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Updated: June 29, 2025
Was it not she who confessed her love by her own act, at the very moment I had decided that she would never be mine? Did she not accept my arm the first day I met her? If Dalens has been her lover, he probably is still; there is a certain sort of liaison that has neither beginning nor end; when chance ordains a meeting, it is resumed; when parted, it is forgotten.
It was Mercanson who had repeated in the village and in the chateau my conversation with him about Dalens and the suspicions that, in spite of myself, I had allowed him clearly to see. Every one knows how bad news travels in the provinces, flying from mouth to mouth and growing as it flies; that is what had happened in this case.
She has just lost her aunt, and is all alone; she is exposed to the power of, I know not what enemy. Can it be Mercanson? He may have spoken of my conversation with him, and seeing that I was jealous of Dalens, may have guessed the rest. Assuredly, he is the snake who has been hissing about my well-beloved flower. I must punish him, and I must repair the wrong I have done Brigitte. Fool that I am!
I wish to express my regret that I was charged to communicate a message which appeared so unwelcome." I returned his compliment, supposing he would leave me at once; but he walked along at my side. "Dalens! Dalens!" I repeated between my teeth, "who will tell me about Dalens?" For Larive had told me nothing except what a valet might learn. From whom had he learned it? From some servant or peasant.
She is the ministering angel in the valley. As for those she receives, there are only the cure and Monsieur de Dalens during vacation." "Who is this Monsieur de Dalens?" "He owns the chateau at the foot of the mountain on the other side; he only comes here for the chase." "Is he young?" "Yes." "Is he related to Madame Pierson?" "No, he was a friend of her husband."
I must have some witness who had seen Dalens with Madame Pierson and who knew all about their relations. I could not get that Dalens out of my head, and not being able to talk to any one else, I asked Mercanson about him. If Mercanson was not a bad man, he was either a fool or very shrewd, I have never known which.
She has just lost her aunt, and is all alone; she is exposed to the power of I know not what enemy. Can it be Mercanson? He may have spoken of my conversation with him, and, seeing that I was jealous of Dalens, may have guessed the rest. Assuredly he is the snake who has been hissing about my well-beloved flower. I must punish him, and I must repair the wrong I have done Brigitte. Fool that I am!
Our treaty was sealed with a kiss, and when I left her we had both forgotten that M. de Dalens ever existed. A KIND of stagnant inertia, tempered with bitter joy, is characteristic of debauchery.
"Listen to me," I whispered in her ear, "I am a wretched fool, but I can keep nothing on my heart. Who is this Monsieur de Dalens who lives on the mountain and comes to see you?" She appeared astonished to hear me mention that name. "Dalens?" she replied. "He was my husband's friend." She looked at me as if to inquire: "Why do you ask?" It seemed to me that her face wore a grieved expression.
Was it not she who confessed her love by her own act, at the very moment I had decided that she would never be mine? Did she not accept my arm the first day I met her? If Dalens has been her lover, he probably is still; there is a certain sort of liaison that has neither beginning nor end; when chance ordains a meeting, it is resumed; when parted, it is forgotten.
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