Fool that I am! you will seek another. That pallor of
which you are the cause, you accuse it, you question it. Like a fool, I
have tried to suffer in silence, to consecrate to you my resignation; I
have tried to conceal my tears; you have played the spy, and you have
counted them as witnesses against me. Fool that I am! I have thought of
crossing seas, of exiling myself from France with you, of dying far from
all who have loved me, leaning for sole support on a heart that doubts
me. Fool that I am! I thought that truth had a glance, an accent, that
could not be mistaken, that would be respected! Ah! when I think of it,
tears choke me. Why, if it must ever be thus, induce me to take a step
that will forever destroy my peace? My head is confused, I do not know
where I am!"
She leaned on me weeping.
"Fool! Fool!" she repeated, in a heart-rending voice.
"And what is it you ask?" she continued. "What can I do to meet those
suspicions that are ever born anew, that alter with your moods? I must
justify myself, you say! For what? For loving, for dying, for despairing?
And if I assume a forced cheerfulness, even that cheerfulness offends
you. I sacrifice everything to follow you and you have not gone a league
before you look back. Always, everywhere, whatever I may do, insults and
angers! Ah! dear child, if you knew what a mortal chill comes over me,
what suffering I endure in seeing my simplest words thus taken up and
hurled back at me with suspicion and sarcasm! By that course, you deprive
yourself of the only happiness there is in the world--perfect love.
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