The Complete Works: Short Stories, Novels, Plays, Poetry, Memoirs and more. Guy de Maupassant
them. While talking to her, he played lightly with her parasol and with one of the ribbons of her dress, which appeared to Paul, as it were, an act of moral possession, and exasperated him so much that he longed to box the Italian’s ears.
But, one day, at Père Oriol’s house, while Bretigny was chatting with Louise and Gontran, and, at the same time, keeping his eye fixed on Mazelli, who was telling Charlotte in a subdued voice some things that made her smile, he suddenly saw her blush with such an appearance of embarrassment as to leave no doubt for one moment on his mind that the other had spoken of love. She had cast down her eyes, and ceased to smile, but still continued listening; and Paul, who felt disposed to make a scene, said to Gontran: “Will you have the goodness to come out with me for five minutes?”
The Comte made his excuses to his betrothed, and followed his friend.
When they were in the street, Paul exclaimed: “My dear fellow, this wretched Italian must, at any cost, be prevented from inveigling this girl, who is defenseless against him.”
“What do you wish me to do?”
“To warn her of the fact that he is an adventurer.”
“Hey, my dear boy, those things are no concern of mine.”
“After all, she is to be your sister-in-law.”
“Yes, but there is nothing to show me conclusively that Mazelli has guilty designs upon her. He exhibits the same gallantry toward all women, and he has never said or done anything improper.”
“Well, if you don’t want to take it on yourself, I’ll do it, although it concerns me less assuredly than it does you.”
“So then you are in love with Charlotte?”
“I? No — but I see clearly through this blackguard’s game.”
“My dear fellow, you are mixing yourself up in matters of a delicate nature, and — unless you are in love with Charlotte— “
“No — I am not in love with her — but I am hunting down imposters, that’s what I mean!”
“May I ask what you intend to do?”
“To thrash this beggar.”
“Good! the best way to make her fall in love with him. You fight with him, and whether he wounds you, or you wound him, he will become a hero in her eyes.”
“What would you do then?”
“In your place?”
“In my place.”
“I would speak to the girl as a friend. She has great confidence in you. Well, I would say to her simply in a few words what these hangers-on of society are. You know very well how to say these things. You possess an eloquent tongue. And I would make her understand, first, why he is attached to the Spaniard; secondly, why he attempted to lay siege to Professor Cloche’s daughter; thirdly, why, not having succeeded in this effort, he is striving, in the last place, to make a conquest of Mademoiselle Charlotte Oriol.”
“Why do you not do that, yourself, who will be her brother-in-law?”
“Because — because — on account of what passed between us — come! I can’t.”
“That’s quite right. I am going to speak to her.”
“Do you want me to procure for you a private conversation with her immediately?”
“Why, yes, assuredly.”
“Good! Walk about for ten minutes. I am going to carry off Louise and Mazelli, and, when you come back, you will find the other alone.”
Paul Bretigny rambled along the side of the Enval gorges, thinking over the best way of opening this difficult conversation.
He found Charlotte Oriol alone, indeed, on his return, in the cold, whitewashed parlor of the paternal abode; and he said to her, as he sat down beside her: “It is I, Mademoiselle, who asked Gontran to procure me this interview with you.”
She looked at him with her clear eyes: “Why, pray?”
“Oh! it is not to pay you insipid compliments in the Italian fashion. It is to speak to you as a friend —— as a very devoted friend, who owes you good advice.”
“Tell me what it is.”
He took up the subject in a roundabout style, dwelt upon his own experience, and upon her inexperience, so as to lead gradually by discreet but explicit phrases to a reference to those adventurers who are everywhere going in quest of fortune, taking advantage with their professional skill of every ingenuous and good-natured being, man or woman, whose purses or hearts they explored.
She turned rather pale as she listened to him.
Then she said: “I understand and I don’t understand. You are speaking of some one — of whom?”
“I am speaking of Doctor Mazelli.”
Then, she lowered her eyes, and remained a few seconds without replying; after this, in a hesitating voice: “You are so frank that I will be the same with you. Since — since my sister’s marriage has been arranged, I have become a little less — a little less stupid! Well, I had already suspected what you tell me — and I used to feel amused of my own accord at seeing him coming.”
She raised her face to his as she spoke, and in her smile, in her arch look, in her little retroussé nose, in the moist and glittering brilliancy of her teeth which showed themselves between her lips, so much open-hearted gracefulness, sly gaiety, and charming frolicsomeness appeared that Bretigny felt himself drawn toward her by one of those tumultuous transports which flung him distracted with passion at the feet of the woman who was his latest love. And his heart exulted with joy because Mazelli had not been preferred to him. So then he had triumphed.
He asked: “You do not love him, then?”
“Whom? Mazelli?”
“Yes.”
She looked at him with such a pained expression in her eyes that he felt thrown off his balance, and stammered, in a supplicating voice: “What? — you don’t love — anyone?”
She replied, with a downward glance: “I don’t know — I love people who love me.”
He seized the young girl’s two hands, all at once, and kissing them wildly in one of those moments of impulse in which the head loses its controlling power, and the words which rise to the lips come from the excited flesh rather than the wandering mind, he faltered:
“I! — I love you, my little Charlotte; yes, I love you!”
She quickly drew away one of her hands, and placed it on his mouth, murmuring: “Be silent! — be silent, I beg of you! It would cause me too much pain if this were another falsehood.”
She stood erect; he rose up, caught her in his arms, and embraced her passionately.
A sudden noise parted them; Père Oriol had just come in, and he was gazing at them, quite scared. Then, he cried: “Ah! bougrrre! ah! bougrrre! ah! bougrrre of a savage!”
Charlotte had rushed out, and the two men remained face to face. After some seconds of agitation, Paul made an attempt to explain his position.
“My God! Monsieur — I have conducted myself — it is true — like a— “
But the old man would not listen to him. Anger, furious anger, had taken possession of him, and he advanced toward Bretigny, with clenched fists, repeating:
“Ah! bougrrre of a savage— “
Then, when they were nose to nose, he seized Paul by the collar with his knotted peasant’s hands.
But the other, as tall, and strong with that superior strength acquired by the practice of athletics, freed himself with