Napoleonic Wars, 1800-1815 -- Fiction; War stories
"Yes. She did that, instead of taking me home. People will do
extraordinary things to please a man of fabulous wealth. She sent out
two or three messengers to look for him all over the town. They were
some time in finding him. I waited. I was perfectly calm. I was calmer
than I am now, telling you my story. I was possessed by the spirit of
self-sacrifice. I had no misgivings. I remember even how cold I was in
that small drawing room with a big coal fire. He arrived out of breath.
He was splendidly dressed and behaved very ceremoniously. I felt his
emotion without sharing it. I, who used to blush violently at the
smallest provocation, didn't feel the slightest embarrassment in
addressing that big stiff man so much older than myself. I could not
appreciate what a fatal mistake I was committing by telling him that I
didn't care for him in the least and probably never should; but that if
he would secure my parents' future comfort my gratitude would be so
great that I could marry him, without reluctance and be his loyal friend
and wife for life. He stood there stiff and ominous and told me that he
didn't flatter himself with the possibility of inspiring any deeper
feeling.
"We stood there facing each other for a bit. I felt nothing but an
inward glow of satisfaction at having, as I thought, acted honourably.
As to him I think he was simply made dumb with rage. At last he bowed
with his hands on his heart and said that he would not even ask now for
the favour of kissing my hand. I appreciated his delicacy at that
moment. It would have been an immense trial to my shyness. I think now
that he was simply afraid of putting my hand to his lips lest he should
lose his self-control and bite it. He told me later, in one of those
moments when people don't care what they say, that at that moment he
positively hated me, not the sight of me, you understand, but my
aristocratic insolence."
She paused, and in the youthful sincerity of his sympathy Cosmo uttered
a subdued exclamation of distress. Madame de Montevesso looked at him
again and then averted her face.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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