La Chamade Read Online Free PDF

Charles to inflict suffering on himself, but how had he suspected a desire of which she had only been conscious an hour before. She had never been unfaithful to Charles except with someone she was certain he would never meet. If there was anything in the world that she loathed it was the complicity of two lovers behind the back of a third, and the intrigued laughter of witnesses like Claire. None of that for her! Antoine laid his hand on her shoulder and she shook her head. After all, life was simple enough, the weather fine and she liked the young man. 'We'll see soon enough' she thought. During thirty years on earth the number of times she had thought 'we'll see soon enough', was staggering. She began to laugh. 'Why are you laughing?' asked Antoine. 'I'm laughing at myself. The car is a few steps away. What have I done with the keys? Will you drive?'
    Antoine drove. They rode without speaking at first, breathing the night air in the open car, ill at ease. Antoine drove slowly. They had reached the Etoile when he turned to her. 'What made Charles do that?' he asked.
    'I don't know.'
    They realised at once that with these two sentences they admitted and ratified the furtive glance they had exchanged during the interval, that something existed between them that could no longer be removed. She would have replied, 'Do what?' and transformed Charles' suggestion into the prudent decision of a man with a cold. Too late. Her only desire was to reach the restaurant quickly. Or that Antoine would make some coarse gesture, some vulgar remark, so she could be finished with him. But Antoine said nothing. They drove through the Bois de Boulogne now; they followed the Seine, they must have looked like specimens of gilded youth, two sweethearts in a purring car: she, the daughter of Dupont Steel, he, the son of Dubois Sugar, they would marry next week in the cathedral, with the families' consent. They would have two children.
    'Here's another bridge,' remarked Antoine, heading for Marnes. 'The number of bridges we've crossed together.'
    This was the first allusion to the other evening. Lucile suddenly remembered how she had hidden her face in his coat in the little café. She had completely forgotten.
    'So we have, yes, it's true ...'
    She made a vague movement of her hand and Antoine took it in mid-air, squeezed it gently, kept it in his. They drove into the Parc de Saint-Cloud. 'Now come,' thought Lucile, 'he's holding my hand while we cross the park, it's spring, no cause for alarm, I'm no longer sixteen.' But her heart thumped, she felt the blood drain from her face and hands, rush to her throat, choke her. When he stopped the car, she felt dazed. He took her in his arms, kissed her furiously and she noticed that he trembled as much as she did. He sat back, he looked at her and she looked back at him, completely motionless, until he leaned toward her again. He kissed her slowly now, gravely. He kissed her temples, her cheeks, returned to her mouth; and seeing his face, calm, attentive over hers, she knew that she would often see it like that. There was nothing she could do to resist him. She had forgotten that one could want another so much. She must have dreamed. How long? Two years, three years? But she couldn't recall another face.
    Antoine buried his face in Lucile's hair. 'What's come over me?' he said anxiously. 'What's come over me?'
    She smiled, he could feel the movement of her cheek against his, and he smiled too.
    'We must drive on,' she whispered.
    'No,' said Antoine. After an instant he moved away from her, and in the anguish they so quickly felt, they understood.
    Antoine started off hurriedly and Lucile haphazardly touched up her face. The Rolls was already there and they realised that their car might have passed it in Paris, and it could have arrived behind them in the park, surprising them with its headlights, like two night birds. But it was there reigning over the little square, the symbol of power, of luxury, of their