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dear fellow,’ he said, ‘I must go out directly afterward on business, and I shall not be back until eleven o’clock; but I shall be back at eleven precisely, and I reckon on you to keep Bertha company.’

      “The young woman smiled.

      “‘It was my idea,’ she said, ‘to send for you.’

      “I held out my hand to her.

      “‘You are as nice as ever, I said, and I felt a long, friendly pressure of my fingers, but I paid no attention to it; so we sat down to dinner, and at eight o’clock Julien went out.

      “As soon as he had gone, a kind of strange embarrassment immediately seemed to arise between his wife and me. We had never been alone together yet, and in spite of our daily increasing intimacy, this tete-a-tete placed us in a new position. At first I spoke vaguely of those indifferent matters with which one fills up an embarrassing silence, but she did not reply, and remained opposite to me with her head down in an undecided manner, as if she were thinking over some difficult subject, and as I was at a loss for small talk, I held my tongue. It is surprising how hard it is at times to find anything to say.

      “And then also I felt something in the air, something I could not express, one of those mysterious premonitions that warn one of another person’s secret intentions in regard to yourself, whether they be good or evil.

      “That painful silence lasted some time, and then Bertha said to me:

      “‘Will you kindly put a log on the fire for it is going out.’

      “So I opened the box where the wood was kept, which was placed just where yours is, took out the largest log and put it on top of the others, which were three parts burned, and then silence again reigned in the room.

      “In a few minutes the log was burning so brightly that it scorched our faces, and the young woman raised her eyes to mine — eyes that had a strange look to me.

      “‘It is too hot now,’ she said; ‘let us go and sit on the sofa over there.’

      “So we went and sat on the sofa, and then she said suddenly, looking me full in the face:

      “‘What would you do if a woman were to tell you that she was in love with you?’

      “‘Upon my word,’ I replied, very much at a loss for an answer, ‘I cannot foresee such a case; but it would depend very much upon the woman.’

      “She gave a hard, nervous, vibrating laugh; one of those false laughs which seem as if they must break thin glass, and then she added: ‘Men are never either venturesome or spiteful.’ And, after a moment’s silence, she continued: ‘Have you ever been in love, Monsieur Paul?’ I was obliged to acknowledge that I certainly had, and she asked me to tell her all about it. Whereupon I made up some story or other. She listened to me attentively, with frequent signs of disapproval and contempt, and then suddenly she said:

      “‘No, you understand nothing about the subject. It seems to me that real love must unsettle the mind, upset the nerves and distract the head; that it must — how shall I express it? — be dangerous, even terrible, almost criminal and sacrilegious; that it must be a kind of treason; I mean to say that it is bound to break laws, fraternal bonds, sacred obligations; when love is tranquil, easy, lawful and without dangers, is it really love?’

      “I did not know what answer to give her, and I made this philosophical reflection to myself: ‘Oh! female brain, here; indeed, you show yourself!’

      “While speaking, she had assumed a demure saintly air; and, resting on the cushions, she stretched herself out at full length, with her head on my shoulder, and her dress pulled up a little so as to show her red stockings, which the firelight made look still brighter. In a minute or two she continued:

      “‘I suppose I have frightened you?’ I protested against such a notion, and she leaned against my breast altogether, and without looking at me, she said: ‘If I were to tell you that I love you, what would you do?’

      “And before I could think of an answer, she had thrown her arms around my neck, had quickly drawn my head down, and put her lips to mine.

      “Oh! My dear friend, I can tell you that I did not feel at all happy! What! deceive Julien? become the lover of this little, silly, wrong-headed, deceitful woman, who was, no doubt, terribly sensual, and whom her husband no longer satisfied.

      “To betray him continually, to deceive him, to play at being in love merely because I was attracted by forbidden fruit, by the danger incurred and the friendship betrayed! No, that did not suit me, but what was I to do? To imitate Joseph would be acting a very stupid and, moreover, difficult part, for this woman was enchanting in her perfidy, inflamed by audacity, palpitating and excited. Let the man who has never felt on his lips the warm kiss of a woman who is ready to give herself to him throw the first stone at me.

      “Well, a minute more — you understand what I mean? A minute more, and — I should have been — no, she would have been! — I beg your pardon, he would have been — when a loud noise made us both jump up. The log had fallen into the room, knocking over the fire irons and the fender, and on to the carpet, which it had scorched, and had rolled under an armchair, which it would certainly set alight.

      “I jumped up like a madman, and, as I was replacing on the fire that log which had saved me, the door opened hastily, and Julien came in.

      “‘I am free,’ he said, with evident pleasure. ‘The business was over two hours sooner than I expected!’

      “Yes, my dear friend, without that log, I should have been caught in the very act, and you know what the consequences would have been!

      “You may be sure that I took good care never to be found in a similar situation again, never, never. Soon afterward I saw that Julien was giving me the ‘cold shoulder,’ as they say. His wife was evidently undermining our friendship. By degrees he got rid of me, and we have altogether ceased to meet.

      “I never married, which ought not to surprise you, I think.”

       French

      The Relic

      Table des matières

      “To the Abbe Louis d’Ennemare, at Soissons.

      “My Dear Abbe.

      “My marriage with your cousin is broken off in the most stupid way, all on account of an idiotic trick which I almost involuntarily played my intended. In my perplexity I turn to you, my old school chum, for you may be able to help me out of the difficulty. If you can, I shall be grateful to you until I die.

      “You know Gilberte, or, rather, you think you know her, but do we ever understand women? All their opinions, their ideas, their creeds, are a surprise to us. They are all full of twists and turns, cf the unforeseen, of unintelligible arguments, of defective logic and of obstinate ideas, which seem final, but which they alter because a little bird came and perched on the window ledge.

      “I need not tell you that your cousin is very religious, as she was brought up by the White (or was it the Black?) Ladies at Nancy. You know that better than I do, but what you perhaps do not know is, that she is just as excitable about other matters as she is about religion. Her head flies away, just as a leaf is whirled away by the wind; and she is a true woman, or, rather, girl, for she is moved or made angry in a moment, starting off at a gallop in affection, just as she does in hatred, and returning in the same manner; and she is pretty — as you know, and more charming than I can say — as you will never know.

      “Well, we became engaged, and I adored her, as I adore her still, and she appeared to love me.

      “One evening, I received a telegram summoning me to Cologne for a consultation, which might be followed by

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