He was satisfied, and rubbed his hands, for he had found a good trick to
annoy his wife and gratify the obscure rancor, the undefined and gnawing
jealousy born in him since their drive in the Bois. He would never
speak of Forestier again without calling him cuckold. He felt very well
that this would end by enraging Madeleine. And half a score of times, in
the course of the evening, he found means to mention with ironical good
humor the name of "that cuckold of a Forestier." He was no longer angry
with the dead! he was avenging him.
His wife pretended not to notice it, and remained smilingly indifferent.
The next day, as she was to go and invite Madame Walter, he resolved to
forestall her, in order to catch the latter alone, and see if she really
cared for him. It amused and flattered him. And then--why not--if it
were possible?
He arrived at the Boulevard Malesherbes about two, and was shown into
the drawing-room, where he waited till Madame Walter made her
appearance, her hand outstretched with pleased eagerness, saying: "What
good wind brings you hither?"
"No good wind, but the wish to see you. Some power has brought me here,
I do not know why, for I have nothing to say to you. I came, here I am;
will you forgive me this early visit and the frankness of this
explanation?"
He uttered this in a gallant and jesting tone, with a smile on his lips.
She was astonished, and colored somewhat, stammering: "But really--I do
not understand--you surprise me."
He observed: "It is a declaration made to a lively tune, in order not to
alarm you."
They had sat down in front of one another. She took the matter
pleasantly, saying: "A serious declaration?"
"Yes. For a long time I have been wanting to utter it--for a very long
time. But I dared not. They say you are so strict, so rigid."