He could not live without her; he loved her; he had
always loved her; before he had been daunted by the inequality
between them, but now he must speak or die. At the end he asked
her, in set old-fashioned terms, whether or not she would marry
him.
He mailed it as it was, in odd sheets and under the cover of an
official envelope of the railroad company. He dropped it into the
box and walked away, wondering whether he wasn't the biggest fool
on earth and the most audacious, and yet stirred and trembling
with a strange satisfaction. After all he was a man; he had lived
as a man should, honorably and straightforwardly; he had the
right to ask such a question of any woman and the right to an
honest and considerate answer. Be it yes or no, he could reproach
himself no longer with perhaps having let his happiness slip past
him. The matter would be put beyond a doubt for ever, and if it
went against him, as in the bottom of his heart he felt assured it
would, he would try to bear it with what fortitude he might. She
would know that he loved her. There was always that to comfort
him. She would know that he loved her.
He got a postal guide and studied out the mails. He learned the
names of the various steamers, the date of their sailing and
arriving, the distance of Vevey from the sea. Were she to write on
the same day she received his letter, he might hear from her by
the Touraine. Were she to wait a day, her answer would be delayed
for the Normandie.
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