Le Gardeur's love was like a load of
gold, crushing her with its weight. She could neither carry it
onward nor throw it off. She fell at length into a slumber filled
with troubled dreams. She was in a sandy wilderness, carrying a
pitcher of clear, cold water, and though dying of thirst she would
not drink, but perversely poured it upon the ground. She was
falling down into unfathomable abysses and pushed aside the only
hand stretched out to save her. She was drowning in deep water and
she saw Le Gardeur buffeting the waves to rescue her but she
wrenched herself out of his grasp. She would not be saved, and was
lost! Her couch was surrounded with indefinite shapes of embryo
evil.
She fell asleep at last. When she awoke the sun was pouring in her
windows. A fresh breeze shook the trees. The birds sang gaily in
the garden. The street was alive and stirring with people.
It was broad day. Angelique des Meloises was herself again. Her
day-dream of ambition resumed its power. Her night-dream of love
was over. Her fears vanished, her hopes were all alive, and she
began to prepare for a possible morning call from the Chevalier
Bigot.
Pages:
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337