Chapter 23
When the current of life had resumed its course, I could not believethat the day which I saw dawning would not be like those which hadpreceded it. There were moments when I fancied that some circumstance,which I could not recollect, had obliged me to spend the night away fromMarguerite, but that, if I returned to Bougival, I should find her againas anxious as I had been, and that she would ask me what had detained meaway from her so long.
When one's existence has contracted a habit, such as that of this love,it seems impossible that the habit should be broken without at the sametime breaking all the other springs of life. I was forced from time totime to reread Marguerite's letter, in order to convince myself that Ihad not been dreaming.
My body, succumbing to the moral shock, was incapable of movement.Anxiety, the night walk, and the morning's news had prostrated me. Myfather profited by this total prostration of all my faculties to demandof me a formal promise to accompany him. I promised all that he asked,for I was incapable of sustaining a discussion, and I needed someaffection to help me to live, after what had happened. I was toothankful that my father was willing to console me under such a calamity.
All that I remember is that on that day, about five o'clock, he took mewith him in a post-chaise. Without a word to me, he had had my luggagepacked and put up behind the chaise with his own, and so he carried meoff. I did not realize what I was doing until the town had disappearedand the solitude of the road recalled to me the emptiness of my heart.Then my tears again began to flow.
My father had realized that words, even from him, would do nothing toconsole me, and he let me weep without saying a word, only sometimespressing my hand, as if to remind me that I had a friend at my side.
At night I slept a little. I dreamed of Marguerite.
I woke with a start, not recalling why I was in the carriage. Then thetruth came back upon me, and I let my head sink on my breast. I darednot say anything to my father. I was afraid he would say, "You see I wasright when I declared that this woman did not love you." But he did notuse his advantage, and we reached C. without his having said anythingto me except to speak of matters quite apart from the event which hadoccasioned my leaving Paris.
When I embraced my sister, I remembered what Marguerite had said abouther in her letter, and I saw at once how little my sister, good as shewas, would be able to make me forget my mistress.
Shooting had begun, and my father thought that it would be a distractionfor me. He got up shooting parties with friends and neighbours. I wentwithout either reluctance or enthusiasm, with that sort of apathy intowhich I had sunk since my departure.
We were beating about for game and I was given my post. I put down myunloaded gun at my side, and meditated. I watched the clouds pass. Ilet my thought wander over the solitary plains, and from time to time Iheard someone call to me and point to a hare not ten paces off. None ofthese details escaped my father, and he was not deceived by my exteriorcalm. He was well aware that, broken as I now was, I should some dayexperience a terrible reaction, which might be dangerous, and, withoutseeming to make any effort to console me, he did his utmost to distractmy thoughts.
My sister, naturally, knew nothing of what had happened, and she couldnot understand how it was that I, who had formerly been so lighthearted,had suddenly become so sad and dreamy.
Sometimes, surprising in the midst of my sadness my father's anxiousscrutiny, I pressed his hand as if to ask him tacitly to forgive me forthe pain which, in spite of myself, I was giving him.
Thus a month passed, but at the end of that time I could endure it nolonger. The memory of Marguerite pursued me unceasingly. I had loved,I still loved this woman so much that I could not suddenly becomeindifferent to her. I had to love or to hate her. Above all, whatever Ifelt for her, I had to see her again, and at once. This desire possessedmy mind, and with all the violence of a will which had begun to reassertitself in a body so long inert.
It was not enough for me to see Marguerite in a month, a week. I had tosee her the very next day after the day when the thought had occurred tome; and I went to my father and told him that I had been called to Parison business, but that I should return promptly. No doubt he guessed thereason of my departure, for he insisted that I should stay, but, seeingthat if I did not carry out my intention the consequences, in the statein which I was, might be fatal, he embraced me, and begged me, almost,with tears, to return without delay.
I did not sleep on the way to Paris. Once there, what was I going todo? I did not know; I only knew that it must be something connected withMarguerite. I went to my rooms to change my clothes, and, as the weatherwas fine and it was still early, I made my way to the Champs-Elysees. Atthe end of half an hour I saw Marguerite's carriage, at some distance,coming from the Rond-Point to the Place de la Concorde. She hadrepurchased her horses, for the carriage was just as I was accustomedto see it, but she was not in it. Scarcely had I noticed this fact, whenlooking around me, I saw Marguerite on foot, accompanied by a woman whomI had never seen.
As she passed me she turned pale, and a nervous smile tightened abouther lips. For my part, my heart beat violently in my breast; but Isucceeded in giving a cold expression to my face, as I bowed coldly tomy former mistress, who just then reached her carriage, into which shegot with her friend.
I knew Marguerite: this unexpected meeting must certainly have upsether. No doubt she had heard that I had gone away, and had thus beenreassured as to the consequences of our rupture; but, seeing me againin Paris, finding herself face to face with me, pale as I was, she musthave realized that I had not returned without purpose, and she must haveasked herself what that purpose was.
If I had seen Marguerite unhappy, if, in revenging myself upon her,I could have come to her aid, I should perhaps have forgiven her, andcertainly I should have never dreamt of doing her an injury. But I foundher apparently happy, someone else had restored to her the luxury whichI could not give her; her breaking with me seemed to assume a characterof the basest self-interest; I was lowered in my own esteem as well asin my love. I resolved that she should pay for what I had suffered.
I could not be indifferent to what she did, consequently what would hurther the most would be my indifference; it was, therefore, this sentimentwhich I must affect, not only in her eyes, but in the eyes of others.
I tried to put on a smiling countenance, and I went to call onPrudence. The maid announced me, and I had to wait a few minutes inthe drawing-room. At last Mme. Duvernoy appeared and asked me into herboudoir; as I seated myself I heard the drawing-room door open, a lightfootstep made the floor creak and the front door was closed violently.
"I am disturbing you," I said to Prudence.
"Not in the least. Marguerite was there. When she heard you announced,she made her escape; it was she who has just gone out."
"Is she afraid of me now?"
"No, but she is afraid that you would not wish to see her."
"But why?" I said, drawing my breath with difficulty, for I was chokedwith emotion. "The poor girl left me for her carriage, her furniture,and her diamonds; she did quite right, and I don't bear her any grudge.I met her to-day," I continued carelessly.
"Where?" asked Prudence, looking at me and seeming to ask herself ifthis was the same man whom she had known so madly in love.
"In the Champs-Elysees. She was with another woman, very pretty. Who isshe?"
"What was she like?"
"Blonde, slender, with side curls; blue eyes; very elegant."
"Ali! It was Olympe; she is really very pretty."
"Whom does she live with?"
"With nobody; with anybody."
"Where does she live?"
"Rue Troncliet, No.--. Do you want to make love to her?"
"One never knows."
"And Marguerite?"
"I should hardly tell you the truth if I said I think no more about her;but I am one of those with whom everything depends on the way in whichone breaks with them. Now Marguerite ended with
me so lightly that Irealize I was a great fool to have been as much in love with her as Iwas, for I was really very much in love with that girl."
You can imagine the way in which I said that; the sweat broke out on myforehead.
"She was very fond of you, you know, and she still is; the proof is,that after meeting you to-day, she came straight to tell me about it.When she got here she was all of a tremble; I thought she was going tofaint."
"Well, what did she say?"
"She said, 'He is sure to come here,' and she begged me to ask you toforgive her."
"I have forgiven her, you may tell her. She was a good girl; but, afterall, like the others, and I ought to have expected what happened. I ameven grateful to her, for I see now what would have happened if I hadlived with her altogether. It was ridiculous."
"She will be very glad to find that you take it so well. It was quitetime she left you, my dear fellow. The rascal of an agent to whom shehad offered to sell her furniture went around to her creditors to findout how much she owed; they took fright, and in two days she would havebeen sold up."
"And now it is all paid?"
"More or less."
"And who has supplied the money?"
"The Comte de N. Ah, my dear friend, there are men made on purpose forsuch occasions. To cut a long story short he gave her twenty thousandfrancs, but he has had his way at last. He knows quite well thatMarguerite is not in love with him; but he is very nice with her all thesame. As you have seen, he has repurchased her horses, he has taken herjewels out of pawn, and he gives her as much money as the duke used togive her; if she likes to live quietly, he will stay with her a longtime."
"And what is she doing? Is she living in Paris altogether?"
"She would never go back to Bougival after you went. I had to go myselfand see after all her things, and yours, too. I made a package of themand you can send here for them. You will find everything, except alittle case with your initials. Marguerite wanted to keep it. If youreally want it, I will ask her for it."
"Let her keep it," I stammered, for I felt the tears rise from my heartto my eyes at the recollection of the village where I had been so happy,and at the thought that Marguerite cared to keep something which hadbelonged to me and would recall me to her. If she had entered at thatmoment my thoughts of vengeance would have disappeared, and I shouldhave fallen at her feet.
"For the rest," continued Prudence, "I never saw her as she is now; shehardly takes any sleep, she goes to all the balls, she goes to suppers,she even drinks. The other day, after a supper, she had to stay in bedfor a week; and when the doctor let her get up, she began again at therisk of her life. Shall you go and see her?"
"What is the good? I came to see you, because you have always beencharming to me, and I knew you before I ever knew Marguerite. I oweit to you that I have been her lover, and also, don't I, that I am herlover no longer?"
"Well, I did all I could to get her away from you, and I believe youwill be thankful to me later on."
"I owe you a double gratitude," I added, rising, for I was disgustedwith the woman, seeing her take every word I said to her as if it wereserious.
"You are going?"
"Yes."
I had learned enough.
"When shall I be seeing you?"
"Soon. Good-bye."
"Good-bye."
Prudence saw me to the door, and I went back to my own rooms with tearsof rage in my eyes and a desire for vengeance in my heart.
So Marguerite was no different from the others; so the steadfast lovethat she had had for me could not resist the desire of returning toher former life, and the need of having a carriage and plunging intodissipation. So I said to myself, as I lay awake at night though if Ihad reflected as calmly as I professed to I should have seen in thisnew and turbulent life of Marguerite the attempt to silence a constantthought, a ceaseless memory. Unfortunately, evil passion had the upperhand, and I only sought for some means of avenging myself on the poorcreature. Oh, how petty and vile is man when he is wounded in one of hisnarrow passions!
This Olympe whom I had seen was, if not a friend of Marguerite, at allevents the woman with whom she was most often seen since her return toParis. She was going to give a ball, and, as I took it for granted thatMarguerite would be there, I tried to get an invitation and succeeded.
When, full of my sorrowful emotions, I arrived at the ball, it wasalready very animated. They were dancing, shouting even, and in one ofthe quadrilles I perceived Marguerite dancing with the Comte de N., whoseemed proud of showing her off, as if he said to everybody: "This womanis mine."
I leaned against the mantel-piece just opposite Marguerite and watchedher dancing. Her face changed the moment she caught sight of me. Isaluted her casually with a glance of the eyes and a wave of the hand.
When I reflected that after the ball she would go home, not with me butwith that rich fool, when I thought of what would follow their return,the blood rose to my face, and I felt the need of doing something totrouble their relations.
After the contredanse I went up to the mistress of the house, whodisplayed for the benefit of her guests a dazzling bosom and magnificentshoulders. She was beautiful, and, from the point of view of figure,more beautiful than Marguerite. I realized this fact still more clearlyfrom certain glances which Marguerite bestowed upon her while I wastalking with her. The man who was the lover of such a woman might wellbe as proud as M. de N., and she was beautiful enough to inspire apassion not less great than that which Marguerite had inspired in me. Atthat moment she had no lover. It would not be difficult to become so; itdepended only on showing enough money to attract her attention.
I made up my mind. That woman should be my mistress. I began by dancingwith her. Half an hour afterward, Marguerite, pale as death, put on herpelisse and left the ball.