Part 31 (1/2)

After shattering my portrait, Eugenie dropped into a chair as if exhausted by the transport of pa.s.sion to which she had yielded. I fancied even that I could detect in her eyes some feeling of shame for what she had done. Thereupon I rose and gazed sadly at the shattered fragments of my portrait; then, glancing at my wife, I left the room without saying a word to her. I left the house. I have no idea where I went. I had not dined, but it was my turn not to be hungry. I could still see Eugenie trampling upon my portrait, and it seemed to me that she could no longer love me, that her love and her fidelity were attached to that image for which she no longer cared.

I realized that I must be a man rather than a lover, for love does not last forever, but manliness sustains us throughout our whole life. While reasoning thus with myself, I sighed profoundly, for I still adored Eugenie; after all, jealousy is a proof of love, they say: my wife would come to herself and I would forgive her. But the breaking of my portrait, my work, which should have reminded her of the delicious sittings, when she was beside me--Ah! that was very wicked! and I should have difficulty in forgiving her for that.

I walked a long while; at last I found myself in my old street; I believe that our legs have an instinct of their own, and that they lead us toward the places which they have often traversed.

Suppose I should go to see Ernest and his wife, I thought, to divert my mind from my troubles? They were my only friends, and would gladly share my sorrows. However, I would not tell them of my woes, but I would forget them in their company. So I betook myself to Rue du Temple.

The concierge told me that they were at home. I went up. Madame Ernest admitted me and ushered me into her room, saying:

”By what miracle have you come in the evening, monsieur? It is seldom enough that we see you even in the morning. Ernest is at the theatre, but he promised to return early.”

The little woman gave me a seat and then resumed her work. We talked, or rather she talked; she talked of Ernest, of his work, of his success, of their mode of life. I enjoyed listening to her. While she was speaking, I looked at her, and it seemed like one of the evenings which I used to pa.s.s in her attic room. Marguerite was still the same, and in my thoughts I loved to call her by that name still.

Suddenly she stopped and said to me:

”I am doing all the talking. I must be wearying you, am I not?”

”Oh, no!”

”But you don't say anything.”

”I am listening to you.”

”Never mind, you are not usually silent like this. Are you unhappy?”

”Perhaps so.”

”A little falling out with your wife? I will wager that I have guessed it!”

”That is true; we have had a little dispute.”

”And that makes you unhappy. Ah! you are like me; when I have a dispute with Ernest, it makes me very sad! Luckily it seldom happens, and it doesn't last long. I should die if it did!”

And the little woman told me about some petty discussions between Ernest and herself, the merest child's play, which could not interrupt the current of their love for an instant. I had been listening to my little neighbor for an hour, without being bored for an instant; however, I was anxious to know what was going on at home, so I rose.

”I won't try to detain you,” said Madame Ernest; ”your wife is waiting for you, no doubt, and you mustn't let her get impatient. Ernest will be sorry to have missed you.”

I took leave of my former neighbor and left the house. As I stepped into the street, a woman who was leaning against a post near the porte cochere, seized my arm convulsively, and said:

”You have been alone with her for an hour and a half; her Ernest wasn't there. I know, for the concierge told me so.”

It was Eugenie. Eugenie, who had followed me, no doubt, and had seen me go into that house, and had remained at the door all the time that I had been with Marguerite.

I was so surprised, so thunderstruck, that I could not answer. After saying these few words, my wife left me and ran swiftly before me. I called her, I tried to overtake her, and succeeded at last. But she would not answer me, she persisted in refusing to take my arm.

And thus we returned home. I tried to have an explanation with my wife, but she locked herself into her bedroom and refused to admit me. A bed was made for me in my study.

So I was obliged to pa.s.s the night alone, and separate like that after the scenes of the evening! Ah! that was a very gloomy housewarming in our new apartment.