After passing several weeks without speaking to each other, my wife and I came together again and became reconciled; but it seemed to me that the reconciliation was not very sincere, that it was simply a sort of smoothing over. Had these frequent scenes diminished our love? No, I still loved my wife; but when often repeated, disputes sour the temper and change the disposition. The words that people say to each other in passion, although forgotten afterward, deal a fatal blow to our illusions, and they never grow again.
We went again to Livry, to our daughter’s nurse, on a superb day in June. How little that excursion resembled the other! we had no dispute, but the tranquillity which reigned between us was like that which ordinarily follows twenty years of married life; and we returned home without driving our horse to the edge of a ditch.
A very sad event marked the first months of our life in our new home: Eugénie lost her mother. Dear Madame Dumeillan was taken from us after a short illness, when we had every reason to hope that we might long enjoy her presence and her affection. I felt the loss almost as keenly as my wife, for Madame Dumeillan was our best friend. Careful not to take part in our disputes, pretending not to notice them, Madame Dumeillan, without blaming either of us, had the art of bringing us together again, and of reviving the most affectionate sentiments in our hearts. Whenever Eugénie had been to see her mother, I knew it at once, because she was more amiable with me. Ah! how seldom do we see parents who long for our happiness without trying to govern our conduct, our actions; and without fatiguing us with their advice! The loss we had sustained was irreparable; one does not meet twice in one’s life people who love us for ourselves alone and who do not impose a thousand obligations on us as the price of their affection.
Eugénie’s sorrow was very deep and very keen. To divert her, I took her into society. We went to evening parties, to the theatre, to concerts; we received company at our house more frequently. The commotion of society does not altogether enable one to forget one’s loss, but it gives one employment and distraction. There are sorrows with which one loves to withdraw into oneself; there are others which compel us to shun ourselves, and in which reflection is deadly.
We brought our daughter home. Her presence helped to divert my wife’s thoughts from her grief. The sight of her Henriette, her caresses, her first words, unintelligible to anybody but ourselves, enabled Eugénie at last to endure the loss she had sustained. A woman is a daughter before she is a mother, but she is a mother much longer than she has been a daughter; and in our hearts affection does not look backward, it inclines rather toward the later generation.
Madame Dumeillan’s death made my wife richer than I by four thousand francs a year. I did not envy her her wealth, but I regretted that my children should owe more to their mother than to me. That thought led me to work much harder; I passed a large part of my time in my study and at the Palais. We saw each other less frequently; was that the reason that we agreed better? I hoped that that circumstance was not accountable for it. I was always glad to return to Eugénie and I was very happy when I held my daughter in my arms. My little Henriette was so pretty! she seemed already very bright and intelligent to me, and I was disposed to spoil her, to do whatever she wished; but my wife was more strict than I.
We saw my mother, but only very seldom; she considered that we played whist badly at our house. The Girauds came sometimes to see us; they were still busily engaged in negotiating marriages. I gave myself the pleasure of having them, with Bélan and his wife, at my house. There was a rattling discharge of epigrams on the part of Giraud. The superb Armide did not seem to notice them, and as for Bélan, he entrenched himself behind his wife, whose servant he seemed to be, and to whom he never spoke without bowing.
In the large parties, the boisterous entertainments which we frequently attended, there were some pretty married women, and some exceedingly pretty unmarried ones. I will frankly confess that I sometimes surprised myself, oblivious of the fact that I was married, making eyes at the ladies and paying court to the young women; the latter did not respond to my glances; the fact that I was a married man prevented them from taking any notice of me; but it was not always the same with the others. Those periods of forgetfulness, however, lasted only for an instant; then I was greatly surprised to find that I had been behaving like a bachelor. There is no great harm in casting a soft glance at another woman than one’s wife; but if Eugénie had done as much, if she had cast such a glance at a man, I should have considered it very wrong. Surely I did not regret that I was married; why then did I behave sometimes in society as if I were not? But that apparent frivolity was due to my disposition and not to my heart. I do not consider that because a man is married he must necessarily behave like an owl, and never dare to laugh and jest except with his wife; in that case marriage would be too heavy a chain.
I went sometimes to see Ernest; he too, was a father, the father of a little boy. He and Marguerite were happy beyond words. Fortune smiled upon them; Ernest was earning money, and, if he had chosen, there were plenty of people who would gladly have come to his table to congratulate him upon his success and to flatter his wife, closing their eyes to what was lacking in their union. But Marguerite did not choose to go into society; she insisted that a few real friends are much to be preferred to parties where women tear one another to pieces and men deceive one another. She spoke of the world as if she were familiar with it.
“This society in which you wish me to mingle,” she said to Ernest, “would think that it did me much honor by receiving me; indeed many women would blush to speak to me. ‘She is not married,’ they would say to one another as they eyed me contemptuously. And I, my dear, do not feel disposed to put up with such a greeting. In the bottom of my heart I feel quite as worthy of esteem as any of those ladies; for I would give my blood and my life for you; and there is more than one of them who would not do as much for her husband.”
I considered that my old neighbor was right. Ernest himself had no answer to make; and yet he would have been glad to have her go sometimes into the world, in order to acquire the habits of society and to avoid awkwardness if she should ever receive company. He wished to make his little Marguerite a lady. It seemed to me that she was very well as she was.
For some time my wife had been less jealous; perhaps she felt that she had always been wrong to be jealous; perhaps she had striven to correct herself. But suppose that that were not the reason? Suppose that she cared less for me? Mon Dieu! how ingenious we are in inventing tortures for ourselves! I was unhappy because of my wife’s jealousy; and lo and behold, I had begun to worry because she left me in peace!
Sometimes, however, I saw that her eyes followed me as of old when I was speaking to a pretty woman; but if, after playing the gallant, I approached Eugénie, as if to set her heart at rest, she would look away with an indifferent air, and pretend that she had not been noticing me. Was that her new way of loving me, and was there no mean between that frigid manner and the transports of jealousy?
Among the people who came to my house, there were many men of letters and artists. Their company was agreeable; they were at least witty in their malice, and unceremonious in their manners. A very pleasant painter, whom we had met at many functions, insisted, although a bachelor, upon giving a ball for the ladies at whose houses he often danced. Monsieur Leberger issued his invitations, and everybody accepted. We looked forward to having much sport and merriment at a party given by a bachelor painter. For my part, I was careful to obtain invitations for the Bélans and the Girauds; I love to bring enemies face to face. Leberger invited everybody who was suggested to him, his most earnest wish being to have a large number of guests; indeed, the ballroom was to be his studio, and there would be plenty of room.
My wife made some objections to going to the ball; she thought that it would not be enjoyable, she declared that she no longer cared about dancing. No longer cared about dancing, and she was but twenty years old! I insisted that she should go, and she yielded at last. But we did not start until our little Henriette was asleep; I wished that she were old enough to go and dance with us.
Two torches at Leberger’s door pointed out his abode when we were still far away. Our artist was determined that nothing should be lacking at his ball; the staircase was lighted by candelabra at frequent intervals; there were no flowers on the stairs, but there were rugs. The strains of the orchestra guided us, for the ball was already under way. An obliging neighbor, who lived on the same floor as the artist, had lent him his apartment, which served both as dressing room and laboratory; for the punch was concocted and the refreshments prepared in the neighbor’s apartment.
The studio, transformed into a ballroom, presented a striking appearance. It was spacious, but well-lighted. Finished pictures, sketches and studies adorned the walls. Busts, statues, and torsos served as candelabra; the musicians were perched upon a broad flight of steps, above which ancient Roman costumes were draped. The orchestra was made up of amateurs; but those amateurs had the self-assurance and almost the talent of Tolbecque. Behind them stood a manikin, which held a serpent to its mouth, as if it were playing on it; and a small flute was placed in the mouth of an Ajax, and a trombone in the hand of Belisarius.
There was a great crowd; Leberger had invited a great many of his fellow-painters, and poets, musicians, and sculptors. The ball was already well in train. I saw Giraud dancing with his daughter, while his wife had accepted the invitation of her oldest son, who was beginning to administer some very graceful kicks to his neighbors. I saw Madame Bélan, who had deigned to accept the hand of a poet, while her husband remained with his mother-in-law, Madame de Beausire, who was seated in a corner of the studio, where she seemed to be posing as the Mother of the Maccabees.
My wife joined some ladies of her acquaintance, and I went to watch a quadrille. My eyes fell upon a young lady who was dancing very timidly but who was by no means without grace. I knew that face, yes, I certainly knew it; but where had I seen it? Was it possible? Yes, it was Marguerite, it was Madame Ernest. That dress, so different from the simple one in which I had always seen her, had prevented me from recognizing her. I was far from expecting to see her at that ball. By what chance had she come? Probably her husband had insisted. But then he must be there—yes, there he was, watching his wife dance and gazing at her with evident pleasure. He was right; she was one of the loveliest women in the room.
I could see nothing surprising in the fact that Ernest had brought his wife there; I could see no harm in his taking her everywhere with him; but there were, in that assemblage, absurd people who did not agree with me. Luckily a person’s station is not written on his forehead.
But my wife! Since that evening when she had followed me, she was convinced that I either was or had been on intimate terms with Madame Firmin. I certainly should not tell her that my former neighbor was there, but if she should see Ernest, she would undoubtedly find it out.
I was as disturbed as if I were guilty; if I had been, perhaps I should not have been so embarrassed. However, I could not avoid saying good-evening to Madame Firmin; I certainly would not be impolite because my wife was unjust; but I would try to do it without letting her see me.
I walked toward Ernest, who had seen me and was coming toward me.
“So you are here, my dear Blémont? I am delighted that you are; I didn’t expect the pleasure of meeting you. So you know Leberger, do you?”
“Yes, he comes to my house sometimes.”
“His ball is very fine. I brought my wife; look, she is over there dancing.”
“I have seen her.”
“Marguerite did not want to come; but I lost my temper, and at last she consented. In the first place, Leberger told me: ‘It is just a small affair, without any formality.’ Anyone would expect that, at a bachelor’s quarters; and after all, my wife is quite as good as other women here. The instant that I call her my wife, no one should presume to call her anything else; and if we could know what all the people in this room have done, I fancy that we should learn some fine things.”
“You know my ideas on that subject, my dear Ernest; I am not one of those who believe in virtue only after a visit to the notary’s office. But no one here knows that you are not married, and it’s, not one of those things which there is any need of proclaiming.”
“Of course not. Just look at Marguerite; see how lovely she is! I was frightened, because I thought she would be awkward before people; she makes a better figure than I expected. I said to her before we came into the room: ‘My dear love, just persuade yourself that you are better-looking than all the people whom you are to see here, and then their staring will not frighten you.’”
“That is what a woman should always say to herself, even when she goes to court.”
“Madame your wife is not here?”
“I beg pardon, she is.”
“Oh! then I must go and bid her good-evening.”
“I think that she is dancing now.—There are some very amusing faces here, are there not?”
“Oh, yes! there are some fine subjects for a farce.”
I trusted that Ernest would forget to pay his respects to my wife; but how was I to prevent him? The quadrille came to an end. I took advantage of the moment when the ladies were being escorted to their seats, and I went to Madame Ernest, who luckily was far away from my wife.
My old neighbor seemed overjoyed to see me.
“Do sit down here with me a moment,” she said; “I am so glad to find someone that I know! I am lost in the midst of all these people. And poor Ernest doesn’t dare to leave me. I am afraid that it is boring him.—Do you think that my hair looks well?”
“Very well, madame.”
“It seems to me that it looks unbecoming. I much prefer myself in the little cap that I always wear at home. But Ernest insisted upon bringing me, so of course I had to make a toilet.”
“I beg pardon, madame, I should be very pleased to stay with you; but, you see, my wife is with me——”
“Madame Blémont is here! dear me! and I am keeping you. Oh! do show me your Eugénie; I should like so much to see her.”
“At this moment there are too many people between us. But Ernest knows her, he will show her to you. Excuse me, but I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again.”
I left Madame Ernest; she probably considered me far from courteous. Mon Dieu! how horrible it is to have a suspicious wife; a man does not know what to do nor how to behave in society.
At that moment Bélan clutched my arm and said:
“Good-evening, my friend; you know that I am not a cuckold.”
“Bless my soul! did I ever say that you were, my dear Bélan?”
“My friend, I have my reasons for telling you this. Those blackguardly Girauds have made most shameful remarks. My mother-in-law wanted me to fight them.”
“Fight Giraud and his wife?”
“I mean the husband, of course; I was anxious to do it myself; but my wife Armide insisted that it wasn’t worth while.—But those people are here; and when I see them I cannot contain myself.”
“Mon Dieu! do you mean to say that you believe everything that is told you? Perhaps the Girauds have never mentioned you.”
“Oh! yes, they have; they have even—Excuse me, my mother-in-law is beckoning to me.”
Bélan left me. I was still laughing at what he had said when I saw Ernest talking with my wife. Well! there was no way of preventing that. After all, I was very foolish to torment myself when I had no reason for self-reproach.
Ernest walked away from Eugénie, and I went to her. From her manner toward me, I saw that she knew that Madame Firmin was there.
“I did not want to come to this ball,” said Eugénie; “it was clearly a presentiment. I should have followed my inclination, and then I should not have come into contact with people whom I don’t want to see. You have been talking with your former neighbor, monsieur, of course?”
“My neighbor? Oh! I beg your pardon—you mean Madame Firmin.”
“I know that she is here,—her monsieur was good enough to tell me so just now.”
“It is true that Madame Firmin is here and that I have been to say good-evening to her.”
“How pleasant it is for me to be at a party with that woman!”
“I give you my word that, if I had known that she was to be here to-night, I would not have urged you to come.”
“Oh! I believe you! but you need not let that embarrass you, monsieur. Ah! that is she, no doubt, just passing with her Monsieur Ernest. What an ordinary face! anyone could see what she is. But pray go, monsieur; perhaps she wants to speak to you. She is staring at me, I believe, the impertinent creature! I beg you, monsieur, at least to forbid her to look at me in that way.”
I was on the rack; Ernest and Marguerite had passed very close to us, and I trembled lest they had heard Eugénie. I walked away and took a seat at an écarté table, where I remained for more than an hour.
When I returned to the ballroom, I passed Madame Ernest. She looked at me and smiled; evidently she had not overheard my wife; I walked toward her, for I had made up my mind, and I was no longer disturbed about what people might think.
“Do you not dance, Monsieur Blémont?”
“Not often.”
“I have seen your wife; she is very pretty, but she has rather a serious expression. Is she always like that?”
“No, she has a headache.”
“Aren’t you going to dance with her?”
“She does not lack partners.”
“I don’t care if she doesn’t; I have been invited to dance a great deal; but I insisted on dancing with Ernest too. I haven’t missed a quadrille yet.”
“Are you enjoying yourself here?”
“Pretty well. But I prefer to be at home in our chimney corner.”
A partner came up and claimed Madame Ernest’s hand. I sauntered about the ballroom. My wife was dancing with a very good-looking little dandy. Bélan was standing opposite his wife, at whom he gazed with admiration, while tall Armide seemed vexed to have her husband for her vis-à-vis. Giraud joined me and said in a sly tone:
“It seems to me that Bélan has shrunk since he was married; his wife crushes him.”
“You are unkind, Giraud.”
“Just look at the mother-in-law yonder. Either she has been weeping, is weeping, or is about to weep.”
“Perhaps it is with pleasure.”
“Oh, yes, she has a very merry expression! How Bélan must enjoy himself with those two women! It hasn’t brought him good luck, not inviting us to his wedding. By the way, the marquis is not with them. How does that happen?”
“What marquis?”
“Ha! ha! you pretend not to know, do you? It is everybody’s secret.—But I believe that my daughter wants something to eat.”
Marguerite was right: the world is very unkind!—The quadrille came to an end. I was standing near my wife, although I was not speaking to her. Bélan stopped beside us, and, while passing the guests in review, pointed to Marguerite, saying:
“There’s one of the prettiest women in the room!”
“You have wretched taste, monsieur,” cried Eugénie. “How can anyone call that woman pretty? And what a style too! anyone can see what she is.”
“What? What is she, pray? Do you know her?” Bélan instantly made haste to ask.
“No, I don’t know her; but I know what she is, and——”
“Madame,” I interposed, “why do you feel called upon to speak ill of a person who has never injured you?”
“Never injured me? oh! you are pleased to say that, monsieur; but I may at least feel offended that Monsieur Leberger invites his friends’ mistresses to a ball that he gives for us.”
“The deuce! what do you say? That little woman——”
“Is Monsieur Firmin’s mistress.”
“I was told that she was his wife.”
“And she is his wife,” I said, with an angry glance at Eugénie. But she continued in an ironical tone:
“No, Monsieur Bélan, that little woman, whom you are kind enough to call pretty, is not Monsieur Firmin’s wife; and monsieur knows that better than anyone, although he tells you the contrary.”
“What? Do you mean that——”
I did not listen to what Bélan said; I turned my back upon Eugénie. I did not believe that she was spiteful, but what she had just done disgusted me. At that moment I believe that I detested her.
The dancing continued, but many people had gone. I walked about the studio. It seemed to me that I heard several people whispering to one another, and at the same time pointing at Madame Ernest. Bélan was quite capable of having gone about to tell all his acquaintances what my wife had told him. Poor Marguerite! she was pretty, so they were overjoyed to calumniate her. They would have been more indulgent if she had been ugly.
There was to be but one more quadrille. The orchestra gave the signal. Madame Ernest had a partner, who led her to a place opposite my wife. I saw that Eugénie instantly led her partner away and took her place elsewhere. Thereupon Madame Ernest’s partner led her to a place opposite Madame Bélan. Tall Armide did as my wife had done; she turned on her heel and returned to her seat, crying in quite a loud tone:
“I prefer not to dance.”
I was indignant. I hastily took the hand of the first lady I saw, without even taking time to invite her; I led her away and we took our places directly opposite Madame Ernest and her partner. Thereupon my wife did as Madame Bélan had done; she left the quadrille, darting glances at me to which I paid very little heed. While we were dancing, Ernest approached me. His face was red and his eyes gleaming.
“My friend,” he said to me in an undertone, “I thank you for what you have just done; I shall not forget it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh! you must have seen the ostentation with which those people refused to stand opposite my wife. Indeed, I overheard some words from that little man’s tall wife, and I had difficulty in restraining myself.”
“You are mistaken, Ernest.”
“Oh, no! she is afraid of compromising herself by standing opposite a woman who is not married! what a pitiful thing! If I chose to investigate the conduct of many of these married ladies, I fancy that I should make some very fine discoveries.”
Ernest talked quite loud and glanced ironically about. I was afraid that someone would hear him; I dreaded a scene. Luckily the quadrille came to an end. Little Marguerite had also noticed that several ladies smiled meaningly as they looked at her. She was not at her ease. She said to Ernest immediately after the dance:
“We are going now, aren’t we, my dear? It is late, and I am tired.”
“No, we will not go yet,” replied Ernest sharply; “I should be very sorry to go now; we will stay until the last.”
His wife was not in the habit of replying, and besides, she saw plainly that there was something wrong. Firmin took my arm and led me away. We walked around the studio. I tried to divert his thoughts from the subject which engrossed them, but Giraud came toward us, rubbing his hands.
“There is plenty of gossip here,” he said to me; “those Bélans are evil-tongued, I tell you.”
“My dear Giraud, I care little about gossip, and——”
“Do you see that young woman in blue over there, with blue flowers in her hair?”
Giraud was pointing to Madame Ernest. I did not reply, and I tried to drag Firmin away in another direction; but he dropped my arm and walked up to Giraud, saying:
“What have you heard about that lady? I am very fond of gossip myself.”
“They say that she isn’t married; that she’s the mistress of a young author who is here, and who introduces her everywhere as his wife.”
In vain I looked at Giraud and made signs to him; he was not looking at me, and he continued to speak to Firmin:
“People don’t like it because Leberger invited her to his ball, and they say that she doesn’t amount to much; that she has been an embroiderer, or a lacemaker; someone even declared that she used to be in the ballet at one of the boulevard theatres.”
“Monsieur,” said Firmin, seizing Giraud’s arm and squeezing it hard, “pray go to all those people who have made such remarks, and tell them from me that they are blackguards; that, although that young woman is not married, she is none the less worthy of esteem; that she is a thousand times more respectable than many lawful wives; and should I say to the ladies here, in the words of the Scriptures: ‘Let her who is without sin among you cast the first stone,’ I fancy, monsieur, that even your wife herself would not dare to stone my poor Marguerite.”
Giraud was sorely embarrassed; he realized what a fool he had made of himself, and he confounded himself in apologies. But Ernest absolutely insisted that he should point out the people who had made the remarks, and the business agent hastened to designate Bélan. Thereupon Ernest started toward the little man; I tried in vain to hold him back; he would not listen to me. I followed him, to try to adjust the affair. Bélan was in the act of handing a glass of orgeat to his wife. Ernest brushed roughly against him, and jostled him so that the glass and its contents fell upon the superb Armide’s dress. She uttered an exclamation; her mother uttered two. Bélan turned to Ernest and murmured:
“What the deuce! be careful what you are doing!”
Ernest simply smiled and said:
“That was very unlucky!”
Tall Armide saw the smile, and said to her husband:
“That man did it on purpose; he doesn’t even condescend to deny it.”
And the mother-in-law added:
“I trust, Monsieur de Bélan, that this is not the end of this business, and that my daughter’s dress will not be ruined with impunity. This gentleman must apologize,—he must!”
Bélan had become much less belligerent since he was married; however, he left his wife and walked up to Ernest, who had halted a few steps away.
“Monsieur, you have spoiled my wife’s dress, and I am surprised that you do not at least apologize, like a man of breeding.”
“Monsieur, you and your wife have tried to destroy my wife’s reputation; a dress may be washed, but slanderous words are not to be effaced for a long while; so that it is for you, monsieur, to apologize to me.”
Bélan was speechless. I made haste to intervene between them.
“My dear Ernest,” I said, “Bélan is guilty of thoughtlessness only; he has simply repeated what he overheard.”
“Certainly; I only repeated what Madame Blémont told me,” said Bélan. “I invented nothing. Notwithstanding that, monsieur, if you demand satisfaction——”
“No, no, Bélan; Ernest sees plainly that I am the only one with whom he has to deal, and you will offend me seriously by interfering in matters which concern myself alone.”
Bélan walked away to join his ladies. I do not know what he said to them, but he soon left the ball with them. As they went out, his mother-in-law cast a withering glance at Ernest.
I had remained by his side; he was lost in thought and said nothing to me. I first broke the silence.
“Ernest, my wife is the cause of all your disagreeable experiences this evening. I cannot explain the motives which have led her to act thus. I do not need to tell you that I disapprove of her conduct; but that probably will not suffice, and I am ready to give you satisfaction.”
“No, my dear Blémont; we are not going to fight just because your wife has made some unkind remarks; I do not need to have you explain her motives, for I understand them perfectly.”
“You understand them?”
“I can guess them, at all events. Your wife is jealous of Marguerite.”
“Who can have told you that?”
“Look you, my dear fellow; a man does not get to be an author without studying the human heart a little, and especially the female heart.”
“It is only too true; my wife is horribly jealous of all the women whom I knew before my marriage. But for that, do you suppose that I would not have invited you and your wife to come to see us?”
“I have guessed all that. I am sorry for you, my friend, but I bear you no ill will.”
“I am going to invite your wife for the next contradance.”
“No, for it will make your wife unhappy.”
“She has not hesitated to make me unhappy; and I choose to prove that I have no share in her spiteful remarks.”
I invited Madame Ernest for the quadrille; she accepted, saying with a laugh:
“I am very glad that you have asked me, monsieur; I thought that you did not consider that I danced well enough for you.”
“I am going to dance opposite you,” said Ernest; “then I shall be sure that you will have a vis-à-vis.”
The violins struck up. I took my partner’s hand. There were only enough people left to form one set. All our acquaintances had gone.
I looked about for my wife. She was ghastly pale, and that made me wretched; I felt all my anger fade away. I was almost sorry that I was dancing; but she should not have driven me to the wall.
Suddenly Eugénie rose and came toward me. What was she going to do?
“Monsieur, I do not feel well, and I want to go.”
“We will go after the quadrille, madame.”
“No, monsieur, I want to go at once.”
Marguerite overheard my wife, and instantly said:
“Monsieur Blémont, if madame your wife is not well, go, I beg you; do not mind me.”
“No, madame; I shall have the pleasure of dancing with you; then we will go.”
“What, monsieur,” said Eugénie satirically; “you do not come when madame gives you leave?”
“Madame, that is enough; not a word more, I beg you.”
“Very good! that is all, monsieur. I will leave you. Dance with this woman; make her your mistress again as she used to be when she lived under the eaves, in the attics of your house! I am going home.”
And she did go. But Madame Ernest had heard all; Eugénie had spoken loud enough to be sure of being overheard. Marguerite had turned red and pale by turns. She hung her head, and I thought that I could see tears glistening in her eyes. But she quickly recovered herself, wiped her eyes with her handkerchief, and tried to resume a smiling expression as she looked at her husband.
I was thunderstruck and enraged at the same time. I did not know where I was; and in the midst of all that perturbation of spirit, I had to dance!
“Well, it is your turn,” called Ernest. “Forward! what are you thinking about?”
Luckily he had heard nothing. I took advantage of a moment when we were not dancing, to say to my partner in an undertone:
“Madame, you heard what my wife said, I see. I do not ask you to forgive her; she is unpardonable, jealousy has disturbed her reason; but be good enough to believe that I am more hurt than you by what she has said.”
“I confess, Monsieur Blémont, that I was so surprised, so shocked!—To call me your mistress! Great heaven! who could have said that I had been your mistress?”
“I trust that you do not think it was anything that I have ever said to her, madame?”
“Oh, no indeed, monsieur! But who can have told her that?”
“Nobody told her, madame. I tell you again, that jealousy alone can inspire such calumny.”
“My attic! she thought to make me blush by reminding me that I once lived in an attic. Oh! I don’t blush for it; there is often more virtue, more refinement in an attic than in a boudoir! But do you mean to say that your wife is jealous of me?”
“Yes, madame, ever since I was unfortunate enough to tell her of the evenings which I used to pass with you and Ernest. If you knew how unhappy her jealousy makes me! Alas! the happy days of our married life passed very quickly!”
“Oh! I am very sorry for you, Monsieur Blémont. I pity your wife too, and I forgive her, for Ernest did not hear what she said. But I beg you, never let him know what your wife said!”
“Most certainly, I shall not be the one to tell him!”
“Oh dear! I wish I had not come to this ball. I should have done much better to stay at home.”
That fatal dance ended at last. Everybody went away. Ernest and his wife bade me good-night. I read in Marguerite’s eyes how glad she was to go.
My wife had gone. Who could have escorted her? Could she have gone home alone? One thing was certain, that she was no longer there.
Leberger came to me and said:
“Are you looking for your wife? She felt rather indisposed while you were dancing, and Dulac took her home. You know Dulac?—a tall fellow,—one of our amateur orchestra.”
“I do not know the gentleman, but I will thank him when I see him.”
“He is a good fellow, who plays the violin very well. I will bring him to one of your receptions if you wish.”
“Do so. Good-night; it is late.”
“It was rather a pleasant affair, and people enjoyed themselves; don’t you think so?”
“Oh, yes! I enjoyed myself amazingly.”
I returned home. I expected a scene; it is always an advantage to be prepared. If only my wife might be in bed and asleep! But no, I heard her walking back and forth in the salon. Aha! I met the maid carrying a mattress. Madame was having a bed made for herself in her boudoir. What a bore not to find peace and quiet at home! to have more scenes and quarrels! And we had been married only three years and a half!
Well, I knew that I must face the storm, and I entered the salon. Madame was in a most dishevelled condition; she almost frightened me. She was holding a phial of salts to her nose.
I was kind enough to go to her and ask her if she were ill. She did not answer. I was on the point of taking a light and leaving the room, when madame sprang to her feet and planted herself in front of me.
“So you have left that woman at last, have you, monsieur?”
“I don’t know what you mean by that woman, madame. I danced with a lady whom I esteem, and who has been generous enough to forgive you for the shameful remarks that you made before her.”
“She has been generous enough to forgive me! really, that is most noble of her! But I, monsieur, I do not forgive that lady, whom you esteem, for having the assurance to dance with you in my presence. That her clown of a husband should not object is quite worthy of him; but you, monsieur, have you no shame?”
“Yes, madame, I was ashamed this evening, and I was ashamed because I was the husband of a woman who behaved as you did!”
“What an abominable thing! You dare reprove me?”
“Yes, you, who slander in public a respectable woman.”
“Say a prostitute, monsieur.”
“You who publicly exhibit your absurd jealousy!”
“In truth, I am absurd to be jealous of you, you are not worth the trouble!”
“But do not expect, madame, that I will put up with such conduct! that you can insult my friends and that I shall keep quiet!”
“You ought to have made a scene before your mistress; that would have pleased her.”
“You did not hesitate to humiliate me before the world; for it is humiliating for a man to be put in the position in which I was put at that ball.”
“I shall go nowhere else with you, monsieur; then you cannot say that I shame you or humiliate you.”
“You will do well, madame. It is much better not to go with your husband than to behave as you did this evening.”
“From the tone in which you speak to me, monsieur, I see who the people are whom you have just left! You are profiting by their advice!”
Those words put the finishing touch to my exasperation. I rushed from the salon and locked myself into the bedroom.