One morning, Adolphe is petted in a very unusual manner. The too happy
husband wonders what may be the cause of this development of
affection, and he hears Caroline, in her most winning tones, utter the
word: "Adolphe?"
"Well?" he replies, in alarm at the internal agitation betrayed by
Caroline's voice.
"Promise not to be angry."
"Well."
"Not to be vexed with me."
"Never. Go on."
"To forgive me and never say anything about it."
"But tell me what it is!"
"Besides, you are the one that's in the wrong--"
"Speak, or I'll go away."
"There's no one but you that can get me out of the scrape--and it was
you that got me into it."
"Come, come."
"It's about--"
"About--"
"About Justine!"
"Don't speak of her, she's discharged. I won't see her again, her
style of conduct exposes your reputation--"
"What can people say--what have they said?"
The scene changes, the result of which is a secondary explanation
which makes Caroline blush, as she sees the bearing of the
suppositions of her best friends.
"Well, now, Adolphe, it's to you I owe all this. Why didn't you tell
me about Frederick?"
"Frederick the Great? The King of Prussia?"
"What creatures men are! Hypocrite, do you want to make me believe
that you have forgotten your son so soon, M'lle Suzanne Beauminet's
son?"
"Then you know--?"
"The whole thing! And old other Mahuchet, and your absences from home
to give him a good dinner on holidays."
"How like moles you pious women can be if you try!" exclaims Adolphe,
in his terror.
"It was Justine that found it out."
"Ah! Now I understand the reason of her insolence."
"Oh, your Caroline has been very wretched, dear, and this spying
system, which was produced by my love for you, for I do love you, and
madly too,--if you deceived me, I would fly to the extremity of
creation,--well, as I was going to say, this unfounded jealousy has
put me in Justine's power, so, my precious, get me out of it the best
way you can!"
"Let this teach you, my angel, never to make use of your servants, if
you want them to be of use to you. It is the lowest of tyrannies, this
being at the mercy of one's people."
Adolphe takes advantage of this circumstance to alarm Caroline, he
thinks of future Chaumontel's affairs, and would be glad to have no
more espionage.
Justine is sent for, Adolphe peremptorily dismisses her without
waiting to hear her explanation. Caroline imagines her vexations at an
end. She gets another maid.
Justine, whose twelve or fifteen thousand francs have attracted the
notice of a water carrier, becomes Madame Chavagnac, and goes into the
apple business. Ten months after, in Adolphe's absence, Caroline
receives a letter written upon school-boy paper, in strides which
would require orthopedic treatment for three months, and thus
conceived:
"Madam!
"Yu ar shaimphoolly diseeved bi yure huzban fur mame Deux
fischtaminelle, hee goze their evry eavning, yu ar az blynde az a
Batt. Your gott wott yu dizzurv, and I am Glad ovit, and I have thee
honur ov prezenting yu the assurunz ov Mi moaste ds Sting guischt
respecks."
Caroline starts like a lion who has been stung by a bumble-bee; she
places herself once more, and of her own accord, upon the griddle of
suspicion, and begins her struggle with the unknown all over again.
When she has discovered the injustice of her suspicions, there comes
another letter with an offer to furnish her with details relative to a
Chaumontel's affair which Justine has unearthed.
The petty trouble of avowals, ladies, is often more serious than this,
as you perhaps have occasion to remember.