His pride gave him the illusion that he only accepted the sum offered by M. de Renal as a loan, and induced him to give him a promissory note, repayable in five years with interest.
Madame de Renal had, of course, many thousands of francs which had been concealed in the little mountain cave.
She offered them to him all a tremble, feeling only too keenly that they would be angrily refused.
"Do you wish," said Julien to her, "to make the memory of our love loathsome?"
Finally Julien left Verrieres.
M. de Renal was very happy, but when the fatal moment came to accept money from him the sacrifice proved beyond Julien's strength.
He refused point blank.
M. de Renal embraced him around the neck with tears in his eyes.
Julien had asked him for a testimonial of good conduct, and his enthusiasm could find no terms magnificent enough in which to extol his conduct.
Our hero had five louis of savings and he reckoned on asking Fouque for an equal sum.
He was very moved.
But one league from Verrieres, where he left so much that was dear to him, he only thought of the happiness of seeing the capital of a great military town like Besancon.
During the short absence of three days, Madame de Renal was the victim of one of the cruellest deceptions to which love is liable.
Her life was tolerable, because between her and extreme unhappiness there was still that last interview which she was to have with Julien.
Finally during the night of the third day, she heard from a distance the preconcerted signal.
Julien, having passed through a thousand dangers, appeared before her.
In this moment she only had one thought—"I see him for the last time."
Instead of answering the endearments of her lover, she seemed more dead than alive.
If she forced herself to tell him that she loved him, she said it with an embarrassed air which almost proved the contrary.
Nothing could rid her of the cruel idea of eternal separation.
The suspicious Julien thought for the moment that he was already forgotten.
His pointed remarks to this effect were only answered by great tears which flowed down in silence, and by some hysterical pressings of the hand.
"But," Julien would answer his mistress's cold protestations, "Great Heavens! How can you expect me to believe you? You would show one hundred times more sincere affection to Madame Derville to a mere acquaintance."
Madame de Renal was petrified, and at a loss for an answer.
"It is impossible to be more unhappy. I hope I am going to die. I feel my heart turn to ice."
Those were the longest answers which he could obtain.
When the approach of day rendered it necessary for him to leave Madame de Renal, her tears completely ceased.
She saw him tie a knotted rope to the window without saying a word, and without returning her kisses.
It was in vain that Julien said to her.
"So now we have reached the state of affairs which you wished for so much.
Henceforward you will live without remorse.
The slightest indisposition of your children will no longer make you see them in the tomb."
"I am sorry that you cannot kiss Stanislas," she said coldly.
Julien finished by being profoundly impressed by the cold embraces of this living corpse. He could think of nothing else for several leagues.
His soul was overwhelmed, and before passing the mountain, and while he could still see the church tower of Verrieres he turned round frequently. _____
CHAPTER XXIV
A CAPITAL _____
What a noise, what busy people!
What ideas for the future in a brain of twenty!
What distraction offered by love.—Barnave. _____
Finally he saw some black walls near a distant mountain. It was the citadel of Besancon.
"How different it would be for me," he said with a sigh, "if I were arriving at this noble military town to be sub-lieutenant in one of the regiments entrusted with its defence."
Besancon is not only one of the prettiest towns in France, it abounds in people of spirit and brains.
But Julien was only a little peasant, and had no means of approaching distinguished people.
He had taken a civilian suit at Fouque's, and it was in this dress that he passed the drawbridge.
Steeped as he was in the history of the siege of 1674, he wished to see the ramparts of the citadel before shutting himself up in the seminary.
He was within an ace two or three times of getting himself arrested by the sentinel. He was penetrating into places which military genius forbids the public to enter, in order to sell twelve or fifteen francs worth of corn every year.
The height of the walls, the depth of the ditches, the terrible aspect of the cannons had been engrossing him for several hours when he passed before the great cafe on the boulevard.
He was motionless with wonder; it was in vain that he read the word cafe, written in big characters above the two immense doors. He could not believe his eyes.
He made an effort to overcome his timidity. He dared to enter, and found himself in a hall twenty or thirty yards long, and with a ceiling at least twenty feet high.