The Complete Works: Short Stories, Novels, Plays, Poetry, Memoirs and more. Guy de MaupassantЧитать онлайн книгу.
case!” Doctor Black immediately improved upon his brother-physician. Doctor Honorat, alone, said nothing.
Gontran whispered in Paul’s ear: “I don’t understand. Look at their heads. Are they dupes or humbugs?”
But Andermatt was speaking. He told the history of this cure since the first day, the relapse, and the final recovery which was declared to be settled and absolute.
He gaily added: “If our patient goes back a little every winter, we’ll cure him again every summer.”
Then he pompously eulogized the waters of Mont Oriol, extolled their properties, all their properties: “For my own part,” said he; “I have had a proof of their efficacy in the case of a being who is very dear to me; and, if my family is not extinct, it is to Mont Oriol that I will owe it.”
But, all at once, he had a flash of recollection. He had promised his wife a visit from Paul Bretigny. He was filled with regret for his forgetfulness, as he was most anxious to gratify her every wish. Accordingly he glanced around him, espied Paul, and coming up to him: “My dear friend, I completely forgot to tell you that Christiane is expecting you at this moment.”
Bretigny said falteringly: “Me — at this moment?”
“Yes, she has got up to-day; and she desires to see you before anyone. Hurry then as quickly as possible, and excuse me.”
Paul directed his steps toward the hotel, his heart throbbing with emotion. On his way he met the Marquis de Ravenel, who said to him:
“My daughter is up, and is surprised at not having seen you yet.”
He halted, however, on the first steps of the staircase in order to consider what he would say to her. How would she receive him? Would she be alone? If she spoke about his marriage, what reply should he make?
Since he had heard of her confinement, he could not think about her without groaning, so uneasy did he feel; and the thought of their first meeting, every time it floated through his mind, made him suddenly redden or grow pale with anguish. He had also thought with deep anxiety of this unknown child, of which he was the father; and he remained harassed by a desire to see it, mingled with a dread of looking at it. He felt himself sunk in one of those moral foulnesses which stain a man’s conscience up to the hour of his death. But he feared above all the glance of this woman, for whom his love had been so fierce and so short-lived.
Would she meet him with reproaches, with tears, or with disdain? Would she receive him, only to drive him away?
And what attitude ought he to assume toward her? Humble, crushed, suppliant, or cold? Should he explain himself or should he listen without replying? Ought he to sit down or to remain standing?
And when the child was shown to him, what should he do? What should he say? With what feeling should he appear to be agitated?
Before the door he stopped again, and at the moment when he was on the point of ringing, he noticed that his hand was trembling. However, he placed his finger on the little ivory button, and he heard the sound of the electric bell coming from the interior of the apartment.
A female servant opened the door, and admitted him. And, at the drawingroom door, he saw Christiane, at the end of the second room, lying on her long chair with her eyes fixed upon him.
These two rooms seemed to him interminable as he was passing through them. He felt himself tottering. He was afraid of knocking against the seats, and he did not venture to look down toward his feet in order to avoid lowering his eyes. She did not make a single gesture, or utter a single word. She waited till he was close beside her. Her right hand remained stretched out over her robe and her left leaned over the side of the cradle, covered all round with its curtains.
When he was three paces away from her he stopped, not knowing what best to do. The chambermaid had closed the door after him.
They were alone!
Then, he felt a longing to sink upon his knees, and implore her pardon. But she slowly raised the hand which had rested on her robe, and, extending it slightly toward him, said, “Good day,” in a grave tone.
He did not venture to touch her fingers, which, however, he brushed with his lips, while he bowed to her.
She added: “Sit down.” And he sat down on a lower chair, close to her feet.
He felt that he ought to speak, but he could not find a word or an idea, and he dared not even look at her. However, he ended by stammering out: “Your husband forgot to let me know that you were waiting for me; but for that, I would have come sooner.”
She replied: “Oh! it matters little, since we were bound to see one another again — a little sooner —— a little later!”
As she added nothing more, he hastened to say in an inquiring tone: “I hope you are getting on well by this time?”
“Thanks. As well as one can get on, after such shocks!”
She was very pale and thin, but prettier than before her confinement. Her eyes especially had gained a depth of expression which he had never seen in them before. They seemed to have acquired a darker shade, a blue less clear, less transparent, more intense. Her hands were so white that their flesh looked like that of a corpse.
She went on: “Those are hours very hard to live through. But, when one has suffered thus, one feels strong till the end of one’s days.”
Much affected, he murmured: “Yes; they are terrible experiences!”
She repeated, like an echo: “Terrible.”
For some moments there had been light movements in the cradle — the all but imperceptible sounds of an infant awakening from sleep. Bretigny could not longer avert his gaze, preyed upon by a melancholy, morbid yearning which gradually grew stronger, tortured by the desire to behold what lived within there.
Then he observed that the curtains of the tiny bed were fastened from top to bottom with the gold pins which Christiane was accustomed to wear in her corsage. Often had he amused himself in bygone days by taking them out and pinning them again on the shoulders of his beloved, those fine pins with crescent-shaped heads. He understood what she meant; and a poignant emotion seized him, made him feel shriveled up before this barrier of golden spikes which forever separated him from this child.
A little cry, a shrill plaint arose in this white prison. Christiane quickly rocked the wherry, and in a rather abrupt tone:
“I must ask your pardon for allowing you so little time; but I must look after my daughter.”
He rose, and once more kissed the hand which she extended toward him; and, as he was on the point of leaving, she said:
“I pray that you may be happy.”
THE END
French
Notre Coeur – A Woman’s Pastime