"Oh! you always flatter me, Monsieur Dulac."

"No, madame; on my honor, you are a remarkable musician."

I walked about the salon several times; then I asked Eugenie:

"Why is not Henriette here?"

"Because she is playing in my room, I presume. Do you suppose, monsieur, that I can always attend to her? A girl who will soon be four years old can play alone."

I sat down to listen to the music, but in five minutes my wife said that she was tired and left the piano. Monsieur Dulac talked a few minutes, then took his leave. My wife returned to her room, and I to my study, saying to myself that I must have seemed like a donkey to that man.

When I was alone I blushed at the suspicions that had pa.s.sed through my head. In spite of that I became more constant in my attendance on my wife. I did not leave to others the duty of escorting her to parties; I went with her myself. But, as the time of her delivery drew near, Eugenie went about less. b.a.l.l.s were abandoned, receptions less frequented, and even music was somewhat neglected. At last the moment arrived, and I became the father of a boy.

Nothing can describe my joy, my intoxication; I had a boy! I myself ran about to announce it everywhere; and among my visits I did not forget Ernest and his wife, for I knew that they would share my delight. They embraced me and congratulated me; they adored their children, so that they understood my feeling.

My mother was my son's G.o.dmother, with a distant kinsman of my wife. I gave him the name of Eugene and we put him out to nurse at Livry with the same peasant woman who had taken our daughter, and whose trade it was always to have a supply of milk.

Eugenie seemed pleased to have a son, although her joy was less expansive than mine. Our acquaintances came to see us; Monsieur Dulac was not one of the last. That young man seemed to share my pleasure so heartily that I was touched. I had totally forgotten the ideas that had pa.s.sed through my mind a few months before; I could not understand how I had been able to doubt my Eugenie's fidelity for an instant.

Belan also came to see me. He was satisfied now concerning his Armide's virtue. She had demonstrated to him that she had arranged to meet the marquis on the new boulevards to go begging for the benefit of the poor; and her reason for doing it secretly was that her modesty would have suffered too much if people had known of all that she did for the relief of her fellow-creatures. Belan had humbled himself before his charitable better half; he went about everywhere extolling his wife's n.o.ble deeds; he was no longer afraid of being betrayed. So much the better for him. I congratulated him and bowed him out just when he seemed to be on the point of mentioning Monsieur Dulac again. I gave him to understand that I did not like evil tongues and that I should take it very ill of anybody who tried to disturb the peace of my household.

No, I certainly would not be jealous again. I blushed to think that I had been for a single instant. If Eugenie was no longer the same with me as in the first months of our wedded life, it was doubtless because we are not permitted to enjoy such happiness forever. Enjoyment, if it does not entirely extinguish love, certainly diminishes its piquancy; when one can gratify one's desires as soon as they are formed, one does not form so many. And yet Ernest and Marguerite were still like lovers! To be sure, they were not married. Could it be that the idea that they could leave each other at any minute was the consideration that kept their love from growing old?

When she had entirely recovered her health, Eugenie's taste for society revived; she paid little attention to her daughter, and that distressed me. For our Henriette was fascinating. I pa.s.sed hours talking with her, and those hours pa.s.sed much more rapidly than those which I was obliged to spend at evening parties.

I suggested going to see my son at Livry. My wife declared that he was too small, that we must wait until his features had become more formed.

But I did not choose to wait any longer; I longed to embrace my little Eugene, so I hired a horse one morning, and went to the nurse's house.

My son seemed to me a fascinating little fellow; I recognized his mother's features in his. I embraced him, but I sighed; something was lacking to my happiness. I felt that it was wrong of Eugenie not to have desired to embrace her son.

The nurse asked me if my wife was sick. The good people thought that she must be sick because she had failed to accompany me.

"Yes, she is not feeling very well," I said to the nurse.

"Oh well! as soon as she's all right again, I'm sure that madame will want to come too."

"Yes, we will come together the next time."

I pa.s.sed several hours beside my son's cradle. As I drove back to Paris, I indulged in reflections which were not cheerful. In vain did I try to excuse Eugenie, I felt that her conduct was not what it should be, and it distressed me to feel that she was in the wrong.

I reached home at six o'clock. Madame was not there; she had gone to dine with Madame Dorcelles. She was one of her school friends whom she had met again in society; one of those dissipated, coquettish women, who consider it perfectly natural to see their husbands only by chance, when they dine with him. I did not like that woman, and I had told Eugenie so and had requested her not to see too much of her; and she went to dine at her house!

She had not taken her daughter. My little Henriette ran out to embrace me, with outstretched arms! How could Eugenie take any pleasure, away from her daughter? I could not understand it.

"Didn't your mamma take you?" I asked the child, taking her on my knee.

"No, papa."

"Did you cry when she went away?"

"Yes, papa, I cried."

"Poor child! you cried, and your mother left you behind!"

"But mamma told me that if I was very good she would bring me a cake; so then I stopped crying."

"Did anybody come to see your mamma to-day?"

"Yes, you know, that gentleman who plays music with mamma, and who gives me sweeties."

"Monsieur Dulac?"

"Yes."

"And did you stay with your mamma while she was playing music?"

"No, because mamma said that I was making too much noise; she sent me to play in the hall with my doll."

I felt a weight at my heart; and for a long time I was silent. Evidently my little Henriette divined that I was unhappy, for she looked timidly at me and said nothing. I kissed her lovingly, and then she smiled again.

Where could Eugenie be? That Madame Dorcelles did not receive that evening; at least, I thought that it was not her day. At all events, I did not choose to go to her house; I suspected that woman of giving Eugenie very bad advice, and I might let my ill humor appear. It was much better not to go there.

But why should I always hold myself in check? Why should I not tell my wife frankly what my feelings were? In order to have peace, to avoid quarrels. But in order to have peace, should a man let his wife make a fool of herself and do rash things, if nothing worse? No, I determined to tell Eugenie all that I had on my mind.

Perhaps those ladies had gone to the play. I went out, after kissing Henriette again and handing her over to her nurse. Where should I go? At what theatre should I look for them? I went into the Varietes, the Gymnase, and the Porte-Saint-Martin. And I remembered that I had met Eugenie there on the day following Giraud's ball, at which I saw her for the first time. My eyes turned toward the box in which she sat that evening. Ah! how glad I would have been to go back to that time! How madly in love I was! I still loved her as dearly! but she----

The time pa.s.ses quickly when one is engrossed by souvenirs of the past.

The play came to an end unnoticed by me. I was aroused from my reflections by seeing that everybody had gone; whereupon I understood that I must do likewise. I returned home. As I approached the house, I saw a gentleman and lady standing at the door, and I thought that I recognized my wife. I stepped behind one of the trees on the boulevard, where I could see them better. Yes, it was my wife and Monsieur Dulac.

He had brought her home. But they talked together a very long time! He took her hand and did not release it. Why did he hold her hand like that? When a man holds a woman's hand so long, it means that he is making love to her. I remembered very clearly that that was what I used to do; and that I used to bestow a loving pressure upon the hand that I held in mine. He was pressing my wife's hand, no doubt, and she did not withdraw it! That idea maddened me, I could no longer restrain myself, and I walked rapidly toward them. They dropped each other's hands; Dulac bowed ceremoniously, then exclaimed:

"Ah! here is Monsieur Blemont! I have brought madame home; she deigned to accept my arm. Good-night, madame; pray receive my respects."

He bowed and walked away; I do not know whether I made any answer to him. I pushed my wife into the house and we went upstairs without exchanging a word. When we reached our apartment, madame entered her bedroom, and I followed her. I paced the floor a long while without speaking. I wanted to see whether she would ask me about my son, for she must have guessed that I had been to Livry. But she did not say a word; she simply began to arrange her hair in curl papers.

I could stand it no longer. I went to her and said:

"Where have you been to-day, madame?"

"Why, wherever I chose, monsieur. I believe that I am not in the habit of asking you where you go!"

"That is no argument, madame, and I have the right to ask you for an account of your actions."

"Oho! a right! I had that right too, but when I undertook to exert it, it did not succeed!"

"I don't know what you mean, madame. However, you do not answer my question."

"I have been to dine with Madame Dorcelles; there was no mystery about it; I told the nurse, and I thought that you would call there for me."

"You could not think that I would go to the house of a woman whom I do not like; and you must have known too that you would not please me by dining with this Madame Dorcelles, who has the reputation of being a flirt and not a respectable mother of a family."