The Grip of Desire Part 61

--Wait, my child. Where are you going to sleep to-night? It is late. Have you a lodging?

--Stay, my word no, I had forgotten it.

--This is what you will do. First, settle your account with this landlady, without making allusion to anything. A scandal must always be avoided.

Monsieur Tibulle is a man, highly esteemed, with a considerable position in the world, and anything you might say against him, would only turn against you. Do not tell this story then to anybody; and do not tell anybody that you know me. Now take these two _louis_, my dear child, and buy yourself a few little articles of dress. You must be dressed properly. Go, and come back here. Monsieur Patin!

The landlord appeared.

--Monsieur Patin, said Marcel, I confide this young person to you, or rather, to Madame Patin here. She has been recommended specially to me by some ladies of high rank. She is going to fetch her small articles of luggage, and will soon be back again. Be careful of her. Give her a room and her meals; I am answerable for her. Mademoiselle, I shall see you again to-morrow.

What were Marcel's intentions?

Had he felt the appet.i.te for the unknown awakening?

He who had just poured forth his bitterness upon woman and upon love, had be come to the conclusion in the presence of this stranger that he could not do without woman or without love!

But the other?

The other was not there, and the absent are in the wrong.

Could this one make him forget the other? Could a new fancy destroy the strong love which bound him and was ruining him? Could a love facile and without risk soothe the hidden mischief and diminish the fury of a dangerous pa.s.sion? She had all that was required for that, this little fair girl with the tempting lips.

Like Suzanne she was young and charming, like Suzanne she would be loving, and unlike Suzanne, she would be submissive.

Her eyes swimming in their azure, her aquiline nose with its mobile nostrils, her scarlet fleshly lips, her golden hair like ripened corn, her rosy cheeks in which coursed health and life, the slimness of her waist, the delicacy and whiteness of her hand; it all said: Love me.

And she was a fresh woman ... a fresh woman, eternal temptation.

When he returned to the hotel, he found the Comtesse anxiously waiting for him.

With a smile she handed a large packet, sealed with the episcopal arms.

It was his nomination to the Cure of St. Marie. He would have to take possession of it immediately.

XCIV.

THE CHANGE.

"Prayer on that day is said within the gothic church, The old men mourn beneath the ancient oak.

Resisted are the games but just begun.

The village maidens will no longer dance."

MME. DE GIRARDIN (_Elgire_).

The wors.h.i.+ppers at Althausen were much surprised the next day to see a priest whom they did not know, officiating without ceremony in the place of their Cure. He was stout and plain, with an inflamed face, bloated lips, a cynical look, and a thundering voice: he said Ma.s.s in such a hasty and indecorous manner that they went away scandalized. The handsome Marcel certainly was no longer there, with his sweet and unctuous voice, his evangelic piety, and his eyes which stirred their hearts.

The report spread through the village that the handsome Cure had gone away, and all the gossips at bay grouped in the market-place and watched for Veronica to a.s.sail her with questions. But the old maid-servant to her mortification knew no more about it than the gossips. She ventured to interrogate her new master, but he slapped her on the back and sent her away to her kitchen-stove.

--He is disgusting, this old fellow, she said. For my part I am not going to remain here. I prefer the Corporal.

Durand had just sat down at table with his daughter, when Marianne with a scared air, looked at Suzanne in a mysterious way, and said to the Captain:

--Do you know? Monsieur le Cure has gone away.

--Pleasant journey, said Durand.

--There is a new Cure already in his place. He said Ma.s.s this morning.

--A new Cure, cried Suzanne; then he has gone away not to return again?

--Gone away without hope of coming back, said the Captain, that is discouraging! It surprises you then, little girl, that the handsome priest has disappeared with neither drum nor trumpet, and with no touching farewells to his flock. For my part, I am not surprised at it, and I wager that he has committed some act of blackguardism, and has absconded.

--Oh, father!

--He has not absconded, Marianne said quickly; he went away on Friday very quietly with another Cure.

--Let him go to the devil!

Suzanne had difficulty in hiding her palor and her distress. She pretended to have a head-ache, left the table, ran to her room and burst into tears.

Why this decisive departure? Why had she not received a single warning from Marcel? No doubt, he had done it for the best, but that best was incomprehensible to her; her heart was broken, and her self-love received a cruel wound.

Soon the news arrived. The new Cure announced Marcel's change in the sermon, and said farewell for him to his paris.h.i.+oners. Everybody was in consternation. He might have announced the seven plagues of Egypt.

For her part Marianne received a mysterious packet which was intended for Suzanne. The priest, in cautious terms informed her of his change, and said it was necessary to wait. Wait for what? Suzanne waited.

But one morning she awoke full of dismay; she had felt something give a start in her entrails. She wrote a long letter to Marcel, and Marcel answered: Wait.

Wait for what? She waited again.

XCV.

THE CURe OF ST. MARIE.

"The white ground and the gloomy sky Blended their heads sepulchral; The rough north winds of winter Breathed to the heart despair."

CAMILLE DELTHIL (_Poemes parisiens_).

Weeks and then months pa.s.sed away. One rainy winter's evening a young woman, in deep mourning, with her face covered with a thick veil, stopped at the Cure of St. Marie's door.

She had hesitated for a long time; several times she had pa.s.sed in front of the tall gray house, casting a furtive glance on the lofty windows, slackening her walk and seeming to say: "Ought I to go in? Yes, I must go in." But each time she pursued her way again. At length, as the rain kept falling ever colder as night came on, she controlled herself by en effort, slowly retraced her step and rang gently.