• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 15972 0

her, and what was my intoxication when in the rapid movements of the waltz, my arm encircled her slender waist, or when dancing la Hongroise, our hands entwined, then quitted to be taken again; yet more than once I felt her soft hands press mine; more than once her large eyes rested upon me with a look that penetrated my very soul, and which I saw again at night in my dreams. Oh! how happy was I then! But alas! my happiness was shared; one of my comrades, whom I dearly loved, was almost as much devoted to the young widow as myself. In promenades, at balls, we were constantly at her side, and I must do her the justice to say, she knew well how to measure out her smiles; so that when we left her, each felt equally sure his own suit had the preference. When I spoke to her in the impetuosity of my passion, I had an eloquence, my dear Ernest, of which I cannot now give you the least idea; it was my sincerity I hoped would affect her heart. I observed she listened to me with pleasure, but I also saw she looked at my rival at the same time; that she watched his large dark lustrous eyes, whose mute eloquence I feared would counterbalance mine. Tortured by jealousy, I determined to exact a decision between us. Fate ordained she should decide against me; being condemned to retreat to my room for a few days, (these little accidents will happen to us sometimes.)

“During that time the suit of my rival made its way so well, that the day in which I was free to visit the lady and tell her the tortures inflicted on me by absence, my fortunate comrade came to see me. ‘We have both,’ said he, ‘made our court to Madame de B——, loyally and without seeking to injure each other in her estimation; between friends it would be ridiculous to quarrel, a thousand times more foolish to cut each other’s throats because one has been preferred, and you know it is impossible that she should marry us both.’ In a word, after this preamble he declared Madame de B—— had returned his passion, in attestation of which he showed me two or three highly-perfumed billets. My head turned. I saw only some little fly-specks, which seemed the points of a thousand needles stuck into my heart.

“Oh! how unhappy I was then, unhappy as you are now, my dear nephew, and you will confess I was very young to have the dream of my existence broken. My life was discoloured, was henceforth without an aim; our military exercises, balls, equipades had all lost their attractions for me; but I know not by what fatality I could not detach myself from my friend, from my fortunate rival. I delighted to converse with him about the commencement of his passion, to make him tell me of its progress. Though it was like plunging a dagger in the wound again, yet I would not have lost one word. I watched him well when he had been to see her, and apparently his self-love was flattered by it, for he faithfully gave me a running account of his happiness.

Oh! Grand Dieu! how I wished for the field of battle where I might die with honour; but alas! fate was against me here too. In the midst of his splendid his happy success, my friend was sent to join his regiment in Spain.

He told me, with a mournful air — the parting scene was very affecting — like a man in articulo mortis he bequeathed me all his right to the heart of the young widow (well persuaded, however, in his own mid she would prove faithful to him,) and exacted my promise I would never tell her of the confidence he had given me. I promised him faithfully I would not, and he left for his regiment, and I remained master of the field.

“I went to see Amelie; she appeared to support his absence with much fortitude. I determined beforehand to appear haughty, to be invulnerable; but then came the temptation to try and see if I could not make her fall desperately in love with me. But I was never designed to be a Lovelace. My secret was suffocating me; a thousand times I wished to speak of it, but then I had promised silence. When I was with her I could believe her sweet eyes, her tremulous voice — I saw not, poor fool, that I was only an instrument