CONNUBIAL INFELICITIES.

Madame de Luceval had been listening to her friend with rapidly increasing interest and curiosity for several minutes; then, apparently unable to control her emotion any longer, she had thrown herself in Valentine's arms, exclaiming:

"I thank you, my dear, dear friend, I thank you. You have saved me!"

"Good Heavens! Florence, why do you thank me? Explain, I beg of you,"

said Madame d'Infreville, gazing at her friend with the utmost astonishment.

"You think I have lost my senses, I suppose," responded Madame de Luceval, smiling faintly. "You little know what a great service you have rendered me."

"I?"

"Yes; a great, an immense service," replied Florence, with a strange mixture of emotion, mirth, and mischievousness. "Would you believe it, when you first told me that you had a lover, I envied you as I envied you at the convent when you left it to be married. And then--why should I try to conceal it from you?--Cousin Michel's tastes and his manner of life seemed so entirely congenial to me, that I said to myself: 'This is just my idea of love. That which annoys my poor Valentine so much would, on the contrary, delight me, and I believe I should love to have a Michel myself.'"

"Florence, what are you saying?"

"Let me finish, please. I am not disposed to conceal anything from you, so I may as well tell you that, as I see stormy times ahead, and as my husband is becoming more and more insupportable, I thought it quite possible that I should require consolation for such an ill-a.s.sorted union myself at some future day."

"Oh, Florence, take care," exclaimed Valentine, in evident alarm, "if you knew--"

"If I knew?" retorted Madame de Luceval, interrupting her friend; "if I knew? Why, thanks to you, I do know, and after what you have just told me, nothing on earth could induce me to have a lover. And I verily believe, Heaven forgive me! that I would rather go to the North Pole or to the Caucasus with my husband, than subject myself to all the misery and trials and torments your lover has cost you. A lover! Great Heavens!

How wearing it would be! My natural indolence will serve in place of virtue in this instance. Each person is virtuous according to his or her ability, and provided one is virtuous, that is the essential thing, isn't it, Valentine?"

As Florence uttered these words, her expression was at once so serious and so droll, that, in spite of her own troubles, her friend could not help smiling as Madame de Luceval added:

"Ah, my poor Valentine, I do pity you, for such a life must be a h.e.l.l upon earth, as you say."

"Yes, Florence, so take my advice. Persist in your resolve, and remain faithful to your duties, no matter how onerous they may seem. Profit by my experience, I entreat you," added Valentine, tenderly. "I shall reproach myself all my life if I feel that I have put sinful ideas into your head, or encouraged you to follow my example. So promise me, Florence, my friend, my dear friend, that I shall be spared this sorrow, promise me--"

"You need have no fears on that score, Valentine. Think what it would be for a person who loves her ease as I do, to attempt to deceive a husband who is rushing in and out of my room a dozen times a day. Why, it makes my brain reel, merely to think of it. No, no; the lesson you have taught me is a good one. It will bear fruit, I a.s.sure you. But to return to the subject of your troubles. Your husband's suspicions do not seem to have been aroused as yet."

"You are mistaken about that, I fear, though I am not positive of it."

"Why do you think so?"

"As I told you, my husband spends very little time at home. He leaves the house in the morning, directly after breakfast, and is not only in the habit of dining with his mistress, but of receiving his friends at her house. Afterwards, he takes her to the theatre, returning to her home with her afterwards, where there is pretty heavy playing, people say. At all events, he seldom returns home before three or four o'clock in the morning."

"A nice life for a married man!"

"Either because he has confidence in me, or is indifferent on the subject, he seldom questions me about the way in which I spend my time; but a couple of days ago, not feeling as well as usual, he returned home about three o'clock in the afternoon. I supposed that he would be absent all day, as he told me in the morning that he would not dine at home, so I did not return from Michel's until ten in the evening."

"_Mon Dieu!_ How frightened you must have been when you heard of your husband's return. It makes me shudder to think of it!"

"I was so terrified that I at first thought I would not even go up to my own room, but run out of the house and never come back."

"That is what I should have done, I am sure. Still, I don't know--"

"At last I summoned up all my courage, and went up-stairs. The doctor was there, and M. d'Infreville was suffering so much that he scarcely addressed a word to me. I nursed him all night with hypocritical zeal.

When he became easier, he asked me why I had absented myself from home so long, and where I had been. I had been preparing an answer, for I knew the question would come sooner or later, so I told him I had been spending the day with you, as I did quite frequently, since he had left me so much of the time alone. He seemed to believe me, and even pretended to approve, remarking that he knew M. de Luceval by reputation, and was glad to hear of my intimacy with his wife. I thought I was saved, but last night I learned, through my maid, that my husband had questioned her very adroitly, evidently for the purpose of finding out if I was often absent from home. My apprehensions became so grave that, resolved to escape from such an intolerable position at any cost, I went to Michel this morning, and said: 'I am going to confess all to my mother; tell her that my husband has grave suspicions, and that there is nothing left for me but to flee. I shall not return to my husband's house. My mother and I will leave Paris this evening for Brussels. You can join us there if you wish, and the remains of your fortune, and what I can earn by my needle, will suffice for our support. However poor and laborious our life may be, I shall be spared the terrible necessity of lying every day, and of living in a state of continual suspense and terror."

"And he consented?"

"He!" exclaimed Valentine, bitterly. "What a fool I was to count upon any such display of firmness on his part! He gazed at me a moment as if stupefied, then a.s.sured me that my resolution was absurd in the extreme; that persons resorted to such extreme measures only when they were absolutely compelled to do so; that it would probably be a comparatively easy matter to allay my husband's suspicions, and he finally suggested my asking you to write that letter."

"Perhaps he was right, after all, in advising you not to flee, as much for your sake as his own, for you are not in such very desperate straits, after all, it seems to me."

"Florence, I feel a presentiment that--"

But Madame d'Infreville never finished the sentence.

The door of the room was suddenly burst open, and M. de Luceval and M.

d'Infreville presented themselves to the astonished gaze of Florence and Valentine.

"I am lost!" the latter exclaimed, overwhelmed with terror. Then, covered with shame at the sight of M. de Luceval, she buried her face in her hands.

Florence hastily sprang to her friend's side as if to protect her, and said to M. de Luceval, imperiously:

"What is your business here?"

"I have come to convict you of falsehood, and of a disgraceful complicity with an evil-doer, madame," responded M. de Luceval, threateningly.

"I have discovered that Madame d'Infreville has been absenting herself from her home for entire days for some time past, madame," added the other husband, turning to Florence. "Yesterday I asked Madame d'Infreville where she had spent the day. She told me she had spent it at your house. This letter of yours, madame (he held it up as he spoke), written at the instigation of my wife and with the intention of making me the dupe of an infamous falsehood, happened to fall into M. de Luceval's hands. He has sworn, and I believe him, that he has never once seen Madame d'Infreville here. Under such circ.u.mstances, madame, I can hardly believe that you will insist any longer that the contrary is the truth."

"Yes, madame," exclaimed M. de Luceval, "such an admission on your part will not only convict a guilty woman, but at the same time serve as a just punishment for your own shameless complicity."

"All I have to say, monsieur, is that Madame d'Infreville is, and always will be, my best friend," responded Florence, resolutely; "and the more unhappy she is, the more she can count upon my devoted affection."

"What, madame!" exclaimed M. de Luceval; "is it possible that you dare--"

"Yes; and I also dare to tell M. d'Infreville that his conduct towards his wife has been both disgraceful and heartless."

"Enough, madame, enough!" cried M. de Luceval, deeply exasperated.

"No, monsieur, it is not enough," retorted Florence. "I still have to remind M. d'Infreville that he is in my house, and that as he knows now what I think of him, he must realise that his presence is an intrusion here."

"You are right, madame; I have heard too much already," retorted M.

d'Infreville, with a sardonic smile.

Then taking his wife roughly by the arm, he said:

"Come with me, madame."

The terrified woman, crushed by the burden of her shame, rose mechanically, with her face still buried in her hands.

"My mother, oh, my mother!" she murmured, despairingly.

"I will not desert you, Valentine!" exclaimed Florence, springing towards her friend.