She adored him, and nevertheless she exhibited for a good quarter of an hour in her invective against his, Julien's, character, and her regret at having ever loved him, the same haughty soul which had formerly overwhelmed him with such cutting insults in the library of the Hotel de la Mole.
"In justice to the glory of your stock, Heaven should have had you born a man," he said to her.
"But as for myself," he thought, "I should be very foolish to go on living for two more months in this disgusting place, to serve as a butt for all the infamous humiliations which the patrician party can devise, and having the outburst of this mad woman for my only consolation.... Well, the morning after to-morrow I shall fight a duel with a man known for his self-possession and his remarkable skill ... his very remarkable skill," said the Mephistophelian part of him; "he never makes a miss.
Well, so be it—good." (Mathilde continued to wax eloquent).
"No, not for a minute," he said to himself, "I shall not appeal."
Having made this resolution, he fell into meditation....
"The courier will bring the paper at six o'clock as usual, as he passes; at eight o'clock, after M. de Renal has finished reading it, Elisa will go on tiptoe and place it on her bed.
Later on she will wake up; suddenly, as she reads it she will become troubled; her pretty hands will tremble; she will go on reading down to these words: At five minutes past ten he had ceased to exist.
"She will shed hot tears, I know her; it will matter nothing that I tried to assassinate her—all will be forgotten, and the person whose life I wished to take will be the only one who will sincerely lament my death.
"Ah, that's a good paradox," he thought, and he thought about nothing except madame de Renal during the good quarter of an hour which the scene Mathilde was making still lasted.
In spite of himself, and though he made frequent answers to what Mathilde was saying, he could not take his mind away from the thought of the bedroom at Verrieres.
He saw the Besancon Gazette on the counterpane of orange taffeta; he saw that white hand clutching at it convulsively. He saw madame de Renal cry.... He followed the path of every tear over her charming face.
Mademoiselle de la Mole, being unable to get anything out of Julien, asked the advocate to come in.
Fortunately, he was an old captain of the Italian army of 1796, where he had been a comrade of Manuel.
He opposed the condemned man's resolution as a matter of form.
Wishing to treat him with respect, Julien explained all his reasons.
"Upon my word, I can understand a man taking the view you do," said M. Felix Vaneau (that was the advocate's name) to him at last.
"But you have three full days in which to appeal, and it is my duty to come back every day.
If a volcano were to open under the prison between now and two months' time you would be saved.
You might die of illness," he said, looking at Julien. Julien pressed his hand—"I thank you, you are a good fellow. I will think it over."
And when Mathilde eventually left with the advocate, he felt much more affection for the advocate than for her. _____
CHAPTER LXXIII _____
When he was deep asleep an hour afterwards, he was woken up by feeling tears flow over his hand.
"Oh, it is Mathilde again," he thought, only half awake.
"She has come again, faithful to her tactics of attacking my resolution by her sentimentalism."
Bored by the prospect of this new scene of hackneyed pathos he did not open his eyes.
The verses of Belphgor, as he ran away from his wife, came into his mind.
He heard a strange sigh. He opened his eyes. It was madame de Renal.
"Ah, so I see you again before I die, or is it an illusion," he exclaimed as he threw himself at her feet.
"But, forgive me, madame, you must look upon me as a mere murderer," he said, immediately, as he recovered himself.
"Monsieur, I have come to entreat you to appeal; I know you do not want to...." her sobs choked her; she was unable to speak.
"Deign to forgive me."
"If you want me to forgive you," she said to him, getting up and throwing herself into his arms, "appeal immediately against your death sentence."
Julien covered her with kisses.
"Will you come and see me every day during those two months?"
"I swear it—every day, unless my husband forbids me."
"I will sign it," exclaimed Julien.
"What! you really forgive me!
Is it possible?"
He clasped her in his arms; he was mad.
She gave a little cry.
"It is nothing," she said to him. "You hurt me."
"Your shoulder," exclaimed Julien, bursting into tears.
He drew back a little, and covered her hands with kisses of fire.
"Who could have prophesied this, dear, the last time I saw you in your room at Verrieres?"
"Who could have prophesied then that I should write that infamous letter to M. de la Mole?"
"Know that I have always loved you, and that I have never loved anyone but you."
"Is it possible?" cried Madame de Renal, who was delighted in her turn.
She leant on Julien, who was on his knees, and they cried silently for a long time.
Julien had never experienced moments like this at any period of his whole life.