
"Yes. But that was not the worst. He held open his arms to you, and--you
went to him as if--as if you were giving yourself to him."
"I was, Victor. Surely you understand. He is so good, Théo--so very
good. And I have promised to marry him, and he has been patient, and I
have treated him horribly. The longer I know him the better--I like
him. Surely you can't mind that?"
Joyselle did not raise his hand. He was, she saw with a curious
sensation of detachment, undergoing a severe struggle.
"Mind? I--the situation is--horrible," he began, after a pause. "God
knows I love my son, and I should hate you if you hurt him----"
"I know that," she interrupted quickly, and he looked up.
"Perhaps that is why----"
"Why? No. Ah, Victor, you know that I love you. You must know that. And
yet I have promised to marry him. What are we to do?"
Through the open windows came the sounds of laughter and loud talk, and
someone was playing snatches of a waltz on a violin.
Brigit, feeling that things outside her own control had hastened an
inevitable crisis, stood waiting with the immobility of one consciously
in the hands of Fate.
At last Joyselle came to her and took her in his arms. "Tell me that you
love me," he whispered, "and then--I can bear anything."
His unexpected resignation came, as so often is the case, rather as a
shock to her. It was true that she had of late, during the reign of
peace that had followed the last quarrel, been unusually happy, and that
the thought of marrying Théo had become more bearable than she would
have believed possible; the future had taken on an aspect of happy
family life with Joyselle and Félicité, in which Théo's part had been
pleasantly subordinate; more or less, although her mind had not
formulated it, that of a brother.
Yet now Joyselle's resigned attitude did not please her.
"Then--you don't mind my marrying--another man?" she retorted quickly,
instinctively using words that would hurt him.
He wiped his forehead, which was covered with small drops of
perspiration.
"Don't mind! But, _ma chérie_, you must not torture me. The situation as
it now is, is absolutely impossible. You don't understand. I love my
son, God knows! Yet I am not made of stone, and before the love paternal
He created the love of man for woman. I believe, as He hears me, that
you were meant for me; that you are my woman, and I your man; that you
were meant for me and I for you. But--I was born too soon or you too
late. I cannot, must not, have you, without outraging certain laws which
must be respected. The only thing, then, is to bow to these laws. I
belong to a generation older than yours, and before I knew that you
existed my boy had chosen--and won--you. So you must be his. We have
dreamed, my Brigit, through the last few months, and now we must awaken.
You must marry Théo, and he will take you away for a few months, and
when you come back as his--wife, I shall--I _will_ have learned to love
you in the only way I can love you without shame--as my daughter."
It is curious, but strictly according to the laws of the feminine
logic, that as he made this speech, haltingly, painfully, but with
resolution in every word of it, Brigit's mind should slowly change to a
feeling of resentment.
She herself had made up her mind to marry Théo, and she had seen plainly
that this was fitting and wise; yet Joyselle's acceptance of these facts
stirred her to rebellion, and once more she protested against his
voicing of her own determination. "You are quite right," she said
coldly; "it is only a pity that we did not see all this before!"
And in his turn he winced.
"We have been very mad," she continued, her old barbaric love of seeing
him suffer returning. Then in her own pain: "But from this moment on I
shall do my part, as you suggest. No doubt in a month's time we shall
both be laughing at our little tragic comedy."
He did not answer, but his brown face slowly changed colour and he
closed his eyes for a second.
"No doubt. As for me--there is no fool like an old fool, they say.
However, we have come to our senses in time--thank God!" The last two
words came with a sharp, spasmodic sound, and when he had said them he
took from his pocket the silver box, with Marie-Rose engraved on it, and
taking from it paper and tobacco, began to roll a cigarette.
Brigit was dumfounded as well as deeply hurt. His strength filled her
with terror. That he could bow to Fate, she had not expected, and
forgetting, as women do, that men's training from early boyhood teaches
them, as nothing ever teaches women, the trick of momentary
self-control, a wild doubt of his love flashed through her and took her
breath away.
"You are angry," she ventured, hoping, though subconsciously and without
cruelty, to break down his resolution. But he smiled sadly, for he was
sincere.
"No, my dear, I am not angry. I am sad, because I love you--as yet--far
more than I should, but--from this moment on I shall bend all my
strength to the conquering of that love. You must help me. You will know
how, for women always know. Now--will you shake hands with me and bid
God bless me? It is to be a hard struggle for me, but I will win, for my
will is strong, and the cause is good--Is that you, Théo?"
"Yes, father." Théo was trying the door. "Anything wrong?" he added.
Joyselle turned the key. "No," he said quietly as his son entered, "but
we were tired of the good company. I will go now, my dear. Stay and talk
to your _fiancée_."