But on passing through the greenhouse, he noticed his wife seated beside
Laroche-Mathieu, both almost hidden behind a clump of plants. They
seemed to be asserting: "We have appointed a meeting here, a meeting in
public. For we do not care a rap what people think."
Madame de Marelle agreed that the Jesus of Karl Marcowitch was
astounding, and they retraced their steps. They had lost her husband.
George inquired: "And Laurine, is she still angry with me?"
"Yes, still so as much as ever. She refuses to see you, and walks away
when you are spoken of."
He did not reply. The sudden enmity of this little girl vexed and
oppressed him. Susan seized on them as they passed through a doorway,
exclaiming: "Ah! here you are. Well, Pretty-boy, you must remain alone.
I am going to take away Clotilde to show her my room."
The two moved rapidly away, gliding through the throng with that
undulating snake-like motion women know how to adopt in a crowd. Almost
immediately a voice murmured: "George."
It was Madame Walter, who went on in a low tone: "Oh! how ferociously
cruel you are. How you do make me suffer without reason. I told Susan to
get your companion away in order to be able to say a word to you.
Listen, I must speak to you this evening, I must, or you don't know what
I will do. Go into the conservatory. You will find a door on the left
leading into the garden. Follow the path in front of it. At the end of
it you will find an arbor. Wait for me there in ten minutes' time. If
you won't, I declare to you that I will create a scene here at once."
He replied loftily: "Very well. I will be at the spot you mention within
ten minutes."
And they separated. But Jacques Rival almost made him behindhand. He had
taken him by the arm and was telling him a lot of things in a very
excited manner. He had no doubt come from the refreshment buffet. At
length Du Roy left him in the hands of Monsieur de Marelle, whom he had
come across, and bolted. He still had to take precautions not to be seen
by his wife or Laroche-Mathieu. He succeeded, for they seemed deeply
interested in something, and found himself in the garden. The cold air
struck him like an ice bath. He thought: "Confound it, I shall catch
cold," and tied his pocket-handkerchief round his neck. Then he slowly
went along the walk, seeing his way with difficulty after coming out of
the bright light of the reception-rooms. He could distinguish to the
right and left leafless shrubs, the branches of which were quivering.
Light filtered through their branches, coming from the windows of the
mansion. He saw something white in the middle of the path in front of
him, and Madame Walter, with bare arms and bosom, said in a quivering
voice; "Ah here you are; you want to kill me, then?"
He answered quickly: "No melodramatics, I beg of you, or I shall bolt at
once."
She had seized him round the neck, and with her lips close to his, said:
"But what have I done to you? You are behaving towards me like a wretch.
What have I done to you?"
He tried to repulse her. "You wound your hair round every one of my
buttons the last time I saw you, and it almost brought about a rupture
between my wife and myself."
She was surprised for a moment, and then, shaking her head, said: "Oh!
your wife would not mind. It was one of your mistresses who had made a
scene over it."
"I have no mistresses."
"Nonsense. But why do you no longer ever come to see me? Why do you
refuse to come to dinner, even once a week, with me? What I suffer is
fearful. I love you to that degree that I no longer have a thought that
is not for you; that I see you continually before my eyes; that I can no
longer say a word without being afraid of uttering your name. You cannot
understand that, I know. It seems to me that I am seized in some one's
clutches, tied up in a sack, I don't know what. Your remembrance, always
with me, clutches my throat, tears my chest, breaks my legs so as to no
longer leave me strength to walk. And I remain like an animal sitting
all day on a chair thinking of you."
He looked at her with astonishment. She was no longer the big frolicsome
tomboy he had known, but a bewildered despairing woman, capable of
anything. A vague project, however, arose in his mind. He replied: "My
dear, love is not eternal. We take and we leave one another. But when it
drags on, as between us two, it becomes a terrible drag. I will have no
more of it. That is the truth. However, if you can be reasonable, and
receive and treat me as a friend, I will come as I used to. Do you feel
capable of that?"
She placed her two bare arms on George's coat, and murmured: "I am
capable of anything in order to see you."
"Then it is agreed on," said he; "we are friends, and nothing more."
She stammered: "It is agreed on;" and then, holding out her lips to him:
"One more kiss; the last."