Part 19 (2/2)

How happiness makes the time fly! A fortnight after I became Eugenie's husband it seemed to both of us that we had been married only the day before. That fortnight had pa.s.sed so rapidly! It would be very difficult for me to say how we employed the time; we had no leisure to do anything. In the first place, we rose late, we breakfasted _tete-a-tete_, and then we talked; often I held Eugenie on my knees; people can understand each other better when they are close together.

We made a mult.i.tude of plans, our conversation being often interrupted by the kisses which I stole, or which she gave me. We were much surprised, when we glanced at the clock, to find that it was almost noon and that we had been talking for two hours. Then we had to think about dressing to go to see Madame Dumeillan, and sometimes to take a walk or drive. We continued to talk while we dressed. I would ask Eugenie to sing me a song, or to play something on the piano. If I chanced to have a visitor, or a client who kept me in my office fifteen minutes, when I came out I would find my wife already impatient at my long absence, and we would talk a few minutes more to make up to ourselves for the annoyance caused by my visitor. At last we would go out; but we always acted like school children and chose the longest way, so that it was almost dinner time when we reached my mother-in-law's. We had been to the theatre twice since we were married; we preferred that to going to parties. At the theatre we were still alone and could talk when the play was dull; but in society one is never free to do whatever one pleases.

We always returned home early, and we were always glad to get home. But, I say again, the time pa.s.sed like a flash.

My wife found my apartment much to her liking; she told me that it was a pleasure to her to live where I had lived as a bachelor. She often questioned me about that period of my life, and listened to my answers with interest and curiosity; but I did not tell her everything; I slurred over many episodes; for I had discovered that Eugenie was jealous. Her brow darkened when there were women in my adventures, and she often interrupted me, saying angrily:

”That's enough, hus.h.!.+ I don't want to know any more!”

Then I would kiss her and say:

”My dear love, I didn't know you then.”

But, despite my caresses, her ill humor always lasted some minutes.

However, it was necessary that we should do something else than talk and embrace. Eugenie agreed to teach me to play on the piano, and I to give her lessons in painting. But first of all, I began her portrait. That was an occupation which took an endless time, for we were constantly distraught; when I looked at my model, and she fastened her lovely eyes upon me and smiled affectionately at me, how could I always resist the desire to kiss her? And she would pout so prettily when I failed to lay aside my brush for a long while! At that I would rise and rush to my model and embrace her. Such episodes led me to think that painters must be very self-restrained, to resist the temptations they must experience when they are painting the portrait of a young and pretty woman. A woman whom we are painting looks at us as we wish her to look; we request a very sweet glance and smile, and she exerts herself to make her expression as pleasing and amiable as possible; for a woman always desires her picture to be fascinating.

For my own part, I had never needed to resist my desires, for I had painted none but my mistresses; but when one must needs scrutinize in detail innumerable charms, and stand quietly by one's easel--ah! then, I repeat, one must be most virtuous, and that particular sort of virtue is not the characteristic quality of painters.

Despite our frequent distractions, I worked a.s.siduously at my wife's portrait; in ten sittings it was finished, and I was delighted with my work; the likeness was striking. Eugenie herself uttered a cry of surprise when she saw herself; but she feared that I had flattered her.

No; I had not painted her, to be sure, as she was in company, when she looked at everybody indifferently, but as she was when she looked at me while I was painting her, with eyes overflowing with love. It seemed to me that I had done wisely to select that expression; for it was for myself and not for others that I had painted her portrait.

Next, I must needs paint my own; Eugenie insisted upon it. That was a much less amusing task, and I feared that it would be a long one. I had already given myself several sittings, and it seemed to me that it did not progress satisfactorily. Eugenie was not satisfied; she said:

”You have given yourself a sulky, sober look; that isn't the way you look at me.”

”My dear love, it is because it is a bore to me to look at myself.”

”Oh! wait a moment, I have an idea. I will sit beside you; then, when you look in the gla.s.s, you will see me too, and I trust, monsieur, that you will not make faces at me.”

Eugenie's idea impressed me as a charming one. Thanks to her invention, I was no longer bored when I sat for myself; for she was always there beside me, and when I looked in the mirror she was the first thing I saw; my portrait gained enormously thereby; I was able to paint myself as she wished, and she was as well pleased as I had been with hers.

I had her portrait set in a locket which I always wore; she had mine set in a bracelet which she always had on her arm. We were not content to have each other in reality, we must needs have each other's image as well; if we could have possessed each other in any other way, we would have done it. But is it a mistake to love too dearly? Her mother and mine both declared that we were unreasonable, that we were worse than lovers; but Eugenie and I were determined never to change; we liked each other well enough as we were.

My wife insisted that I should begin to learn the piano; and I showed her how to use a brush. Those lessons were most delicious to us; and they occupied a large part of the day. I realized however that piano playing and painting would not make me eminent at the bar. Since my marriage I had neglected the Palais, and paid almost no attention to business; but when I would propose to study, to shut myself up in my office, Eugenie would detain me, saying:

”What is the use of worrying yourself, of tiring your brain over your Code and your Pandects? Are we not rich enough? Are we not happy? What is the need of your trying cases, of your tormenting yourself for other people? Stay with me, give me a lesson in painting, and don't go to the Palais.”

I could not resist my wife. My mother scolded me sometimes for what she called my laziness. Love is not laziness, but a happy love makes us unfit for anything except making love.

Three months pa.s.sed almost as rapidly as the first fortnight of our married life. But I had learned to play _On Dit qu'a Quinze Ans_ on the piano, and Eugenie was making rapid progress in painting. A new subject of rejoicing added to our happiness: my wife was enceinte. We leaped for joy, we danced about the room, thinking that we were to have a child. We talked of nothing else, we made no plans for the future in which our son or daughter had not a share. Good Madame Dumeillan shared our delight; my mother complimented me, but without enthusiasm, and as if it were a very trifling matter; whereas it seemed to me that it ought to mark an epoch in the world's history.

We went into society very rarely, and we had been to but two b.a.l.l.s since our wedding. But one morning we received cards and an invitation to the wedding party of Monsieur Ferdinand de Belan and Mademoiselle Armide de Beausire. Eugenie was not far enough advanced to fear that dancing would injure her; moreover, she promised to dance only a little; so we determined to go to Belan's wedding, where I had an idea that we should find something to laugh at. My wife agreed with me. Belan had been to see us twice since we were married, and Eugenie considered that he made himself rather ridiculous by his chatter and his affectations. As for the Beausire family, the little that I had seen of them seemed to me rather amusing.

The invitation included, upon a separate sheet, an intimation that we were expected to attend the breakfast also.

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