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The Ball at Sceaux-Part7_Honore de Balzac(1799-1850)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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delights which give to first love its charm and its violence. More

than once the young man and Mademoiselle de Fontaine walked, tete-a-



tete, in the avenues of the garden, where nature was dressed like a

woman going to a ball. More than once they had those conversations,



aimless and meaningless, in which the emptiest phrases are those which

cover the deepest feelings. They often admired together the setting



sun and its gorgeous coloring. They gathered daisies to pull the

petals off, and sang the most impassioned duets, using the notes set



down by Pergolesi or Rossini as faithful interpreters to express their

secrets.



The day of the dance came. Clara Longueville and her brother, whom the

servants persisted in honoring with the noble DE, were the principle



guests. For the first time in her life Mademoiselle de Fontaine felt

pleasure in a young girl's triumph. She lavished on Clara in all



sincerity the gracious petting and little attentions which women

generally give each other only to excite the jealousy of men. Emilie,



had, indeed, an object in view; she wanted to discover some secrets.

But, being a girl, Mademoiselle Longueville showed even more mother-



wit than her brother, for she did not even look as if she were hiding

a secret, and kept the conversation to subjects unconnected with



personal interests, while, at the same time, she gave it so much charm

that Mademoiselle de Fontaine was almost envious, and called her "the



Siren." Though Emilie had intended to make Clara talk, it was Clara,

in fact, who questioned Emilie; she had meant to judge her, and she



was judged by her; she was constantly provoked to find that she had

betrayed her own character in some reply which Clara had extracted



from her, while her modest and candid manner prohibited any suspicion

of perfidy. There was a moment when Mademoiselle de Fontaine seemed



sorry for an ill-judged sally against the commonalty to which Clara

had led her.



"Mademoiselle," said the sweet child, "I have heard so much of you

from Maximilien that I had the keenest desire to know you, out of



affection for him; but is not a wish to know you a wish to love you?"

"My dear Clara, I feared I might have displeased you by speaking thus



of people who are not of noble birth."

"Oh, be quite easy. That sort of discussion is pointless in these



days. As for me, it does not affect me. I am beside the question."

Ambitious as the answer might seem, it filled Mademoiselle de Fontaine



with the deepest joy; for, like all infatuated people, she explained

it, as oracles are explained, in the sense that harmonized with her



wishes; she began dancing again in higher spirits than ever, as she

watched Longueville, whose figure and grace almost surpassed those of



her imaginary ideal. She felt added satisfaction in believing him to

be well born, her black eyes sparkled, and she danced with all the



pleasure that comes of dancing in the presence of the being we love.

The couple had never understood each other as well as at this moment;



more than once they felt their finger tips thrill and tremble as they

were married in the figures of the dance.



The early autumn had come to the handsome pair, in the midst of

country festivities and pleasures; they had abandoned themselves



softly to the tide of the sweetest sentiment in life, strengthening it

by a thousand little incidents which any one can imagine; for love is



in some respects always the same. They studied each other through it

all, as much as lovers can.



"Well, well; a flirtation never turned so quickly into a love match,"

said the old uncle, who kept an eye on the two young people as a



naturalist watches an insect in the microscope.

The speech alarmed Monsieur and Madame Fontaine. The old Vendeen had



ceased to be so indifferent to his daughter's prospects as he had

promised to be. He went to Paris to seek information, and found none.



Uneasy at this mystery, and not yet knowing what might be the outcome

of the inquiry which he had begged a Paris friend to institute with



reference to the family of Longueville, he thought it his duty to warn

his daughter to behave prudently. The fatherly admonition was received



with mock submission spiced with irony.

"At least, my dear Emilie, if you love him, do not own it to him."






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