I thought I’d wake up back at Saint-Agathe, putting on my peasant smock clothes and getting ready for class. But no, I’m still at where my strange encounters took me. This incongruous and surreal château; where everyone’s blissful and enthusiastic, too blissful and I wondered why. I wondered what this party was for or who it was for. I wondered who owned this massive estate...
The room in which I was in had a musty smell, the air in the room was thick with dust and cider, the sheer curtains floated in a ghostly manner, the room was misty, I could hear faint voices and I assumed it’s because the walls were hollow.
In this moment of pensive silence, I realized it was too quiet. I must have been the first to get up. I had been advised to wear a simple black suit, in old-fashioned style: a jacket, tight at the waist with sleeves puffed out on the shoulders, a double-breasted waistcoat, trousers so wide at the bottom that they almost hid my elegant shoes and a top hat. This outfit was unusual to my peasant smock, it was too old fashioned and peculiar, but aesthetic to the eye. I was fond of it, and I kept it.
It was very misty; the fog was crawling through the courtyard. The courtyard empty with a deadly silence when I came down. I took a few steps, and I thought I had been transported into a spring day. In fact, this was the mildest morning that winter, and the sun shining as it does in the first days of April. The frost was melting, and the damp grass shone as though sprinkled with dew. In the trees, several little birds were singing, and now and then a warm breeze touched my face as I walked.
As I went out into the courtyard of the château, I thought that a merry, familiar voice would be calling to me at any moment. But nothing but the wind whispering in my ears. I felt forlorn, like the stranger I was. I walked alone for a long time through the yard and the garden. I leaned against the rickety wooden fence around the fishpond, and I saw myself reflected in the water, in my romantic student garb.
I thought I saw another Meaulnes, no longer a schoolboy who had runaway in a peasant’s cart, but a charming, fabled being. I could smell warm bread, my mouth salivated, and I could hear the food calling me. I hurried towards the main house. I sat down in the great hall where I had dined the evening before, a peasant woman was laying the tables. She poured out my coffee, and said: ‘You’re the first, Monsieur.’ I preferred not to say anything because I didn’t want to be recognized as a stranger. But I did ask when the boat would leave for the trip.
I went looking for the landing-stage. Walking around the huge manor with its unequal wings. When I came around the south wing and was confronted by the lake. I felt like an idler wandering along the bank when suddenly I heard footsteps on the gravel.
There were two women, one very old and bent, the other a young beautiful and eccentric woman, blonde, slender, whose delightful attire was even more astonishing than any of the fancy dresses the day before. They stopped for a moment to look at the scenery, while I stood quite still watching the girl. I still try to recall that lovely, vanished face and I would dream of young women like her go by.
I was puzzled whether to follow them or not, but half turning in my direction, she said to her companion. Or me? ‘The boat will not be long, now, I suppose?’ I followed them.
When she came down to the landing stage, she looked at me, wearing that same innocent and serious look that seemed to mean: ‘Who are you? What are you doing here? I don’t know you – yet I feel as though I do...’ I was on the same boat as her. I leaned on the rail, one hand clasping my hat as it battered against the high wind, and I was able to look as much as I liked at the girl. She looked back at me. She would sometimes reply to her friends, smile, then gently turn her blue eyes towards me and with a bite of her lip.
When we pulled up beside a wood of firs. I recall this moment when, on the banks of the lake, my face so close to hers, we locked eyes, but she withdrew, and I had lost her face! Everything around me felt as though I was in a dream. Children were running around shouting with glee, everyone was spreading out among the trees. I was walking along an avenue behind a group of young women.
Soon, I was right next to her, and I simply said, ‘Vous êtes belle.’ But she ran away, without replying. I regretted my clumsiness, my crassness, my stupidity. I thought I’d never see the delightful creature again. But we met again on a narrow path. I bowed a very quietly said: ‘Will you forgive me?’ She did. I begged her to stay, I spoke to her so awkwardly, but she slowed down and listened to me. I asked her for her name. ‘My name?’ she said, ‘I’m Mademoiselle Yvonne de Galais...’ Then she was gone.
I went up to Yvonne at Frantz’s house and told her my name and that I’m a student. We talk for a little longer, in a friendly way. The young woman’s attitude changed, she seemed so worried, as though I had said something... I asked if I could come back to the beautiful estate, and she simply said, ‘I’ll be expecting you.’ She suddenly paused when seeing the landing stage, and told me, ‘We mustn’t get into the same boat. Farewell, don’t follow me.’
For a while, I stood there, saying nothing; at this, Yvonne, far ahead was about to be swallowed up again by the crowd of guests, she looked back and gave me for the first time a long stare. Was she forbidding me to accompany her? Or was it a farewell gesture? Was she engaged? Why couldn’t I have her?