Part 71 (1/2)
”Well, my dear Blemont, as you see, everything is arranged and I have returned to the fold. I was a lost lamb, as my mother-in-law says; but everything is forgotten and I have once more become reconciled with my wife.”
”That is what I supposed when I saw you just now. But I confess that it rather surprised me. After taking your affairs into court, after having your name published in the newspapers----”
”What difference does that make? What do the newspapers prove? Besides, as the court decided that I was mistaken, that I wasn't a cuckold, I can't claim to know more than the judges.”
”If I remember aright, you talked in a very different tone at Mont-d'Or; you proposed to appeal from the judgment against you.”
”Do you think that I said that? It's possible. It is true that I was excited then--anger, you know, and jealousy--a man often says foolish things. I am more reasonable now. On my return from Mont-d'Or her relations came to me; they told me that Armide was inclined to forgive me. At that, I said: 'Let us forget all our disagreements.'--All my friends tell me that I have done well to take back my wife.”
”I am far from blaming you; but if I had been in your place, I would have made less noise about it.”
”Oh! I like to make a noise--to make people talk about me. As soon as I go anywhere nowadays, I hear people whispering when they look at me.
They say: 'That's Monsieur Ferdinand Belan,' as they might say: 'That is Voltaire, or Frederick the Great.' I confess it doesn't displease me.
But au revoir, my dear fellow; the ladies await me, and I like dancing with Armide.”
I had no desire to detain Belan. What a strange man! And yet not so strange after all; we meet with such characters not infrequently. But I did not enjoy his society at all.--He had caused me to lose sight of Ernest, and I set out to find him again.
I returned to the place where they were dancing. Ernest was performing with a lady from Saint-Mande. As I did not care to dance, I was looking about for a seat, when my eyes met those of a young woman who beckoned to me. It was Caroline, sitting with her uncle, and she offered me a chair beside her. I hesitated, for before long I must cease to enjoy her society; but that would be the last time before bidding her adieu forever. To refuse would have been discourteous. So I stepped forward and took the proffered seat by her side.
”It took you a long while to decide,” she said with a smile, ”although we are not alone here.”
I made no reply; I dared not even look at her; for I found her eyes very dangerous since coquetry had ceased to s.h.i.+ne in them. Luckily her uncle put an end to my embarra.s.sment.
”You do not dance, Monsieur Dalbreuse?”
”No, monsieur; I don't care for dancing now.”
”I used to be very fond of it myself; in fact, I was a very good dancer.
I remember that, in _Amphitryon_, when I played Sosie--A very nice role, that of Sosie! Dugazon made me rehea.r.s.e it very carefully.--You know the famous scene of the lantern. Dugazon used to leap over the lantern and cut all sorts of capers; but I proposed to do differently. I placed the lantern--look, like this chair, at about this distance. Then I ran forward, making a pirouette as I ran, and I executed a very neat _entrechat_ as I landed on the other side. It was very difficult.
Look--I'll just turn the chair over so that I can show you better.”
”What, uncle! are you going to jump over chairs now?”
”No, my dear, no, I don't intend to jump; but I was explaining to Monsieur Dalbreuse what I did as Sosie; and I flatter myself that no actor at the Francais ever jumped higher than I did.”
Luckily for Monsieur Roquencourt, one of his Saint-Mande neighbors came to bid him good-evening, and seated himself in the chair that he was about to take. That saved Monsieur Roquencourt the trouble of showing me how he jumped, and he entered into conversation with the newcomer.
”You are not dancing?” I said to Caroline.
”Oh, no! I shouldn't care to dance here, except with somebody whom I know very well. Besides, I am like you, I no longer care for dancing. I don't intend to go to any b.a.l.l.s this winter--or into society at all. All the things that I used to enjoy so much bore me terribly now. I shall stay at home--alone--with my thoughts. To be able to think at one's leisure is such a great satisfaction sometimes!”
She looked at me, then we both lowered our eyes and relapsed into silence. Meanwhile Monsieur Roquencourt was almost quarrelling with his neighbor.
”I tell you, monsieur, that Dugazon never played Moncade in _L'ecole des Bourgeois_!”
”I beg your pardon, but I saw him.”
”You are mistaken--it was Fleury.”
”No, it was Dugazon.”