After the adventure of the thicket, it was impossible for me to go again
to Madame de Marsan's house, or to see her in public. So that we were
obliged to cover our liaison with a veil of mystery. With many women
that fact would have simply added to the charm; but I was afraid that
with Madame de Marsan, who loved to be surrounded by adorers and by
admiring homage, the impossibility of gratifying her vanity by her
conquest of me would speedily abate her love. If we no longer met at her
house, it was solely out of respect for the proprieties; for, as Raymond
had witnessed the catastrophe, I had no doubt that it was known to
everybody.
What surprised me most was that I had not seen him since that memorable
evening: a week had passed, and I had not even met him on the stairs;
doubtless he dreaded my wrath. He evidently kept out of sight when he
heard me coming; for as we lived on the same landing and both went in
and out several times during the day, we did not usually pass two days
without meeting.
Madame de Marsan and I were in regular correspondence; we made
appointments, we went into the country together, and sat in closed boxes
at the theatre. I enjoyed her society more, seeing her only _en
tête-à-tête_. There was no longer between us that swarm of young dandies
who were constantly fluttering about her, and whose presence was far
from agreeable to me; when we were alone, she could not play the
coquette so successfully and amuse herself by tormenting me. So that,
for my part, I was not at all sorry that we met as we did, but I was
very much afraid that it was not the same with her. Already our
correspondence was beginning to drag, our assignations were becoming
less frequent; she constantly found something to prevent her meeting me:
a reception, a ball, some festivity which she could not possibly avoid
attending. I had no faith in her excuses, because I knew that her
husband left her entirely at liberty to do as she chose. If she refused
to keep an appointment with me, it was because she preferred to create a
sensation at a ball or a concert; in a word, to make conquests, to
surround herself with admirers and attentions, rather than to be alone
with me. The conclusion to be drawn from that state of affairs was very
simple: Madame de Marsan did not love me, had never loved me. She had
smiled upon me solely from caprice; had given me hopes from coquetry;
had yielded by chance; and would leave me because she was bored.
One morning, opening my door suddenly, I saw Raymond going downstairs
and caught him by his coat tail.
"Great heaven! I thought you were dead, Monsieur Raymond!" said I.
"Good-morning, my dear neighbor! It's a fact--I haven't seen you since
the _Barbier de Séville_."
"That is true; and I counted upon you to tell me how the festivities
came to an end."
"Oh! you must have heard all about it from----"
"From whom?"
"You know whom I mean. To tell the truth, I was afraid you were angry
with me."
"Why so?"
"Because I took her husband to the thicket."
"Aha! so it was you who brought him there, was it?"
"That is to say, it was I and it wasn't. He was looking for his wife,
and I was looking for the Cupids, who were giving themselves indigestion
in the attic; the little rascals nearly burst, and their mother declared
it was my fault and wanted to tear my eyes out! I was in hard luck at
that party!--But to return to your adventure--if you had let me into the
secret of your liaison with Madame de Marsan, it wouldn't have happened;
on the contrary, I would have induced the husband to abandon the idea of
looking for his wife! But there, as I am always saying to you, you won't
ever tell me anything! your reticence leads to surprises! in fact, you
are responsible for my having to give up going to Monsieur de Marsan's."
"Why so?"
"Why so! it's easy enough to see: the wife, knowing what--what I saw,
receives me very coldly; and the husband's another oddity. I wished to
try to arrange matters; it was no easy task, but still, as it was
night, and moonlight--and then, with a shrewd wit one can make anything
look all right."
"Well?"
"Well, when you had gone, I tried first to help Madame de Marsan, who
had fainted, as I thought; but the moment I put my salts to her nose,
she got up without help, threw the salts into my face, and ran off and
locked herself in her room. When I saw that, I said to myself: 'I must
go to the husband and throw dust in his eyes.'--I went to the salon, and
motioned to Monsieur de Marsan to step out to speak to me; at first he
was unwilling to leave the écarté table, but he finally made up his mind
to it. I led him into a corner and said: 'Monsieur, you mustn't believe
all you see, especially by moonlight, because the moon changes the
aspect of things, and you may be misled. The scene they were rehearsing
in the thicket was of my invention, and was to be played after the
_Barbier_: it was a love scene, and in love scenes the actors sit very
near together, on each other's knees sometimes, take hold of hands,
embrace--in fact, the more things they do, the more complete the
illusion.'--That was rather clever, eh?"
"Very clever; and what reply did Monsieur de Marsan make?"
"He hardly let me finish; then he said in a very sharp tone: 'Be good
enough not to weary me with any more of your nonsense, and never to open
your mouth again on that subject!'--And, with that, he turned on his
heel. Faith! I confess that I call that very ill-mannered! I try to give
a husband the matrimonial prism, and he receives me like a dog in a game
of tenpins! you must agree that it was not very pleasant. To cap the
climax, a moment later up comes the dairywoman with her two brats, who
were purple in the face; they had just been found in an attic; and the
impudent peasant began to abuse me, and promised me that, if they burst,
her husband would summon me before the magistrate! As if it was my
fault! Why, I told them to act the part of Cupid, not to stuff
themselves with food!--Faith! when it came to that, I took my hat, and
taking advantage of Figaro's cabriolet--he was driving back to Paris--I
turned my back on the fête, vowing that I would never again compose
anacreontic scenes for peasants."
My neighbor left me when he had finished his story. Despite the
assurance that I had given him that I harbored no resentment against him
on account of that incident, he seemed to me to retain in my presence a
constrained, embarrassed air which was not usual with him. He had left
me, whereas ordinarily I had hard work to get rid of him. I sought in
vain a reason for this behavior, which was not natural in Raymond.
However, it mattered little to me what maggot he had in his brain; it
surprised me more than it interested me.
There was something that surprised and troubled me much more: for a long
time I had received no bouquets from Nicette. At first, I thought that
her mother's death might have kept her busy for some days; but that had
taken place more than six weeks before, and still I found nothing at my
door! I had become so accustomed to those tokens of remembrance, that
every evening, when I went home, I hastily put my hand to the doorknob;
but I found nothing, and I said to myself sadly:
"She too has forgotten me! I might reproach her, but I do not want her
to do from a sense of duty what I had thought was a pleasure to her."
It was a long time since I had seen her; I woke too late in the morning;
in the evening, I was either with Madame de Marsan, or some friend would
drag me away to one of the parties which began to be more numerous with
the approach of winter. Besides, I knew how dangerous it was to go to
see her in the evening!--Meanwhile, my meetings with Madame de Marsan
were daily becoming less frequent and more depressing; she was simply
waiting for an excuse to break with me altogether; and I, from a spirit
of contradiction, refused to furnish her with one.
For several days we had not met; but we had arranged to dine together on
a certain day; it was almost like granting me a favor. We dined at the
Cadran-Bleu; the sight of the Méridien, just opposite, reminded me of
the much livelier repast of which I had partaken with Mademoiselle
Agathe; and I said to myself that the grisette, who deceives one openly,
is a hundred times preferable to the _petite-maîtresse_ who clings to us
when she does not love us. The dinner was a gloomy affair, despite my
efforts to prolong it; at seven o'clock we had nothing more to say to
each other. I suggested the theatre, but there was no play that
attracted her; it was not the season for walking, and I did not know
what to suggest, or how to amuse her. At last she began to complain of
pain in the stomach and head, of the vapors, in short. She decided to go
home and to bed early, and I applauded the idea, which was a great
relief to us both. We left the restaurant; I was going to take her home
in a cab, as usual, but she preferred to go on foot, thinking that the
walk in the fresh air would do her good. It was dark, and we had no fear
of unpleasant meetings. We walked along like a husband and wife of
twenty years' standing, exchanging a word every five minutes. We
reached Rue Saint-Honoré and should soon pass Nicette's little shop; but
it would surely be closed, and I was very glad of it. As we drew near I
saw that the shop was still open; the shrubs had not been taken inside.
It was too late to turn back. Indeed, why should I turn back? Was I not
at liberty to give my arm to whomever I chose? Yes; but still I hoped
that she would not see me.
We reached the shop; Nicette was at her door; she saw me, and by some
inexplicable whim Madame de Marsan chose to stop to examine her flowers.
"Here's a lovely orange tree," she said; "for a long time I have wanted
one in my boudoir; I like this one very much; don't you think it
pretty?"
"Yes, madame, very pretty."