a woman of thirty-第35章

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ise　warnings；　she　knew　that　she　had　no　influence　over　that　natureiron　for　her；　silken…　soft　for　all　others。　Her　mother's　tenderness　might　have　led　her　to　sympathize　with　the　troubles　of　a　passion　called　forth　by　the　nobler　qualities　of　a　lover；　but　this　was　no　passionit　was　coquetry；　and　the　Marquise　despised　Alfred　de　Vandenesse；　knowing　that　he　had　entered　upon　this　flirtation　with　Moina　as　if　it　were　a　game　of　chess。

But　if　Alfred　de　Vandenesse　made　her　shudder　with　disgust；　she　was　obligedunhappy　mother！to　conceal　the　strongest　reason　for　her　loathing　in　the　deepest　recesses　of　her　heart。　She　was　on　terms　of　intimate　friendship　with　the　Marquis　de　Vandenesse；　the　young　man's　father；　and　this　friendship；　a　respectable　one　in　the　eyes　of　the　world；　excused　the　son's　constant　presence　in　the　house；　he　professing　an　old　attachment；　dating　from　childhood；　for　Mme。　de　Saint…Hereen。　More　than　this；　in　vain　did　Mme。　d'Aiglemont　nerve　herself　to　come　between　Moina　and　Alfred　de　Vandenesse　with　a　terrible　word；　knowing　beforehand　that　she　should　not　succeed；　knowing　that　the　strong　reason　which　ought　to　separate　them　would　carry　no　weight；　that　she　should　humiliate　herself　vainly　in　her　daughter's　eyes。　Alfred　was　too　corrupt；　Moina　too　clever　to　believe　the　revelation；　the　young　Countess　would　turn　it　off　and　treat　it　as　a　piece　of　maternal　strategy。　Mme。　d'Aiglemont　had　built　her　prison　walls　with　her　own　hands；　she　had　immured　herself　only　to　see　Moina's　happiness　ruined　thence　before　she　died；　she　was　to　look　on　helplessly　at　the　ruin　of　the　young　life　which　had　been　her　pride　and　joy　and　comfort；　a　life　a　thousand　times　dearer　to　her　than　her　own。　What　words　can　describe　anguish　so　hideous　beyond　belief；　such　unfathomed　depths　of　pain？

She　waited　for　Moina　to　rise；　with　the　impatience　and　sickening　dread　of　a　doomed　man；　who　longs　to　have　done　with　life；　and　turns　cold　at　the　thought　of　the　headsman。　She　had　braced　herself　for　a　last　effort；　but　perhaps　the　prospect　of　the　certain　failure　of　the　attempt　was　less　dreadful　to　her　than　the　fear　of　receiving　yet　again　one　of　those　thrusts　that　went　to　her　very　heartbefore　that　fear　her　courage　ebbed　away。　Her　mother's　love　had　come　to　this。　To　love　her　child；　to　be　afraid　of　her；　to　shrink　from　the　thought　of　the　stab；　yet　to　go　forward。　So　great　is　a　mother's　affection　in　a　loving　nature；　that　before　it　can　fade　away　into　indifference　the　mother　herself　must　die　or　find　support　in　some　great　power　without　her；　in　religion　or　another　love。　Since　the　Marquise　rose　that　morning；　her　fatal　memory　had　called　up　before　her　some　of　those　things；　so　slight　to　all　appearance；　that　make　landmarks　in　a　life。　Sometimes；　indeed；　a　whole　tragedy　grows　out　of　a　single　gesture；　the　tone　in　which　a　few　words　were　spoken　rends　a　whole　life　in　two；　a　glance　into　indifferent　eyes　is　the　deathblow　of　the　gladdest　love；　and；　unhappily；　such　gestures　and　such　words　were　only　too　familiar　to　Mme。　d'Aiglemontshe　had　met　so　many　glances　that　wound　the　soul。　No；　there　was　nothing　in　those　memories　to　bid　her　hope。　On　the　contrary；　everything　went　to　show　that　Alfred　had　destroyed　her　hold　on　her　daughter's　heart；　that　the　thought　of　her　was　now　associated　with　dutynot　with　gladness。　In　ways　innumerable；　in　things　that　were　mere　trifles　in　themselves；　the　Countess'　detestable　conduct　rose　up　before　her　mother；　and　the　Marquise；　it　may　be；　looked　on　Moina's　undutifulness　as　a　punishment；　and　found　excuses　for　her　daughter　in　the　will　of　Heaven；　that　so　she　still　might　adore　the　hand　that　smote　her。

All　these　things　passed　through　her　memory　that　morning；　and　each　recollection　wounded　her　afresh　so　sorely；　that　with　a　very　little　additional　pain　her　brimming　cup　of　bitterness　must　have　overflowed。　A　cold　look　might　kill　her。

The　little　details　of　domestic　life　are　difficult　to　paint；　but　one　or　two　perhaps　will　suffice　to　give　an　idea　of　the　rest。

The　Marquise　d'Aiglemont；　for　instance；　had　grown　rather　deaf；　but　she　could　never　induce　Moina　to　raise　her　voice　for　her。　Once；　with　the　naivete　of　suffering；　she　had　begged　Moina　to　repeat　some　remark　which　she　had　failed　to　catch；　and　Moina　obeyed；　but　with　so　bad　a　grace；　the　Mme。　d'Aiglemont　had　never　permitted　herself　to　make　her　modest　request　again。　Ever　since　that　day　when　Moina　was　talking　or　retailing　a　piece　of　news；　her　mother　was　careful　to　come　near　to　listen；　but　this　infirmity　of　deafness　appeared　to　put　the　Countess　out　of　patience；　and　she　would　grumble　thoughtlessly　about　it。　This　instance　is　one　from　among　very　many　that　must　have　gone　to　the　mother's　heart；　and　yet　nearly　all　of　them　might　have　escaped　a　close　observer；　they　consisted　in　faint　shades　of　manner　invisible　to　any　but　a　woman's　eyes。　Take　another　example。　Mme。　d'Aiglemont　happened　to　say　one　day　that　the　Princesse　de　Cadignan　had　called　upon　her。　〃Did　she　come　to　see　/you/！〃　Moina　exclaimed。　That　was　all；　but　the　Countess'　voice　and　manner　expressed　surprise　and　well…bred　contempt　in　semitones。　Any　heart；　still　young　and　sensitive；　might　well　have　applauded　the　philanthropy　of　savage　tribes　who　kill　off　their　old　people　when　they　grow　too　feeble　to　cling　to　a　strongly　shaken　bough。　Mme。　d'Aiglemont　rose　smiling；　and　went　away　to　weep　alone。

Well…bred　people；　and　women　especially；　only　betray　their　feelings　by　imperceptible　touches；　but　those　who　can　look　back　over　their　own　experience　on　such　bruises　as　this　mother's　heart　received；　know　also　how　the　heart…strings　vibrate　to　these　light　touches。　Overcome　by　her　memories；　Mme。　d'Aiglemont　recollected　one　of　those　microscopically　small　things；　so　stinging　and　so　painful　was　it　that　never　till　this　moment　had　she　felt　all　the　heartless　contempt　that　lurked　beneath　smiles。

At　the　sound　of　shutters　thrown　back　at　her　daughter's　windows；　she　dried　her　tears；　and　hastened　up　the　pathway　by　the　railings。　As　she　went；　it　struck　her　that　the　gardener　had　been　unusually　careful　to　rake　the　sand　along　the　walk　which　had　been　neglected　for　some　little　time。　As　she　stood　under　her　daughter's　windows；　the　shutters　were　hastily　closed。

〃Moina；　is　it　you？〃　she　asked。

No　answer。

The　Marquise　went　on　into　the　house。

〃Mme。　la　Comtesse　is　in　the　little　drawing…room；〃　said　the　maid；　when　the　Marquise　asked　whether　Mme。　de　Saint…Hereen　had　finished　dressing。

Mme。　d'Aiglemont　hurried　to　the　little　drawing…room；　her　heart　was　too　full；　her　brain　too　busy　to　notice　matters　so　slight；　but　there　on　the　sofa　sat　the　Countess　in　her　loose　morning…gown；　her　hair　in　disorder　under　the　cap　tossed　carelessly　on　he　head；　her　feet　thrust　into　slippers。　The　key　of　her　bedroom　hung　at　her　girdle。　Her　face；　aglow　with　color；　bore　traces　of　almost　stormy　thought。

〃What　makes　people　come　in！〃　she　cried；　crossly。　〃Oh！　it　is　you；　mother；〃　she　interrupted　herself；　with　a　preoccupied　look。

〃Yes；　child；　it　is　your　mother〃

Something　in　her　tone　turned　those　words　into　an　outpouring　of　the　heart；　the　cry　of　some　deep　inward　feeling；　only　to　be　described　by　the　word　〃holy。〃　So　thoroughly　in　truth　had　she　rehabilitated　the　sacred　character　of　a　mother；　that　her　daughter　was　impressed；　and　turned　towards　her；　with　something　of　awe；　uneasiness；　and　remorse　in　her　manner。　The　room　was　the　furthest　of　a　suite；　and　safe　from　indiscreet　intrusion；　for　no　one　could　enter　it　without　giving　warning　of　approach　through　the　previous　apartments。　The　Marquise　closed　the　door。

〃It　is　my　duty；　my　child；　to　warn　you　in　one　of　the　most　serious　crises　in　the　lives　of　us　women；　you　have　perhaps　reached　it　unconsciously；　and　I　am　come　to　speak　to　you　as　a　friend　rather　than　as　a　mother。　When　you　married；　you　acquired　freedom　of　action；　you　are　only　accountable　to　your　husband　now；　but　I　asserted　my　authority　so　little　（perhaps　I　was　wrong）；　that　I　think　I　have　a　right　to　expect　you　to　listen　to　me；　for　once　at　least；　in　a　critical　position　when　you　must　need　counsel。　Bear　in　mind；　Moina　that　you　are　married　to　a　man　of　high　ability；　a　man　of　whom　you　may　well　be　proud；　a　man　who〃

〃I　know　what　you　are　going　to　say；　mother！〃　Moina　broke　in　pettishly。　〃I　am　to　be　lectured　about　Alfred〃

〃Moina；〃　the　Marquise　said　gravely；　as　she　struggled　with　her　tears；　〃you　would　not　guess　at　once　if　you　did　not　feel〃

〃What？〃　asked　Moina；　almost　haughtily。　〃Why；　really；　mother〃

Mme。　d'Aiglemont　summoned　up　all　her　strength。　〃Moina；〃　she　said；　〃you　must　attend　carefully　to　this　that　I　ought　to　tell　you〃

〃I　am　attending；〃　returned　the　Countess；　folding　her　arms；　and　affecting　insolent　submission。　〃Permit　me；　mother；　to　ring　for　Pauline；〃　she　added　with　incredible　self…possession；　〃I　will　send　her　away　first。〃

She　rang　the　bell。

〃My　dear　child；　Pauline　cannot　possibly　hear〃

〃Mamma；〃　interrupted　the　Countess；　with　a　gravity　which　must　have　struck　her　mother　as　something　unusual；　〃I　must〃

She　stopped　short；　for　the　woman　was　in　the　room。

〃Pauline；　go　/yourself/　to　Baudran's；　and　ask　why　my　hat　has　not　yet　been　sent。〃

Then　the　Countess　reseated　herself　and　scrutinized　her　mother。　The　Marquise；　with　a　swelling　heart　and　dry　eyes；　in　painful　agitation；　which　none　but　a　mother　can　fully　understand；　began　to　open　Moina's　eyes　to　the　risk　that　she　was　running。　But　either　the　Countess　felt　hurt　and　indignant　at　her　mother's　suspicions　of　a　son　of　the　Marquis　de　Vandenesse；　or　she　was　seized　with　a　sudden　fit　of　inexplicable　levity　caused　by　the　inexperience　of　youth。　She　took　advantage　of　a　pause。

〃Mamma；　I　thought　you　were　only　jealous　of　/the　father/〃　she　said；　with　a　forced　laugh。

Mme。　d'Aiglemont　shut　her　eyes　and　bent　her　head　at　the　words；　with　a　very　faint；　almost　inaudible　sigh。　She　looked　up　and　out　into　space；　as　if　she　felt　the　common　overmastering　impulse　to　appeal　to　God　at　the　great　crises　of　our　lives；　then　she　looked　at　her　daughter；　and　her　eyes　were　full　of　awful　majesty　and　the　expression　of　profound　sorrow。

〃My　child；〃　she　said；　and　her　voice　was　hardly　recognizable；　〃you　have　been　less　merciful　to　your　mother　than　he　against　whom　she　sinned；　less　merciful　than　perhaps　God　Himself　will　be！〃

Mme。　d'Aiglemont　rose；　at　the　door　she　turned；　but　she　saw　nothing　but　surprise　in　her　daughter's　face。　She　went　out。　Scarcely　had　she　reached　the　garden　when　her　strength　failed　her。　There　was　a　violent　pain　at　her　heart；　and　she　sank　down　on　a　bench。　As　her　eyes　wandered　over　the　path；　she　saw　fresh　marks　on　the　path；　a　man's　footprints　were　distinctly　recognizable。　It　was　too　late；　then；　beyond　a　doubt。　Now　she　began　to　understand　the　reason　for　that　order　given　to　Pauline；　and　with　these　torturing　thoughts　came　a　revelation　more　hateful　than　any　that　had　gone　before　it。　She　drew　her　own　inferencesthe　son　of　the　Marquis　de　Vandenesse　had　destroyed　all　feeling　of　respect　for　her　in　her　daughter's　mind。　The　physical　pain　grew　worse；　by　degrees　she　lost　consciousness；　and　sat　like　one　asleep　upon　the　garden…seat。

The　Countess　de　Saint…Hereen；　left　to　herself；　thought　that　her　mother　had　given　her　a　somewhat　shrewd　home…thrust；　but　a　kiss　and　a　few　attentions　that　evening　would　make　all　right　again。

A　shrill　cry　came　from　the　garden。　She　leaned　carelessly　out；　as　Pauline；　not　yet　departed　on　her　errand；　called　out　for　help；　holding　the　Marquise　in