"How could I resist her?" he said to himself.
"Suppose she were to go and leave off loving me!
One single moment may change that haughty soul, and I must admit that I have treated her awfully."
In the evening he felt that it was absolutely necessary to put in an appearance at the Bouffes in madame de Fervaques' box.
She had expressly invited him.
Mathilde would be bound to know of his presence or his discourteous absence.
In spite of the clearness of this logic, he could not at the beginning of the evening bring himself to plunge into society.
By speaking he would lose half his happiness.
Ten o'clock struck and it was absolutely necessary to show himself.
Luckily he found the marechale's box packed with women, and was relegated to a place near the door where he was completely hidden by the hats.
This position saved him from looking ridiculous; Caroline's divine notes of despair in the Matrimonio Segreto made him burst into tears.
Madame de Fervaques saw these tears.
They represented so great a contrast with the masculine firmness of his usual expression that the soul of the old-fashioned lady, saturated as it had been for many years with all the corroding acid of parvenu haughtiness, was none the less touched.
Such remnants of a woman's heart as she still possessed impelled her to speak: she wanted to enjoy the sound of his voice at this moment.
"Have you seen the de la Mole ladies?" she said to him.
"They are in the third tier."
Julien immediately craned out over the theatre, leaning politely enough on the front of the box. He saw Mathilde; her eyes were shining with tears.
"And yet it is not their Opera day," thought Julien; "how eager she must be!"
Mathilde had prevailed on her mother to come to the Bouffes in spite of the inconveniently high tier of the box, which a lady friend of the family had hastened to offer her.
She wanted to see if Julien would pass the evening with the marechale. _____
CHAPTER LXI
FRIGHTEN HER _____
So this is the fine miracle of your civilisation; you have turned love into an ordinary business.—Barnave. _____
Julien rushed into madame de la Mole's box.
His eyes first met the tearful eyes of Mathilde; she was crying without reserve. There were only insignificant personages present, the friend who had leant her box, and some men whom she knew.
Mathilde placed her hand on Julien's; she seemed to have forgotten all fear of her mother.
Almost stifled as she was by her tears, she said nothing but this one word:
"Guarantees!"
"So long as I don't speak to her," said Julien to himself. He was himself very moved, and concealed his eyes with his hand as best he could under the pretext of avoiding the dazzling light of the third tier of boxes.
"If I speak she may suspect the excess of my emotion, the sound of my voice will betray me. All may yet be lost."
His struggles were more painful than they had been in the morning, his soul had had the time to become moved.
He had been frightened at seeing Mathilde piqued with vanity.
Intoxicated as he was with love and pleasure he resolved not to speak.
In my view this is one of the finest traits in his character, an individual capable of such an effort of self-control may go far si fata sinant.
Mademoiselle de la Mole insisted on taking Julien back to the hotel.
Luckily it was raining a great deal, but the marquise had him placed opposite her, talked to him incessantly, and prevented him saying a single word to her daughter.
One might have thought that the marquise was nursing Julien's happiness for him; no longer fearing to lose everything through his excessive emotion, he madly abandoned himself to his happiness.
Shall I dare to say that when he went back to his room Julien fell on his knees and covered with kisses the love letters which prince Korasoff had given him.
"How much I owe you, great man," he exclaimed in his madness.
Little by little he regained his self-possession.
He compared himself to a general who had just won a great battle.
"My advantage is definite and immense," he said to himself, "but what will happen to-morrow?
One instant may ruin everything."
With a passionate gesture he opened the Memoirs which Napoleon had dictated at St. Helena and for two long hours forced himself to read them. Only his eyes read; no matter, he made himself do it.
During this singular reading his head and his heart rose to the most exalted level and worked unconsciously.
"Her heart is very different from madame de Renal's," he said to himself, but he did not go further.
"Frighten her!" he suddenly exclaimed, hurling away the book.
"The enemy will only obey me in so far as I frighten him, but then he will not dare to show contempt for me."
Intoxicated with joy he walked up and down his little room.
In point of fact his happiness was based rather on pride than on love.