" 'Life is very empty,' the countess went on. 'Ah! be careful not to scratch me as you did yesterday. Just look here, I still have the marks of your nails about me,' and she held out a silken knee. She thrust her bare feet into velvet slippers bound with swan's-down, and unfastened her dress, while Justine prepared to comb her hair.
" 'You ought to marry, madame, and have children.'
" 'Children!' she cried; 'it wants no more than that to finish me at once; and a husband! What man is there to whom I could----? Was my hair well arranged to-night?'
" 'Not particularly.'
" 'You are a fool!'
" 'That way of crimping your hair too much is the least becoming way possible for you. Large, smooth curls suit you a great deal better.'
" 'Really?'
" 'Yes, really, madame; that wavy style only looks nice in fair hair.'
" 'Marriage? never, never! Marriage is a commercial arrangement, for which I was never made.'
"What a disheartening scene for a lover! Here was a lonely woman, without friends or kin, without the religion of love, without faith in any affection. Yet however slightly she might feel the need to pour out her heart, a craving that every human being feels, it could only be satisfied by gossiping with her maid, by trivial and indifferent talk. . . . I grieved for her.
"Justine unlaced her. I watched her carefully when she was at last unveiled. Her maidenly form, in its rose-tinged whiteness, was visible through her shift in the taper light, as dazzling as some silver statue behind its gauze covering. No, there was no defect that need shrink from the stolen glances of love. Alas, a fair form will overcome the stoutest resolutions!
"The maid lighted the taper in the alabaster sconce that hung before the bed, while her mistress sat thoughtful and silent before the fire.
Justine went for a warming-pan, turned down the bed, and helped to lay her mistress in it; then, after some further time spent in punctiliously rendering various services that showed how seriously Foedora respected herself, her maid left her. The countess turned to and fro several times, and sighed; she was ill at ease; faint, just perceptible sounds, like sighs of impatience, escaped from her lips.
She reached out a hand to the table, and took a flask from it, from which she shook four or five drops of some brown liquid into some milk before taking it; again there followed some painful sighs, and the exclamation, 'MON DIEU!'
"The cry, and the tone in which it was uttered, wrung my heart. By degrees she lay motionless. This frightened me; but very soon I heard a sleeper's heavy, regular breathing. I drew the rustling silk curtains apart, left my post, went to the foot of the bed, and gazed at her with feelings that I cannot define. She was so enchanting as she lay like a child, with her arm above her head; but the sweetness of the fair, quiet visage, surrounded by the lace, only irritated me.
I had not been prepared for the torture to which I was compelled to submit.
" 'Mon Dieu!' that scrap of a thought which I understood not, but must even take as my sole light, had suddenly modified my opinion of Foedora. Trite or profoundly significant, frivolous or of deep import, the words might be construed as expressive of either pleasure or pain, of physical or of mental suffering. Was it a prayer or a malediction, a forecast or a memory, a fear or a regret? A whole life lay in that utterance, a life of wealth or of penury; perhaps it contained a crime!
"The mystery that lurked beneath this fair semblance of womanhood grew afresh; there were so many ways of explaining Foedora, that she became inexplicable. A sort of language seemed to flow from between her lips.
I put thoughts and feelings into the accidents of her breathing, whether weak or regular, gentle, or labored. I shared her dreams; Iwould fain have divined her secrets by reading them through her slumber. I hesitated among contradictory opinions and decisions without number. I could not deny my heart to the woman I saw before me, with the calm, pure beauty in her face. I resolved to make one more effort. If I told her the story of my life, my love, my sacrifices, might I not awaken pity in her or draw a tear from her who never wept?
"As I set all my hopes on this last experiment, the sounds in the streets showed that day was at hand. For a moment's space I pictured Foedora waking to find herself in my arms. I could have stolen softly to her side and slipped them about her in a close embrace. Resolved to resist the cruel tyranny of this thought, I hurried into the salon, heedless of any sounds I might make; but, luckily, I came upon a secret door leading to a little staircase. As I expected, the key was in the lock; I slammed the door, went boldly out into the court, and gained the street in three bounds, without looking round to see whether I was observed.
"A dramatist was to read a comedy at the countess' house in two days' time; I went thither, intending to outstay the others, so as to make a rather singular request to her; I meant to ask her to keep the following evening for me alone, and to deny herself to other comers;but when I found myself alone with her, my courage failed. Every tick of the clock alarmed me. It wanted only a quarter of an hour of midnight.
" 'If I do not speak,' I thought to myself, 'I must smash my head against the corner of the mantelpiece.'
"I gave myself three minutes' grace; the three minutes went by, and Idid not smash my head upon the marble; my heart grew heavy, like a sponge with water.
" 'You are exceedingly amusing,' said she.
" 'Ah, madame, if you could but understand me!' I answered.
" 'What is the matter with you?' she asked. 'You are turning pale.'
" 'I am hesitating to ask a favor of you.'
"Her gesture revived my courage. I asked her to make the appointment with me.
" 'Willingly,' she answered' 'but why will you not speak to me now?'
