Inevitable

L

SHE STAYED AT HOME for a day, tired, and deep inside, almost unconsciously, nevertheless frightened of meeting him. But Mrs Uxeley, who would not hear of sickness or exhaustion, was so upset that the following day Cornélie accompanied her to the Promenade des Anglais. Acquaintances came up and talked to them and thronged about their chairs; and among them was Rudolf Brox. But Cornélie avoided all familiarity. A week later, though, he appeared at Mrs Uxeley’s at-home day, and in the round of the formalities — these were courtesy calls after the party — he was able to speak to her alone for a minute. He approached her with that smile of his, as if his eyes, as if his moustache, were smiling. And she collected her thoughts, so as to be strong with him.

“Rudolf,” she said in an aloof tone. “It’s simply ridiculous. If you don’t find it tactless, then at least try to find it ridiculous. It tickles your sense of humour, but just think what people would say about this in Holland … The other day at the party you took me by surprise and — I don’t know how — I found myself giving in to your strange desire to dance with me and lead the cotillon figures. I freely admit I was confused. Now I can see everything plainly and clearly and I’m telling you: I don’t want to see you again. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to turn the high seriousness of our divorce into farce.”

“You know from before that that lofty tone gets you nowhere with me, these airs and graces and that grand manner, and on the contrary it prompts me to do exactly what you don’t want …”

“If that’s the case, I’ll simply tell Mrs Uxeley about my relationship with you and ask her to deny you access to her house …”

He laughed. She got angry.

“Do you intend to act like a gentleman? Or like a blackguard?”

He went red and his fists clenched.

“Damn!” he hissed into his moustache.

“Would you like to strike me and abuse me perhaps?” she went on contemptuously.

He controlled himself.

“We’re in a full drawing-room at the moment,” she continued, taunting him. “What if we were alone? Your fist is already clenching! You’d beat me as you did once before. Brute! Brute!!!”

“And you’re brave in that full drawing-room!” he laughed, with that laugh of his that drove her into a fury, if she was not held in check by it. “No, I wouldn’t beat you,” he went on. “I’d kiss you …”

“This is the last time you’ll ever talk to me!” she hissed in fury. “Go away! Go away! I don’t know what I’ll do, I’ll make a scene!”

He sat down calmly.

“Go ahead,” he said quietly.

She stood in front of him trembling, powerless. People talked to her, the servant brought round tea. She was in a circle of gentlemen, and controlling herself she joked with a shrill, nervous kind of jollity and flirted more provocatively than ever. There was a small court around her, with the Duke di Luca the most forward of all. Rudolf Brox sat close by drinking his tea, ostensibly calm, as if biding his time. But his powerful, domineering blood was seething wildly. He could have killed her and was apoplectic with jealousy. That woman was his, whatever the law said. He would no longer shrink from any scandal. She was beautiful, she was as he wanted her and he wanted her, his wife. He knew how he would win her back and once he had he did not want to lose her again: then she would be his, for as long as he chose. As soon as it was possible to speak to her alone, he turned to her again. She was about to go over to Urania, whom she saw sitting with Mrs Uxeley, when he spoke in her ear, severe, brusque, gruff, “Cornélie …”

She turned round involuntarily, but with her haughty look. She would have preferred to walk on past, but she could not: something prevented her, a mysterious power and superiority, which sounded in his voice and sank into her with a bronze weight that drained and paralysed her energy.

“What is it?”

“I want to speak to you alone for a moment.”

“No.”

“Oh yes. Listen to me calmly for a moment if you can. I’m calm too, you can see, There’s no need to be afraid of me. I assure you I won’t mistreat you, or even swear. But I must speak to you, alone. After our meeting, and after the ball last week, we can’t part just like that. You don’t even have the right to throw me out any more after talking to me and dancing with me the other day. There’s no reason or logic in that. You got worked up … But don’t let either of us get worked up any more. I’d like to talk to you …”

“I can’t: Mrs Uxeley doesn’t like me to leave the drawing-room, when people are here. I’m dependent on her.”

He laughed.

“You’re even more dependent on her than you once were on me. But you can allow me a moment, in the next room.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“What do you want to talk to me about?”

“I can’t say that here.”

“I can’t talk to you alone.”

“Shall I tell you something? You’re afraid.”

“No.”

“Oh, yes you are, you’re afraid of me. For all your airs and graces and snootiness you’re simply afraid to be alone with me for a moment.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Yes you are. You’re not sure of yourself. You received me with a nice speech that you rehearsed in advance. Now you’ve said your piece … it’s over and you’re frightened.”

“I’m not afraid …”

“Come with me for a moment then, brave writer of the Social Position … how did it go again? Come on, come with me for a moment. I promise you, I swear to you that I’ll be calm, will say calmly what I have to say to you and you have my word of honour that I won’t strike you … What room can we go into …? Don’t you want to? Listen: if you don’t come with me for a moment, it won’t be the end of it. Otherwise it might be … and you’ll never see me again.”

“What can you have to say to me.”

“Come with me …”

It was because of his voice, not what he said.

“But no more than three minutes.”

“No more than three minutes.”

She took him into the corridor and into an empty drawing-room. “What is it?” she asked, afraid.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, with his smiling moustache.

“Don’t be afraid. I simply wanted to say to you … that you’re my wife. Do you understand? Don’t try to contradict me. I felt it the other day at the ball, when I had you in my arms, waltzing with you. Don’t try to deny that you pressed yourself against me for a moment. You’re my wife. I felt it then and I feel it now. And you feel it too, though you’re trying to deny it. But it won’t do you any good. You can’t change what has been and what has been … is still inside you. Try and tell me that I’m not speaking politely and tactfully now. You won’t hear a single curse or a word out of place from my lips. Because I don’t want to upset you. I just want to get you to admit … that what I’m saying is true: and that you’re still my wife. That law means nothing. There’s another law that governs us. There’s a law that governs you in particular. A law that brings us back together, without our ever having imagined it, even if it is by a strange roundabout route that you, you especially, took. That law governs you in particular. I am convinced you’re still in love with me. I feel it, I’m sure of it: don’t try to deny it. None of it will do you any good, Cornélie. And shall I tell you something else? I’m still in love with you too and more than before. When you flirt with those fellows, I feel it. I could strangle you and give those fellows a good hiding … Don’t worry. I shan’t do it: I’m not in a rage. On the contrary, I wanted to talk calmly to you and show you the truth. Can you see it in front of you … so ir … re … vo … cably? You see, you’ve nothing to say against it. It is as it is. Are you going to throw me out? Are you going to speak to Mrs Uxeley? I wouldn’t if I were you. Your friend, the princess, knows who I am: let that suffice. Had the old girl never heard my name, or had she forgotten it? Must have forgotten it. Don’t prod her old memory now. Let it be. It’s better if you say nothing. No, the situation is not ridiculous and it’s not funny. It’s become very serious: the simple truth is always serious. It’s strange, though, I would never have thought it. It’s a revelation for me too … And now I have said all I wanted to you. Less than five minutes by my watch. They will scarcely have missed you in the drawing-room. And now I’m going, but first give your husband a kiss, because I’ll always be your husband.”

She stood before him trembling. It was his voice, pouring into her soul, into her body like molten bronze, draining her strength and paralysing her. It was his persuasive voice, his persuasive, seductive voice, the voice that she remembered from the past that forced her to bow to his will. Beneath that voice she was like an object, a thing that belonged to him, after he had first left his imprint on her as his wife. She was helpless to expel him from within her, to shake him off, to erase the brand of possession from her. She was his, and everything that was hers had deserted her. There was no more memory or thought in her brain.

She saw him approaching and putting his arms around her. He hugged her slowly but so firmly that it was as if he were taking complete possession of her. She felt herself melting away in his arms as if in a warmth-giving flame. She felt his mouth on her lips, his moustache pressing, pressing, pressing, till she closed her eyes, half fainting. He went on speaking softly into her ear with that voice, beneath which she counted for nothing, as if she were nothing, as if she existed only through him. When he let go of her, she swayed.

“Come on, pull yourself together,” she heard him saying, omnipotent and sure of himself. “And accept things as they are. That is just how it is. There’s nothing to be done. Thank you for letting me say my piece. Everything’s right between us now, I’m sure of it. And now good-bye for now. Au revoir …”

He kissed her again.

“Give me a kiss in return,” he asked, with that voice of his …

She threw her arms round him and kissed him on the mouth.

“Au revoir,” he said again.

She saw him smiling, that smiling moustache, and his eyes smiled at her with a golden flame, and he went. She heard his steps descending the stairs, then ringing on the marble of the hall, with the power of his firm tread … She stood there, her mind a blank. In the drawing-room, next to the room she was in, there was a loud buzz of laughing voices. She saw Rome before her, Duco, in a short lightning flash … It had gone … And sinking onto a chair, she let out a stifled cry of despair, covered her face with her hands and gave a muffled sob — keeping her helplessness hidden from all those people — as if she were suffocating.