The Golden Triangle by Maurice Leblanc (top rated books of all time TXT) 📕

Coralie shook her head, and, in a tone of indescribable contempt, answered:

“I am not your wife. I feel nothing for you but loathing and horror. I don’t wish to see you again, and, whatever happens, whatever you may threaten, I shall not see you again.”

He rose, and, walking to her, bent in two, all trembling on his legs, he shouted, while again he shook his clenched fists at her:

“What’s that you say? What’s that you dare to say? I, I, your lord and master, order you to join me the moment that I send for you.”

“I shall not join you. I swear it before God! I swear it as I hope to be saved.”

He stamped his feet with rage. His face underwent a hideous contortion; and he roared:

“That means that you want to stay! Yes, you have reasons which I don’t know, but which are easy to guess! An affair of the heart, I suppose. There’s someone in your life, no doubt.⁠ ⁠… Hold your tongue, will you?⁠ ⁠… Haven’t you always detested me?⁠ ⁠… Your hatred does not date from today. It dates back to the first time you saw me, to a time even before our marriage.⁠ ⁠… We have always lived like mortal enemies. I loved you. I worshipped you. A word from you would have brought me to your feet. The mere sound of your steps thrilled me to the marrow.⁠ ⁠… But your feeling for me is one of horror. And you imagine that you are going to start a new life, without me? Why, I’d sooner kill you, my beauty!”

He had unclenched his fists; and his open hands were clutching on either side of Coralie, close to her head, as though around a prey which they seemed on the point of throttling. A nervous shiver made his jaws clash together. Beads of perspiration gleamed on his bald head.

In front of him, Coralie stood impassive, looking very small and frail. Patrice Belval, in an agony of suspense and ready at any moment to act, could read nothing on her calm features but aversion and contempt.

Mastering himself at last, Essarès said:

“You shall join me, Coralie. Whether you like it or not, I am your husband. You felt it just now, when the lust to murder me made you take up a weapon and left you without the courage to carry out your intention. It will always be like that. Your independent fit will pass away and you will join the man who is your master.”

“I shall remain behind to fight against you,” she replied, “here, in this house. The work of treason which you have accomplished I shall destroy. I shall do it without hatred, for I am no longer capable of hatred, but I shall do it without intermission, to repair the evil which you have wrought.”

He answered, in a low voice:

“I am capable of hatred. Beware, Coralie. The very moment when you believe that you have nothing more to fear will perhaps be the moment when I shall call you to account. Take care.”

He pushed an electric bell. Old Siméon appeared.

“So the two menservants have decamped?” asked Essarès. And, without waiting for the answer, he went on, “A good riddance. The housemaid and the cook can do all I want. They heard nothing, did they? No, their bedroom is too far away. No matter, Siméon: you must keep a watch on them after I am gone.”

He looked at his wife, surprised to see her still there, and said to his secretary:

“I must be up at six to get everything ready; and I am dead tired. Take me to my room. You can come back and put out the lights afterwards.”

He went out, supported by Siméon. Patrice Belval at once perceived that Coralie had done her best to show no weakness in her husband’s presence, but that she had come to the end of her strength and was unable to walk. Seized with faintness, she fell on her knees, making the sign of the cross.

When she was able to rise, a few minutes later, she saw on the carpet, between her and the door, a sheet of notepaper with her name on it. She picked it up and read:

“Little Mother Coralie, the struggle is too much for you. Why not appeal to me, your friend? Give a signal and I am with you.”

She staggered, dazed by the discovery of the letter and dismayed by Belval’s daring. But, making a last effort to summon up her power of will, she left the room, without giving the signal for which Patrice was longing.

Patrice, in his bedroom at the home, was unable to sleep that night. He had a continual waking sensation of being oppressed and hunted down, as though he were suffering the terrors of some monstrous nightmare. He had an impression that the frantic series of events in which he was playing the combined parts of a bewildered spectator and a helpless actor would never cease so long as he tried to rest; that, on the contrary, they would rage with greater violence and intensity. The leave-taking of the husband and wife did not put an end, even momentarily, to the dangers incurred by Coralie. Fresh perils arose on every side; and Patrice Belval confessed himself incapable of foreseeing and still more of allaying them.

After lying awake for two hours, he switched on his electric light and began hurriedly to write down the story of the past twelve hours. He hoped in this way to some small extent to unravel the tangled knot.

At six o’clock he went and roused Ya-Bon and brought him back with him. Then, standing in front of the astonished negro, he crossed his arms and exclaimed:

“So you consider that your job is over! While I lie tossing about in the dark, my lord sleeps and all’s well! My dear man, you have a jolly elastic conscience.”

The word elastic amused the Senegalese mightily.