At Fault by Kate Chopin Page B

certainly so deplorable that it would have
been worth while to have averted it. Yet, she felt great faith in the
power of time and absence to heal such wounds even to the extent of
leaving no tell-tale scar.
    "Grégoire, my boy," she said to him, speaking in French, and laying
her hand on his, when they were alone together. "I hope that your
heart is not too deep in this folly."
    He reddened and asked, "What do you mean, aunt?"
    "I mean, that unfortunately, you are in love with Melicent. I do not
know how much longer she will remain here, but taking any possibility
for granted, let me advise you to leave the place for a while; go back
to your home, or take a little trip to the city."
    "No, I could not."
    "Force yourself to it."
    "And lose days, perhaps weeks, of being near her? No, no, I could not
do that, aunt. There will be plenty time for that in the rest of my
life," he said, trying to speak calmly and forcing his voice to a
harshness which the nearness of tears made needful.
    "Does she know? Have you told her?"
    "Oh yes, she knows how much I love her."
    "And she does not love you," said Thérèse, seeming rather to assert
than to question.
    "No, she does not. No matter what she says—she does not. I can feel
that here," he answered, striking his breast. "Oh aunt, it is terrible
to think of her going away; forever, perhaps; of never seeing her. I
could not stand it." And he stood the strain no longer, but sobbed and
wept with his aunt's consoling arms around him.
    Thérèse, knowing that Melicent would not tarry much longer with them,
thought it not needful to approach her on the subject. Had it been
otherwise, she would not have hesitated to beg the girl to desist from
this unprofitable amusement of tormenting a human heart.

III - A Talk Under the Cedar Tree
*
    Day by day, Fanny threw off somewhat of the homesickness which had
weighted her at coming. Not by any determined effort of the will, nor
by any resolve to make the best of things. Outside influences meeting
half-way the workings of unconscious inward forces, were the agents
that by degrees were gently ridding her of the acute pressure of
dissatisfaction, which up to the present, she had stolidly borne
without any personal effort to cast it off.
    Thérèse affected her forcibly. This woman so wholesome, so fair and
strong; so un-American as to be not ashamed to show tenderness and
sympathy with eye and lip, moved Fanny like a new and pleasing
experience. When Thérèse touched her caressingly, or gently stroked
her limp hand, she started guiltily, and looked furtively around to
make sure that none had witnessed an exhibition of tenderness that
made her flush, and the first time found her unresponsive. A second
time, she awkwardly returned the hand pressure, and later, these
mildly sensuous exchanges prefaced the outpouring of all Fanny's woes,
great and small.
    "I don't say that I always done what was right, Mrs. Laferm, but I
guess David's told you just what suited him about me. You got to
remember there's always two sides to a story."
    She had been to the poultry yard with Thérèse, who had introduced her
to its feathery tenants, making her acquainted with stately Brahmas
and sleek Plymouth-Rocks and hardy little "Creole chickens"—not much
to look at, but very palatable when converted into
fricassée
.
    Returning, they seated themselves on the bench that encircled a
massive cedar—spreading and conical. Hector, who had trotted
attendance upon them during their visit of inspection, cast himself
heavily down at his mistress' feet and after glancing knowingly up
into her face, looked placidly forth at Sampson, gathering garden
greens on the other side of a low dividing fence.
    "You see if David'd always been like he is now, I don't know but
things'd been different. Do you suppose he ever went any wheres with
me, or even so much as talked to me when he came home? There was
always that everlasting newspaper in his pocket, and he'd haul it out
the first thing.