“Let us talk no more about it, for you will end with making me angry
too. Are you ready? It is time to go to the theatre.”
“I don’t want to go.”
“And this morning you were looking forward to it. What is the meaning of
this new whim?”
“It isn’t a whim; I don’t care about going to the theatre; I don’t want
to go out.”
“As you please. Then I will go without you.”
I took my hat and went out, closing the door rather violently. One
absolutely must vent one’s ill humor on something.
I was really distressed. That was the first quarrel I had had with my
wife. It pained me all the more because I knew that I was not in the
wrong; and when a person feels that he deserves neither reproof nor
blame, he is doubly incensed with those who reprove or blame him.
To think of my being insulted by Eugénie! A few months before I could
not have believed that that could happen. To think of being hurt and
grieved by her! But it was jealousy that led her astray, that excited
her. I tried to find excuses for her. We always try to find excuses for
those whom we love; we should be so unhappy if we could not excuse them.
I found but little enjoyment at the theatre; there were times however,
when, engrossed by the play, which was very pretty, I abandoned myself
to the pleasure it afforded me; but the memory of my quarrel with my
wife soon returned to my mind; it was as if a weight had resumed its
place upon my chest; it embarrassed me and prevented me from enjoying
myself. What a child I was! after all, it was a most trivial dispute; I
was foolish to think that a husband and wife could always agree. Yet I
did think so; I believed it. That quarrel, trivial though it was, caused
me much distress, because it was the first, and because it destroyed one
of my illusions.
My wife was in bed when I went home. The next day we did not mention our
dispute of the day before. We were not on bad terms, and yet everything
was not right between us. Eugénie was colder and less talkative than
usual; there was none of the delightful unreserve of former days. But I
could not ask her pardon when I had done nothing. Let madame sulk, if
that amuses her, I thought; I will seem not to notice it.
A fortnight passed thus, during which I went once to Ernest’s; but I was
careful not to tell my wife; one must needs have secrets from people who
see evil in everything.
One morning, Eugénie said to me:
“We must see about finding a new apartment.”
“A new apartment? what for, pray?”
“Why, to move into, naturally.”
“Do you mean that you want to leave this apartment, which you like so
much?”
“Oh! I can’t endure it now! and if I had known all that I know now, we
certainly would have taken another when we were married.”
“Known all that you know? Are you going to begin again?”
“You can’t deny that this was the place where you knew Mademoiselle
Marguerite; everybody in the house knows it, and you cannot certainly
think it is pleasant for me to live here.”
“Everybody in the house knows that I used to talk to my neighbor; and
everybody also knows that I was not her lover.”
“Oh! that isn’t what people say--even the concierges.”
“What, Eugénie! do you talk with the concierges?”
“No, not I; but our maid talks with them sometimes; that is natural
enough. And I know, monsieur, that Mademoiselle Marguerite was not
content to receive visits from you; she used to come to your room.”
“That is false, madame.”
“You won’t admit it, of course not. You could not say that she used to
come here with her lover.”
“Oh, yes! I do remember now that she came once to my room, just once,
one morning, to ask me if I had seen her cat which she had lost.”
“Her cat! ha! ha! a charming excuse! That virtuous young woman goes to a
bachelor’s room to look for her cat!”
“I swear to you that that is the truth!”
“And another time she came to ask about her dog, I suppose?”
I made no reply, for I felt that I should lose my temper, and in such a
case it is wiser to hold one’s tongue. Eugénie saw perhaps that she had
gone too far, for after a moment she said to me gently:
“We shall have to move anyway when our daughter returns from her
nurse’s; this apartment will be too small then. Why should we wait?”
“This apartment suits me, madame, and I propose to remain here.”
I was not in the habit of resisting my wife; but her suspicions
concerning my friendship with Madame Ernest made me angry, and it
annoyed me to think of leaving my apartment.
Eugénie did not insist; for several days we were on cool terms, and the
question of apartments was not mentioned. I saw plainly enough that my
wife longed to speak of it, but she dared not. At last I reflected that,
after all, the neighbors and concierges and gossips might well have made
remarks; such people care for nothing except slandering their neighbors.
They had seen me go up to the young woman’s room and they might have
thought that Ernest was not there.
Why should I force my wife to listen forever to the insinuations of
those people? The apartment was distasteful to her. Besides, one must
needs do something in order to have peace. Peace! ah, yes! I was
beginning to realize that peace is a precious thing, which does not
always dwell in families.
“If you will dress at once,” I said to Eugénie one morning, “we will go
together to look at apartments.”
At that she threw herself into my arms and kissed me affectionately; she
had recovered all her sunny humor of earlier days. To make the ladies
amiable, all that is necessary is to do everything that they want.