The Complete Works: Short Stories, Novels, Plays, Poetry, Memoirs and more. Guy de Maupassant
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and, as the Walters were to leave on the 15th of July for Trouville, it was decided that he and they should spend a day in the country together before they started. A Thursday was selected, and they started at nine in the morning in a large traveling landau with six places, drawn by four horses with postilions. They were going to lunch at the Pavilion Henri-Quatre at Saint Germain. Pretty-boy had asked to be the only man of the party, for he could not endure the presence of the Marquis de Cazolles. But at the last moment it was decided that the Count de Latour-Yvelin should be called for on the way. He had been told the day before.
The carriage passed up the Avenue of the Champs Elyseés at a swinging trot, and then traversed the Bois de Boulogne. It was splendid summer weather, not too warm. The swallows traced long sweeping lines across the blue sky that one fancied one could still see after they had passed. The three ladies occupied the back seat, the mother between her daughters, and the men were with their backs to the horses, Walter between the two guests. They crossed the Seine, skirted Mount Valerien, and gained Bougival in order to follow the river as far as Le Pecq.
The Count de Latour-Yvelin, a man advancing towards middle-age, with long, light whiskers, gazed tenderly at Rose. They had been engaged for a month. George, who was very pale, often looked at Susan, who was pale too. Their eyes often met, and seemed to concert something, to understand one another, to secretly exchange a thought, and then to flee one another. Madame Walter was quiet and happy.
The lunch was a long one. Before starting back for Paris, George suggested a turn on the terrace. They stopped at first to admire the view. All ranged themselves in a line along the parapet, and went into ecstasies over the far-stretching horizon. The Seine at the foot of a long hill flowed towards Maisons-Lafitte like an immense serpent stretched in the herbage. To the right, on the summit of the slope, the aqueduct of Marly showed against the skyline its outline, resembling that of a gigantic, long-legged caterpillar, and Marly was lost beneath it in a thick cluster of trees. On the immense plain extending in front of them, villages could be seen dotted. The pieces of water at Le Vesinet showed like clear spots amidst the thin foliage of the little forest. To the left, away in the distance, the pointed steeple of Sastrouville could be seen.
Walter said: “Such a panorama is not to be found anywhere in the world. There is not one to match it in Switzerland.”
Then they began to walk on gently, to have a stroll and enjoy the prospect. George and Susan remained behind. As soon as they were a few paces off, he said to her in a low and restrained voice: “Susan, I adore you. I love you to madness.”
She murmured: “So do I you, Pretty-boy.”
He went on: “If I do not have you for my wife, I shall leave Paris and this country.”
She replied: “Ask Papa for my hand. Perhaps he will consent.”
He made a gesture of impatience. “No, I tell you for the twentieth time that is useless. The door of your house would be closed to me. I should be dismissed from the paper, and we should not be able even to see one another. That is a pretty result, at which I am sure to arrive by a formal demand for you. They have promised you to the Marquis de Cazolles. They hope that you will end by saying ‘yes,’ and they are waiting for that.”
She asked: “What is to be done?”
He hesitated, glancing at her, sidelong fashion. “Do you love me enough to run a risk?”
She answered resolutely: “Yes.”
“A great risk?”
“Yes.”
“The greatest of risks?”
“Yes.”
“Have you the courage to set your father and mother at defiance?”
“Yes.”
“Really now?”
“Yes.”
“Very well, there is one way and only one. The thing must come from you and not from me. You are a spoilt child; they let you say whatever you like, and they will not be too much astonished at an act of daring the more on your part. Listen, then. This evening, on reaching home, you must go to your mamma first, your mamma alone, and tell her you want to marry me. She will be greatly moved and very angry— “
Susan interrupted him with: “Oh, mamma will agree.”
He went on quickly: “No, you do not know her. She will be more vexed and angrier than your father. You will see how she will refuse. But you must be firm, you must not give way, you must repeat that you want to marry me, and no one else. Will you do this?”
“I will.”
“On leaving your mother you must tell your father the same thing in a very serious and decided manner.”
“Yes, yes; and then?”
“And then it is that matters become serious. If you are determined, very determined — very, very determined to be my wife, my dear, dear little Susan — I will — run away with you.”
She experienced a joyful shock, and almost clapped her hands. “Oh! how delightful. You will run away with me. When will you run away with me?”
All the old poetry of nocturnal elopements, post-chaises, country inns; all the charming adventures told in books, flashed through her mind, like an enchanting dream about to be realized. She repeated: “When will you run away with me?”
He replied, in low tones: “This evening — tonight.”
She asked, quivering: “And where shall we go to?”
“That is my secret. Reflect on what you are doing. Remember that after such a flight you can only be my wife. It is the only way, but is — it is very dangerous — for you.”
She declared: “I have made up my mind; where shall I rejoin you?”
“Can you get out of the hotel alone?”
“Yes. I know how to undo the little door.”
“Well, when the doorkeeper has gone to bed, towards midnight, come and meet me on the Place de la Concorde. You will find me in a cab drawn up in front of the Ministry of Marine.”
“I will come.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
He took her hand and pressed it. “Oh! how I love you. How good and brave you are! So you don’t want to marry Monsieur de Cazolles?”
“Oh! no.”
“Your father was very angry when you said no?”
“I should think so. He wanted to send me back to the convent.”
“You see that it is necessary to be energetic.”
“I will be so.”
She looked at the vast horizon, her head full of the idea of being ran off with. She would go further than that with him. She would be ran away with. She was proud of it. She scarcely thought of her reputation — of what shame might befall her. Was she aware of it? Did she even suspect it?
Madame Walter, turning round, exclaimed: “Come along, little one. What are you doing with Pretty-boy?”
They rejoined the others and spoke of the seaside, where they would soon be. Then they returned home by way of Chatou, in order not to go over the same road twice. George no longer spoke. He reflected. If the little girl had a little courage, he was going to succeed at last. For three months he had been enveloping her in the irresistible net of his love. He was seducing, captivating, conquering her. He had made himself loved by her, as he knew how to make himself loved. He had captured her childish soul without difficulty. He had at first obtained of her that she should refuse Monsieur de Cazolles. He had just obtained that she would fly with him. For there was no other way. Madame Walter, he well understood, would never agree to give him her daughter. She