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The Confession of a Child of The Century, a novel by Alfred de Musset |
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Part 4 - Chapter 5 |
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_ PART IV CHAPTER V ONE day, I saw a little chamber she called her oratory; there was no furniture except a priedieu and a little altar with a cross and some vases of flowers. As for the rest, the walls and curtains were as white as snow. She shut herself up in that room at times, but rarely since I had known her. I stepped to the door and saw Brigitte seated on the floor in the middle of the room surrounded by the flowers she was throwing here and there. She held in her hand a little wreath that appeared to be made of dried grass, and she was breaking it to pieces. "What are you doing?" I asked. She trembled and stood up. "It is nothing but a child's plaything," she said; "it is a rose wreath that has faded here in the oratory; I have come here to change my flowers as I have not attended to them for some time." Her voice trembled, and she appeared to be about to faint. I recalled that name of Brigitte la Rose that I had heard given her. I asked her if it was not her crown of roses that she had just broken thus. "No," she replied, turning pale. "Yes," I cried, "yes, on my life. Give me the pieces." I gathered them up and placed them on the altar, then I was silent, my eyes fixed on the offering. "Was I not right," she asked, "if it was my crown, to take it from the wall where it has hung so long? What good are these remains? Brigitte la Rose is no more, nor the flowers that baptized her." She went out; I heard her sob, and the door closed on me; I fell on my knees and wept bitterly. When I returned to her room, I found her waiting for me; dinner was ready. I took my place in silence, and not a word was said of what was on our hearts. _ |
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