The Fear of Living by Henry Bordeaux

The next day everything passed off as arranged. Isabelle Orlandi and Jean Berlier took Alice Dulaurens to the park, as far as the oakwood where Marcel had been instructed to wait for her. At the bend of the path they left them face to face, while they continued their walk under the trees, glorious in their autumn dress.

The terrified Alice put her hand on her heart. Her first thought was to fly, but her legs were weak and her breath was gone.

"Stay, do stay," said Marcel in a grave, pleading voice, which she did not know. "Forgive my boldness. I am going away to Algiers and I wasn't brave enough to leave without seeing you once again."

"Ah," she said, pale and trembling. "What will my mother say?"

Her mother was only her second thought, but he imagined it her first and frowned jealously. However, he went on with the same tender assurance.

"Alice, I have come to tell you that I love you. Paule told me that you loved me. Is it true? I want to hear it from your own lips."

He saw her tremble and put her two hands to her throat as if she were choking. Her cheeks were colorless and her eyes looked down unseeing on the dead leaves which strewed the path. The oak-branches swayed in the wind with a mournful clash. A pink glow in the sky, appearing through the straight columns of the ancient trees, announced the end of the day.

Her voice was like an infinitely tender plaint as she murmured, "I cannot tell you."

It was her avowal, the only one she thought permissible.

Touched to the heart, Marcel looked with new eyes on this frightened child, who, only a few feet away from him, a white shawl round her shoulders, stood out like a ghost under the dome of trees. Her long lashes drooped over her blue eyes. Behind her through the branches he saw the setting sun like a huge conflagration, the dark trunks of the oak-trees outlined against it. And the shades of the leaves were glowing and sinister, like gold and blood.

"Alice," he said again, "if you love me as I love you, promise you will be my wife."

At last she looked up in the young man's proud face and understood How much he had gone through for her, and her eyes were wet.

"I cannot. Marcel. My parents. " he could say no more -- her tears spoke for her. He came nearer and took her hand. She did not draw it away.

In a firm, compelling voice he continued:

"Don't be unhappy, Alice. You will gain their consent. Be brave and strong enough to wait; time will help us. I only ask you to be patient. I shall do great things for you. I am setting out on an expedition to Africa. I shall win you, my beloved."

In alarm she begged him not to go, her fears betraying her love.

"No, no, I won't let you, I won't let you risk your life. Ah, if you -- loved me, you would not go."

"I am going because I love you, Alice."

"You don't know me," she cried. "I am afraid -- I am afraid of everything. I am a poor little wretch. Oh, my head is so heavy!"

She laid her free hand first on her forehead and then on her bosom.