to the lovely widow’s abode, neglecting for her his wife, his child and
his home. He found her whose charms excited his imagination, alone. The
soi-disant widow was in her boudoir; it was a great favor, to begin
with, to be admitted to a tête-à-tête with her. The coquette knew how to
put forth all her graces, to make the most of all her advantages, in
order to complete the conquest of the young business agent; she
accomplished her object with ease; weak people allow themselves to be
beguiled so readily! A smile, a glance makes them amorous; and in that
respect strong-minded folk often resemble their weaker brothers. A
clever woman, who is not in love, artfully delays her surrender; not
until she is certain of commanding, of governing her victim, does she
accord her favors. With a roué, a libertine, Madame de Géran would have
obtained little influence; but with a man who has never loved any woman
but his wife, a coquette is sure to make rapid progress. That is why a
wise woman should preferably marry a man who has sown his wild oats, for
he, at least, is on his guard against seduction.
It is very certain that for a woman to make a man love her it is not
always necessary that she should love him, but simply that she should
pretend to. True love makes one timid, awkward, bungling, imprudent;
how, with all these failings, can one be attractive? When one truly
loves, one loses all one’s attractions. When a girl--observe that I mean
an innocent girl--sees the man she loves enter the salon where she is
surrounded by people, she instantly becomes embarrassed, pensive,
distraught; the blood rises to her cheeks; speak to her and she answers
incoherently; she dares not raise her eyes for fear of attracting
attention; she trembles lest someone may guess what she wants; it seems
to her that all eyes are fastened on her, and that everyone knows her
secret. If two persons speak in low tones, she fancies that they are
talking about her. The slightest thing adds to her confusion. If she is
musical and is escorted to the piano, her fingers get in one another’s
way and cannot touch the keys correctly. Does she sing? her voice
trembles, she is afraid of putting too much meaning into the words which
refer to love. Does she dance? she is afraid to dance with the man she
adores; she despairs in secret if he dances with another.--Poor child!
if you were not in love, or if he were not there you would recover your
charm, your good spirits; you would flirt perhaps, but you would be much
more attractive; and your kind girl friends would not laugh among
themselves at your awkwardness and your stupidity.
In the case of a young man it is even worse, for the timidity and
embarrassment which take possession of a young woman always give her a
certain air of innocence and candor, which induces one to excuse her
awkwardness. But a lovelorn man who sits and sulks in a corner of the
salon if the woman he loves does not look at him fondly enough, who
sighs without speaking when he is seated beside his charmer; who does
not know what to say when an opportunity presents itself to declare his
flame: such a man, it must be confessed, is far from attractive; he is
laughed at in society, and she who is the cause of his blunders is often
the first to make fun of him. Whereas a giddy youngster, who is not in
love, who has no feeling; who takes pleasure in tormenting women, who
turns sentiment into ridicule and constancy into a subject of
derision--a ne’er-do-well, in a word--easily makes himself master of a
heart and triumphs in a day over her for whom the shrinking and
sensitive lover has sighed in vain for many years! To be sure, the
ne’er-do-well is very lively, very pushing, very enterprising in a
tête-à-tête! while the poor lover--The old song is quite right:
“Ah! how stupid is the man who’s in love!”
But I see many ladies fly into a rage with me and exclaim:
“What, monsieur l’auteur, you advise men not to love us sincerely? Why,
that is frightful! You have outrageous principles!”
Calm yourselves, mesdames, for heaven’s sake! it must be that I did not
explain my meaning clearly; I do advise men not to love you awkwardly,
foolishly,--that is all; therein you yourselves will agree that I am
right. A lover who can do nothing but sigh is a very uninteresting
creature. I would have men make love to you with spirit and wit, when
they have any; with gayety, because that adds to the charms of love;
with ardor, because that does not displease you, and because life is not
everlasting, and when two people suit each other, I do not see the
necessity of waiting a century before telling each other so; seeing that
it is as well to be happy to-day as to-morrow.
But let us drop the metaphysics of love, and return to Edouard, who was
very much in love with a woman who had never been in love with anybody,
and who was not likely to begin with him, whom she desired to make her
slave, and whom, for that reason, she did not propose to love; for we do
not put chains on the person we love, but we wear them together.
A rich and passionate young man like Edouard was a windfall to Madame de
Géran, who, whatever Dufresne might say, was not so cruel as she chose
to appear. If Edouard had taken the trouble to make inquiries concerning
the young widow, he would have learned that his divinity had a more than
equivocal reputation; that she had had intimate liaisons with a great
Russian noble, a stout baronet, a contractor and a dealer in cashmere
shawls; that her house was the rendezvous of young rakes, schemers and
gamblers; and lastly, that no one had ever found at the Ministry of War
the name of the general whose widow she claimed to be.
Edouard knew nothing of all this. He believed that he possessed a woman
who gave herself to him by virtue of the bond of sympathy that drew them
together; he was as proud as a peacock over a triumph which twenty
other men had won before him; and he went into ecstasies over charms
which he considered far superior to his wife’s; for a mistress always
has a softer skin, a firmer breast and a smaller foot than a wife; which
is not true three-fourths of the time; but the wives take their revenge
by allowing connoisseurs to admire them.
So Edouard passed the day caressing the soft skin, the firm breast and
the tiny foot of Madame de Géran, who allowed him to do as he chose
because she could not resist the force of her love and the voice of her
heart; at all events, that is what she told him as she received his
caresses. Time passes very swiftly in such pleasant occupation. Edouard
entirely forgot his house and his business. He knew that night had
arrived only by the appearance of a dozen or more persons, habitués of
the fascinating widow’s house, who came there every evening to play
cards.
Edouard would have taken his leave, but Madame de Géran objected; she
desired to keep him all the evening; moreover she owed him his revenge
at écarté. Edouard remained and took his seat at a card table opposite
his beloved, who played écarté with bewitching grace, as he had good
reason to know.
Dufresne appeared at Madame de Géran’s during the evening; he seemed
surprised to find his friend there. Edouard was then playing with a man
whom he did not know. His dear widow had abandoned the game because she
played with extraordinary good luck, and did not choose, she said, to
take advantage of Murville’s unlucky vein. He was no more fortunate
however with the little man who had taken her seat; he lost constantly,
but would not stop playing, because he hoped to recoup.
Dufresne stood facing Edouard and scrutinized him in silence. A secret
satisfaction was reflected on his features; he detected in his friend
all the symptoms of a passion which, when once fully aroused, would know
no bounds. At sight of Murville’s discomposed face, his swollen veins,
his heavy breathing, it was easy to judge of the effect that the game
produced on him. But, recalling the fact that the imprudent young man
was the bearer of a considerable sum, and as he did not propose that it
should pass into the hands of another, Dufresne went to Edouard and
advised him in an undertone not to play any more. But his advice was not
heeded; Murville was already experiencing the ascendancy of the fatal
passion to which he had yielded; moreover, obstinacy and vanity
prevented him from leaving the field.
“At all events,” said Dufresne, “if you insist on continuing to play,
give me your wallet and what it still contains; you have enough money in
front of you, especially as you are playing in hard luck; do not take
the risk of losing such a large amount in one evening.”
From anybody else the counsel would not have been listened to; but
Dufresne had acquired such empire over Murville that he unhesitatingly
handed him his wallet, from which he had already taken several bank
notes.
“Here,” he said in a broken voice, trying to conceal the keen emotion
caused by the loss of his money, “take it. And here is the key to my
apartment; go there and wait for me.”
Dufresne did not wait to have this suggestion repeated. He went to
Murville’s during the evening; but the servants were so accustomed to
seeing him that they paid no attention to him. He waited for Edouard far
into the night, alone in his room; and at last, when he found that he
did not return, he conceived the audacious scheme of stealing into
Adeline’s bedroom when she was asleep. It was easy for him to do, as he
had noticed where the key was kept; and we have seen how he carried out
his undertaking.
As for Edouard, luck was not favorable to him. He lost all the money
that he had retained, and three thousand francs more on credit. To
console him, Madame de Géran kept him alone to supper. She assured him
that Chevalier Desfleurets, who had won his money, was a most honorable
man who would give him his revenge whenever he wished and that, as luck
must turn in the end, he might expect to recover his losses sooner or
later. Such convincing arguments caused Edouard to forget the petty loss
he had sustained. He passed the night with his fair enslaver, who
intoxicated him with love and pleasure; and it was very late when he
fell asleep in her arms. He woke the next morning, poorer by ten
thousand francs; that was rather a high price to pay for the favors he
had obtained; but love does not calculate.
XXI
THE ROULETTE TABLE
Adeline remained for a long time crushed beneath the burden of her
suffering; and several hours after Dufresne’s departure, she was still
sitting, half naked, in a corner of her room, having to cover her only
the clothes which she had hurriedly seized, and which she still held
pressed against her breast.
It was broad daylight; the servants were going and coming in the house.
Adeline arose at last and dressed herself mechanically; then sank back
on the chair she had left; she no longer had any plans, desires, or
hopes; she suffered, but she had ceased to think.
There came a light tap at her door; she roused herself from her
depression, recalled what had happened, and awoke once more to the
consciousness of her misery. She started to open the door, but paused
near the threshold, detained by a sudden thought: suppose it were her
husband! She felt that she could not endure his glance! she thought that
he would read her shame upon her brow! Poor Adeline! you were not guilty
and yet you trembled. What a contrast to what we see every day in
society!
She heard a voice; it was her maid’s, asking her mistress if she might
come in. Adeline took courage and opened the door.
“I beg pardon, madame,” said the servant, “but I was anxious about your
health; it is very late, but you have not rung for me and you did not
come down to breakfast.”
“Is it late, Marie? Has Monsieur Murville come in?”
“Yes, madame, monsieur came in a little while ago; he went to his room
for a moment, then went right away again.”
“He has gone out, you say?”
“Yes, madame.”
Adeline breathed more freely; she felt less agitated; for now she
dreaded the presence of the man for whom she had waited impatiently a
few hours before.
Marie glanced at her mistress; she saw that she was pale and changed,
and she sighed and pitied her; she thought that her husband’s conduct
was the cause of Madame Murville’s grief. Servants are the first to
criticise their masters’ conduct; they see everything, nothing escapes
them; no man is a hero to his valet, and very few husbands are faithful
in their servants’ eyes.
“Was madame sick in the night?” asked Marie at last in an undertone.
“No, no, I haven’t been sick,” replied Adeline, blushing; then she hid
her face in her handkerchief and tried to restrain her sobs.
“Pardi!” rejoined the kind-hearted Marie, “madame does very wrong to
grieve like this. Mon Dieu! husbands all act the same way; they seem to
have a sort of rage for doing the town! You can’t keep them from it. But
they get over it; and madame is so good that----”
“Leave me.”
The domestic was about to go away, but Adeline recalled her.
“Marie, did anybody come to the house last night?”
“Did anybody come--last night!” and the maid looked at her mistress in
amazement, for she could not understand her question.
“Yes, did you hear anyone knock? Was there any noise?”
“If anybody knocked at night, it couldn’t be anybody but monsieur, but
he did not come in; we were not disturbed, thank God! And everybody
slept soundly; that isn’t surprising after the hurly-burly of the night
before last; we were tired out.”
Adeline dismissed her maid, feeling a little more tranquil; she was
certain at all events that her dishonor was a secret; she went to her
little Ermance; she took her in her arms, and sought consolation with
her; a voice within told her that she was not to blame; she felt that it
was true, and recovered a little courage. Intent alone constitutes the
crime, and Adeline felt the most violent hatred for Dufresne; she
nourished that sentiment with delight; it seemed to her that the more
horror she felt for him, the less guilty she was in her own eyes.
But a crushing thought came to her mind; she remembered Dufresne’s last
words: Edouard loved another woman. It was in the arms of a woman that
he had passed that wretched night; he had come home and had not thought
of seeking her; it was all over; he had forgotten her, he was
unfaithful. That certainty filled the cup of poor Adeline’s despair; it
took away her last hope of happiness.
Still bewildered by the day and night that he had passed, Edouard had
left Madame de Géran’s house to return home; but a sense of shame, a
secret feeling of remorse prevented him from going to his wife. In vain
does a man make excuses for himself, unless he has long been addicted to
all forms of excess, and accustomed to defy public opinion--he does not
commit a culpable act without feeling an inward dissatisfaction, without
hearing the reproofs of his conscience. Edouard was still too unused to
the paths of vice not to feel the remorse which follows a first sin. A
night passed away from home, his wife neglected, a large sum of money
lost at play in two days! What fruitful subjects for reflections!
Edouard did as most men do who have just committed some foolish act;
instead of determining to be more prudent and more orderly in the
future, he sought to forget himself, and abandoned himself more ardently
than ever to his passions; like those poor wretches who drown themselves
for fear the world’s end is at hand.
With Dufresne, Edouard was sure of finding distraction. So it was to his
lodgings that he betook himself. Dufresne was alone, absorbed in deep
thought. For the first time Murville began to use the familiar form of
address; he felt more at his ease with him since he had ceased to be
happy in his own family. He shared Dufresne’s principles and his way of
looking at things to the full, so that all ceremony was naturally
banished between two friends so closely united. Edouard threw himself
into a chair and looked at Dufresne, who waited for him to speak first.
“Here I am, my dear fellow; I expected to find you at my house.”
“I went there last evening; but as you didn’t return and I was tired of
waiting, I came away.”
“Faith! it is quite as well that you did. You would have waited in vain.
I passed the night at Madame de Géran’s. You understand me?”
“Yes, perfectly. I congratulate you; you could not be more fortunate.
That woman adores you!”
“Oh! she is mad over me!--that’s the word; she didn’t want me to leave
her this morning; I had difficulty in tearing myself from her arms.”
“Be careful; Madame de Géran has intense passions, a fiery brain, an
exalted imagination! She is capable of dogging your steps all the time.”
“You enchant me! I like such women!”
“But suppose your wife should discover it?”
“Bah! she is such an indolent creature! Her way of loving doesn’t
resemble Madame de Géran’s in the least.”
“If I dared give you some advice----”
“Speak; but no more of the formal mode of address between us, my dear
Dufresne. Let us banish ceremony.”
“With all my heart.”
“You were saying----”
“If you take my advice, you will send your wife into the country, in
order to be more free.”
“Parbleu! that is an excellent idea of yours! In truth, she talks to me
every day about the fields and meadows and green grass. I will send her
to pasture, and I will remain in Paris.”
“But you don’t mention your game of cards with Chevalier Desfleurets;
did you recoup your losses?”
“No; on the contrary, I played in the most extraordinary luck; I lost
continually.--By the way, that reminds me that I owe him three thousand
francs, and that I promised to give them to him this morning.”
“Gambling debts are sacred; you must pay up.”
“That is what I propose to do. I made an appointment with him at the
Palais-Royal, at number 9; does he live there?”
“Ha! ha! ha! how ignorant you are, my dear Murville! Don’t you know that
number nine is an _academy_, a roulette establishment?”
“What! the chevalier frequents a roulette establishment?”
“Why not? You will see the most fashionable people there; many nobles
who try their hardest to win the money of plebeians, and worthy
bourgeois, who are delighted to play with a chevalier or a viscount; but
always the utmost decency and good-breeding; no disturbance! I assure
you that more than one society gambler might take lessons in deportment
at the academy; people lose their money there without whining; they
swear only under their breath; in short, everything there is most
agreeable.”
“Parbleu! I am curious to see the place; but I thought that a business
man ought not to show himself in such places; I have been told that it
was very injurious to the reputation.”
“You have been misinformed; and the proof is that you will see many
merchants, business agents, brokers, commission merchants there; it is a
very respectable assemblage; the rendezvous of soldiers, foreigners, and
great noblemen travelling incognito; and the police see to it that none
of the riffraff gets in; they leave number 113 to the workmen, the
apprentices, and the petty tradesmen, because those good people must
enjoy themselves also; but number 9 is almost as respectable as
Frascati’s.”
“According to that, I may go there without fear.”
“You cannot fail to find Desfleurets there; he is there from the time it
opens till the dinner hour, and indeed he does not always go out for
dinner. He sits at the green table, pricking cards. For ten years he has
been seeking a _martingale_ certain to make his fortune; and he declares
that he will have it before long, and then he will tell it to all his
acquaintances. If one could find that, on my word, it would be
delightful; one would no longer need to worry about anything; we would
enjoy ourselves and lead the gayest lives imaginable.”
“Do you think that it is possible?”
“Why, certainly! More extraordinary things have been seen; examples are
plentiful. Look you, between ourselves, I know more than twenty people,
who hold an excellent position in society, who spend a great deal of
money, follow the fashions, deny themselves nothing, and who live solely
by gambling; listen to a favorite author:
“’Tis play brings many lives of ease--
As hosts of cabbies, chairmen; add to these
The lombard keen, with faded gems supplied
Which every day sees on new fingers tried,
And Gascons loud who sup at game-house board,
Unribboned knights, and misses all ignored
Who, save for lansquenet and gains quite sly,
Their virtue weak would market far from high!”
“You surprise me; I would not have believed it, for it is always a
matter of chance.”
“Oh! my dear fellow, there is no such thing as chance for the man who
chooses to reason coolly, to reckon the chances, the series of numbers
and the probabilities. However, what I am saying is not meant to induce
you to play; you are not lucky, and you had much better hold on to
something solid.”
“By the way, what about business?”
“Absolute stagnation; we must wait.”
“All right. Ah! my dear Dufresne, if you should find a reliable
martingale, what sport we would have while my wife is in the country!”
“Nonsense! take my advice and think no more about that! It is mere
folly, a delusion.--I must leave you.”
“We shall meet this evening.”
“Where?”
“Parbleu! at Madame de Géran’s.”
Dufresne and Edouard parted; the former perfectly certain of the effect
which his remarks had produced upon the feeble brain of Adeline’s
husband, and the latter dreaming only of roulette and martingales, and
already forming the most extravagant projects.
It was in this frame of mind that Edouard sought the place mentioned by
the chevalier; he entered and walked through several rooms, until at
last he reached one where a number of gamblers were assembled around a
roulette table. He felt the blood mount to his cheeks, and he tried to
conceal his embarrassment and to assume the air of an habitué of the
game. Chevalier Desfleurets spied him; he rose, and ran toward him, and
forgot to prick his card, he was in such haste to receive the three
thousand francs. Edouard at once paid his debt; the chevalier was
delighted with his debtor’s promptitude, and he invited him to sit down
for a moment beside him. Edouard hesitated; he looked uneasily about
him, fearing to meet someone whom he knew. He did in fact see several
business agents whom he had met with Dufresne, and some other persons
who had come to his party. But they all seemed wholly engrossed by the
green cloth, and paid no attention to him. The chevalier led him, he
allowed himself to be led, and in a moment he was seated at the roulette
table.
Desfleurets took up his cards and began to prick again, after having
inquired of a tall, lean man in a nut-colored coat, what numbers had
come out. The tall man glanced angrily at him, coughed, spat, blew his
nose, made a grimace, clenched his fists, and did not reply.
“He is a crank,” said the chevalier to Edouard, in an undertone; “he
pricks his card three hours before risking his five-franc piece, and he
almost always waits too long. He was watching the red zero, and I will
wager that it came out before he bet on it. That man will never know the
way to gamble; he is too much of a coward!”
Edouard looked on and listened with astonishment to what was taking
place before him for the first time; for before his marriage he had
never chosen to enter a gambling house, being prudent enough then to
distrust his own weakness. It is only when one is certain not to yield
to temptation, when one experiences for games of chance the horror which
they should inspire in every sensible man, that one can safely enter a
gambling hell. What a vast field for watching and studying the effects
of that deplorable passion! The result of one’s reflections is
melancholy, but it teaches a useful lesson, and a gambling house is the
best place for a young man to correct himself of that fatal taste, if,
instead of abandoning himself to the passion that leads him thither, he
could examine coolly what is taking place about him.