Part 44 (1/2)

We stopped; the seconds gave us the weapons after examining them; then they measured off the distance.

”Fire, monsieur,” I said to Dulac; ”I am the aggressor.”

”No, monsieur,” he replied coldly; ”it is for you to fire first, you are the insulted party.”

I did not wait for him to say it again; I fired and missed him. It was his turn; he hesitated.

”Fire,” I said to him; ”remember, monsieur, that this affair cannot end thus.”

He fired. I was not hit. Ernest handed me another pistol. I aimed at Dulac again, I pulled the trigger, and he fell.

I am not naturally cruel, but I wished that I had killed him.

XVII

A NEW CAUSE FOR UNHAPPINESS.--AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE

I left the wood at once; Ernest followed me, after telling Dulac's second that he would send somebody to him.

At last, fate had been just; my thirst for vengeance had been satisfied.

I should have felt a little relieved, but I did not; it was because I was not avenged on her who had injured me most. I thanked Ernest and left him, promising him to go often to his house. He insisted that I should come that very day to dine with them; but I felt that I must be alone a little longer. I would go when I had learned to endure, or at least to conceal, my sorrow.

I looked for an apartment in Ernest's neighborhood, far away from that in which I had lived. I hired the first vacant one that I found, then returned home. I went to my landlord and paid what he demanded to allow me to move at once. At last I was free. I ordered my furniture to be moved instantly.

I dismissed my servant. I had no reason to complain of her, far from it; but she had been in my service during the time that I was determined to forget; I did not want to see her again. At last I was free. I gave her enough to enable her to wait patiently for other employment.

My furniture was taken to my new apartment on Rue Saint-Louis. I installed myself there. I felt better at once, for I breathed more freely there. There is nothing like change, for diseases of the heart as well as for those of the body.

I would have liked to go to see my son, but it was too late to start for Livry that day. I went to Eugenie's banker to try to find out where she was. I wanted to write to her, I wanted her to give me back my daughter.

Two children would be none too many to take the place of all that I had lost.

The banker was a most excellent man. I was careful not to tell him the real cause of my separation from my wife. I gave him to understand that our dispositions and our tastes had changed, and we had both thought it best to adopt that course, which was irrevocable. So that it was not for the purpose of running after my wife that I wanted to know where she was, but simply to write to her on the subject of some business matters which we had not been able to adjust.

He did not know where Eugenie was; she had not written to him; but he promised to send me her address as soon as he knew it.

So I was forced to wait before seeing my daughter. If I had had her with me, it seemed to me that I might recover all my courage and be happy again. Yes, I believed that I could be happy again, embracing that sweet child. If only I had her portrait. I had often had an idea of painting her, but business or quarrels with her mother had prevented me from beginning the work. ”I will wait a few days,” I thought; ”then the original will return to me, and I will not part from her again.”

My regret at not having painted her portrait reminded me of that other which I always carried with me. I determined to shatter it as she had shattered mine long ago.

Eugenie's portrait was set inside a locket. I took it out, opened it, and in spite of myself, my eyes rested upon that miniature, which reproduced her features so exactly. I do not know how it happened, but my rage faded away. I felt moved, melted. Ah! that was not the woman who had betrayed and abandoned me! that was the woman who had loved me, who had responded so heartily to my pa.s.sion, whose eyes were always seeking mine! That Eugenie of the old days was a different person from the Eugenie of to-day; why then should I destroy her portrait? I looked about me; I was alone. My lips were once more pressed upon that face. It was a shameful weakness; but I persuaded myself that I saw her once more as she was five years before; and that delusion afforded me a moment's happiness.

Early the next morning I started for Livry. That road recalled many memories. My son was only eleven months old; but I determined that as soon as it could be done without injuring his health, I would take him away from his nurse, and not go to that place any more.

I reached the peasants' house. They asked me about my wife as before. I cut their questions short by telling them that she had gone on a long journey. Then I asked for my son. They brought little Eugene to me. I took him in my arms and was about to cover him with kisses, when suddenly a new idea, a heartrending thought pa.s.sed through my mind; my features altered, I put aside the child, who was holding out his arms to me, and replaced him in his nurse's arms.

That worthy woman utterly failed to understand the change which had taken place in me. She gazed at me and cried:

”Well! what's the matter? You give me back your son without kissing him!