| Apr. 13th, 2007 @ 06:02 am They were at their |
|---|
| They were at their country-places or on journeys. She was not discouraged; and those whom she did manage to see she asked for money, declaring she must have some, and that she would pay it back. Some laughed in her face; all refused. At two o’clock she hurried to Leon, and knocked at the door. No one answered. At length he appeared. “What brings you here?” “Do I disturb you?” “No; but—” And he admitted that his landlord didn’t like his having “women” there. “I must speak to you,” she went on. Then he took down the key, but she stopped him. “No, no! Down there, in our home!” And they went to their room at the Hotel de Boulogne. On arriving she drank off a large glass of water. She was very pale. She said to him— “Leon, you will do me a service?” And, shaking him by both hands that she grasped tightly, she added “Listen, I want eight thousand francs.” “But you are mad!” “Not yet.” And thereupon, telling him the story of the distraint, she explained her distress to him; for Charles knew nothing of it; her mother-in-law detested her; old Rouault could do nothing; but he, Leon, he would set about finding this indispensable sum. “How on earth can I?” “What a coward you are!” she cried. Then he said stupidly, “You are exaggerating the difficulty. Perhaps, with a thousand crowns or so the fellow could be stopped.” All the greater reason to try and do something; it was impossible that they could not find three thousand francs. Besides, Leon, could be security instead of her. “Go, try, try! I will love you so!” He went out, and came back at the end of an hour, saying, with solemn face— “I have been to three people with no success.” Then they remained sitting face to face at the two chimney corners, motionless, in silence. Emma shrugged her shoulders as she stamped her feet. He heard her murmuring— “If I were in your place I should soon get some.” “But where?” “At your office.” And she looked at him. An infernal boldness looked out from her burning eyes, and their lids drew close together with a lascivious and encouraging look, so that the young man felt himself growing weak beneath the mute will of this woman who was urging him to a crime. Then he was afraid, and to avoid any explanation he smote his forehead, crying— “Morel is to come back to-night; he will not refuse me, I hope” (this was one of his friends, the son of a very rich merchant); “and I will bring it you to-morrow,” he added. |
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
rennabypu's journal
