CHAPTER XXII

AWEEKisgoneLEJOURDESNOCESarrivedthemarriagewassolemnizedatSt.JacquesMdlle.ZoraidebecameMadamePelet,NEEReuterand,inaboutanhourafterthistransformation,“thehappypair,”asnewspapersphraseit,wereontheirwaytoPariswhere,accordingtopreviousarrangement,thehoneymoonwastobespent.ThenextdayIquittedthepensionnat.Myselfandmychattels(somebooksandclothes)weresoontransferredtoamodestlodgingIhadhiredinastreetnotfaroff.Inhalfanhourmyclotheswerearrangedinacommode,mybooksonashelf,andthe“flitting”waseffected.Ishouldnothavebeenunhappythatdayhadnotonepangtorturedme—alongingtogototheRueNotreDameauxNeiges,resisted,yetirritatedbyaninwardresolvetoavoidthatstreettillsuchtimeasthemistofdoubtshouldclearfrommyprospects. ItwasasweetSeptemberevening—verymild,verystillIhadnothingtodoatthathourIknewFranceswouldbeequallyreleasedfromoccupationIthoughtshemightpossiblybewishingforhermaster,IknewIwishedformypupil.Imaginationbeganwithherlowwhispers,infusingintomysoulthesofttaleofpleasuresthatmightbe. “Youwillfindherreadingorwriting,”saidshe“youcantakeyourseatathersideyouneednotstartleherpeacebyundueexcitementyouneednotembarrasshermannerbyunusualactionorlanguage.Beasyoualwaysarelookoverwhatshehaswrittenlistenwhileshereadschideher,orquietlyapproveyouknowtheeffectofeithersystemyouknowhersmilewhenpleased,youknowtheplayofherlookswhenrousedyouhavethesecretofawakeningwhatexpressionyouwill,andyoucanchooseamongstthatpleasantvariety.Withyoushewillsitsilentaslongasitsuitsyoutotalkaloneyoucanholdherunderapotentspell:intelligentassheis,eloquentasshecanbe,youcansealherlips,andveilherbrightcountenancewithdiffidenceyet,youknow,sheisnotallmonotonousmildnessyouhaveseen,withasortofstrangepleasure,revolt,scorn,austerity,bitterness,layenergeticclaimtoaplaceinherfeelingsandphysiognomyyouknowthatfewcouldruleherasyoudoyouknowshemightbreak,butneverbendunderthehandofTyrannyandInjustice,butReasonandAffectioncanguideherbyasign.Trytheirinfluencenow.Go—theyarenotpassionsyoumayhandlethemsafely.” “IwillNOTgowasmyanswertothesweettemptress.Amanismasterofhimselftoacertainpoint,butnotbeyondit.CouldIseekFrancesto-night,couldIsitwithheraloneinaquietroom,andaddressheronlyinthelanguageofReasonandAffection?” “No,”wasthebrief,ferventreplyofthatLovewhichhadconqueredandnowcontrolledme. Timeseemedtostagnatethesunwouldnotgodownmywatchticked,butIthoughtthehandswereparalyzed. “Whatahotevening!”Icried,throwingopenthelatticefor,indeed,Ihadseldomfeltsofeverish.Hearingastepascendingthecommonstair,Iwonderedwhetherthe“locataire,”nowmountingtohisapartments,wereasunsettledinmindandconditionasIwas,orwhetherhelivedinthecalmofcertainresources,andinthefreedomofunfetteredfeelings.What!washecominginpersontosolvetheproblemhardlyproposedininaudiblethought?Hehadactuallyknockedatthedoor—atMYdoorasmart,promptrapand,almostbeforeIcouldinvitehimin,hewasoverthethreshold,andhadclosedthedoorbehindhim. “Andhowareyou?”askedanindifferent,quietvoice,intheEnglishlanguagewhilemyvisitor,withoutanysortofbustleorintroduction,puthishatonthetable,andhisglovesintohishat,anddrawingtheonlyarmchairtheroomaffordedalittleforward,seatedhimselftranquillytherein. “Can’tyouspeak?”heinquiredinafewmoments,inatonewhosenonchalanceseemedtointimatethatitwasmuchthesamethingwhetherIansweredornot.Thefactis,Ifounditdesirabletohaverecoursetomygoodfriends“lesbesicles”notexactlytoascertaintheidentityofmyvisitor—forIalreadyknewhim,confoundhisimpudence!buttoseehowhelooked—togetaclearnotionofhismienandcountenance.Iwipedtheglassesverydeliberately,andputthemonquiteasdeliberatelyadjustingthemsoasnottohurtthebridgeofmynoseorgetentangledinmyshorttuftsofdunhair.Iwassittinginthewindow-seat,withmybacktothelight,andIhadhimVIS-A-VISapositionhewouldmuchratherhavehadreversedfor,atanytime,hepreferredscrutinizingtobeingscrutinized.Yes,itwasHE,andnomistake,withhissixfeetoflengtharrangedinasittingattitudewithhisdarktravellingsurtoutwithitsvelvetcollar,hisgraypantaloons,hisblackstock,andhisface,themostoriginaloneNatureevermodelled,yettheleastobtrusivelysonotonefeaturethatcouldbetermedmarkedorodd,yettheeffectofthewholeunique.Thereisnouseinattemptingtodescribewhatisindescribable.Beinginnohurrytoaddresshim,Isatandstaredatmyease. “Oh,that’syourgame—isit?”saidheatlast.“Well,we’llseewhichissoonesttired.”Andheslowlydrewoutafinecigar-case,pickedonetohistaste,litit,tookabookfromtheshelfconvenienttohishand,thenleaningback,proceededtosmokeandreadastranquillyasifhehadbeeninhisownroom,inGrove-street,X—-shire,England.Iknewhewascapableofcontinuinginthatattitudetillmidnight,ifheconceivedthewhim,soIrose,andtakingthebookfromhishand,Isaid,— “Youdidnotaskforit,andyoushallnothaveit.” “Itissillyanddull,”heobserved,“soIhavenotlostmuch”thenthespellbeingbroken,hewenton:“IthoughtyoulivedatPelet’sIwenttherethisafternoonexpectingtobestarvedtodeathbysittinginaboarding-schooldrawing-room,andtheytoldmeyouweregone,haddepartedthismorningyouhadleftyouraddressbehindyouthough,which