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Updated: May 8, 2025
"Certainly," she said, "certainly," regarding him at the same time in a curious manner. He had not thought of it at the time, but now the whole thing appeared to him quite plain. "Just as you like, my friend. If you are tired let us go back." And he had answered: "I am not fatigued; but Sandres may be awake now."
M. Saval felt himself blush, and he got up at a bound, as if he were thirty years younger and had heard Madame Sandres say, "I love you." Was it possible? That idea which had just entered his mind tortured him. Was it possible that he had not seen, had not guessed? Oh! if that were true, if he had let this opportunity of happiness pass without taking advantage of it!
He said to himself: "I must know. I cannot remain in this state of doubt. I must know!" He thought: "I am sixty-two years of age, she is fifty-eight; I may ask her that now without giving offense." He started out. The Sandres' house was situated on the other side of the street, almost directly opposite his own. He went across and knocked at the door, and a little servant opened it.
M. Saval felt himself blush, and he got up at a bound, as if he were thirty years younger and had heard Madame Sandres say, "I love you." Was it possible? That idea which had just entered his mind tortured him. Was it possible that he had not seen, had not guessed? Oh! if that were true, if he had let this opportunity of happiness pass without taking advantage of it!
Some of the juice ran off the tips of her fingers on to the carpet. "What?" "I? Why, you did not ask me anything. It was not for me to declare myself!" He then advanced a step toward her. "Tell me tell me.... You remember the day when Sandres went to sleep on the grass after lunch... when we had walked together as far as the bend of the river, below..." He waited, expectantly.
He had loved secretly, sadly, and indifferently, in a manner characteristic of him in everything. Yes, he had loved his old friend, Madame Sandres, the wife of his old companion, Sandres. Ah! if he had known her as a young girl! But he had met her too late; she was already married. Unquestionably, he would have asked her hand!
How pretty she was formerly, so dainty, with fair curly hair, and always laughing. Sandres was not the man she should have chosen. She was now fifty-two years of age. She seemed happy. Ah! if she had only loved him in days gone by; yes, if she had only loved him! And why should she not have loved him, he, Saval, seeing that he loved her so much, yes, she, Madame Sandres!
He recalled all the long evenings spent at the house of Sandres, when the latter's wife was young, and so charming. He recalled many things that she had said to him, the intonations of her voice, the little significant smiles that meant so much.
He recalled their walks, the three of them together, along the banks of the Seine, their luncheon on the grass on Sundays, for Sandres was employed at the sub-prefecture. And all at once the distinct recollection came to him of an afternoon spent with her in a little wood on the banks of the river. They had set out in the morning, carrying their provisions in baskets.
He recalled all the long evenings spent at the house of Sandres, when the latter's wife was young, and so charming. He recalled many things that she had said to him, the intonations of her voice, the little significant smiles that meant so much.
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