French fiction -- 19th century; Sand, George, 1804-1876
Finally he detested her for not divining his torments; he despised her
for remaining faithful to that lover of hers, who could not be a man of
more than ordinary talent, since she did not feel the need of talking
about him; he would leave her, swearing that he would not go near her
again for a long while, and he would have returned an hour later if he
had had any hope that she would receive him.
Thérèse, who had caught a glimpse of his love for a moment, no longer
suspected it, so well did he play his part. She was sincerely attached
to the unhappy youth. Being an enthusiastic artist beneath her calm and
thoughtful exterior, she had set up a sort of altar, she said, _to what
he might have been_, and she still felt for him an indulgent pity,
blended with genuine respect for genius diseased and gone astray. If she
had been very certain of not arousing any evil desire, she would have
fondled him like a son, and there were times when she checked herself as
she was on the point of using the familiar form of address to him.
Was there a touch of love in that maternal sentiment? There surely was,
unknown to Thérèse; but a truly chaste woman, who has lived longer by
work than by passion, can keep from herself for a long while the secret
of a love which she has resolved to fight against. Thérèse believed
that she was certain of having no thought of her own satisfaction in
that attachment of which she bore all the burden; as soon as it was
evident that Laurent found tranquillity and contentment with her, she
found tranquillity and contentment to give him. She was well aware that
he was incapable of loving as she understood the word; so that she had
been hurt and alarmed at the momentary caprice which he had confessed.
That paroxysm past, she congratulated herself upon having found in a
harmless fib a means of preventing its recurrence; and, as on all
occasions, whenever he felt at all excited, Laurent hastened to proclaim
the impassable barrier of ice _of the Baltic Sea_, she was no longer
afraid, and accustomed herself to live amid flames without being burned.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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