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THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL 137
she want this reconciliation ? Was she afraid of a war to
the knife between nie and the Baron? Did she dread
possible disclosures ? . . .
. . . What a punishment she had inflicted on me by
compelling me to revisit this dreary house ! But, cruel
egoist tliat she was, she had no sympathy with another’s
terrors. I have had to promise her, on my oath, to deny
the whole story of the illicit relationship which existed
between the Baron and her cousin, so as to stop all slander.
I went to this last meeting with slow steps and a sinking
heart.
The little garden smiled at me with its blossoming cherry
trees, its sweet-scented daffodils. The shrubbery, where
her marvellous beauty had bewitched me, was bursting
into leaf; the turned-up flower-beds looked like black
shrouds spread out on the lawn ; I pictured the forsaken
little girl wandering about there alone, looked after by a
servant, and learning her lessons ; I pictured her growing
up, awakening to the facts of life, and being told one day
that her mother had deserted her.
I mounted the stairs of the fatal house, which was built
against a sand cjuarry, and called up the memories of my
childhood. Friendship, family, love, all had been
jeopardised, and, in spite of our efforts to comply with
the law of the land, crime had stained its threshold.
Who was to blame ?
The Baroness opened the folding doors and secretly
kissed me between the wings. I could not suppress a
momentary feeling of loathing, and indignantly pushed
her aside. It reminded me of the servants’ flirtations at
the back door, and filled me with disgust. Behind the
door ! Slut ! without pride, without dignity !
She pretended that I was reluctant to enter the drawing-
room, and asked me in a loud voice to come in, at the very
moment when, embarrassed by the humiliating situation
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