Finally, I entered her room holding in my hand a ticket on
which our places were marked for the carriage to Besancon. I approached
her and placed it in her lap; she stretched out her hand, screamed and
fell unconscious at my feet.
CHAPTER II
ALL my efforts to divine the cause of so unexpected a change were as vain
as the questions I had first asked. Brigitte was ill and obstinately
remained silent. After an entire day passed in supplication and
conjecture, I went out without knowing where I was going. Passing the
Opera, I entered it from force of habit.
I could pay no attention to what was going on in the theater. I was so
overwhelmed with grief, so stupefied, that I did not live, so to speak,
except in myself, and exterior objects made no impression on my senses.
All my powers were centered on a single thought, and the more I turned it
over in my head, the less clearly could I distinguish its meaning. What
obstacle was this that had so suddenly come between us and the
realization of our fondest hopes? If it was merely some ordinary event,
or even an actual misfortune, such as an accident or loss of some friend,
why that obstinate silence? After all that Brigitte had done, when our
dreams seemed about to be realized, what could be the nature of a secret
that destroyed our happiness and could not be confided to me? What! she
conceals it from me! And yet I could not find it in my heart to suspect
her.
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