CHAPTER XII.
A MEETING AND THE RESULT
The July sun shone upon the Place de la Trinite, which was almostdeserted. Du Roy drew out his watch. It was only three o'clock: he washalf an hour too early. He laughed as he thought of the place ofmeeting. He entered the sacred edifice of La Trinite; the coolnesswithin was refreshing. Here and there an old woman kneeled at prayer,her face in her hands. Du Roy looked at his watch again. It was not yeta quarter past three. He took a seat, regretting that he could notsmoke. At the end of the church near the choir; he could hear themeasured tread of a corpulent man whom he had noticed when he entered.Suddenly the rustle of a gown made him start. It was she. He arose andadvanced quickly. She did not offer him her hand and whispered: "I haveonly a few minutes. You must kneel near me that no one will notice us."
She proceeded to a side aisle after saluting the Host on the HighAltar, took a footstool, and kneeled down. Georges took one beside itand when they were in the attitude of prayer, he said: "Thank you,thank you. I adore you. I should like to tell you constantly how Ibegan to love you, how I was conquered the first time I saw you. Willyou permit me some day to unburden my heart, to explain all to you?"
She replied between her fingers: "I am mad to let you speak to methus--mad to have come hither--mad to do as I have done, to let youbelieve that this--this adventure can have any results. Forget it, andnever speak to me of it again." She paused.
He replied: "I expect nothing--I hope nothing--I love you--whatever youmay do, I will repeat it so often, with so much force and ardor thatyou will finally understand me, and reply: 'I love you too.'"
He felt her frame tremble as she involuntarily repeated: "I love youtoo."
He was overcome by astonishment.
"Oh, my God!" she continued incoherently, "Should I say that to you? Ifeel guilty, despicable--I--who have two daughters--but Icannot--cannot--I never thought--it was stronger thanI--listen--listen--I have never loved--any other--but you--I swearit--I have loved you a year in secret--I have suffered and struggled--Ican no longer; I love you." She wept and her bowed form was shaken bythe violence of her emotion.
Georges murmured: "Give me your hand that I may touch, may press it."
She slowly took her hand from her face, he seized it saying: "I shouldlike to drink your tears!"
Placing the hand he held upon his heart he asked: "Do you feel it beat?"
In a few moments the man Georges had noticed before passed by them.When Mme. Walter heard him near her, she snatched her fingers fromGeorges's clasp and covered her face with them. After the man haddisappeared, Du Roy asked, hoping for another place of meeting than LaTrinite: "Where shall I see you to-morrow?"
She did not reply; she seemed transformed into a statue of prayer. Hecontinued: "Shall I meet you to-morrow at Park Monceau?"
She turned a livid face toward him and said unsteadily: "Leaveme--leave me now--go--go away--for only five minutes--I suffer too muchnear you. I want to pray--go. Let me pray alone--five minutes--let meask God--to pardon me--to save me--leave me--five minutes."
She looked so pitiful that he rose without a word and asked with somehesitation: "Shall I return presently?"
She nodded her head in the affirmative and he left her. She tried topray; she closed her eyes in order not to see Georges. She could notpray; she could only think of him. She would rather have died than havefallen thus; she had never been weak. She murmured several words ofsupplication; she knew that all was over, that the struggle was invain. She did not however wish to yield, but she felt her weakness.Some one approached with a rapid step; she turned her head. It was apriest. She rose, ran toward him, and clasping her hands, she cried:"Save me, save me!"
He stopped in surprise.
"What do you want, Madame?"
"I want you to save me. Have pity on me. If you do not help me, I amlost!"
He gazed at her, wondering if she were mad.
"What can I do for you?" The priest was a young man somewhat inclinedto corpulence.
"Receive my confession," said she, "and counsel me, sustain me, tell mewhat to do."
He replied: "I confess every Saturday from three to six."
Seizing his arm she repeated: "No, now, at once--at once! It isnecessary! He is here! In this church! He is waiting for me."
The priest asked: "Who is waiting for you?"
"A man--who will be my ruin if you do not save me. I can no longerescape him--I am too weak--too weak."
She fell upon her knees sobbing: "Oh, father, have pity upon me. Saveme, for God's sake, save me!" She seized his gown that he might notescape her, while he uneasily glanced around on all sides to see ifanyone noticed the woman at his feet. Finally, seeing that he could notfree himself from her, he said: "Rise; I have the key to theconfessional with me."
* * * * * * *
Du Roy having walked around the choir, was sauntering down the nave,when he met the stout, bold man wandering about, and he wondered: "Whatcan he be doing here?"
The man slackened his pace and looked at Georges with the evidentdesire to speak to him. When he was near him, he bowed and saidpolitely:
"I beg your pardon, sir, for disturbing you; but can you tell me whenthis church was built?"
Du Roy replied: "I do not know; I think it is twenty or twenty-fiveyears. It is the first time I have been here. I have never seen itbefore." Feeling interested in the stranger, the journalist continued:"It seems to me that you are examining into it very carefully."
The man replied: "I am not visiting the church; I have an appointment."He paused and in a few moments added: "It is very warm outside."
Du Roy looked at him and suddenly thought that he resembled Forestier."Are you from the provinces?" he asked.
"Yes, I am from Rennes. And did you, sir, enter this church fromcuriosity?"
"No, I am waiting for a lady." And with a smile upon his lips, hewalked away.
He did not find Mme. Walter in the place in which he had left her, andwas surprised. She had gone. He was furious. Then he thought she mightbe looking for him, and he walked around the church. Not finding her,he returned and seated himself on the chair she had occupied, hopingthat she would rejoin him there. Soon he heard the sound of a voice. Hesaw no one; whence came it? He rose to examine into it, and saw in achapel near by, the doors of the confessionals. He drew nearer in orderto see the woman whose voice he heard. He recognized Mme. Walter; shewas confessing. At first he felt a desire to seize her by the arm anddrag her away; then he seated himself near by and bided his time. Hewaited quite awhile. At length Mme. Walter rose, turned, saw him andcame toward him. Her face was cold and severe.
"Sir," said she, "I beseech you not to accompany me, not to follow meand not to come to my house alone. You will not be admitted. Adieu!"And she walked away in a dignified manner.
He permitted her to go, because it was against his principles to forcematters. As the priest in his turn issued from the confessional, headvanced toward him and said: "If you did not wear a gown, I would giveyou a sound thrashing." Then he turned upon his heel and left thechurch whistling. In the doorway he met the stout gentleman. When DuRoy passed him, they bowed.
The journalist then repaired to the office of "La Vie Francaise." As heentered he saw by the clerks' busy air that something of importance wasgoing on, and he hastened to the manager's room. The latter exclaimedjoyfully as Du Roy entered: "What luck! here is Bel-Ami."
He stopped in confusion and apologized: "I beg your pardon, I am verymuch bothered by circumstances. And then I hear my wife and daughtercall you Bel-Ami from morning until night, and I have acquired thehabit myself. Are you displeased?"
Georges laughed. "Not at all."
M. Walter continued: "Very well, then I will call you Bel-Ami aseveryone else does. Great changes have taken place. The ministry hasbeen overthrown. Marrot is to form a new cabinet. He has chosen GeneralBoutin d'Acre as minister of war, and our friend Laroche-Mathieu asminister of f
oreign affairs. We shall be very busy. I must write aleading article, a simple declaration of principles; then I must havesomething interesting on the Morocco question--you must attend to that."
Du Roy reflected a moment and then replied: "I have it. I will give youan article on the political situation of our African colony," and heproceeded to prepare M. Walter an outline of his work, which wasnothing but a modification of his first article on "Souvenirs of aSoldier in Africa."
The manager having read the article said: "It is perfect; you are atreasure. Many thanks."
Du Roy returned home to dinner delighted with his day, notwithstandinghis failure at La Trinite. His wife was awaiting him anxiously. Sheexclaimed on seeing him:
"You know that Laroche is minister of foreign affairs."
"Yes, I have just written an article on that subject."
"How?"
"Do you remember the first article we wrote on 'Souvenirs of a Soldierin Africa'? Well, I revised and corrected it for the occasion."
She smiled. "Ah, yes, that will do very well."
At that moment the servant entered with a dispatch containing thesewords without any signature:
"I was beside myself. Pardon me and come to-morrow at four o'clock toPark Monceau."
He understood the message, and with a joyful heart, slipped thetelegram into his pocket. During dinner he repeated the words tohimself; as he interpreted them, they meant, "I yield--I am yours whereand when you will." He laughed.
Madeleine asked: "What is it?"
"Nothing much. I was thinking of a comical old priest I met a shortwhile since."
* * * * * * *
Du Roy arrived at the appointed hour the following day. The bencheswere all occupied by people trying to escape from the heat and bynurses with their charges.
He found Mme. Walter in a little antique ruin; she seemed unhappy andanxious. When he had greeted her, she said: "How many people there arein the garden!"
He took advantage of the occasion: "Yes, that is true; shall we gosomewhere else?"
"Where?"
"It matters not where; for a drive, for instance. You can lower theshade on your side and you will be well concealed."
"Yes, I should like that better; I shall die of fear here."
"Very well, meet me in five minutes at the gate which opens on theboulevard. I will fetch a cab."
When they were seated in the cab, she asked: "Where did you tell thecoachman to drive to?"
Georges replied: "Do not worry; he knows."
He had given the man his address on the Rue de Constantinople.
Mme. Walter said to Du Roy: "You cannot imagine how I suffer on youraccount--how I am tormented, tortured. Yesterday I was harsh, but Iwanted to escape you at any price. I was afraid to remain alone withyou. Have you forgiven me?"
He pressed her hand. "Yes, yes, why should I not forgive you, lovingyou as I do?"
She looked at him with a beseeching air: "Listen: You must promise torespect me, otherwise I could never see you again."
At first he did not reply; a smile lurked beneath his mustache; then hemurmured: "I am your slave."
She told him how she had discovered that she loved him, on learningthat he was to marry Madeleine Forestier. Suddenly she ceased speaking.The carriage stopped. Du Roy opened the door.
"Where are we?" she asked.
He replied: "Alight and enter the house. We shall be undisturbed there."
"Where are we?" she repeated.
"At my rooms; they are my bachelor apartments which I have rented for afew days that we might have a corner in which to meet."
She clung to the cab, startled at the thought of a tete-a-tete, andstammered: "No, no, I do not want to."
He said firmly: "I swear to respect you. Come, you see that people arelooking at us, that a crowd is gathering around us. Make haste!" And herepeated, "I swear to respect you."
She was terror-stricken and rushed into the house. She was about toascend the stairs. He seized her arm: "It is here, on the ground floor."
When he had closed the door, he showered kisses upon her neck, hereyes, her lips; in spite of herself, she submitted to his caresses andeven returned them, hiding her face and murmuring in broken accents: "Iswear that I have never had a lover"; while he thought: "That is amatter of indifference to me."
Bel Ami; Or, The History of a Scoundrel: A Novel Page 12
