What! was it he--was it to me? God! what bitterness of language;what keen irony! Count Kostia, you make a mistake--this child is really yours.He may have the features and smile of his mother, but there is a little of your soul in his.What grievances can he have against me? I can imagine but two.Sunday last, near three o'clock, we were both at the window.He commenced a very animated speech by signs, and prolonged it far beyond the prudential limits which I have prescribed to him.He spoke, I believe, about Soliman, and of a walk which he had refused to take with Ivan.Idid not pay close attention, for I was occupied in looking round to see that no one was watching us.Suddenly I saw on the slope of the hill big Fritz and the little goat girl, to whom he is paying court, seated on a rock.At the moment I was about to answer Stephane, they raised their eyes to me.I began then to look at the landscape, and presently quitted the spot.Stephane could not see them from his window, and of course did not understand the cause of my retreat.The other grievance is, that for the first time three days have passed without my paying him a visit; but day before yesterday the wind was so violent that it overthrew a chimney nearby,...and it was to punish me for such a grave offense that he allowed himself to say that I was no doubt an excellent botanist, an unparalleled philanthropist, but that Iunderstood nothing of the refinements of sentiment.
"You are one of those men," said he, "who carry the whole world in their hearts.It is useless for you to deny it.I am sure you have at least a hundred intimate friends.""You are right," I replied; "it is even for the hundredth one that I have risked my life."September 7th.
During the last week, I have seen him three times.He has given me no cause for complaint; he works, he reflects; his judgment is forming, not a moment of ill-humor; he is calm, docile, and gentle as a lamb.Yes, but it is this excess of gentleness which disturbs me.There is something unnatural to me, in his condition, and I am forced to regret the absence of those transports, and the childishness of which I have endeavored to cure him."Stephane, you have become too unlike yourself.But a short time since, your feet hardly touched the ground; lively, impetuous, and violent, there came from your lips by turns flashes of merriment or of anger, and in an instant you passed from enthusiasm to despair; but in our recent interviews I could scarcely recognize you.No more freaks of the rebellious child; no more of those familiarities which I loved! Your glances, even, as they meet mine, seem less assured; sometimes they wander over me doubtfully, and from the surprise they express, I am inclined to believe that my figure must have grown some cubits, and you can no longer take it in at a glance.And then those sighs which escape you! Besides, you no longer complain of anything; your existence seems to have become a stranger to you.It must be that without my knowledge--" Ah!
unhappy child, I will know.You shall speak; you shall tell me....
September 10.
Heavens! what a flood of light! Father Alexis, you did not tell me all! The more I think of it....Ah! Gilbert, what scales covered your eyes! Yesterday I carried him that copy of the poem of the Metamorphoses, which I had promised him.A few fragments that I had repeated to him had inspired him with the desire of reading the whole piece, not from the book, but copied in my hand.
We read it together, distich by distich.I translated, explained, and commented.When we arrived at these verses: "May you only remember how the tie which first united our souls was a germ from which grew in time a sweet and charming intimacy, and soon friendship revealed its power in our hearts, until love, coming last, crowned it with flowers and with fruit--" At these words he became agitated and trembled violently.
"Do not let us go any further," said he, pushing the paper away.
"That is poetry enough for this evening."
Then leaning upon the table, he opened and turned the leaves of his herbarium; but his eyes and his thoughts were elsewhere.Suddenly he rose, took a few steps in the room, and then returning to me:
"Do you think that friendship can change into love?""Goethe says so; we must believe it."
He took a flower from the table, looked at it a moment and dropping it on the floor, he murmured, lowering his eyes:
"I am an ignoramus; tell me what is this love?""It is the folly of friendship."
"Have you ever been foolish?"
"No, and I do not imagine I ever shall be."
He remained motionless for a moment, his arms hanging listlessly;at length, raising them slowly, he crossed his hands over his head, one of his favorite attitudes, raised his eyes from the ground, and looked steadily at me.Oh! what a strange expression! His wild look, a sad and mysterious smile wandering over his lips, his mouth which tried to speak, but to which speech refused to come! That face has been constantly before me since last night; it pursues me, possesses me, and even at this moment its image is stamped in the paper I am writing on.This black velvet tunic, then, may be a forced disguise? Yes, the character of Stephane, his mind, his singularity of conduct,--all these things which astonished and frightened me are now explained.Gilbert, Gilbert! what have you done? into what abyss...And yet, perhaps I am mistaken, for how can I believe-- There is the dinner bell...I shall see HIMagain!
