The Best Works of Balzac. Оноре де Бальзак

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      This chance meeting of personages who, apparently, were not destined to become intimate, awakened no agreeable sympathy on either side. There was even a sort of vulgar embarrassment, an awkwardness which destroyed all the pleasure which Mademoiselle de Verneuil and the young sailor had begun by expecting. But women have such wonderful conventional tact, they are so intimately allied with each other, or they have such keen desires for emotion, that they always know how to break the ice on such occasions. Suddenly, as if the two beauties had the same thought, they began to tease their solitary knight in a playful way, and were soon vying with each other in the jesting attention which they paid to him; this unanimity of action left them free. At the end of half an hour, the two women, already secret enemies, were apparently the best of friends. The young man then discovered that he felt as angry with Mademoiselle de Verneuil for her friendliness and freedom as he had been with her reserve. In fact, he was so annoyed by it that he regretted, with a sort of dumb anger, having allowed her to breakfast with them.

      “Madame,” said Mademoiselle de Verneuil, “is your son always as gloomy as he is at this moment?”

      “Mademoiselle,” he replied, “I ask myself what is the good of a fleeting happiness. The secret of my gloom is the evanescence of my pleasure.”

      “That is a madrigal,” she said, laughing, “which rings of the Court rather than the Polytechnique.”

      “My son only expressed a very natural thought, mademoiselle,” said Madame du Gua, who had her own reasons for placating the stranger.

      “Then laugh while you may,” said Mademoiselle de Verneuil, smiling at the young man. “How do you look when you have really something to weep for, if what you are pleased to call a happiness makes you so dismal?”

      This smile, accompanied by a provoking glance which destroyed the consistency of her reserve, revived the youth’s feelings. But inspired by her nature, which often impels a woman to do either too much or too little under such circumstances, Mademoiselle de Verneuil, having covered the young man with that brilliant look full of love’s promises, immediately withdrew from his answering expression into a cold and severe modesty,—a conventional performance by which a woman sometimes hides a true emotion. In a moment, a single moment, when each expected to see the eyelids of the other lowered, they had communicated to one another their real thoughts; but they veiled their glances as quickly as they had mingled them in that one flash which convulsed their hearts and enlightened them. Confused at having said so many things in a single glance, they dared no longer look at each other. Mademoiselle de Verneuil withdrew into cold politeness, and seemed to be impatient for the conclusion of the meal.

      “Mademoiselle, you must have suffered very much in prison?” said Madame du Gua.

      “Alas, madame, I sometimes think that I am still there.”

      “Is your escort sent to protect you, mademoiselle, or to watch you? Are you still suspected by the Republic?”

      Mademoiselle felt instinctively that Madame du Gua had no real interest in her, and the question alarmed her.

      “Madame,” she replied, “I really do not know myself the exact nature of my relations to the Republic.”

      “Perhaps it fears you?” said the young man, rather satirically.

      “We must respect her secrets,” interposed Madame du Gua.

      “Oh, madame, the secrets of a young girl who knows nothing of life but its misfortunes are not interesting.”

      “But,” answered Madame du Gua, wishing to continue a conversation which might reveal to her all that she wanted to know, “the First Consul seems to have excellent intentions. They say that he is going to remove the disabilities of the emigres.”

      “That is true, madame,” she replied, with rather too much eagerness, “and if so, why do we rouse Brittany and La Vendee? Why bring civil war into France?”

      This eager cry, in which she seemed to share her own reproach, made the young sailor quiver. He looked earnestly at her, but was unable to detect either hatred or love upon her face. Her beautiful skin, the delicacy of which was shown by the color beneath it, was impenetrable. A sudden and invincible curiosity attracted him to this strange creature, to whom he was already drawn by violent desires.

      “Madame,” said Mademoiselle de Verneuil, after a pause, “may I ask if you are going to Mayenne?”

      “Yes, mademoiselle,” replied the young man with a questioning look.

      “Then, madame,” she continued, “as your son serves the Republic” (she said the words with an apparently indifferent air, but she gave her companions one of those furtive glances the art of which belongs to women and diplomatists), “you must fear the Chouans, and an escort is not to be despised. We are now almost travelling companions, and I hope you will come with me to Mayenne.”

      Mother and son hesitated, and seemed to consult each other’s faces.

      “I am not sure, mademoiselle,” said the young man, “that it is prudent in me to tell you that interests of the highest importance require our presence to-night in the neighborhood of Fougeres, and we have not yet been able to find a means of conveyance; but women are so naturally generous that I am ashamed not to confide in you. Nevertheless,” he added, “before putting ourselves in your hands, I ought to know whether we shall get out of them safe and sound. In short, mademoiselle, are you the sovereign or the slave of your Republican escort? Pardon my frankness, but your position does not seem to me exactly natural—”

      “We live in times, monsieur, when nothing takes place naturally. You can accept my proposal without anxiety. Above all,” she added, emphasizing her words, “you need fear no treachery in an offer made by a woman who has no part in political hatreds.”

      “A journey thus made is not without danger,” he said, with a look which gave significance to that commonplace remark.

      “What is it you fear?” she answered, smiling sarcastically. “I see no peril for any one.”

      “Is this the woman who a moment ago shared my desires in her eyes?” thought the young man. “What a tone in her voice! she is laying a trap for me.”

      At that instant a shrill cry of an owl which appeared to have perched on the chimney top vibrated in the air like a warning.

      “What does that mean?” said Mademoiselle de Verneuil. “Our journey together will not begin under favorable auspices. Do owls in these woods screech by daylight?” she added, with a surprised gesture.

      “Sometimes,” said the young man, coolly. “Mademoiselle,” he continued, “we may bring you ill-luck; you are thinking of that, I am sure. We had better not travel together.”

      These words were said with a calmness and reserve which puzzled Mademoiselle de Verneuil.

      “Monsieur,” she replied, with truly aristocratic insolence, “I am far from wishing to compel you. Pray let us keep the little liberty the Republic leaves us. If Madame were alone, I should insist—”

      The heavy step of a soldier was heard in the passage, and the Commandant Hulot presently appeared in the doorway with a frowning brow.

      “Come here, colonel,” said Mademoiselle de Verneuil, smiling and pointing to a chair beside her. “Let СКАЧАТЬ