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

 Chapter 3 continued...

“My dear and courageous wife,” he said in a low voice. “It’s a blessing for a companion such as you to ... If I said nothing to you, Jeanne, it is because I wished to keep it from you for you as long as possible to preserve your hard-won security—”

“Maurice Arnay will help you,” she said, her irrational desire clinging to hope. “He has so many relationships—”

“Yes, and he loves to protect so much, doesn't he? As much as to recommend, and that is saying something!” interrupted M. Douvry, whose bitter irritation, for a moment calmed, awoke at the mention of his brother-in-law. “Oh! He never forgets a service rendered by him. God! How many times did he remind me that I owed this position of inspector to his recommendation. Ah! If brutal necessity didn’t exist, I think I would rather spend my life splitting stones by the side of a road than owe him even the smallest thing!”

“Robert, we must not think of ourselves, but of the children,” she said in a sad voice.

“It is because I think of them, of you, Jeanne, that I am ready to fight again. If I were alone—”

“Robert!”

He did not hear this cry of anguish. He continued:

“When I think that I am going to have to, once again, take a series of steps of incessant solicitations—and useless, for someone like me — when I look back and see my time and my intelligence spent without results. At fifty years old, I have to start all over again, and the disgust of a failed life seizes me. You must forgive me, Jeanne, if my courage fades a little.”

“I understand,” she said in a low, broken voice.

Silence fell between them.

Shadows deepened in the room, drowning everything in the same gray and infinitely sad hue. Against the darkened blue of the hangings, the lone, golden frame of a Byzantine virgin, brought back from Russia long ago, stood out. The flames in the hearth kindled flashes of light that flickered across the room. From the neighboring sitting room rose the muffled accents of an adagio that Suzy often played. This distant harmony gripped Mme. Douvry. The tone of the adagio that she automatically recognized angered her mind. 

A sudden, false note made her start.

“It’s not really that,” she murmured impatiently, as if she had no other cares on her mind.

Instead, she was angered because a great weariness had seized her, no longer allowing her to reflect. It was as if the weighted years of torment to come, already accepted, suddenly overwhelmed her soul, which had been so strong until that moment.

For the first time, her energy weakened in the face of this incessant struggle against bad fortune. She remained motionless and broken, not knowing what to say to her husband.

He continued to pace the room with a feverish step, his heart filled with an obsessive irritation; embittered, appalled.

“Do you still remember, Jeanne,” he resumed abruptly, “of that day in the Caucasus when I was nearly killed?” 

She raised her head and looked at him, while he continued in the same low, harsh tone.

“We were certainly happy then, to know that we were returned to one another. Madness! That’s what it was. If I had perished in that accident, you would not have all these concerns for the future today. Pensions are paid to the widows of engineers who die in service.”

“Robert, shut up. It pains me to hear you speak like this,” she said faintly. “I will endure anything as long as we are together.”

In a gesture of immense weariness, Mme. Douvry’s hands fell to her knees. In the ever-increasing darkness of the room, M. Douvry could only distinguish the slender form of his wife and the whiteness of her hands.

“If you knew, Jeanne, that, to this day, my worst of sufferings is to think of the existence I have given you. Ah! You must think that I have strangely fulfilled the promises of happiness I made in the past. And to think that today I cannot even ensure peace in your poor life.”

So much anguish vibrated in his words, that Madame Douvry shuddered. Because he needed her courage, she became bold once again.

She got up and went to sit beside him, enveloping him in a beautiful loving gaze that he could not distinguish in the shadow of the room, but whose glowing sweetness he felt.

She began to speak to him with all her heart as a devoted and tender woman, forgetful of her own torment, seeking in her mind, the words of hope she knew to speak to him, words she no longer believed herself. But he, as so many times before, regained his energy when touched by this affection. From this, he drew the greatest of strength. 

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.