My conversation with the tailor had quieted my thoughts; they were a
little less black, and I slept better; when we become depressed, we shun
all sorts of diversion, we avoid our friends, whose presence would
eventually allay our suffering. At such times we ought to be treated
like those invalids who are forced to take decoctions which they refuse
to take, but which are essential to their cure.
One morning I went to see Ernest, who had been to my rooms at least ten
times without finding me.
His wife scolded me warmly for my behavior.
“You avoid your true friends,” she said to me; “you live like a wolf!
that is perfectly absurd. Ought you to punish us for other people’s
faults? Your wife has chosen to keep her daughter--is that any reason
for you to despair? Can you not go to see her?”
“Go to see her! oh! I have longed to do it a thousand times; but she is
with her mother; and I could not bear the sight of her.”
“Her mother is not always with her,” said Ernest; “when she comes to
Paris, and that has happened quite often lately, she rarely brings her
daughter with her.”
“What! Eugénie has come to Paris already? I did not believe that she
would dare to show herself here.”
“You must remember that in society you are the one who is blamed. It is
you who have abandoned a lovely wife, whom you made wretched. I report
exactly what people say; it does not make you angry, does it?”
“On the contrary, I am very glad to hear it. Go on, Ernest; tell me what
you have learned.”
“After passing only a fortnight in the country, your wife returned to
Paris. She hired a handsome apartment on Rue d’Antin. She has been going
into society and has indulged in amusements of all sorts. She dresses
with the greatest elegance; she is seen at the theatre, at balls, and at
concerts. However, she returns often to the country, passes a few days
there, and then comes back here. The night before last I saw her at
Madame de Saint-Albin’s reception.”
“You saw her?”
“Yes; there were a great many people there. When I arrived, she was at a
card table. She was talking very loud, and laughing; attracted by her
loud voice, I walked in that direction. When she caught sight of me, my
eyes were fixed upon her; she turned hers away, and a great change came
over her face; her brow darkened, she stopped talking, and soon left the
table.”
“Did you speak to her?”
“No, I had no wish to; and for her part I think that she was no more
anxious than I, for she carefully avoided meeting my eyes. She went away
while I was still looking for her in the salon; I believe that my
presence was the cause of her going.”
“Were not you at this reception, madame?” I asked Madame Ernest.
“Oh, no, Monsieur Henri! you know that people do not invite me; I am not
married.”
It seemed to me that as she said this the little woman sighed and
glanced furtively at Ernest. After a moment she continued:
“However, if I were married, I should not care any more about going into
society! The little that I have seen of it has not made me love it.”
“My dear love,” said Ernest, “we should go into society as we go to the
theatre, not to please others but to enjoy ourselves; when the play is
tiresome, you are not compelled to stay to the end.”
“And Monsieur Dulac?” I said after a moment; “you have not mentioned
him, Ernest. Don’t be afraid to tell me what you know. I suppose that he
is more devoted than ever to Madame Blémont.”
“You are mistaken; he had no sooner recovered from his wound, and that
was not long ago, than he went on a journey; I am told that he has gone
to Italy.”
I confess that that news pleased me. And yet what did it matter to me
now whether it was Dulac or some other man who was attentive to Madame
Blémont, as I should have nothing more in common with that woman? Madame
Blémont! She still called herself so, Ernest assured me. I hoped that
she would have resumed her mother’s name. Was it not cruel to be unable
to take one’s name away from a woman who dishonored it? If Madame
Blémont should have other children, they too would bear my name and
would share my property. Was that justice? But divorce was prohibited,
because it was considered immoral! Oh! of course it is much more moral
to leave to a guilty wife the name of the husband whom she abandons, and
to strange children a title and property to which they have no right!
And Ernest insisted that I should return to that circle where Madame
Blémont was welcomed and made much of; whereas they would consider that
they compromised themselves by inviting dear little Marguerite, who
loved her children, devoted herself to her family and made Ernest happy;
and why? because she was not married. Oh! that society, overflowing with
vices and absurd prejudices, disgusted me! I left it to Madame Blémont;
I did not propose to share anything with her thenceforth.
I promised my friends to go often to see them. I had not yet made up my
mind what I would do; but I still intended to travel, to leave Paris,
especially since I knew that Madame Blémont had returned.
My concierge informed me that a gentleman had called to see me for the
third time. From the description that he gave me I could not doubt that
it was Bélan, and I ordered the man always to tell him that I was out.
He also handed me a card upon which was the name of Giraud. Would those
people never leave me to myself? Unluckily my business had made it
necessary for me to leave my address at my former apartment; but I
determined to settle all the cases which had been placed in my hands
with all possible speed, in order that I might leave Paris as soon as
possible.
I spent a part of every day going about to my former clients, to whom I
restored their papers, on the pretext that my health compelled me to
abandon my profession. In my peregrinations I occasionally saw Bélan or
Giraud, but I always succeeded in avoiding them. I had just finished my
last business. I felt free once more, and was congratulating myself upon
being able to follow my inclinations, when, as I walked rapidly through
the Palais-Royal, I was stopped by Bélan. That time I had no opportunity
to avoid him.
“Ah! I have caught you at last! Upon my word, I am in luck; where in the
devil have you been hiding, my dear friend? I have been to your
apartment a great many times, but you are always out.”
“I have many matters to arrange, my dear Bélan, and at this moment I am
in a great hurry.”
“I don’t care for that, I don’t propose to let you go; I have too many
things to tell you. But I say, have you left your wife?”
“Yes, we could not agree.”
“That is what I said at once: ‘They did not agree.’ I admit that you are
generally blamed; you are looked upon as a jealous husband, a domestic
tyrant.”
“People may say what they choose; it is quite indifferent to me.”
“And you are right. As for myself, if I only could separate from my
mother-in-law! Great heaven! how happy I would be! But Armide refuses to
leave her mother, and the result is that I am constantly between two
fires: when one is not picking a quarrel with me, the other is. To be
sure, I am perfectly at ease now concerning my wife’s fidelity. The
marquis no longer comes to see us; I don’t know why, but he has entirely
ceased his visits. As for Armide, she has become so crabbed, so sour;
mon Dieu! there are times when I think that I should prefer to be a
cuckold, and to have my wife amiable; and yet----”
“Bélan, I am obliged to leave you.”
“Pshaw! what’s your hurry? You are very lucky now, you are living as a
bachelor again; you are raising the deuce----”
“I am giving my whole attention to settling up my business, and----”
“Oh, yes! playing the saint! I know you, you rake! faith! between
ourselves, I will tell you that I too have made a little acquaintance.
Look you, we men are not saints, and although one is married, one may
have weaknesses, moments of forgetfulness; indeed, that is quite
legitimate for us. But I have to take the greatest precautions, for if
my wife or my mother-in-law should surprise me----”
“Adieu, Bélan. I wish you all the pleasure in the world.”
“But where are you going so fast? I will go with you.”
I was not at all anxious for the little man’s company; and to get rid of
him, I told him that I was going to the Bois de Boulogne. He clapped his
hands and cried:
“Parbleu! how nicely it happens! That is just where I have arranged to
meet my little one--near the Château de Madrid. I never see her except
outside the barrier.”
“But I have business in another direction.”
“Never mind; we will take a cab and drive to the Bois together.”
I could not refuse; it mattered little to me after all whether I went to
the Bois; I had plenty of time. And once there, I knew how to rid myself
of Bélan.
We took a cab. On the way Bélan talked to me about his wife, his
mistress, his mother-in-law, and my duel with Dulac; which he believed
to be the result of our quarrel over the cards. I was careful not to
undeceive him.
When we arrived at the Bois, Bélan insisted that I should go with him
and be introduced to his acquaintance. I assured him that somebody was
waiting for me too; but to satisfy him I agreed to meet him two hours
later at the Porte Maillot; and I determined not to be there.
Bélan left me at last, and I entered a path opposite to that which he
had taken. The weather was fine; it was four o’clock and there were many
people, especially equestrians, in the Bois. I stood for several minutes
watching the young people who came there to display their costumes and
horses, and their skill in riding. There had been a time when I myself
enjoyed that pleasure; but now nothing of the sort had any temptation
for me.
A cloud of dust announced the approach of a party. I thought that I
could see two women among the riders, and I stopped to look at them. The
cavalcade came up at a gallop and passed close to me. Having glanced at
one of the ladies, I turned my eyes upon the other. It was
Eugénie,--Eugénie, dressed in a stylish riding habit, and riding
gracefully a spirited horse. She almost brushed against me, her horse
covered me with dust and I was utterly unable to step back. I stood
there, so startled, so oppressed, that I had not the strength to walk.
The cavalcade was already far away, and my eyes were still following it;
I stood in the same spot, benumbed, motionless, with no eyes for
anything else. Other horsemen came up at a fast gallop. I did not hear
them. They called to me: “Look out!” but I did not stir. Suddenly I felt
a violent shock; I was thrown down upon the gravel, and a horse’s hoof
struck me in the head.
My eyes closed and I lost consciousness. When I came to myself, I found
myself in one of the cafés at the entrance to the Bois. I saw many
people about me; among others, several young swells. One of them said to
me:
“I am terribly distressed, monsieur; I am the cause of your accident. I
shouted to you, however; but my horse had too much impetus, and I could
not stop him.”
“Yes, that is true,” observed a man who was holding my head; “I can
testify that monsieur shouted: ‘Look out!’ but why should anyone ride
like the wind? I shouted to you: ‘Stop!’ but prout! you didn’t stop.”
I recognized Pettermann; it was he who was behind me. I accepted the
apology of the young cavalier and told him that I bore him no ill will.
I reassured him concerning my wound, although I felt very weak, for I
had lost much blood. Someone had sent for a carriage and I asked
Pettermann if he could go with me.
“What’s that? can I!” replied the tailor; “why, if I couldn’t, I’d go
with you all the same. As if I would leave in this condition an
excellent neighbor of mine who paid me forty francs in advance! Prout!
you don’t know me!”
They bandaged my head and helped me into the cab. Pettermann seated
himself opposite me and we returned to Paris.
On the way, my wound occupied my attention much less than the meeting I
had had. I asked Pettermann if he had not seen a woman riding past me
when they took me up and carried me away.
“When you were thrown down,” said the tailor, “I was within thirty yards
of you. I was walking, loafing, I had nothing to do. However, I did go
to your room this morning, monsieur, to ask you for your cloth; but I
never find you in the morning and at night I can’t find your door.”
“That isn’t what I asked you.”
“True. Well, then, I was walking, and I had just noticed some ladies
pass on horseback. Prout! but they rode finely! Other horses came along
and I stepped to one side; and it was then that I saw you. They shouted:
‘Look out!’ I don’t know what you were looking at, but you didn’t move;
and yet I said to myself: ‘That gentleman isn’t deaf, for he heard me
sing well enough.’ Still the horses came on. I shouted ‘Look out!’ to
you myself, and I sung out to the riders to stop; but prout! you were
already on the ground, and with a famous scar! The young men stopped
then. I already had you in my arms. The man who knocked you down was in
despair, I must do him justice. We carried you to the nearest café; and
when I said that I was your neighbor and that I knew you, they sent for
a cab; and then you opened your eyes. But never mind! you got a rousing
kick!”
“And while I was unconscious, you saw no other people near me? Those
ladies on horseback--did not one of them come back?”
“No, monsieur; there was no other lady near you except the one that
keeps the café; but she washed your head; oh! she didn’t spare the
water!”
I said no more. I was beginning to suffer terribly; the carriage made me
sick, my head was on fire and my brain in a whirl. At last we reached my
home. Pettermann and the concierge carried me upstairs, put me to bed,
and went to call a doctor. I had a violent fever; soon I was unable to
reply to the people about me; I did not know them.
One evening I opened my heavy eyes and glanced about my room. It was
dimly lighted by a lamp. I saw Pettermann sitting at a table, with his
head resting on one of his hands, and his eyes fastened upon a watch
which he held in the other. I called him feebly; he heard me, uttered a
joyful cry, dropped the watch, and ran to my bed.
“Ah! you are saved!” he cried as he embraced me. “The doctor said that
you would recover consciousness to-night, before nine o’clock. I was
counting the minutes; there are only five left and I was beginning to
doubt the doctor’s word. But you recognize me! _Sacredi_! you are
saved!”
He embraced me again, and I felt tears upon my cheeks. So there were
still some people who loved me! That thought relieved me. I held out my
hand to that excellent man, pressed his hand, and motioned to him to sit
down beside me.
“First of all,” he said to me, “you are going to drink this; it’s some
medicine ordered by the doctor, and you must do what he orders, since he
has cured you. I believe in doctors now.”
I drank the potion; then Pettermann picked up the watch and put it to
his ear, saying:
“It was your watch that I dropped on the floor, monsieur; but it hasn’t
even stopped. It’s like you, the spring is strong.”
He sat down and continued:
“For five days now you’ve been there in bed, and in that time fever and
delirium have been playing a fine game with you! Your brain galloped
like the infernal horse that knocked you down. We tried in vain to calm
you; you called me Eugénie, you talked about nothing but Eugénie.
Sometimes you adored her, and the next minute you cursed her; so that
the concierge, who is a bit of a gossip, said that some woman named
Eugénie must have been playing tricks on you; and I replied: ‘You must
see that monsieur is delirious, and consequently he doesn’t know what he
is saying.’ In short, I don’t know whether I did right, monsieur, but
seeing you in that condition, and no one with you to nurse you, I
stationed myself here and I haven’t budged. The concierge undertook to
object, he wanted his niece, who is nine years old, to nurse you; but
prout! I didn’t listen to him, and I said: ‘I was the one who brought
monsieur home wounded, and I won’t leave him until he’s cured.’ If I did
wrong, I ask your pardon, and I will go away.”