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The Lily of the Valley-Part33_Honore de Balzac(1799-1850)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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never concern."



"You have a noble soul, Felix," said the count, slipping his arm, not

ungracefully, round his wife's waist and drawing her towards him to



say: "Forgive a poor sick man, dear, who wants to be loved more than

he deserves."



"There are some hearts that are all generosity," she said, resting her

head upon his shoulder. The scene made her tremble to such a degree



that her comb fell, her hair rolled down, and she turned pale. The

count, holding her up, gave a sort of groan as he felt her fainting;



he caught her in his arms as he might a child, and carried her to the

sofa in the salon, where we all surrounded her. Henriette held my hand



in hers as if to tell me that we two alone knew the secret of that

scene, so simple in itself, so heart-rending to her.



"I do wrong," she said to me in a low voice, when the count left the

room to fetch a glass of orange-flower water. "I have many wrongs to



repent of towards you; I wished to fill you with despair when I ought

to have received you mercifully. Dear, you are kindness itself, and I



alone can appreciate it. Yes, I know there is a kindness prompted by

passion. Men have various ways of being kind; some from contempt,



others from impulse, from calculation, through indolence of nature;

but you, my friend, you have been absolutely kind."



"If that be so," I replied, "remember that all that is good or great

in me comes through you. You know well that I am of your making."



"That word is enough for any woman's happiness," she said, as the

count re-entered the room. "I feel better," she said, rising; "I want



air."

We went down to the terrace, fragrant with the acacias which were



still in bloom. She had taken my right arm, and pressed it against her

heart, thus expressing her sad thoughts; but they were, she said, of a



sadness dear to her. No doubt she would gladly have been alone with

me; but her imagination, inexpert in women's wiles, did not suggest to



her any way of sending her children and the count back to the house.

We therefore talked on indifferent subjects, while she pondered a



means of pouring a few last thoughts from her heart to mine.

"It is a long time since I have driven out," she said, looking at the



beauty of the evening. "Monsieur, will you please order the carriage

that I may take a turn?"



She knew that after evening prayer she could not speak with me, for

the count was sure to want his backgammon. She might have returned to



the warm and fragrantterrace after her husband had gone to bed, but

she feared, perhaps, to trust herself beneath those shadows, or to



walk by the balustrade where our eyes could see the course of the

Indre through the dear valley. As the silent and sombre vaults of a



cathedral lift the soul to prayer, so leafy ways, lighted by the moon,

perfumed with penetrating odors, alive with the murmuring noises of



the spring-tide, stir the fibres and weaken the resolves of those who

love. The country calms the old, but excites the young. We knew it



well. Two strokes of the bell announced the hour of prayer. The

countess shivered.



"Dear Henriette, are you ill?"

"There is no Henriette," she said. "Do not bring her back. She was



capricious and exacting; now you have a friend whose courage has been

strengthened by the words which heaven itself dictated to you. We will



talk of this later. We must be punctual at prayers, for it is my day

to lead them."



As Madame de Mortsauf said the words in which she begged the help of

God through all the adversities of life, a tone came into her voice



which struck all present. Did she use her gift of second sight to

foresee the terrible emotion she was about to endure through my



forgetfulness of an engagement made with Arabella?

"We have time to make three kings before the horses are harnessed,"



said the count, dragging me back to the salon. "You can go and drive

with my wife, and I'll go to bed."



The game was stormy, like all others. The countess heard the count's

voice either from her room or from Madeleine's.



"You show a strange hospitality," she said, re-entering the salon.

I looked at her with amazement; I could not get accustomed to the



change in her; formerly she would have been most careful not to

protect me against the count; then it gladdened her that I should



share her sufferings and bear them with patience for love of her.

"I would give my life," I whispered in her ear, "if I could hear you



say again, as you once said, 'Poor dear, poor dear!'"

She lowered her eyes, remembering the moment to which I alluded, yet






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