ed gradually and, despite all my efforts
to impart a little life to it, dragged wretchedly. I myself did not feel
very bright; I was haunted by the most absurd notions in the world; I
thought I had detected in the sudden departure of the cousin, in his
pallor, in his embarrassed movements, the expression of some strong
feeling which he had been powerless to hide. But how was it that that
adorable little woman with such a keen intelligent look did not
understand all this, since I understood it myself? Had not Oscar, however
confiding he might be, noted that the departure of the cousin exactly
coincided with the kiss he had given his wife? Were these two blind, or
did they pretend not to see, or was I myself the victim of an illusion?
However, conversation had died away; the mistress of the house, singular
symptom, was silent and serious, and Oscar wriggled in his chair, like a
man who is not altogether at ease. What was passing in their minds?

Soon we heard the clock in the drawing-room strike ten, and Oscar,
suddenly rising, said: "My dear fellow, in the country it is Liberty
Hall, you know; so I will ask your permission to go in--I am rather tired
this evening. George," he added to me, "they will show you your room; it
is on the ground floor; I hope that you will be comfortable there."

Everybody got up silently, and, after bidding one another good-night in a
somewhat constrained manner, sought their respective rooms. I thought, I
must acknowledge, that they went to bed rather too early at my friend's.
I had no wish to sleep; I therefore examined my room, which was charming.
It was completely hung with an old figured tapestry framed in gray
wainscot. The bed, draped in dimity curtains, was turned down and exhaled
that odor of freshly washed linen which invites one to stretch one's self
in it. On the table, a little gem dating from the beginning of the reign
of Louis XVI, were four or five books, evidently chosen by Oscar and
placed there for me. These little attentions touch one, and naturally my
thoughts recurred to the dear fellow, to the strange incident of the
evening, to the vexations and tortures hidden, perhaps, by this apparent
happiness. I was ridiculous that night--I already pitied him, my poor
friend.

I felt quite touched, and, full of melancholy, went and leaned against
the sill of the open window. The moon had just risen, the sky was
beautifully clear, whiffs of delicious perfumes assailed my nostrils.