“For God’s sake, Edmée,” I cried, “do not ride so fast! You will be killed!”
“Let me have a gallop,” she said gaily. “My father has allowed me. You must not interfere; I shall rap you on the knuckles if you try to stop my horse.”
“At least let me follow you, then,” I said, keeping close to her. “Your father wished it; and I shall at least be there to kill myself if anything happens to you.”
Why I was filled with these gloomy forebodings I do not know, for I had often seen Edmée galloping through the woods. I was in a peculiar state; the heat of noon seemed mounting to my brain, and my nerves were strangely excited. I had eaten no breakfast, as I had felt somewhat out of sorts in the morning, and, to sustain myself, had swallowed several cups of coffee mixed with rum. At first I experienced a horrible sense of fear; then, after a few minutes, the fear gave way to an inexpressible feeling of love and delight. The excitement of the gallop became so intense that I imagined my only object was to pursue Edmée. To see her flying before me, as light as her own black mare, whose feet were speeding noiselessly over the moss, one might have taken her for a fairy who had suddenly appeared in this lonely spot to disturb the mind of man and lure him away to her treacherous haunts. I forgot the hunt and everything else. I saw nothing but Edmée; then a mist fell upon my eyes, and I could see her no more. Still, I galloped on; I was in a state of silent frenzy, when she suddenly stopped.
“What are we doing?” she said. “I cannot hear the hunt any longer, and here is the river in front. We have come too far to the left.”
“No, no, Edmée,” I answered, without knowing in the least what I was saying. “Another gallop and we shall be there.”
“How red you are!” she said. “But how shall we cross the river?”
“Since there is a road, there must be a ford,” I replied. “Come on! come on!”
I was filled with an insane desire to go on galloping, I believe my idea was to plunge deeper and deeper into the forest with her; but this idea was wrapped in a haze, and when I tried to pierce it, I was conscious of nothing but a wild throbbing of my breast and temples.
Edmée made a gesture of impatience.
“These woods are accursed!” she said. “I am always losing my way in them.”
No doubt she was thinking of the fatal day when she had been carried far from another hunt and brought to Roche-Mauprat. I thought of it too, and the ideas that came into my mind produced a sort of dizziness. I followed her mechanically towards the river. Suddenly I realized that she was on the other bank. I was filled with rage on seeing that her horse was cleverer and braver than my own. Before I could get the animal to take the ford, which was rather a nasty one, Edmée was a long way ahead of me again. I dug my spurs into its sides till the blood streamed from them. At last, after being nearly thrown several times, I reached the other bank, and, blind with rage, started in pursuit of Edmée. I overtook her, and seizing the mare’s bridle, I exclaimed:
“Stop, Edmée, I say! You shall not go any farther.”
At the same time I shook the reins so violently that her horse reared. She lost her balance, and, to avoid falling, jumped lightly to the ground between our two animals, at the risk of being hurt. I was on the ground almost as soon as herself. I at once pushed the horses away. Edmée’s, which was very quiet, stopped and began to browse. Mine bolted out of sight. All this was the affair of an instant.
I had caught Edmée in my arms; she freed herself and said, in a sharp tone:
“You are very brutal, Bernard; and I hate these ways of yours. What is the matter with you?”
Perplexed and confused, I told her that I thought her mare was bolting, and that I was afraid some accident might happen to her if she allowed herself to be carried away by the excitement of the ride.
“And to save me,” she replied, “you make me fall, at the risk of killing me! Really, that was most considerate of you.”
“Let me help you to mount again,” I said.
And without waiting for her permission, I took her in my arms and lifted her off the ground.
“You know very well that I do not mount in this way!” she exclaimed, now quite irritated. “Leave me alone; I don’t want your help.”
But I was no longer in a state to obey her. I was losing my head; my arms were tightening around her waist, and it was in vain that I endeavoured to take them away. My lips touched her bosom in spite of myself. She grew pale with anger.
“Oh, how unfortunate I am!” I said, with my eyes full of tears; “how unfortunate I am to be always offending you, and to be hated more and more in proportion as my love for you grows greater!”
Edmée was of an imperious and violent nature. Her character, hardened by trials, had every year developed greater strength. She was no longer the trembling girl making a parade of courage, but in reality more ingenuous than bold, whom I had clasped in my arms at Roche-Mauprat. She was now a proud, fearless woman, who would have let herself be killed rather than give the slightest countenance to an audacious hope. Besides, she was now the woman who knows that she is passionately loved and is conscious of her power. She repulsed me, therefore, with scorn; and as I followed her
