“Let us hurry,” said Amélie; “it’s almost eleven; we mustn’t keep your wife waiting, dear Eugène.”
“Of course not; that would not be polite; I am ready to start.”
“Come, Déneterre, have you finished?”
“For heaven’s sake, give me time to swallow!”
“Oh! how long it takes you to do anything! Do put on the children’s hats!”
“What! are you going to take them to the mayor’s office?”
“Certainly.”
“That’s all folly; it won’t amuse them, and they’ll crowd the carriage; it’s much better not to take them till we go to the church.”
“But I insist on their going now! Do you suppose that I dressed them up just to leave them at home?”
“But I tell you we can come back and get them in a little while.”
“And I tell you that I propose to take them now.”
“There won’t be any room for them.”
“You can hold them on your knees.”
“So that they can kick me and soil the ladies’ dresses!”
“They’ll keep quiet.”
“It would be something new!”
“Oh! how you tire me with your arguments!”
“You are a most obstinate creature!”
The clock struck eleven, and I put an end to the discussion by announcing that I was going; my sister and her husband did the same, and we took the little boys. I was very sure that that would be the result.
The two carriages were in front of the house; the coachmen wore white gloves and had huge bouquets. All the neighbors were at their doors or windows; a wedding in a small town is such a momentous event! it furnishes a subject of conversation for more than a week.
We took five minutes to go about as far as the length of one of the shorter boulevards in Paris; the horses were not used to coaches, and their drivers drove very slowly in order that they might seem to be starting on a journey. We arrived at last and were shown into the large salon, where the intimate friends and the distinguished personages invited to the first ceremony were assembled. I did not see my bride, and started to go in search of her; but I was detained; I could not be allowed to enter her bedroom yet.
“She’s coming,” said Madame de Pontchartrain; “be patient, my dear Dorsan, you will soon see her.”
I had no difficulty in being patient; still, I wished that it was all over. I was beginning to be deathly tired of the compliments everyone paid me, to which I soon ceased to be able to reply, because everyone said the same thing.
At last Pélagie appeared, escorted by her aunt and my sister. Her dress was magnificent, and her face even prettier than usual. The compliments began anew. I listened to them now with more pleasure; the presence of a pretty woman always suggests compliments to me, and I was not displeased by the admiration my bride aroused.
I hastened forward to take her hand; she kept her eyes fixed on the floor and seemed to have resolved not to raise them during the day. I led her toward the door and to the carriage, heedless of the remonstrances of her aunt and my sister, who called after us:
“That isn’t right! wait! wait! It isn’t your place to take her hand! You’re disarranging the programme!”
I cared not a whit for the programme. Madame de Pontchartrain almost lost her temper; my sister calmed her by attributing my heedlessness to my excessive love. We entered the carriages, which process took nearly ten minutes, because, in the first place, no one would get in first, and then no one would take the rear seat. I had to hold myself hard to refrain from pushing them all into the carriages—the ceremonious idiots, who stood an hour on the steps! Poor lovers, who marry in the provinces, how your tempers are tried! At last we were all seated. Déneterre was compelled to walk with the children, who had already torn the trimming of three dresses and stained several white satin shoes with mud. Really, the little rascals were most amusing!
We arrived at the mayor’s office. As there is seldom a line of people waiting to be married in provincial towns, we were not obliged to wait an hour for our turn. The ceremony was performed quickly enough, and I was married according to law; there was no drawing back.
To reach the church we had to repeat the same nonsense with respect to the carriages; it took even longer to arrange the order of march, for several people had joined us at the mayor’s office, and the procession was swelled by three sedan chairs and two Bath chairs. My wedding had stirred the town to its centre; the church was filled with people, and we could scarcely force our way through the crowd. Those who were not of the wedding party had come to criticise, those who were, to admire; and the idlers, loiterers, working girls, matrons, and old women, to say their say concerning the bride and groom.
Everybody knows what a marriage is, for it is easy to procure the pleasures of marriage in Paris. I will not therefore go into the details of mine; it resembled others as to form, and several times I heard some such words as:
“That’s a pretty couple; they are both very good-looking.”
A body always likes to hear such remarks.
At last the fatal yes was pronounced. Pélagie said it so low that nobody could have heard her; for my part, I showed much firmness. We had a sermon preached to us—a little long, perhaps, but very touching and moving. How can one fail to be moved when one is pledging one’s self for life?—I glanced at Pélagie; she did not weep; her eyes were cast down, her manner was as reserved, her demeanor as modest as usual, and she showed no more than her ordinary emotion. That vexed me; it seemed to me that she should have wept.
At last all was over; I was married! We left the church between three rows of sightseers, and went to my sister’s; we spent three-quarters of an hour in going the distance of a gunshot; to be sure, our procession was increased by about half of the town, and we had to return salutes and courtesies at every step.
When we reached the house, it was only half-past one, and we did not dine till three. What were we to do in the interval? That was the most difficult part of the whole day. Some old women proposed a game of boston or whist, but Madame de Pontchartrain thought that it would be a breach of etiquette to play cards on a wedding day morning; it is good form to do nothing; it is amusement enough to talk, sitting very straight for fear of rumpling one’s gown.
Without asking our dear aunt’s opinion, I went down into the garden with my wife. I wanted to entice her into some solitary path; not that I proposed to exert my marital rights already; but I wanted to try to read Pélagie’s heart and find out what her present feelings were.—It was impossible to be alone; all the young women followed us; the inquisitive little hussies would not let us out of their sight. Two young married people afford so much food for thought! they are so pretty to look at—when they are pretty; and you know that we were.
I could do nothing more than take my wife’s hand; I squeezed it tenderly—very tenderly—and she looked at me and smiled.—“The deuce!” thought I; “can it be that she understands that language?”
“You hurt my fingers,” she remarked mildly, withdrawing her hand.
It was enough to drive one to despair! I had no further desire to walk with her alone.
Luckily, the hour for the feast arrived. We betook ourselves, with the utmost formality, as before, to the dining room; we took our seats in the order demanded by convention. I was at one end of the table, my wife at the other; that was the best way to encourage harmony between us; and then, everyone knew that we should come together at last.
The greatest tranquillity reigned during the early courses; we sat very straight, watched one another, passed the dishes, ate, and declared everything divine, exquisite, delicious: that was substantially the whole of the conversation. I had no desire to enliven it; I was sober, yes, pensive. Sometimes I glanced at my wife; her eyes were constantly fixed on her plate. Madame de Pontchartrain’s expressed the satisfaction she felt at the reserved demeanor of the bride and groom; we certainly could not be charged with acting like two madcaps.
Upon examining the guests, I found that I had at my right a pretty, vivacious young blonde, with whom I had several times laughed and joked when we met in society, so far as laughter was permitted in the circles that we frequented. I began to talk with her by way of distraction, but she replied with marked coldness, reserve, and brevity. What did that mean? Mon Dieu! I had forgotten that I was now a married man. I was still inclined to play the gallant with young ladies, but I had lost my title of bachelor, which was worth a hundred times more in their eyes than all the pretty speeches I could make them as a Benedick.
However, I was determined to amuse myself at any price. I tried to eat; but I was not hungry.
“I will drink, then,” I said to myself; “but I must take care; a bridegroom should keep his head clear.”
The dessert came at last; our appetites were a little appeased; the wits of the party began to shine, the jokers to hazard a bonmot or two or a very sly remark; the young men tried to laugh, and the women did their utmost to consider it all very amusing. My sister was in ecstasies; she did her best to encourage this well-intended merriment. As for Déneterre, he was so busily engaged in carving, and in looking after the small table at which his children were sitting with six other children, that he had no time to put in a word.
The dessert and liqueurs increased the general hilarity to the highest point, augmented as it was by divers little pranks on the part of my nephews, who knocked over two piles of plates, broke three glasses, overturned sauce on several ladies’ dresses, while coming to the large table to fetch for themselves things that were promised them but that did not arrive quickly enough to satisfy them. But they knew that on such a great day they had carte blanche, and they made the most of it. Everybody agreed that they were dear little fellows, even the ladies who would have to change their dresses. Their papa and mamma were enraptured, which was quite natural.
The signal was given, and we left the table.
“How is this?” I whispered to my sister; “no song?”
“You know very well that it isn’t good form nowadays, my dear. Is there singing at the great weddings in Paris?”
“No; but there is at those where the guests enjoy themselves.”
“We stick to custom.”
“And the garter?”
“Fie! fie! we have done away with that; it was indecent!”
“Oh! it was indecent, was it? I see that I must not do at my wedding party or to my wife anything that the most rigid rules of chastity do not permit. I trust, however, that you have not suppressed anything else.”
“Oh! no, brother! besides, I am sure that to-day you have no desire to——”
“To what?”
“Why, to——”
“To what, in heaven’s name? Finish.”
“Why, a desire to—with your wife—— Oh! you know what I mean.”
“The deuce! surely you are joking, my dear girl? Do people no longer marry for that here? is that suppressed, too?”
“No, my dear, no! but a man generally leaves his wife in peace the first day. The poor child has been so excited!”
“Yes; it is astounding how excited she looks!”
“You must give her time to recover herself.”
“Go to the deuce, my dear Amélie, with all your nonsense! What is the meaning of all this affectation? as if it must not come to that at last! I don’t like this prudery which denotes dissimulation pure and simple. I know by experience that those who cry scandal the loudest are the ones who in secret have the least virtue. The modesty of rakes and kept women is much more easily shocked than that of virtuous men and decent women. Fans hide more prostitutes than virgins, and veils are worn from coquetry, not from modesty; in short, those who make so much fuss and hang back at first are the ones who jump the highest afterward.”
“Well, you are free to do as you please, brother.”
“That is very fortunate!”
Poor Amélie! how she had changed since she had been living in that paltry town! So this was the banquet at which we were to laugh so loud and have so much sport! For my own part—and I have been to many weddings—I confess that the merriest are those of honest folk who are not afraid of violating etiquette and the proprieties every moment. Commend me to the poor people for real enjoyment! But I realized that on this occasion I must say with the song:
My wife disappeared. Ah, yes! to dress for the ball—that was it. I had nothing to say against that custom; in any event, I should have been careful not to say it; I should have had all the young women about my ears. Two dresses, sometimes three—that was one of the pretty customs of that day.
We returned to Madame de Pontchartrain’s for the ball. It was the first time that I had ever seen wedding festivities divided between two places; but I found that I learned many things at Melun.
We assembled in the salon, which was lighted by candelabra that must have done duty in the time of King Pepin le Bref. The guests invited for the ball arrived in a swarm; no one ever dreams of missing a fête in a small town. The bride appeared in her ball dress, which was in very good taste. I looked at her, but her eyes were still in statu quo. I ventured to say to her, under my breath:
“Do lift your eyes a little; you have such lovely eyes!”
“Aunt told me not to.”
That was all I could extort from her. I had nothing to say to that; it would have been ill-advised for me to play the master so soon.
The orchestra began to play; we had two violins and a clarinet; also a little fifer, to imitate Colinet; it was superb—at all events, it was the best that could be had in the town. They played contradances that I had never heard in Paris. I surmised that they were composed by the leader of the local orchestra; it was impossible to make the mistake of confusing them with those of Rubner, Weber, and Tolbecque.
There was plenty of dancing; and in that amusement the pleasure was not feigned, for youth loves to caper. The young men disputed with one another the privilege of dancing with the bride, who was always engaged for fourteen or fifteen quadrilles ahead. The groom’s turn never comes on such occasions; but on his wedding day he is easily consoled, and a thing that would have distressed him terribly the day before makes no difference to him when he is married. How a title changes one’s way of feeling and of looking at things!
I too danced; I was very glad to have that resource to occupy my time, and I was as persistent as my wife.
“Do take a little rest,” some young man would say to me; “you’ll tire yourself out.”
But I paid no heed, for I thought less than they did of what I still had to do.
Toward the end of the evening, however, I danced with Pélagie; the ball had warmed her up a little: her cheeks were flushed and her bosom rose and fell more rapidly; she was really very pretty, and I ought to have deemed myself very lucky to possess so many charms. I began to look at my watch and to think that the time passed very slowly.
But it was growing late, and many people had already taken leave. It was one o’clock in the morning! a big slice taken off the night. Madame de Pontchartrain made a sign to my sister, and they led my wife away. I divined the meaning of that, and I waited until I might be allowed to join Pélagie.
The ceremony seemed to me very long! Not until three-quarters of an hour had passed did Amélie return and motion to me that at last I was at liberty to go to my wife.
All the guests departed; I did the same; fleeing from the jests that bored me to death, I left the ballroom and bent my steps toward the wing which I was to occupy thenceforth.
I was directed to my bedroom; I had been careful to take a light, otherwise I should have broken my neck in some of the innumerable rooms of that old house, and the time would have been very ill chosen for an accident. I saw a light—that must be the place. I opened a door and entered a very handsome bedroom, furnished somewhat à l’antique, but provided with everything. Two wax candles were burning on the mantel; I recognized several articles of mine on a table, for my sister had taken pains to have all my wardrobe transported to my new abode. I was at home; so far, so good. To make sure of not being disturbed, I bolted the door, then walked toward the bed, the curtains of which were drawn—from bashfulness, of course.
I heard no sound. Could she be asleep already? or was she pretending to be? I drew the curtains aside, and I saw no one in the bed, which had not been disturbed.
What did that mean? I was certainly in my apartment—everything that I found there proved it. In that case, where could my wife be? Did it mean that we were to have a bedroom each? Why, of course; and that was why they hoped that I would leave my wife in peace. “The devil take them with their nonsensical customs!” thought I.—If I had only known it sooner! However, I wanted my wife; I was determined to have her, I must have her. I had not married a pretty doll who never opened her mouth and kept her eyes on the ground all day to be alone at night and occupy a separate bed; the least I could expect was some little compensation for the ennui I had suffered.—I would sleep with my wife—that was my resolution—even though I must turn the whole house upside down to attain that end.
I reflected first of all that my wife’s room could not be far from mine. I concluded to try to find it, and to avoid making a noise if possible; for that would cause scandal in the household of Madame de Pontchartrain, who thought perhaps that I had married her niece to obtain the right to make love to her at those innocent parlor games.
I looked about and discovered a door which I had not noticed at first. I took a candle, opened the door, and found myself in a fine salon. That was very well; I continued my inspection of my suite. There was a door facing me; where did that lead? Into a dining room. Another door opened into a passageway; I went on and found a toilet room freshly painted; all very pleasant, but not what I was looking for at that moment.
I returned to the salon. Whither did that other door lead? To my wife’s room, no doubt; since I had been prowling about the salon as if I were playing hide-and-seek, I must have passed it many times. I tried to open it by turning the knob, but it resisted; it was locked on the inside. No more doubt: my wife was there, and had been advised to lock herself in. Ah! what sly creatures they were in that country!
I knocked—no answer. I knocked again, louder.
“Who is there?” someone asked at last; and I recognized Pélagie’s voice.
“It’s I, my dear love.”
“Oh! is it you, monsieur my husband?”
“Yes, my dear; come, let me in quickly.”
“What for?”
“Parbleu! I’ll tell you in a minute. Open the door.”
“Oh! I can’t!”
“You can’t! what does that mean? that’s decidedly new!”
“My aunt told me not to.”
“Your aunt doesn’t know what she says. As she has been a widow thirty-three years, perhaps she has forgotten that husbands and wives sleep together.”
“Oh, yes! I know that you will sleep with me finally; but she told me that modesty requires me to postpone the time as long as possible.”
“And I tell you that we must sleep together at once; modesty has nothing more to do with our love; hymen has its rights, and you must listen to it now; the pleasures it permits should not alarm your modesty.”
“I don’t understand all that.”
“I will make you understand it when I am with you. Open the door, I beg you. I can’t begin to instruct you with this door between us.”
“I’m afraid that my aunt——”
“Look you, madame, I am your husband, after all; you swore this morning to be obedient and submissive to me, and you are violating your oaths already! Come, Pélagie, I beg you, let’s not begin with a quarrel; open the door at once; if you don’t, I’ll set the house on fire.”
“Oh! mon Dieu!”
She opened the door instantly; she was in her chemise and hurried back to hide herself in her bed; but it was easy for me to find her now. I still had a few obstacles to overcome; but they were not at all disagreeable; indeed, I should have been very much distressed if I had not encountered them! On this occasion the rose was not without thorns.
Let us draw the curtain over the mysteries of hymen, although they are one of Polichinelle’s secrets.
XXXII
RETURN TO PARIS
The first days of married life are called the honeymoon. But the only honey I enjoyed was a grand row with Madame de Pontchartrain on the day after my wedding, because she perceived by her heavy eyes, her gait, in fact, by a thousand symptoms which never escape a dowager’s glance, that I had already plucked the rose of hymen. She went so far as to reproach me, to accuse me of immodesty, brutality, a purely animal passion, and declared that I wanted to kill her niece. It would have required the patience of a cherub to listen unmoved to such nonsense; and as I am no angel, I sent our aunt about her business; I forbade her to meddle in my affairs thereafter, and especially enjoined upon her to refrain from offering advice to my wife. Madame de Pontchartrain shrieked and stormed and raved; I withdrew to my apartment; and there we were at swords’ point!
Old women are great talkers, and the dear aunt was spiteful and vindictive in addition. Instead of trying to forget that scene, she thought only of revenging herself for what she called my base conduct. On the next day, the whole town knew that I was a hot-tempered, ungentlemanly libertine, and that I had begun already to make my wife very unhappy.
However, my sister, who knew me and loved me, made haste to contradict all the rumors that the old aunt put in circulation to my discredit; she fell out with Madame de Pontchartrain, because she did not share her way of looking at things. In the town, some believed the aunt, others my sister; opinions were divided; it would almost have split the community into two hostile camps, except that they were generally agreed as to the main point, that is, the pleasure of making unkind remarks and the love of scandal.
I was very little disturbed by what the people of Melun thought and said of me, but I was deeply interested in my wife, and I was desirous that she should not agree with her aunt.
Pélagie found herself in an embarrassing position: her aunt told her not to listen to me, and I told her not to listen to her aunt, who did all that she could to induce her to come often to her apartments, while I did my best to prevent her going there. Madame de Pontchartrain told Pélagie that she ought to command, to force me to obey her—in a word, to be the mistress; while I tried to make her understand that when a woman can do nothing but play parlor games, dance, embroider, and sing ballads, she ought to call in her husband to assist her in managing her household.
All this frequently threw my wife into a state of painful uncertainty. I had been her husband only a few days, and her aunt had been her mentor from infancy. She was afraid of her, and I should have been very sorry to arouse such a feeling with respect to myself. The result was that she obeyed her aunt rather than me; and that had already brought about several of those little discussions which I desired to avoid. If Pélagie had had any wit or judgment, she would have felt that her aunt was wrong. But, alas! she had nothing of the sort; and dullards are much harder to lead than bright people. I hoped that she would acquire those qualities, and that, having her eyes opened in regard to a certain matter, she would become less stupid with regard to others; but I was beginning to lose that hope.
There was one point, however, upon which we were in accord: that was our right to sleep together. As to that, Pélagie was entirely of my opinion; she no longer dreamed of having a separate bed, and was never tempted to lock her door. I would have bet that it would be so; these little innocents!—when they are once started, nothing will stop them!
I had no desire to remain at Melun; but before taking my wife to Paris, it was necessary that I should have lodgings prepared for her reception. I could not take her to my little bachelor apartment; it was not suitable for us, nor did I wish her to know anything about it.
To find suitable lodgings, have them furnished and put in order, and engage servants, would detain me in Paris at least a week; and if I should leave my wife in her aunt’s power for a week, God only knew in what frame of mind I should find her when I returned! An hour passed with Madame de Pontchartrain always caused a quarrel between Pélagie and me. When she left her aunt, who had persuaded her that she ought not to listen to me, she made it her business to do just the opposite of what I told her, to tease me and make me angry; it was extremely difficult for me to bring her back to other ideas and to make her realize her errors. If she should pass a week without seeing me, it would be impossible for us to live together.
What was to be done? I did not propose to live in the province any longer; I was beginning to have my fill of it, and I felt that if I were obliged to live there I should die.
My sister saw my plight; and despite her desire to have me settle down in her vicinity, as she saw that I did not enjoy the pleasures of wedlock as I ought at Melun, she offered to send Déneterre to Paris, to prepare an apartment for me. I accepted her offer gratefully; and my brother-in-law set off, with full instructions from me.
I prayed that he might return very soon. The time seemed terribly long to me. I was obliged to remain constantly with my wife; and to be always in the company of a person who has nothing to say, who often does not understand what you say to her—what torture!
At first I had hopes; the nights were some slight recompense; but hope soon vanished, and even the nights sometimes seemed wearisome to me. Ah! then I realized what a trivial thing mere beauty is! We become accustomed to everything, to an ugly face as well as a lovely one; but when, with the lovely face, we find no sustenance for the mind or heart; when a little mouth is mute or says only foolish things; when two great eyes have no expression; when the smile is always the same; when the voice expresses no feeling—then there is nothing to do but yawn and fall asleep beside that little chef-d’œuvre of nature.
But when we listen to some attractive person, who has the power to describe what she feels, whose eyes and voice are equally eloquent, who charms us by her thoughts and attracts us by her conversation, do we pay any heed to her ugliness? No, we forget it; more than that, it actually disappears, and the face that repelled us at first becomes agreeable to us.
Doubtless beauty combined with wit aids materially in seducing us; but if we can have only one of the two, I am sure that in marrying we should not set great store by externals. That one should take a pretty mistress, without bothering one’s head as to her mental powers, is perfectly natural; one can leave her as soon as she becomes a bore. But a wife! a companion for the rest of one’s life! what a difference! I know there are many husbands who spend less time with their wives than with their mistresses; but I am not speaking for their benefit. When I married, I intended to have a happy home, not to leave my wife and run after other women; and yet, as you will see, that was what I was obliged to do.
Déneterre had been away twelve days, and still he did not return. Madame de Pontchartrain, who knew that I proposed to take my wife to Paris, was more savage than ever; she tried every day to play some fresh trick on me; she watched for her niece as the cat watches for the mouse; and whenever she saw her, she inflamed her against me. All my time was occupied in defeating her little plots; we played Guerre ouverte in the house, and that afforded me a little distraction.
By dint of slandering me, the old lady had come to believe a portion of her slanders; and if by chance I went to some reception, which very rarely happened, I was conscious that a confused, incessant muttering and whispering began as soon as I appeared. Some looked at me, others turned their heads away; the old dowagers and the mothers, who were hot partisans of Madame de Pontchartrain, lost no time in moving away from me; there were some who even made a gesture of alarm at my approach, as if I were plague-stricken.
I laughed at all this with the sensible, reasonable people; but they were not in the majority; besides, it is much easier to speak unkindly than kindly of a person; it would seem that faults are apparent to every eye, and that good qualities keep out of sight.
At last Déneterre returned. My apartment was waiting for me on Boulevard Montmartre; I could occupy it at once; everything was ready for my wife and myself, and our servants were engaged.
I did not propose to delay. I urged Pélagie to hurry with her trunks and boxes and bundles. She seconded me warmly enough; I believe that at heart she was not sorry to escape from her aunt’s authority, and to see new places. And such places! Paris! the paradise of womankind! and the hell of—— Great heaven! I forgot that I was one myself!
It was all over; I had bid my sister, her husband, and my nephews adieu. Pélagie went to take leave of her aunt, for I would not have her fail in courtesy toward her. Madame de Pontchartrain refused to allow her niece to go; I was obliged to go after her. She declared that I had no right to take her away, and tried to detain her by force. I was compelled to abduct my wife; the old aunt pursued us to the front door and threatened to come to Paris after us. But I knew that she would not; people do not play boston in the morning there.
We started; and in my delight I kissed my wife! It was just six weeks since my wedding, and five months since I had left Paris.
At last I saw it again, that splendid city, and I exclaimed:
I prefer thy uproar to the gossip and scandal and petty malignity of the provinces; thy mud to the grass that grows in the untrodden streets of a small provincial town; and thy smoke to those solid pleasures—which I have failed to find elsewhere.
XXXIII
RAYMOND REAPPEARS
The new apartment, in which we installed ourselves at once, was large, convenient, and well arranged. I noticed that there was a room adjoining my study, where I could easily have a bed placed in case my wife should be indisposed and should prefer to sleep alone; for it is well to anticipate everything.
We had two servants, a maid and a cook; those were all that we needed. I had neither horses nor intrigues, consequently I had no occasion for the services of a Frontin or a Lafleur, who, having nothing to do, would be driven to emptying my wine cellar, seducing my maid-servants, and robbing me, to pass the time away.
During the first fortnight after our arrival in Paris, my wife did not give me a moment’s rest; I had to take her everywhere: to drive, to the theatre, to concerts, to the monuments and curiosities of every sort. She compelled me to go all over the city with her in the mornings, being determined to become acquainted with every quarter. She was never weary of gazing in admiration at the Palais-Royal, and she would stand by the half-hour in front of milliners’ and dry goods shops; she was in ecstasies, in the seventh heaven!—All the people, the noise, the vehicles, the beautiful dresses, the young men who, on the fashionable promenades and at the theatres, ogle women so respectfully and make such pretty grimaces to those who meet their approval—all these fascinated Madame Dorsan, who began to lift her eyes and even to flash some very innocent little glances therefrom. Oh! as for that, I was sure it would come.
I knew Paris by heart; I got a little tired of parading through the streets every day; still, a husband should be obliging. Thank heaven! the time came when there was nothing more to see unless we began over again; which my wife would not have been sorry to do; but I needed rest. Moreover, she discovered that a young wife could without impropriety go out alone in the morning; she knew our quarter very well, and I saw that she would make the most of the liberty I gave her.
At last I could breathe freely. I was tired to death of plays, driving, and questions; I was delighted to be alone. I had as yet had no time to visit my little apartment on Rue Saint-Florentin. If my wife had known that I had a bachelor apartment, if her aunt had learned of it, I should have been adjudged guilty of carrying on secret intrigues. But I had no desire for anything of the sort; never again would I take any woman to my former lodgings. I wished that I had never taken one there.
There was one spot which I longed yet dreaded to pass. While escorting my wife about Paris, I had always managed to avoid taking her there. Why? I had no very clear idea; but I wanted to go there first alone; I should be more at liberty to stop; I should find my friend the messenger there, and perhaps I might—— But, no; I would not question him; what need had I to do it now?
My wife was asleep; it was only eight o’clock, and we did not breakfast until ten; I had time to go out for a moment. I proposed to visit my former lodgings; I walked in that direction, but it was also the direction in which Nicette lived. Passing through Rue Saint-Honoré, I had not the strength to resist the secret longing that impelled me toward the flower shop. I walked very fast at first, but the nearer I approached it, the more I slackened my pace. I did not intend to go in, nor did I intend to speak to her; but I felt that I would like to see her.
I saw the shrubs standing in front of the shop; I crossed the street in order not to be on the same side. If I should pass close to her, she might speak to me, and I knew that at the sound of her voice I should stop in spite of myself.
I made up my mind at last to pass, and I walked very quickly, just glancing across. But I did not see her; I saw a woman with an ordinary face—oh! not in the least like Nicette. Thereupon I crossed over and walked by the shop; she was not there. I turned, walked back, and stopped, pretending to examine the flowers. The woman came to me and asked:
“Does monsieur wish to buy something?”
“No, no!” I said, and walked away toward my messenger’s stand; I was impatient to question him. But he was not there; I waited nearly an hour, and at last he came; he recognized me at once.
“Your servant, monsieur; if I’d known you was here—— It’s a long time since I saw you, monsieur.”
“That is true; and during that time?”
“Bless me! there’s been lots of changes; the pretty flower girl ain’t there any more.”
“She isn’t?”
“No, monsieur; she sold her stock to Mère Thomas, who you see yonder in her place.”
“Yes, monsieur, and sold it well, too; for it’s a good shop. But they say Mamzelle Nicette didn’t need it, because she’d made her fortune—come into money.”
“And where is she now?”
“Bless my soul! monsieur, I don’t know; she didn’t say where she was going, and we don’t never see her now.”
“And that man who used to come to see her every day?”
“Why! he kep’ on coming, but not so often toward the end.”
“Did he take her away?”
“I don’t know nothing about it, monsieur; but I’m inclined to think she sold her stock of her own accord.”
“When was that?”
“Why, near six weeks ago.”
“And you don’t know where she’s gone?”
“No, monsieur.”
I paid the messenger and walked away; it was useless to question him any further. Nicette had left her shop; what had become of her? what was she doing? was she living with Raymond? That seemed impossible. Could he have hired an apartment for her? I did not know what to think, but I hastened to Rue Saint-Florentin.
My concierge uttered a cry of surprise when she saw me.
“Ah! there you are, monsieur! We really thought you must be dead! Do you know you’ve been away almost six months?”
“I know it, Madame Dupont. Give me my keys, please.”
“In a minute, monsieur, in a minute. I’ve taken good care of your rooms, I’ve had your furniture beaten every month, and I’ve scrubbed and——”
“Oh! I’m not at all disturbed. By the way, does Monsieur Raymond still live on my landing?”
“No, monsieur, no; he’s left, and in his place——”
“Do you know his address?”
“Yes, monsieur; he left it here; he lives now on Rue Pinon, near the Opéra, No.—— Oh, dear! I’ve forgotten, but it will come to me. Here’s your keys, monsieur.”
“And that number, Madame Dupont?”
“It’s surprising; I knew it just the other day. But it ain’t a long street.”
“That’s very lucky.”
“Oh! wait a minute! I forgot, it was so long ago! I’ve got a letter for you; it’s been here six weeks.”
“A letter!”
“Yes. A young woman brought it.”
“A woman! give it to me, pray.”
“Here it is, monsieur.”
I took the letter and hastened upstairs to my room, to escape the concierge’s chatter. Once more I was in that dear apartment! how glad I was to be there! But the letter! It seemed to me that the writing—ah! I dared not hope—I broke the seal; it was she—Nicette—who had written to me!
“MONSIEUR:
“It’s a long time since you came to see me, and I didn’t know why you had abandoned me; you seemed to be angry the last time you spoke to me, and I thought you were angry with me, but I couldn’t guess why. To-day I have heard that you are married; I know that you can’t think of me any more, or speak to a flower girl. I take the liberty of writing to you only to say good-bye. I am going to sell my shop and go away to some place where I can be alone, not see anybody, and cry all I want to; for I am very unhappy, and I can’t get over it; it isn’t my fault. I have inherited a lot of money from my mother and an aunt who’s left me all she had, and I have more than enough to live on. But I don’t forget that I owe you everything, that you took pity on me when everybody else abandoned me, and saved me from want. I shall never forget it! Adieu, monsieur! I wish you every happiness in your home; may your wife make you happy! she must love you dearly! Adieu, my dear benefactor!
“NICETTE.”
I read the letter several times. I could not help putting my lips to the characters she had traced. Was that the language of a deceitful woman? And yet I saw—saw with my own eyes Raymond sitting beside her, holding her hands. I knew that he saw her every day; he himself told me so; but could I place any faith in what Raymond said? Ah! if I had not seen him with her!
But why torment myself so? Was she not lost to me forever? was I not married? It did not occur to me to be false to my wife, but I longed to know whether Nicette loved me! I resolved to find Raymond and to try to make him talk; that was not difficult, but to make him tell the truth was no easy task.
It was late, and as my wife might be disturbed by my absence I returned to her, but with the firm intention to visit my old lodgings again, and often.
I carefully folded Nicette’s letter and took it away with me when I left my bachelor apartment for my home.
Who could have told Nicette that I was married? My concierge did not know it; if she had, she would surely have mentioned it to me. It must have been Raymond. But how did he know? I was considering this question as I approached my house, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned and saw Raymond! Never, I must confess, had the sight of him afforded me so much pleasure.
“Well! here you are, my dear fellow!”
“Good-morning, Monsieur Raymond!”
“So you’re in Paris now, eh?”
“As you see.”
“Dear Dorsan! it seems a century since I saw you!”
“I assure you that I too am very glad to see you.”
“Really? such an excellent friend! By the way, accept my congratulations; I understand that you have made a magnificent marriage, that you have a divine wife!”
“Oho! you know that, do you?”
“Yes; one of my friends, who happened to be at Melun, told me; you must have met him in society—Monsieur Regnier?”
“Yes, I believe I do remember him.”
“Well! it was he who told me the whole story. Ah! I was almost angry with you.—‘What!’ I said to myself; ‘my dear Dorsan, my friend, is married, and doesn’t let me know! me, who am so interested in his welfare!’ Oh! it was very ill done of you!”
“You are too kind, really; but my wife is expecting me, and I cannot stay any longer. And yet, I should be glad to talk with you. Won’t you breakfast with me?”
“Won’t I!”
“I will introduce you to my wife.”
“I shall be enchanted to make her acquaintance.”
Raymond accompanied me home; he seemed delighted by the cordiality of my greeting, especially as it was so unusual. He did not suspect that my eager desire to talk with him was due to the fact that he alone could tell me about Nicette, where she was and what she was doing. But I felt that I must be prudent and not question him too abruptly; otherwise, he would divine my sentiments, and it was more necessary than ever that I should force them back into the depths of my heart.
When we reached the house, I found that my wife was not anxious about me, for she was breakfasting without me. I presented Raymond, who confounded himself in compliments and high-flown praise which must have bored Pélagie; but women of little intellect often attach the greatest value to compliments; with such women one can make one’s self most agreeable with commonplace remarks, and in that respect Raymond was well endowed.
The conversation, therefore, was confined to the pleasures of Paris, and the sensation that such a woman as my wife must cause in society; for Raymond always came back to that; he could not understand how a woman who had always lived in the provinces could be so pretty and have such distinguished manners; he was inexhaustible, but I breakfasted without listening to him. As for Pélagie, having learned that she might smile at another man than her husband, she smiled at each of Raymond’s compliments, which gave her a chance to show her teeth.
I saw that I could not mention Nicette that morning; my wife did not leave the room; so I must needs be patient.
“Where do you live?” I asked Raymond.
“Rue Pinon, No. 2. I have left my old lodgings; you had ceased to be my neighbor, and they had lost all their charm.”
“I mean to come to see you.”
“Oh! don’t put yourself to that trouble; a bachelor is seldom at home; I will come to see you, with your permission, and pay my respects to madame now and then.”
“You will gratify us.”
“But I must leave you now; I have three appointments for this morning. I have so many acquaintances! and not a moment to myself! Adieu, my dear friend!—Madame, I lay at your feet the homage that your charms deserve.”
And Raymond took his leave, well pleased with his last compliment. He was the same as ever.
“That gentleman is very pleasant,” said Pélagie, when he had gone.
She thought him charming; I was sure that she would. That my wife should like Raymond did not surprise me; but Nicette!
I dared not call on Raymond the same day; but the next day I could wait no longer, and I went to see him. He was not in; he had already gone out.
“Does he live alone?” I asked the concierge.
“Yes, monsieur; all alone.”
I went away; I would have liked to know more, but I was almost sure that Nicette did not live with him. I left my name with the concierge, so that Raymond might know that I had been to see him; that would bring him to my house, and perhaps I might be able to speak with him alone.
He did not fail to come the next day. He was extraordinarily touched by my kindness in calling on him. He promised to show his attachment for me by coming often to see me.
I paid little heed to all the pretty things he said to me; I was vexed because my wife did not leave us. How could I find an opportunity to talk of Nicette? Parbleu! I would ask Raymond to dine; then I would suggest that we go to the theatre in the evening; after dinner my wife would go to dress, and she always spent at least three-quarters of an hour at her toilet; during that time—— Yes, that would do.
I invited Raymond to dine with us informally; he grasped my hand and squeezed it till he made me wince, so pleased was he with my kindness; I read in his eyes that he could not understand it. Certainly he must have found me considerably changed. Doubtless he concluded that it was the effect of marriage.
The dinner was fairly cheerful; Raymond’s conversation never flagged. Formerly, I was bored to death by his chatter, but it was a distraction now; for I was not accustomed to hearing conversation, and I began to experience satisfaction when anyone relieved me from a tête-à-tête with my wife.
Everything happened as I had foreseen. I proposed the theatre; my proposition was accepted, my wife went off to dress, and I was alone with Raymond at last.
I led the conversation imperceptibly to his conquests.
“By the way,” said I, “what did you do with the little flower girl?”
“Whom do you mean? little Nicette?”
“Yes, little Nicette, whom you used to go to make love to every evening.”
“Oh! it’s a long while since that was all over, and I have ceased to think of her! I have had so many others since!”
“She was your mistress, then?”
“Yes, for three or four days; and then I dropped her.”
“Don’t you see her now?”
“Never. I don’t even know where she is, for she has left her shop. Oh! somebody keeps her now, I presume. That little creature had the most absurd pretensions! she wanted to play the lady, and that sickened me! When I want a petite-maîtresse, I don’t apply to a flower girl. Everyone should stay where she belongs.—By the way, speaking of petites-maîtresses, let us speak of your wife. She is really beautiful! and so amiable, too! and she fairly sparkles with wit! I saw that at the first glance. Deuce take it! how lucky you are, my dear fellow!”
When he began to talk about my wife, I ceased to listen to him. I thought of what he had told me of Nicette; he declared that she had been his mistress! could it be true? Ah! if I had not seen him in her shop, I would have spurned the idea as a ghastly lie. So it was impossible to find out what had become of her! Perhaps I should never see her again!
That thought saddened me, and I could not banish it from my mind. My wife returned, having completed her toilet. Raymond offered her his arm; I motioned to Pélagie to accept it, as it was not customary for a wife to take her husband’s arm when another gentleman offered his. If I had been in love with my wife, I would have snapped my fingers at such a custom; but, on the contrary, I was delighted to be able to go by myself and dream undisturbed.
Raymond was enchanted to have on his arm a pretty woman who thought that everything that he said was charming. He went to the play with us, and carried the whole burden of the conversation. I did what I could to take part in it and to divert my thoughts; but, in spite of myself, I kept falling back upon my memories. Luckily, neither of them perceived it: my wife enjoyed the play and Raymond, and he was in ecstasies over what he said and what Pélagie replied.
When the play was over, we all went home. Ah! how I longed then for a separate room! but I dared not suggest it.
That day gave birth to a depression which I could not overcome. My wife said nothing, but I was very sure that she found Raymond much more attractive than me. What idiocy to bind one’s self to a person whose sentiments have nothing in common with one’s own! I said that to myself every day, and every day I spent a little less time with my wife. I left her to be amused by Raymond’s conversation; and I went off to my little bachelor apartment, to think; often I wrote there, and read, and worked; I was so comfortable there! I let my thoughts stray back to happier days; to the days when I used to find bunches of orange blossoms hung at my door. Ah! how happy I might have been then! but I did not know enough to appreciate my good fortune. Not until those moments were past and gone forever did I realize all their worth! and when I left my little apartment to go back to the other, I regretted them more keenly than ever.
XXXIV
I SHOULD HAVE FORESEEN IT
Whether we are sad or merry, happy or wretched, rich or poor, the Fates spin the web of our days none the less. Mine was no longer of silk and gold; but still the days passed; they seemed longer to me than if I had been happy; that was all the difference, and therein people who are fond of life should find some compensation; for years of sorrow count double.
I had been married only a year, and I had already acquired all the ways of an old married man. I did not go out with my wife in the morning; she knew Paris as well as I did, and no longer needed my company; she went out to pay visits, to make purchases, or to walk; I either worked at home or went my own way. We almost always had someone to dinner, very frequently Raymond, who had become the friend of the family. It was not that I liked him any better than formerly; no, I did not look upon him as a friend in the least degree; but he had become necessary to me, he diverted my thoughts, he went about with my wife; he was always at our service if we needed him to take part in a game or to do an errand; he was really extremely obliging. Lastly, he had known Nicette, he was the only person with whom I could talk of her now and then; that reason alone was sufficient to lead me to seek his society. And yet, it was to him that I owed a part of my sorrow; but he had rendered me a service by showing Nicette to me as she really was. If she had listened to him, she must have listened to many others! In a word, his presence was often painful to me, and yet I constantly sought it—I always hoped that he would contradict what he had told me about her.
As for my wife, she could not do without Raymond; he was with her almost every evening, while I went to my little bachelor apartment. They played together; Raymond played the flute a little, and my wife the piano; they both sang also. Raymond was an inferior musician, and my wife was never in time; together, they considered themselves very fine. And then, Raymond had a supply of compliments and gallant phrases which delighted my wife, who had plenty of self-esteem and coquetry, and loved to be told that she turned all the men’s heads and that she was as witty as a demon.
I confess that I had never been able to tell my wife that she had overmuch wit. Indeed, I had long since ceased to tell her that she was pretty; it seemed superfluous to me; I had told her so when I was courting her, and I could not keep saying the same thing forever. Such talk seems to me most futile; a husband and wife ought to prove their love to each other without having to pay each other compliments. But Pélagie, who did not know what to reply when you talked to her on a subject of real interest, knew enough to smile at flattery; and Raymond declared that her smile said many things. If I attempted to talk sensibly with her, she yawned; thereupon I left her, only too glad when Raymond was there to take my place.
I was wrong, perhaps, in allowing my wife to do whatever she chose; but how would it have served me to put restraint upon her, to restrict her in the gratification of her tastes? It would have made us both unhappy. We married without love, and we were not made to live together. My wife was bored when alone with me, and I did not enjoy being with her. When I tried to talk sensibly to her, to urge her to give a little more time to her housekeeping instead of thinking solely of gewgaws and dress and pleasure, then Pélagie would weep and say that her aunt was justified in calling me a tyrant! What reply could I make to that?—none at all! I cannot bear to see a woman weep. If I had no love for my wife, I did not choose that she should have cause to complain of my treatment; so I allowed her to buy whatever gave her pleasure, and to go to all the balls and festivities to which she was invited. Pélagie spent on dresses, jewels, cabs, and trifles much more than she brought me; but I held my tongue, to avoid little discussions. I was determined to do my best to keep the peace, at all events.
Perhaps I should not have left her so often to listen to the whispering of dandies and the soft speeches of salon seducers; but, in truth, it was impossible for me to be jealous. Moreover, my mind was at ease on that score; Pélagie had been brought up very strictly; she was high-principled, and her manners were so modest and bashful! To be sure, she no longer kept her eyes on the floor, and even played the coquette a bit; but I was none the less confident of her fidelity. And then, too, the young men who paid court to her in society never came to my house; I seldom had any male guest except Raymond; and faith! if a man must torment himself in anticipation, his mind would never be at rest.
I hoped to have children; I would have loved them dearly; I would have looked after their education, and it would have been a great joy to me. But I had not had that satisfaction, and the greatest pleasure I knew was to go to my little apartment on Rue Saint-Florentin. There I seemed to be a different man; I fancied myself still a bachelor. In that house nobody knew that I was married; but I never slept there, and my concierge must have thought that I was leading a strange life; I paid her generously, however, and she indulged in no comments. Indeed, who in the house had any reason to complain of me? I took nobody there, I made no noise, I spoke to nobody, and I did not even know who occupied Raymond’s apartment on my landing.
For some time past, my wife had been going more frequently than ever to balls and parties which lasted far into the night. I am no foe to gayeties, but I was afraid that her excessive indulgence in them would injure her health. I reproved her mildly, and she answered sharply; a dispute arose, and madame, who had taken a tone which was entirely new to her, and which surprised me in a woman who had always seemed so timid,—in the modest Pélagie,—put an end to the discussion by announcing that she proposed to have a separate room, so that she might be more at liberty.
I asked nothing better. I had a bed put in the room adjoining my study, which was separated from my wife’s bedroom by the salon, the reception room, and a small music room. I took possession of my new quarters that same evening. Raymond, being informed of the new arrangement, said that it was an excellent idea, and that it was all that we needed to make a most charming household.
Pélagie spent money freely; with the purpose of trying to put a curb on the follies she was beginning to commit, I began to go into society with her. It would still have been easy for me to form intrigues, to make conquests; for a young husband is as warmly greeted in Paris as a bachelor in the provinces; but I had no inclination for those liaisons of a moment, for those amourettes which do not touch the heart; I was faithful, but not amorous.
Raymond, too, was most constant in his pretended great friendship for us; often he was obliging enough to bring my wife home when I did not care to stay so late as she did; and as we no longer slept together, Madame Dorsan could come in whenever she pleased, and I know nothing about it. I ceased to say anything to her, for I noticed that she consistently did just the opposite of what I urged her to do.
Still, I was afraid that her lungs, which were delicate, would suffer from such constant late hours. The next time that she was to go to a ball, I advised her to stay at home; she would not listen to me. I decided to go with her and to try to induce her to go home early.
Raymond accompanied us to the festivity in question, which was very gorgeous and very largely attended. At midnight, satiated with dust and écarté, I urged my wife to retire.
“What, monsieur!” replied Pélagie; “go away at the very pleasantest part of the evening! Oh! I propose to stay till the end! You can go home to bed; Monsieur Raymond will bring me home.”
What was one to say to a little woman who seemed so determined? I went up to Raymond, who anticipated my wishes.
“My dear fellow, go home if you’re tired; I’ll bring madame home.”
“Will you? very good; I shall be much obliged.”
I left the house, saying to myself:
“It’s a great mistake to laugh at us poor husbands; for, upon my word, anyone else in our place would do just as we do.”
I went home and to bed. I slept about three hours; then something, I know not what, awoke me; doubtless it was written that I should wake. I pressed the repeater of my watch: three o’clock. I thought that I would like to know if my wife was at home; ordinarily, I did not disturb myself about it, but she had a cold which made me anxious about her health; if she was not more careful of herself, it might become serious; and, although I did not love her, although she did not make me very happy, as I was more prudent than she, it was my duty to look after her health.
That idea prevented me from going to sleep again; it seemed to me that I should be more at ease if I were sure that she had come home. Why should I not go to her room to make sure? I had never done such a thing since we had slept apart; but my solicitude ought not to offend her; and besides, I could go there without waking her, and she would not even know that I had been to see her. I had a duplicate key to her bedroom, which I had had made when we slept together, so that I could go in without rousing her; for, in the early days of our marriage, she used to go to bed before I came home, and always locked herself in because she was afraid. I had forgotten to give her that key, which lay in my desk; and she had probably forgotten that I had it.
I rose and felt my way to the desk, for I kept no light in my room at night. I found the key, and stole softly from my room to go to my wife.
I walked noiselessly through the intervening rooms, I was careful not to make a sound; one would have thought that I was on my way to an assignation, but it was something very different. When I reached my wife’s door I saw a light through the keyhole.—“Good!” I said to myself; “she’s at home;” and I was about to creep away, when I fancied that I heard voices. With whom could she be talking? The servants were always in bed when we came home, as we had our own keys. I listened; I could not hear very distinctly; but it seemed to me that that voice—“Parbleu!” I thought; “that would be a strange thing!” A thousand ideas crowded into my mind. I slipped the key in the lock very softly, turned it quickly, entered the room, and—saw Raymond in bed with my wife!
Surprise held me motionless for an instant. Raymond jumped out of bed and ran about the room like a madman; he could not find the door, although there were two. I came to myself and could not resist the temptation to give him a kick that sent him to the floor. But I soon regretted my imprudence. To make an uproar—a scandal—to let the whole household know that I was—I lacked only that!—I put Raymond on his feet, pushed him out of the room, threw his coat in his face, and even gave him a light, so that he might not break his neck on the stairs; it was impossible to be more polite than I was.
“Until to-morrow!” I said.
I imagined that he did not hear me; but, no matter; he had gone, and I returned to my wife.
She had remained in bed; she did not stir.
“As you may imagine,” I said to her, “I do not propose to publish this abroad; however, madame, I am not in the humor to continue to live with you; I may be willing to conceal your misconduct, but I do not choose to witness any more of it. Henceforth we will live apart, as divorces are no longer granted, and as we must remain united all our lives by the laws when we have ceased to be united by any sentiment. It is probable that the blame will be laid on me; people will say that I have deserted you after making you unhappy, for so they often judge the acts of others; but it matters little to me; I leave you everything here; you have your property, and I have mine; henceforth let there be nothing in common between us.”
Pélagie did not say a single word in reply; indeed, I am inclined to think that she fell asleep during my speech. I took a candle, closed her door, and returned to my own room. I intended to go to bed again; but I felt that I should not be able to sleep. No matter if a man be not in love or jealous, he cannot see such things as that and remain cool. Still, I was well content with the coolness I had displayed; except for the kick administered to Raymond, I had borne myself like a genuine philosopher; but I felt in the bottom of my heart that one is never a philosopher in respect to those things which concern self-esteem and honor. Honor! Ah! Figaro is right when he asks:
“Where in the devil has honor hidden itself?”
I decided to pack up my belongings; that would keep me busy, and I should be able to carry everything away at daybreak, and to leave forever that woman, to whom I had been married about eighteen months, and who had already made of me a—but one does not care to speak that word concerning one’s self, although ready enough to apply it to others.
This, then, is the result of that happy marriage!—Ah! my dear sister, why did I hearken to you? Why did I marry a woman who did not love me—a woman who was not suited to me in any one respect! If we had been happy together, if I had enjoyed being with her, if I had not left her so much to her own resources, perhaps it would not have happened!
So that young innocent, that Agnès, that little simpleton, had betrayed me after only eighteen months! Perhaps it had been going on a long while already; and once more it was Raymond who—— But, in truth, I should have foreseen it; it was certain to happen.
“But,” I said to myself, “this will be your last escapade, Monsieur Raymond; to-morrow I will call upon you with a pair of pistols, which I will load myself.”
The day was beginning to break; I went down into the street, ordered a messenger to go to my room with me, gave him all my goods and chattels to carry, and bade adieu to my home. Thenceforth I would resume my bachelor life.
I had my bundles carried to my old apartment. Ah! how rejoiced I was that I had kept it! It was as if I had divined that I should return to it some day. Madame Dupont stared at my bundles.
“Does this mean that monsieur is going to sleep in his room now?” she asked slyly.
“Yes, Madame Dupont; after this I am going to live as I used to.”
That business completed, I took my weapons and went to Raymond’s apartment.
“Where are you going, monsieur?” inquired the concierge, when she saw me hurrying upstairs.
“Why, monsieur, didn’t you know that he’d gone away?”
“What’s that? gone away?”
“To be sure; he didn’t sleep here; he took his things away during the night, paid his quarter’s rent, and told me to sell his furniture, saying that he’d send someone for the money after a while. I don’t know what had happened to him, but he seemed so confused that at first I thought he’d gone mad; he was in such a hurry that he didn’t take time to pack the most necessary things. And then he rushed off without telling me where he was going.”
“The coward! Woe to him if I ever meet him! But he is quite capable of having left Paris!”
I left Raymond’s concierge in open-mouthed amazement and returned to Rue Saint-Florentin, to arrange my little apartment with a view to resuming my former habits.