“That is why I never married, and why I never
go out of Paris.”
Madame Julie Roubere was expecting her elder sister,
Madame Henriette Letore, who had just returned from
a trip to Switzerland.
The Letore household had left nearly five weeks before.
Madame Henriette had allowed her husband to return
alone to their estate in Calvados, where some business
required his attention, and had come to spend a few
days in Paris with her sister. Night came on.
In the quiet parlor Madame Roubere was reading in
the twilight in an absent-minded way, raising her,
eyes whenever she heard a sound.
At last, she heard a ring at the door, and her sister
appeared, wrapped in a travelling cloak. And
without any formal greeting, they clasped each other
in an affectionate embrace, only desisting for a moment
to give each other another hug. Then they talked
about their health, about their respective families,
and a thousand other things, gossiping, jerking out
hurried, broken sentences as they followed each other
about, while Madame Henriette was removing her hat
and veil.
It was now quite dark. Madame Roubere rang for
a lamp, and as soon as it was brought in, she scanned
her sister’s face, and was on the point of embracing
her once more. But she held back, scared and astonished
at the other’s appearance.
On her temples Madame Letore had two large locks of
white hair. All the rest of her hair was of a
glossy, raven-black hue; but there alone, at each
side of her head, ran, as it were, two silvery streams
which were immediately lost in the black mass surrounding
them. She was, nevertheless, only twenty-four
years old, and this change had come on suddenly since
her departure for Switzerland.
Without moving, Madame Roubere gazed at her in amazement,
tears rising to her eyes, as she thought that some
mysterious and terrible calamity must have befallen
her sister. She asked:
“What is the matter with you, Henriette?”
Smiling with a sad face, the smile of one who is heartsick,
the other replied:
“Why, nothing, I assure you. Were you noticing
my white hair?”
But Madame Roubere impetuously seized her by the shoulders,
and with a searching glance at her, repeated:
“What is the matter with you? Tell me what
is the matter with you. And if you tell me a
falsehood, I’ll soon find it out.”
They remained face to face, and Madame Henriette,
who looked as if she were about to faint, had two
pearly tears in the corners of her drooping eyes.
Her sister continued:
“What has happened to you? What is the
matter with you? Answer me!”
Then, in a subdued voice, the other murmured:
“I have—I have a lover.”
And, hiding her forehead on the shoulder of her younger
sister, she sobbed.
Then, when she had grown a little calmer, when the
heaving of her breast had subsided, she commenced
to unbosom herself, as if to cast forth this secret
from herself, to empty this sorrow of hers into a sympathetic
heart.
