Le Cocu Part 72

"What? what do you mean?"

"That I know all.--Oh! forgive me for questioning that woman, but I could not resist my curiosity. Your confusion at the sight of her seemed so strange!"

"That woman! Have you talked with Lucile?"

"Yes, and I know now that, far from being guilty toward your wife, you were shamefully deceived by her."

"Oh! hus.h.!.+ hus.h.!.+"

"Never again, I give you my word, will I remind you of a thing that has caused you such pain. Now I can understand why you would not go back to her--why you fled from her. I blamed you; I thought that I was an obstacle to your reconciliation, and that is why I tried to go away from you. But, since things are as they are, why should I doom myself to everlasting misery? why should I not abandon myself to the sentiment which you have inspired in me?"

"What are you saying, Caroline? If my wife were guilty, am I the more free for that?"

"Free? no, I am well aware that I cannot be your wife. But what do I care for that t.i.tle? it is your love alone that I want; as you know, I worry very little about the world and the proprieties. I am my own mistress; why should I not dare to love you? Because you are bound to somebody who has made your life wretched, must you drag out your whole existence in bitterness and solitude?--No! on the contrary, I propose, by my love, to make you forget your sorrows. It will be so sweet to me to be your only friend--to have all your thoughts, every moment of your life!--But you do not answer? Great G.o.d! have I made a mistake? Can it be that you do not love me? Oh! then there is nothing left in life for me--I can only die!--Henri! Henri!--He does not answer!"

She had placed her head on my breast. I cannot describe what took place within me. How could I spurn, how fly from a woman whom I loved? I had not the strength. I raised that lovely head. As I sought to comfort her, my face touched hers; our cheeks were burning, our lips met. We forgot the whole world, we existed only for each other.

I do not know how long we stayed there on that turf, the scene of our transports. I was happy, and yet something oppressed and saddened me. I was afraid to reflect. Caroline had thrown her arms about my neck; she was engrossed by her love. I looked about and listened; there was no sound to be heard.

"It is very late. I think that I must go home," said Caroline; "you will go with me, won't you, dear?"

"Of course."

"Where are we?"

"I don't know; but I should think that we were not far from Ernest's garden. Yes--that wall----"

"True--and I think that I see a summer-house too."

"A summer-house? Oh! let us go at once."

"You will come to-morrow, won't you, dear?--However, I shall see you every day now."

"Yes, I will see you to-morrow--I will talk with you."

"How strangely you say that! What is the matter?"

"Nothing. But come--let us go away from here."

Caroline put her arm about me; mine was about her waist, and in that position we walked away from the spot that had heard our oaths. It was very dark, we had not taken ten steps when our feet tripped over something. Caroline stooped and exclaimed with a shriek of terror:

"O my G.o.d! it is a woman, my dear!"

"A woman!"

I shuddered from head to foot; I hardly dared to lower my eyes to examine the woman who lay at our feet.

"She seems to be dead!" cried Caroline.

"Dead! Ah! if it were----"

I fell on my knees, I raised the unfortunate creature's head, I put aside the leaves that shut out what light there was in the sky. A low groan escaped from my breast. I was utterly overwhelmed. It was Eugenie, it was my wife, who lay inanimate before me.

Caroline had heard me murmur Eugenie's name, and she too recognized the unhappy woman; thereupon she fell on her knees beside her and abandoned herself to despair, for she guessed that it was she who had caused her death. For my part, I could neither speak nor act. I was dumb, turned to stone, before that shocking spectacle. Suddenly Caroline cried:

"Ah! her heart is still beating! She is not dead!"

Those words revived me. I stooped and took Eugenie in my arms, while Caroline held the branches aside. But where could I find help so late?

Ernest's garden was the nearest place. I went to the little gate; it was open and we entered. There was a light in the summer-house, the door of which also was open. It was plain that she had gone out in haste. We went inside and I laid Eugenie on the bed. Caroline looked about and brought me water and salts; then she ran to the house, to summon help.

I was left alone with Eugenie; I poured water on her forehead and temples, while I tried to warm her ice-cold hands with mine. At last she moved; she opened her eyes, recognized me, and, taking my hand, put it to her mouth, murmuring:

"Ah! I am happy once more! You are with me!"

"Eugenie, return to life and happiness. I have forgiven you! I had made up my mind to restore a mother to her children."

"Is it possible? But no; it is better that I should die. You love another; I heard you. I was here, your voice reached my ears; I hurried out into the forest, and I saw you in her arms. That killed me. And yet I deserved this punishment.--I pray that Caroline may make you happier than I have done!--Tell me again that you forgive me, that you will love your son---"

"Eugenie!--Great G.o.d! She is fainting again--and no one comes!"

Ernest and Marguerite rushed into the summer-house and ran to the bed.

Eugenie opened her eyes again and held out her hand to me, murmuring:

"I have not seen my children."

Marguerite started to go out, but Eugenie motioned to her to stop.

"No," she faltered, "they are asleep, don't wake them."

Then she too fell asleep, but never to wake again.