There seemed
to her nothing ridiculous in this personification of the garden, as
there had formerly seemed to her nothing ridiculous in her thought of
the desert as a being; but the fact that she did thus instinctively
personify the nature that surrounded her gave to the garden in her eyes
an aspect that was hostile and even threatening, as if she faced a love
now changed to hate, a cold and inimical watchfulness that knew too much
about her, to which she had once told all her happy secrets and murmured
all her hopes. She did not hate the garden, but she felt as if she
feared it. The movements of its leaves conveyed to her uneasiness. The
hidden places, which once had been to her retreats peopled with tranquil
blessings, were now become ambushes in which lay lurking enemies.
Yet she did not leave it, for to-day something seemed to tell her that
it was meant that she should suffer, and she bowed in spirit to the
decree.
She went on slowly till she reached the _fumoir_. She entered it and sat
down.
She had not seen any of the gardeners or heard the note of a flute.
The day was very still. She looked at the narrow doorway and remembered
exactly the attitude in which Count Anteoni had stood during their first
interview, holding a trailing branch of the bougainvillea in his hand.
Pages:
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505