Villette

PAUL.«
    »Be ready?« Then it must be this evening; was he not to go on the morrow? Yes; of that point I was certain. I had seen the date of his vessel's departure advertised. Oh!
I
would be ready, but could that longed-for meeting really be achieved? the time was so short, the schemers seemed so watchful, so active, so hostile; the way of access appeared strait as a gully, deep as a chasm – Apollyon straddled across it, breathing flames. Could my Greatheart overcome? Could my guide reach me?
    Who might tell? Yet I began to take some courage, some comfort; it seemed to me that I felt a pulse of his heart beating yet true to the whole throb of mine.
    I waited my champion. Apollyon came trailing his Hell behind him. I think if Eternity held torment, its form would not be fiery rack, nor its nature, despair. I think that on a certain day amongst those days which never dawned, and will not set, an angel entered Hades – stood, shone, smiled, delivered a prophecy of conditional pardon, kindled a doubtful hope of bliss to come, not now, but at a day and hour unlooked for, revealed in his own glory and grandeur the height and compass of his promise; spoke thus – then towering, became a star, and vanished into his own Heaven. His legacy was suspense – a worse boon than despair.
    All that evening I waited, trusting in the dove-sent olive-leaf, yet in the midst of my trust, terribly fearing. My fear pressed heavy. Cold and peculiar, I knew it for the partner of a rarely-belied presentiment. The first hours seemed long and slow; in spirit I clung to the flying skirts of the last. They passed like drift cloud – like the rack scudding before a storm.
    They passed. All the long, hot summer day burned away like a Yule-log; the crimson of its close perished; I was left bent among the cool blue shades, over the pale and ashen gleams of its night.
    Prayers were over; it was bed-time; my co-inmates were all retired. I still remained in the gloomy first-classe, forgetting, or at least disregarding, rules I had never forgotten or disregarded before.
    How long I paced that classe I cannot tell; I must have been afoot many hours; mechanically had I moved aside benches and desks, and had made for myself a path down its length. There I walked, and there, when certain that the whole household were abed, and quite out of hearing – there, I at last wept. Reliant on Night, confiding in Solitude, I kept my tears sealed, my sobs chained, no longer; they heaved my heart; they tore their way. In this house, what grief could be sacred?
    Soon after eleven o'clock – a very late hour for the Rue Fossette – the door unclosed, quietly but not stealthily; a lamp's flame invaded the moonlight; Madame Beck entered, with the same composed air, as if coming on an ordinary occasion, at an ordinary season. Instead of at once addressing me, she went to her desk, took her keys, and seemed to seek something; she loitered over this feigned search long, too long. She was calm, too calm; my mood scarce endured the pretence; driven beyond common range, two hours since I had left behind me wonted respects and fears. Led by a touch, and ruled by a word, under usual circumstances, no yoke could now be borne – no curb obeyed.
    »It is more than time for retirement,« said Madame; »the rule of the house has already been transgressed too long.«
    Madame met no answer: I did not check my walk; when she came in my way, I put her out of it.
    »Let me persuade you to calm, meess; let me lead you to your chamber,« said she, trying to speak softly.
    »No!« I said; »neither you nor another shall persuade or lead me.«
    »Your bed shall be warmed. Goton is sitting up still. She shall make you comfortable: she shall give you a sedative.«
    »Madame,« I broke out, »you are a sensualist. Under all your serenity, your peace, and your decorum, you are an undenied sensualist. Make your own bed warm and soft; take sedatives and meats, and drinks spiced and sweet, as much as you will. If you have any sorrow or disappointment – and, perhaps, you have – nay, I
know
you have – seek your own palliatives, in your own chosen resources. Leave me, however.
Leave me,
I say!«
    »I must send another to watch you, meess; I must send Goton.«
    »I forbid it. Let me alone. Keep your hand off me, and my life, and my troubles. Oh, Madame! in
your
hand there is both chill and poison. You envenom and you paralyze.«
    »What have I done, meess? You must not marry Paul. He cannot