The village street ran upwards between low walls, brambles andthistles lining the roadway on either side. In front the woodsmelted into a far-off blue haze; below him stretched the city,with its river, its roofs, its towers and domes, the vast, smokytown which had kindled Servien's aspirations at the flaring lightsof its theatres and nurtured his feverish longings in the dustof its streets. In the west a broad streak of purple lay betweenheaven and earth. A sweet sense of peace descended on the landscapeas the first stars twinkled faintly in the sky. But it was notpeace Jean Servien had come to find.
A few more paces on the stony high road and there stood the gatefestooned with the tendrils of a wild vine, just as it had beendescribed to him.
He gazed long, in a trance of adoration. Peering through thebars, between the sombre boughs of a Judas tree, he saw a prettylittle white house with a flight of stone steps before the frontdoor, flanked by two blue vases. Everything was still, nobodyat the windows, nobody stirring on the gravel of the drive; nota voice, not a whisper, not a footfall. And yet, after a long,long look, he turned away almost happy, his heart filled withsatisfaction.
He waited under the old walnut trees of the avenue till the windowslighted up one by one in the darkness, and then retraced hissteps. As he passed the railway station, to which people werehurrying to catch an incoming train, he saw amid the confusiona tall woman in a mantilla kiss a young girl who was taking herleave. The pale face under the mantilla, the long, delicate hands,that seemed ungloved out of a voluptuous caprice, how well heknew them! How he saw the woman from head to foot in a flash!
His knees bent under him. He felt an exquisite languor, as ifhe would die there and then! No, he never believed she was sobeautiful, so beyond price! And he had thought to forget her!
He had imagined he could live without her, as if she did notsum up in herself the world and life and everything!
She turned into the lane leading to her house, walking at a smartpace, with her dress trailing and catching on the brambles, fromwhich with a backward sweep of the hand and a rough pull shewould twitch it clear.
Jean followed her, pushing his way deliberately through the samebramble bushes and exulting to feel the thorns scratch and tearhis flesh.
She stopped at the gate, and Jean saw her profile, in its purityand dignity, clearly defined in the pale moonlight. She was along time in turning the key, and Jean could watch her face, themore enthralling to the senses for the absence of any tokens ofdisturbing intellectual effort. He groaned in grief and rage tothink how in another second the iron bars would be close betweenher and him.
No, he would not have it so; he darted forward, seized her bythe hand, which he pressed in his own and kissed.
She gave a loud cry of terror, the cry of a frightened animal.
Jean was on his knees on the stone step, chafing the hand heheld against his teeth, forcing the rings into the flesh of hislips.
A servant, a lady's maid, came running up, holding a candle thathad blown out.
"What is all this?" she asked breathlessly.
Jean released the hand, which bore the mark of his violence ina drop of blood, and got to his feet.
Gabrielle, panting and holding the wounded hand against her bosom,leant against the gate for support.
"I want to speak to you; I must," cried Jean.
"Here's pretty manners!" shrilled the maid-servant. "Go yourways," and she pointed with her candlestick first to one end,then to the other of the street.
The actress's face was still convulsed with the shock of herterror. Her lips were trembling and drawn back so as to showthe teeth glittering. But she realized that she had nothing tofear.
"What do you want with me?" she demanded.
He had lost his temerity since he had dropped her hand. It wasin a very gentle voice he said:
"Madame, I beg and beseech you, let me say one word to you alone.""Rosalie," she ordered, after a moment's hesitation, "take aturn or two in the garden. Now speak, sir," and she remainedstanding on the step, leaving the gate half-way open, as it hadbeen at the moment he had kissed her hand.
He spoke in all the sincerity of his inmost heart:
"All I have to say to you, Madame, is that you must not, youought not, to repulse me, for I love you too well to live withoutyou."She appeared to be searching in her memory.
"Was it not you," she asked, "who sent me some verses?"He said it was, and she resumed:
"You followed me one evening. It is not right, sir, not the rightthing, to follow ladies in the street.""I only followed _you_, and that was because I could not helpit.""You are very young.""Yes, but it was long ago I began to love you.""It came upon you all in a moment, did it not?""Yes, when I saw you.""That is what I thought. You are inflammable, so it seems.""I do not know, Madame. I love you and I am very unhappy. I havelost the heart to live, and I cannot bear to die, for then Ishould not see you any more. Let me be near you sometimes. Itmust be so heavenly!""But, sir, I know nothing about you.""That is my misfortune. But how _can_ I be a stranger for you?
You are no stranger, no stranger in my eyes. I do not know anywoman, for me there is no other woman in the world but you."And again he took her hand, which she let him kiss. Then:
"It is all very pretty," she said, "but it is not an occupation,being in love. What are you? What do you do?"He answered frankly enough:
"My father is in trade; he is looking out for a post for me."The actress understood the truth; here was a little bourgeois,living contentedly on next to nothing, reared in habits ofpenuriousness, a hidebound, mean creature, like the petty tradesmenwho used to come to her whining for their bills, and whom sheencountered of a Sunday in smart new coats in the Meudon woods.
She could feel no interest in him, such as he might have inspired,whether as a rich man with bouquets and jewels to offer her,or a poor wretch so hungry and miserable as to bring tears toher eyes. Dazzle her eyes or stir her compassion, it must beone or the other! Then she was used to young fellows of a moreenterprising mettle. She thought of a young violinist at theConservatoire who, one evening, when she was entertaining company,had pretended to leave with the rest and concealed himself in herdressing-room; as she was undressing, thinking herself alone, heburst from his hiding-place, a bottle of champagne in either handand laughing like a mad-man. The new lover was less diverting.
However, she asked him his name.
"Jean Servien.""Well, Monsieur Jean Servien, I am sorry, very sorry, to havemade you unhappy, as you say you are."At the bottom of her heart she was more flattered than grievedat the mischief she had done, so she repeated several times overhow very sorry she was.
She added:
"I cannot bear to hurt people. Every time a young man is unhappybecause of me, I am so distressed; but, honour bright, what doyou want me to do for you? Take yourself off, and be sensible.
It's no use your coming back to see me. Besides, it would beridiculous. I have a life of my own to live, quite private, andit is out of the question for me to receive strange visitors."He assured her between his sobs:
"Oh! how I wish you were poor and forsaken. I would come to youthen and we should be happy."She was a good deal surprised he did not take her by the waistor think of dragging her into the garden under the clump of treeswhere there was a bench. She was a trifle disappointed and in away embarrassed not to have to defend her virtue. Finding theconclusion of the interview did not match the beginning and theyoung man was getting tedious, she slammed the gate in his faceand slipped back into the garden, where he saw her vanish inthe darkness.
She bore on her hand, beside a sapphire on her ring finger, adrop of blood. In her chamber, as she emptied a jug of water overher hands to wash away the stain, she could not help reflectinghow every drop of blood in this young man's veins would be shedfor her whenever she should give the word. And the thought madeher smile. At that moment, if he had been there, in that room,at her side, it may be she would not have sent him away.