"Why, I think so----"

"Ah! you are not perfectly sure!"

"When one is inclined to love pa.s.sionately, madame, if he sees that his pa.s.sion is not reciprocated, don't you think that that should suffice to lessen his ardor?"

"No, monsieur, I do not think so; I think that when one is really in love, it is not so easy to banish from one's heart the object of one's love. In short, it is my opinion that love is not to be reasoned with, and that when you come to the point where you begin to reason you have ceased to love. But, upon my word, this is a strange conversation; one would think that we had to write an essay on the proper way to love.--Have you produced a new play or written a new novel since I saw you?"

"No, madame, no; I have done nothing."

"You have been lazy, eh? Fie! that's very bad!"

"No, I haven't been lazy; but I have been preoccupied--which is by no means the same thing, and is a much greater hindrance to work."

"You know Monsieur Lucien Grischard, do you not, monsieur?"

"I do, madame; but how did you know?"

"Oh! in the most natural way; this Monsieur Lucien knows--indeed, I may say that he is courting a young lady who is my most intimate friend, Mademoiselle Juliette Mirotaine."

"Yes, he is very much in love with her, and would like to marry her; he has told me that."

"And Juliette has no secrets from me; she is very fond of this Lucien, whom her father refuses to allow her to marry. She has told me all her sorrows."

"Very good; but I don't quite see where I come in."

Nathalie blushed, hesitated, and finally replied:

"If my friend tells me everything that interests her, do you not think, monsieur, that I should do as much? That accident of mine--which, but for you, might have been so disastrous to me--I told her about that, and naturally I told her the name of the person who had--burned himself in his efforts to put out the fire. When she heard your name, which is so well known, she cried: 'That gentleman is a friend of Lucien!'--And that is how I knew that you know him. Is that explanation satisfactory, monsieur?"

"Ah! madame, it is a thousand times too kind of you to give it to me; my reason for asking was to find out whether you had remembered me."

"It would have been very ungrateful on my part to forget you so soon."

"Mon Dieu! madame, a very clever man has said: 'Ingrat.i.tude is independence of the heart!'--That is rather sad, but it is more or less true."

"No, monsieur; ingrat.i.tude simply proves that one has no heart."

The conversation was prolonged to a great length between those two, who understood each other so well even when they were silent. But Adhemar was afraid of presuming too far, as it was his first visit; so he took his leave of Madame Dermont at last, saying:

"Will you allow me to come to see you again?"

Nathalie accorded him that permission with such a pleasant smile that it was impossible to doubt the pleasure it afforded her to give it.

As he left the pretty widow's presence, Adhemar said to himself:

"That is a most charming woman; I feel that I should soon love her dearly. Perhaps it would be wiser for me not to see her again; for, if I yield to the temptation to love her in good earnest, she will do like the rest, she will deceive me and make me unhappy. But I am arguing as if she were already my mistress! What right have I to think that she will love me, that she will yield to me? But something tells me that she will. Well, after all, why should I be afraid to be happy when the opportunity offers? 'We must love!' said Jean-Jacques; 'we must love!'

said Voltaire.--That is the only subject, I fancy, on which those two famous men agreed. So we must not repulse love when it tries to steal into our hearts; and even though it should cause us more pain than pleasure, that is better than not to love at all."

Madame Dermont did not say all that to herself, but she yielded to the impulse of her heart, which disposed her to love Adhemar; his personality attracted her, and even before she knew him she loved him for what he had written. Now that she knew him, it gave her pleasure to hear him talk; a secret sympathy drew her toward him, and, despite his low opinion of women, she did not try to combat the love which was taking possession of her heart; she hoped to compel him in the end to do justice to her s.e.x; for, as she was not fickle in her tastes, she could not understand how all women could be frivolous and inconstant.

It caused her great joy, therefore, to hear Adhemar ask permission to call upon her again; and if she was unable to conceal the pleasure that request afforded her, it was because she was not a coquette and did not attempt to hide her real feelings beneath a feigned indifference.

X

THE DUBOTTe HOUSEHOLD

It is time for us to turn our attention to that husband whom his wife adored--a state of affairs which is sometimes seen, but which is of uncommon occurrence none the less. And instead of manifesting his grat.i.tude for that conjugal adoration, and for the loving caresses which his wife lavished upon him, by graceful little attentions and amiable behavior, the husband in question seemed, on the contrary, fatigued, annoyed, bored, by madame's caresses; indeed, he sometimes evaded them on the most frivolous pretexts. For men are made that way; and if their wives deceived them, they would fall in love with them again. Poor, weak mortals! who complain when you possess, and complain even more loudly when you have ceased to possess! You are never content, and it is so with everything! As for myself, ever since I was born, I have constantly heard men complain of their plight in love, in politics, and in business; I have always found people discontented; and, at all periods of time, and under all governments, I have heard merchants and tradesmen say: "Everything is at a standstill; there's nothing doing; business is wretched!" and other complaints of the same sort, which do not prevent business from going on as usual--some making their fortunes, others becoming insolvent, as in all times.

After the hurried exit of the false Italian count and the commission merchant in sugar, the remainder of Monsieur Mirotaine's guests were, as may be imagined, in a state of much confusion and excitement; those who had been present at the dinner, and were aware of its object, looked at one another without speaking; but those who had come for only the evening plied the host and his wife with innumerable questions; while they as persistently questioned Dubotte, who had laid bare the fraud.

"But are you quite sure, my dear Dubotte," said Mirotaine, "that this pretended Count Miflores is really one Seringat?"

"Perfectly sure; Seringat, apothecary at Pontoise. I pa.s.sed nearly two months in that city, where I went to receive a legacy.--You remember, Nonore?"

"Oh! I should say so! I was unhappy enough while you were away; I did nothing but cry!"

"You cry far too much when I am away, my dear love; you must cure yourself of that habit, or it will make your eyes as red as a rabbit's.--As I was saying, during my stay at Pontoise I met Monsieur Seringat in society several times."

"And he is married?"

"Very well married; to a very pretty woman, who, I am sure, does not amuse herself weeping when her husband is away. I had the pleasure of dancing with her at a party given by the notary of the town."

"Ah! you bad man! you danced when I wasn't there!"

"My dear love, if when a man is married he is debarred from tripping the light fantastic except with his wife, it would be enough to disgust men with marriage forever! You absolutely refuse to realize that although a man has a wife he is none the less bound to be always polite and agreeable to other women. I have told you that a hundred times!"

"And what about his wife?"

"Parbleu! his wife has the same rights! And, above all things, she ought not to do as you do--keep herself in her husband's pocket all the time.

Why, it's beastly form; it's as vulgar as the devil! You really must cure yourself of that; I don't want you to be vulgar."

"But," continued Monsieur Mirotaine, "I cannot see what motive this Monsieur Seringat can have had to present himself in a respectable house, under a name which doesn't belong to him, and as a man who desires to marry?"

"He told you that he desired to marry?"

"He didn't breathe a word of it," said Aldegonde, "and he didn't make a single effort to talk with Juliette."

"Then why do you say that he wants to marry; for, unless his wife is dead--and that seems to me most improbable, as she was young, and as fresh as a rose----"

"You noticed that, Philemon?"

"Oh! my dear love, don't comment in this way on every word I say, I beg you! I have noticed many other women since."

"Ah! you villain! And what about me?"