She asked herself as she walked along, "What am I going to say? How

shall I begin?" And as she went on she recognised the thickets,

the trees, the sea-rushes on the hill, the chateau yonder. All the

sensations of her first tenderness came back to her, and her poor aching

heart opened out amorously. A warm wind blew in her face; the melting

snow fell drop by drop from the buds to the grass.

She entered, as she used to, through the small park-gate. She reached

the avenue bordered by a double row of dense lime-trees. They were

swaying their long whispering branches to and fro. The dogs in their

kennels all barked, and the noise of their voices resounded, but brought

out no one.

She went up the large straight staircase with wooden balusters that led

to the corridor paved with dusty flags, into which several doors in a

row opened, as in a monastery or an inn. His was at the top, right

at the end, on the left. When she placed her fingers on the lock her

strength suddenly deserted her. She was afraid, almost wished he

would not be there, though this was her only hope, her last chance of

salvation. She collected her thoughts for one moment, and, strengthening

herself by the feeling of present necessity, went in.

He was in front of the fire, both his feet on the mantelpiece, smoking a

pipe.

"What! it is you!" he said, getting up hurriedly.

"Yes, it is I, Rodolphe. I should like to ask your advice."

And, despite all her efforts, it was impossible for her to open her

lips.

"You have not changed; you are charming as ever!"

"Oh," she replied bitterly, "they are poor charms since you disdained

them."

Then he began a long explanation of his conduct, excusing himself in

vague terms, in default of being able to invent better.

She yielded to his words, still more to his voice and the sight of him,

so that, she pretended to believe, or perhaps believed; in the pretext

he gave for their rupture; this was a secret on which depended the

honour, the very life of a third person.

"No matter!" she said, looking at him sadly. "I have suffered much."

He replied philosophically-"Such is life!"

"Has life," Emma went on, "been good to you at least, since our

separation?"

"Oh, neither good nor bad."

"Perhaps it would have been better never to have parted."




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