“I tell you again, I don’t know what got into me. You and I fight! No,
no, my dear Bélan, let us forget it all.”
Bélan shook my hand warmly.
“Let’s forget it, so I say, and shake hands. Yes, my dear fellow, I
think that we may shake hands--most cordially. I will leave you, as you
are preoccupied and engrossed by--er--disagreeable thoughts.--Perfidious
Armide! Traitorous Armide! Pope was quite right!--Have you read Pope, my
friend?”
“I--I don’t know. I think so.”
“If I had read him sooner, I should have looked twice before marrying.
Do you remember what he says of women?”
“No.”
“Well, he says that every woman has a dissolute heart. What do you think
of that?”
“I think that it is not polite.”
“But I fear that it is true. For instance, Armide has a dissolute heart;
your wife also has a----”
“For God’s sake, Bélan, let us drop that subject!”
“Yes, I will tell you about my new discoveries some other time. Oh!
these women! how sly they are! But you know that as well as I. Au
revoir, my dear fellow.”
He did well to leave me; I was on the point of jumping at his throat
again. Was it possible that I could not listen to a word about betrayed
husbands, or unfaithful wives, without flying into a passion? I felt
that I must keep a tight hold upon myself, that I must be cool and
sensible; but I must also know the truth concerning the liaison between
Eugénie and Monsieur Dulac.
Eugénie and I no longer spoke to each other except to make bitter,
sneering remarks; most of the time we said nothing. Notwithstanding all
that, I went everywhere with my wife; I would not allow her to go out
without me. But in society I had that depressed, pensive manner which
prevents one from being agreeable; for we met Monsieur Dulac at almost
every party which we attended. If I played cards, I was inattentive to
the game, because I was constantly looking about for my wife, to see if
he was speaking to her, if he was with her. If she was playing, I sat by
her side, to make sure that no one else should take that place. If she
danced, and it happened to be with Monsieur Dulac, I compelled her to
leave the ball abruptly and she dared not resist, for she could read in
my eyes that I would make a scene before the whole assemblage. I am sure
that I was universally esteemed a morose, ill-tempered, jealous bear,
and that people said of Eugénie: “Poor little woman! her husband makes
her very unhappy! he’s a tyrant! he’s a miserable fellow!”--Yes, people
undoubtedly said such things of me; for the world almost always judges
by appearances.
Only when caressing my daughter did I enjoy a moment’s happiness. Dear
child! if I had been deprived of your caresses, what would have been
left for me on earth? Her brother was still too young to understand me;
but she seemed to read my unhappiness in my eyes, and to try to divert
me from my sorrow by her soft words.
One morning, fatigued by a sleepless night, and even more by my
thoughts, I dressed, and, contrary to my usual custom--which was to
remain in my study until ten o’clock, I left the house before eight.
Chance--destiny, perhaps--led me to walk in the direction of Boulevard
du Temple. At first I thought of going to see my mother; but I reflected
that it was much too early, as she seldom rose before ten o’clock. I
concluded that it would be better to call on my friends on Rue du
Temple; it was more than six months since I had seen them. So I walked
to Ernest’s house, where I was told that he had moved, and that he now
lived on Boulevard Saint-Martin.
I was about to go thither, when a woman in a cap and morning jacket,
with a bowl of milk in her hand, nodded to me as she passed.
I turned; it was Lucile. I had not seen her since the day that my wife
surprised us together on the Terrasse des Feuillants. She had turned and
stopped; she was smiling at me. As I no longer feared that my wife was
watching me, I walked back to bid Lucile good-morning.
“We don’t meet at the Tuileries this time.”
“No--that was a long while ago!--Do you think that I have changed?”
“Why, no; you are still charming.”
“Oh! how gallant monsieur is to-day! For my part, I must confess that
you look thinner and paler. Marriage hasn’t been a great success with
you, I should say.”
“Perhaps not. Do you live hereabout now?”
“Yes, on Rue Basse-du-Temple, and I came out to get my milk. What would
you have? I am getting economical, I don’t keep a maid now! Will you
come to breakfast with me? I will give you some coffee.”
“No, I can’t; I must go home.”
“Are you still afraid of being scolded, or followed, by your wife?”
“Oh, no! I assure you.”
“I believe you! She has something else to do than follow you!--Ha! ha!
ha! poor Henri!”
When Lucile laughed I felt the blood rushing to my face; but I
determined to restrain myself.
“Why do you laugh, Lucile? I don’t see how you can know it, even if my
wife has many things to do.”
“I know more about it than you, perhaps. I am better informed than you
imagine.”
“In the first place, you don’t know my wife.”
“I don’t know her! I saw her once on the Terrasse des Feuillants, and
once is enough for me to recognize a person; I give you my word that I
have recognized her perfectly since, and that I am not mistaken.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that your wife plays her little games like other people.
Parbleu! I suppose you thought that you were a privileged mortal, didn’t
you? No, monsieur, she has given you horns to wear, and she has done it
very neatly too.”