The only one which seemed beyond my powers was to tear myself away from her; for while these feelings of esteem and respect were springing up in me, my love was changing its nature, so to speak, and growing vaster and taking possession of all my being. Edmee appeared to me in a new light. She was no longer the lovely girl whose presence stirred a tumult in my senses; she was a young man of my own age, beautiful as a seraph, proud, courageous, inflexible in honour, generous, capable of that sublime friendship which once bound together brothers in arms, but with no passionate love except for Deity, like the paladins of old, who, braving a thousand dangers, marched to the Holy Land under their golden armour.
From this hour I felt my love descending from the wild storms of the brain into the healthy regions of the heart. Devotion seemed no longer an enigma to me. I resolved that on the very next morning I would give proof of my submission and affection. It was quite late when Ireturned to the chateau, tired out, dying of hunger, and exhausted by the emotions I had experienced. I entered the pantry, found a piece of bread, and began eating it, all moist with my tears. I was leaning against the stove in the dime light of a lamp that was almost out, when I suddenly saw Edmee enter. She took a few cherries from a chest and slowly approached the stove, pale and deep in thought. On seeing me she uttered a cry and let the cherries fall.
"Edmee," I said, "I implore you never to be afraid of me again. That is all I can say now; for I do not know how to explain myself; and yet I had resolved to say many things.""You must tell me them some other time, cousin," she answered, trying to smile.
But she was unable to disguise the fear she felt at finding herself alone with me.
I did not try to detain her. I felt deeply pained and humiliated at her distrust of me, and I knew I had no right to complain. Yet never had any man stood in greater need of a word of encouragement.
Just as she was going out of the room I broke down altogether, and burst into tears, as on the previous night at the chapel window. Edmee stopped on the threshold and hesitated a moment. Then, yielding to the kindly impulses of her heart, she overcame her fears and returned towards me. Pausing a few yards from my chair, she said:
"Bernard, you are unhappy. Tell me; is it my fault?"I was unable to reply; I was ashamed of my tears, but the more I tried to restrain them the more my breast heaved with sobs. With men as physically strong as I was, tears are generally convulsions; mine were like the pangs of death.
"Come now! Just tell me what is wrong," cried Edmee, with some of the bluntness of sisterly affection.
And she ventured to put her hand on my shoulder. She was looking at me with an expression of wistfulness, and a big tear was trickling down her cheek. I threw myself on my knees and tried to speak, but that was still impossible. I could do no more than mutter the word /to-morrow/several times.
" 'To-morrow?' What of tomorrow?" said Edmee. "Do you not like being here? Do you want to go away?""I will go, if it will please you," I replied. "Tell me; do you wish never to see me again?""I do not wish that at all," she rejoined. "You will stop here, won't you.""It is for you to decide," I answered.
She looked at me in astonishment. I was still on my knees. She leant over the back of my chair.
"Yes; I am quite sure that you are good at heart," she said, as if she were answering some inner objection. "A Mauprat can be nothing by halves; and as soon as you have once known a good quarter of an hour, it is certain you ought to have a noble life before you.""I will make it so," I answered.
"You mean it?" she said with unaffected joy.
"On my honour, Edmee, and on yours. Dare you give me your hand?""Certainly," she said.
She held out her hand to me; but she was still trembling.
"You have been forming good resolutions, then?" she said.
"I have been forming such resolutions," I replied, "that you will never have to reproach me again. And now, Edmee, when you return to your room, please do not bolt your door any more. You need no longer be afraid of me. Henceforth I shall only wish what you wish."She again fixed on me a look of amazement. Then, after pressing my hand, she moved away, but turned round several times to look at me again, as if unable to believe in such a sudden conversion. At last, stopping in the doorway, she said to me in an affectionate tone:
"You, too, must go and get some rest. You look tired; and for the last two days you have seemed sad and very much altered. If you do not wish to make me anxious, you will take care of yourself, Bernard."She gave me a sweet little nod. In her big eyes, already hollowed by suffering, there was an indefinable expression, in which distrust and hope, affection and wonder, were depicted alternately or at times all together.
"I will take care of myself; I will get some sleep; and I will not be sad any longer," I answered.
"And you will work?"
"And I will work--but, you, Edmee, will you forgive me for all the pain I have caused you? and will you try to like me a little?""I shall like you very much," she replied, "if you are always as you are this evening."On the morrow, at daybreak, I went to the abbe's room. He was already up and reading.
