the duchesse de langeais-第29章

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Love　implies　a　give　and　take；　a　certainty　of　bliss　that　nothing　can　change；　it　means　so　close　a　clinging　of　the　heart；　and　an　exchange　of　happiness　so　constant；　that　there　is　no　room　left　for　jealousy。　　Then　possession　is　a　means　and　not　an　end；　unfaithfulness　may　give　pain；　but　the　bond　is　not　less　close；　the　soul　is　neither　more　nor　less　ardent　or　troubled；　but　happy　at　every　moment；　in　short；　the　divine　breath　of　desire　spreading　from　end　to　end　of　the　immensity　of　Time　steeps　it　all　for　us　in　the　selfsame　hue；　life　takes　the　tint　of　the　unclouded　heaven。　　But　Passion　is　the　foreshadowing　of　Love；　and　of　that　Infinite　to　which　all　suffering　souls　aspire。　　Passion　is　a　hope　that　may　be　cheated。　　Passion　means　both　suffering　and　transition。　　Passion　dies　out　when　hope　is　dead。　　Men　and　women　may　pass　through　this　experience　many　times　without　dishonour；　for　it　is　so　natural　to　spring　towards　happiness；　but　there　is　only　one　love　in　a　lifetime。　　All　discussions　of　sentiment　ever　conducted　on　paper　or　by　word　of　mouth　may　therefore　be　resumed　by　two　questions〃Is　it　passion？　　Is　it　love？〃　　So；　since　love　comes　into　existence　only　through　the　intimate　experience　of　the　bliss　which　gives　it　lasting　life；　the　Duchess　was　beneath　the　yoke　of　passion　as　yet；　and　as　she　knew　the　fierce　tumult；　the　unconscious　calculations；　the　fevered　cravings；　and　all　that　is　meant　by　that　word　PASSIONshe　suffered。　　Through　all　the　trouble　of　her　soul　there　rose　eddying　gusts　of　tempest；　raised　by　vanity　or　self…love；　or　pride　or　a　high　spirit；　for　all　these　forms　of　egoism　make　common　cause　together。

She　had　said　to　this　man；　〃I　love　you；　I　am　yours！〃　　Was　it　possible　that　the　Duchesse　de　Langeais　should　have　uttered　those　wordsin　vain？　　She　must　either　be　loved　now　or　play　her　part　of　queen　no　longer。　　And　then　she　felt　the　loneliness　of　the　luxurious　couch　where　pleasure　had　never　yet　set　his　glowing　feet；　and　over　and　over　again；　while　she　tossed　and　writhed　there；　she　said；　〃I　want　to　be　loved。〃

But　the　belief　that　she　still　had　in　herself　gave　her　hope　of　success。　　The　Duchess　might　be　piqued；　the　vain　Parisienne　might　be　humiliated；　but　the　woman　saw　glimpses　of　wedded　happiness；　and　imagination；　avenging　the　time　lost　for　nature；　took　a　delight　in　kindling　the　inextinguishable　fire　in　her　veins。　　She　all　but　attained　to　the　sensations　of　love；　for　amid　her　poignant　doubt　whether　she　was　loved　in　return；　she　felt　glad　at　heart　to　say　to　herself；　〃I　love　him！〃　　As　for　her　scruples；　religion；　and　the　world　she　could　trample　them　under　foot！　　Montriveau　was　her　religion　now。　　She　spent　the　next　day　in　a　state　of　moral　torpor；　troubled　by　a　physical　unrest；　which　no　words　could　express。　　She　wrote　letters　and　tore　them　all　up；　and　invented　a　thousand　impossible　fancies。

When　M。　de　Montriveau's　usual　hour　arrived；　she　tried　to　think　that　he　would　come；　and　enjoyed　the　feeling　of　expectation。　　Her　whole　life　was　concentrated　in　the　single　sense　of　hearing。　　Sometimes　she　shut　her　eyes；　straining　her　ears　to　listen　through　space；　wishing　that　she　could　annihilate　everything　that　lay　between　her　and　her　lover；　and　so　establish　that　perfect　silence　which　sounds　may　traverse　from　afar。　　In　her　tense　self…concentration；　the　ticking　of　the　clock　grew　hateful　to　her；　she　stopped　its　ill…omened　garrulity。　　The　twelve　strokes　of　midnight　sounded　from　the　drawing…room。

〃Ah；　God！〃　she　cried；　〃to　see　him　here　would　be　happiness。　　And　yet；　it　is　not　so　very　long　since　he　came　here；　brought　by　desire；　and　the　tones　of　his　voice　filled　this　boudoir。　　And　now　there　is　nothing。〃

She　remembered　the　times　that　she　had　played　the　coquette　with　him；　and　how　that　her　coquetry　had　cost　her　her　lover；　and　the　despairing　tears　flowed　for　long。

Her　woman　came　at　length　with；　〃Mme　la　Duchesse　does　not　know；　perhaps；　that　it　is　two　o'clock　in　the　morning；　I　thought　that　madame　was　not　feeling　well。〃

〃Yes；　I　am　going　to　bed；〃　said　the　Duchess；　drying　her　eyes。　　〃But　remember；　Suzanne；　never　to　come　in　again　without　orders；　I　tell　you　this　for　the　last　time。〃

For　a　week；　Mme　de　Langeais　went　to　every　house　where　there　was　a　hope　of　meeting　M。　de　Montriveau。　　Contrary　to　her　usual　habits；　she　came　early　and　went　late；　gave　up　dancing；　and　went　to　the　card…tables。　　Her　experiments　were　fruitless。　　She　did　not　succeed　in　getting　a　glimpse　of　Armand。　　She　did　not　dare　to　utter　his　name　now。　　One　evening；　however；　in　a　fit　of　despair；　she　spoke　to　Mme　de　Serizy；　and　asked　as　carelessly　as　she　could；　〃You　must　have　quarrelled　with　M。　de　Montriveau？　　He　is　not　to　be　seen　at　your　house　now。〃

The　Countess　laughed。　　〃So　he　does　not　come　here　either？〃　she　returned。　　〃He　is　not　to　be　seen　anywhere；　for　that　matter。　　He　is　interested　in　some　woman；　no　doubt。〃

〃I　used　to　think　that　the　Marquis　de　Ronquerolles　was　one　of　his　friends〃　the　Duchess　began　sweetly。

〃I　have　never　heard　my　brother　say　that　he　was　acquainted　with　him。〃

Mme　de　Langeais　did　not　reply。　　Mme　de　Serizy　concluded　from　the　Duchess's　silence　that　she　might　apply　the　scourge　with　impunity　to　a　discreet　friendship　which　she　had　seen；　with　bitterness　of　soul；　for　a　long　time　past。

〃So　you　miss　that　melancholy　personage；　do　you？　　I　have　heard　most　extraordinary　things　of　him。　　Wound　his　feelings；　he　never　comes　back；　he　forgives　nothing；　and；　if　you　love　him；　he　keeps　you　in　chains。　　To　everything　that　I　said　of　him；　one　of　those　that　praise　him　sky…high　would　always　answer；　‘He　knows　how　to　love！'　　People　are　always　telling　me　that　Montriveau　would　give　up　all　for　his　friend；　that　his　is　a　great　nature。　　Pooh！　society　does　not　want　such　tremendous　natures。　　Men　of　that　stamp　are　all　very　well　at　home；　let　them　stay　there　and　leave　us　to　our　pleasant　littlenesses。　　What　do　you　say；　Antoinette？〃

Woman　of　the　world　though　she　was；　the　Duchess　seemed　agitated；　yet　she　replied　in　a　natural　voice　that　deceived　her　fair　friend

〃I　am　sorry　to　miss　him。　　I　took　a　great　interest　in　him；　and　promised　to　myself　to　be　his　sincere　friend。　　I　like　great　natures；　dear　friend；　ridiculous　though　you　may　think　it。　　To　give　oneself　to　a　fool　is　a　clear　confession；　is　it　not；　that　one　is　governed　wholly　by　one's　senses？

Mme　de　Serizy's　〃preferences〃　had　always　been　for　commonplace　men；　her　lover　at　the　moment；　the　Marquis　d'Aiglemont；　was　a　fine；　tall　man。

After　this；　the　Countess　soon　took　her　departure；　you　may　be　sure　Mme　de　Langeais　saw　hope　in　Armand's　withdrawal　from　the　world；　she　wrote　to　him　at　once；　it　was　a　humble；　gentle　letter；　surely　it　would　bring　him　if　he　loved　her　still。　　She　sent　her　footman　with　it　next　day。　　On　the　servant's　return；　she　asked　whether　he　had　given　the　letter　to　M。　de　Montriveau　himself；　and　could　not　restrain　the　movement　of　joy　at　the　affirmative　answer。　　Armand　was　in　Paris！　　He　stayed　alone　in　his　house；　he　did　not　go　out　into　society！　　So　she　was　loved！　　All　day　long　she　waited　for　an　answer　that　never　came。　　Again　and　again；　when　impatience　grew　unbearable；　Antoinette　found　reasons　for　his　delay。　　Armand　felt　embarrassed；　the　reply　would　come　by　post；　but　night　came；　and　she　could　not　deceive　herself　any　longer。　　It　was　a　dreadful　day；　a　day　of　pain　grown　sweet；　of　intolerable　heart…throbs；　a　day　when　the　heart　squanders　the　very　forces　of　life　in　riot。

Next　day　she　sent　for　an　answer。

〃M。　le　Marquis　sent　word　that　he　would　call　on　Mme　la　Duchesse；〃　reported　Julien。

She　fled　lest　her　happiness　should　be　seen　in　her　face；　and　flung　herself　on　her　couch　to　devour　her　first　sensations。

〃He　is　coming！〃

The　thought　rent　her　soul。　　And；　in　truth；　woe　unto　those　for　whom　suspense　is　not　the　most　horrible　time　of　tempest；　while　it　increases　and　multiplies　the　sweetest　joys；　for　they　have　nothing　in　them　of　that　flame　which　quickens　the　images　of　things；　giving　to　them　a　second　existence；　so　that　we　cling　as　closely　to　the　pure　essence　as　to　its　outward　and　visible　manifestation。　　What　is　suspense　in　love　but　a　constant　drawing　upon　an　unfailing　hope？a　submission　to　the　terrible　scourging　of　passion；　while　passion　is　yet　happy；　and　the　disenchantment　of　reality　has　not　set　in。　　The　constant　putting　forth　of　strength　and　longing；　called　suspense；　is　surely；　t