I walked a long time; thoroughly tired out, I stopped at last. I was in
the country, in a lane bordered by hedges. I saw no houses; I had no
idea where I was; but what did it matter? I sat down on the ground at
the foot of a leafless tree; for nature was still dead, and there was no
greenery about me.
I was alone; I rested my head on my hands and abandoned myself to my
grief, to my despair. Why not confess? I shed tears, yes, I wept; but no
one could see me, and it seemed to me that weeping afforded me some
relief.
It was not her love alone that I regretted; it was the destruction of
all my happiness, of all my future. My happiness! for some time past, it
had ceased to exist; but I still flattered myself that it might live
again; I still hoped for those pleasant days of confidence and love
which had followed our wedding. But all was lost, and it was impossible
that happiness should ever be born again for me. Impossible! ah! that is
a cruel word; I could not believe that Eugénie had meant to condemn me
to everlasting sorrow.
And yet there are many husbands who forgive or close their eyes to the
infidelity of their wives. They themselves deceive their wives, and they
think it quite natural that they should do likewise.
Ah! even if I had deceived Eugénie a thousand times, I could never have
borne the thought of being deceived. If only, on yielding to their
weakness, they did not cease to love us! But the new sentiment kills the
old one. In proportion as they grow to love another, we become less
lovable in their eyes, and ere long their hearts are entirely absorbed
by their new passion.
I was resolved never to see her again; we must part, but without
scandal, without noise. I had children, and it was for their sake that I
determined to dissemble my unhappiness; it was for their sake that I had
controlled myself that morning.
I might have struck Dulac, and a duel would have followed; but, after
the remarks that had already been made, everybody would have divined the
cause, the motive of the duel. I determined to find some other way of
satisfying my thirst for vengeance, without publishing my dishonor
before the eyes of the world.
I rose. There were moments when the rush of my thoughts distracted me
from my misfortune and gave me new courage; but the next moment the
arguments lost their force and I remembered all that I had lost. I saw
myself alone on earth, when I had thought that the woman whom I adored
loved me; I saw all my plans destroyed, all my dreams unfulfilled.
Thereupon my heart broke, and my eyes filled with tears. I was like a
person trying to climb out of an abyss, but constantly falling back to
the bottom after every effort.
I walked on. I saw houses before me and a servant told me that I was at
Montreuil. I looked at my watch: it was only noon. Great heaven! how the
time would drag now!
I went into a sort of restaurant; I was not hungry, but I wanted to find
some way of shortening the day; I did not wish to return to Paris so
early. It seemed to me that everybody would read my misfortune in my
face; but I dreaded especially the returning to my house. I hoped,
however, that I should not find her there. Her property would enable her
to live comfortably; let her go, but let her leave me my children; I
must have them; I believed that I had the right to take them away from
their mother. In any event, it would be no great deprivation to her; she
did not know how to love her children; in truth, she did not deserve
that I should regret her.
I tried to eat, but it was impossible for me to swallow. I paid, and
left the inn. I walked on, and then looked at my watch again; the time
stood still. However, it was necessary for me to return to Paris sooner
or later. I arrived there at three o’clock.
If she were still at my house, I felt that I could not endure her
presence; I therefore determined to ascertain before going in.
It gave me a pang to see those boulevards again, and a still greater
pang to see my home. I looked up at our windows. She used to sit there
sometimes, watching for me, and smiling at me. Why was she not there
now? Oh! if it only might all prove to be a dream, how happy I should
be, what a relief it would be to me! but no, it was only too true, I no
longer had a wife! there was no Eugénie for me! What had I done to her
that she should make me so wretched?
Fool that I was! I was weeping again, although I was in the midst of
Paris, amid that throng of people who would laugh at me if they knew the
cause of my grief.