the girl with the golden eyes-第13章

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her　with　the　scientific　attention　of　the　/blase/　man；　famished　for　new
pleasures；　like　that　Eastern　king　who　asked　that　a　pleasure　should　be
created　for　him；a　horrible　thirst　with　which　great　souls　are　seized；
Henri　recognized　in　Paquita　the　richest　organization　that　Nature　had
ever　deigned　to　compose　for　love。　The　presumptive　play　of　this
machinery；　setting　aside　the　soul；　would　have　frightened　any　other　man
than　Henri；　but　he　was　fascinated　by　that　rich　harvest　of　promised
pleasures；　by　that　constant　variety　in　happiness；　the　dream　of　every
man；　and　the　desire　of　every　loving　woman　too。　He　was　infuriated　by
the　infinite　rendered　palpable；　and　transported　into　the　most
excessive　raptures　of　which　the　creature　is　capable。　All　that　he　saw
in　this　girl　more　distinctly　than　he　had　yet　seen　it；　for　she　let
herself　be　viewed　complacently；　happy　to　be　admired。　The　admiration　of
De　Marsay　became　a　secret　fury；　and　he　unveiled　her　completely；
throwing　a　glance　at　her　which　the　Spaniard　understood　as　though　she
had　been　used　to　receive　such。

〃If　you　are　not　to　be　mine；　mine　only；　I　will　kill　you！〃　he　cried。

Hearing　this　speech；　Paquita　covered　her　face　in　her　hands；　and　cried
naively：

〃Holy　Virgin！　What　have　I　brought　upon　myself？〃

She　rose；　flung　herself　down　upon　the　red　sofa；　and　buried　her　head　in
the　rags　which　covered　the　bosom　of　her　mother；　and　wept　there。　The
old　woman　received　her　daughter　without　issuing　from　her　state　of
immobility；　or　displaying　any　emotion。　The　mother　possessed　in　the
highest　degree　that　gravity　of　savage　races；　the　impassiveness　of　a
statue　upon　which　all　remarks　are　lost。　Did　she　or　did　she　not　love
her　daughter？　Beneath　that　mask　every　human　emotion　might　broodgood
and　evil；　and　from　this　creature　all　might　be　expected。　Her　gaze
passed　slowly　from　her　daughter's　beautiful　hair；　which　covered　her
like　a　mantle；　to　the　face　of　Henri；　which　she　considered　with　an
indescribable　curiosity。

She　seemed　to　ask　by　what　fatality　he　was　there；　from　what　caprice
Nature　had　made　so　seductive　a　man。

〃These　women　are　making　sport　of　me；〃　said　Henri　to　himself。

At　that　moment　Paquita　raised　her　head；　cast　at　him　one　of　those　looks
which　reach　the　very　soul　and　consume　it。　So　beautiful　seemed　she　that
he　swore　he　would　possess　such　a　treasure　of　beauty。

〃My　Paquita！　Be　mine！〃

〃Wouldst　thou　kill　me？〃　she　said　fearfully；　palpitating　and　anxious；
but　drawn　towards　him　by　an　inexplicable　force。

〃Kill　theeI！〃　he　said；　smiling。

Paquita　uttered　a　cry　of　alarm；　said　a　word　to　the　old　woman；　who
authoritatively　seized　Henri's　hand　and　that　of　her　daughter。　She
gazed　at　them　for　a　long　time；　and　then　released　them；　wagging　her
head　in　a　fashion　horribly　significant。

〃Be　minethis　evening；　this　moment；　follow　me；　do　not　leave　me！　It
must　be；　Paquita！　Dost　thou　love　me？　Come！〃

In　a　moment　he　had　poured　out　a　thousand　foolish　words　to　her；　with
the　rapidity　of　a　torrent　coursing　between　the　rocks；　and　repeating
the　same　sound　in　a　thousand　different　forms。

〃It　is　the　same　voice！〃　said　Paquita；　in　a　melancholy　voice；　which　De
Marsay　could　not　overhear；　〃and　the　same　ardor；〃　she　added。　〃So　be
ityes；〃　she　said；　with　an　abandonment　of　passion　which　no　words　can
describe。　〃Yes；　but　not　to…night。　To…night　Adolphe；　I　gave　too　little
opium　to　La　Concha。　She　might　wake　up；　and　I　should　be　lost。　At　this
moment　the　whole　household　believes　me　to　be　asleep　in　my　room。　In　two
days　be　at　the　same　spot；　say　the　same　word　to　the　same　man。　That　man
is　my　foster…father。　Cristemio　worships　me；　and　would　die　in　torments
for　me　before　they　could　extract　one　word　against　me　from　him。
Farewell；〃　she　said　seizing　Henri　by　the　waist　and　twining　round　him
like　a　serpent。

She　pressed　him　on　every　side　at　once；　lifted　her　head　to　his；　and
offered　him　her　lips；　then　snatched　a　kiss　which　filled　them　both　with
such　a　dizziness　that　it　seemed　to　Henri　as　though　the　earth　opened；
and　Paquita　cried：　〃Enough；　depart！〃　in　a　voice　which　told　how　little
she　was　mistress　of　herself。　But　she　clung　to　him　still；　still　crying
〃Depart！〃　and　brought　him　slowly　to　the　staircase。　There　the　mulatto；
whose　white　eyes　lit　up　at　the　sight　of　Paquita；　took　the　torch　from
the　hands　of　his　idol；　and　conducted　Henri　to　the　street。　He　left　the
light　under　the　arch；　opened　the　door；　put　Henri　into　the　carriage；
and　set　him　down　on　the　Boulevard　des　Italiens　with　marvelous
rapidity。　It　was　as　though　the　horses　had　hell…fire　in　their　veins。

The　scene　was　like　a　dream　to　De　Marsay；　but　one　of　those　dreams
which；　even　when　they　fade　away；　leave　a　feeling　of　supernatural
voluptuousness；　which　a　man　runs　after　for　the　remainder　of　his　life。
A　single　kiss　had　been　enough。　Never　had　/rendezvous/　been　spent　in　a
manner　more　decorous　or　chaste；　or；　perhaps；　more　coldly；　in　a　spot　of
which　the　surroundings　were　more　gruesome；　in　presence　of　a　more
hideous　divinity；　for　the　mother　had　remained　in　Henri's　imagination
like　some　infernal；　cowering　thing；　cadaverous；　monstrous；　savagely
ferocious；　which　the　imagination　of　poets　and　painters　had　not　yet
conceived。　In　effect；　no　/rendezvous/　had　ever　irritated　his　senses
more；　revealed　more　audacious　pleasures；　or　better　aroused　love　from
its　centre　to　shed　itself　round　him　like　an　atmosphere。　There　was
something　sombre；　mysterious；　sweet；　tender；　constrained；　and
expansive；　an　intermingling　of　the　awful　and　the　celestial；　of
paradise　and　hell；　which　made　De　Marsay　like　a　drunken　man。

He　was　no　longer　himself；　and　he　was；　withal；　great　enough　to　be　able
to　resist　the　intoxication　of　pleasure。

In　order　to　render　his　conduct　intelligible　in　the　catastrophe　of　this
story；　it　is　needful　to　explain　how　his　soul　had　broadened　at　an　age
when　young　men　generally　belittle　themselves　in　their　relations　with
women；　or　in　too　much　occupation　with　them。　Its　growth　was　due　to　a
concurrence　of　secret　circumstances；　which　invested　him　with　a　vast
and　unsuspected　power。

This　young　man　held　in　his　hand　a　sceptre　more　powerful　than　that　of
modern　kings；　almost　all　of　whom　are　curbed　in　their　least　wishes　by
the　laws。　De　Marsay　exercised　the　autocratic　power　of　an　Oriental
despot。　But　this　power；　so　stupidly　put　into　execution　in　Asia　by
brutish　men；　was　increased　tenfold　by　its　conjunction　with　European
intelligence；　with　French　witthe　most　subtle；　the　keenest　of　all
intellectual　instruments。　Henri　could　do　what　he　would　in　the　interest
of　his　pleasures　and　vanities。　This　invisible　action　upon　the　social
world　had　invested　him　with　a　real；　but　secret；　majesty；　without
emphasis　and　deriving　from　himself。　He　had　not　the　opinion　which　Louis
XIV。　could　have　of　himself；　but　that　which　the　proudest　of　the
Caliphs；　the　Pharoahs；　the　Xerxes；　who　held　themselves　to　be　of　divine
origin；　had　of　themselves　when　they　imitated　God；　and　veiled
themselves　from　their　subjects　under　the　pretext　that　their　looks
dealt　forth　death。　Thus；　without　any　remorse　at　being　at　once　the
judge　and　the　accuser；　De　Marsay　coldly　condemned　to　death　the　man　or
the　woman　who　had　seriously　offended　him。　Although　often　pronounced
almost　lightly；　the　verdict　was　irrevocable。　An　error　was　a　misfortune
similar　to　that　which　a　thunderbolt　causes　when　it　falls　upon　a
smiling　Parisienne　in　some　hackney　coach；　instead　of　crushing　the　old
coachman　who　is　driving　her　to　a　/rendezvous/。　Thus　the　bitter　and
profound　sarcasm　which　distinguished　the　young　man's　conversation
usually　tended　to　frighten　people；　no　one　was　anxious　to　put　him　out。
Women　are　prodigiously　fond　of　those　persons　who　call　themselves
pashas；　and　who　are；　as　it　were　accompanied　by　lions　and　executioners；
and　who　walk　in　a　panoply　of　terror。　The　result；　in　the　case　of　such
men；　is　a　security　of　action；　a　certitude　of　power；　a　pride　of　gaze；　a
leonine　consciousness；　which　makes　women　realize　the　type　of　strength
of　which　they　all　dream。　Such　was　De　Marsay。

Happy；　for　the　moment；　with　his　future；　he　grew　young　and　pliable；　and
thought　of　nothing　but　love　as　he　went　to　bed。　He　dreamed　of　the　girl
with　the　golden　eyes；　as　the　young　and　passionate　can　dream。　His
dreams　were　monstrous　images；　unattain