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Selected Writings-Part15_Guy De Maupassant(1850-1893)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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or in sullen anger; and she became by turns rude, impatient, and



nervous. For a time I never saw her except at meals, and we spoke

but little. I concluded, at length, that I must have offended her



in something: and, accordingly, I said to her one evening:

" 'Miss Harriet, why is it that you do not act toward me as



formerly? What have I done to displease you? You are causing me

much pain!'



"She responded, in an angry tone, in a manner altogether sui

generis:



" 'I am always with you the same as formerly. It is not true, not

true,' and she ran upstairs and shut herself up in her room.



"At times she would look upon me with strange eyes. Since that

time I have often said to myself that those condemned to death



must look thus when informed that their last day has come. In her

eye there lurked a species of folly, a folly at once mysterious



and violent--even more, a fever, an exasperated desire,

impatient, at once incapable of being realized and unrealizable!



"Nay, it seemed to me that there was also going on within her a

combat, in which her heart struggled against an unknown force



that she wished to overcome--perhaps, even, something else. But

what could I know? What could I know?



III.

"This was indeed a singular revelation.



"For some time I had commenced to work, as soon as daylight

appeared, on a picture, the subject of which was as follows:



"A deep ravine, steep banks dominated by two declivities, lined

with brambles and long rows of trees, hidden, drowned in milky



vapor, clad in that misty robe which sometimes floats over

valleys at break of day. At the extreme end of that thick and



transparent fog, you see coming, or rather already come, a human

couple, a stripling and a maiden embraced, interlaced, she, with



head leaning on him, he; inclined toward hers and lip to lip.

"A ray of the sun, glistening through the branches, has traversed



the fog of dawn and illuminated it with a rosy reflection, just

behind the rustic lovers, whose vague shadows are reflected on it



in clear silver. It was well done, yes, indeed, well done.

"I was working on the declivity which led to the Val d'Etretat.



This particular morning, I had, by chance, the sort of floating

vapor which was necessary for my purpose. Suddenly, an object



appeared in front of me, a kind of phantom; it was Miss Harriet.

On seeing me, she took to flight. But I called after her saying:



'Come here, come here, Mademoiselle, I have a nice little picture

for you.'



"She came forward, though with seemingreluctance. I handed her

my sketch. She said nothing, but stood for a long time



motionless, looking at it. Suddenly she burst into tears. She

wept spasmodically, like men who have been struggling hard



against shedding tears, but who can do so no longer, and abandon

themselves to grief, though unwillingly. I got up, trembling,



moved myself by the sight of a sorrow I did not comprehend, and I

took her by the hand with a gesture of brusque affection, a true



French impulse which impels one quicker than one thinks.

"She let her hands rest in mine for a few seconds, and I felt



them quiver, as if her whole nervoussystem was twisting and

turning. Then she withdrew her hands abruptly, or, rather, tore



them out of mine.

"I recognized that shiver as soon as I had felt it: I was



deceived in nothing. Ah! the love shudder of a woman, whether she

is fifteen or fifty years of age, whether she is one of the



people or one of the monde, goes so straight to my heart that I

never had any difficulty in understanding it!



"Her whole frail being trembled, vibrated, yielded. I knew it.

She walked away before I had time to say a word, leaving me as



surprised as if I had witnessed a miracle, and as troubled as if

I had committed a crime.



"I did not go in to breakfast. I took a walk on the banks of the

Falaise, feeling that I could just as soon weep as laugh, looking






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