First Part Chapter 35

THE SAME TO THE SAME
MARSEILLES, July.

I am ashamed to think how my sudden flight will have taken you by
surprise. But since I am above all honest, and since I love you not
one bit the less, I shall tell you the truth in four words: I am
horribly jealous!

Felipe's eyes were too often on you. You used to have little talks
together at the foot of your rock, which were a torture to me; and I
was fast becoming irritable and unlike myself. Your truly Spanish
beauty could not fail to recall to him his native land, and along with
it Marie Heredia, and I can be jealous of the past too.

Your magnificent black hair, your lovely dark eyes, your brow, where the
peaceful joy of motherhood stands out radiant against the shadows
which tell of past suffering, the freshness of your southern skin, far
fairer than that of a blonde like me, the splendid lines of your
figure, the breasts, on which my godson hangs, peeping through the
lace like some luscious fruit,--all this stabbed me in the eyes and in
the heart.

In vain did I stick cornflowers in my curls, in vain set
off with cherry-colored ribbons the tameness of my pale locks,
everything looked washed out when Renee appeared--a Renee so unlike
the one I expected to find in your oasis.

Then Felipe made too much of the child, whom I found myself beginning
to hate. Yes, I confess it, that exuberance of life which fills your
house, making it gay with shouts and laughter--I wanted it for myself.
I read a regret in Macumer's eyes, and, unknown to him, I cried over
it two whole nights. I was miserable in your house. You are too
beautiful as a woman, too triumphant as a mother, for me to endure
your company.