For several days Eugénie and I hardly spoke; she remained in her bedroom
almost all day, and I in my study. In that way we did not dispute, to be
sure; but that mode of life was very dismal; it was not for the purpose
of living on such terms with my wife that I married her; and I felt that
I should certainly regret my bachelor days if it was to continue.
I went more than once to Ernest’s. Ah! what a difference! how happy they
were! they were still lovers. Love, pleasure, happiness--those are what
they gave to each other; and they were still as light of heart, as much
like children, as when they lived under the eaves. Ernest, as a matter
of courtesy, asked me about my wife; but I fancied that he was not
anxious to see her again; for my part, I dared not urge him to come,
although I was careful not to mention my quarrel with Eugénie.
When two people are young, especially when they are fond of each other,
they cannot remain on bad terms long. Eugénie and I hovered about each
other, but our accursed pride and self-esteem continued to keep us
apart. It was a contest between us to see which should give way first;
because, doubtless, she did not think she was in the wrong, and I was
perfectly sure that I was in the right. But one day, when Eugénie was
seated beside me, saying nothing, I threw self-esteem to the winds; I
embraced my wife affectionately, and we were reconciled. Ah! such
reconciliations are very sweet. However, as they are always the result
of quarrels, I consider that they are a pleasure in which one should
indulge in moderation. The time for us to move drew near, and I felt
that I should regret to leave that house in which I had passed such
happy hours. But I kept my regrets to myself, for my wife would have
ascribed them to other reasons. For Eugénie, that change was an
unalloyed joy. I pretended to share it. I think that her satisfaction
was twofold: in the first place, because she was leaving that house; in
the second place, because she was moving from that neighborhood, where
she knew that we were near the home of Ernest and his wife.
On the eve of the day when we were to move, as everything in our
apartment was topsy-turvy, we preferred not to dine there; we could not
invite ourselves to dine with Madame Dumeillan, who had not been well
for some time; to go to my mother’s might cause her to lose her evening
game of whist; so we made up our minds to dine at a restaurant, in a
private room. My wife looked forward to it with delight. As my business
would detain me quite late in the Tuileries quarter, I arranged to meet
Eugénie on the Terrasse des Feuillants; she was to go to our new
apartment, and then to meet me at the place appointed, at five o’clock.
I finished my business as quickly as I could, for I did not wish that
Eugénie should be at the rendezvous before me, and have to wait for me.
I made such haste that it was not half-past four when I reached the
Garden of the Tuileries. No matter, I thought, I will stroll about.
Less than three minutes after I had arrived, I heard a voice which was
not unfamiliar to me, say:
“It seems that we are fated always to meet here; it is very strange,
really.”
It was Lucile again. I had not seen her since my wedding day. She was
dressed very elegantly, and she was alone.
“Is it you, madame?”
“Yes, monsieur, I am obliged to come to the garden to meet you.”
“It is true that in Paris, when people are not looking for each
other----”
“And even if they are looking for each other, that is no reason why they
should find each other. Have you just been married again, monsieur?”
“No, madame. That is well enough when one is a bachelor--to take a new
wife every week.”
“You have reformed now, I suppose?”
“Yes, madame, entirely.”
“I congratulate you. And yet, although you have reformed, you look very
much to me as if you were here to keep an appointment.”
“That is true, madame, but appointments do not always mean
love-affairs.”
“I don’t know what they mean; but you are waiting for someone, and I’ll
bet that it’s a woman.”
“You are not mistaken; moreover, a woman whom I am going to take to
dinner in a private room at a restaurant.”
“You have reformed with a vengeance! But I should have been more
surprised to find it the other way. It was well worth while to get
married!”
“Madame, I will not prolong your error; it is my wife for whom I am
waiting, and whom I agreed to meet here.”
“Your wife! I beg pardon, monsieur, pray receive my apology. I had no
suspicion that you had become a Philemon. Come, joking aside, is it
really your wife that you are waiting for?”
“Yes, to be sure. What is there so extraordinary in that?”
“Do you mean that you are still in love with your wife?”
“Still! why it seems to me that I was married only yesterday!”
“Bless my soul! how touching!”
Lucile bit her lips with a sneering smile. I had no wish to prolong my
conversation with her, although I was certain that my wife would not
come so early. I made a motion to bid her adieu; she grasped my arm.
“What, you are going to leave me so soon? Mon Dieu! don’t tremble so;
your wife will not come yet.”
“I trust not; for, frankly, I would not like to have her see me talking
with you.”
“Would she whip you?”
“No, she wouldn’t do anything; but she is jealous, and it would make her
unhappy.”
“She would be very foolish to be jealous of me.”
“That is true; but jealous people often are foolish, you know.”
“Henri, I am going to make a proposition to you.”
“What is it?”
“Take me to dinner instead of your wife. You can tell her this evening
that you had an engagement that you couldn’t break.”
“No, I haven’t reached that point yet, thank heaven!”
“Oh! I was only joking, monsieur; I know that you are too virtuous to
play such a trick. Have you got ants on your legs?”
“No, but I don’t want to stand here.”
“Very well; let us walk then.”
“I don’t want to walk with you.”
“But what if I don’t choose to leave you?”
“I beg you, Lucile, let me go.”
“Dear me! monsieur assumes his sentimental air. Look you, the garden is
free to all; if I choose to walk beside you, you have no right to
prevent me. Besides, I am very curious to see your wife. Will she eat me
if she finds me with you? Ah! monsieur refuses to answer any more
questions; monsieur is angry.”
“Yes, madame, I confess that I don’t understand what motive induces you
to act as you are acting. It is pure malice, and it seems to me that I
have given you no reason to treat me so.”
“Indeed! it seems so to you, does it? You have a very short memory. It
seems to me that I have many reasons for revenging myself on you.”
“Madame, you must have other people to think about who interest you much
more than I do; and in the four years since we ceased to see each other,
I am surprised that you remember me at all.”
“It is certain that you hardly deserve it. But what would you have?
Perhaps that is the reason.”
“Lucile, some other day we will talk as long as you wish; but to-day, I
beg you, leave me; don’t stay with me.”
“Ha! ha! you make me laugh!”
I began to walk very fast; Lucile did the same, continuing to talk to
me, although I did not reply. I saw that people were staring at us,
because I had the aspect of running away from a woman who was pursuing
me. I was in dismay. At last I stopped.
“This is a horrible thing that you are doing, Lucile.”
“Well, calm yourself, I will leave you, for you make my heart ache. You
start convulsively every time you see a woman! But tell me first, have
you my portrait still?”
“Your portrait? Why, I don’t know, I will look.”
“I want you to give it back to me. You can’t care anything about it, and
I want it, for it was very like me.”
“I will give it to you.”
“I still live on the same street, but two houses beyond.”
“Very well; I will bring it to you.”
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
“Ah! that will be very kind of you. Adieu, my dear Henri. Come, don’t be
angry any more and don’t forget what you have just promised.”
“No, I----”
The words died out on my lips, for I caught sight of my wife within two
yards of us, pale and trembling, and gazing directly at us. And at that
moment, Lucile had offered me her hand as she bade me good-bye, and I,
overjoyed because she was about to leave me, was shaking hands with her
in the friendliest way! Eugénie had seen all that, and Lucile, noticing
the sudden change in my features, turned, glanced at my wife, smiled a
mocking smile, and walked away, bidding me adieu again in a most
unceremonious fashion. Ah! I did not know what I would do to her!
I walked toward my wife. My manner was certainly as embarrassed as if I
were guilty.
“So here you are. I was talking with a lady whom I had just met.”
“Yes, I saw that lady, and I heard her too. What is the use, monsieur,
of making an appointment with me, of bringing me here to witness such
things?”
“Well, upon my word! Now you are going to discover something wrong in
this; but I swear----”
“Oh! it costs you nothing to swear! Who is that woman? Is it your former
neighbor, Madame Ernest?”
“Oh! no indeed! It’s a woman whom I--whom I knew before I was married.”
“Ah! one of your former mistresses, I suppose.”
“Well! what if that were the fact? As I have not seen her for a long
time----”
“You have ceased to see her, and yet she has the assurance to talk with
you so freely, holding your hand and looking into the whites of your
eyes! And she laughed in my face when she went away. Ah! she has a most
impudent manner! But I shall know her again. I had plenty of time to
look at her, for you didn’t see me, you were so engrossed with that
woman! You promised her something, for she said to you: ‘Don’t forget
what you have just promised me.’--Is that so, monsieur?”
“Great heaven! it is very possible, madame. I have no very clear idea
what she said to me, for I wanted but one thing, and that was to get rid
of her; for I suspected that if you saw me talking with her, it would
put a lot of crazy ideas into your head.”
“Crazy ideas! you expect me to see you with a woman like that, and not
to object to it! Ah! I am suffocating! I cannot stand any more!”
She put her handkerchief to her eyes. I took her hand and led her away,
for I had no desire to make a spectacle of myself again on the Terrasse
des Feuillants. We walked along the Champs-Elysées for some time,
without speaking. I stopped in front of a restaurant and started to go
in.
“What is this place?”
“A restaurant, where we are to dine.”
“It is no use, I am not hungry; I want to go home.”
“You know very well that everything in our apartment is packed up, and
that we can’t dine there. Really, Eugénie, you are making yourself
miserable for no reason at all. How can you think that if I had
relations with that woman, I would be with her where I knew that you
were coming?”
“What did you promise her?”
“Mon Dieu! I have no idea; she had been boring me and annoying me for
ten minutes; I would have promised her all the treasures of the Indies
to get rid of her.”
“But why did she hold your hand?”
“Because it is the habit of all those women; they can’t say a word to
you without taking your arm or your hand.”
“Is she a prostitute then?”
“No, she is a--a kept woman.”
“She has a very insolent manner, at all events.”
At last I induced Eugénie to go in, and we were shown to a private room.
I wrote my order, for after all, I myself realized that I had not dined.
The waiter left the room, whispering to me in an undertone:
“Monsieur will ring when he wants the dinner served.”
He evidently misunderstood the state of affairs. Husbands and wives are
not in the habit of dining in private rooms.
Madame took a seat in the corner, a long way from the table. She rested
her head on one of her hands. She had ceased to weep, but she did not
look at me. How amusing it would be, if she acted like that all the
time that we were dining, or that I was dining! So this was the little
spree to which I had looked forward so eagerly! Man proposes and woman
disposes.
I wished Lucile at the devil with all my heart. It was her malice, her
obstinacy, that had caused all the trouble. The idea of her refusing to
leave me! It was simply because it annoyed me.
It seemed to me that if we were to maintain that attitude, I should do
well to ring for dinner at once.
Our room looked on the Champs-Elysées. The weather was beautiful;
although it was only the middle of April, it was as warm as midsummer. I
opened the window and looked out at the passers-by for some time.
Eugénie did not budge; I walked to her side.
“Eugénie, do you propose to stay a mile away from the table like this?”
“I told you that I was not hungry. Eat your dinner, monsieur, I don’t
object.”
“What a delightful pleasure party!”
“Yes, I shall remember it.”
“And so shall I, madame. You must have a very bad temper to refuse to
listen to reason! The idea of thinking that I was looking for that woman
when I was waiting for you!”
“I don’t say that you were looking for her, monsieur, I am not foolish
enough for that; but I do think that she was looking for you, a task
which you often save her, no doubt. Besides, you have admitted that she
used to be your mistress.”
“That I knew her before I was married, that is true, madame. Perhaps I
was foolish to admit that; but as I had done no wrong, I did not think
that I ought to lie.”
“When a man has known a woman, and continues to see her, he must be on
as good terms with her as ever.”
“You are very much mistaken! If it were so, men would have altogether
too much on their hands.”
“Everybody has not known all Paris as you have!”
“Madame, I have been no better nor worse than other men; but I see that
I should have been less honest with you.”
“You ought to have been more honest with me before marrying me.”
“How nice it would have been to tell a virtuous young lady about all my
adventures as a bachelor! Really, you are too absurd.”
I seized the bell cord and jerked it violently, for I felt that my
irritation was getting the upper hand of me.
The waiter came; he opened the door a crack and put the end of his nose
inside, saying:
“What does monsieur wish?”
“Our dinner.”
“Instantly, monsieur.”
And he went away after casting a furtive glance at Eugénie.
“Madame, you need not eat, if you prefer not; but you should sit at the
table at least, in order not to attract the waiter’s attention.”
Eugénie made no reply, but she took her seat at the table opposite me.
The soup was brought, and I filled madame’s plate.
“Why, monsieur, I told you that I should not eat anything.”
“But, madame, I do not bid you to eat anything; I simply put some soup
in your plate so that you may seem to have dined.”
Madame made no reply, but she did not touch her soup. I ate mine,
humming between my teeth. That is my way when I am angry.
The waiter appeared again; he always took the precaution to turn the
knob three or four times before coming in. The fellow was an idiot; he
must have seen that we were not thinking of making love.
He brought us a beefsteak. At home, Eugénie always served; I did not
like to serve, or to carve. But madame would not so much as look at me.
I cut a piece for myself with an angry gesture, then pushed the platter
before Eugénie. But she would not touch it; she knew that it annoyed me
to see that she did not eat, and so she was very careful not to take a
mouthful.
I found that vexation and impatience were taking away my appetite too;
but no matter! I ate a double quantity. To add to my annoyance, a little
violinist had stopped under our window; he had played the same tune ever
since we had been there, although I had shouted to him that I would give
him nothing. I was not in a mood to be generous.
Well, upon my word! Once more the knob was turned and returned. What a
blockhead that waiter was! I should have been delighted to kick him. He
entered, still with an air of mystery, and placed some sweetbreads on
the table.
Really these family quarrels are most tiresome, for there is no way to
avoid them, one must submit to them from beginning to end. If you are
bored at other people’s houses, you can go away and never go there
again; but at home it is different: you always have to go back. I know
that there are husbands who go out in the morning and do not return
until bedtime; but is it not a hundred times better to be a bachelor
than to be obliged to shun one’s house in order to lead a quiet life?
Then at all events, one has some little enjoyment; one laughs now and
then at home.
I had evidently been indulging in these reflections, and many others
which were not at all rose-colored, for a long time. The violin played
on, but I had ceased to attend to it; I had also forgotten the
sweetbreads which were before us; indeed I did not realize that I was at
a restaurant. I was recalled to myself by the noise of the knob being
turned. The waiter entered with a roast chicken. He placed his chicken
on the table, and looked at the previous dish, which had not been
touched. He was uncertain whether he should carry it away, and he looked
from one to the other of us. I am sure that he seldom saw such a
taciturn couple. As no one said anything to him, he decided to speak.
“Monsieur and madame have not touched the sweetbreads yet. I brought the
chicken too soon; I will take it away again.”
“No, no, leave it and take away your sweetbreads; we don’t want them.”
“Oh! I assure you, monsieur, that they are nicely cooked, and so
fresh----”
“I tell you to take them away.”
I do not know whether the tone in which I said this was terrifying, but
the waiter took the sweetbreads and disappeared like a flash, closing
all the doors behind him. The chicken was before us. I wondered if
madame would not be obliging enough to carve it. I placed it in front of
her and begged her to be good enough to do so. She pushed it back to the
middle of the table and said:
“I will not carve.”