Book #1: Suzy's Dream (Chapter 7 - Part 3)

Chapter 7 continued...

“Don't worry about me, please. There is a review here that I find very interesting,” said André, whose heart filled with delight at the idea of a few moments alone with Suzy.

André believed that without a doubt the door of M. Douvry's study would remain open, but instead the heavy door fell shut. No external presence would get between him and Suzy in the well-enclosed drawing-room. Only the sounds of the street filtered in, muffled and distant.

If only she had wanted to say a few words to him, to allow him to come near her…But no, she did not move. He continued to leaf through the magazine without reading it.

Suddenly, in the hearth, a log collapsed, scattering flaming ashes.

This was for André the pretext he so earnestly desired. He moved towards the fireplace.

Suzy made a slight movement to gather the scattered embers, but when she saw André approaching, she resumed her tired pose, her forehead resting on the marble of the fireplace with her hands clasped on her knees in a gesture of discouragement. One by one, great tears streamed down her face, and, seemingly having no thought of wiping them away, they dampened her dress. 

Seeing her so, André was gripped by such anguish that he could not remember ever having experienced one such as this.

He leaned over to Suzy and asked in a low voice with tender gentleness, as he would speak to a child, “Mademoiselle Suzanne, why are you crying?”

She didn't move, too absorbed to notice his tone. But she felt the warmth of his kindness, of the affection he bore her.

“It brings me so much sorrow to leave,” she murmured, closing her eyes with a movement of fatigue. “But I can no longer say Maman wouldn't want to let me go any more, and I must—Oh, yes really! — I must accompany Lady Graham to Cannes. I believe it is my duty to do so.”

Despite her efforts, two more tears slipped down from beneath her lowered lashes.

Then a great breath of emotion rose in André's heart, carrying away in a minute his silent determination, his stern wisdom, much as a tempestuous wind sweeps away dead leaves in a whirlwind.

“If you wished, Mademoiselle Suzy,” he said, his voice low, as if frightened by his boldness. “There is a way you can stay.”

“A way? Oh, tell me!” she said passionately.

“Mademoiselle Suzy,” he murmured, in a voice broken by emotion. “Will you be my wife?”

With a bound, she was on her feet, looking him straight in the face, stunned, her tears drying, and forgetful of everything from the intensity of shock she must be feeling.

“Oh,” she said.

André’s heart beat violently in his sturdy chest, while one of his most terrible fears dissipated. She had listened to him without becoming mocking, even seriously, and he saw the grave expression on her young face enveloped by the light of the flames.

In spite of this, with implacable intuition, he guessed that she was attentive, her mind curious and troubled, and yet not moved in her soul. He would have liked to fight, to plead with her, but he was accustomed to concentrate all his feelings, and he did not know how to speak to her.

Out of habit, she twisted the ribbon of her belt. After a second, she asked in a slow, somewhat wistful voice, “Why did you ask me that?”

He thought she was hurt by the fact that he had directly addressed her.

“I understand very well,” he began timidly, in a tone of apology, “that I should have spoken first to your mother, but I have never dared to confess my desire to marry you to her. I understand so well how little reason there is for you to consent. Tonight, it was because you were crying that I forgot everything. I didn't offend you, did I?”

“Oh, no! But it seems so strange to me to hear you speak on this.”

She sat down again in her little, low chair in the shadow of the fireplace, and he couldn’t make out her face. He felt as if every minute of silence increased the invisible distance between them. But at that moment, when she had such an unusual seriousness, she appeared to him different from herself, like a stranger. To this serious young lady, who was no longer the laughing Suzy of the past, he dared not say his utmost thoughts that whispered to him.

And she suspected nothing of it, for the emotion revealed on André’s face was something harsh and rough, which contrasted in a strange way with the sweetness of his voice.

“I know very well,” he replied humbly, “that I am not the man you might wish for. I am awkward and clumsy in my manners. I understand that this request is ridiculous of me.”

She stopped him with a quick movement of her hand.

“Don't talk like that. I only know that you are good, and I am so grateful to you for wishing to spare me the unhappiness of leaving.”

“Don't thank me, it is my happiness that I hope for,” he said with a slight tremor in his voice. “By asking you to…I beg you not to reject me.”

She twitched slightly. No one had ever spoken to her in this way, and her feminine self-esteem awakened, charmed, but her heart remained closed. It seemed as if a mysterious barrier separated her from André. She certainly felt a friendship for him—she knew what confidence he inspired in her mother—and yet the “yes” he asked of her was far from her lips.

I cannot consent, can I? No, I can’t, she thought, with a sort of passionate rebellion. 

If she had dared, she would have fled or called her mother as if danger threatened her. She was touched—perhaps flattered, most of all—by André's words, and, at the same time, angry at the trouble he threw at her.

Oh, Maman, if you would just come back! What is delaying her? she thought with nervous anxiety.

The silence between her and André seemed so heavy to her. 

“How can you wish to trouble yourself with me?” She feverishly resumed, thought absent from her words. “When viewed next to your seriousness, I am only a little, absent-minded girl!”

“Yes, I am too serious and disagreeable. I know that,” he said sadly.

“Don't say that,” she said, stopping him and filled with compassion from the tone of his voice. “In fact, others don't think you're too serious. To me alone you appear so because I am not very reasonable. But…but…perhaps I should correct myself—”

“I don’t wish to see you become anyone other than who you are now.”

A faint flush ran over Suzy’s face.

“And besides,” she continued in haste, “I never thought that you would make such a request to me.”

“Never?”

“No…No, I thought that your work alone interested you. When you come over you are always absorbed with something. You hardly speak to me. Only when I ever question you. That’s when you answer me.” She finished with a spontaneous smile.

She suddenly felt braver, for she heard her mother's step in the next room. At last, she was going to be delivered from this terrible tête-à-tête. But one of the boys called Madame Douvry, who was unaware of André's presence, and she diverted down the hallway.

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.