Jealousy -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Painters -- France -- Fiction; Paris (France) -- Fiction
She leaned on Olivier's free arm, and they returned, walking thus, he
between them, under the shadow of the trees. They spoke no more. He
walked on, possessed by them, penetrated by a sort of feminine essence
with which their contact filled him. He did not try to see them, since
he had them near him; he even closed his eyes that he might feel their
proximity the better. They guided him, conducted him, and he walked
straight before him, fascinated by them, with the one on the left as
well as the one on the right, without knowing, indeed, which was on the
left or which on the right, which was mother, which was daughter.
He abandoned himself willingly to the pleasure of unpremeditated and
exquisite sensuous delight. He even tried to mingle them in his heart,
not to distinguish them in his thought, and quieted desire with the
charm of this confusion. Was it not only one woman beside him, composed
of this mother and daughter, so much alike? And did not the daughter
seem to have come to earth only for the purpose of reanimating his
former love for the mother?
When he opened his eyes on entering the castle, it seemed to him that he
had just passed through the most delicious moments of his life; that he
had experienced the strangest, the most puzzling, yet complete emotion
a man might feel, intoxicated with the same love by the seductiveness
emanating from two women.
“Ah, what an exquisite evening!” said he, as soon as he found himself
between them in the lamplight.
“I am not at all sleepy,” said Annette; “I could pass the whole night
walking when the weather is fine.”
The Countess looked at the clock.
“Oh, it is half after eleven. You must go to bed, my child.”
They separated, and went to their own apartments. The young girl who did
not wish to go to bed was the only one that went to sleep at once.
The next morning, at the usual hour, when the maid, after opening the
curtains and the shutters, brought the tea and looked at her mistress,
who was still drowsy, she said:
“Madame looks better to-day, already.”
“Do you think so?”
“Oh, yes. Madame's face looks more rested.”
Though she had not yet looked at herself, the Countess knew that this
was true. Her heart was light, she did not feel it throb, and she felt
once more as if she lived. The blood flowing in her veins was no longer
coursing so rapidly as on the day before, hot and feverish, sending
nervousness and restlessness through all her body, but gave her a sense
of well-being and happy confidence.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account