Read Online La Chamade by Françoise Sagan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Françoise Sagan
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spring, Charles. We're going dancing. No one feels sleepy, and Lucile least of all.'
She gave Lucile a kindly, amused glance and Charles, who knew her jealousy and who, besides, had seen her draw Lucile aside for a few minutes, suddenly felt reassured. Lucile must have forgotten Antoine. And without saying so, it was a sort of gala, a festivity in honour of peace, that Diana had offered him. He accepted.
They were all to meet in a night club. Charles and Lucile were the first to appear, they danced, they talked gaily, for Lucile, once started, chattered like a magpie. All of a sudden she stopped. She saw in the doorway a tall man, a little taller than the others, with a dark blue suit and his eyes were yellow. She knew that man's face by heart, every scar under the dark blue suit and the shape of his shoulders. He came up to them and sat down. Diane was downstairs making-up her face and he asked Lucile to dance. The pressure of his hand on her shoulder, the touch of his palm against hers and the strange distance he kept between his cheek and Lucile's, a distance that Lucile recognised to be that of desire, stirred her so deeply that she even pretended to look slightly bored in order to deceive a public that took no notice of her. This was the first time that she had danced with Antoine, and they danced to one of the lilting, sentimental tunes played everywhere that spring.
He took her back to her table. Diane had returned and was dancing with Charles. They sat on the banquette, at some distance from each other.
'Did you have a nice time?' Antoine asked, looking furious.
'Why, yes,' answered Lucile, surprised. 'Didn't you?'
'Not at all,' he said. 'I never have a good time at that sort of party and, unlike you, I have a horror of false situations.'
The truth was that he had been unable to talk to Lucile during the whole evening and he wanted her. The idea that she would leave with Charles in a few minutes filled him with bitterness. He lapsed into a kind of virtuous exclusiveness that is so often caused by frustrated desire.
'You're made for this sort of life,' he said.
'What about you?'
'I'm not. Some men exhibit their virility by navigating between two women. My virility prevents me from having pleasure in making them suffer.'
'If you had seen yourself in Diane's room!' exclaimed Lucile. 'You looked so sheepish...'
She began to laugh.
'Don't laugh,' said Antoine, controlling his voice. 'In ten minutes you'll be in Charles' arms, or alone. In either case, far from me...'
'But tomorrow...'
I've had enough of tomorrows,' he replied. 'You must understand that.'
Lucile was silent. She tried unsuccessfully to look grave. Alcohol made her feel unreasonably happy. An unknown young man asked her to dance but Antoine curtly sent him away, much to her annoyance. She would have been glad to dance, talk, or even run away with someone else, she felt freed of every obligation, except that of enjoying herself.
I've had a little too much to drink,' she said plaintively.
'That's obvious,' answered Antoine.
'Perhaps you should have done the same, you're surely not amusing.'
This was their first quarrel. She looked at his childlike, obstinate profile and softened.
'Antoine, you know very well...'
'Yes, yes, that you love me for keeps.'
And he got up. Diane came back to their table. Charles seemed tired. He gave Lucile an imploring glance and asked Diane to excuse them: he had to be up early the next morning and the place was really too noisy for him. Lucile did not protest and followed him. But in the car, and for the first time since she had met Charles, she felt like a prisoner.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Diane was removing her make-up in the bathroom. Antoine had turned on the pick-up, sat down on the floor and listened, without hearing, a Beethoven concerto. Diane saw him in a mirror and smiled. Antoine always sat in front of the pick-up, as he might have before a pagan image or a wood fire. She had wasted her time in explaining
She gave Lucile a kindly, amused glance and Charles, who knew her jealousy and who, besides, had seen her draw Lucile aside for a few minutes, suddenly felt reassured. Lucile must have forgotten Antoine. And without saying so, it was a sort of gala, a festivity in honour of peace, that Diana had offered him. He accepted.
They were all to meet in a night club. Charles and Lucile were the first to appear, they danced, they talked gaily, for Lucile, once started, chattered like a magpie. All of a sudden she stopped. She saw in the doorway a tall man, a little taller than the others, with a dark blue suit and his eyes were yellow. She knew that man's face by heart, every scar under the dark blue suit and the shape of his shoulders. He came up to them and sat down. Diane was downstairs making-up her face and he asked Lucile to dance. The pressure of his hand on her shoulder, the touch of his palm against hers and the strange distance he kept between his cheek and Lucile's, a distance that Lucile recognised to be that of desire, stirred her so deeply that she even pretended to look slightly bored in order to deceive a public that took no notice of her. This was the first time that she had danced with Antoine, and they danced to one of the lilting, sentimental tunes played everywhere that spring.
He took her back to her table. Diane had returned and was dancing with Charles. They sat on the banquette, at some distance from each other.
'Did you have a nice time?' Antoine asked, looking furious.
'Why, yes,' answered Lucile, surprised. 'Didn't you?'
'Not at all,' he said. 'I never have a good time at that sort of party and, unlike you, I have a horror of false situations.'
The truth was that he had been unable to talk to Lucile during the whole evening and he wanted her. The idea that she would leave with Charles in a few minutes filled him with bitterness. He lapsed into a kind of virtuous exclusiveness that is so often caused by frustrated desire.
'You're made for this sort of life,' he said.
'What about you?'
'I'm not. Some men exhibit their virility by navigating between two women. My virility prevents me from having pleasure in making them suffer.'
'If you had seen yourself in Diane's room!' exclaimed Lucile. 'You looked so sheepish...'
She began to laugh.
'Don't laugh,' said Antoine, controlling his voice. 'In ten minutes you'll be in Charles' arms, or alone. In either case, far from me...'
'But tomorrow...'
I've had enough of tomorrows,' he replied. 'You must understand that.'
Lucile was silent. She tried unsuccessfully to look grave. Alcohol made her feel unreasonably happy. An unknown young man asked her to dance but Antoine curtly sent him away, much to her annoyance. She would have been glad to dance, talk, or even run away with someone else, she felt freed of every obligation, except that of enjoying herself.
I've had a little too much to drink,' she said plaintively.
'That's obvious,' answered Antoine.
'Perhaps you should have done the same, you're surely not amusing.'
This was their first quarrel. She looked at his childlike, obstinate profile and softened.
'Antoine, you know very well...'
'Yes, yes, that you love me for keeps.'
And he got up. Diane came back to their table. Charles seemed tired. He gave Lucile an imploring glance and asked Diane to excuse them: he had to be up early the next morning and the place was really too noisy for him. Lucile did not protest and followed him. But in the car, and for the first time since she had met Charles, she felt like a prisoner.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Diane was removing her make-up in the bathroom. Antoine had turned on the pick-up, sat down on the floor and listened, without hearing, a Beethoven concerto. Diane saw him in a mirror and smiled. Antoine always sat in front of the pick-up, as he might have before a pagan image or a wood fire. She had wasted her time in explaining
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