LITMIR.BIZ

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If men became angels they would get tired of Paradise itself. I know all about it I should have the key of Paradise in my pocket.”

      We were opposite a second green isle. Antoinette clapped her hands. It was the most charming little deserted nook that any Robinson Crusoe of twenty summers could have dreamt of. The bank, which was rather high, was bordered by great trees, between which sweetbriars and grass struggled for supremacy in growth. An impenetrable wall built itself up there each spring, a wall of leaves, branches, moss, which continued to rise and reflected itself in the water. Outside, a rampart of interlaced boughs; within, one knew not what. This ignorance as to what the glades were like, this broad curtain of verdure quivering in the breeze, without ever opening, made the island a mysterious place of seclusion, which the passerby on the neighbouring banks might easily have taken to be peopled by the pale nymphs of the river.

      We rowed a long way round this enormous mass of foliage, before we found a landing-place. It seemed as if it had determined that it would only have the free birds for inhabitants. At last we were able to step on shore under a great bush spreading over the water. Antoinette watched us land, and straining her neck endeavoured to see beyond the trees.

      One of the oarsmen who was keeping the boat in position whilst holding on to a branch, let the craft go. Then the young woman, feeling herself drifting away, extended her arm and seized a root. She clung to it, called for help, and cried out that she did not want to go any further. Then, when the oarsmen had secured the boat, she sprang on to the grass and came to us, all rosy from the effects of her achievement.

      “Don’t be afraid, gentlemen,” she said to us, “I do not wish to be in your way; if it pleases you to go to the north, we will go to the south.”

      IV

      I had taken up my basket again, and gravely set out to look for the plot of turf that was the least damp. Léon followed me, and was followed himself by Antoinette and her sweethearts. In this order we walked round the island. On returning to our point of departure, I sat down, decided not to make any further search. Antoinette took a few steps, appeared to hesitate, then returned and placed herself opposite me. We were at the north, she did not think of going to the south. Léon then found the site charming, and vowed I could not have made a better selection.

      I do not know how it occurred, the baskets happened to be side by side, the provisions went together so perfectly, when they were spread out on the grass, that neither party was able to distinguish which was which. We had to have but one cloth, and in a spirit of justice, we shared the viands.

      The two lovers had hastened to seat themselves on either side of the young woman. They anticipated all her wishes. For one piece of anything she asked for, she regularly received two. Her appetite, however, was good.

      Léon, on the contrary, ate little, but watched us devouring. Being obliged to sit next to me, he held his tongue, giving me a mocking look each time Antoinette smiled at his neighbours. As she was receiving food on both sides, she held her hands out right and left with equal complacency, tendering thanks each time with her soft voice. Léon, on seeing this, made energetic signs to me which I did not understand.

      The young woman was desperately coquettish that day. With her feet drawn under her petticoats, she almost disappeared in the grass; a poet would have made no difficulty about comparing her to a large flower gifted with looks and smiles. She, who was generally so natural, gave herself roguish airs, and there was a simpering tone in her voice which I had never noticed before. The lovers, confused at her kind remarks, looked at each other triumphantly. For my part, astonished at this sudden coquetry; seeing the wicked creature laughing every now and then in her sleeve, I wondered which of us was transforming this simple girl into a shrewd woman.

      The repast was almost over. We laughed more than we talked. Léon changed his seat continually, unable to make himself comfortable anywhere. As he had resumed his disagreeable manner, I was afraid a speech was coming, and with a look I begged our lady-friend to pardon me for having such a sulky companion. But she was a plucky girl: a philosopher of twenty, however serious he might be, could not put her out of countenance.

      “Sir,” she said to Léon, “you are sad; our merriment seems to annoy you. I am afraid to laugh any more.”

      “Laugh, laugh, madam,” he answered. “If I hold my tongue, it is because I am unable to find fine phrases to delight you, like these gentlemen.”

      “Does that mean that you do not flatter? In that case speak out at once. I am all attention, I want brutal truths.”

      “Women do not like them, madam. Besides, when they are young and pretty, what fib can one tell them that is not true?”

      “Come, you see, you are a courtier like the rest. Now you are making me blush. When we are absent, you men tear us to pieces; but let the most insignificant of us appear, and you cannot bow low enough or find language sufficiently tender. That’s hypocrisy! As for myself I am frank, I say: Men are cruel, they do not know how to love. Look here, sir, be straightforward too. What do you say of women?”

      “Have I full liberty?”

      “Certainly.”

      “You will not get angry?”

      “Eh! no, I will laugh rather than do so.” Léon struck the attitude of an orator. As I knew the speech by heart, having heard it more than a hundred times over, I began to throw pebbles into the Seine to divert myself and bear with it.”

      “When our Maker,” he said, “perceived a being was wanting in His creation, and had used up all the mud, He did not know where to find the necessary material wherewith to repair His forgetfulness. He had to turn to the dumb animals; He took a little flesh from each of them, and with these contributions from the serpent, she-wolf, vulture and so on, He created woman. And so the wise who are familiar with this circumstance, omitted from the Bible, are not surprised to see woman whimsical and everlastingly a prey to contrary humours, as she is a faithful image of the different elements of which she is composed. Each creature has given her a vice; all the evil dispersed throughout creation has been assembled in her; hence her hypocritical caresses, her treachery, her debauchery—”

      Any one would have said that Léon was repeating a lesson. He held his tongue, searching for the continuation. Antoinette applauded.

      “Women,” resumed the orator, “are born coquettish and giddy, just as they are born dark or fair. They give themselves away by egotism, and take little care to choose according to merit. Let a man be foppish with the regular beauty of a fool, and they will fight over him. Let him be simple and affectionate, ‘satisfied with being a man of intelligence, without proclaiming it from the housetops, and they will not even know of his existence. In all matters they must have playthings that sparkle: silk petticoats, golden necklaces, precious stones, lovers combed and pomatumed. As to the springs of the amusing machine, it matters little whether they work well or badly. They have nothing to do with minds. They know all about black hair and amorous lips, but they are ignorant of things connected with the heart. It is thus that they throw themselves into the arms of the first simpleton they meet, having full confidence in his grand appearance. They love him because he pleases them; and he pleases them, because he pleases them. One day the simpleton thrashes them. They then talk about being martyrs; they are plunged in grief, and say a man cannot touch a heart without breaking it. What foolish creatures. Why do they not seek for the flower of love where it blooms?”

      Antoinette applauded again. The speech, as I knew it, stopped there. Léon had delivered it straight off, as if in a hurry to reach the end. When he had uttered the last sentence, he gazed at the young woman and seemed dreaming. Then, declaiming no longer, he added:

      “I never had but one sweetheart. She was ten and I twelve. One day she threw me over, for a big dog who let himself be teased without ever showing his teeth. I wept bitterly and vowed I would never love again. I have kept that vow. I know nothing about women. If I were in love I should be jealous and disagreeable; I should love too fondly; I should make myself hated; they would deceive me, and that would be my death.”

      He said no more, and, with moist eyes, sought in vain to laugh. Antoinette was no

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