Six months had passed, during which I had sought enjoyment apart from my wife. At first that course of proceeding was the result of our quarrel on the evening when I returned from Livry; afterward, spite and self-esteem took a hand. One is never willing to take the first step, especially when one has no reason for self-reproach. And yet that mode of life was very far from being pleasant to me; it was not at all in accordance with my tastes. The idea of being obliged to seek happiness away from my Eugénie and my family, I, who still loved my wife and adored my children! But to think of Eugénie behaving in that way! I wondered if she enjoyed going nowhere with me? Every day I hoped that she would come to me in my study and throw herself into my arms; but I hoped in vain. Then I had paroxysms of anger, of vexation; I swore that I would think no more of her, and I returned home still thinking of her.
She could not say that I annoyed her in any way, that I prevented her from doing as she pleased. I was determined to deprive her of every cause of complaint. Often I had no idea where she went; but I could not believe that Eugénie would ever forget what she owed to herself, or would fail in her duty; if she did, then she would deserve my contempt and not my love. Thus it is that a person is always foolish to be jealous; for either the jealousy is unfounded, or the suspected person does not deserve that one should worry about him.
Despite this reasoning, which I indulged in when I was calm, I confess that I sometimes thought of Monsieur Dulac. That evening when he held Eugénie’s hand in his had not vanished from my thoughts. But there are so many young men who pay court to all the ladies, as a matter of habit, without anything coming of it! I believed that he was one of them. I seemed to remember that when I was a bachelor, I could not see a pretty woman without trying to make love to her. However, Monsieur Dulac came much less often to my house. I did not know whether he continued to escort Eugénie home, for I was not there.
Ernest and his little Marguerite had gone to pass the summer in the country, in a solitary region where they saw no one but each other and their children; but they were never bored together; how I envied their happiness! I avoided Bélan, for he annoyed me; one day he believed that he was betrayed, the next day he was certain of his wife’s loyalty. I could not understand how a man could remain in that condition; if I had had the one-hundredth part of his reasons for being jealous, I would long ago have found out the truth of the matter.
Nor did I enjoy meeting the Girauds; the sight of them reminded me of too many epochs of my life. Giraud never saw me without finding a way to insinuate a complimentary remark about my wedding, and the magnificence of the supper during the ball. It vexed me to hear that day mentioned; moreover, it seemed to me that there was a touch of malice, of mockery, in their manner of congratulating me on my good fortune. Perhaps I saw things in the wrong light.
In general, society afforded me little amusement. I went about to forget myself, but I enjoyed the theatre much more; there a man may do what he pleases: he may listen or think. Sometimes I took my little Henriette there; she seemed already to understand the plays, and I was so happy when I had my daughter by my side! I had also been to Livry again, to see my son; but he was not yet old enough to understand me and to answer me as his sister did.
I went occasionally to my mother’s. I had never mentioned my domestic troubles to her; what would be the use? One should keep such things to himself as much as possible. My mother would have told me that I was old enough to know how to manage my wife and my household. I did not want her to make the slightest remonstrance to her daughter-in-law. For I knew that a mother-in-law’s advice is very rarely listened to. It was much better therefore to say nothing, and that is what I did.
Winter had come again, and with it balls and receptions. Eugénie determined to set apart one day in the week to receive our numerous acquaintances. I allowed her to invite whom she chose. There were moments when I thought that she was touched by my readiness to satisfy all her wishes; I saw that she was sometimes sad and pensive and preoccupied; but I saw no sign of coming back to me, although she was more free and gentle with me; on the contrary, she seemed to avoid me more, and to dread any manifestations of affection on my part. I wondered what could be taking place in her heart.
Dulac came to our house very often. That young man had become a terrible bore to me. He seemed to be always there, between Eugénie and me. But how could I forbid him the house? He was exceedingly polite to me and most obliging to my wife. Everybody liked him; I alone did not agree with the rest of the world.
Madame Dorcelles came to our house sometimes, but I could not see that my wife saw her any more frequently; on the contrary, I was inclined to think that she saw less of her and I was very grateful to her. Madame Dorcelles attempted to play the coquette with me; she called me a savage, a misanthrope; I allowed her to call me what she chose, and paid no attention to her ogling and her fascinations. I could not help thinking that my wife had in her a most peculiar friend.
I determined to make an effort to accompany my wife into society. It vexed me that that Dulac should almost always be her escort.
Eugénie seemed surprised by my new course of action, but she said nothing. I could not make up my mind whether it pleased her, but I fancied that I detected an exchange of glances between her and Monsieur Dulac. Ah! if I had been sure of it! I fumed and raged anew; but I very soon came to myself, and told myself that I was a fool.
There was some talk of a magic lantern exhibition at the house of a lady friend of ours who had a very fine one; she thought that it would amuse the children and perhaps the grown people as well; so an evening was chosen for that purpose.
I escorted my wife; she was depressed, or rather, sullen; we took Henriette, who was overjoyed at the prospect, and I was glad for her.
We found among the company the Bélans, the Girauds, and the inevitable Dulac. That man seemed to pursue me everywhere! It seemed to me that he must always disturb by his presence the pleasure to which I looked forward. I began to detest him.
After remaining some time in the salon, we were requested to step into the dining-room where the magic lantern was prepared. The company passed into that room, where there was almost no light, because darkness is necessary for the better exhibition of the lantern.
The ladies were seated, the men remained standing. We all laughed in anticipation of what we were about to see. Some of the gentlemen imitated Polichinello, or the devil; they favored us with a performance before the curtain rose. The darkness that reigned in the room seemed to increase the merriment of many people.
Giraud, who was beside me, whispered in my ear:
“The scenes of the lantern won’t be the most amusing ones. Look, there is Madame Bélan with monsieur le marquis over in the corner. It is very amusing. Poor Bélan! but he has just the face for that.”
Such jests no longer made me laugh. I looked about for my wife; I was confident that Monsieur Dulac had not left the salon, where he was playing écarté, and I was reassured.
The performance began. More people had arrived and we were so crowded that we could not move.
They showed us the sun and the moon, Pierrot and the devil, Cupid and the wild man. The gentleman who explained the pictures made endless speeches. The children shrieked for joy, and the ladies laughed heartily. To me it seemed very long and tedious; I could not stir from my place to go to my wife, and it was darker than ever.
Suddenly, in the very midst of his explanation, the gentleman pushed the lantern too far, so that it fell from the table to the floor; the lights were at once uncovered and the room was suddenly illuminated.
I instantly turned my eyes toward my wife. Monsieur Dulac was seated behind her, but one of her arms was hanging over her chair and her hand was in her neighbor’s.
I started up so suddenly to go to Eugénie that I trod upon Giraud’s feet, he was so close to me. He uttered a piercing shriek and declared that I had hurt him. I did not think of apologizing; I forced a passage to my wife’s side; her arm was no longer over the back of her chair and Monsieur Dulac was farther away.
I do not know how I looked at them, but Eugénie seemed perturbed and Monsieur Dulac’s face wore a most embarrassed expression.
“Take your shawl,” I said abruptly to my wife; “call your daughter and let us go.”
“Why are we going so soon?” asked Eugénie, looking at me in surprise.
“Because I wish it, madame. Come, no comments, but make haste.”
The tone in which I said this was so new to Eugénie’s ears that she rose at once to obey; moreover, people might have heard me speaking to her in that tone and I fancy that she did not desire that.
She was ready in a moment; I took my daughter’s hand, and we prepared to go.
“Are you going already?” asked the mistress of the house. “Why, it isn’t all over, he is going to mend the lantern.”
“We cannot stay any longer,” I said, curtly enough.
“I do not feel very well,” murmured Eugénie; “we must go.”
I did not say a word to my wife on the way home, for our daughter was with us. Poor child! I had deprived her of a part of the pleasure which she had anticipated, but she dared not complain.
When we were at home and her daughter was in bed, Eugénie said to me in a bitter tone:
“May I know why you dragged me away so abruptly from the party where we were?”
“May I know, madame, why your hand was in Monsieur Dulac’s, while the room was dark?”
“My hand in Monsieur Dulac’s? You dreamed it!”
“No, madame, I did not dream it; I saw it, and saw it very distinctly.”
“I do not know but that Monsieur Dulac did take my hand, by accident or in jest. I certainly did not notice it! So that was why you rushed up like a madman, and spoke to me in a threatening tone, as if you were going to strike me; that is why you drew everybody’s eyes upon me, is it? No one accustomed to society was ever before known to behave as you did!”
“Madame, when I consider myself insulted, I pay little heed to society. There was a time when you thought and acted in the same way. I do not know what sort of jesting Monsieur Dulac presumes to indulge in with you, but I warn you that I don’t like it. I request you not to allow it any more.”
“You expect me to mention your idiotic ideas to that young man? I will do nothing of the kind! It is perfectly absurd.”
“Very well; whenever it suits me, I shall not hesitate to turn the fellow out of doors.”
“I advise you to do it! The idea of turning that young man out of doors because he is pleasant and agreeable and attentive to me! You only lack that, to give you a most excellent reputation in society!”
“Be careful, madame, that you do not give me a reputation which I should like still less.”
“It seems to me that it is hardly worth while to go with me in order to indulge in such scenes. Formerly you went your way, monsieur, and I went mine.”
“I shall go with you whenever it suits me, madame. I am well aware that it will be a terrible nuisance to you, and I am very sorry; but you will go nowhere without me if I choose that you shall not.”
“Oho! we will see about that!”
I went to my room. I did not sleep that night, I constantly saw that young man with my wife. And yet what Eugénie had told me was probable enough and might be true. But a thousand circumstances, which I remembered now, revived my suspicions when I tried to banish them.
Suppose that she were deceiving me! At that thought, a shudder ran through my whole being, and, since the evening before, I bore a heavy weight which oppressed and suffocated me.
Such torture! I was determined to know, to make sure whether I was betrayed.
But to make sure was no easy matter; women are so cunning in taking precautions! Not always, however; they who are not accustomed to intrigues sometimes allow themselves to be detected. So I was jealous at last! a jealous husband! I who had so often laughed at the type, and who had deceived so many! My turn had come! And if I were—ah! I did not know what I should do! Formerly I used to laugh about it, it all seemed so simple and so natural to me! We never put ourselves in the places of those at whom we laugh. To be sure, there are some who take the thing so indifferently, others who joke about it. Husbands of the latter class have ceased to love their wives. But the wisest, the most sensible, do not try to make sure. On the contrary, they carefully avoid everything that might disturb their peace of mind by opening their eyes. Ah! those who act thus are very wise; why should I not do as they did?
After that long and painful night I shut myself up in my study and tried to distract my thoughts in business. It was not ten o’clock when Bélan appeared; nothing could have been more disagreeable to me at that moment than his presence. He threw himself into an armchair, and said:
“This time, my dear fellow, it is impossible for me to doubt it; I am a cuckold!”
At that exordium I sprang from my chair and began to pace the floor, exclaiming testily:
“Morbleu! monsieur, you have been saying that so long that it would be very strange if you weren’t.”
Bélan stared at me and muttered:
“If that’s the kind of advice you give me!—Indeed! so that’s your opinion, is it?”
“I have no opinion or advice to give you. There are times when a man should look to nobody for advice but himself. What I can’t conceive is that a man should go about proclaiming his shame as you do.”
“Proclaiming! what does that mean, I pray to know? Because I come to confide my troubles to a friend, you call it proclaiming my shame! Look you! I don’t care to be a cuckold myself; every man has his own way of looking at things. I know very well that there are some husbands to whom it doesn’t make any difference, who let their wives go about with their lovers and seem to pay no attention to it.”
I had listened to Bélan impatiently; at that moment I could contain myself no longer; I jumped at him, seized him by the collar, and shook him violently, crying:
“Did you come here to say that for my benefit, monsieur? Do you mean to insult me and to include me among those obliging husbands to whom you refer? Morbleu! Monsieur Bélan, I am in no mood to endure any impertinence on that subject.”
The poor little man had submitted to be shaken, being totally unable to defend himself, he was so dazed by my action. At last he cried out, gazing at me in dismay:
“Blémont, my friend, what on earth is the matter with you? You certainly are ill; you are not yourself!”
I relaxed my hold, and, ashamed of my outbreak of wrath, I threw myself in a chair and faltered:
“Yes—yes—I am not well. I thought that you meant to insult me—but——”
“I, mean to insult an old friend, when I came to confide my domestic unhappiness to him. You cause me grief, Blémont, you affect me. However, if you really think that I intended to jest about your—In the first place, I didn’t know that there was any excuse for jesting about you. However, if you want satisfaction, you know that I am not a fellow to retreat, I have furnished my proofs. I avoided the artilleryman, it is true, but one doesn’t fight with a stranger; with a friend it’s a very different matter.”
I gave Bélan my hand, saying:
“I tell you again, I don’t know what got into me. You and I fight! No, no, my dear Bélan, let us forget it all.”
Bélan shook my hand warmly.
“Let’s forget it, so I say, and shake hands. Yes, my dear fellow, I think that we may shake hands—most cordially. I will leave you, as you are preoccupied and engrossed by—er—disagreeable thoughts.—Perfidious Armide! Traitorous Armide! Pope was quite right!—Have you read Pope, my friend?”
“I—I don’t know. I think so.”
“If I had read him sooner, I should have looked twice before marrying. Do you remember what he says of women?”
“No.”
“Well, he says that every woman has a dissolute heart. What do you think of that?”
“I think that it is not polite.”
“But I fear that it is true. For instance, Armide has a dissolute heart; your wife also has a——”
“For God’s sake, Bélan, let us drop that subject!”
“Yes, I will tell you about my new discoveries some other time. Oh! these women! how sly they are! But you know that as well as I. Au revoir, my dear fellow.”
He did well to leave me; I was on the point of jumping at his throat again. Was it possible that I could not listen to a word about betrayed husbands, or unfaithful wives, without flying into a passion? I felt that I must keep a tight hold upon myself, that I must be cool and sensible; but I must also know the truth concerning the liaison between Eugénie and Monsieur Dulac.
Eugénie and I no longer spoke to each other except to make bitter, sneering remarks; most of the time we said nothing. Notwithstanding all that, I went everywhere with my wife; I would not allow her to go out without me. But in society I had that depressed, pensive manner which prevents one from being agreeable; for we met Monsieur Dulac at almost every party which we attended. If I played cards, I was inattentive to the game, because I was constantly looking about for my wife, to see if he was speaking to her, if he was with her. If she was playing, I sat by her side, to make sure that no one else should take that place. If she danced, and it happened to be with Monsieur Dulac, I compelled her to leave the ball abruptly and she dared not resist, for she could read in my eyes that I would make a scene before the whole assemblage. I am sure that I was universally esteemed a morose, ill-tempered, jealous bear, and that people said of Eugénie: “Poor little woman! her husband makes her very unhappy! he’s a tyrant! he’s a miserable fellow!”—Yes, people undoubtedly said such things of me; for the world almost always judges by appearances.
Only when caressing my daughter did I enjoy a moment’s happiness. Dear child! if I had been deprived of your caresses, what would have been left for me on earth? Her brother was still too young to understand me; but she seemed to read my unhappiness in my eyes, and to try to divert me from my sorrow by her soft words.
One morning, fatigued by a sleepless night, and even more by my thoughts, I dressed, and, contrary to my usual custom—which was to remain in my study until ten o’clock, I left the house before eight.
Chance—destiny, perhaps—led me to walk in the direction of Boulevard du Temple. At first I thought of going to see my mother; but I reflected that it was much too early, as she seldom rose before ten o’clock. I concluded that it would be better to call on my friends on Rue du Temple; it was more than six months since I had seen them. So I walked to Ernest’s house, where I was told that he had moved, and that he now lived on Boulevard Saint-Martin.
I was about to go thither, when a woman in a cap and morning jacket, with a bowl of milk in her hand, nodded to me as she passed.
I turned; it was Lucile. I had not seen her since the day that my wife surprised us together on the Terrasse des Feuillants. She had turned and stopped; she was smiling at me. As I no longer feared that my wife was watching me, I walked back to bid Lucile good-morning.
“We don’t meet at the Tuileries this time.”
“No—that was a long while ago!—Do you think that I have changed?”
“Why, no; you are still charming.”
“Oh! how gallant monsieur is to-day! For my part, I must confess that you look thinner and paler. Marriage hasn’t been a great success with you, I should say.”
“Perhaps not. Do you live hereabout now?”
“Yes, on Rue Basse-du-Temple, and I came out to get my milk. What would you have? I am getting economical, I don’t keep a maid now! Will you come to breakfast with me? I will give you some coffee.”
“No, I can’t; I must go home.”
“Are you still afraid of being scolded, or followed, by your wife?”
“Oh, no! I assure you.”
“I believe you! She has something else to do than follow you!—Ha! ha! ha! poor Henri!”
When Lucile laughed I felt the blood rushing to my face; but I determined to restrain myself.
“Why do you laugh, Lucile? I don’t see how you can know it, even if my wife has many things to do.”
“I know more about it than you, perhaps. I am better informed than you imagine.”
“In the first place, you don’t know my wife.”
“I don’t know her! I saw her once on the Terrasse des Feuillants, and once is enough for me to recognize a person; I give you my word that I have recognized her perfectly since, and that I am not mistaken.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that your wife plays her little games like other people. Parbleu! I suppose you thought that you were a privileged mortal, didn’t you? No, monsieur, she has given you horns to wear, and she has done it very neatly too.”
I strove to conceal the torture I felt and answered:
“You enjoy saying spiteful things to me; that is your habit; but you would be sorely embarrassed to prove your slanderous remarks about my wife.”
“Slanderous! No, monsieur, there is no slander about it. Your wife looked to me like a drab the first time I saw her; but I wouldn’t have said anything about her if I hadn’t been sure of my facts. I can’t say that I am sorry that your wife has lovers; I should lie if I said that; but still it wasn’t I who told her to give you your horns—she didn’t need my advice for that.”
“This is too much, Lucile! You must prove what you have told me, and prove it instantly.”
“Oh! what a hurry you are in, monsieur! I never hurry, myself. If you want me to answer you, you must come to my room first of all; I must have my coffee, I am hungry.”
Lucile walked toward her house; I followed her, saying to myself every minute:
“I must restrain myself, I must be a man; and if she has told me the truth, I must still try to act with prudence.”
Lucile entered a house with a passageway at the side, near Rue de Crussol. She went up to the third floor, opened her door, and ushered me into a modestly furnished, but neat and well-kept room. She went to the fireplace, blew up her fire and prepared to boil her coffee. I seized her arm and stopped her.
“Will you leave me to suffer any longer, Lucile? I implore you, tell me all that you know about my wife!”
She looked at me; she seemed distressed.
“Mon Dieu! what a state you are in, Henri! If I had known it would have such an effect on you, I wouldn’t have told you. How stupid it is to feel badly over such a small matter! Your wife goes her way and you go yours—isn’t that the custom? You have mighty little philosophy!”
“I shall have enough when I am certain of my fate. Once more—speak!”
“Well, come to the window. Look: do you see that little low door over there?”
“Yes.”
“That is the rear entrance of a restaurant, a café, where there are private rooms—one of those assignation houses, you know.”
“I understand you.”
“If you go in this way, you are not seen, for you don’t go into the café at all. You go right upstairs; a bell calls a waiter, who opens a private room for you. Oh! it’s very convenient. I used to go there often.”
“Well?”
“Well! your wife goes there to meet her lover.”
“My wife! It is false!”
“Oh! I recognized her perfectly, although she generally comes in a cab and gets out a few steps away. She is always hidden by a broad-brimmed hat and wrapped in a shawl; but first of all I noticed her manner; I watched her. It amuses me to watch the lovers who go there. I haven’t anything to do, and it serves to pass the time! Yes, I am sure that it’s she. She hasn’t been there once only, but at least ten times.”
“What time does she come?”
“Usually it is only quarter-past, or half-past seven when she arrives, and she stays about an hour.”
“What a lie! my wife never gets up before nine o’clock.”
“So you think, my dear man! You imagine that she’s asleep.—What if I should tell you that she is over there now?”
“Now?”
“Yes; I saw her go in half an hour before I met you. Stay at the window; you will see a cab come that they will have sent for; madame will get in, and the gentleman will go away five minutes later. I know the whole programme.”
“What sort of looking man is he?”
“A young man, tall and dark. He’s very good-looking indeed; I must do your wife that justice.”
I took my hat and strode toward the door. Lucile ran in front of me.
“Where are you going?”
“To make sure that it’s they.”
“You are going to make a row! Can you think of such a thing?”
“No, you don’t know me. When I am certain of my misfortune, I shall be calm; but I propose to see them. Let me go, Lucile; I insist.”
“Very well! on condition that I go with you. I know the house, and I will show you the way, be your guide. But you promise——”
“It’s all right! come.”
Lucile put on her bonnet and threw a shawl over her shoulders. We went downstairs and soon stood before the house opposite. We opened a small wooden gate which rang a bell; then we ascended a short flight of stairs. Lucile took my hand and walked before me. My heart beat so violently that I was obliged to stop to recover my breath.
We arrived in a courtyard, where an attendant was waiting for us under a porch; he went upstairs before us. When we reached the landing, I stopped him:
“You have a gentleman and lady here?”
The waiter looked at me, uncertain whether he should reply. I put twenty francs in his hand and repeated my question, describing the two persons.
“Oh! I know who you mean, monsieur. In fact we don’t usually have anybody but them at this time of day. They’re there—on the front.”
“Give us a room next to theirs.”
The waiter opened the door of a large room. How was I to see them? If there were only a partition between us! but it was a solid wall. No matter! I would at least see her go out. The waiter received orders to notify me when they sent for a cab.
What a situation! to be so near one’s wife when she is in the arms of a lover! I was tempted to break down the door. But no, no, I determined to control myself, for my children’s sake. But suppose it were not she? I went close to the wall and listened. I heard sounds, but could distinguish nothing. Lucile softly opened the door leading into the hall, and said, pointing to the next door:
“You can hear better there.”
I walked to the door with the greatest caution and put my ear against it. Yes, I could hear very distinctly; they were kissing. And I made out these words:
“I must go now. I want to be in my room before monsieur leaves his study.”
It was she, it was certainly she in that room! that voice went to my heart, it caused a revolution in my whole being.
I returned to Lucile. I do not know what had taken place within me, or what expression my face wore; but Lucile threw herself at my feet, weeping, and faltered:
“Forgive me! oh! forgive me! Great heaven! if I had only known! How sorry I am for what I’ve done!”
I made no reply; I could not speak. The bell rang in the next room and I listened.
The waiter answered the bell and they sent for a cab. I recognized Dulac’s voice then. I tore my hair, but I restrained myself. The waiter came to me and told me when the cab was at the door; whereupon I left the room and waited at the foot of the stairs.
She came down at last; I heard the rustling of her dress. She had reached the last stair when I abruptly stepped in front of her and grasped her arm. Eugénie raised her eyes, and, terror-stricken, fell without a sound on the stairs.
I lifted her up, and put her, or rather, threw her into the cab; I gave the address to the driver, then I walked rapidly away as if I could not fly fast enough from that house where I had acquired proofs of my shame.