"Alas, yes! but apparently it may be that one is well off and does not realize it."

"I trust that I shall never have the experience."

I do not know how it happened that at that moment Caroline's hand was under mine. She did not take it away, and we sat thus for a long while, paying no heed to what was taking place in the salon. But the touch of that hand reminded me of Eugenie and of the time when I was paying court to her. Doubtless Caroline had no suspicion that the pressure of her hand made me think of another woman, and that it was that which made me pensive. But we very often deceive ourselves with respect to the sensations which we arouse. And the thing which flatters our self-esteem would sometimes cause us naught but vexation if we knew its real cause.

Suddenly the door of the salon was noisily opened and someone entered, talking very loud and making a great uproar. I turned, for whenever anyone entered the salon, I felt a thrill of uneasiness.

"This is the gentleman from Paris, no doubt," said Caroline.

I looked at the newcomer, who was just saluting the company; it was Belan!

He had already turned in our direction; he bowed to Mademoiselle Derbin, and, in spite of the signals that I made to him, exclaimed when he saw me:

"I am not mistaken! it is Blemont! dear Blemont, whom I have not seen for two years! Ah! my dear friend, embrace me!"

He opened his arms; it seemed to me that I could choke him with great good will. All eyes were turned upon us. I could not conceal my embarra.s.sment, my irritation. Belan seized me and embraced me in spite of myself, still exclaiming:

"Dear Blemont! how pleasant it is to meet a friend when travelling, isn't it?"

"Hum! may the devil take----"

"What's that? He has not yet got over his surprise."

Caroline, her attention attracted by the name of Blemont, gazed steadfastly at me and said to Belan:

"Why, are you not mistaken, monsieur? It is Monsieur Dalbreuse whom you are speaking to. Am I not right, monsieur? Pray answer!"

I did not know what to say. Belan rejoined:

"So his name is Dalbreuse now? Faith, my dear fellow, I never knew you by that name, but I understand--ah! the rascal!--it was when he left his wife that he changed his name, in order to play the bachelor."

"His wife!" cried Caroline.

"His wife!" several others repeated.

"Monsieur," I said, with great difficulty restraining my anger, "who requested you to go into details which concern n.o.body but me?"

"Mon Dieu! I had no idea that it was a secret, my dear Blemont; and then, I have just met your wife in the garden; and now I find you here; so I suppose that it's all settled, that you have come together again, and----"

"That is enough, monsieur."

"Your wife in the garden! what! is she your wife?" said Caroline, under her breath.

I lowered my eyes. At that moment I wished that the earth would open and conceal me from every eye; I heard people saying on all sides:

"He is the sick woman's husband!"

Belan, observing my embarra.s.sment and the effect his words had produced in the salon, gazed at me with a stupid expression, muttering:

"If you are angry, I am very sorry; but I could not guess! you ought to have warned me. Of course you know what has happened to me? Parbleu!

there is no mystery about that; my case was reported in the Gazette des Tribunaux a few days ago. I am--oh! it is all over; I am--I don't care to say the word before these ladies. But see how unlucky I am! the court has decided that there were no proofs; it condemns me to continue to live with my wife, and insists that I am not a cuckold.--Bless my soul!

the word slipped out after all!"

"Cuckold!" repeated several young men with a laugh. "Can it be that monsieur is the Monsieur Ferdinand Belan of whom the Gazette des Tribunaux had something to say recently?"

"I am the man, messieurs: Julien-Ferdinand Belan, who sought a divorce from Armide-Constance-Fidele de Beausire. They have condemned me to keep my wife, but I shall appeal. I am certain that I am a cuckold; my judges were bribed."

They surrounded Belan, they examined him, exchanging smiles, and questioning him. The result was that attention was diverted from me. I took advantage of that fact, and without raising my eyes, without noticing Caroline's condition, I hurried from the salon.

I went up to my room, I sent for Pettermann, and ordered him to make everything ready for our departure. I determined to go away at the earliest possible moment. Ah! how I regretted that I had not followed my plan of the day before! If I had gone then, I should have avoided that scene, and no one would know--But I should never see all those people again. And Caroline--and her uncle--in what aspect should I appear to their eyes? As a villain, a schemer perhaps! people always form a bad opinion of a man who conceals his name. That infernal Belan! what fatal chance led him where I was?

I went downstairs to pay my bill. I determined to return to Paris by post, and not to stop _en route_, for fear of other encounters. The landlady was very sorry, she said, at my sudden departure; but I paid her and ordered my horses.

While I was waiting for the post-chaise to be made ready, and the horses to arrive, I paced the courtyard of the hotel in great agitation. I did not wish to go into the garden, for fear of meeting Madame Blemont, who, Belan said, was there alone; I did not wish to return to the house either, for I feared to meet someone from the salon. So I sat down on a stone bench in a corner of the courtyard. It was dark and I could not be seen from the house. I abandoned myself to my thoughts; there were some persons there whom I regretted to leave, but I tried to console myself by thinking that I was going back to my daughter, and that I should soon see her.

Someone pa.s.sed me; it was a woman. She stopped, then walked toward me.

Had she seen me? Yes, she came to where I was and sat down beside me. It was Caroline! I could not see her features; but from her tremulousness of voice and her hurried breathing, I divined her agitation.

"I was looking for you, monsieur; I wanted to speak with you."

"And I myself, mademoiselle, was distressed that I was unable to bid you adieu. But I am waiting for the post horses; I am going away."

"Going away? I suspected as much. You are right, monsieur; indeed, you should have gone away before. I am very sorry that I detained you this morning. Ah! I can understand now why you wished to shun Madame Blemont's presence! So it is true, monsieur, that you are her husband?"

"Yes, mademoiselle."

"You are married, and you concealed it from me, and you--oh! your behavior has been shocking! I hate you, I detest you, as much as I esteemed and liked you before. You are married! Why didn't you tell me so, monsieur?"

"As I had ceased to live with my wife, it seemed to me, mademoiselle, that I was at liberty to----"

"At liberty, yes, of course you were at liberty. What do you care for the distress, the torture you may cause others? Perhaps you laugh at it in secret. I see that there was no mistake in what people said of you.

And yet the portrait was not flattering. However, you must have heard it yourself yesterday. Was it the truth, monsieur?"

"Yes, mademoiselle."

"So you abandoned your wife without cause, without lawful reason?"

"Yes, mademoiselle."

"And you saw her condition, her suffering--and it did not touch you? you did not throw yourself at her feet and ask her pardon for your wrongdoing?--Oh! you are a monster!"

She put her handkerchief to her eyes, and wept and sobbed. I could do nothing but sigh and hold my peace. At last she continued:

"You must go back to your wife, monsieur; it is your duty. Won't you do it? Remember what an effect the sight of you had upon her! Poor woman!

how far I was from suspecting! And that does not make you repent of your conduct? Mon Dieu! your heart is pitiless! Ah! I had not formed that opinion of you.--But, Monsieur Dalbreuse--that name alone comes to my mind--promise me, swear to me that you will go back to your wife."

"No, mademoiselle, I cannot make you a promise which I have no intention of keeping. We are parted forever."

"Forever! In that case, monsieur, I must bid you adieu, and forever also; it would not be proper for me to see again a man who has represented himself to be what he is not. You had not enough confidence in me to tell me.--But, after all, what could he have told me? That he had abandoned his wife and children. Oh, no! such a confidence would have aroused my indignation; it was much better to be agreeable, to try to please me, to conceal the fact that he was bound for life; for that is the way you behaved toward me. And yet, monsieur, if I had loved you, if I had allowed myself to be seduced by these deceitful appearances, would you have made me unhappy too?--Well! why don't you answer me, monsieur?"