Le Cocu Part 71

"Well, my dear Blemont, as you see, everything is arranged and I have returned to the fold. I was a lost lamb, as my mother-in-law says; but everything is forgotten and I have once more become reconciled with my wife."

"That is what I supposed when I saw you just now. But I confess that it rather surprised me. After taking your affairs into court, after having your name published in the newspapers----"

"What difference does that make? What do the newspapers prove? Besides, as the court decided that I was mistaken, that I wasn't a cuckold, I can't claim to know more than the judges."

"If I remember aright, you talked in a very different tone at Mont-d'Or; you proposed to appeal from the judgment against you."

"Do you think that I said that? It's possible. It is true that I was excited then--anger, you know, and jealousy--a man often says foolish things. I am more reasonable now. On my return from Mont-d'Or her relations came to me; they told me that Armide was inclined to forgive me. At that, I said: 'Let us forget all our disagreements.'--All my friends tell me that I have done well to take back my wife."

"I am far from blaming you; but if I had been in your place, I would have made less noise about it."

"Oh! I like to make a noise--to make people talk about me. As soon as I go anywhere nowadays, I hear people whispering when they look at me.

They say: 'That's Monsieur Ferdinand Belan,' as they might say: 'That is Voltaire, or Frederick the Great.' I confess it doesn't displease me.

But au revoir, my dear fellow; the ladies await me, and I like dancing with Armide."

I had no desire to detain Belan. What a strange man! And yet not so strange after all; we meet with such characters not infrequently. But I did not enjoy his society at all.--He had caused me to lose sight of Ernest, and I set out to find him again.

I returned to the place where they were dancing. Ernest was performing with a lady from Saint-Mande. As I did not care to dance, I was looking about for a seat, when my eyes met those of a young woman who beckoned to me. It was Caroline, sitting with her uncle, and she offered me a chair beside her. I hesitated, for before long I must cease to enjoy her society; but that would be the last time before bidding her adieu forever. To refuse would have been discourteous. So I stepped forward and took the proffered seat by her side.

"It took you a long while to decide," she said with a smile, "although we are not alone here."

I made no reply; I dared not even look at her; for I found her eyes very dangerous since coquetry had ceased to s.h.i.+ne in them. Luckily her uncle put an end to my embarra.s.sment.

"You do not dance, Monsieur Dalbreuse?"

"No, monsieur; I don't care for dancing now."

"I used to be very fond of it myself; in fact, I was a very good dancer.

I remember that, in _Amphitryon_, when I played Sosie--A very nice role, that of Sosie! Dugazon made me rehea.r.s.e it very carefully.--You know the famous scene of the lantern. Dugazon used to leap over the lantern and cut all sorts of capers; but I proposed to do differently. I placed the lantern--look, like this chair, at about this distance. Then I ran forward, making a pirouette as I ran, and I executed a very neat _entrechat_ as I landed on the other side. It was very difficult.

Look--I'll just turn the chair over so that I can show you better."

"What, uncle! are you going to jump over chairs now?"

"No, my dear, no, I don't intend to jump; but I was explaining to Monsieur Dalbreuse what I did as Sosie; and I flatter myself that no actor at the Francais ever jumped higher than I did."

Luckily for Monsieur Roquencourt, one of his Saint-Mande neighbors came to bid him good-evening, and seated himself in the chair that he was about to take. That saved Monsieur Roquencourt the trouble of showing me how he jumped, and he entered into conversation with the newcomer.

"You are not dancing?" I said to Caroline.

"Oh, no! I shouldn't care to dance here, except with somebody whom I know very well. Besides, I am like you, I no longer care for dancing. I don't intend to go to any b.a.l.l.s this winter--or into society at all. All the things that I used to enjoy so much bore me terribly now. I shall stay at home--alone--with my thoughts. To be able to think at one's leisure is such a great satisfaction sometimes!"

She looked at me, then we both lowered our eyes and relapsed into silence. Meanwhile Monsieur Roquencourt was almost quarrelling with his neighbor.

"I tell you, monsieur, that Dugazon never played Moncade in _L'ecole des Bourgeois_!"

"I beg your pardon, but I saw him."

"You are mistaken--it was Fleury."

"No, it was Dugazon."

"But it is impossible; the part wasn't in his line. It is as if you should say that you had seen me play Hamlet or dipe; it is absolutely the same thing."

"I don't know what you have played, but I saw Dugazon play the Marquis de Moncade."

"Oh! that is enough to make a man jump to the ceiling!"

But the little uncle could not jump to the ceiling, as we were under the trees; so he contented himself with falling backward with his chair; which made me afraid that he proposed to play Sosie again. Caroline and I could not help smiling. That diverted our thoughts for a moment.

Suddenly Mademoiselle Derbin, who was watching the dancing again, said to her uncle:

"Ah! there is my lace-mender; how finely she is arrayed! She hasn't a bad style; really one would think that she was a lady of fas.h.i.+on. Look, Monsieur Dalbreuse--that woman in a lilac hat is she."

I looked at the person she pointed out to me, and I felt a shock of terror, as if I had seen a serpent.

It was Lucile--Lucile, whom I had not seen since the fatal day. Her presence seemed to revive all the agony that I had felt then. I cannot describe the pain that the sight of her caused me.

My features must have expressed very clearly what I felt, for Caroline instantly said to me:

"Mon Dieu! what is the matter? You must know that woman."

"Yes, I--that is to say, long ago, but not now."

"What did she ever do to you that the sight of her should upset you to this extent?"

"Nothing; but for some unknown reason, when I looked at her, I remembered--Sometimes one cannot account for one's sensations."

At that moment the quadrille came to an end. Lucile and her partner came in our direction. Great heaven! she sat down a few feet away; she saw me and gazed fixedly at me. I could not endure that woman's presence, her eyes; I rose abruptly, forced my way through the throng, left the ball, and did not stop until I reached a place where I was alone.

So I was destined never to be happy, never to lose the memory of my sufferings! When I had decided to forgive Eugenie, to give my children a mother, the sight of that Lucile must needs recall everything that I wanted to forget. How she stared at me! She seemed to enjoy the torture, the shame that her presence caused me. Malice gleamed in her eyes.--Ah!

I had hoped that I never should see Lucile again!

I threw myself down on the turf and tried to be calm. After all, my chance meeting with that woman would make no change in my plans. I would learn to control myself better in the future; but I would travel a hundred leagues, if necessary, to avoid meeting Lucile.

I lay in that spot nearly half an hour. At last, feeling more tranquil, I rose; but I could not decide whether I would return to the ball.

Ernest was waiting for me, no doubt. I walked a few steps, then stopped, for I did not want to see Lucile again. While I was hesitating, a woman came toward me from the direction of the dance. She was almost running.

I waited anxiously.--Ah! it was Caroline.

She joined me and hung upon my arm, saying:

"I have found you at last! I have been looking for you everywhere.--Oh!

how glad I am! But come--let us go into the woods, so that I may speak out to you at last. I have so many things to say to you! I told my uncle not to be worried, that you would bring me home."

I listened to Caroline in amazement; some extraordinary change seemed to have taken place in her; she was not at all the same person whom I had left a short time before. She took my arm and pressed it gently; she seemed intensely agitated, but it was evidently with joy.

We went into the woods, and Caroline said, gazing affectionately into my face:

"I must seem very mad, very reckless to you, my friend, but you have no idea of all that I have just gone through! Within a few moments, my destiny, my future has changed. Now I can be happy. I loved you--you know it, for I have not been able to conceal my feeling for you. Without telling each other so, we understood each other perfectly.--But that love was a crime; at least I thought so. I blamed myself for it; I tried to avoid you, to forget you.--Mon Dieu! how unhappy I was!--But now I know the whole truth; I know that I am at liberty to love you."