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Updated: June 22, 2025
If you ever return to that home under whose lindens I first met you, look carefully about that deserted house; you will find a phantom there, for the man who left it, and went away with you, is not the man who entered it." "Is it true?" said Brigitte, and her face, all radiant with love, was raised to heaven; "is it true that I am yours?
We soon reached the foot of the mountain and were compelled to slacken our pace. I then made my way to her side; our heads were bowed; the time had come, I took her hand. "Brigitte," I said, "are you weary of my complaints? Since I have been reinstated in your favor, since I have been allowed to see you every day and every evening, I have asked myself if I have been importunate.
As I did not know his address, I asked Brigitte for it, pretending that I felt under obligations to call on him after all the visits he had made us; I had not said a word about my experience at the Opera. Brigitte's eyes betrayed signs of tears. When I entered her room she held out her hand, and said: "What do you wish?" Her voice was sad but tender.
That will remind me of happy times." Reader, this lasted six months: for six long months Brigitte, scandalized, exposed to the insults of the world, had to endure from me all the wrongs that a wrathful and cruel libertine can inflict on woman.
"Are you ready, Brigitte?" said Colleville, bolting into the dining-room; "it is nine o'clock, and they are packed as close as herrings in the salon. Cardot, his wife and son and daughter and future son-in-law have just come, accompanied by that young Vinet; the whole faubourg Saint Antoine is debouching. Can't we move the piano in here?"
At such times I would climb the posts, and read the half-effaced inscription by the light of the tinder-box; all this in play, like the children that we were. At a crossroad we would have to examine not one guide-post but five or six until the right one was found. But this time we had lost our baggage on the way. "Very well," said Brigitte, "we will pass the night here, as I am rather tired.
The first rays of dawn began to appear: man and nature were rousing themselves from sleep and the air. was filled with the confusion of distant sounds. Weak and exhausted, I was about to leave Brigitte, and seek a little repose. As I was passing out of the room, a dress thrown on a chair slipped to the floor near me, and in its folds I spied a piece of paper.
"Very well," Brigitte replied, "teach me how to please you always. I am perhaps as pretty as those mistresses whom you mourn; if I have not their skill to divert you, I beg that you will instruct me. Act as though you did not love me and let me love you without saying anything about it. If I am devoted to religion, I am also devoted to love. What can I do to make you believe it?"
"There may be obstacles to that," he remarked. "Madame Thuillier is very queer at times; she doesn't like me." "Ha! I'll settle that," cried Brigitte. "Do you attend to that affair and carry it through if it is feasible, and leave your interests in my hands."
I arose and left the room before him; I wished to leave them together a moment for the last time and, as soon as I had closed the door behind me, in a perfect rage of jealousy, I pressed my ear to the keyhole. "When shall I see you again?" he asked. "Never," replied Brigitte; "adieu, Henry." She held out her hand.
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