Frederique Volume I Part 41

XXIII

A MOMENT OF FORGETFULNESS

"Now, my dear Charles, you know the secret of my entire liberty, and of my conduct, which gives rise to so much gossip; of my inviting you to supper to-night with our dear baron, who is sleeping so soundly now; of my having a table of my own, in short, at which I can entertain whom I please, without the slightest concern as to whether anyone will criticise me for it. Are you glad that I have told you?"

"Oh, yes!" I said, pressing her hand with force. "Yes! In the first place, I am proud of having inspired you with confidence in me. And then, too, I--I----"

"You are very glad to find that I am not such a good-for-naught as you thought at first, eh?"

She was right. Her conduct seemed to me now to be perfectly natural, or, at all events, excusable. Frederique's head no longer rested on my shoulder: she sat up and pa.s.sed her hand across her forehead, saying:

"I believe it is time for us to think of separating. I feel a little tired, my friend. You will go home with Herr von Brunzbrack, will you not? He is a little--tipsy, and I should be sorry if anything happened to him. And, although he has his carriage here, he is quite capable of refusing to go home."

"Yes, yes; I will put him in the hands of his servants. But just a moment; why need we separate so soon?"

"The clock has just struck half-past three."

"Suppose it has? what does the time matter, when we are so comfortable and our own masters?"

"Oh! as far as that goes, n.o.body is more uncontrolled than I am now.

Stay on, if you choose. But, if you do, you must tell me something, confide in me. Do you fence?"

"Yes; why?"

"Because, if you do, you must come here and fence with me; it's a form of exercise that I am very fond of."

"What! do you really know how to handle a foil?"

"And very prettily too, I flatter myself. I told you that I was a man; so, of course, I have learned the things that go to perfect a man's education."

"Then you must ride too?"

"Oh! that is another exercise that I adore. We will ride together--and you will see that I am not afraid, and that I have a good seat. But you don't seem to be listening to me! What in the deuce shall I talk to him about?--Poor boy, talk to me about Armantine. It is such a joy to speak of the person one loves! And you are very much in love with her, aren't you?"

I confess that at that moment I was thinking much less of Madame Sordeville. So that I replied, rather coldly:

"I was very much in love with her; but her treatment of me to-night cooled me off."

"Oh! when a man is really in love with a woman, monsieur, he doesn't cease to love her just because she flirts a little with other men; on the contrary, he often loves her all the more for it."

"Coquetry has never had that effect on me."

"Go and see Armantine in a few days, in the daytime. I'll wager that she will be very amiable to you."

"So the lady is capricious, is she?"

"Exceedingly capricious."

"That is a failing which I have never been able to endure."

"Ah! but when one loves a woman, one loves her with all her failings."

"My theory is that when one really loves, one is not capricious in dealing with the object of one's love. Consequently, I am persuaded that all these women who have caprices don't know what it is to love."

"Perhaps you are right. But I think that Armantine is in reality very susceptible."

"You think so? You are not sure?"

"How is one to be sure of other people? one is not always sure of one's self."

We sat for some time without speaking; but to me that silence was not without charm. It is often pleasant to think, in the company of a person who is thinking at the same time.

Suddenly Frederique looked me in the face and said:

"Well, Charles! you don't seem to talk about Armantine?"

"I have so little hope!"

"Oho! monsieur plays the modest adorer! After all, I don't pretend to say that she will yield to you. That is a mystery--the secret of the G.o.ds."

"True; but you might tell me whether--whether any previous weakness on her part gives me reason to hope."

"My dear man, it isn't right to ask me that. If Armantine had given me her confidence, I would not betray it. But, frankly, I know nothing about it. All that I can say is that Monsieur Sordeville is not in the least jealous; that he gives his wife her liberty in a way that strongly resembles indifference; that Armantine is pretty, coquettish, likes to be courted; and that all those things may very well lead to certain results. But whose fault is it, if not her husband's? Oh! these husbands! I've learned to my cost not to love them!--Well! what are you thinking about? you are not listening."

"Yes, I am. I was thinking that you--that---- Oh, no! it isn't worth while; I prefer not to say anything."

"My dear fellow, you don't like capricious women, you say, and, for my part, I detest a person who begins a sentence, then stops, and doesn't finish it. There's nothing so impertinent as that, in my opinion! It is almost equivalent to a confession that you had something disagreeable to say, and discovered it in time. Sometimes our conjectures go beyond the truth. Finish what you were going to say, I insist! I demand it! or I am done with you! Come, quickly! don't try to fabricate something, for you would simply lie."

Frederique pressed me so hard that I had no time to invent a lie, as often happens in such cases, and I replied, almost shamefacedly:

"I was thinking of Monsieur--Saint-Bergame; and I was wondering about a lot of things. You told me that you and he had quarrelled. But are you not afraid of offending him still more, if he knows that you had guests to-night at supper?"

Frederique compressed her lips and frowned. I realized that I had been indiscreet, that I had no right to ask such questions; but the thought had been at the end of my tongue for some time, and it must escape me sooner or later; it had been tormenting me since the very beginning of the supper.

"What on earth made you think of Monsieur Saint-Bergame?" cried Frederique at last, with something very like anger. "Would you have liked to have him here? Would you have enjoyed being with him? In that case, you are not like him, for he can't endure you. I don't know why it is, but he is not attracted to you."

"I do not regret the gentleman's absence in the least, far from it! But it surprised me, because----"

"Because you had guessed that he was my lover, eh? Mon Dieu! it did not require much perspicacity to discover that!"

"Well! as you make no concealment of it, you ought not to be angry because I ask the question."

"There are some things that one doesn't conceal, or conceals imperfectly, that one doesn't like to have thrown in one's face, none the less. But you have said a lot of----"

"Stupid things! Finish the sentence, pray! I am like you, I hate unfinished sentences."

"Well, yes! _Stupid_ isn't just the word, but things that people keep to themselves when they think them."