French fiction -- Translations into English; Love -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction
Hubert had learnt what he wanted. He hurried in the direction of the
place where he had passed La Croix-Firmin, and, after a few paces he saw
him again, about to follow the footpath of the Avenue towards the Arc de
Triomphe. It was he, then! Hubert followed him slowly at a little
distance, and watched him with a sort of devouring anguish. He saw him
walking daintily along, with a litheness that was at once refined and
strong. He remembered what had taken place at Trouville, and every one
of La Croix-Firmin's movements revived the physical vision.
Hubert compared himself mentally, frail and slight as he was, with the
sturdy, haughty fellow, who, half a head taller than himself, was thus
passing along beneath the beautiful sky of this winter's morning, with a
step which spoke the certainty of strength, and holding his stick by the
middle, in the English fashion, at some distance from his body. The
comparison sufficiently explained the determining cause of Theresa's
fault, and for the first time the young man perceived those deadly
causes in their genuine brutishness. "Ah! the why! The why! There it
is!" he thought, as, with painful envy, he observed this man's animal
energy. His first emotion was too bitter for him, and the unhappy fellow
was about to give up his pursuit when he saw La Croix-Firmin get into a
cab. He hailed one himself.
"Follow that vehicle," he said to the driver.
The thought that his enemy was going to see Theresa had just restored
all Hubert's frenzy. From time to time he leaned out of the window of
his four-wheeler, and could see the one which conveyed his rival driving
along. This cab, which was of a yellow colour, went down the Champs
Elysées, passed along the Rue Royale, entered the Rue Saint Honoré,
and then stopped in front of the Café-Voisin. La Croix-Firmin was
merely going out to breakfast. Hubert could not repress a smile at the
pitiful result of his curiosity. Mechanically he also entered the café.
The young Count was already seated at a table with two friends, who had
been waiting for him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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