a woman of thirty-第22部分

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　as　he　went　away。

When　he　came　into　the　room；　there　was　the　Marquise　in　her　favorite　attitude；　melancholy　expressed　in　her　whole　form。　She　made　no　movement　when　he　entered；　only　raised　her　eyes　and　looked　full　at　him；　but　the　glance　that　she　gave　him　was　like　a　smile。　Mme。　d'Aiglemont's　manner　meant　confidence　and　sincere　friendship；　but　of　love　there　was　no　trace。　Charles　sat　down　and　found　nothing　to　say。　A　sensation　for　which　no　language　exists　troubled　him。

〃What　is　the　matter　with　you？〃　she　asked　in　a　softened　voice。

〃Nothing。　。　。　。　Yes；　I　am　thinking　of　something　of　which；　as　yet；　you　have　not　thought　at　all。〃

〃What　is　it？〃

〃Whythe　Congress　is　over。〃

〃Well；〃　she　said；　〃and　ought　you　to　have　been　at　the　Congress？〃

A　direct　answer　would　have　been　the　most　eloquent　and　delicate　declaration　of　love；　but　Charles　did　not　make　it。　Before　the　candid　friendship　in　Mme。　d'Aiglemont's　face　all　the　calculations　of　vanity；　the　hopes　of　love；　and　the　diplomatist's　doubts　died　away。　She　did　not　suspect；　or　she　seemed　not　to　suspect；　his　love　for　her；　and　Charles；　in　utter　confusion　turning　upon　himself；　was　forced　to　admit　that　he　had　said　and　done　nothing　which　could　warrant　such　a　belief　on　her　part。　For　M。　de　Vandenesse　that　evening；　the　Marquise　was；　as　she　had　always　been；　simple　and　friendly；　sincere　in　her　sorrow；　glad　to　have　a　friend；　proud　to　find　a　nature　responsive　to　her　ownnothing　more。　It　had　not　entered　her　mind　that　a　woman　could　yield　twice；　she　had　known　lovelove　lay　bleeding　still　in　the　depths　of　her　heart；　but　she　did　not　imagine　that　bliss　could　bring　her　its　rapture　twice；　for　she　believed　not　merely　in　the　intellect；　but　in　the　soul；　and　for　her　love　was　no　simple　attraction；　it　drew　her　with　all　noble　attractions。

In　a　moment　Charles　became　a　young　man　again；　enthralled　by　the　splendor　of　a　nature　so　lofty。　He　wished　for　a　fuller　initiation　into　the　secret　history　of　a　life　blighted　rather　by　fate　than　by　her　own　fault。　Mme。　d'Aiglemont　heard　him　ask　the　cause　of　the　overwhelming　sorrow　which　had　blended　all　the　harmonies　of　sadness　with　her　beauty；　she　gave　him　one　glance；　but　that　searching　look　was　like　a　seal　set　upon　some　solemn　compact。

〃Ask　no　more　such　questions　of　me；〃　she　said。　〃Four　years　ago；　on　this　very　day；　the　man　who　loved　me；　for　whom　I　would　have　given　up　everything；　even　my　own　self…respect；　died；　and　died　to　save　my　name。　That　love　was　still　young　and　pure　and　full　of　illusions　when　it　came　to　an　end。　Before　I　gave　way　to　passionand　never　was　a　woman　so　urged　by　fateI　had　been　drawn　into　the　mistake　that　ruins　many　a　girl's　life；　a　marriage　with　a　man　whose　agreeable　manners　concealed　his　emptiness。　Marriage　plucked　my　hopes　away　one　by　one。　And　now；　to…day；　I　have　forfeited　happiness　through　marriage；　as　well　as　the　happiness　styled　criminal；　and　I　have　known　no　happiness。　Nothing　is　left　to　me。　If　I　could　not　die；　at　least　I　ought　to　be　faithful　to　my　memories。〃

No　tears　came　with　the　words。　Her　eyes　fell；　and　there　was　a　slight　twisting　of　the　fingers　interclasped；　according　to　her　wont。　It　was　simply　said；　but　in　her　voice　there　was　a　note　of　despair；　deep　as　her　love　seemed　to　have　been；　which　left　Charles　without　a　hope。　The　dreadful　story　of　a　life　told　in　three　sentences；　with　that　twisting　of　the　fingers　for　all　comment；　the　might　of　anguish　in　a　fragile　woman；　the　dark　depths　masked　by　a　fair　face；　the　tears　of　four　years　of　mourning　fascinated　Vandenesse；　he　sat　silent　and　diminished　in　the　presence　of　her　woman's　greatness　and　nobleness；　seeing　not　the　physical　beauty　so　exquisite；　so　perfectly　complete；　but　the　soul　so　great　in　its　power　to　feel。　He　had　found；　at　last；　the　ideal　of　his　fantastic　imaginings；　the　ideal　so　vigorously　invoked　by　all　who　look　on　life　as　the　raw　material　of　a　passion　for　which　many　a　one　seeks　ardently；　and　dies　before　he　has　grasped　the　whole　of　the　dreamed…of　treasure。

With　those　words　of　hers　in　his　ears；　in　the　presence　of　her　sublime　beauty；　his　own　thoughts　seemed　poor　and　narrow。　Powerless　as　he　felt　himself　to　find　words　of　his　own；　simple　enough　and　lofty　enough　to　scale　the　heights　of　this　exaltation；　he　took　refuge　in　platitudes　as　to　the　destiny　of　women。

〃Madame；　we　must　either　forget　our　pain；　or　hollow　out　a　tomb　for　ourselves。〃

But　reason　always　cuts　a　poor　figure　beside　sentiment；　the　one　being　essentially　restricted；　like　everything　that　is　positive；　while　the　other　is　infinite。　To　set　to　work　to　reason　where　you　are　required　to　feel；　is　the　mark　of　a　limited　nature。　Vandenesse　therefore　held　his　peace；　sat　awhile　with　his　eyes　fixed　upon　her；　then　came　away。　A　prey　to　novel　thoughts　which　exalted　woman　for　him；　he　was　in　something　the　same　position　as　a　painter　who　has　taken　the　vulgar　studio　model　for　a　type　of　womanhood；　and　suddenly　confronts　the　/Mnemosyne/　of　the　Musee　that　noblest　and　least　appreciated　of　antique　statues。

Charles　de　Vandenesse　was　deeply　in　love。　He　loved　Mme。　d'Aiglemont　with　the　loyalty　of　youth；　with　the　fervor　that　communicates　such　ineffable　charm　to　a　first　passion；　with　a　simplicity　of　heart　of　which　a　man　only　recovers　some　fragments　when　he　loves　again　at　a　later　day。　Delicious　first　passion　of　youth；　almost　always　deliciously　savored　by　the　woman　who　calls　it　forth；　for　at　the　golden　prime　of　thirty；　from　the　poetic　summit　of　a　woman's　life；　she　can　look　out　over　the　whole　course　of　lovebackwards　into　the　past；　forwards　into　the　futureand；　knowing　all　the　price　to　be　paid　for　love；　enjoys　her　bliss　with　the　dread　of　losing　it　ever　present　with　her。　Her　soul　is　still　fair　with　her　waning　youth；　and　passion　daily　gathers　strength　from　the　dismaying　prospect　of　the　coming　days。

〃This　is　love；〃　Vandenesse　said　to　himself　this　time　as　he　left　the　Marquise；　〃and　for　my　misfortune　I　love　a　woman　wedded　to　her　memories。　It　is　hard　work　to　struggle　against　a　dead　rival；　never　present　to　make　blunders　and　fall　out　of　favor；　nothing　of　him　left　but　his　better　qualities。　What　is　it　but　a　sort　of　high　treason　against　the　Ideal　to　attempt　to　break　the　charm　of　memory；　to　destroy　the　hopes　that　survive　a　lost　lover；　precisely　because　he　only　awakened　longings；　and　all　that　is　loveliest　and　most　enchanting　in　love？〃

These　sober　reflections；　due　to　the　discouragement　and　dread　of　failure　with　which　love　begins　in　earnest；　were　the　last　expiring　effort　of　diplomatic　reasoning。　Thenceforward　he　knew　no　afterthoughts；　he　was　the　plaything　of　his　love；　and　lost　himself　in　the　nothings　of　that　strange　inexplicable　happiness　which　is　full　fed　by　a　chance　word；　by　silence；　or　a　vague　hope。　He　tried　to　love　Platonically；　came　daily　to　breathe　the　air　that　she　breathed；　became　almost　a　part　of　her　house；　and　went　everywhere　with　her；　slave　as　he　was　of　a　tyrannous　passion　compounded　of　egoism　and　devotion　of　the　completest。　Love　has　its　own　instinct；　finding　the　way　to　the　heart；　as　the　feeblest　insect　finds　the　way　to　its　flower；　with　a　will　which　nothing　can　dismay　or　turn　aside。　If　feeling　is　sincere；　its　destiny　is　not　doubtful。　Let　a　woman　begin　to　think　that　her　life　depends　on　the　sincerity　or　fervor　or　earnestness　which　her　lover　shall　put　into　his　longings；　and　is　there　not　sufficient　in　the　thought　to　put　her　through　all　the　tortures　of　dread？　It　is　impossible　for　a　woman；　be　she　wife　or　mother；　to　be　secure　from　a　young　man's　love。　One　thing　it　is　within　her　power　to　doto　refuse　to　see　him　as　soon　as　she　learns　a　secret　which　she　never　fails　to　guess。　But　this　is　too　decided　a　step　to　take　at　an　age　when　marriage　has　become　a　prosaic　and　tiresome　yoke；　and　conjugal　affection　is　something　less　than　tepid　（if　indeed　her　husband　has　not　already　begun　to　neglect　her）。　Is　a　woman　plain？　she　is　flattered　by　a　love　which　gives　her　fairness。　Is　she　young　and　charming？　She　is　only　to　be　won　by　a　fascination　as　great　as　her　own　power　to　charm；　that　is　to　say；　a　fascination　well…nigh　irresistible。　Is　she　virtuous？　There　is　a　love　sublime　in　its　earthliness　which　leads　her　to　find　something　like　absolution　in　the　very　greatness　of　the　surrender　and　glory　in　a　hard　struggle。　Everything　is　a　snare。　No　lesson；　therefore；　is　too　severe　where　the　temptation　is　so　strong。　The　seclusion　in　which　the　Greeks　and　Orientals　kept　and　keep　their　women；　an　example　more　and　more　followed　in　modern　England；　is　the　only　safeguard　of　domestic　morality；　but　under　this　system　there　is　an　end　of　all　the　charm　of　social　intercourse；　and　society；　and　good　breeding；　and　refinement　of　manners　become　impossible。　The　nations　must　take　their　choice。

So　a　few　months　went　by；　and　Mme。　d'Aiglemont　discovered　that　her　life　was　closely　bound　with　this　young　man's　life；　without　overmuch　confusion　in　her　surprise；　and　felt　with　something　almost　like　pleasure　that　she　shared　his　tastes　and　his　thoughts。　Had　she　adopted　Vandenesse's　ideas？　Or　was　it　Vandenesse　who　had　made　her　lightest　whims　his　own？　She　was　not　careful　to　inquire。　She　had　been　swept　out　already　into　the　current　of　passion；　and　yet　this　adorable　woman　told　herself　with　the　confident　reiteration　of　misgiving；

〃Ah！　no。　I　will　be　faithful　to　him　who　died　for　me。〃

Pascal　said　that　〃the　doubt　of　God　implies　belief　in　God。〃　And　similarly　it　may　be　said　that　a　woman　only　parleys　when　she　has　surrendered。　A　day　came　when　the　Marquise　admitted　to　herself　that　she　was　loved；　and　with　that　admission　came　a　time　of　wavering　among　countless　conflicting　thoughts　and　feelings。　The　superstitions　of　experience　spoke　their　language。　Should　she　be　happy？　Was　it　possible　that　she　should　find　happiness　outside　the　limits　of　the　laws　which　society　rightly　or　wrongly　has　set　up　for　humanity　to　live　by？　Hitherto　her　cup　of　life　had　been　full　of　bitterness。　Was　there　any　happy　issue　possible　for　the　ties　which　united　two　human　beings　held　apart　by　social　conventions？　And　might　not　happiness　be　bought　too　dear？　Still；　this　so　ardently　desired　happiness；　for　which　it　is　so　natural　to　seek；　might　perhaps　be　found　after　all。　Curiosity　is　always　retained　on　the　lover's　side　in　the　suit。　The　secret　tribunal　was　still　sitting　when　Vandenesse　appeared；　and　his　presence　put　the　metaphysical　spectre；　reason；　to　flight。

If　such　are　the　successive　transformations　through　which　a　sentimen