The Choice of Life | Page 3

and it alone stayed my steps!

But for it, should I have dreamt, in the presence of that humble girl, of
one of those quests which appeal to the hearts of us women, hearts fed
on eternal illusions? But for it, should I have suspected a sorrowing
soul in the depths of those limpid eyes? And, at this moment, should I
be asking of my weakness the strength that constrains, of my doubts the
faith that saves, of my pity the tenderness that consoles and heals?
3
I had moved to go, happy without knowing why; I hastened my steps.
With my soul heavier and my feet lighter than before, I walked away,
glorying in my meeting as in a victory over chance, over the thousand
trifles, the thousand blind agencies that incessantly keep us from what
we seek and from what unconsciously seeks us.
I could have laughed for joy; and it would have been sweet to me, when
I passed into the garden, to proclaim my glee aloud. But the peace of
things laid silence upon me. I slowly followed the paths, bordered with
marigolds and balsam, that lead to the house; and, when I passed under
the blinds, which a friend's hand had gently drawn for me, I heard my
everyday voice describing my discovery and my delight in sober tones.
And yet the moment of exaltation still charged my life; it seemed to me
clearer and deeper; and I thought that enthusiasm is in us like a too-full
cup, which overflows at the least movement of the soul.
4
I made enquiries that same evening; and all that I learnt encourages me.
She lives at the end of our village of Sainte-Colombe. She was brought
up at the convent in the town hard by and left it at the age of eighteen.
Since then, she has not been happy. On Sunday she is never with the
merrymaking crowd. She has never been seen at church. She neither
prays nor dances.
CHAPTER III

1
I took the road leading to the farm at which she lives. The yard is a
large one, the trees that hem it in are old and planted close together.
One can hardly see the straggling, thatched buildings from the road;
and I walked round the place without being able to satisfy my curiosity.
She lives there, I was told, with an old woman, her godmother, about
whom the people of the countryside tell stories of murder and
debauchery. I have seen her sometimes. She gives a disagreeable
impression. She is a tall, lean woman, with wisps of white hair
straggling about her face. Her waving arms and twitching hands carry a
perpetual vague menace. The black, deep-set eyes gleam evilly in her
ivory face; and her hard thin mouth, which opens straight across it,
often hums coarse ditties in a cracked voice.
Her curious attire completes the disorder of her appearance. Over her
rough peasant's clothes, some article of cast-off apparel cuts a strange
and lamentable figure: a muslin morning-wrap, once white and covered
with filmy lace; long, faded ribbons, which fasten a showy Watteau
pleat to the back, with ravelled ends spreading over the thick red-cotton
skirt; old pink-satin slippers, with pointed heels that sink into the mud.
In point of fact, I could say the exact number of times when I have seen
her and why I noticed her, for the sight of her always hurt me cruelly
when I met her in the sweet stillness of the country lanes.
For a long time, I wandered round the farm. I was moving away,
picking flowers as I went, when suddenly, at a bend in the road, I saw
the girl who filled my thoughts. She was sitting on a heap of stones;
and two large pails of milk stood beside her. Her attitude betokened
great weariness; and her drooping arms seemed to enjoy the rest.
I lingered a little while in front of her. Her face appeared to me lovelier
than on the first occasion, though her uncovered head allowed me to
see her magnificent hair plastered down so as to leave it no freedom
whatever. She answered my smile with a blush; and, when I looked at
her thick and awkward hands, she clasped and unclasped them with an
embarrassed air.

2
Just now, at the wane of the day, I was singing in the drawing-room,
with the windows open. I caught sight in the mirror of the sky ablaze
with red and rose quickly from the piano to see the sun dip into the
sea.... Near the garden, behind the hedge, I surprised the young girl
trying to hide....
3
I had never seen her; but now, because I saw her one day, I am always
seeing her.
Do we then