But, as she stayed in front of him, her hand on the
door-latch, he said, with dumb violence:
“You are not going to prevent me from going
to her, since I shall leave in three days!”
Then, in presence of this young will in revolt, the
mother, enclosing in herself the tumult of her contradictory
thoughts, lowered her head and, without a word, stood
aside to let him pass.
It was their last evening, for, the day before yesterday,
at the Mayor’s office of Saint-Jean-de-Luz,
he had, with a hand trembling a little, signed his
engagement for three years in the Second naval infantry,
whose garrison was a military port of the North.
It was their last evening,—and they had
said that they would make it longer than usual,—it
would last till midnight, Gracieuse had decided:
midnight, which in the villages is an unseasonable
and black hour, an hour after which, she did not know
why, all seemed to the little betrothed graver and
guiltier.
In spite of the ardent desire of their senses, the
idea had not come to one nor to the other that, during
this last meeting, under the oppression of parting,
something more might be attempted.
On the contrary, at the instant so full of concentration
of their farewell, they felt more chaste still, so
eternal was their love.
Less prudent, however, since they had not to care
for the morrow, they dared to talk there, on their
lovers’ bench, as they had never done before.
They talked of the future, of a future which was for
them very distant, because, at their age, three years
seem infinite.
In three years, at his return, she would be twenty;
then, if her mother persisted to refuse in an absolute
manner, at the end of a year she would use her right
of majority, it was between them an agreed and a sworn
thing.
The means of correspondence, during the long absence
of Ramuntcho, preoccupied them a great deal:
between them, everything was so complicated by obstacles
and secrets!—Arrochkoa, their only possible
intermediary, had promised his help; but he was so
changeable, so uncertain!—Oh, if he were
to fail!—And then, would he consent to send
sealed letters?—If he did not consent there
would be no pleasure in writing.—In our
time, when communications are easy and constant, there
are no more of these complete separations similar to
the one which theirs would be; they were to say to
each other a very solemn farewell, like the one which
the lovers of other days said, the lovers of the days
when there were lands without post-offices, and distances
that frightened one. The fortunate time when
they should see each other again appeared to them
situated far off, far off, in the depths of duration;
yet, because of the faith which they had in each other,
they expected this with a tranquil assurance, as the
faithful expect celestial life.
