"I do wrong," she said to me in a low voice, when the count left the room to fetch a glass of orange-flower water. "I have many wrongs to repent of towards you; I wished to fill you with despair when I ought to have received you mercifully. Dear, you are kindness itself, and Ialone can appreciate it. Yes, I know there is a kindness prompted by passion. Men have various ways of being kind; some from contempt, others from impulse, from calculation, through indolence of nature;but you, my friend, you have been absolutely kind.""If that be so," I replied, "remember that all that is good or great in me comes through you. You know well that I am of your making.""That word is enough for any woman's happiness," she said, as the count re-entered the room. "I feel better," she said, rising; "I want air."We went down to the terrace, fragrant with the acacias which were still in bloom. She had taken my right arm, and pressed it against her heart, thus expressing her sad thoughts; but they were, she said, of a sadness dear to her. No doubt she would gladly have been alone with me; but her imagination, inexpert in women's wiles, did not suggest to her any way of sending her children and the count back to the house.
We therefore talked on indifferent subjects, while she pondered a means of pouring a few last thoughts from her heart to mine.
"It is a long time since I have driven out," she said, looking at the beauty of the evening. "Monsieur, will you please order the carriage that I may take a turn?"She knew that after evening prayer she could not speak with me, for the count was sure to want his backgammon. She might have returned to the warm and fragrant terrace after her husband had gone to bed, but she feared, perhaps, to trust herself beneath those shadows, or to walk by the balustrade where our eyes could see the course of the Indre through the dear valley. As the silent and sombre vaults of a cathedral lift the soul to prayer, so leafy ways, lighted by the moon, perfumed with penetrating odors, alive with the murmuring noises of the spring-tide, stir the fibres and weaken the resolves of those who love. The country calms the old, but excites the young. We knew it well. Two strokes of the bell announced the hour of prayer. The countess shivered.
"Dear Henriette, are you ill?"
"There is no Henriette," she said. "Do not bring her back. She was capricious and exacting; now you have a friend whose courage has been strengthened by the words which heaven itself dictated to you. We will talk of this later. We must be punctual at prayers, for it is my day to lead them."As Madame de Mortsauf said the words in which she begged the help of God through all the adversities of life, a tone came into her voice which struck all present. Did she use her gift of second sight to foresee the terrible emotion she was about to endure through my forgetfulness of an engagement made with Arabella?
"We have time to make three kings before the horses are harnessed,"said the count, dragging me back to the salon. "You can go and drive with my wife, and I'll go to bed."The game was stormy, like all others. The countess heard the count's voice either from her room or from Madeleine's.
"You show a strange hospitality," she said, re-entering the salon.
I looked at her with amazement; I could not get accustomed to the change in her; formerly she would have been most careful not to protect me against the count; then it gladdened her that I should share her sufferings and bear them with patience for love of her.
"I would give my life," I whispered in her ear, "if I could hear you say again, as you once said, 'Poor dear, poor dear!'"She lowered her eyes, remembering the moment to which I alluded, yet her glance turned to me beneath her eyelids, expressing the joy of a woman who finds the mere passing tones from her heart preferred to the delights of another love. The count was losing the game; he said he was tired, as an excuse to give it up, and we went to walk on the lawn while waiting for the carriage. When the count left us, such pleasure shone on my face that Madame de Mortsauf questioned me by a look of surprise and curiosity.
"Henriette does exist," I said. "You love me still. You wound me with an evident intention to break my heart. I may yet be happy!""There was but a fragment of that poor woman left, and you have now destroyed even that," she said. "God be praised; he gives me strength to bear my righteous martyrdom. Yes, I still love you, and I might have erred; the English woman shows me the abyss."We got into the carriage and the coachman asked for orders.
"Take the road to Chinon by the avenue, and come back by the Charlemagne moor and the road to Sache.""What day is it?" I asked, with too much eagerness.
"Saturday."
"Then don't go that way, madame, the road will be crowded with poultry-men and their carts returning from Tours.""Do as I told you," she said to the coachman. We knew the tones of our voices too well to be able to hide from each other our least emotion.
Henriette understood all.
"You did not think of the poultry-men when you appointed this evening," she said with a tinge of irony. "Lady Dudley is at Tours, and she is coming here to meet you; do not deny it. 'What day is it?--the poultry-men--their carts!' Did you ever take notice of such things in our old drives?""It only shows that at Clochegourde I forget everything," I answered, simply.
"She is coming to meet you?"
"Yes."
"At what hour?"
"Half-past eleven."
"Where?"
"On the moor."
"Do not deceive me; is it not at the walnut-tree?""On the moor."
"We will go there," she said, "and I shall see her."When I heard these words I regarded my future life as settled. I at once resolved to marry Lady Dudley and put an end to the miserable struggle which threatened to exhaust my sensibilities and destroy by these repeated shocks the delicate delights which had hitherto resembled the flower of fruits. My sullen silence wounded the countess, the grandeur of whose mind I misjudged.
