No More Learning

Suddenly I was brought into the foreground as a sworn
foe and natural rival of M. M. , as desperately in love with his wife, of
which my persecutress vowed and swore that she had proofs, saying that
only that morning she had seen in the copse. . . .

But before she had time to finish I broke in at the most desperate
minute. That minute was so diabolically calculated, was so treacherously
prepared to lead up to its finale, its ludicrous _dénouement_, and was
brought out with such killing humour that a perfect outburst of
irrepressible mirth saluted this last sally. And though even at the time
I guessed that mine was not the most unpleasant part in the performance,
yet I was so confused, so irritated and alarmed that, full of misery and
despair, gasping with shame and tears, I dashed through two rows of
chairs, stepped forward, and addressing my tormentor, cried, in a voice
broken with tears and indignation:

"Aren't you ashamed . . . aloud . . . before all the ladies . . . to tell such
a wicked . . . lie? . . . Like a small child . . . before all these men. . . .
What will they say? . . . A big girl like you . . . and married! . . . "

But I could not go on, there was a deafening roar of applause. My
outburst created a perfect furore. My naïve gesture, my tears, and
especially the fact that I seemed to be defending M. M. , all this
provoked such fiendish laughter, that even now I cannot help laughing at
the mere recollection of it. I was overcome with confusion, senseless
with horror and, burning with shame, hiding my face in my hands rushed
away, knocked a tray out of the hands of a footman who was coming in at
the door, and flew upstairs to my own room. I pulled out the key, which
was on the outside of the door, and locked myself in. I did well, for
there was a hue and cry after me. Before a minute had passed my door was
besieged by a mob of the prettiest ladies. I heard their ringing
laughter, their incessant chatter, their trilling voices; they were all
twittering at once, like swallows. All of them, every one of them,
begged and besought me to open the door, if only for a moment; swore
that no harm should come to me, only that they wanted to smother me with
kisses. But . . . what could be more horrible than this novel threat? I
simply burned with shame the other side of the door, hiding my face in
the pillows and did not open, did not even respond. The ladies kept up
their knocking for a long time, but I was deaf and obdurate as only a
boy of eleven could be.

But what could I do now? Everything was laid bare, everything had been
exposed, everything I had so jealously guarded and concealed! . . .
Everlasting disgrace and shame had fallen on me! But it is true that I
could not myself have said why I was frightened and what I wanted to
hide; yet I was frightened of something and had trembled like a leaf at
the thought of _that something's_ being discovered. Only till that
minute I had not known what it was: whether it was good or bad, splendid
or shameful, praiseworthy or reprehensible? Now in my distress, in the
misery that had been forced upon me, I learned that it was _absurd_ and
_shameful_. Instinctively I felt at the same time that this verdict was
false, inhuman, and coarse; but I was crushed, annihilated;
consciousness seemed checked in me and thrown into confusion; I could
not stand up against that verdict, nor criticize it properly. I was
befogged; I only felt that my heart had been inhumanly and shamelessly
wounded, and was brimming over with impotent tears. I was irritated; but
I was boiling with indignation and hate such as I had never felt before,
for it was the first time in my life that I had known real sorrow,
insult, and injury--and it was truly that, without any exaggeration. The
first untried, unformed feeling had been so coarsely handled in me, a
child. The first fragrant, virginal modesty had been so soon exposed and
insulted, and the first and perhaps very real and æsthetic impression
had been so outraged. Of course there was much my persecutors did not
know and did not divine in my sufferings. One circumstance, which I had
not succeeded in analysing till then, of which I had been as it were
afraid, partly entered into it. I went on lying on my bed in despair and
misery, hiding my face in my pillow, and I was alternately feverish and
shivery. I was tormented by two questions: first, what had the wretched
fair beauty seen, and, in fact, what could she have seen that morning in
the copse between Mme. M. and me? And secondly, how could I now look
Mme. M. in the face without dying on the spot of shame and despair?

An extraordinary noise in the yard roused me at last from the state of
semi-consciousness into which I had fallen. I got up and went to the
window. The whole yard was packed with carriages, saddle-horses, and
bustling servants. It seemed that they were all setting off; some of the
gentlemen had already mounted their horses, others were taking their
places in the carriages. . . . Then I remembered the expedition to the
village fête, and little by little an uneasiness came over me; I began
anxiously looking for my pony in the yard; but there was no pony there,
so they must have forgotten me. I could not restrain myself, and rushed
headlong downstairs, thinking no more of unpleasant meetings or my
recent ignominy. . . .

Terrible news awaited me. There was neither a horse nor seat in any of
the carriages to spare for me; everything had been arranged, all the
seats were taken, and I was forced to give place to others. Overwhelmed
by this fresh blow, I stood on the steps and looked mournfully at the
long rows of coaches, carriages, and chaises, in which there was not the
tiniest corner left for me, and at the smartly dressed ladies, whose
horses were restlessly curvetting.

One of the gentlemen was late. They were only waiting for his arrival to
set off. His horse was standing at the door, champing the bit, pawing
the earth with his hoofs, and at every moment starting and rearing. Two
stable-boys were carefully holding him by the bridle, and every one else
apprehensively stood at a respectful distance from him.

A most vexatious circumstance had occurred, which prevented my going. In
addition to the fact that new visitors had arrived, filling up all the
seats, two of the horses had fallen ill, one of them being my pony. But
I was not the only person to suffer: it appeared that there was no horse
for our new visitor, the pale-faced young man of whom I have spoken
already. To get over this difficulty our host had been obliged to have
recourse to the extreme step of offering his fiery unbroken stallion,
adding, to satisfy his conscience, that it was impossible to ride him,
and that they had long intended to sell the beast for its vicious
character, if only a purchaser could be found.

But, in spite of his warning, the visitor declared that he was a good
horseman, and in any case ready to mount anything rather than not go.
Our host said no more, but now I fancied that a sly and ambiguous smile
was straying on his lips. He waited for the gentleman who had spoken so
well of his own horsemanship, and stood, without mounting his horse,
impatiently rubbing his hands and continually glancing towards the door;
some similar feeling seemed shared by the two stable-boys, who were
holding the stallion, almost breathless with pride at seeing themselves
before the whole company in charge of a horse which might any minute
kill a man for no reason whatever. Something akin to their master's sly
smile gleamed, too, in their eyes, which were round with expectation,
and fixed upon the door from which the bold visitor was to appear. The
horse himself, too, behaved as though he were in league with our host
and the stable-boys. He bore himself proudly and haughtily, as though he
felt that he were being watched by several dozen curious eyes and were
glorying in his evil reputation exactly as some incorrigible rogue might
glory in his criminal exploits. He seemed to be defying the bold man who
would venture to curb his independence.

That bold man did at last make his appearance. Conscience-stricken at
having kept every one waiting, hurriedly drawing on his gloves, he came
forward without looking at anything, ran down the steps, and only raised
his eyes as he stretched out his hand to seize the mane of the waiting
horse. But he was at once disconcerted by his frantic rearing and a
warning scream from the frightened spectators. The young man stepped
back and looked in perplexity at the vicious horse, which was quivering
all over, snorting with anger, and rolling his bloodshot eyes
ferociously, continually rearing on his hind legs and flinging up his
fore legs as though he meant to bolt into the air and carry the two
stable-boys with him. For a minute the young man stood completely
nonplussed; then, flushing slightly with some embarrassment, he raised
his eyes and looked at the frightened ladies.

"A very fine horse! " he said, as though to himself, "and to my thinking
it ought to be a great pleasure to ride him; but . . . but do you know, I
think I won't go? " he concluded, turning to our host with the broad,
good-natured smile which so suited his kind and clever face.

"Yet I consider you are an excellent horseman, I assure you," answered
the owner of the unapproachable horse, delighted, and he warmly and even
gratefully pressed the young man's hand, "just because from the first
moment you saw the sort of brute you had to deal with," he added with
dignity. "Would you believe me, though I have served twenty-three years
in the hussars, yet I've had the pleasure of being laid on the ground
three times, thanks to that beast, that is, as often as I mounted the
useless animal. Tancred, my boy, there's no one here fit for you! Your
rider, it seems, must be some Ilya Muromets, and he must be sitting
quiet now in the village of Kapatcharovo, waiting for your teeth to fall
out. Come, take him away, he has frightened people enough. It was a
waste of time to bring him out," he cried, rubbing his hands
complacently.

It must be observed that Tancred was no sort of use to his master and
simply ate corn for nothing; moreover, the old hussar had lost his
reputation for a knowledge of horseflesh by paying a fabulous sum for
the worthless beast, which he had purchased only for his beauty . . . yet
he was delighted now that Tancred had kept up his reputation, had
disposed of another rider, and so had drawn closer on himself fresh
senseless laurels.

"So you are not going? " cried the blonde beauty, who was particularly
anxious that her _cavaliere servente_ should be in attendance on this
occasion. "Surely you are not frightened? "

"Upon my word I am," answered the young man.

"Are you in earnest? "

"Why, do you want me to break my neck? "

"Then make haste and get on my horse; don't be afraid, it is very quiet.
We won't delay them, they can change the saddles in a minute! I'll try
to take yours. Surely Tancred can't always be so unruly. "

No sooner said than done, the madcap leaped out of the saddle and was
standing before us as she finished the last sentence.

"You don't know Tancred, if you think he will allow your wretched
side-saddle to be put on him! Besides, I would not let you break your
neck, it would be a pity! " said our host, at that moment of inward
gratification affecting, as his habit was, a studied brusqueness and
even coarseness of speech which he thought in keeping with a jolly good
fellow and an old soldier, and which he imagined to be particularly
attractive to the ladies. This was one of his favourite fancies, his
favourite whim, with which we were all familiar.

"Well, cry-baby, wouldn't you like to have a try? You wanted so much to
go? " said the valiant horsewoman, noticing me and pointing tauntingly at
Tancred, because I had been so imprudent as to catch her eye, and she
would not let me go without a biting word, that she might not have
dismounted from her horse absolutely for nothing.

"I expect you are not such a---- We all know you are a hero and would be
ashamed to be afraid; especially when you will be looked at, you fine
page," she added, with a fleeting glance at Mme. M. , whose carriage was
the nearest to the entrance.

A rush of hatred and vengeance had flooded my heart, when the fair
Amazon had approached us with the intention of mounting Tancred. . . . But
I cannot describe what I felt at this unexpected challenge from the
madcap. Everything was dark before my eyes when I saw her glance at Mme.
M. For an instant an idea flashed through my mind . . . but it was only a
moment, less than a moment, like a flash of gunpowder; perhaps it was
the last straw, and I suddenly now was moved to rage as my spirit rose,
so that I longed to put all my enemies to utter confusion, and to
revenge myself on all of them and before everyone, by showing the sort
of person I was. Or whether by some miracle, some prompting from
mediæval history, of which I had known nothing till then, sent whirling
through my giddy brain, images of tournaments, paladins, heroes, lovely
ladies, the clash of swords, shouts and the applause of the crowd, and
amidst those shouts the timid cry of a frightened heart, which moves the
proud soul more sweetly than victory and fame--I don't know whether all
this romantic nonsense was in my head at the time, or whether, more
likely, only the first dawning of the inevitable nonsense that was in
store for me in the future, anyway, I felt that my hour had come. My
heart leaped and shuddered, and I don't remember how, at one bound, I
was down the steps and beside Tancred.

"You think I am afraid? " I cried, boldly and proudly, in such a fever
that I could hardly see, breathless with excitement, and flushing till
the tears scalded my cheeks. "Well, you shall see! " And clutching at
Tancred's mane I put my foot in the stirrup before they had time to make
a movement to stop me; but at that instant Tancred reared, jerked his
head, and with a mighty bound forward wrenched himself out of the hands
of the petrified stable-boys, and dashed off like a hurricane, while
every one cried out in horror.

Goodness knows how I got my other leg over the horse while it was in
full gallop; I can't imagine, either, how I did not lose hold of the
reins. Tancred bore me beyond the trellis gate, turned sharply to the
right and flew along beside the fence regardless of the road. Only at
that moment I heard behind me a shout from fifty voices, and that shout
was echoed in my swooning heart with such a feeling of pride and
pleasure that I shall never forget that mad moment of my boyhood. All
the blood rushed to my head, bewildering me and overpowering my fears. I
was beside myself. There certainly was, as I remember it now, something
of the knight-errant about the exploit.

My knightly exploits, however, were all over in an instant or it would
have gone badly with the knight. And, indeed, I do not know how I
escaped as it was. I did know how to ride, I had been taught. But my
pony was more like a sheep than a riding horse. No doubt I should have
been thrown off Tancred if he had had time to throw me, but after
galloping fifty paces he suddenly took fright at a huge stone which lay
across the road and bolted back. He turned sharply, galloping at full
speed, so that it is a puzzle to me even now that I was not sent
spinning out of the saddle and flying like a ball for twenty feet, that
I was not dashed to pieces, and that Tancred did not dislocate his leg
by such a sudden turn. He rushed back to the gate, tossing his head
furiously, bounding from side to side as though drunk with rage,
flinging his legs at random in the air, and at every leap trying to
shake me off his back as though a tiger had leaped on him and were
thrusting its teeth and claws into his back.

In another instant I should have flown off; I was falling; but several
gentlemen flew to my rescue. Two of them intercepted the way into the
open country, two others galloped up, closing in upon Tancred so that
their horses' sides almost crushed my legs, and both of them caught him
by the bridle. A few seconds later we were back at the steps.

They lifted me down from the horse, pale and scarcely breathing. I was
shaking like a blade of grass in the wind; it was the same with Tancred,
who was standing, his hoofs as it were thrust into the earth and his
whole body thrown back, puffing his fiery breath from red and streaming
nostrils, twitching and quivering all over, seeming overwhelmed with
wounded pride and anger at a child's being so bold with impunity. All
around me I heard cries of bewilderment, surprise, and alarm.

At that moment my straying eyes caught those of Mme. M. , who looked pale
and agitated, and--I can never forget that moment--in one instant my
face was flooded with colour, glowed and burned like fire; I don't know
what happened to me, but confused and frightened by my own feelings I
timidly dropped my eyes to the ground. But my glance was noticed, it was
caught, it was stolen from me. All eyes turned on Mme. M. , and finding
herself unawares the centre of attention, she, too, flushed like a child
from some naïve and involuntary feeling and made an unsuccessful effort
to cover her confusion by laughing. . . .
All this, of course, was very absurd-looking from outside, but at that
moment an extremely naïve and unexpected circumstance saved me from
being laughed at by every one, and gave a special colour to the whole
adventure. The lovely persecutor who was the instigator of the whole
escapade, and who till then had been my irreconcileable foe, suddenly
rushed up to embrace and kiss me. She had hardly been able to believe
her eyes when she saw me dare to accept her challenge, and pick up the
gauntlet she had flung at me by glancing at Mme. M. She had almost died
of terror and self-reproach when I had flown off on Tancred; now, when
it was all over, and particularly when she caught the glance at Mme. M. ,
my confusion and my sudden flush of colour, when the romantic strain in
her frivolous little head had given a new secret, unspoken significance
to the moment--she was moved to such enthusiasm over my "knightliness,"
that touched, joyful and proud of me, she rushed up and pressed me to
her bosom. She lifted the most naïve, stern-looking little face, on
which there quivered and gleamed two little crystal tears, and gazing at
the crowd that thronged about her said in a grave, earnest voice, such
as they had never heard her use before, pointing to me: "Mais c'est très
sérieux, messieurs, ne riez pas! " She did not notice that all were
standing, as though fascinated, admiring her bright enthusiasm. Her
swift, unexpected action, her earnest little face, the simple-hearted
naïveté, the unexpected feeling betrayed by the tears that welled in her
invariably laughter-loving eyes, were such a surprise that every one
stood before her as though electrified by her expression, her rapid,
fiery words and gestures. It seemed as though no one could take his eyes
off her for fear of missing that rare moment in her enthusiastic face.
Even our host flushed crimson as a tulip, and people declared that they
heard him confess afterwards that "to his shame" he had been in love for
a whole minute with his charming guest. Well, of course, after this I
was a knight, a hero.

"De Lorge! Toggenburg! " was heard in the crowd.

There was a sound of applause.

"Hurrah for the rising generation! " added the host.

"But he is coming with us, he certainly must come with us," said the
beauty; "we will find him a place, we must find him a place. He shall
sit beside me, on my knee . . . but no, no! That's a mistake! . . . " she
corrected herself, laughing, unable to restrain her mirth at our first
encounter. But as she laughed she stroked my hand tenderly, doing all
she could to soften me, that I might not be offended.

"Of course, of course," several voices chimed in; "he must go, he has
won his place. "

The matter was settled in a trice. The same old maid who had brought
about my acquaintance with the blonde beauty was at once besieged with
entreaties from all the younger people to remain at home and let me have
her seat. She was forced to consent, to her intense vexation, with a
smile and a stealthy hiss of anger. Her protectress, who was her usual
refuge, my former foe and new friend, called to her as she galloped off
on her spirited horse, laughing like a child, that she envied her and
would have been glad to stay at home herself, for it was just going to
rain and we should all get soaked.

And she was right in predicting rain. A regular downpour came on within
an hour and the expedition was done for. We had to take shelter for some
hours in the huts of the village, and had to return home between nine
and ten in the evening in the damp mist that followed the rain. I began
to be a little feverish. At the minute when I was starting, Mme. M. came
up to me and expressed surprise that my neck was uncovered and that I
had nothing on over my jacket. I answered that I had not had time to get
my coat. She took out a pin and pinned up the turned down collar of my
shirt, took off her own neck a crimson gauze kerchief, and put it round
my neck that I might not get a sore throat. She did this so hurriedly
that I had not time even to thank her.

But when we got home I found her in the little drawing-room with the
blonde beauty and the pale-faced young man who had gained glory for
horsemanship that day by refusing to ride Tancred. I went up to thank
her and give back the scarf. But now, after all my adventures, I felt
somehow ashamed. I wanted to make haste and get upstairs, there at my
leisure to reflect and consider. I was brimming over with impressions.
As I gave back the kerchief I blushed up to my ears, as usual.

"I bet he would like to keep the kerchief," said the young man laughing.
"One can see that he is sorry to part with your scarf. "

"That's it, that's it! " the fair lady put in. "What a boy! Oh! " she
said, shaking her head with obvious vexation, but she stopped in time at
a grave glance from Mme. M. , who did not want to carry the jest too far.

I made haste to get away.

"Well, you are a boy," said the madcap, overtaking me in the next room
and affectionately taking me by both hands, "why, you should have simply
not returned the kerchief if you wanted so much to have it. You should
have said you put it down somewhere, and that would have been the end of
it. What a simpleton! Couldn't even do that! What a funny boy! "

And she tapped me on the chin with her finger, laughing at my having
flushed as red as a poppy.

"I am your friend now, you know; am I not? Our enmity is over, isn't it?
Yes or no? "

I laughed and pressed her fingers without a word.

"Oh, why are you so . . . why are you so pale and shivering? Have you
caught a chill? "

"Yes, I don't feel well. "

"Ah, poor fellow! That's the result of over-excitement. Do you know
what? You had better go to bed without sitting up for supper, and you
will be all right in the morning. Come along. "

She took me upstairs, and there was no end to the care she lavished on
me. Leaving me to undress she ran downstairs, got me some tea, and
brought it up herself when I was in bed. She brought me up a warm quilt
as well. I was much impressed and touched by all the care and attention
lavished on me; or perhaps I was affected by the whole day, the
expedition and feverishness. As I said good-night to her I hugged her
warmly, as though she were my dearest and nearest friend, and in my
exhausted state all the emotions of the day came back to me in a rush; I
almost shed tears as I nestled to her bosom. She noticed my overwrought
condition, and I believe my madcap herself was a little touched.

"You are a very good boy," she said, looking at me with gentle eyes,
"please don't be angry with me. You won't, will you? "

In fact, we became the warmest and truest of friends.

It was rather early when I woke up, but the sun was already flooding the
whole room with brilliant light. I jumped out of bed feeling perfectly
well and strong, as though I had had no fever the day before; indeed, I
felt now unutterably joyful. I recalled the previous day and felt that I
would have given any happiness if I could at that minute have embraced
my new friend, the fair-haired beauty, again, as I had the night before;
but it was very early and every one was still asleep. Hurriedly dressing
I went out into the garden and from there into the copse. I made my way
where the leaves were thickest, where the fragrance of the trees was
more resinous, and where the sun peeped in most gaily, rejoicing that it
could penetrate the dense darkness of the foliage. It was a lovely
morning.

Going on further and further, before I was aware of it I had reached the
further end of the copse and came out on the river Moskva. It flowed at
the bottom of the hill two hundred paces below. On the opposite bank of
the river they were mowing. I watched whole rows of sharp scythes gleam
all together in the sunlight at every swing of the mower and then vanish
again like little fiery snakes going into hiding; I watched the cut
grass flying on one side in dense rich swathes and being laid in long
straight lines. I don't know how long I spent in contemplation. At last
I was roused from my reverie by hearing a horse snorting and impatiently
pawing the ground twenty paces from me, in the track which ran from the
high road to the manor house. I don't know whether I heard this horse as
soon as the rider rode up and stopped there, or whether the sound had
long been in my ears without rousing me from my dreaming. Moved by
curiosity I went into the copse, and before I had gone many steps I
caught the sound of voices speaking rapidly, though in subdued tones. I
went up closer, carefully parting the branches of the bushes that edged
the path, and at once sprang back in amazement. I caught a glimpse of a
familiar white dress and a soft feminine voice resounded like music in
my heart. It was Mme. M. She was standing beside a man on horseback who,
stooping down from the saddle, was hurriedly talking to her, and to my
amazement I recognized him as N. , the young man who had gone away the
morning before and over whose departure M. M. had been so busy. But
people had said at the time that he was going far away to somewhere in
the South of Russia, and so I was very much surprised at seeing him with
us again so early, and alone with Mme. M.

She was moved and agitated as I had never seen her before, and tears
were glistening on her cheeks. The young man was holding her hand and
stooping down to kiss it. I had come upon them at the moment of parting.
They seemed to be in haste. At last he took out of his pocket a sealed
envelope, gave it to Mme. M. , put one arm round her, still not
dismounting, and gave her a long, fervent kiss. A minute later he lashed
his horse and flew past me like an arrow. Mme. M. looked after him for
some moments, then pensively and disconsolately turned homewards. But
after going a few steps along the track she seemed suddenly to recollect
herself, hurriedly parted the bushes and walked on through the copse.

I followed her, surprised and perplexed by all that I had seen. My heart
was beating violently, as though from terror. I was, as it were,
benumbed and befogged; my ideas were shattered and turned upside down;
but I remember I was, for some reason, very sad. I got glimpses from
time to time through the green foliage of her white dress before me: I
followed her mechanically, never losing sight of her, though I trembled
at the thought that she might notice me. At last she came out on the
little path that led to the house. After waiting half a minute I, too,
emerged from the bushes; but what was my amazement when I saw lying on
the red sand of the path a sealed packet, which I recognized, from the
first glance, as the one that had been given to Mme. M. ten minutes
before.

I picked it up. On both sides the paper was blank, there was no address
on it. The envelope was not large, but it was fat and heavy, as though
there were three or more sheets of notepaper in it.

What was the meaning of this envelope? No doubt it would explain the
whole mystery. Perhaps in it there was said all that N. had scarcely
hoped to express in their brief, hurried interview. He had not even
dismounted. . . . Whether he had been in haste or whether he had been
afraid of being false to himself at the hour of parting--God only
knows. . . .

I stopped, without coming out on the path, threw the envelope in the
most conspicuous place on it, and kept my eyes upon it, supposing that
Mme. M. would notice the loss and come back and look for it. But after
waiting four minutes I could stand it no longer, I picked up my find
again, put it in my pocket, and set off to overtake Mme. M. I came upon
her in the big avenue in the garden. She was walking straight towards
the house with a swift and hurried step, though she was lost in thought,
and her eyes were on the ground. I did not know what to do. Go up to
her, give it her? That would be as good as saying that I knew
everything, that I had seen it all. I should betray myself at the first
word. And how should I look, at her? How would she look at me. I kept
expecting that she would discover her loss and return on her tracks.
Then I could, unnoticed, have flung the envelope on the path and she
would have found it. But no! We were approaching the house; she had
already been noticed. . . .

As ill-luck would have it every one had got up very early that day,
because, after the unsuccessful expedition of the evening before, they
had arranged something new, of which I had heard nothing. All were
preparing to set off, and were having breakfast in the verandah. I
waited for ten minutes, that I might not be seen with Mme. M. , and
making a circuit of the garden approached the house from the other side
a long time after her. She was walking up and down the verandah with her
arms folded, looking pale and agitated, and was obviously trying her
utmost to suppress the agonizing, despairing misery which could be
plainly discerned in her eyes, her walk, her every movement. Sometimes
she went down the verandah steps and walked a few paces among the
flower-beds in the direction of the garden; her eyes were impatiently,
greedily, even incautiously, seeking something on the sand of the path
and on the floor of the verandah. There could be no doubt she had
discovered her loss and imagined she had dropped the letter somewhere
here, near the house--yes, that must be so, she was convinced of it.

Some one noticed that she was pale and agitated, and others made the
same remark. She was besieged with questions about her health and
condolences. She had to laugh, to jest, to appear lively. From time to
time she looked at her husband, who was standing at the end of the
terrace talking to two ladies, and the poor woman was overcome by the
same shudder, the same embarrassment, as on the day of his first
arrival. Thrusting my hand into my pocket and holding the letter tight
in it, I stood at a little distance from them all, praying to fate that
Mme. M. should notice me. I longed to cheer her up, to relieve her
anxiety if only by a glance; to say a word to her on the sly. But when
she did chance to look at me I dropped my eyes.

I saw her distress and I was not mistaken. To this day I don't know her
secret. I know nothing but what I saw and what I have just described.
The intrigue was not such, perhaps, as one might suppose at the first
glance. Perhaps that kiss was the kiss of farewell, perhaps it was the
last slight reward for the sacrifice made to her peace and honour. N.
was going away, he was leaving her, perhaps for ever. Even that letter I
was holding in my hand--who can tell what it contained! How can one
judge? and who can condemn? And yet there is no doubt that the sudden
discovery of her secret would have been terrible--would have been a
fatal blow for her. I still remember her face at that minute, it could
not have shown more suffering. To feel, to know, to be convinced, to
expect, as though it were one's execution, that in a quarter of an hour,
in a minute perhaps, all might be discovered, the letter might be found
by some one, picked up; there was no address on it, it might be opened,
and then. .