The Cross of Berny | Page 4

Semele, dying of fear and admiration at the frowns of a
wrathful Jove, but her least of all, because I am terrified in a
thunderstorm.
Well, I am still the same--to love tremblingly is my fondest dream; I do
not say, like pretty Madame de S., that I can only be captivated by a
man with the passions of a tiger and the manners of a diplomate, I only
declare that I cannot understand love without fear.
And yet my lover does not inspire me with the least fear, and against all
reasoning, I mistrust a love that so little resembles the love I imagined.
The strangest doubts trouble me. When Roger speaks to me tenderly;
when he lovingly calls me his dear Irene, I am troubled, alarmed--I feel
as if I were deceiving some one, that I am not free, that I belong to
another. Oh! what foolish scruples! How little do I deserve sympathy!
You who have known me from my childhood and are interested in my
happiness, will understand and commiserate my folly, for folly I know
it to be, and judge myself as severely as you would.
I have resolved to treat these wretched misgivings and childish fears as
the creations of a diseased mind, and have arranged a plan for their
cure.
I will go into the country for a short time; good Madame Taverneau
offers me the hospitality of her house at Pont-de-l'Arche; she knows
nothing of what has happened during the last six months, and still
believes me to be a poor young widow, forced to paint fans and screens
for her daily bread.
I am very much amused at hearing her relate my own story without
imagining she is talking to the heroine of that singular romance.

Where could she have learned about my sad situation, the minute
details that I supposed no one knew?
"A young orphan girl of noble birth, at the age of twenty compelled by
misfortune to change her name and work for her livelihood, is suddenly
restored to affluence by an accident that carried off all her relatives, an
immensely rich uncle, his wife and son."
She also said my uncle detested me, which proved that she was well
informed--only she adds that the young heiress is horribly ugly, which I
hope is not true!
I will go to Mme. Taverneau and again become the interesting widow
of Monsieur Albert Guérin, of the Navy.
Perilous widowhood which invited from my dear Mme. Taverneau
confidences prematurely enlightening, and which Mlle. Irene de
Chateaudun had some difficulty in forgetting.
Ah! misery is a cruel emancipation! Angelic ignorance, spotless
innocence of mind is a luxury that poor young girls, even the most
circumspect, cannot enjoy.
What presence of mind I had to exercise for three long years in order to
sustain my part!
How often have I felt myself blush, when Mme. Taverneau would say:
"Poor Albert! he must have adored you."
How often have I had to restrain my laughter, when, in enumerating the
perfections of her own husband, she would add, with a look of pity: "It
must distress you to see Charles and me together, our love must recall
your sad loss."
To these remarks I listened with marvellous self-possession; if comedy
or acting of any kind were not distasteful to me, I would make a good
actress.

But now I must finish telling you of my plan. To-morrow I will set out
ostensibly with my cousin, accompanying her as far as Fontainbleau,
where she is going to join her daughter, then I will return and hide
myself in my modest lodging, for a day or two, before going to
Pont-de-l'Arche.
With regard to my cousin, I must say, people abuse her unjustly; she is
not very tiresome, this fat cousin of mine; I heard of nothing but her
absurdities, and was warned against taking up my abode with her and
choosing her for my chaperone, as her persecutions would drive me
frantic and our life would be one continuous quarrel. I am happy to say
that none of these horrors have been realized. We understand each
other perfectly, and, if I am not married next winter, the Hotel de
Langeac will still be my home.
Roger, uninformed of my departure, will be furious, which is exactly
what I want, for from his anger I expect enlightenment, and this is the
test I will apply. Like all inexperienced people, I have a theory, and this
theory I will proceed to explain.
If in your analysis of love you seek sincerity, you must apply a little
judicious discouragement, for the man who loves hopefully,
confidently, is an enigma.
Follow carefully my line of reasoning; it maybe complicated, laborious,
but--it is convincing.
All violent love is involuntary hypocrisy.
The more ardent