PAGE 16
The Sweetheart Of M. Briseux
by
I doubt that Harold, in his resentment, either understood M. Briseux’s words or appreciated his sketch. He simply felt that he had been the victim of a monstrous aggression, in which I, in some painfully inexplicable way, had been half dupe and half accomplice. I was watching his anger and weighing it’s ominous significance. His cold fury, and the expression it threw into his face and gestures, told me more about him than weeks of placid love-making had done, and, following close upon my vivid sense of his incapacity, seemed suddenly to cut the knot that bound us together, and over which my timid fingers had been fumbling. “Put on your bonnet,” he said to me; “get a carriage and go home. ”
I can’t describe his tone. It contained an assumption of my confusion and compliance, which made me feel that I ought to lose no time in undeceiving him. Nevertheless I felt cruelly perplexed, and almost afraid of his displeasure. Mechanically I took up my bonnet. As I held it in my hand, my eyes met those of our terrible companion, who was evidently trying to read the riddle of my relations with Harold. Planted there with his trembling lips, his glittering, searching eyes, an indefinable something in his whole person that told of joyous impulse arrested, but pausing only for a more triumphant effort, he seemed a strangely eloquent embodiment of youthful genius. I don’t know whether he read in my glance a ray of sympathy, but his lips formed a soundless “Restez, madame,” which quickened the beating of my heart. The feeling that then invaded it I despair of making you understand; yet it must help in your eyes to excuse me, and it was so profound that often in memory it seems more real and poignant than the things of the present. Poor little Briseux, ugly, shabby, disreputable, seemed to me some appealing messenger from the mysterious immensity of life; and Harold, beside him, comely, elegant, imposing, justly indignant, seemed to me simply his narrow, personal, ineffectual self. This was a wider generalization than the feminine, heart is used to. I flung my bonnet on the floor and burst into tears.
“This is not an exhibition for a stranger,” said Harold grimly. “Be so good as to follow me. ”
“You must excuse me; I can’t follow you; I can’t explain. I have something more to say to M. Briseux. He’s less of a stranger than you think. ”
“I’m to leave you here?” stammered Harold.
“It’s the simplest way. ”
“With that dirty little Frenchman?”
“What should I care for his being clean? It’s his genius that interests me. ”
Harold stared in dark amazement. “Are you insane? Do you know what you’re doing?”
“An act, I believe, of real charity. ”
“Charity begins at home. it’s an act of desperate folly. Must I command you to leave?”
“You’ve done that already. I can’t obey you. If I were to do so, I should pretend what isn’t true; and, let me say it, it’s to undeceive you that I refuse. ”
“I don’t understand you,” cried Harold, “nor to what spell this meddlesome little beggar has subjected you! But I’m not a man to be trifled with, you know, and this is my last request; my last, do you understand? If you prefer the society of this abandoned person, you’re welcome, but you forfeit mine forever. It’s a choice! You give up the man who has offered you an honourable affection, a name, a fortune, who has trusted and cherished you, who stands ready to make you a devoted husband. What you get the Lord knows!”