I had taken Brigitte's hand, and, in a dream, doubtless, she
had pronounced my name.
I arose, and went to my room; a torrent of tears flowed from my eyes. I
held out my arms as though to seize the past which was escaping me. "Is
it possible," I repeated, "that I am going to lose you? I can love no one
but you. What! you are going away? And forever? What! you, my life, my
adored mistress, you flee from me; I shall never see you again? Never!
never!" I said aloud; and, addressing myself to the sleeping Brigitte as
though she could hear me, I added: "Never, never; do not think of it; I
will never consent to it. And why so much pride? Are there no means of
atoning for the offense I have committed? I beg of you let us seek some
expiation. Have you not pardoned me a thousand times? But you love me,
you will not be able to go, for courage will fail you. What shall we do?"
A horrible madness seized me; I began to run here and there in search of
some instrument of death. At last I fell on my knees and beat my head
against the bed. Brigitte stirred and I remained quiet, fearing I would
waken her.
"Let her sleep until to-morrow," I said to myself; "you have all night to
watch her."
I resumed my place; I was so frightened at the idea of waking Brigitte,
that I scarcely dared breathe. Gradually I became more calm and less
bitter tears began to course gently down my cheeks. Tenderness succeeded
fury.
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