The Fear of Living by Henry Bordeaux

With her slow and lingering step Madame Guibert came up the avenue of plane-trees. For this visit of ceremony she was dressed in her newest black dress, and Paule with the greatest care had done her hair and arranged the folds of the widow's veil.

"You look splendid now," her son and daughter assured her, as she was getting into the carriage before the steps at Le Maupas. In spite of his mother's protestations, Marcel had ordered a smart Victoria for her instead of Trélaz's old carriage.

Nodding and smiling at her children with great tenderness, she drove away in all confidence, like a messenger of peace and happiness. But she discovered the way was very short and the strange horse very fast. It was her wish to get out at the gate of the Avenue at La Chênaie, so that the unusual luxury of her carriage might not be noticed. It gave her a kind of awkward feeling, it seemed a lie to her honest soul.

"You can put me down here," she said to the coachman. "I will walk the rest of the way. " She went along the avenue leaning on her black parasol. Her heart was beating furiously. In spite of her bravery in facing life, she was still very shy, and society terrified her. In her natural honesty and uprightness, she understood very little about the polite phrases and forms which so cleverly hide the selfish or wicked trend of the speaker's thoughts -- or the utter lack of them. Then, too, she had an exaggerated idea of her own awkwardness and found another cause of anxiety in that; not at all on her own account, but on her son's, for the sake of whose happiness she still, despite her old age, desired to please.

But then, did she not know full well in advance the result of her undertaking? Could anyone hesitate joyfully to accept the offer of her dear Marcel, whose whole life proclaimed his worth? It was not merely because she was his mother. Love didn't blind her in the least when she saw and admired the physical seductiveness of his tall, graceful figure, upright as a sapling; of his proudly carried head, his fine, strong features, and above all his eyes, whose glance could chill or warm according as they gazed sternly or kindly -- greenish eyes, but large in size, full of fire and astonishingly direct in their expression. What she knew of him she imagined, poor mother, ever other woman must be able to read in his face; the energy which met difficulties with dignity, almost with disdain; that generous and active kindliness of heart; that commanding quality of voice and gesture which told of an ardent spirit and a vigorous mind, the character of a born leader. Certainly he was not one of the insipid, stupid race who conceal their dry, selfish, hard souls under a worldly polish and a uniform correctness of manner. She who consented to share his lot, to suffer and to dare with him, would have no dull, commonplace existence. He would enlarge her mind, expand her feelings, and bring to maturity the flower of her soul, whose complete unfoldment is the most beautiful thing in human life.

And then had not Madame Dulaurens been told by her daughter of the proposed visit and that her request had already been granted? So Madame Guibert came with mingled confidence and apprehension to the Dulaurens' villa. The walk tired her, she was growing stout, and the seriousness of the occasion contributed its share to her fatigue. She respected Marcel's choice though it was not hers, and she was ready to forget her own wishes and bow to his. She was prepared to give her whole-hearted assistance in the new life which was in store for him, and cherished the thought that within a few minutes she would be welcoming another daughter to her home and her affections.

Before ringing she stopped, to quiet the beatings of her heart and to take breath. She did not raise her eyes to the window where the desperate and heart-broken Alice was crying her eyes out.

Madame Guibert was received by M. Dulaurens in the drawing-room and she saw a happy omen in this. The little insignificant man could not be expected to make much impression on her, and the meeting with him gave her a little more time to recover herself. After a few polite words which he tried to amplify as much as possible, Madame Guibert found herself unable to keep back the object of her visit any longer and said:

"You have guessed why I came to a Chênaie, Monsieur Dulaurens? " And she smiled sweetly, with that pretty, fresh smile that she had kept to old age and which was the reflection of a soul that had remained pure and unsullied.

"No, Madame Guibert, I am quite in the dark concerning it. We are greatly flattered, I assure you, by your visit. I only regret that Madame Dulaurens is not here."

Greatly worried, and afraid to assume any disturbing responsibility, the unhappy man could not rest. He pulled the bell quickly and when the maid answered it he asked:

"Have you told Madame?"

"I am looking for her, Sir. Madame is not in her room. Madame is perhaps with Mademoiselle in Monsieur's room."

"Perhaps so. Go and tell her."

And turning to Madame Guibert, trying to gain time, he said:

"It is tiresome, very tiresome, but, as you see, they are looking for her, they have gone to tell her. She will not be long. I am very sorry to keep you waiting."

"What I have to say, Monsieur, interests you quite as much as Madame Dulaurens," said Madame Guibert, who was so full of her mission that she did not think of noticing her questioner's little tricks. The terrified M. Dulaurens had sat down, but he at once got up again. Was he going to be left alone to answer this most embarrassing question? Would they make him receive the first shock in this way? No, it was impossible; his wife would have to be present at the interview.

"I assure you she is coming," he cried hurriedly. "Please wait a minute, Madame, I beg you. Madame Dulaurens would be so sorry to miss your call. And you could certainly explain things better to her. That is quite clear, quite clear."