The Best Works of Balzac. Оноре де Бальзак

riddles. I don’t like to find the wit of fools in a man of your character. See! here we are beneath the glorious sky, in the open country; before us, above us, all is grand. You wish to tell me that I am beautiful, do you not? Well, your eyes have already told me so; besides, I know it; I am not a woman whom mere compliments can please. But perhaps you would like,” this with satirical emphasis, “to talk about your sentiments? Do you think me so simple as to believe that sudden sympathies are powerful enough to influence a whole life through the recollections of one morning?”

      “Not the recollections of a morning,” he said, “but those of a beautiful woman who has shown herself generous.”

      “You forget,” she retorted, laughing, “half my attractions,—a mysterious woman, with everything odd about her, name, rank, situation, freedom of thought and manners.”

      “You are not mysterious to me!” he exclaimed. “I have fathomed you; there is nothing that could be added to your perfections except a little more faith in the love you inspire.”

      “Ah, my poor child of eighteen, what can you know of love?” she said smiling. “Well, well, so be it!” she added, “it is a fair subject of conversation, like the weather when one pays a visit. You shall find that I have neither false modesty nor petty fears. I can hear the word love without blushing; it has been so often said to me without one echo of the heart that I think it quite unmeaning. I have met with it everywhere, in books, at the theatre, in society,—yes, everywhere, and never have I found in it even a semblance of its magnificent ideal.”

      “Did you seek that ideal?”

      “Yes.”

      The word was said with such perfect ease and freedom that the young man made a gesture of surprise and looked at Marie fixedly, as if he had suddenly changed his opinion on her character and real position.

      “Mademoiselle,” he said with ill-concealed devotion, “are you maid or wife, angel or devil?”

      “All,” she replied, laughing. “Isn’t there something diabolic and also angelic in a young girl who has never loved, does not love, and perhaps will never love?”

      “Do you think yourself happy thus?” he asked with a free and easy tone and manner, as though already he felt less respect for her.

      “Oh, happy, no,” she replied. “When I think that I am alone, hampered by social conventions that make me deceitful, I envy the privileges of a man. But when I also reflect on the means which nature has bestowed on us women to catch and entangle you men in the invisible meshes of a power which you cannot resist, then the part assigned to me in the world is not displeasing to me. And then again, suddenly, it does seem very petty, and I feel that I should despise a man who allowed himself to be duped by such vulgar seductions. No sooner do I perceive our power and like it, than I know it to be horrible and I abhor it. Sometimes I feel within me that longing towards devotion which makes my sex so nobly beautiful; and then I feel a desire, which consumes me, for dominion and power. Perhaps it is the natural struggle of the good and the evil principle in which all creatures live here below. Angel or devil! you have expressed it. Ah! to-day is not the first time that I have recognized my double nature. But we women understand better than you men can do our own shortcomings. We have an instinct which shows us a perfection in all things to which, nevertheless, we fail to attain. But,” she added, sighing as she glanced at the sky; “that which enhances us in your eyes is—”

      “Is what?” he said.

      “—that we are all struggling, more or less,” she answered, “against a thwarted destiny.”

      “Mademoiselle, why should we part to-night?”

      “Ah!” she replied, smiling at the passionate look which he gave her, “let us get into the carriage; the open air does not agree with us.”

      Marie turned abruptly; the young man followed her, and pressed her arm with little respect, but in a manner that expressed his imperious admiration. She hastened her steps. Seeing that she wished to escape an importune declaration, he became the more ardent; being determined to win a first favor from this woman, he risked all and said, looking at her meaningly:—

      “Shall I tell you a secret?”

      “Yes, quickly, if it concerns you.”

      “I am not in the service of the Republic. Where are you going? I shall follow you.”

      At the words Marie trembled violently. She withdrew her arm and covered her face with both hands to hide either the flush or the pallor of her cheeks; then she suddenly uncovered her face and said in a voice of deep emotion:—

      “Then you began as you would have ended, by deceiving me?”

      “Yes,” he said.

      At this answer she turned again from the carriage, which was now overtaking them, and began to almost run along the road.

      “I thought,” he said, following her, “that the open air did not agree with you?”

      “Oh! it has changed,” she replied in a grave tone, continuing to walk on, a prey to agitating thoughts.

      “You do not answer me,” said the young man, his heart full of the soft expectation of coming pleasure.

      “Oh!” she said, in a strained voice, “the tragedy begins.”

      “What tragedy?” he asked.

      She stopped short, looked at the young student from head to foot with a mingled expression of fear and curiosity; then she concealed her feelings that were agitating her under the mask of an impenetrable calmness, showing that for a girl of her age she had great experience of life.

      “Who are you?” she said,—“but I know already; when I first saw you I suspected it. You are the royalist leader whom they call the Gars. The ex-bishop of Autun was right in saying we should always believe in presentiments which give warning of evil.”

      “What interest have you in knowing the Gars?”

      “What interest has he in concealing himself from me who have already saved his life?” She began to laugh, but the merriment was forced. “I have wisely prevented you from saying that you love me. Let me tell you, monsieur, that I abhor you. I am republican, you are royalist; I would deliver you up if you were not under my protection, and if I had not already saved your life, and if—” she stopped. These violent extremes of feeling and the inward struggle which she no longer attempted to conceal alarmed the young man, who tried, but in vain, to observe her calmly. “Let us part here at once,—I insist upon it; farewell!” she said. She turned hastily back, made a few steps, and then returned to him. “No, no,” she continued, “I have too great an interest in knowing who you are. Hide nothing from me; tell me the truth. Who are you? for you are no more a pupil of the Ecole Polytechnique than you are eighteen years old.”

      “I am a sailor, ready to leave the ocean and follow you wherever your imagination may lead you. If I have been so lucky as to rouse your curiosity in any particular I shall be very careful not to lessen it. Why mingle the serious affairs of real life with the life of the heart in which we are beginning to understand each other?”

      “Our souls might have understood each other,” she said in a grave voice. “But I have no right to exact your confidence. You will never know the extent of your obligations to me; I shall not explain them.”

      They walked a few steps in silence.

      “My life does interest you,” said the young man.

      “Monsieur, I implore you, tell me your name or else be silent. You are a child,” she added, with an impatient movement of her shoulders, “and I feel a pity for you.”

      The obstinacy with which she insisted on knowing his name made the pretended sailor hesitate between prudence and love. The vexation of a desired woman is powerfully attractive; her anger, like her submission, is imperious; many are the fibres she touches in a man’s heart, penetrating and subjugating it. Was this scene only another