“So his name is Dalbreuse now? Faith, my dear fellow, I never knew you
by that name, but I understand--ah! the rascal!--it was when he left his
wife that he changed his name, in order to play the bachelor.”
“His wife!” cried Caroline.
“His wife!” several others repeated.
“Monsieur,” I said, with great difficulty restraining my anger, “who
requested you to go into details which concern nobody but me?”
“Mon Dieu! I had no idea that it was a secret, my dear Blémont; and
then, I have just met your wife in the garden; and now I find you here;
so I suppose that it’s all settled, that you have come together again,
and----”
“That is enough, monsieur.”
“Your wife in the garden! what! is she your wife?” said Caroline, under
her breath.
I lowered my eyes. At that moment I wished that the earth would open and
conceal me from every eye; I heard people saying on all sides:
“He is the sick woman’s husband!”
Bélan, observing my embarrassment and the effect his words had produced
in the salon, gazed at me with a stupid expression, muttering:
“If you are angry, I am very sorry; but I could not guess! you ought to
have warned me. Of course you know what has happened to me? Parbleu!
there is no mystery about that; my case was reported in the Gazette des
Tribunaux a few days ago. I am--oh! it is all over; I am--I don’t care
to say the word before these ladies. But see how unlucky I am! the court
has decided that there were no proofs; it condemns me to continue to
live with my wife, and insists that I am not a cuckold.--Bless my soul!
the word slipped out after all!”
“Cuckold!” repeated several young men with a laugh. “Can it be that
monsieur is the Monsieur Ferdinand Bélan of whom the Gazette des
Tribunaux had something to say recently?”
“I am the man, messieurs: Julien-Ferdinand Bélan, who sought a divorce
from Armide-Constance-Fidèle de Beausire. They have condemned me to keep
my wife, but I shall appeal. I am certain that I am a cuckold; my judges
were bribed.”
They surrounded Bélan, they examined him, exchanging smiles, and
questioning him. The result was that attention was diverted from me. I
took advantage of that fact, and without raising my eyes, without
noticing Caroline’s condition, I hurried from the salon.
I went up to my room, I sent for Pettermann, and ordered him to make
everything ready for our departure. I determined to go away at the
earliest possible moment. Ah! how I regretted that I had not followed my
plan of the day before! If I had gone then, I should have avoided that
scene, and no one would know--But I should never see all those people
again. And Caroline--and her uncle--in what aspect should I appear to
their eyes? As a villain, a schemer perhaps! people always form a bad
opinion of a man who conceals his name. That infernal Bélan! what fatal
chance led him where I was?
I went downstairs to pay my bill. I determined to return to Paris by
post, and not to stop _en route_, for fear of other encounters. The
landlady was very sorry, she said, at my sudden departure; but I paid
her and ordered my horses.
While I was waiting for the post-chaise to be made ready, and the horses
to arrive, I paced the courtyard of the hotel in great agitation. I did
not wish to go into the garden, for fear of meeting Madame Blémont,
who, Bélan said, was there alone; I did not wish to return to the house
either, for I feared to meet someone from the salon. So I sat down on a
stone bench in a corner of the courtyard. It was dark and I could not be
seen from the house. I abandoned myself to my thoughts; there were some
persons there whom I regretted to leave, but I tried to console myself
by thinking that I was going back to my daughter, and that I should soon
see her.
Someone passed me; it was a woman. She stopped, then walked toward me.
Had she seen me? Yes, she came to where I was and sat down beside me. It
was Caroline! I could not see her features; but from her tremulousness
of voice and her hurried breathing, I divined her agitation.
“I was looking for you, monsieur; I wanted to speak with you.”
“And I myself, mademoiselle, was distressed that I was unable to bid you
adieu. But I am waiting for the post horses; I am going away.”
“Going away? I suspected as much. You are right, monsieur; indeed, you
should have gone away before. I am very sorry that I detained you this
morning. Ah! I can understand now why you wished to shun Madame
Blémont’s presence! So it is true, monsieur, that you are her husband?”
“Yes, mademoiselle.”
“You are married, and you concealed it from me, and you--oh! your
behavior has been shocking! I hate you, I detest you, as much as I
esteemed and liked you before. You are married! Why didn’t you tell me
so, monsieur?”
“As I had ceased to live with my wife, it seemed to me, mademoiselle,
that I was at liberty to----”
“At liberty, yes, of course you were at liberty. What do you care for
the distress, the torture you may cause others? Perhaps you laugh at it
in secret. I see that there was no mistake in what people said of you.
And yet the portrait was not flattering. However, you must have heard it
yourself yesterday. Was it the truth, monsieur?”
“Yes, mademoiselle.”
“So you abandoned your wife without cause, without lawful reason?”
“Yes, mademoiselle.”
“And you saw her condition, her suffering--and it did not touch you? you
did not throw yourself at her feet and ask her pardon for your
wrongdoing?--Oh! you are a monster!”
She put her handkerchief to her eyes, and wept and sobbed. I could do
nothing but sigh and hold my peace. At last she continued:
“You must go back to your wife, monsieur; it is your duty. Won’t you do
it? Remember what an effect the sight of you had upon her! Poor woman!
how far I was from suspecting! And that does not make you repent of your
conduct? Mon Dieu! your heart is pitiless! Ah! I had not formed that
opinion of you.--But, Monsieur Dalbreuse--that name alone comes to my
mind--promise me, swear to me that you will go back to your wife.”
“No, mademoiselle, I cannot make you a promise which I have no intention
of keeping. We are parted forever.”
“Forever! In that case, monsieur, I must bid you adieu, and forever
also; it would not be proper for me to see again a man who has
represented himself to be what he is not. You had not enough confidence
in me to tell me.--But, after all, what could he have told me? That he
had abandoned his wife and children. Oh, no! such a confidence would
have aroused my indignation; it was much better to be agreeable, to try
to please me, to conceal the fact that he was bound for life; for that
is the way you behaved toward me. And yet, monsieur, if I had loved you,
if I had allowed myself to be seduced by these deceitful appearances,
would you have made me unhappy too?--Well! why don’t you answer me,
monsieur?”
“I believe, mademoiselle, that I have never said a word to you which
could lead you to believe that----”
“No, that is true, you have said nothing to me. I am a coquette, a
foolish girl. Oh, no! you have never tried to please me.--But you have
my portrait, and it seems to me that it is useless, to say the least,
for you to keep it: for I trust that we shall never see each other
again, monsieur.”
“Here it is, mademoiselle; I intended to send it to you from the first
post-office.”
Caroline took, or rather, snatched the portrait from my hands; at that
moment a servant called me and Pettermann shouted that the horses were
ready.
I rose: Caroline did the same; but at the first step that I took she
seized my arm and said to me in an imploring tone:
“Monsieur, I cannot believe that your heart is deaf to the names of
husband and father. Perhaps your departure will cause the death of her
who came here, I doubt not, in the hope of being reunited to you. Oh! do
not disappoint her hope. Give her back a husband, give your children a
father. Will all the pleasures of which you are going in search equal
those which await you with the wife who adores you? For she does adore
you, I am sure, and she will forgive you. Just think that she is here,
in yonder garden. She hears you, perhaps. Look, see that white shadow
which I can make out near the garden gate.”
In truth, despite the darkness, I fancied that I saw a woman. I
instantly disengaged my arm and hurried away from Caroline; I ran across
the courtyard and jumped into the carriage which was awaiting me;
Pettermann followed me and we drove away.