M.Langis drew near her, and, lightly slapping the palms of her hands, said, "What is the matter?"She roused herself, made an effort to lift her head, and let it sink again.The trouble that lay in the depths of her heart choked her; she experienced an irresistible need of confiding in some one, and she judged that the man who was talking to her was one of those men to whom a woman can tell her secret, one of those souls to whom she could pour out her shame without blushing.She began, in a broken voice, a confused, disconnected recital that Camille could scarcely follow.
However, he finally understood; he felt himself divided between an immense pity for her despair, and a fierce lover's joy that tightened his throat and well-nigh strangled him.
The belfry of Cormeilles had recovered its voice; two o'clock rang out on the air.Antoinette rose and exclaimed: "I was to meet him at the pretty little gate that you see from here! He will have the right to be angry if I keep him waiting."At once she hastened towards the balustered steps that led from the terrace to the orchard.M.Langis followed her, seeking to detain her.
"You need not see him again," said he."I will meet him.Pray, charge me with your explanations."She repelled him and replied, in a voice of authority: "I wish to see him, no one but I can say to him what I have in my heart.I command you to remain here; I intend that he shall blame no one but me." She added with a curl of the lips meant for a smile: "You must remember, Ido not believe yet that I have been deceived; I will not believe it until I have read the lie in his eyes."She hastily descended into the orchard, and, during five minutes, her eye fixed on the gate, she waited for Samuel Brohl.Her impatience counted the seconds, and yet Mlle.Moriaz could have wished the gate would never open.There was near by an old apple-tree that she loved;in the old days she had more than once suspended her hammock from one of its arched and drooping branches.She leaned against the gnarled trunk of the old tree.It seemed to her that she was not alone; some one protected her.
At last the gate opened and admitted Samuel Brohl, who had a smile on his lips.His first words were: "And your umbrella! You have forgotten it?"She replied: "Do you not see that there is no sunshine?" And she remained leaning against the apple-tree.
He uplifted his hand to show her the blue sky; he let it fall again.
He looked at Antoinette, and he was afraid.He guessed immediately that she knew all.At once he grew audacious.
"I spent a dull day yesterday," said he."Mme.de Lorcy invited me to dine with a crazy woman; but the night made up for it.I saw Engadine in my dreams--the firs, the Alpine pines, the emerald lakes, and a red hood.""I, too, dreamed last night.I dreamed that the bracelet you gave me belonged to the crazy woman of whom you speak, and that she had her name engraved on it."She threw him the bracelet: he picked it up, examined it, turned and returned it in his trembling fingers.She grew impatient."Look at the place that has been forced open.Don't you know how to read?"He read, and became stupefied.Who would have believed that this trinket that he had found among his father's old traps had come to him from Princess Gulof? that it was the price she had paid for Samuel Brohl's ignominy and shame? Samuel was a fatalist; he felt that his star had set, that Fate had conspired to ruin his hopes, that he was found guilty and condemned.His heart grew heavy within him.
"Can you tell me what I ought to think of a certain Samuel Brohl?" she asked.
That name, pronounced by her, fell on him like a mass of lead; he never would have believed that there could be so much weight in a human word.He trembled under the blow; then he struck his brow with his clinched hand and replied:
"Samuel Brohl is a man as worthy of your pity as he is of mine.If you knew all that he has suffered, all that he has dared, you could not help deeply pitying him and admiring him.Listen to me; Samuel Brohl is an unfortunate man--""Or a wretch!" she interrupted, in a terrible voice.She was seized by a fit of nervous laughter; she cried out: "Mme.Brohl! I will not be called Mme.Brohl.Ah! that poor Countess Larinski!"He had a spasm of rage that would have terrified her had she conjectured what agitated him.He raised his head, crossed his arms on his breast, and said, with a bitter smile:
"It was not the man that you loved, it was the count."She replied, "The man whom I loved never lied.""Yes, I lied!" he cried, gasping for breath."I drank that cup of shame without remorse or disgust.I lied because I loved you madly.Ilied because you were dearer to me than my honour.I lied because Idespaired of touching your heart, and any road seemed good that led to you.Why did I meet you? why could I not see you without recognising in you the dream of my whole life? Happiness had passed me by, it was about to take flight; I caught it in a trap--I lied.Who would not lie, to be loved by you?"Samuel Brohl never had looked so handsome.Despair and passion kindled a sombre flame in his eyes; he had the sinister charm of a fiery Satan.He fixed on Antoinette a fascinating glance that said: "What matter my name, my lies, and the rest? My face is not a mask, and I am the man who pleased you." He had not the least suspicion of the astonishing facility with which Antoinette had taken back the heart that she had given away so easily; he did not suspect that miracles can be wrought by contempt.In the middle ages people believed in golems, figures in clay of an entrancing beauty, which had all the appearance of life.Under a lock of hair was written, in Hebrew characters, on their brow, the word "Truth." If they chanced to lie, the word was obliterated; they lost all their charm, the clay was no longer anything but clay.
