"Who knows?" said I to myself, "if I should
try this with Brigitte, she might be deceived and tell me her secret."
My anger had become furious when the idea of resorting to such trickery
occurred to me. Was it so difficult to make a woman speak in spite of
herself? This woman was my mistress; I must be very weak if I could not
gain my point. I turned over on the sofa with an air of indifference.
"Very well, my dear," said I gaily, "this is not a time for confidences
then?"
She looked at me in astonishment.
"And yet," I continued, "we must some day come to the truth. Now I
believe it would be well to begin at once; that will make you confiding,
and there is nothing like an understanding between friends."
Doubtless, my face betrayed me as I spoke these words; Brigitte did not
appear to understand and kept on walking up and down.
"Do you know," I resumed, "that we have been together now six months. The
life we are leading together is not one to be laughed at. You are young,
I also; if this kind of life should become distasteful to you, are you
the woman to tell me of it? In truth, if it were so, I would confess it
to you frankly. And why not? Is it a crime to love? If not, it is not a
crime to love less or to cease to love at all. Would it be astonishing
if, at our age, we should feel the need of change?"
She stopped me.
"At our age!" said she. "Are you addressing me? What comedy are you now
playing yourself?"
Blood mounted to my face.
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