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Updated: May 5, 2025
You and he are two lofty natures. Where do you suppose yourself to be living? I asked her. "'In my own house, she replied, opening her eyes with a wide stare of astonishment. "'In Count Octave's, I replied. 'You have been tricked. M. Lenormand, the usher of the Court, is not the real owner; he is only a screen for your husband.
"'The intimacy of marriage without love is a position in which my soul feels degraded every hour. I can never weep or give myself up to dreams but when I am alone. The exigencies of society, the care of my child, and that of Octave's happiness never leave me a moment to refresh myself, to renew my strength, as I could in my solitude.
"And how do you know?" said she, after a moment's reflection. "You were at the piano. How could you hear at the other end of the room what Monsieur de Gerfaut was saying?" It was Clemence's turn to hang her head, for it seemed to her that the girl had suspected the constant attention which, under an affectation of indifference, never allowed her to lose one of Octave's words.
A moment later, Octave's lips were fastened upon this rather trembling hand, as if he wished to imbibe, to the very depths of his soul, the soft, perfumed tissue. Twice the Baroness tried to disengage herself, twice her strength failed her.
"Madame," said Monsieur de Bourbonne, in a voice of some emotion, "I am an old man; I am almost Octave's father, and I ask your pardon most humbly for the question that I shall now venture to put to you, giving you my word of honor as a loyal gentleman that your answer shall die here," laying his hand upon his heart, with an old-fashioned gesture that was truly religious.
"I probably am one of the greatest fools that has ever existed since the days of Joseph and Hippolytus," thought he. He remained silent and apparently indifferent for several moments. "Of what are you thinking?" asked Madame de Bergenheim, surprised by Octave's silence and rather listless air. He gave a start of surprise at this question.
I saw at last the woman whom her own conduct and her husband's confidences had made me so curious to meet. It was in the early days of May. The air was pure, the weather serene; the verdure of the first foliage, the fragrance of spring formed a setting for this creature of sorrow. As I then saw Honorine I understood Octave's passion and the truthfulness of his description, 'A heavenly flower!
Gerfaut glanced at Clemence again, and said, as he pointed to her: "Shall you leave her without any aid in this condition? It is cruel." "It is not from cruelty, but out of pity," replied the Baron, coldly; "she will awake only too soon." Octave's heart was intensely oppressed, but he managed to conceal his emotion. He hesitated no longer and stepped out.
She opened her eyes and then closed them, as if the light troubled them; then, extending her arms, she passed them about Octave's neck as he leaned over her; she remained thus for some time, breathing quietly and to all appearances sleeping. Suddenly she said: "You will give me your pin, will you not?" "Is not all that I have yours?" he replied, in a low tone.
"By Jove! your friend is hilariously drunk," said the notary to Gerfaut; "while here is Bergenheim, who has not taken very much wine, and yet looks as if he were assisting at a funeral. I thought he was more substantial than this." Marillac's voice burst out more loudly than ever, and Octave's reply was not heard. "It is simply astounding.
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