Part 14

“I am very ill; I have been unable to leave my room for a long while, but I am unwilling to delay any longer to give you some most important advice. I am responsible for all the harm, and it is my place to try to repair it. I brought a man named Dufresne to your house. Alas! how bitterly I repent it! but at that time I believed him to be incapable of doing anything indelicate even. A deplorable passion had long made me blind, but now it is no longer possible for me to doubt the ghastly truth. This Dufresne is a miserable wretch, capable of every villainy. I have only too many proofs of the infamy of his conduct. He has robbed me of all that I possessed, but my regret for my money is less than my shame at having been his dupe. Gambling, debauchery, all sorts of vice are familiar to him, and he has the art to conceal his shocking passions. I dare not tell you what I know--but break off instantly the intimacy he has formed with your husband, or fear the worst for him from the advice of a monster to whom nothing is sacred.

“WIDOW DOLBAN.”

Adeline shuddered; her heart was oppressed by secret terror; she read the fatal letter once more, then raised her lovely tear-bedewed eyes heavenward.

“So this is the man on whose account Edouard fell out with my mother! this is the sort of man that his adviser, his best friend, is! O heaven! what misery I foresee in the future! but how am I to avert it? My husband no longer listens to me; he spurns my advice, he is deaf to my prayers. But he could not be deaf to my tears. No, Edouard is not hard-hearted; he loves me still, he will not spurn his Adeline. I will implore him, in our child’s name, to cease to see a man who will lead him on to ruin. This letter will be a sufficient proof, I trust; he will open his eyes and sever all relations with him who has already caused me so much unhappiness.”

These reflections allayed Adeline’s distress in some measure; fully determined to show her husband, as soon as he should return, the letter that she had received, she decided to sit up for him. He could not be much longer, it was already quite late, and all she needed was a little courage. Poor woman! if she had known how her husband was occupied, while she, melancholy and pensive, devoured in silence the torments of anxiety and jealousy! You who try to read the future,--how you would deserve to be pitied if your eyes could pierce space, and if your ears always heard the truth! Illusion was invented for the happiness of mortals; it does them almost as much good as hope.

The young woman tried to beguile the time by making plans for the future. She rejoiced in the approach of the season of fine weather; soon they might return to the pretty little place in the country. She had been so happy there in the early days of her married life that she looked forward to finding there once more the happiness that she had not found in Paris. Edouard would accompany her; he would have forgotten all his plans, have given up the business that tormented him, and have broken entirely with the perfidious Dufresne. Then nothing could disturb their felicity. Her mother would return to live with them; little Ermance would grow up and be educated under her parents’ eyes, learning to love and respect them. What a delightful future! How short the time would seem! how well it would be employed!

Adeline’s heart thrilled with the pleasure caused by the delicious tableau which her imagination had conjured up. But the clock struck; she glanced at it and sighed; the image of happiness vanished, the melancholy reality returned!

Thus do the unfortunate try to deceive their suffering, to conceal their grief from themselves. He who has lost a beloved sweetheart has her image constantly in his thoughts; he sees her, speaks to her, lives again with her in the past; he hears her voice, her sweet accents, her loving confession which makes his heart beat fast with bliss; he recalls those delicious interviews of which love bore the whole burden; he fancies that he holds his loved one’s hands in his; he seeks her burning lips from which he once stole the sweetest of kisses--but the illusion vanishes; she is no longer there! Ah! what a ghastly void! what a cruel return to life!

Adeline was agitated by all these gleams of hope and fear; twenty times she went to her daughter’s cradle, then returned to her place at the window and listened anxiously, intently, for the faintest sound; but only the rumbling of an occasional carriage broke the silence of the night. Each time that she heard that noise, Adeline’s heart beat faster. It was her husband returning home; yes, it was he--the carriage was coming nearer; but it passed on, it did not stop.

Adeline had watched many hours pass; the cold of the night and the weariness caused by her lonely vigil benumbed her senses. Despite her desire to wait for her husband, she felt that she could no longer resist the drowsiness that oppressed her. She decided at last to go to bed; but she placed Madame Dolban’s letter on her night table, so that she might have it at hand in order to be able to show it to her husband as soon as she saw him. From that priceless letter she anticipated peace of mind and happiness. She lighted the night lamp that she used every night. She went to bed at last--regretfully--and still tried to fight against sleep; but fatigue triumphed over anxiety; her eyelids drooped, she fell into a deep sleep.

Adeline had been asleep an hour; a loud noise, caused by the fall of a chair, awoke her with a start; she opened her eyes, but could see nothing. Her lamp was out; she made a movement to rise, but an arm passed about her body kept her in bed and two kisses closed her mouth. Adeline knew that her husband alone had a key to her room, that no other than he could enter there at night; so that it was Edouard who had returned and was in her arms.

“Oh! my dear,” she said, “I sat up for you a long, long while; I was so anxious to see you and speak to you. If you knew! I have had a letter from Madame Dolban, poor woman! she is very unhappy! You will find that I was not mistaken about Dufresne--the monster! It is he who has ruined her; he has every failing, every vice. My dear Edouard, I implore you, do not continue your intimacy with that man--he will be your ruin! You won’t tell me any more that my ideas are chimeras. The letter is here, on my night table; if the lamp had not gone out, I would read it to you now.”

Adeline was on the point of rising to light the lamp, but love detained her in her bed. The most loving caresses, the most ardent kisses were lavished upon her; she had recovered her husband; she yielded to his desires, she abandoned herself to his love, shared the intense ardor with which he was inflamed; her past sorrows were nothing more than a dream which the most blissful ecstasy dispelled.

Pleasure is always followed by desire to rest; drunk with love and joy, Adeline fell asleep in the arms of him who had shared her delirium. A ray of light was shining through the window when she opened her eyes; her heart was still palpitating with the pleasure she had enjoyed. She turned her head to look at her sleeping husband. A shriek of horror escaped her; she trembled, she could hardly breathe, her eyes assumed a glassy stare, her heart ceased to beat. It was Dufresne who was by her side; it was his breast upon which her head had rested; it was he upon whom she had lavished her caresses; it was in his arms that she had tasted the ecstasy, the transports of love.

The young woman’s shriek awoke Dufresne; he looked at Adeline, and a treacherous smile, an expression of savage joy, gleamed in the eyes that he fastened upon his victim. She seemed bereft of the power to act; she was completely crushed. Dufresne determined to make the most of the little time that remained; he moved nearer to her and attempted to renew his hateful caresses. Adeline came to life again; she recovered her strength, pushed the monster away with all her might, leaped out of bed and wrapped her dress about her; and her resolute and haughty expression seemed to defy him to commit a fresh outrage.

Dufresne stopped, gazed at her a moment in silence, then said with a sneering laugh:

“What, madame! more resistance--more affectation of prudery? Really, you must agree that, after what has taken place between us during the night, this is mere childishness. Your pride is sadly misplaced now! Come, take my advice; let us make peace. I assure you that your husband shall know nothing about it. A little more or a little less will make him no more of a cuckold! Indeed, I may as well tell you that he too is in the arms of another; so you will have nothing to reproach yourself for.”

Dufresne walked toward Adeline, and she recoiled from him in horror. He reached her side and attempted to satisfy his desires again. Adeline struggled; she seemed endowed with fresh strength, and her voice, calling Edouard’s name, rang through the apartment. Dufresne stopped and released her; he realized that the young woman’s shrieks might be heard; the servants might come, and that would upset all his plans. So that he had no choice but to leave Adeline; but fierce anger blazed in the glances that he cast at her. He ran to the table, seized Madame Dolban’s letter and brandished it in the face of the woman who defied his wrath and defeated his renewed attempts to outrage her.

“Here it is,” he said with an ironical smile; “here is the document of which you hoped to make such good use. You despise, you spurn my love; tremble before the effects of my hatred and of the revenge I will have for your contempt. Adieu! I take with me Madame Dolban’s letter; she will not write you any more.”

XX

THE PASSIONS TRAVEL FAST WHEN ONE DOES NOT RESIST THEM

Edouard had received from Dufresne the sum of one hundred thousand francs; that amount was only one-half of the proceeds of the sale of the consols; but Dufresne, who was very glad of an opportunity to retain the other half, told Edouard that he had not sold them all, because he hoped to dispose of the rest within a few days at a better price; and the credulous Murville, trusting absolutely in the good faith of the man whom he believed to be his friend, told him to complete the transaction whenever he thought best.

Engrossed by his new passion for Madame de Géran, Edouard betook himself to the lovely widow’s abode, neglecting for her his wife, his child and his home. He found her whose charms excited his imagination, alone. The soi-disant widow was in her boudoir; it was a great favor, to begin with, to be admitted to a tête-à-tête with her. The coquette knew how to put forth all her graces, to make the most of all her advantages, in order to complete the conquest of the young business agent; she accomplished her object with ease; weak people allow themselves to be beguiled so readily! A smile, a glance makes them amorous; and in that respect strong-minded folk often resemble their weaker brothers. A clever woman, who is not in love, artfully delays her surrender; not until she is certain of commanding, of governing her victim, does she accord her favors. With a roué, a libertine, Madame de Géran would have obtained little influence; but with a man who has never loved any woman but his wife, a coquette is sure to make rapid progress. That is why a wise woman should preferably marry a man who has sown his wild oats, for he, at least, is on his guard against seduction.

It is very certain that for a woman to make a man love her it is not always necessary that she should love him, but simply that she should pretend to. True love makes one timid, awkward, bungling, imprudent; how, with all these failings, can one be attractive? When one truly loves, one loses all one’s attractions. When a girl--observe that I mean an innocent girl--sees the man she loves enter the salon where she is surrounded by people, she instantly becomes embarrassed, pensive, distraught; the blood rises to her cheeks; speak to her and she answers incoherently; she dares not raise her eyes for fear of attracting attention; she trembles lest someone may guess what she wants; it seems to her that all eyes are fastened on her, and that everyone knows her secret. If two persons speak in low tones, she fancies that they are talking about her. The slightest thing adds to her confusion. If she is musical and is escorted to the piano, her fingers get in one another’s way and cannot touch the keys correctly. Does she sing? her voice trembles, she is afraid of putting too much meaning into the words which refer to love. Does she dance? she is afraid to dance with the man she adores; she despairs in secret if he dances with another.--Poor child! if you were not in love, or if he were not there you would recover your charm, your good spirits; you would flirt perhaps, but you would be much more attractive; and your kind girl friends would not laugh among themselves at your awkwardness and your stupidity.

In the case of a young man it is even worse, for the timidity and embarrassment which take possession of a young woman always give her a certain air of innocence and candor, which induces one to excuse her awkwardness. But a lovelorn man who sits and sulks in a corner of the salon if the woman he loves does not look at him fondly enough, who sighs without speaking when he is seated beside his charmer; who does not know what to say when an opportunity presents itself to declare his flame: such a man, it must be confessed, is far from attractive; he is laughed at in society, and she who is the cause of his blunders is often the first to make fun of him. Whereas a giddy youngster, who is not in love, who has no feeling; who takes pleasure in tormenting women, who turns sentiment into ridicule and constancy into a subject of derision--a ne’er-do-well, in a word--easily makes himself master of a heart and triumphs in a day over her for whom the shrinking and sensitive lover has sighed in vain for many years! To be sure, the ne’er-do-well is very lively, very pushing, very enterprising in a tête-à-tête! while the poor lover--The old song is quite right:

“Ah! how stupid is the man who’s in love!”

But I see many ladies fly into a rage with me and exclaim:

“What, monsieur l’auteur, you advise men not to love us sincerely? Why, that is frightful! You have outrageous principles!”

Calm yourselves, mesdames, for heaven’s sake! it must be that I did not explain my meaning clearly; I do advise men not to love you awkwardly, foolishly,--that is all; therein you yourselves will agree that I am right. A lover who can do nothing but sigh is a very uninteresting creature. I would have men make love to you with spirit and wit, when they have any; with gayety, because that adds to the charms of love; with ardor, because that does not displease you, and because life is not everlasting, and when two people suit each other, I do not see the necessity of waiting a century before telling each other so; seeing that it is as well to be happy to-day as to-morrow.

But let us drop the metaphysics of love, and return to Edouard, who was very much in love with a woman who had never been in love with anybody, and who was not likely to begin with him, whom she desired to make her slave, and whom, for that reason, she did not propose to love; for we do not put chains on the person we love, but we wear them together.

A rich and passionate young man like Edouard was a windfall to Madame de Géran, who, whatever Dufresne might say, was not so cruel as she chose to appear. If Edouard had taken the trouble to make inquiries concerning the young widow, he would have learned that his divinity had a more than equivocal reputation; that she had had intimate liaisons with a great Russian noble, a stout baronet, a contractor and a dealer in cashmere shawls; that her house was the rendezvous of young rakes, schemers and gamblers; and lastly, that no one had ever found at the Ministry of War the name of the general whose widow she claimed to be.

Edouard knew nothing of all this. He believed that he possessed a woman who gave herself to him by virtue of the bond of sympathy that drew them together; he was as proud as a peacock over a triumph which twenty other men had won before him; and he went into ecstasies over charms which he considered far superior to his wife’s; for a mistress always has a softer skin, a firmer breast and a smaller foot than a wife; which is not true three-fourths of the time; but the wives take their revenge by allowing connoisseurs to admire them.

So Edouard passed the day caressing the soft skin, the firm breast and the tiny foot of Madame de Géran, who allowed him to do as he chose because she could not resist the force of her love and the voice of her heart; at all events, that is what she told him as she received his caresses. Time passes very swiftly in such pleasant occupation. Edouard entirely forgot his house and his business. He knew that night had arrived only by the appearance of a dozen or more persons, habitués of the fascinating widow’s house, who came there every evening to play cards.

Edouard would have taken his leave, but Madame de Géran objected; she desired to keep him all the evening; moreover she owed him his revenge at écarté. Edouard remained and took his seat at a card table opposite his beloved, who played écarté with bewitching grace, as he had good reason to know.

Dufresne appeared at Madame de Géran’s during the evening; he seemed surprised to find his friend there. Edouard was then playing with a man whom he did not know. His dear widow had abandoned the game because she played with extraordinary good luck, and did not choose, she said, to take advantage of Murville’s unlucky vein. He was no more fortunate however with the little man who had taken her seat; he lost constantly, but would not stop playing, because he hoped to recoup.

Dufresne stood facing Edouard and scrutinized him in silence. A secret satisfaction was reflected on his features; he detected in his friend all the symptoms of a passion which, when once fully aroused, would know no bounds. At sight of Murville’s discomposed face, his swollen veins, his heavy breathing, it was easy to judge of the effect that the game produced on him. But, recalling the fact that the imprudent young man was the bearer of a considerable sum, and as he did not propose that it should pass into the hands of another, Dufresne went to Edouard and advised him in an undertone not to play any more. But his advice was not heeded; Murville was already experiencing the ascendancy of the fatal passion to which he had yielded; moreover, obstinacy and vanity prevented him from leaving the field.

“At all events,” said Dufresne, “if you insist on continuing to play, give me your wallet and what it still contains; you have enough money in front of you, especially as you are playing in hard luck; do not take the risk of losing such a large amount in one evening.”

From anybody else the counsel would not have been listened to; but Dufresne had acquired such empire over Murville that he unhesitatingly handed him his wallet, from which he had already taken several bank notes.

“Here,” he said in a broken voice, trying to conceal the keen emotion caused by the loss of his money, “take it. And here is the key to my apartment; go there and wait for me.”

Dufresne did not wait to have this suggestion repeated. He went to Murville’s during the evening; but the servants were so accustomed to seeing him that they paid no attention to him. He waited for Edouard far into the night, alone in his room; and at last, when he found that he did not return, he conceived the audacious scheme of stealing into Adeline’s bedroom when she was asleep. It was easy for him to do, as he had noticed where the key was kept; and we have seen how he carried out his undertaking.

As for Edouard, luck was not favorable to him. He lost all the money that he had retained, and three thousand francs more on credit. To console him, Madame de Géran kept him alone to supper. She assured him that Chevalier Desfleurets, who had won his money, was a most honorable man who would give him his revenge whenever he wished and that, as luck must turn in the end, he might expect to recover his losses sooner or later. Such convincing arguments caused Edouard to forget the petty loss he had sustained. He passed the night with his fair enslaver, who intoxicated him with love and pleasure; and it was very late when he fell asleep in her arms. He woke the next morning, poorer by ten thousand francs; that was rather a high price to pay for the favors he had obtained; but love does not calculate.

XXI

THE ROULETTE TABLE

Adeline remained for a long time crushed beneath the burden of her suffering; and several hours after Dufresne’s departure, she was still sitting, half naked, in a corner of her room, having to cover her only the clothes which she had hurriedly seized, and which she still held pressed against her breast.

It was broad daylight; the servants were going and coming in the house. Adeline arose at last and dressed herself mechanically; then sank back on the chair she had left; she no longer had any plans, desires, or hopes; she suffered, but she had ceased to think.

There came a light tap at her door; she roused herself from her depression, recalled what had happened, and awoke once more to the consciousness of her misery. She started to open the door, but paused near the threshold, detained by a sudden thought: suppose it were her husband! She felt that she could not endure his glance! she thought that he would read her shame upon her brow! Poor Adeline! you were not guilty and yet you trembled. What a contrast to what we see every day in society!

She heard a voice; it was her maid’s, asking her mistress if she might come in. Adeline took courage and opened the door.

“I beg pardon, madame,” said the servant, “but I was anxious about your health; it is very late, but you have not rung for me and you did not come down to breakfast.”

“Is it late, Marie? Has Monsieur Murville come in?”

“Yes, madame, monsieur came in a little while ago; he went to his room for a moment, then went right away again.”

“He has gone out, you say?”

“Yes, madame.”

Adeline breathed more freely; she felt less agitated; for now she dreaded the presence of the man for whom she had waited impatiently a few hours before.

Marie glanced at her mistress; she saw that she was pale and changed, and she sighed and pitied her; she thought that her husband’s conduct was the cause of Madame Murville’s grief. Servants are the first to criticise their masters’ conduct; they see everything, nothing escapes them; no man is a hero to his valet, and very few husbands are faithful in their servants’ eyes.

“Was madame sick in the night?” asked Marie at last in an undertone.

“No, no, I haven’t been sick,” replied Adeline, blushing; then she hid her face in her handkerchief and tried to restrain her sobs.

“Pardi!” rejoined the kind-hearted Marie, “madame does very wrong to grieve like this. Mon Dieu! husbands all act the same way; they seem to have a sort of rage for doing the town! You can’t keep them from it. But they get over it; and madame is so good that----”

“Leave me.”

The domestic was about to go away, but Adeline recalled her.

“Marie, did anybody come to the house last night?”

“Did anybody come--last night!” and the maid looked at her mistress in amazement, for she could not understand her question.

“Yes, did you hear anyone knock? Was there any noise?”

“If anybody knocked at night, it couldn’t be anybody but monsieur, but he did not come in; we were not disturbed, thank God! And everybody slept soundly; that isn’t surprising after the hurly-burly of the night before last; we were tired out.”