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The little servant went away, and Savel began to walk, with long, nervous strides, up and down the drawing-room. He did not feel himself the least embarrassed, however. Oh! he was merely going to ask her something, as he would have asked her about some cooking receipt, and that was: "Do you know that I am sixty-two years of age!" The door opened; and Madame appeared.
The air was balmy, charged with the odors of fresh vegetation; they had drunk the most delicious wines. How pleasant everything was on that day! After lunch, Saudres went to sleep on the broad of his back, "The best nap he had in his life," said he, when he woke up. Madame Saudres had taken the arm of Savel, and they had started to walk along the river's bank. She leaned tenderly on his arm.
Savel rushed into the street, cast down, as though he had encountered some great disaster. He walked with giant strides, through the rain, straight on, until he reached the river, without thinking where he was going. When he reached the bank he turned to the right and followed it. He walked a long time, as if urged on by some instinct.
He has lived always alone, and now, in his turn, he, too, will soon be dead. He will disappear, and that will be the finish. There will be no more of Savel upon the earth. What a frightful thing! Other people will live, they will live, they will laugh. Yes, people will go on amusing themselves, and he will no longer exist!
Seeing that she was formerly pretty, and "crumy," blonde, curl, joyous. Saudres was not the man she would have selected. 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, Savel, seeing that he loved her so much, yes, she, Madame Saudres!
She responded, laughing, with something of her former tone of voice. "Great goose! what ails you? I knew it well from the very first day!" Savel began to tremble. He stammered out: "You knew it? Then " He stopped. She asked: "Then?... What?" He answered: "Then ... what would you think?... what ... what.... What would you have answered?"
He darted through the vast saloon, which was now full of smoke and of people drinking, uttering his cry: "Waiter, a 'bock' and a new pipe." Monsieur Savel, who was called in Mantes, "Father Savel," had just risen from bed. He wept. It was a dull autumn day; the leaves were falling. They fell slowly in the rain, resembling another rain, but heavier and slower. M. Savel was not in good spirit.
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 Saudres's house was situated on the other side of the street, almost directly opposite his own. He went up to it, knocked, and a little servant came to open the door. "You there at this hour, ill, Savel! Has some accident happened to you?"
What superhuman happiness must inundate your heart, when lips encounter lips for the first time, when the grasp of four arms makes one being of you, a being unutterably happy, two beings infatuated with one another. M. Savel was sitting down, his feet on the fender, in his dressing gown. Assuredly his life had been spoiled, completely spoiled. He had, however, loved.
In returning she remained silent and leaned no longer on his arm. Why? At that time it had never occurred to him to ask himself "why." Now he seemed to apprehend something that he had not then understood. What was it? M. Savel felt himself blush, and he got up at a bound, feeling thirty years younger, believing that he now understood Madame Saudres then to say, "I love you." Was it possible!
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