The Frontier Part 13

"There have been young men here who seemed to like me, but they always went away after a few days. One would almost think that they were afraid of me ... or that they had heard things ... against me.... Besides ... I didn't care for them.... It was not they ... that I was waiting for....

It was somebody else.... And he did not come."

He understood the irreparable words which she was about to utter and he ardently hoped that she would not utter them.

Suzanne guessed his wish and was silent. But the avowal was so clear, even when unexpressed, that Philippe read all its pa.s.sion in the long silence that followed. And Suzanne experienced a great joy, as though the indissoluble bond of words were linking them together. She added:

"It was a little your fault, Philippe, and you felt it, in a way, at dinner. Yes, a little your fault.... In Paris, I lived a dangerous life beside you.... Just think, we were always together, always by ourselves, we two; and, for days at a time, I had the right to think that there was no one in the world but you and I. It was for me that you talked, it was to make me worthy of yourself that you explained things to me which I did not know, that you took me to see the beautiful sights in the churches, in the old towns.... And I, I was amazed. At what I was learning? Oh, no, Philippe, but at the new world that suddenly opened up to me. I did not listen to your words, but I listened to the sound of your voice. My eyes saw only your eyes. It was your admiration that I admired; your love for the beautiful was what I loved. All that you taught me to know ... and to love, Philippe, was ... yourself."

Notwithstanding his inward rebellion, the words entered into Philippe's being like a caress; and he too almost forgot himself in the pleasure of listening to the sound of a soft voice and looking into eyes that are dear to one.

He said, simply:

"And Marthe?"

She did not answer; and he felt that, like many women, she was indifferent to considerations of that sort. To them, love is a reason that excuses everything.

Then, seeking to create a diversion, he repeated:

"You must get married, Suzanne, you must. That is where your safety lies."

"Oh, I know!" she said, wringing her hands in despair. "I know ... only ..."

"Only what?"

"I haven't the strength to."

"You must find the strength."

"I can't.... I ought to have it given me. I ought to have ... oh, nothing very much, perhaps ... a little gladness ... a glad memory ...

the thought that my life will not have been entirely wasted.... The thought that I too shall have had my spell of love.... But that short spell I ask for ... I beg for it, I pray for it."

He blurted out:

"You will find it in marriage, Suzanne."

"No, no," she said, more bitterly, "only the man I love can give it to me.... I want, once at least, to feel a pair of arms around me, nothing but that, I a.s.sure you ... to lay my head on your shoulder and to remain like that, for an instant."

She was so near to Philippe that the muslin of her bodice touched his clothes and he breathed the scent of her hair. He felt a mad temptation to take her in his arms. And it would have been a very small thing, as she had said: one of those moments of happiness which one plucks like a flower and remembers.

She looked at him, not sadly now, nor resigned, but smiling, archly, with all the ingenious charm of the woman who is trying to conquer.

He turned pale and murmured:

"Suzanne, I am your friend. Be my friend, simply, and let your imagination ..."

"You're afraid," she said.

He tried to jest:

"Afraid! Goodness gracious me, of what?"

"Afraid of the one little affectionate action which I ask of you, the action of a brother kissing his sister. That's what you shrink from, Philippe."

"I shrink from it because it is wrong and wicked," he declared, firmly.

"That is the only reason."

"No, Philippe, there is another reason."

"Which is that?"

"You love me."

"I! I love you?... I!"

"Yes, you, Philippe, you love me. And I defy you to look me in the face, to look me straight in the eyes and deny it."

And, without giving him time to recover, she continued, bending over him eagerly:

"You were in love with me, before I fell in love with you. It was your love that created mine. Don't protest, you have no right to do so now, for you know.... And I, I knew it from the first day. Oh, believe me, a woman is never mistaken.... Your eyes, when they looked at me, had a new look in them ... there, the look of just now. You have never looked like that at any woman, Philippe; not even at Marthe, ... no ... not even at her.... You never loved her, her nor the others. I was the first. Love was a thing unknown to you and you do not understand it yet ... and you sit there in front of me, nonplussed and dumbfoundered, because the truth appears to you and because you love me, Philippe, because you love me, my dear Philippe...."

She clung to him, in an upheaval of hope and certainty, and he seemed not to resist.

"You were afraid, Philippe. That is why you made up your mind not to see me again.... That is why you spoke so harshly to me just now.... You were afraid, because you love me.... Do you understand now?... Oh, Philippe, I should not have acted with you as I have done, if you did not love me.... I should never have had the presumption!... But I knew.... I knew ... and you don't deny it, do you?... Oh, how I suffered! My jealousy of Marthe!... To-day again, when she kissed you.... And the thought of going away without as much as saying good-bye to you!... And the thought of that marriage!... What a torture!... But it's over now, is it not? I shall suffer no more ... because you love me."

She spoke these last words with a sort of timorous hesitation and without taking her eyes from Philippe's face, as though expecting him to give an answer that would calm the sudden anguish with which she was torn.

He was silent. His eyes were dull, his forehead creased with wrinkles.

He seemed to be reflecting and did not appear to reck that Suzanne was there so close to him, her arms clinging to his arms.

She whispered:

"Philippe.... Philippe...."

Had he heard? He remained impa.s.sive. Then, little by little, Suzanne released her embrace. Her hands fell to her sides. She gazed with infinite distress upon the man she loved and, suddenly, sank into a heap, weeping:

"Oh, I am mad!... I am mad! Why did I speak?"

It was a horrible ordeal for her, after the hope that had excited her, and this time it was real tears that flowed down her cheeks. The sound of the sobs roused Philippe from his dream. He listened to it sadly and then began to pace the room. Moved though he was, what was pa.s.sing within him troubled him even more. He loved Suzanne!

It did not for a second occur to him to deny the truth. From the first sentences that Suzanne had spoken and without his having to seek for further proofs, he had admitted his love even as one admits the presence of a thing that one sees and touches. And that was why Suzanne, at the mere sight of Philippe's att.i.tude, had suddenly realized the imprudence which she had committed in speaking: Philippe, once warned, was escaping her. He was one of those men who become conscious of their duty at the very moment when they perceive their fault.

"Philippe!" she said, once more. "Philippe!"

As he did not reply, she took his hand again and whispered:

"You love me, though ... you love me.... Well, then, if you love me ..."

The tears did not disfigure her exquisite face. On the contrary, grief decked her with a new, graver and more touching beauty. And she ended, ingenuously enough: