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The Confession of a Child of The Century, a novel by Alfred de Musset |
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Part 3 - Chapter 6 |
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_ PART III CHAPTER VI WHEN Madame Pierson had spoken these words, she waited some time as though expecting a reply. As I remained overwhelmed with grief, she gently withdrew her hand, stepped back, waited a moment longer and then reentered the house. I remained kneeling on the grass. I had been expecting what she said; my resolution was soon taken, and I decided to go away. I arose, my heart bleeding but firm. I looked at the house, at her window; I opened the garden gate and placed my lips on the lock as I passed out. When I reached home, I told Larive to make what preparations were necessary as I would set out in the morning. The poor fellow was astonished, but I made him a sign to obey and ask no questions. He brought a large trunk and busied himself with preparations for departure. It was five o'clock in the morning and day was beginning to break, when I asked myself where I was going. At that thought, which had not occurred to me before, I experienced a profound feeling of discouragement. I cast my eyes over the country, scanning the horizon. A sense of weakness took possession of me; I was exhausted with fatigue. I sat down in a chair and my ideas became confused; I bore my hand to my forehead and found it bathed in sweat. A violent fever made my limbs tremble; I could hardly reach my bed with Larive's assistance. My thoughts were so confused that I had no recollection of what had happened. The day passed; toward evening I heard the sound of instruments. It was the Sunday dance and I asked Larive to go and see if Madame Pierson was there. He did not find her; I sent him to her house. The blinds were closed, and a servant informed him that Madame Pierson and her aunt had gone to spend some days with a relative who lived at N-----, a small town some distance north. He handed me a letter that had been given him. It was conceived in the following terms:
"What you take for love is nothing more than desire. I am well aware that many women seek to arouse it; it would be better if they did not feel the necessity of pleasing those who approach them; but that vanity is a dangerous thing since I have done wrong in entertaining it with you. "I am some years older than you and ask you not to try to see me again. It would be vain for you to try to forget the weakness of a moment; but what has passed between us can neither be repeated nor forgotten. "I do not take leave of you without sorrow; I expect to be absent some time; if, when I return, I find that you have gone away, I will appreciate your action as the final evidence of your friendship and esteem. "BRIGITTE PIERSON." _ |
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