You are not to imagine that John Bulmer debated an exposure of de
Soyecourt. "Live and let live" was the Englishman's axiom; the exuberant
Cazaio was dead, his men were either slain or dispersed, and the whole
tangle of errors--with judicious reservations--had now been unravelled to
Gaston's satisfaction. And Claire de Puysange was now Duchess of Ormskirk.
Why, then, meddle with Destiny, who appeared, after all, to possess a
certain sense of equity?
So Ormskirk smiled as he presently went about Paris, on his own business,
and when he and Louis de Soyecourt encountered each other their
friendliness was monstrous in its geniality.
They were now one and all in Paris, where Ormskirk's marriage had been
again, and more publicly, solemnized. De Puysange swore that his sister was
on this occasion the loveliest person affordable by the resources of the
universe, but de Soyecourt backed another candidate; so that over their
wine the two gentlemen presently fell into a dispute.
"Nay, but I protest to you she is the most beautiful woman in all Paris!"
cried the Marquis de Soyecourt, and kissed his finger-tips gallantly.
"My dear Louis," the Duc de Puysange retorted, "her eyes are noticeable,
perhaps; and I grant you," he added, slowly, "that her husband is not often
troubled by--that which they notice."
"--And the cleverest!"
"I have admitted she knows when to be silent. What more would you demand of
any woman?"
"And yet--" The little Marquis waved a reproachful forefinger.
"Why, but," said the Duke, with utter comprehension, "it is not for nothing
that our house traces from the great Jurgen--"
He was in a genial midnight mood, and, on other subjects, inclined to be
garrulous; for the world, viewed through a slight haze, of vinous origin,
seemed a pleasant place, and inspired a kindly desire to say diverting
things about the world's contents. He knew the Marquis to be patient,
and even stolid, under a fusillade of epigram and paradox; in short, de
Puysange knew the hour and the antagonist for midnight talk to be at hand.
And a saturnalia of phrases whirled in his brain, demanding utterance.
He waved them aside. Certain inbred ideas are strangely tenacious of
existence, and it happened to be his wife they were discussing. It would
not be good form, de Puysange felt, for him to evince great interest in
this topic....
I
"And yet," de Puysange queried, as he climbed democratically into a public
hackney coach, "why not? For my part, I see no good and sufficient reason
for discriminating against the only woman one has sworn to love and cherish
and honor. It is true that several hundred people witnessed the promise,
with a perfect understanding of the jest, and that the keeping of this oath
involves a certain breach of faith with society. Eh bien! let us, then,
deceive the world--and the flesh--and the devil! Let us snap our fingers at
this unholy trinity, and assert the right, when the whim takes us, to make
unstinted love to our own wives!"
He settled back in the _fiacre_ to deliberate. "It is bourgeois? Bah! the
word is the first refuge of the unskilful poseur! It is bourgeois to be
born, to breathe, to sleep, or eat; in which of the functions that consume
the greater part of my life do I differ from my grocer? Bourgeois! why,
rightly considered, to be a human being at all is quite inordinately
bourgeois! And it is very notably grocer-like to maintain a grave face and
two establishments, to chuckle privily over the fragments of the seventh
commandment, to repent, upon detection, and afterward--ces bêtes-là!--to
drink poison. Ma foi, I infinitely prefer the domestic coffee!"
The Duc de Puysange laughed, and made as though to wave aside the crudities
of life. "All vice is bourgeois, and fornication in particular tends
to become sordid, outworn, vieux jeu! In youth, I grant you, it is the
unexpurgated that always happens. But at my age--misericorde!--the
men yawn, and les demoiselles--bah! les demoiselles have the souls of
accountants! They buy and sell, as my grocer does. The satiation of carnal
desires is no longer a matter of splendid crimes and sorrows and kingdoms
lost; it is a matter of business."
The harsh and swarthy face relaxed. With, a little sigh the Duc de Puysange
had closed his fevered eyes. About them were a multitude of tiny lines,
and of this fact he was obscurely conscious, in a wearied fashion, when he
again looked out on the wellnigh deserted streets, now troubled by a hint
of dawn. His eyes were old; they had seen much. Two workmen shambled by,
chatting on their way to the day's work; in the attic yonder a drunken
fellow sang, "Ah, bouteille ma mie," he bellowed, "pourquoi vous
vuidez-vous?"
De Puysange laughed. "I suppose I have no conscience, but at least, I can
lay claim to a certain fastidiousness. I am very wicked,"--he smiled,
without mirth or bitterness,--"I have sinned notably as the world accounts
it; indeed, I think, my repute is as abominable as that of any man living.
And I am tired,--alas, I am damnably tired! I have found the seven deadly
sins deadly, beyond, doubt, but only deadly dull and deadly commonplace. I
have perseveringly frisked in the high places of iniquity, I have junketed
with all evil gods, and the utmost they could pretend to offer any of their
servitors was a spasm. I renounce them, as feeble-minded deities, I snap
my fingers, very much as did my progenitor, the great Jurgen, at all their
over-rated mysteries."
His glance caught and clung for a moment to the paling splendor of the moon
that hung low in the vacant, dove-colored heavens. A faint pang, half-envy,
half-regret, vexed the Duke with a dull twinge. "I wish too that by living
continently I could have done, once for all, with this faded pose and this
idle making of phrases! Eheu! there is a certain proverb concerning pitch
so cynical that I suspect it of being truthful. However,--we shall see."
De Puysange smiled. "The most beautiful woman in all Paris? Ah, yes, she is
quite that, is this grave silent female whose eyes are more fathomless and
cold than oceans! And how cordially she despises me! Ma foi, I think that
if her blood--which is, beyond doubt, of a pale-pink color,--be ever
stirred, at all, it is with loathing of her husband. Well, life holds many
surprises for madame, now that I become quite as virtuous as she is. We
will arrange a very pleasant comedy of belated courtship; for are we not
bidden to love one another? So be it,--I am henceforth the model père de
famille."
Now the _fiacre_ clattered before the Hôtel de Puysange.
The door was opened by a dull-eyed lackey, whom de Puysange greeted with
a smile, "Bon jour, Antoine!" cried the Duke; "I trust that your wife and
doubtless very charming children have good health?"
"Beyond question, monseigneur," the man answered, stolidly.
"That is excellent hearing," de Puysange said, "and it rejoices me to be
reassured of their welfare. For the happiness of others, Antoine, is
very dear to the heart of a father--and of a husband." The Duke chuckled
seraphically as he passed down the hall. The man stared after him, and
shrugged.
"Rather worse than usual," Antoine considered.