iv

the time till the christmas holidays was so short that my faith, quickened as it had been by my last

conversation with alissa, never for a moment wavered. as i had resolved, i wrote to her at length

every sunday; during the rest of the week i kept apart from my fellow-students, and frequented

hardly anyone but abel: i lived with the thought of alissa, and covered my favourite books with

notes meant for her eye, subordinating the interest i sought in them myself to the interest which they

might have for her. her letters caused me some uneasiness; and though she answered mine pretty

regularly, her keenness to keep up with me seemed, i thought, to come more from anxiety to

encourage my work than from her own spontaneous inclination; and it even seemed to me that, while

on my part reflections, discussions, criticisms were only means towards expressing my thoughts, she,

on the contrary, took advantage of all these things to conceal hers. sometimes i wondered whether

she were not actually taking pleasure in this as a kind of game. no matter! i was firmly resolved to

complain of nothing, and i let no trace of anxiety transpire in my letters.

towards the end of december, then, abel and i left for le havre.

i was to stay with aunt plantier. she was not in when i arrived, but i had hardly time to settle into

my room when a servant came to tell me that she was waiting for me in the drawing-room.

she had no sooner finished inquiring after my health, my surroundings, my studies, than, without

more ado, she gave way to her affectionate curiosity:

‘you haven’t told me yet, my dear, whether you were pleased with your stay at fongueusemare?

were you able to advance matters at all?’

i had to put up with my aunt’s good-natured tactlessness, however painful it might be to hear her

speak so summarily of feelings for which the purest and gentlest words would still have seemed too

brutal; yet her tone was so simple and so cordial that it would have been senseless to take offence.

nevertheless, i could not help objecting a little.

‘didn’t you say last spring that you thought an engagement would be premature?’

‘yes, i know; one always says that to begin with,’ she started off again, seizing one of my hands,

which she pressed with emotion between both of hers. ‘besides, on account of your studies and your

military service, you won’t be able to marry for several years, i know. moreover, personally i don’t

approve of long engagements. they’re trying for young girls, though sometimes it’s very touching to

see... for that matter it’s not necessary to make the engagement public... only then one can give

people to understand – oh! very discreetly – that there’s no further need to be on the look-out; and

besides, it authorizes your correspondence, your intimacy; and moreover, if anyone else came

forward – and it might very well happen,’ she insinuated with a knowing smile, ‘one is able just to

hint that... no, it’s not worth while. you know there’s been an offer for juliette! she has attracted a

great deal of attention this winter. she’s still rather young, which is what she answered; but the young

man suggested waiting; he’s not exactly a young man, either... in short, he’s a very good match, a

very reliable person. well! you’ll see him tomorrow; he’s going to be at my christmas tree. you’ll

tell me what you think of him.’

‘i’m afraid, aunt félicie, that it’s labour lost on his part, and that juliette has someone else in her

mind,’ said i, making a great effort not to mention abel straight off.

‘hum?’ said aunt félicie, inquiringly, and putting her head on one side with an incredulous look.

‘you surprise me! why should she not have told me anything about it?’

i bit my lips to prevent myself from saying anything more.

‘oh, well! we shall soon see. juliette hasn’t been very well lately,’ she went on. ‘...but we aren’t

speaking of her for the moment. ah! alissa is very charming too. come now, did you or did you not

make your declaration?’

although rebelling with my whole heart against the word ‘declaration’, which seemed to me so

inappropriate and crude, i was incapable of replying by a falsehood to this direct question; i answered

‘yes,’ in some confusion, and felt my face flame as i did so.

‘and what did she say?’

i bent my head: i should have liked not to answer. in still greater confusion and as though in spite

of myself, i said, ‘she refused to be engaged.’

‘well, the child was quite right,’ said my aunt. ‘you have plenty of time before you, heaven

knows...’

‘oh! aunt! that’s enough now,’ i said, trying in vain to stop her.

‘besides, i’m not surprised; i always thought your cousin more sensible than you...’

i do not know what came over me at this point; my nerves were no doubt exasperated by this

cross-examination, for it seemed to me that on a sudden my heart burst; like a child, i buried my face

in my kind aunt’s lap and cried out, sobbing:

‘no, aunt, no! you don’t understand. she didn’t ask me to wait –’

‘what! did she refuse you?’ said she, in a tone of the kindest commiseration, raising my head

with her hand.

‘no – no – not exactly.’ i shook my head sadly.

‘are you afraid she doesn’t love you any longer?’

‘oh, no! i’m not afraid of that.’

‘my poor boy, if you want me to understand, you must explain a little more clearly.’

i was ashamed and vexed to have given way to my emotion; my aunt was doubtless incapable of

understanding the reasons of my uncertainty; but if some special motive lay behind alissa’s refusal,

aunt félicie, by questioning her gently, might perhaps help me to discover it. she soon reached the

same conclusion for herself.

‘listen,’ she went on, ‘alissa is coming tomorrow morning to help me decorate the christmas

tree; i shall soon see what is at the bottom of it all; i will let you know at lunch time, and i’m sure

you’ll see there’s nothing to be alarmed about.’

i went to dine at the bucolins’. juliette, who had, it is true, been unwell for the last few days,

seemed to me changed; her eyes had a farouche, an almost hard expression, which made her more

different than ever from her sister. i was not able to speak to either of them alone that evening;

neither did i wish to, and as my uncle seemed tired i left soon after dinner.

at the christmas tree which aunt plantier gave every year, there was always a large gathering of

children, relations, and friends. it was set up in an inner hall, which contained the staircase and out of

which opened the entrance hall, the drawing-room, and the glass doors of a kind of winter-garden,

where a buffet had been spread. the decoration of the tree was not finished, and on the morning of

the party, which was the day after my arrival, alissa, as my aunt had told me she would, came round

pretty early in order to help her hang the branches of the tree with ornaments, lights, fruits, sweets,

and toys. i should have very much enjoyed sharing this task with her myself, but i had to let aunt

félicie speak to her. i went out, therefore, without seeing her, and spent the whole morning in trying

to while away the anxious hours.

i first went to the bucolins’, as i wanted to see juliette. but i heard that abel had been before me,

and as i was afraid of interrupting a crucial conversation, i left at once: then i wandered about the

quays and streets till lunch time.

‘great silly!’ cried my aunt, when i saw her. ‘it’s really inexcusable to make yourself so unhappy

for nothing! there’s not a single word of sense in anything you said to me yesterday. oh! i didn’t

beat about the bush. i sent miss ashburton away as she was tiring herself out helping us, and as soon

as i was alone with alissa i asked her straight out why she hadn’t accepted you last summer. do you

suppose she minded? she wasn’t embarrassed for a single moment, and answered quite calmly that

she didn’t want to marry before her sister. if you had asked her frankly, she would have said the same

thing to you; a fine thing to make such a fuss about, isn’t it? you see, my dear, there’s nothing like

frankness. poor alissa! she spoke to me about her father, too, whom she can’t leave. oh! we had a

long talk. dear child! she’s very sensible; she told me she wasn’t perfectly sure yet that she was the

right person for you; that she was afraid she was too old, and thought that somebody of juliette’s

age...’

my aunt went on, but i no longer listened; there was only one thing which mattered – alissa

refused to marry before her sister. but was not abel there? after all, in his egregious conceit he was

right; he was going to pull off, as he said, both our marriages at one blow.

i hid from my aunt, as best i could, the agitation into which this revelation, simple as it was, had

plunged me, and showed her nothing but a delight which she thought very natural, and with which

she was all the more gratified as it seemed that it was through her that i had obtained it; but directly

after luncheon i left her with some excuse or other, and hurried off to find abel.

‘ah! what did i tell you?’ said he, embracing me, as soon as i had confided my good news to him.

‘my dear fellow, i can tell you already that the conversation i had with juliette this morning almost

settled it, though we talked of hardly anything but you. but she seemed tired – nervous – i was afraid

of agitating her by going too far, of over-exciting her if i stayed too long. but after what you tell me,

i hesitate no longer! i snatch up my hat, dear boy, my stick, and i’m off. come with me as far as the

bucolins’ to hang on to my coat-tails, for fear i should fly away on the road; i feel lighter than

euphorion! when juliette knows that it’s only because of her that her sister has refused you – when i

make my offer on the spot – ah! my boy, i can see my father this evening beside the christmas tree,

praising the lord and weeping with joy, as he extends his hands over the two couples kneeling at his

feet; miss ashburton will flutter off in a sigh; aunt plantier will dissolve into her bodice, and the

fiery tree will sing the glory of god and clap its hands, like the mountains in the scriptures.’

it was towards evening that the christmas tree was to be lighted, and that the party of children,

relations, and friends was to assemble. not knowing what to do with myself, sick with anxiety and

impatience, after i had left abel i started on a long walk over the cliffs, so as to get over the time of

waiting as best i could – lost my way, and altogether managed so cleverly, that when i got back to

aunt plantier’s the party was already in full swing.

as soon as i got into the hall, i caught sight of alissa; she seemed to be waiting for me, and came

towards me at once. she was wearing round her neck, in the opening of her bodice, a little, old,

amethyst cross, which i had given her in memory of my mother, but which i had never seen her wear

before. her features were drawn, and the look of suffering on her face smote my heart.

‘why are you so late?’ she said rapidly and breathlessly. ‘i wanted to speak to you.’

‘i lost my way on the cliffs... but you’re ill... oh, alissa! what is the matter?’

she stood before me a moment, as though she were struck dumb, her lips trembling. so sickening

a dread took hold of me that i dared not question her. she put her hand on my neck, as though to pull

my face towards her; i saw she wanted to speak, but at that moment some guests came in;

disheartened, she let her hand drop...

‘it is too late,’ she murmured. then, seeing my eyes fill with tears, she added in reply to my

inquiring look – as though such a derisory explanation could suffice to tranquillize me! –

‘no... don’t be alarmed; i’ve only a headache, the children make such a noise... i had to take

refuge here... it’s time to go back to them now.’

she left me abruptly. some people coming in separated me from her. i thought i should be able to

rejoin her in the drawing-room. i caught sight of her at the other end of the room, surrounded by a

troop of children whose games she was organizing; between her and me there were a number of

people whom i knew, and whom i should not have been able to venture past without running the risk

of being stopped. i felt incapable of civilities, of conversation; perhaps if i edged along the wall... i

tried.

just as i was going to pass in front of the large glass doors which led into the garden, i felt my

arm seized. juliette was there, half hidden in the embrasure, behind the folds of the curtain.

‘let’s go into the conservatory,’ she said, hastily. ‘i want to speak to you. go on by yourself; i’ll

join you there directly.’ then, half opening the door for a moment, she slipped into the garden.

what had happened? i wished i could see abel. what had he said? what had he done? returning

to the hall, i made my way to the conservatory, where juliette was waiting for me.

her face was flaming, her frowning brows gave her look an expression of hardness and pain; her

eyes shone as if she were feverish; even her voice was harsh and tense. a sort of fury inspired her;

notwithstanding my anxiety i was astonished – embarrassed almost – by her beauty. we were alone.

‘has alissa spoken to you?’ she asked at once.

‘barely two words; i came in very late.’

‘you know she wants me to marry before she does?’

‘yes.’

she looked at me fixedly...

‘and do you know whom she wants me to marry?’

i did not answer.

‘you!’ she went on with a cry.

‘why! it’s madness!’

‘yes! isn’t it!’ there was both despair and triumph in her voice. she straightened herself, or

rather flung herself backwards.

‘now i know what there remains for me to do,’ she added indistinctly, as she opened the door of

the garden which she slammed violently behind her.

my brain and heart were in a whirl. i felt the blood throbbing in my temples. one sole idea

survived in the confusion of my spirits – to find abel; he, perhaps, would be able to explain the

singular behaviour of the two sisters. but i dared not go back to the drawing-room where i thought

everyone would see my agitation. i went out. the icy air of the garden calmed me; i stayed in it some

time. evening was falling, and the sea-mist hid the town; there were no leaves on the trees; earth and

sky seemed one immense desolation. the sound of voices singing rose upon the air; no doubt it was

the choir of children gathered round the christmas tree. i went in by the entrance hall. the doors of

the drawing-room and inner hall were open; in the drawing-room, which was now deserted, i caught

sight of my aunt, where she was sitting, partly concealed by the piano, talking to juliette. in the inner

hall the guests were thronging round the lighted tree. the children had finished their hymn; there was

a silence, and pasteur vautier, standing up in front of the tree, began a sort of sermon. he never

missed an opportunity of what he called ‘sowing the good seed’. i felt the lights and heat

uncomfortably oppressive, and was going out. abel was standing beside the door; he had, no doubt,

been there some time. he was looking at me in a hostile manner, and when our eyes met he shrugged

his shoulders. i went towards him.

‘fool!’ he said in a whisper; and then, abruptly, ‘oh, let’s go out; i’m fed up with preaching.’

and as soon as we were outside, ‘you fool!’ he said again, as i looked at him anxiously, without

speaking. ‘why, it’s you she loves, you fool! couldn’t you have told me?’

i was aghast. i tried not to understand.

‘no, of course not! you couldn’t even see it for yourself!’ he had seized me by the arm and was

shaking me furiously. his voice between his clenched teeth hissed and trembled.

‘abel, i implore you,’ i said after a moment’s silence, and in a voice which trembled too, while

he strode along at random, dragging me with him. ‘instead of being so angry, try to tell me what has

happened. i know nothing.’

he stopped suddenly and scrutinized my face by the dim light of a street lamp; then, drawing me

quickly to him, he put his head upon my shoulder and murmured with a sob:

‘forgive me! i’m an idiot too, and i didn’t understand any better than you, my poor brother!’

his tears seemed to calm him a little; he raised his head, started walking again, and went on:

‘what happened? what’s the use of going over it again? i had talked to juliette in the morning, as

i told you. she was extraordinarily beautiful and animated; i thought it was because of me, but it was

simply because we were talking of you.’

‘didn’t you realize it at the time?’

‘no, not exactly; but now the smallest detail becomes clear.’

‘are you sure you are not making a mistake?’

‘ a mistake! my dear fellow, you must be blind not to see that she’s in love with you.’

‘then alissa...’

‘then alissa is sacrificing herself. she had found out her sister’s secret, and wanted to give you

up to her. really, old boy, it’s not very difficult to understand! i wanted to speak to juliette again; at

my first words, or rather, as soon as she began to understand me, she got up from the sofa where she

was sitting and repeated several times over, “i was sure of it,” in the tone of voice of a person who

was anything but sure.’

‘oh! don’t joke about it.’

‘why not? i consider it a highly comic affair. she rushed into her sister’s room; i overheard their

voices raised excitedly in a way that alarmed me. i hoped to see juliette again, but after a moment it

was alissa who came out. she had her hat on, seemed embarrassed at seeing me, said “how do you

do?” to me quickly as she went out – and that’s all.’

‘didn’t you see juliette again?’

abel hesitated for a little.

‘yes. after alissa had gone, i pushed open the door of the room. juliette was there motionless,

standing in front of the chimney-piece, her elbows on the marble, her chin in her hands; she was

staring at herself in the glass. when she heard me she didn’t turn round, but stamped her foot, crying,

“oh, leave me alone!” so harshly that i went away again without asking for more. that’s all.’

‘and now?’

‘oh! talking to you has done me good... and now? well! you had better try and cure juliette of

her love, for, either i don’t know alissa, or else she won’t have you before you do.’

we walked on for some time silently.

‘let’s go back,’ said he at last. ‘the guests must have gone by now. i’m afraid my father will be

waiting for me.’

we went in. the drawing- room was, in fact, empty; and in the hall round the tree, whose

branches had been stripped and whose lights had been nearly all extinguished, there remained only

my aunt and two of her children, uncle bucolin, miss ashburton, the pastor, my cousins, and a rather

ridiculous-looking individual, whom i had noticed talking for a long time to my aunt, but whom i

only at that moment recognized as the suitor juliette had spoken to me about. taller, stronger, more

highly coloured than any of us, almost bald, of a different class, a different world, a different race, he

seemed to realize that he was a stranger among us; he wore an immense moustache and a grizzled

imperial, which he was nervously twisting and tugging.

the entrance hall, the doors of which had been left open, was not lighted; we had come in

noiselessly, and no one noticed our presence. a frightful foreboding shot through me.

‘stop!’ said abel, seizing me by the arm.

then we saw the stranger draw near juliette, and take the hand which she abandoned to him

without resistance, without giving him a glance. night shut down upon my heart.

‘oh, abel! what is happening?’ i whispered, as if i did not understand yet, or hoped i did not

understand aright.

‘by jove! the young one is going one better,’ he said in a hissing voice. ‘she doesn’t want to be

outdone by her sister. the angels are applauding in heaven, and no mistake!’

my uncle went up to embrace juliette, whom miss ashburton and my aunt were pressing round.

pasteur vautier drew near. i took a step forward. alissa caught sight of me, ran up to me in a quiver

of emotion.

‘oh, jérôme! it mustn’t be. she doesn’t love him! why, she told me so only this very morning!

try to prevent it, jérôme! oh! what will become of her?’

she hung upon my shoulder with desperate entreaty. i would have given my life to lessen her

anguish.

suddenly there came a cry from near the tree, a confused stir. we rushed up. juliette had fallen

unconscious into my aunt’s arms. they were all crowding round, hanging over her, so that i could

hardly see her; her face, which had turned frightfully pale, looked as though it were being dragged

backwards by the weight of her loosened hair. it seemed, from the convulsive movements of her

body, that this was no ordinary faint.

‘no, no!’ said my aunt aloud, in order to reassure uncle bucolin, who was getting agitated, and

whom pasteur vautier was already consoling, with his forefinger pointed heavenwards. ‘no, it’s

nothing. the effect of emotion. just a nervous attack. monsieur teissières, please help me, you’re so

strong. we will carry her up to my room, on to my bed, on to my bed.’ then she stooped towards the

elder of her sons, whispered something in his ear, and i saw him go off at once, no doubt to fetch a

doctor.

my aunt and the stranger were supporting juliette’s shoulders, as she lay, half reclining, in their

arms. alissa raised her sister’s feet and embraced them tenderly. abel held up her head, which would

have fallen backwards, and i saw him bend down and cover with kisses her floating hair, as he

gathered it together.

outside the door of the room i stopped. juliette was laid on the bed; alissa said a few words to

m. teissières and to abel, which i could not hear; she accompanied them to the door and begged us

to leave her sister to rest; she wished to remain alone with her, with no one else but aunt plantier.

abel caught hold of my arm and dragged me out of doors, into the night, and there we walked on and

on for a long time, without purpose, without courage, without reflection.