Book #1: Suzy's Dream (Chapter 2 - Part 3)

 Chapter 2 continued...

But, by a singular intuition, Suzy, who was still only a happy girl who knew no sorrow, perceived in her mother's melancholy smile an unspeakable sadness. Also found in her mother was a weariness from deceived hopes, and a profound detachment from herself and all personal joy. A heartrending sorrow seized Suzy’s heart when she thought that nothing in the world could restore to Mme. Douvry her lost illusions or that nothing could prevent her life from being made up primarily of trials.

When this idea occurred to her, awakened in her by a word or a look from Mme. Douvry, Suzy never said anything about it. She would then bend over her mother, and, with a kiss and in a small childish tone, she would whisper in a quiet voice, “How I love you, Maman, my darling,” knowing that her tenderness was a balm for the wounded soul of her poor mother.

“Suzanne, my dear, I hope the passing time hasn’t seemed too long for you?” M. Arnay said, startling Suzy from the thoughts that had carried her far away from this train journey. “I am sorry, my child, to be such a disagreeable traveling companion for you. In fact, we are approaching now.”

“I am too well-mannered to ever be bored with myself, Uncle!” she said lightheartedly.

Impatience shook Suzy and she nervously tapped her foot against the carpet, while she continued to gaze excitedly out through the open window.

No longer was it deserted countryside that she glimpsed through rapidly passing images, but more numerous houses clustered together. Soon the immense mass of Paris appeared, at first distant and disordered, but it became more distinct little by little, revealing gray houses, the line of streets, and slender trees powdered with dust. All of this was dominated by the tall chimneys breathing into the darkened sky. At last, with a frantic whistle, the panting machine rushed into the station and stopped.

Suzy jumped from the train, more than one could say she dismounted. She slipped away through the crowd of travelers, dragging a stunned M. Arnay with her.

Immediately, she perceived the sweet face she sought. Near it, two fresh, little blond heads—carved like English engravings—under large, dark straw hats. Before M. Arnay could understand why his niece had left him so abruptly, Suzy was already hugging her mother’s neck and kissing her madly without any concern for the world around her. She tore herself from her mother’s arms, only to put kisses at random on the eyes, the cheeks, the hair—wherever she found room— of the twins.

The voice of her uncle, somewhat mocking, tore her from her outpouring of affection.

“My God, Suzy, it’s as if you have just returned from a journey of several years. Were you so bored with us?”

She turned towards him, her eyes shining with pleasure.

“Oh, you know very well that I was not, Uncle,” she said, with a bit of reproach slipping in.

M. Arnay, with the quick air of a man who’s always in a hurry, explained to his sister-in-law why he was bringing Suzy back earlier than had been agreed, praising the good grace with which the young girl had provided herself for this hasty return. With his role as uncle fulfilled, he hurried away, rushing into his waiting coupé automobile that was taking him to his business.

“Maman, we're walking back, aren't we?” Suzy asked. “I would like to get to know Paris again!”

Madame Douvry willingly gave in to Suzy’s desire. Suzy walked by her mother’s side, laughing, full of life, and a little dazed by the movement and noise of the carriages, along with the passers-by perpetually brushing against her, something to which she had grown unaccustomed.

She kept looking up at her mother, to experience the pleasure of connecting with the singularly shimmering gaze of Madame Douvry. Her deep gaze reflected a woman who wept a great deal. At the same time Suzy noticed the delicate pallor of that dear face, and her heart sank a little.

“Maman, you would have benefited from breathing the fresh air of Le Castel,” she said tenderly. “I’m ashamed to think that I was the only one who enjoyed it.”

Madame Douvry smiled.

“My darling, I’ve spent my time with the beautiful colors of life. We must leave that to young girls like you and the twins.”

Suzy didn’t dare insist. But, with a caressing hand, she slipped her arm under that of her mother’s and began a series of questions concerning her father. Did he still seem sad, as Madame Douvry had written to Suzy while at Le Castel? Why was he in such a way? Did he have anything to worry his mind? As for the boys, what did they have to say in seeing the end of the summer holidays approaching? And what had the twins been up to during their older sister's absence?

Suzy questioned Madame Douvry until the moment she was satisfied with her mother’s answers, then she began the account of her stay at Le Castel.

“I didn't know my Suzy was so eager for distractions,” Madame Douvry suddenly said with an amused smile, noticing how Suzy found such apparent pleasure in reviving her rather worldly memories. “I’m beginning to fear that you will find it a little bleak to return to the fold, where a quiet existence awaits you.”

“Maman, don't talk like that. I really enjoyed my holidays at Le Castel, but I am very happy to be with you. Now that I have you beside me, I don’t understand how I could have been away from you for three weeks without embracing you!”

And Suzy was telling the truth. Her young soul blossomed with the joy of returning home. She no longer regretted leaving Le Castel. In that moment, the very image of Georges de Flers became unclear and elusive to her.

With the pleasure of a child, Suzy entered the house and saw again her little room and the drawing room where, in the evenings, such pleasant hours were passed by all who gathered there. She delightedly contemplated the harmonious aspect of the hangings, formerly brought back from Stamboul. Here and there, the tapered foliage of a palm tree in a bronze planter stood out in relief. There was the grand piano under its draped blanket and the knick-knacks and books scattered on the tables.

On a small easel she saw a canvas which she had never seen: a woman’s head bearing a melancholic expression with such strange intensity. 

“Maman, what is that? The face immediately makes me think of Dürer's Melancholia which I love so much. Who painted this?”

“Darling, haven't you often said in front of André Vilbert that you wanted to own a work much like Dürer's Melancholia? He heard you and—”

“Dear old André, how kind of him to do that. Do you know, mother, that I am proud he has spent with me the rare moments of freedom that his architectural works permit him.”

“Suzy, why do you say ‘old André’?” One of the twins intervened gravely. “M. Vilbert is not old at all. He told Papa the other day that he was twenty-seven, and Papa replied, ‘How happy you are to be so young!’”

Suzy began to laugh.

Le rêve de Suzy is in the public domain. All original additions, including translations, illustrations and chapter summaries, are copyright © 2025 by Marriah K. Nissen and may not be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. All rights reserved.