• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

Maurice listened to her enraptured, for it was impossible, even under the influence of the maddest passion, not to accept that such accumulated griefs could lead to the state of pain Geneviève was in.

“So you have come, you are here, I’m holding you, you won’t leave me again!”

Geneviève shivered.

“Where else could I have gone?” she replied with a flash of bitterness.

“Do I have a refuge, a safe place, a protector other than a man who named a price for his protection? Oh, I was wild with rage, Maurice. I ran onto the Pont-Neuf and stopped to look at the black water swirling around the arches below; and I have to say it drew me, mesmerized me. The jig is up for you, you poor woman, I said to myself. There lies shelter, down there. There lies inviolable rest. There lies oblivion.”

“Geneviève! Geneviève!” cried Maurice. “Is that what you thought? … So you don’t love me?”

“I told you,” Geneviève whispered. “I told you, and I came.”

Maurice let out a breath and let himself slide to her feet.

“Geneviève,” he murmured, “stop crying, Geneviève. Console yourself for all your misfortune, since you love me. In the name of heaven, Geneviève, tell me it’s not the violence of my threats that brought you here. Tell me that even if you hadn’t seen me tonight, finding yourself alone, on your own, without a refuge, you would have come to me; and accept the vow I’m making now to release you from the oath I made you swear.”

Geneviève gazed down upon Maurice with an ineffable expression of gratitude in her eyes.

“So generous!” she said. “Thank you, God, for making him so generous!”

“Listen, Geneviève,” said Maurice. “They may be hunting God out of the temples here, but they can’t hunt Him out of our hearts, where he has put love; and it’s God who has made tonight look so dark and gloomy on the surface, but underneath it’s sparkling with joy and happiness. God has led you to me, Geneviève; He has placed you in my arms. He speaks to you through my breath. God, God Himself, finally wants to reward us for all the suffering we’ve endured, all the virtue we have shown in fighting a love that seemed illicit—as though a feeling so lastingly pure and deep could be a crime! So don’t cry anymore, Geneviève, dry your eyes! Give me your hand. Do you want to feel like you’re in a brother’s house? Do you want this brother to kiss the hem of your dress and leave you alone? Do you want him to say a prayer for you and go out the door without so much as a backward glance? Well then! Just say the word, give me a sign and I’ll go; you’ll be alone, free and safe as a virgin in a church. But if, on the other hand, my adored Geneviève, you care to remember that I’ve loved you so much I nearly died of it, that because of this love, which you could make fatal or a source of bliss, I’ve betrayed my own people, I’ve made myself odious and vile even to myself—then think of all the happiness the future holds for us, of the strength and energy we have because we’re young and in love and we can defend our dawning happiness against whoever and whatever tries to attack it! Oh, Geneviève! You, you who are an angel of goodness, tell me—is this what you want? Do you want to make one man so happy he’ll stop regretting this life and looking forward to eternal happiness in the next? Well then, if you do, stop pushing me away. Give me a smile, my Geneviève, let me put your hand on my heart. Come to me. I long for you with all my strength, all my desire, all my soul. Geneviève, my love, my life; Geneviève, don’t take back your vow!”

The young woman’s heart soared at these words: the languor of love, combined with the fatigue of all her suffering, overcame all her resistance; the tears no longer sprang to her eyes, and yet her burning breast still heaved with stifled sobs.

Maurice sensed she no longer had the courage to resist; he seized her in his arms. She dropped her head on his shoulder and her long hair spilled down over the fiery cheeks of her lover.

At the same time Maurice felt