THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя

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СКАЧАТЬ rested them after the fatigues and anxieties of the day, and gave them fresh courage for the morrow.

      Every morning Marius, little by little, began ardently to long for the evening, in order to find himself back in Fine’s little room. When he had a gleam of hope he ran to tell it to his friend, and when he had met with some disappointment he also hastened to relate it to her and be consoled. It was only there, in that clean and tidy attic which smelt so sweet and looked so gay, that he felt at ease in the midst of his tender sadness.

      One evening he persisted in helping the young woman who was making up some bouquets for the morrow’s sale; he took a childish delight in removing the thorns from the roses, in gathering up the pinks into slender bunches, in delicately taking one by one the violets and marguerites and handing them to Fine. From that time he became a florist every evening between eight and ten. The work amused him, he said, and quieted his anxieties. If ever his fingers touched Fine’s when handing her the flowers, he felt a gentle warmth rise to his face; the strange uneasiness, the penetrating emotion he then experienced, was no doubt the sole cause of his sudden inclination for making bouquets.

      Marius was certainly a simpleton. He would have been much surprised, even hurt, if anyone had told him that he was falling in love with Fine. He would have exclaimed that he knew he was much too ugly to dare to love the young woman, and that, moreover, such a love, born and developed in the shadow of his brother’s misfortune, would have seemed to him a crime. But his heart would soon have protested.

      He had never lived much in the society of a woman, and had let himself be caught by the first affectionate glance bestowed upon him. Fine, consoling and encouraging him, ever ready with a caressing smile and a warm pressure of the hand seemed to him, at first, both a sister and a mother whom heaven had sent him in his affliction. The truth was that unbeknown to himself this sister, this mother, was becoming a bride, a bride whom he already loved with all the tender and devoted ardour of his heart. And this love was bound to spring up between two young people who wept and smiled in company. Chance had brought them together and their goodness was uniting them. They were worthy of each other, they possessed the all-powerful sympathy of devotion.

      For some time past a sly smile, which Marius had failed to notice, had been playing about Fine’s lips. She guessed the young man loved her long before he himself had become aware of his love. Women have a special gift of penetrating this sort of secret; they can read in their lovers’ eyes and see into the innermost recesses of their souls. The flower-girl, however, was careful to hide her blushes; she schooled herself to remain Marius’ cordial friend, and not to open his eyes by a warmer grasp of the hand. To see them each evening, seated opposite one another, with a table covered with roses between them, one would have taken them for brother and sister.

      On Sundays Fine went to Saint Henri. She felt a sort of sympathetic pity, a compassionate friendship for Blanche. The poor young girl who was soon to become a mother, and whose life was for ever blighted, became every day dearer to her; she saw her remorse, her tears of regret, she assisted at her disconsolate existence, and sought by her visits to assuage her misery. She brought her bright smile to that little house by the sea, where Blanche was weeping as she thought of Philippe and her unborn babe. It was like a holy pilgrimage for the flower-girl and she accomplished it religiously. She started off about midday, after luncheon, and remained till dusk with Mademoiselle de Cazalis. In the evening, as night was falling, she found Marius waiting for her on the seashore, and they returned together to Marseille on foot, arm-in-arm like a young married couple.

      Marius tasted pure joy during these walks. Sunday evening became for him the reward of all his efforts of the week. He waited for Fine by the sea, forgetful of his sorrows, feverishly watching for the young woman’s arrival; then, when she was there, they smiled at each other and returned slowly in the soft shadows of the gathering night, exchanging words of friendship and hope. Never did the young man think the road long enough.

      One Sunday, Marius arrived early. As a feeling of delicacy prevented him calling at Blanche’s house and so adding to her grief, he sat down on the cliff which rises near the village, and took patience in watching the blue immensity spread out before him. He remained there nearly two hours, lost in a vague reverie, in thoughts of love and happiness which softly lulled him. The immense horizon moved him; unconsciously, his love for Fine rose from his heart to his lips; the sea and sky, the infinity of the waters and the air affected him, opened his soul; he beheld but Fine in the boundless sea, he heard but her name in the dull and regular murmur of the waves.

      The flower-girl arrived and seated herself on the rock beside the young man, who took her hand without speaking. Before them was spread the sea and heavens, both of a soft pale blue. Twilight was falling. Profound serenity was alike enfeebling the last sounds and the last rays. Thin rosy gleams in the west were casting their delicate reflections on the rocks of the shore. There was a breath of tenderness in the air, a great quivering voice which grew softer and softer. Deeply moved, Marius kept his friend’s hand in his, as he continued his dream. His eyes fixed on the horizon, on that vague haze where heaven and sea mingle together, he was smiling sadly. And in a low voice, and quite unconsciously, his lips gave utterance to the thoughts of his heart.

      “No, no,” he murmured, “I am too ugly.”

      From the moment Marius took her hand, Fine had been smiling in her sly and tender way. At last her friend was going to make up his mind to speak; she guessed it from the deeper look in his eyes, his tighter grasp. When she heard the young man say he was too ugly, she seemed surprised and annoyed.

      “Too ugly!” she exclaimed; “but you are quite handsome, Marius!”

      Fine had put so much feeling into the cry which had escaped her, that Marius looked round and clasped his hands, as he gazed at her anxiously. She, feeling that she had abruptly delivered up the secret of her heart, lowered her face, which became covered with blushes. She remained thus, speechless and embarrassed, during some seconds. But she was not the girl to withdraw from the complete avowal of her love; she possessed too much frankness and sprightliness to indulge in the hypocritical comedy which most young persons in love go through on similar occasions. She courageously raised her face and looked straight at Marius, who was trembling.

      “Listen, my friend,” she said to him. “I wish to speak frankly. Six months ago I hardly thought of you at all. I considered you to be ugly, no doubt I had never really looked at you. Today, I think you quite handsome. I don’t know how it has happened, I assure you — “

      In spite of her resolution, she hesitated a little, and sudden blushes again covered her cheeks. She stopped short, unable to tell Marius plainly that she loved him. She knew the young man’s timidity and had spoken solely to encourage him.

      Marius remained in his state of tender ecstasy; he required no more, and would have remained there on the cliff all night, without seeking to obtain from Fine a more complete avowal. She was growing impatient.

      The story of her love was a simple one. At first she had admired Philippe’s tall frame and energetic countenance, with that blindness of young girls which prompts them to choose handsome lads, those who carry all their beauty on their faces and none in their souls. Then wounded to the heart by the indifference of Blanche’s lover, seeing at last clearly into his vain nature, she had begun to look more severely upon his conduct and had become little by little estranged from him. It was at this time that she found herself frequently with Marius, in an intimacy which brought them closer and closer together.

      In this instance love had been born of kindliness.

      Marius, ugly to the eyes became beautiful for the heart. At first, Fine had seen in him merely a disheartened friend who needed help; she had undertaken half his task in a sisterly way, prompted a little by love for Philippe and a great deal by a natural desire to be serviceable. She had therefore joined Marius, and their common СКАЧАТЬ