THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя

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СКАЧАТЬ self-devotion, whilst living on the same hope and working for the same object.

      And it was in the accomplishment of this generous task that Marius became handsome. The comparison which Fine could not help drawing between Philippe and Marius, made the latter appear an exceptional being, the charming prince of young girls’ dreams. Marius’ countenance became forthwith transfigured in her eyes; it appeared to her quite handsome with all the beauty of his loyal and tender nature. She would have been immensely surprised had anyone told her her lover was ugly.

      Marius could still hear the young woman’s cry, that cry of the heart which as good as told him: “You are handsome, and I love you!” He dared not speak, fearing to dispel the sweet dream which was so deliciously soothing his mind. Fine, in her embarrassment, continued to smile.

      “You don’t believe me?” she asked, speaking merely for the sake of speaking, and scarcely knowing what she was saying.

      “Yes, I believe you,” Marius replied in a low deep voice, “I need to believe you. When you were not there, the murmur of the waves told me a secret. I don’t know what is the matter with the sea and the sky this evening. They speak in so sweet a voice that they have moved my heart and disturbed my mind. At this close of day, amidst the sadness of the twilight, I have just discovered within myself a happiness I had never dreamed of. Would you like to know the secret the waves whispered in my ear?”

      “Yes,” said the young woman, while her emotion caused her hand to tremble.

      Marius leant towards her, and murmured in a faint and timid tone of voice:

      “The waves told me that I loved you.”

      The shadows were falling more grey and solemn. In the heavens, lights appeared amid a milky transparency. The dark blue motionless sea was slumbering as it wafted its sluggish heavy breath. Fresh and briny odours arose, borne by the evening breeze, and the serenity of space spread in the advancing night. The hour was a fit one for an avowal of love. A divine tenderness, a smiling calm came from the vast compassionate sea. At the foot of the cliff the waves were slowly breaking, lulling the sleeping coast; whilst, from the earth, still hot and feverish, rose a fierce breath of passion. It seemed as though the vast sea was adding its voice to Marius’s tender words.

      “Well,” said the flower-girl gaily, “the waves are chatterboxes. But did they tell you the truth?”

      “Yes, yes,” he exclaimed, “the waves spoke the truth. I feel it now, my friend, I’ve been loving you for months past. Ah! what a lot of good this avowal does me. For a long time past I have felt there was something wanting: when I was in your presence, I became penetrated by some pleasant sensation, I could hear some indistinct voices within me, and I could not make out what they were whispering. Now, the silence of this cliff has sufficed for me to hear them tell of my love.”

      Fine listened to Marius’s words with a smile on her lips. The shadows were becoming more and more bluish and mysterious. Marius hesitated for a moment, then asked in soft and humble tone of voice:

      “You are not angry at what I am telling you? I know very well that you cannot love me.’’

      “You know nothing at all,” replied Fine, with abrupt tenderness. “Good heavens! what a time you are making up your mind! My answer has been ready for more than a month past.”

      “And what is it?”

      “Ask the waves,” the young woman answered, with a laugh.

      She held out her hands to Marius, who kissed them passionately. It was now quite dark, and the dull moan of the sea lingered voluptuously in the gloom. The young man bent over the young woman and their lips met. Then they talked as lovers do, in the puerile way of children, going from recollections of the past to projects for the future. Their voices were a music which caressed them, and they talked to hear each other speak, to feel one another’s warm breath play about their faces. They were so happy in the obscurity, in face of the infinite which lay open before them!

      “Listen,” said Fine, “we will get married when your brother is free. Philippe must be placed in safety first.”

      At the mention of Philippe’s name, Marius shuddered. He had forgotten his brother. The sad reality rose before him. For two hours he had been living in the seventh heaven, and now he had fallen back to the earth from the height of his dream.

      “Philippe,” he murmured despondently, “yes, we must think of him. O heavens! is my happiness already dead? You love my brother, do you not? For mercy’s sake, tell me the truth.”

      Fine said nothing, but burst into sobs. The young man’s words were breaking her heart. In his despair, he pressed for an answer, and at last the flower-girl cried:

      “I love you because you are good, because you know how to love. So you see well enough that I cannot love Philippe.”

      There was such a burst of faith and love in this cry that Marius at last understood. He placed his arms around her in a sudden transport of adoration. And then he had a slight feeling of remorse.

      “We are happy,” he observed, “and egotistical. Whilst we are breathing here the free air of heaven, our brother is pining in prison. Ah! we know not how to work for his deliverance.”

      “Yes, you’ll see!” Fine replied. “You’ll see what one can do, when one’s in love and loved in return.”

      They remained hand in hand, without saying another word, while the sea continued to lull their love with its monotonous voice. The stars were shining brightly as they reentered Marseille, their hearts full of their young hopes and affection.

      CHAPTER X

      HOSTILITIES ARE RENEWED

      BLANCHE passed her days in tears. The autumn was giving a pale hue to the melancholy horizon, the season was becoming cold and dreary. Chill blasts stirred the sea whose voice had changed into a wail, whilst the trees were casting their leaves upon the ground. Beneath the mournful nudity of the heavens lay the bareness of the sea and shore.

      This sadness of the air, this last farewell of summer spread over Blanche’s surroundings the despair which already filled her heart. She led a retired life in the little house by the shore. It was situated a short distance from the village of Saint Henri, stood alone upon a cliff and overlooked the sea which beat against the rocks beneath the windows. Blanche would spend whole days together watching and listening to the waves, whose constant noise soothed her sufferings. This was her sole diversion; she followed with her eyes the great sheets of foam which broke and leapt into the air; her aching being found relief in presence of the mild and monotonous immensity.

      Occasionally of an evening she would go out, accompanied by her companion. She would descend to the seashore and seat herself on a fragment of rock. The cool night breeze calmed the fever that was consuming her. She would linger in the darkness, deafened by the breaking of the waves upon the beach, and not return home until she was shivering with the cold. The same thought was ever oppressing her. At each succeeding hour it was there, overwhelming, inexorable. In the chilliness of the night or the warmth of the day, in presence of the infinite or before the void of darkness, Blanche thought of Philippe and her unborn babe.

      Fine was her great consoler. If the flower-girl had not consented to spend the Sunday afternoons with her, the poor young creature would have died of despair. She felt an imperious need of confiding СКАЧАТЬ