Bonjour Tristesse

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Book: Bonjour Tristesse Read Online Free PDF
Author: Françoise Sagan
referred to something quite ordinary about which she need have no anxiety. "I'll soon be back."
    Deprived of my support, the South American fell into Elsa's arms and seemed comfortable enough there. I reflected somewhat sadly that she was more experienced than I, and that I could not very well bear her a grudge.
    The casino was big, and I went all round it twice without any success. I scanned the terrace and at last thought of the car. It took me some time to find it in the car park. They were inside. I approached from behind and saw them through the rear window. Their profiles were very close together and very serious, and looked strangely beautiful in the lamplight. They were facing each other and must have been talking in low tones, for I saw their lips move. I would have liked to go away again, but the thought of Elsa made me open the door. My father had his hand on Anne's arm, and they scarcely noticed me.
    "Are you having a good time?" I asked politely.
    "What is the matter?" said my father irritably. "What are you doing here?"
    "And you? Elsa has been searching for you everywhere for the past hour."
    Anne turned her head slowly and reluctantly towards me.
    "We're going home. Tell her I was tired and your father drove me back. When you've had enough take my car."
    I was trembling with indignation and could hardly speak:
    "Had enough? But you don't realise what you're saying, it's disgusting!"
    "What is disgusting?" asked my father with astonishment.
    "You take a red-haired girl to the seaside, expose her to the hot sun which she can't stand, and when her skin has all peeled you abandon her. It's altogether too simple! What on earth shall I say to Elsa?"
    Anne turned to him with an air of weariness. He smiled at her, obviously not listening. My exasperation knew no bounds:
    "I shall tell Elsa that my father has found someone else to sleep with, and that she had better come back some other time. Is that right?"
    My father's exclamation and Anne's slap were simultaneous. I hurriedly withdrew my head from the car-door. She had hurt me.
    "Apologise at once!" said my father.
    I stood motionless, with my thoughts in a whirl. Noble attitudes always occur to me too late.
    "Come here," said Anne.
    She did not sound menacing, and I went closer. She put her hand against my cheek and spoke slowly and gently as if I were rather simple:
    "Don't be naughty. I'm very sorry for Elsa, but you are tactful enough to arrange everything for the best. Tomorrow we'll discuss it all. Did I hurt you very much?"
    "Not at all," I said politely. Her sudden gentleness after my intemperate rage made me want to burst into tears. I watched them drive away, feeling completely deflated. My only consolation was the thought of my tactfulness.
    I walked slowly back to the casino, where I found Elsa with the South American clinging to her arm.
    "Anne wasn't well," I said in an off-hand manner. "Papa had to take her home. What about a drink?"
    She looked at me without answering. I tried to find a more convincing explanation:
    "She was awfully sick," I said. "It was ghastly, her dress is ruined." This detail seemed to me to make my story more plausible, but Elsa began to weep quietly and sadly. I did not know what to do.
    "Oh, Cécile, we were so happy!" she said, and her sobs redoubled in intensity. The South American began to cry, repeating "We were so happy, so happy!" At that moment I heartily detested Anne and my father. I would have done anything to stop Elsa from crying, her eye-black from running, and the South American from howling.
    "Nothing is settled yet, Elsa. Come home with me now!"
    "No! I'll fetch my suitcases later," she sobbed. "Goodbye, Cécile, we got on well together, didn't we?"
    We had never talked of anything but clothes or the weather, but still it seemed to me that I was losing an old friend. I quickly turned away and ran to the car.
     
     
    6
    The following morning was wretched, probably because of the whisky I had drunk the night
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