France -- History -- Henry II, 1547-1559 -- Fiction; Montgomery, Gabriel, comte de, 1530-1574 -- Fiction
"Listen," said he. "This cruel misunderstanding which is rending our
hearts must come to an end. I can no longer bear the thought that you do
not understand me, that you believe in my indifference to you or (who
knows?) in my hatred for you. That terrible suspicion worries me even in
the midst of the sacred and difficult task which it is for me to
accomplish. But come a little apart, my sister. You still trust in me,
do you not? Let us move away from this spot, I beg you. Even if we
cannot be seen, we may be overheard; and I have reason to fear that some
one may desire to interrupt our interview,--this interview which, I tell
you, my sister, is essential to my reason and my peace of mind."
Diane reflected no longer. Such words from such lips were omnipotent
with her. She ascended two steps to look into the hall and see if she
was needed; and finding everything quiet, she at once went back to
Gabriel, resting her hand confidingly in the loyal one of her faithful
knight.
"Thanks," said Gabriel. "Moments are precious; for what I fear, do you
know, is that the superior, who knows of my love now, would object to
our having this explanation, deep and pure though my love for you is, my
sister."
"That explains, then," said Diane, "why, after having told me of your
arrival and of your wish to see me, good Mother Monique, informed by
some one, no doubt, of the past, which I confess I had partly concealed
from her, has kept me from leaving the convent for three days, and would
have kept me in this evening too if my turn to do night duty in the
ambulance had not arrived, and I had not insisted upon fulfilling my sad
duty. Oh, Gabriel, is it not wrong in me to deceive her,--my sweet and
venerable friend?"
"Must I then tell you again that with me it is as if you were with your
brother, alas! that I ought to and will hush the impulses of my heart,
and speak to you only as a friend should speak, but a friend who is ever
devoted to you, and would gladly die for you, but who will listen to his
melancholy rather than his love, never fear?"
"Speak, then, my brother!" said Diane.
"My brother!"--that horrible and yet delightful name always reminded
Gabriel of the strange and mysterious alternative which his destiny had
laid before him, and like a magic word drove away the burning thoughts
which the silent night and the ravishing beauty of his beloved might
well have awakened in the young man's heart.
"My sister," said he, in a steady voice, "it was absolutely necessary
that I should see you and speak with you, so that I might address two
prayers to you. One relates to the past, the other to the future. You
are kind and obliging, Diane; and I know you will grant them both to a
dear friend who may perhaps never meet you more on his path through
life, and whom a fatal and perilous mission exposes to the risk of death
at every moment."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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