"To bide his time? To wait until when?"
"Until the hour came when that virgin, — overflowing with love for the flesh of the male, steeped in his caresses and crazy with desire, — cried out of her own accord, — 'Have me!' Then it would no longer be the lamentable discordance of a desire imposed on a feeling of disgust, but the sublime harmony of two desires, raised to the same pitch."
"And suppose the woman does not come to that decision?"
"Then the husband is either a duffer, or she is a goose. Two hypotheses to be set aside in your case."
CHAPTER II
There had been protestations on the part of Therese's grandmother, and I myself had had to be obstinate. Nobody was to know the whereabouts of the summer resort where we were to spend our honeymoon. But, after the manner of a board of enquiry which classifies the counterfoils of cheques, my future wife's family began to collect all sorts of indications, such as the beach-pyjamas ordered by Therese, the canicular preoccupations revealed by my own wardrobe, and the characteristics of the motor-car I had purchased. On the basis of these indications a legend took form and, favoured by my own semidisclosures, it finally crystallized into a certainty around the name of Juan-les-Pins.
Moreover, on the day of the marriage, we took advantage of this; for those "in the know", fearing the length of the journey by road, urged us not to tarry unduly. And thus, at four o'clock-I was at the wheel, with my wife and our luggage aboard. The members of the blessed family were lined-up on the causeway and became odiously noisy in that almost deserted quarter of Passy. The way in which I started up the motor was commented upon mockingly; bantering good-wishes were showered upon me; and then came a final salvo of familiar advice,"Don't go too quickly!" — "Don't run the whole night!" — "Be sure to break the journey at Dijon!" — Followed by laughter-already distant, but which grated on my nerves, despite the fact that I did my best to drown it by treading on the gas. And, as I carried off the woman I had conquered, the primitive joy of being able to take flight mingled with the roar of the motor.
Seated by my side, Therese remained silent. A white beret, set awry, gave her a spurious air of assurance, while her slightly turned up nose added a suspicion of the provocative. Nevertheless her features remained passive and somewhat tense. When, begging for a look, I leaned forward, she responded with a smile, but the limpidity of her blue eyes was veiled by a shadow of anxiety. Whereupon I mused on the fact that we were indeed, as partners still uncertain of each other, on the point of entering on a delicate ordeal.
Therese was certainly virginal and, despite the maturity of her mind, had remained very much a young girl. I realized-and this she was to confirm later-that she had voluntarily avoided certain acts of curiosity. She was certainly aware that marriage resolved itself into physical contact; but the little she had guessed on that subject left such a fringe of uncertainty and the unknown! She had certainly often said to herself: "My husband will explain to me"; and so she left to that distant personage-the future- the task of elucidating the fleshly mystery. But now she was faced by the future, and it was so suddenly near that the fringe of uncertainty appeared to her tremendously enlarged. And now that the husband had come, Therese did not dare to question him.
Hers was an unexpressed anguish, but easily to be divined. "Should I dispel it by some piece of pleasantry? — reduce the mystery to the proportions of a somewhat ridiculous formality?" Instinctively, I was warned that that would have been a supreme error of judgment. As I knew her-affectionate and reflective-my wife would accept fleshly love as a religious act, presided over by serious rites; or she would turn away from it under the impression that it was a downfall.
She was the possessor of an ardent temperament, certainly, and apt, under a slow initiation, of rising to the most subtle heights of voluptuousness; but she likewise had a delicate soul, and an imprudent word would suffice to provoke a hostile feeling of disgust. Therefore I preferred to remain silent. A recollection of my uncle's advice came to me and I was the better able to understand its profound wisdom.
Had Therese believed, like the others, in the Juan-les-Pins legend? In order not to prevaricate to her mother, she preferred not to ask me for any precise information. And now, absorbed by problems which were otherwise serious, she doubtless troubled herself hardly at all over the question of our mysterious destination. Yet she appeared to awaken from her day-dream when we were about to cross the St. Cloud bridge.
"You've not made a mistake as to the route?"
"Ah! I lay claim to a forfeit: you have forgotten to say tu when speaking to your husband."
Whereupon I culled my forfeit from her lips. Therese-now thoroughly awakened-disengaged herself, laughingly, and declared I was an imprudent driver. Then she returned to her question.
"All the same, this is not the way towards the Midi?"
"Clearly it isn't."
"Well then, what about Juan-les-Pins?"
"I let that be understood. But I'd thoroughly made up my mind not to allow our love to stew in the neighbourhood of that public bathingplace.
Come now, guess where we are going."
She enumerated some of the beaches on the western coast, — and to one after the other, by a simple gesture, expressive of disdain or disgust, I took exception to them. When she had definitely confessed her incapacity to guess correctly, I uttered, triumphantly, the solution of the enigma: "Versailles! — Versailles-les-Bains." Therese has no great fondness for fashionable beaches. Though their picturesque medley of colours may momentarily amuse her, like a well-staged sketch, she becomes quickly tired of their somewhat vulgar worldliness. However, at the mention of Versailles, she was unable to hide her disappointment.
"Not really?" she questioned, with a forced smile, which badly attenuated a little frown.
"Nothing more correct."
"But why Versailles at this time of the year?"
"Why Versailles? First of all, because I wanted to spend our holiday in a place of safety, undisturbed by the incursions off the members of thy family. They would have sought us out at Juan-les-Pins, — at Deauville, — nay, on the very summit of Mont Blanc. On the other hand, Versailles, in the summer, is much too far away for them."
"But, dearie, the temperature will be infernal."
"On the contrary, the temperature will be paradisian, — similar to that which protected the amorous nudity of Adam and Eve." Feeling, immediately, that I could have kicked myself for this premature piece of stupidity, I went on to speak of something else. "As far as I'm concerned, you know, it's not the heat which troubles me. Moreover, the place is very shady and when you're wearing your beachpyjamas…"
"Oh! I say, you don't really picture me in pyjamas in the park of the Grand Roi?"
"Certainly not, darling; but in our private garden I do."
"You possess a garden in Versailles?"
"An ideal garden, my dear, — a veritable lover's nest. An extensive park, — a most comfortable villa, — and a garage."
"What about the staff?"
"Like the Kobolds of German legends: a couple of old gardeners will watch over us, discreetly. As a matter of fact, they'll remain in their own little habitation so long as we don't evoke them by ringing."
"Quite charming. But I can't quite make it out."
"Yet it's all very simple… like every genial idea. You are aware that Albert is in garrison at Versailles?"
"Didn't he send in his resignation after his wonderful heritage?"
"Not at all. He remained in the army. Horse-shows and the rest. He's immensely fond of all that."