Bab Bab 9 · MARRIAGE

. What would she do now? Whom would she marry? Had she

projects, plans? He would have liked to know. Why that anxiety as to

what she would do?

Georges questioned himself, and found that it was caused by a desire to

win her for himself. Why should he not succeed? He was positive that

she liked him; she would have confidence in him, for she knew that he

was intelligent, resolute, tenacious. Had she not sent for him? Was not

that a kind of avowal? He was impatient to question her, to find out

her intentions. He would soon have to leave that villa, for he could

not remain alone with the young widow; therefore he must find out her

plans before returning to Paris, in order that she might not yield to

another's entreaties. He broke the oppressive silence by saying:

"You must be fatigued."

"Yes, but above all I am grieved."

Their voices sounded strange in that room. They glanced involuntarily

at the corpse as if they expected to see it move. Duroy continued:

"It is a heavy blow for you, and will make a complete change in your

life."

She sighed deeply, but did not reply. He added:

"It is very sad for a young woman like you to be left alone." He

paused; she still did not reply, and he stammered: "At any rate, you

will remember the compact between us; you can command me as you will. I

am yours."

She held out her hand to him and said mournfully and gently: "Thanks,

you are very kind. If I can do anything for you, I say too: 'Count on

me.'"

He took her proffered hand, gazed at it, and was seized with an ardent

desire to kiss it. Slowly he raised it to his lips and then

relinquished it. As her delicate fingers lay upon her knee the young

widow said gravely:

"Yes, I shall be all alone, but I shall force myself to be brave."

He did not know how to tell her that he would be delighted to wed her.

Certainly it was no time to speak to her on such a subject; however, he

thought he might be able to express himself by means of some phrase

which would have a hidden meaning and would infer what he wished to

say. But that rigid corpse lay between them. The atmosphere became

oppressive, almost suffocating. Duroy asked: "Can we not open the

window a little? The air seems to be impure."

"Certainly," she replied; "I have noticed it too."

He opened the window, letting in the cool night air. He turned: "Come

and look out, it is delightful."

She glided softly to his side. He whispered: "Listen to me. Do not be

angry that I broach the subject at such a time, but the day after

to-morrow I shall leave here and when you return to Paris it might be

too late. You know that I am only a poor devil, who has his position to

make, but I have the will and some intelligence, and I am advancing. A

man who has attained his ambition knows what to count on; a man who has

his way to make does not know what may come--it may be better or worse.

I told you one day that my most cherished dream was to have a wife like

you."

"I repeat it to you to-day. Do not reply, but let me continue. This is

no proposal--the time and place would render it odious. I only wish to

tell you that by a word you can make me happy, and that you can make of

me as you will, either a friend or a husband--for my heart and my body

are yours. I do not want you to answer me now. I do not wish to speak

any more on the subject here. When we meet in Paris, you can tell me

your decision."

He uttered these words without glancing at her, and she seemed not to

have heard them, for she stood by his side motionless, staring vaguely

and fixedly at the landscape before her, bathed in moonlight.

At length she murmured: "It is rather chilly," and turned toward the

bed. Duroy followed her. They did not speak but continued their watch.

Toward midnight Georges fell asleep. At daybreak the nurse entered and

he started up. Both he and Mme. Forestier retired to their rooms to

obtain some rest. At eleven o'clock they rose and lunched together;

while through the open window was wafted the sweet, perfumed air of

spring. After lunch, Mme. Forestier proposed that they take a turn in

the garden; as they walked slowly along, she suddenly said, without

turning her head toward him, in a low, grave voice:

"Listen to me, my dear friend; I have already reflected upon what you

proposed to me, and I cannot allow you to depart without a word of

reply. I will, however, say neither yes nor no. We will wait, we will

see; we will become better acquainted. You must think it well over too.

Do not yield to an impulse. I mention this to you before even poor

Charles is buried, because it is necessary, after what you have said to

me, that you should know me as I am, in order not to cherish the hope

you expressed to me any longer, if you are not a man who can understand

and bear with me."

"Now listen carefully: Marriage, to me, is not a chain but an

association. I must be free, entirely unfettered, in all my actions--my

coming and my going; I can tolerate neither control,