Had she not guessed anything, seen anything, comprehended anything? What would she have thought? If he had spoken, what would she have answered? And Saval asked himself a thousand other things. Ah! if she had only loved him in days gone by yes, if she had only loved him! And why should she not have loved him, he, Saval, seeing that he loved her so much, yes, she, Madame Sandres! If only she could have guessed. Sandres was not the man she should have chosen.
Why? How pretty she was formerly, so dainty, with fair curly hair, and always laughing. On rising in the morning he was somewhat more rational than on the previous evening. Unquestionably, he would have asked her hand! How he had loved her, nevertheless, without respite, since the first day he set eyes on her! He recalled his emotion every time he saw her, his grief on leaving her, the many nights that he could not sleep, because he was thinking of her. Ah! if he had known her as a young girl! But he had met her too late she was already married. Yes, he had loved his old friend, Madame Sandres, the wife of his old companion, Sandres. He had loved secretly, sadly, and indifferently, in a manner characteristic of him in everything. Assuredly his life had been spoiled, completely spoiled. Saval was sitting before the fire, his feet on the fender, in his dressing gown. What superhuman happiness must overflow your heart, when lips encounter lips for the first time, when the grasp of four arms makes one being of you, a being unutterably happy, two beings infatuated with one another. He knew nothing of the delicious anguish of expectation, the divine vibration of a hand in yours, of the ecstasy of triumphant passion. No woman had reposed on his bosom, in a complete abandon of love. How many men wreck their lives through indifference! It is so difficult for some natures to get out of bed, to move about, to take long walks, to speak, to study any question. Indifference had been his greatest drawback, his defect, his vice. Had he lacked an opportunity? Perhaps! But one can create opportunities. Why? Yes, why was it that he had not married? He might have done so, for he possessed considerable means. He had not even taken unto himself a wife, as other men do. And he had gone on like that to the age of sixty-two years. He had done nothing, nothing but rise from bed, eat, at the same hours, and go to bed again. If, however, his life had been full! If he had done something if he had had adventures, great pleasures, success, satisfaction of some kind or another.
Yes, people will go on amusing themselves, and he will no longer exist! Is it not strange that people can laugh, amuse themselves, be joyful under that eternal certainty of death? If this death were only probable, one could then have hope but no, it is inevitable, as inevitable as that night follows the day. What a frightful thing! Other people will love, will laugh. There will be no more of Paul Saval upon the earth. He will disappear, and that will be the end.
How sad life is! He lived alone since then, and now, in his turn, he, too, will soon be dead. They lived together very quietly, and desired nothing more. He then returned to live with his mother. He recalled former days, the days of his childhood, the home, the house of his parents his college days, his follies the time he studied law in Paris, his father's illness, his death. How sad it is to die alone, all alone, without any one who is devoted to you! He pondered over his life, so barren, so empty. He is alone, an old bachelor, with nobody about him. It would no longer have any but sombre days for him, for he had reached the age of sixty-two. He walked from the fireplace to the window, and from the window to the fireplace. They fell slowly in the rain, like a heavier and slower rain. It was a dull autumn day the leaves were falling. AS MOSCAS DE DEUS: Monsieur Saval, who was called in Mantes “Father Saval,” had just risen from bed.
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