Part 40 (1/2)
Belan 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 G.o.d's sake, Belan, 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 pa.s.sion? 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 Eugenie and Monsieur Dulac.
Eugenie 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 a.s.semblage. I am sure that I was universally esteemed a morose, ill-tempered, jealous bear, and that people said of Eugenie: ”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 pa.s.sed.
I turned; it was Lucile. I had not seen her since the day that my wife surprised us together on the Terra.s.se 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 Ba.s.se-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?”