may be her love； is afraid of arriving at the end so promptly； and
face to face with the necessity of giving herself； which to many women
is equivalent to a fall into an abyss； at the bottom of which they
know not what they shall find。 The involuntary coldness of the woman
contrasts with her confessed passion； and necessarily reacts upon the
most passionate lover。 Thus ideas； which often float around souls like
vapors； determine in them a sort of temporary malady。 In the sweet
journey which two beings undertake through the fair domains of love；
this moment is like a waste land to be traversed； a land without a
tree； alternatively damp and warm； full of scorching sand； traversed
by marshes； which leads to smiling groves clad with roses； where Love
and his retinue of pleasures disport themselves on carpets of soft
verdure。 Often the witty man finds himself afflicted with a foolish
laugh which is his only answer to everything； his wit is； as it were；
suffocated beneath the icy pressure of his desires。 It would not be
impossible for two beings of equal beauty； intelligence； and passion
to utter at first nothing but the most silly commonplaces； until
chance； a word； the tremor of a certain glance； the communication of a
spark； should have brought them to the happy transition which leads to
that flowery way in which one does not walk； but where one sways and
at the same time does not lapse。
Such a state of mind is always in proportion with the violence of the
feeling。 Two creatures who love one another weakly feel nothing
similar。 The effect of this crisis can even be compared with that
which is produced by the glow of a clear sky。 Nature； at the first
view； appears to be covered with a gauze veil； the azure of the
firmament seems black； the intensity of light is like darkness。 With
Henri； as with the Spanish girl； there was an equal intensity of
feeling； and that law of statics； in virtue of which two identical
forces cancel each other； might have been true also in the moral
order。 And the embarrassment of the moment was singularly increased by
the presence of the old hag。 Love takes pleasure or fright at all； all
has meaning for it； everything is an omen of happiness or sorrow for
it。
This decrepit woman was there like a suggestion of catastrophe； and
represented the horrid fish's tail with which the allegorical geniuses
of Greece have terminated their chimeras and sirens； whose figures；
like all passions； are so seductive； so deceptive。
Although Henri was not a free…thinkerthe phrase is always a mockery
but a man of extraordinary power； a man as great as a man can be
without faith； the conjunction struck him。 Moreover； the strongest men
are naturally the most impressionable； and consequently the most
superstitious； if； indeed； one may call superstition the prejudice of
the first thoughts； which； without doubt； is the appreciation of the
result in causes hidden to other eyes but perceptible to their own。
The Spanish girl profited by this moment of stupefaction to let
herself fall into the ecstasy of that infinite adoration which seizes
the heart of a woman； when she truly loves and finds herself in the
presence of an idol for whom she has vainly longed。 Her eyes were all
joy； all happiness； and sparks flew from them。 She was under the
charm； and fearlessly intoxicated herself with a felicity of which she
had dreamed long。 She seemed then so marvelously beautiful to Henri；
that all this phantasmagoria of rags and old age； of worn red drapery
and of the green mats in front of the armchairs； the ill…washed red
tiles； all this sick and dilapidated luxury； disappeared。
The room seemed lit up； and it was only through a cloud that one could
see the fearful harpy fixed and dumb on her red sofa； her yellow eyes
betraying the servile sentiments； inspired by misfortune； or caused by
some vice beneath whose servitude one has fallen as beneath a tyrant
who brutalizes one with the flagellations of his despotism。 Her eyes
had the cold glitter of a caged tiger； knowing his impotence and being
compelled to swallow his rage of destruction。
〃Who is that woman？〃 said Henri to Paquita。
But Paquita did not answer。 She made a sign that she understood no
French； and asked Henri if he spoke English。
De Marsay repeated his question in English。
〃She is the only woman in whom I can confide； although she has sold me
already；〃 said Paquita； tranquilly。 〃My dear Adolphe； she is my
mother； a slave bought in Georgia for her rare beauty； little enough
of which remains to…day。 She only speaks her native tongue。〃
The attitude of this woman and her eagerness to guess from the
gestures of her daughter and Henri what was passing between them； were
suddenly explained to the young man； and this explanation put him at
his ease。
〃Paquita；〃 he said； 〃are we never to be free then？〃
〃Never；〃 she said； with an air of sadness。 〃Even now we have but a few
days before us。〃
She lowered her eyes； looked at and counted with her right hand on the
fingers of her left； revealing so the most beautiful hands which Henri
had ever seen。
〃One； two； three〃
She counted up to twelve。
〃Yes；〃 she said； 〃we have twelve days。〃
〃And after？〃
〃After；〃 she said； showing the absorption of a weak woman before the
executioner's axe； and slain in advance； as it were； by a fear which
stripped her of that magnificent energy which Nature seemed to have
bestowed upon her only to aggrandize pleasure and convert the most
vulgar delights into endless poems。 〃After〃 she repeated。 Her eyes
took a fixed stare； she seemed to contemplate a threatening object far
away。
〃I do not know；〃 she said。
〃This girl is mad；〃 said Henri to himself； falling into strange
reflections。
Paquita appeared to him occupied by something which was not himself；
like a woman constrained equally by remorse and passion。 Perhaps she
had in her heart another love which she alternately remembered and
forgot。 In a moment Henri was assailed by a thousand contradictory
thoughts。 This girl became a mystery for him； but as he contemplated
her with the scientific attention of the /blase/ man； famished for new
pleasures； like that Eastern king who asked that a pleasure should be
created for him；a horrible thirst with which great souls are seized；
Henri recognized in Paquita the richest organization that Nature had
ever deigned to compose for love。 The presumptive play of this
machinery； setting aside the soul； would have frightened any other man
than Henri； but he was fascinated by that rich harvest of promised
pleasures； by that constant variety in happiness； the dream of every
man； and the desire of every loving woman too。 He was infuriated by
the infinite rendered palpable； and transported into the most
excessive raptures of which the creature is capable。 All that he saw
in this girl more distinctly than he had yet seen it； for she let
herself be viewed complacently； happy to be admired。 The admiration of
De Marsay became a secret fury； and he unveiled her completely；
throwing a glance at her which the Spaniard understood as though she
had been used to receive such。
〃If you are not to be mine； mine only； I will kill you！〃 he cried。
Hearing this speech； Paquita covered her face in her hands； and cried
naively：
〃Holy Virgin！ What have I brought upon myself？〃
She rose； flung herself down upon the red sofa； and buried her head in
the rags which covered the bosom of her mother； and wept there。 The
old woman received her daughter without issuing from her state of
immobility； or displaying any emotion。 The mother possessed in the
highest degree that gravity of savage races； the impassiveness of a
statue upon which all remarks are lost。 Did she or did she not love
her daughter？ Beneath that mask every human emotion might broodgood
and evil； and from this creature all might be expected。 Her gaze
passed slowly from her daughter's beautiful hair； which covered her
like a mantle； to the face of Henri； which she considered with an
indescribable curiosity。
She seemed to ask by what fatality he was there； from what caprice
Nature had made so seductive a man。
〃These women are making sport of me；〃 said Henri to himself。
At that moment Paquita raised her head； cast at him one of those looks
which reach the very soul and consume it。 So beautiful seemed she that
he swore he would possess such a treasure of beauty。
〃My Paquita！ Be mine！〃
〃Wouldst thou kill me？〃 she said fearfully； palpitating and anxious；
but drawn towards him by an inexplicable force。
〃Kill theeI！〃 he said； smiling。
Paquita uttered a cry of alarm； said a word to the old woman； who
authoritatively seized Henri's hand and that of her daughter。 She
gazed at them for a long time； and then released them； wagging her
head in a fashion horribly significant。
〃Be minethis evening； this moment； follow me； do not leave me！ It
must be； Paquita！ Dost thou love me？ Come！〃
In a moment he had poured out a thousand foolish words to her； with
the rapidity of a torrent coursing between the rocks； and repeating
the same sound in a thousand different forms。
〃It is the same voice！〃 said Paquita； in a melancholy voice； whi