As I instinctively,
yet timidly, sought for her other hand I felt a tear strike the
back of mine, big and heavy as if fallen from a great height. It
was too much for me. I must have given a nervous start. At once I
heard a murmur: "You had better go away now."
I withdrew myself gently from under the light weight of her head,
from this unspeakable bliss and inconceivable misery, and had the
absurd impression of leaving her suspended in the air. And I moved
away on tiptoe.
Like an inspired blind man led by Providence I found my way out of
the room but really I saw nothing, till in the hall the maid
appeared by enchantment before me holding up my overcoat. I let
her help me into it. And then (again as if by enchantment) she had
my hat in her hand.
"No. Madame isn't happy," I whispered to her distractedly.
She let me take my hat out of her hand and while I was putting it
on my head I heard an austere whisper:
"Madame should listen to her heart."
Austere is not the word; it was almost freezing, this unexpected,
dispassionate rustle of words. I had to repress a shudder, and as
coldly as herself I murmured:
"She has done that once too often."
Rose was standing very close to me and I caught distinctly the note
of scorn in her indulgent compassion.
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