“I tried to question her, to speak to her of her childhood and family; but she never gave me an answer. I stayed with her, my heart unfettered and my senses enchained, never wearied of holding this proud and quarrelsome woman in my arms, captivated by my senses, or rather seduced, overcome, by the youthful, healthy, powerful charm which emanated from her sweet-smelling person and from the robust lines of her body.
“Another week passed, and the term of my holiday was drawing to a close, for I had to be back in Paris by July 11. By this time Paul had come to take his part in the adventure, though still grumbling at me, while I invented pleasures, distractions, and excursions to amuse my mistress and my friend; and in order to do this I gave myself a large amount of trouble.
“One day I proposed an excursion to Santa Margarita, a charming little town in the midst of gardens, hidden at the foot of a slope which stretches far into the sea. We all three were following the excellent road which goes along the foot of the mountain. Suddenly Francesca said to me: ‘I shall not be able to go with you tomorrow; I must go and see some of my relatives.’
“That was all; I did not ask her any questions, as I was quite sure she would not answer me.”
“The next morning she got up very early; then as I remained in bed, she sat down at the foot of it, and said in a constrained and hesitating voice:
“ ‘If I do not come back tonight, will you come and fetch me?’
“ ‘Most certainly I shall,’ was my reply. ‘Where must I come to?’
“Then she explained: ‘You must go into Victor Emmanuel Street, down the Passage Falcone, and Saint Raphael Street, and go into the furniture shop at the bottom, in a court, and there you must ask for Mme. Rondoli. That’s where it is.’
“And so she went away, leaving me rather astonished.
“When Paul saw that I was alone he stammered out: ‘Where is Francesca?’ And when I told him what had happened he exclaimed:
“ ‘My dear fellow, we are in luck, let us bolt; as it is, our time is up. Two days, more or less, make no difference. Let us start at once; go and pack up your things. Off we go!’
“But I refused. I could not, as I told him, leave the girl in such a manner, after having lived with her for nearly three weeks. At any rate I ought to say goodbye to her, and make her accept a present; I certainly had no intention of behaving badly to her.
“But he would not listen; he pressed and worried me, but I would not give way.
“I remained indoors for several hours, expecting Francesca’s return, but she did not come. At last, at dinner, Paul said with a triumphant air: ‘She has thrown you over, my dear fellow; it is certainly very funny, very funny.’
“I must acknowledge that I was surprised and rather vexed. He laughed in my face, and made fun of me.
“ ‘It is not exactly a bad way of getting rid of you, though rather primitive. “Just wait for me, I shall be back in a moment.” How long are you going to wait? I should not wonder if you were foolish enough to go and look for her at the address she gave you. “Does Mme. Rondoli live here, please?” I’ll bet that you are longing to go there.’
“ ‘Not in the least,’ I protested, ‘and I assure you that if she does not come back tomorrow morning I shall start by the express at eight o’clock. I shall have waited twenty-four hours, and that is enough; my conscience will be quite clear.’
“I spent an uneasy and unpleasant evening, for I really had at heart a very tender feeling for her. I went to bed at twelve o’clock, and hardly slept at all. I got up at six, called Paul, packed up my things, and two hours later we started for France together.
III
“The next year, at just about the same period, I was seized, just as one is with a periodical fever, with a new desire to go to Italy, and I immediately made up my mind to carry it into effect. There is no doubt that every really well-educated man ought to see Florence, Venice, and Rome. There is the additional advantage of providing many subjects of conversation in society, and of giving one an opportunity for bringing forward artistic generalities which appear profound. This time I went alone, and I arrived at Genoa at the same time as the year before, but without any adventure on the road. I went to the same hotel, and actually happened to have the same room.
“I was scarcely in bed when the recollection of Francesca which, since the evening before, had been floating vaguely through my mind, haunted me with strange persistency.
“Have you ever been obsessed by the thought of a woman, long afterwards, on returning to the place where you loved her and she gave herself to you? It is one of the most powerful and painful sensations I know. It seems as if one could see her enter, smiling and holding out her arms. Her features, elusive yet clear, are before your eyes. She passes, returns and disappears. She tortures you like a nightmare, holds you, fills your heart, and stirs your senses by her unreal presence. She is visible to the eye, her perfume haunts you, the taste of her kisses is on your lips, and the touch of her body caresses your skin. Yet, one knows one is alone, and one is strangely tortured by the phantom one has evoked. A heavy, heartbreaking melancholy invades you, as if you were abandoned forever. Everything looks depressing, filling the heart with a horrible sense of isolation and abandonment. Never
