She slowly turned her head towards him. He was astonished by the extreme anguish in her eyes. There was not a trace of their usual expression.
Julien felt his strength desert him. So great was the deadly pain of the courageous feat which he was imposing on himself.
"Those eyes will soon express nothing but the coldest disdain," said Julien to himself, "if I allow myself to be swept away by the happiness of loving her."
She, however, kept repeatedly assuring him at this moment, in a hushed voice, and in words which she had scarcely the strength to finish, of all her remorse for those steps which her inordinate pride had dictated.
"I, too, have pride," said Julien to her, in a scarcely articulate voice, while his features portrayed the lowest depths of physical prostration.
Mathilde turned round sharply towards him.
Hearing his voice was a happiness which she had given up hoping.
At this moment her only thought of her haughtiness was to curse it. She would have liked to have found out some abnormal and incredible actions, in order to prove to him the extent to which she adored him and detested herself.
"That pride is probably the reason," continued Julien, "why you singled me out for a moment. My present courageous and manly firmness is certainly the reason why you respect me.
I may entertain love for the marechale."
Mathilde shuddered; a strange expression came into her eyes.
She was going to hear her sentence pronounced.
This shudder did not escape Julien. He felt his courage weaken.
"Ah," he said to himself, as he listened to the sound of the vain words which his mouth was articulating, as he thought it were some strange sound, "if I could only cover those pale cheeks with kisses without your feeling it."
"I may entertain love for the marechale," he continued, while his voice became weaker and weaker, "but I certainly have no definite proof of her interest in me."
Mathilde looked at him. He supported that look. He hoped, at any rate, that his expression had not betrayed him.
He felt himself bathed in a love that penetrated even into the most secret recesses of his heart.
He had never adored her so much; he was almost as mad as Mathilde.
If she had mustered sufficient self-possession and courage to man?uvre, he would have abandoned all his play-acting, and fallen at her feet.
He had sufficient strength to manage to continue speaking:
"Ah, Korasoff," he exclaimed mentally, "why are you not here?
How I need a word from you to guide me in my conduct."
During this time his voice was saying,
"In default of any other sentiment, gratitude would be sufficient to attach me to the marechale. She has been indulgent to me; she has consoled me when I have been despised.
I cannot put unlimited faith in certain appearances which are, no doubt, extremely flattering, but possibly very fleeting."
"Oh, my God!" exclaimed Mathilde.
"Well, what guarantee will you give me?" replied Julien with a sharp, firm intonation, which seemed to abandon for a moment the prudent forms of diplomacy.
"What guarantee, what god will warrant that the position to which you seem inclined to restore me at the present moment will last more than two days?"
"The excess of my love, and my unhappiness if you do not love me," she said to him, taking his hands and turning towards him.
The spasmodic movement which she had just made had slightly displaced her tippet; Julien caught a view of her charming shoulders.
Her slightly dishevelled hair recalled a delicious memory....
He was on the point of succumbing.
"One imprudent word," he said to himself, "and I have to start all over again that long series of days which I have passed in despair.
Madame de Renal used to find reasons for doing what her heart dictated.
This young girl of high society never allows her heart to be moved except when she has proved to herself by sound logic that it ought to be moved."
He saw this proof in the twinkling of an eye, and in the twinkling of an eye too, he regained his courage.
He took away his hands which Mathilde was pressing in her own, and moved a little away from her with a marked respect.
Human courage could not go further.
He then busied himself with putting together madame de Fervaque's letters which were spread out on the divan, and it was with all the appearance of extreme politeness that he cruelly exploited the psychological moment by adding,
"Mademoiselle de la Mole will allow me to reflect over all this."
He went rapidly away and left the library; she heard him shut all the doors one after the other.
"The monster is not the least bit troubled," she said to herself.
"But what am I saying? Monster?
He is wise, prudent, good. It is I myself who have committed more wrong than one can imagine."
This point of view lasted.
Mathilde was almost happy today, for she gave herself up to love unreservedly. One would have said that this soul had never been disturbed by pride (and what pride!)
She shuddered with horror when a lackey announced madame le Fervaques into the salon in the evening. The man's voice struck her as sinister.
She could not endure the sight of the marechale, and stopped suddenly.
Julien who had felt little pride over his painful victory, had feared to face her, and had not dined at the Hotel de la Mole.
His love and his happiness rapidly increased in proportion to the time that elapsed from the moment of the battle. He was blaming himself already.