Le Cocu Part 56

While these ideas flitted through my mind, Caroline pushed me toward the chair in which Eugenie was sitting, saying:

"Well! for heaven's sake, monsieur, do you propose to stand there without budging? Oh! how awkward men are under some circ.u.mstances!"

We carried the chair to the window, and someone brought salts.

"Hold the lady's head," said Caroline to me. "Come this way. Upon my word, I don't know what you can be thinking about to-night, but you act as if you did not hear me.--Poor woman! how pale she is! But she is pretty, for all that, isn't she? Tell me, don't you think her pretty?"

"Yes, mademoiselle."

"I am very lucky to be able to get that out of you. Ah! she is coming to herself."

Eugenie opened her eyes. She seemed to be trying to collect her thoughts. At last she looked slowly about her, and I was the first person whom she saw. She instantly lowered her eyes and put her hand to her forehead.

"You frightened me terribly, madame," said Caroline. "How do you feel now?"

"Thank you, mademoiselle, it was an attack of vertigo; I am better. But I would like to go back to my room."

As she spoke, she tried to rise, but fell back in her chair, faltering:

"I feel quite helpless!"

"Pray stay with us; this will pa.s.s away; it comes from the nerves. You will be comfortable by the window. Solitude causes ennui, and ennui increases one's suffering. Isn't that so, Monsieur Dalbreuse?--Well! he isn't listening to me; I can't imagine what is the matter with him to-night."

While Caroline was speaking, I had walked away from Eugenie's chair. She remained seated there, with her face turned toward the window; she did not look into the salon again.

"I never had an ill turn but once in my life," said Monsieur Roquencourt, "and that was caused by the heat. I had agreed to play the part of Arlequin in _Colombine Mannequin_; I was not very anxious to do it, for I dreaded the mask; but the company begged so hard that I had to yield. It was Madame la Marquise de Crezieux who played Colombine. A fascinating woman, on my word! I had a weakness for her. When I saw her as Colombine, she looked so pretty, that I made it a point of honor to do my best, and I played Arlequin magnificently. I performed a thousand capers and tricks; I was a regular cat! At the end of the play they threw flowers to me; the audience was in transports, in delirium! But I, bless my soul! I could stand it no longer! I fell when I reached the wings; and if they hadn't torn my mask off at once, it would have been all over with me; I should have suffocated!"

Several persons went to Eugenie to ask her how she felt. I did not hear her replies, but she did not move.

She was afraid of meeting my eyes again, no doubt, if she turned her head. She had not brought her daughter with her. What a pity! And yet, if she had brought her, should I have been able to conceal my affection?

Ah! I felt that I had remained there too long! I should have returned to Paris to see my daughter long before.

For several moments the conversation had lagged; some persons were talking together in undertones, but there was no animation. The old gentleman who had remained in a corner, with his newspaper in his hand, deemed the moment favorable, and drew his chair toward the centre of the room, saying:

"Gentlemen and ladies, I believe that we were talking just now of the trial which is reported in the Gazette des Tribunaux, which I have in my hand; in fact, I was about to read what the paper says, when someone went to bring madame here. I imagine that you will not be sorry to hear the report now, and I will begin. Hum! hum!"

"It is very hard to read well," said Monsieur Roquencourt; "we have many authors who don't know how to read their works. Larive was the one who could read well; yes, he read perfectly! For my part, when I had a letter to read on the stage, I would not have the prompter give me a single word! But once a very amusing thing happened to me. It was in _L'Etourdi_, I believe."

"Monsieur," said the old gentleman angrily, coming forward with his newspaper, "do you or do you not wish me to read you the Gazette?"

"Oh! beg pardon! Read on, I pray you. I will tell you my story afterward; it will make you laugh."

I was on thorns. Was I to be compelled to listen to the report of that trial? And yet, was it not the beginning of my revenge? Eugenie would suffer terribly on listening to all those details. But it seemed to me that I should suffer as much as she. The pitiless reader had unfolded the journal and put on his spectacles; we could not escape him.

"'A case, of common enough occurrence in its general character, but very interesting in its details, and in the course of the trial----'"

"You have read us that, monsieur."

"That is so; let us come to the trial. 'Monsieur Belan seeks to obtain a divorce from his wife Armide de Beausire, for infidelity. The facts which led Monsieur----'"

At the first words that he read, I watched Eugenie; she tried to rise and leave the room; but she had taken only a few steps when a low groan escaped from her lips, her limbs stiffened, and she fell at Mademoiselle Derbin's feet.

"It is a nervous attack!" people exclaimed on all sides; "she is very ill; we must take her to her room."

Several of the gentlemen offered their a.s.sistance; Eugenie was taken from the room, and Caroline followed. I remained there, and walked to the window. That sight, that groan which I seemed still to hear, had rent my very soul. I felt that I desired no more revenge at that price.

I would leave that very night. I did not wish to kill her. If it depended only upon me, she would speedily be cured. People went and came in the salon. Some discussed that second swoon; others went to inquire about the invalid's condition. The old gentleman alone had returned to his corner, with an ill-humored scowl, and had put his paper in his pocket.

Caroline returned at last and everybody crowded about her. "The lady is a little better," she said, "but really I am afraid that all the waters of Mont-d'Or will not restore her health."

"I say, I can guess what caused that second fainting fit," said the young man who had mentioned Eugenie before. "Poor Madame Blemont! That is the lady's name----"

"Yes, I remember that the landlady called her so. Well! you were saying that the lady----"

"She was very unfortunate in her marriage; her husband left her, deserted her; she probably thought of all that, when she heard something about a husband bringing a suit against his wife."

"What, monsieur!" said Caroline; "that lady has been deserted by her husband?"

"Yes, mademoiselle; I have seen her several times at parties in Paris. I recognized her at once, although she is greatly changed."

"And her husband?"

"I did not know him; it seems that he was a monster! a gambler, dissipated and jealous--all the vices, in short; he left his poor little wife with two children on her hands, a boy and a girl."

"Oh! mon Dieu! There are some shameless men! That young woman has such a sweet and amiable manner! Certainly she is well adapted to make any man happy who is able to appreciate her! and perhaps she still loves him; for we are so soft-hearted, we cannot hate you, even when you most deserve it! Uncle, I certainly shall never marry."

Having said this, Caroline looked at me as if to read in my eyes what I thought about it. But I looked away and did not say a word.

Everybody prepared to retire. We bowed to one another and said good-night. Suddenly I felt a hand on my arm; it was Caroline, who said to me with an offended air:

"So it seems that I must wish you good-night this evening, monsieur! You can certainly flatter yourself that you have made yourself very unpleasant!"

That reproach brought me to my senses; I reflected that I proposed to go away before dawn, and that perhaps this was the last time that I should see Mademoiselle Derbin; so I stepped forward to take her hand; but she drew it back, saying in an offhand tone:

"I do not forgive so quickly; to-morrow we will see whether you deserve that I should make peace with you."

She left me, and I returned to my room. I felt that I must go away, that I must leave that house, that town. I felt that I could not endure to be in Eugenie's presence; moreover, she was ill and I must have compa.s.sion for her. But why had she come to disturb the happiness which I was enjoying in that spot? I had almost forgotten the past, Mademoiselle Derbin was so attractive! But after all, I should have had to leave her a little sooner or a little later. Suppose that she should find out that I was that Blemont, that man who was called a monster in society!--How they abused me! But that did not offend me in the least; on the contrary, I was overjoyed that people were deceived; I would rather be looked upon as a scoundrel than to air my grievances before the courts, like Belan. Poor Belan! I suspected that he would come to that.--But Caroline believed that I was a bachelor; an additional reason for going away. What could I hope for from that acquaintance? To have a friend?

Oh, no! at Caroline's age, a husband is what is wanted; love is the essential sentiment; friends.h.i.+p is not enough for a heart of twenty-four years. She would eventually fall in with the man whom she was looking for, and she would forget me as quickly as she had made my acquaintance. And I--oh! as soon as I had my daughter in my arms, I was quite certain that I should forget the whole world.

"I will call Pettermann," I thought, "and send him to the post-house to order horses, and tell him to pack our trunks."

I called my faithful companion several times, but I received no reply.

He was not in the habit of going to bed before I did. I went up to his room, but he was not there. I asked the people in the hotel if they had seen him; a maid-servant remembered that about noon he had gone into a small cabinet adjoining a building at the end of the garden, and that he had had brought to him there, with an abundant luncheon, several bottles of Burgundy. She a.s.sured me that he had not come out since morning. I remembered then that it was the first of the month, the day which Pettermann ordinarily selected to divert himself; so I guessed what he was doing in the cabinet. I requested the maid to show me the way. We went with a light toward the building which the ex-tailor had selected for his celebration.

We saw no light through the window, so we went in. Pettermann, who evidently was as conscientious about getting completely drunk once a month, as in keeping sober the rest of the time, was stretched out, dead drunk, by the table, at the foot of a bench upon which he was probably sitting when he was able to sit erect.

"Mon Dieu! is he dead?" cried the servant; "he doesn't move!"

"No, don't be alarmed, he is only drunk; and as that happens only once a month now, he doesn't get drunk by halves. What an unfortunate chance, when I wanted to go away to-night."