Edouard returned in triumph to Dufresne; he was the possessor of a considerable sum of which he could dispose as he pleased, for his wife would never ask him for an accounting, and his mother-in-law had ceased to meddle in his affairs. Dufresne was awaiting Murville impatiently; he was afraid that Adeline would make some objections. But when he saw the precious papers, a smile of satisfaction played about his lips; a sentiment which he tried to dissemble gave to his face a peculiar expression which would have attracted the attention of anybody but Edouard; but he did not give Dufresne time to speak; he urged him to go at once and obtain the funds, and Dufresne made haste to gratify him, fearing that he might change his mind.
Adeline waited in vain for her husband to return; the day passed and he did not come. She thought that he had probably been invited to dine by some of his new acquaintances; she tried to reconcile herself to it; but what grieved her most was her husband’s blindness with respect to Dufresne, and the indifference with which he had listened to her story of the outrageous conduct of the man whom he considered his friend. Dufresne’s threats recurred to Adeline’s memory; she thought of her husband’s weakness of will, and she could not help shuddering as she reflected that her happiness, her repose, and her child’s, perhaps, were in the hands of a wickedman, who seemed to be capable of going all lengths to gratify his passions.
It was nine o’clock in the evening; Adeline, absorbed in her reflections, was sadly awaiting her husband’s return, when she heard a loud knock at the street door. Soon she heard someone coming upstairs—it was Edouard, of course. She ran to open the door; but it was not he; one of her servants appeared, bringing a letter which a stranger had just left at the door with an urgent request that it be handed to madame at once. The stranger had gone away without waiting for a reply. The servant handed the letter to his mistress and left the room.
Adeline broke the seal; the writing was unfamiliar to her; it seemed the work of a weak and tremulous hand; the letter was signed by Madame Dolban.
“What can she have to write to me?” thought Adeline; “let me see.”
“Madame:“I am very ill; I have been unable to leave my room for a long while, but I am unwilling to delay any longer to give you some most important advice. I am responsible for all the harm, and it is my place to try to repair it. I brought a man named Dufresne to your house. Alas! how bitterly I repent it! but at that time I believed him to be incapable of doing anything indelicate even. A deplorable passion had long made me blind, but now it is no longer possible for me to doubt the ghastly truth. This Dufresne is a miserable wretch, capable of every villainy. I have only too many proofs of the infamy of his conduct. He has robbed me of all that I possessed, but my regret for my money is less than my shame at having been his dupe. Gambling, debauchery, all sorts of vice are familiar to him, and he has the art to concealhis shocking passions. I dare not tell you what I know—but break off instantly the intimacy he has formed with your husband, or fear the worst for him from the advice of a monster to whom nothing is sacred.“WIDOWDOLBAN.”
“Madame:
“I am very ill; I have been unable to leave my room for a long while, but I am unwilling to delay any longer to give you some most important advice. I am responsible for all the harm, and it is my place to try to repair it. I brought a man named Dufresne to your house. Alas! how bitterly I repent it! but at that time I believed him to be incapable of doing anything indelicate even. A deplorable passion had long made me blind, but now it is no longer possible for me to doubt the ghastly truth. This Dufresne is a miserable wretch, capable of every villainy. I have only too many proofs of the infamy of his conduct. He has robbed me of all that I possessed, but my regret for my money is less than my shame at having been his dupe. Gambling, debauchery, all sorts of vice are familiar to him, and he has the art to concealhis shocking passions. I dare not tell you what I know—but break off instantly the intimacy he has formed with your husband, or fear the worst for him from the advice of a monster to whom nothing is sacred.
“WIDOWDOLBAN.”
Adeline shuddered; her heart was oppressed by secret terror; she read the fatal letter once more, then raised her lovely tear-bedewed eyes heavenward.
“So this is the man on whose account Edouard fell out with my mother! this is the sort of man that his adviser, his best friend, is! O heaven! what misery I foresee in the future! but how am I to avert it? My husband no longer listens to me; he spurns my advice, he is deaf to my prayers. But he could not be deaf to my tears. No, Edouard is not hard-hearted; he loves me still, he will not spurn his Adeline. I will implore him, in our child’s name, to cease to see a man who will lead him on to ruin. This letter will be a sufficient proof, I trust; he will open his eyes and sever all relations with him who has already caused me so much unhappiness.”
These reflections allayed Adeline’s distress in some measure; fully determined to show her husband, as soon as he should return, the letter that she had received, she decided to sit up for him. He could not be much longer, it was already quite late, and all she needed was a little courage. Poor woman! if she had known how her husband was occupied, while she, melancholy and pensive, devoured in silence the torments of anxiety and jealousy! You who try to read the future,—how you would deserve to be pitied if your eyes could pierce space, and if your ears always heard the truth! Illusion was invented for the happiness of mortals; it does them almost as much good as hope.
The young woman tried to beguile the time by making plans for the future. She rejoiced in the approach of the season of fine weather; soon they might return to the pretty little place in the country. She had been so happy there in the early days of her married life that she looked forward to finding there once more the happiness that she had not found in Paris. Edouard would accompany her; he would have forgotten all his plans, have given up the business that tormented him, and have broken entirely with the perfidious Dufresne. Then nothing could disturb their felicity. Her mother would return to live with them; little Ermance would grow up and be educated under her parents’ eyes, learning to love and respect them. What a delightful future! How short the time would seem! how well it would be employed!
Adeline’s heart thrilled with the pleasure caused by the delicious tableau which her imagination had conjured up. But the clock struck; she glanced at it and sighed; the image of happiness vanished, the melancholy reality returned!
Thus do the unfortunate try to deceive their suffering, to conceal their grief from themselves. He who has lost a beloved sweetheart has her image constantly in his thoughts; he sees her, speaks to her, lives again with her in the past; he hears her voice, her sweet accents, her loving confession which makes his heart beat fast with bliss; he recalls those delicious interviews of which love bore the whole burden; he fancies that he holds his loved one’s hands in his; he seeks her burning lips from which he once stole the sweetest of kisses—but the illusion vanishes; she is no longer there! Ah! what a ghastly void! what a cruel return to life!
Adeline was agitated by all these gleams of hope and fear; twenty times she went to her daughter’s cradle,then returned to her place at the window and listened anxiously, intently, for the faintest sound; but only the rumbling of an occasional carriage broke the silence of the night. Each time that she heard that noise, Adeline’s heart beat faster. It was her husband returning home; yes, it was he—the carriage was coming nearer; but it passed on, it did not stop.
Adeline had watched many hours pass; the cold of the night and the weariness caused by her lonely vigil benumbed her senses. Despite her desire to wait for her husband, she felt that she could no longer resist the drowsiness that oppressed her. She decided at last to go to bed; but she placed Madame Dolban’s letter on her night table, so that she might have it at hand in order to be able to show it to her husband as soon as she saw him. From that priceless letter she anticipated peace of mind and happiness. She lighted the night lamp that she used every night. She went to bed at last—regretfully—and still tried to fight against sleep; but fatigue triumphed over anxiety; her eyelids drooped, she fell into a deep sleep.
Adeline had been asleep an hour; a loud noise, caused by the fall of a chair, awoke her with a start; she opened her eyes, but could see nothing. Her lamp was out; she made a movement to rise, but an arm passed about her body kept her in bed and two kisses closed her mouth. Adeline knew that her husband alone had a key to her room, that no other than he could enter there at night; so that it was Edouard who had returned and was in her arms.
“Oh! my dear,” she said, “I sat up for you a long, long while; I was so anxious to see you and speak to you. If you knew! I have had a letter from Madame Dolban, poor woman! she is very unhappy! You will find thatI was not mistaken about Dufresne—the monster! It is he who has ruined her; he has every failing, every vice. My dear Edouard, I implore you, do not continue your intimacy with that man—he will be your ruin! You won’t tell me any more that my ideas are chimeras. The letter is here, on my night table; if the lamp had not gone out, I would read it to you now.”
Adeline was on the point of rising to light the lamp, but love detained her in her bed. The most loving caresses, the most ardent kisses were lavished upon her; she had recovered her husband; she yielded to his desires, she abandoned herself to his love, shared the intense ardor with which he was inflamed; her past sorrows were nothing more than a dream which the most blissful ecstasy dispelled.
Pleasure is always followed by desire to rest; drunk with love and joy, Adeline fell asleep in the arms of him who had shared her delirium. A ray of light was shining through the window when she opened her eyes; her heart was still palpitating with the pleasure she had enjoyed. She turned her head to look at her sleeping husband. A shriek of horror escaped her; she trembled, she could hardly breathe, her eyes assumed a glassy stare, her heart ceased to beat. It was Dufresne who was by her side; it was his breast upon which her head had rested; it was he upon whom she had lavished her caresses; it was in his arms that she had tasted the ecstasy, the transports of love.
The young woman’s shriek awoke Dufresne; he looked at Adeline, and a treacherous smile, an expression of savage joy, gleamed in the eyes that he fastened upon his victim. She seemed bereft of the power to act; she was completely crushed. Dufresne determined to make the most of the little time that remained; he movednearer to her and attempted to renew his hateful caresses. Adeline came to life again; she recovered her strength, pushed the monster away with all her might, leaped out of bed and wrapped her dress about her; and her resolute and haughty expression seemed to defy him to commit a fresh outrage.
Dufresne stopped, gazed at her a moment in silence, then said with a sneering laugh:
“What, madame! more resistance—more affectation of prudery? Really, you must agree that, after what has taken place between us during the night, this is mere childishness. Your pride is sadly misplaced now! Come, take my advice; let us make peace. I assure you that your husband shall know nothing about it. A little more or a little less will make him no more of a cuckold! Indeed, I may as well tell you that he too is in the arms of another; so you will have nothing to reproach yourself for.”
Dufresne walked toward Adeline, and she recoiled from him in horror. He reached her side and attempted to satisfy his desires again. Adeline struggled; she seemed endowed with fresh strength, and her voice, calling Edouard’s name, rang through the apartment. Dufresne stopped and released her; he realized that the young woman’s shrieks might be heard; the servants might come, and that would upset all his plans. So that he had no choice but to leave Adeline; but fierce anger blazed in the glances that he cast at her. He ran to the table, seized Madame Dolban’s letter and brandished it in the face of the woman who defied his wrath and defeated his renewed attempts to outrage her.
“Here it is,” he said with an ironical smile; “here is the document of which you hoped to make such good use. You despise, you spurn my love; tremble before theeffects of my hatred and of the revenge I will have for your contempt. Adieu! I take with me Madame Dolban’s letter; she will not write you any more.”
Edouard had received from Dufresne the sum of one hundred thousand francs; that amount was only one-half of the proceeds of the sale of the consols; but Dufresne, who was very glad of an opportunity to retain the other half, told Edouard that he had not sold them all, because he hoped to dispose of the rest within a few days at a better price; and the credulous Murville, trusting absolutely in the good faith of the man whom he believed to be his friend, told him to complete the transaction whenever he thought best.
Engrossed by his new passion for Madame de Géran, Edouard betook himself to the lovely widow’s abode, neglecting for her his wife, his child and his home. He found her whose charms excited his imagination, alone. The soi-disant widow was in her boudoir; it was a great favor, to begin with, to be admitted to a tête-à-tête with her. The coquette knew how to put forth all her graces, to make the most of all her advantages, in order to complete the conquest of the young business agent; she accomplished her object with ease; weak people allow themselves to be beguiled so readily! A smile, a glance makes them amorous; and in that respect strong-minded folkoften resemble their weaker brothers. A clever woman, who is not in love, artfully delays her surrender; not until she is certain of commanding, of governing her victim, does she accord her favors. With a roué, a libertine, Madame de Géran would have obtained little influence; but with a man who has never loved any woman but his wife, a coquette is sure to make rapid progress. That is why a wise woman should preferably marry a man who has sown his wild oats, for he, at least, is on his guard against seduction.
It is very certain that for a woman to make a man love her it is not always necessary that she should love him, but simply that she should pretend to. True love makes one timid, awkward, bungling, imprudent; how, with all these failings, can one be attractive? When one truly loves, one loses all one’s attractions. When a girl—observe that I mean an innocent girl—sees the man she loves enter the salon where she is surrounded by people, she instantly becomes embarrassed, pensive, distraught; the blood rises to her cheeks; speak to her and she answers incoherently; she dares not raise her eyes for fear of attracting attention; she trembles lest someone may guess what she wants; it seems to her that all eyes are fastened on her, and that everyone knows her secret. If two persons speak in low tones, she fancies that they are talking about her. The slightest thing adds to her confusion. If she is musical and is escorted to the piano, her fingers get in one another’s way and cannot touch the keys correctly. Does she sing? her voice trembles, she is afraid of putting too much meaning into the words which refer to love. Does she dance? she is afraid to dance with the man she adores; she despairs in secret if he dances with another.—Poor child! if you were not in love, or if he were not there you would recover yourcharm, your good spirits; you would flirt perhaps, but you would be much more attractive; and your kind girl friends would not laugh among themselves at your awkwardness and your stupidity.
In the case of a young man it is even worse, for the timidity and embarrassment which take possession of a young woman always give her a certain air of innocence and candor, which induces one to excuse her awkwardness. But a lovelorn man who sits and sulks in a corner of the salon if the woman he loves does not look at him fondly enough, who sighs without speaking when he is seated beside his charmer; who does not know what to say when an opportunity presents itself to declare his flame: such a man, it must be confessed, is far from attractive; he is laughed at in society, and she who is the cause of his blunders is often the first to make fun of him. Whereas a giddy youngster, who is not in love, who has no feeling; who takes pleasure in tormenting women, who turns sentiment into ridicule and constancy into a subject of derision—a ne’er-do-well, in a word—easily makes himself master of a heart and triumphs in a day over her for whom the shrinking and sensitive lover has sighed in vain for many years! To be sure, the ne’er-do-well is very lively, very pushing, very enterprising in a tête-à-tête! while the poor lover—The old song is quite right:
“Ah! how stupid is the man who’s in love!”
But I see many ladies fly into a rage with me and exclaim:
“What, monsieur l’auteur, you advise men not to love us sincerely? Why, that is frightful! You have outrageous principles!”
Calm yourselves, mesdames, for heaven’s sake! it must be that I did not explain my meaning clearly; Ido advise men not to love you awkwardly, foolishly,—that is all; therein you yourselves will agree that I am right. A lover who can do nothing but sigh is a very uninteresting creature. I would have men make love to you with spirit and wit, when they have any; with gayety, because that adds to the charms of love; with ardor, because that does not displease you, and because life is not everlasting, and when two people suit each other, I do not see the necessity of waiting a century before telling each other so; seeing that it is as well to be happy to-day as to-morrow.
But let us drop the metaphysics of love, and return to Edouard, who was very much in love with a woman who had never been in love with anybody, and who was not likely to begin with him, whom she desired to make her slave, and whom, for that reason, she did not propose to love; for we do not put chains on the person we love, but we wear them together.
A rich and passionate young man like Edouard was a windfall to Madame de Géran, who, whatever Dufresne might say, was not so cruel as she chose to appear. If Edouard had taken the trouble to make inquiries concerning the young widow, he would have learned that his divinity had a more than equivocal reputation; that she had had intimate liaisons with a great Russian noble, a stout baronet, a contractor and a dealer in cashmere shawls; that her house was the rendezvous of young rakes, schemers and gamblers; and lastly, that no one had ever found at the Ministry of War the name of the general whose widow she claimed to be.
Edouard knew nothing of all this. He believed that he possessed a woman who gave herself to him by virtue of the bond of sympathy that drew them together; he was as proud as a peacock over a triumph which twentyother men had won before him; and he went into ecstasies over charms which he considered far superior to his wife’s; for a mistress always has a softer skin, a firmer breast and a smaller foot than a wife; which is not true three-fourths of the time; but the wives take their revenge by allowing connoisseurs to admire them.
So Edouard passed the day caressing the soft skin, the firm breast and the tiny foot of Madame de Géran, who allowed him to do as he chose because she could not resist the force of her love and the voice of her heart; at all events, that is what she told him as she received his caresses. Time passes very swiftly in such pleasant occupation. Edouard entirely forgot his house and his business. He knew that night had arrived only by the appearance of a dozen or more persons, habitués of the fascinating widow’s house, who came there every evening to play cards.
Edouard would have taken his leave, but Madame de Géran objected; she desired to keep him all the evening; moreover she owed him his revenge at écarté. Edouard remained and took his seat at a card table opposite his beloved, who played écarté with bewitching grace, as he had good reason to know.
Dufresne appeared at Madame de Géran’s during the evening; he seemed surprised to find his friend there. Edouard was then playing with a man whom he did not know. His dear widow had abandoned the game because she played with extraordinary good luck, and did not choose, she said, to take advantage of Murville’s unlucky vein. He was no more fortunate however with the little man who had taken her seat; he lost constantly, but would not stop playing, because he hoped to recoup.
Dufresne stood facing Edouard and scrutinized him in silence. A secret satisfaction was reflected on hisfeatures; he detected in his friend all the symptoms of a passion which, when once fully aroused, would know no bounds. At sight of Murville’s discomposed face, his swollen veins, his heavy breathing, it was easy to judge of the effect that the game produced on him. But, recalling the fact that the imprudent young man was the bearer of a considerable sum, and as he did not propose that it should pass into the hands of another, Dufresne went to Edouard and advised him in an undertone not to play any more. But his advice was not heeded; Murville was already experiencing the ascendancy of the fatal passion to which he had yielded; moreover, obstinacy and vanity prevented him from leaving the field.
“At all events,” said Dufresne, “if you insist on continuing to play, give me your wallet and what it still contains; you have enough money in front of you, especially as you are playing in hard luck; do not take the risk of losing such a large amount in one evening.”
From anybody else the counsel would not have been listened to; but Dufresne had acquired such empire over Murville that he unhesitatingly handed him his wallet, from which he had already taken several bank notes.
“Here,” he said in a broken voice, trying to conceal the keen emotion caused by the loss of his money, “take it. And here is the key to my apartment; go there and wait for me.”
Dufresne did not wait to have this suggestion repeated. He went to Murville’s during the evening; but the servants were so accustomed to seeing him that they paid no attention to him. He waited for Edouard far into the night, alone in his room; and at last, when he found that he did not return, he conceived the audacious scheme of stealing into Adeline’s bedroom when she was asleep. It was easy for him to do, as he had noticed where thekey was kept; and we have seen how he carried out his undertaking.
As for Edouard, luck was not favorable to him. He lost all the money that he had retained, and three thousand francs more on credit. To console him, Madame de Géran kept him alone to supper. She assured him that Chevalier Desfleurets, who had won his money, was a most honorable man who would give him his revenge whenever he wished and that, as luck must turn in the end, he might expect to recover his losses sooner or later. Such convincing arguments caused Edouard to forget the petty loss he had sustained. He passed the night with his fair enslaver, who intoxicated him with love and pleasure; and it was very late when he fell asleep in her arms. He woke the next morning, poorer by ten thousand francs; that was rather a high price to pay for the favors he had obtained; but love does not calculate.
Adeline remained for a long time crushed beneath the burden of her suffering; and several hours after Dufresne’s departure, she was still sitting, half naked, in a corner of her room, having to cover her only the clothes which she had hurriedly seized, and which she still held pressed against her breast.
It was broad daylight; the servants were going and coming in the house. Adeline arose at last and dressed herself mechanically; then sank back on the chair shehad left; she no longer had any plans, desires, or hopes; she suffered, but she had ceased to think.
There came a light tap at her door; she roused herself from her depression, recalled what had happened, and awoke once more to the consciousness of her misery. She started to open the door, but paused near the threshold, detained by a sudden thought: suppose it were her husband! She felt that she could not endure his glance! she thought that he would read her shame upon her brow! Poor Adeline! you were not guilty and yet you trembled. What a contrast to what we see every day in society!
She heard a voice; it was her maid’s, asking her mistress if she might come in. Adeline took courage and opened the door.
“I beg pardon, madame,” said the servant, “but I was anxious about your health; it is very late, but you have not rung for me and you did not come down to breakfast.”
“Is it late, Marie? Has Monsieur Murville come in?”
“Yes, madame, monsieur came in a little while ago; he went to his room for a moment, then went right away again.”
“He has gone out, you say?”
“Yes, madame.”
Adeline breathed more freely; she felt less agitated; for now she dreaded the presence of the man for whom she had waited impatiently a few hours before.
Marie glanced at her mistress; she saw that she was pale and changed, and she sighed and pitied her; she thought that her husband’s conduct was the cause of Madame Murville’s grief. Servants are the first to criticise their masters’ conduct; they see everything, nothing escapes them; no man is a hero to his valet, and very few husbands are faithful in their servants’ eyes.
“Was madame sick in the night?” asked Marie at last in an undertone.
“No, no, I haven’t been sick,” replied Adeline, blushing; then she hid her face in her handkerchief and tried to restrain her sobs.
“Pardi!” rejoined the kind-hearted Marie, “madame does very wrong to grieve like this. Mon Dieu! husbands all act the same way; they seem to have a sort of rage for doing the town! You can’t keep them from it. But they get over it; and madame is so good that——”
“Leave me.”
The domestic was about to go away, but Adeline recalled her.
“Marie, did anybody come to the house last night?”
“Did anybody come—last night!” and the maid looked at her mistress in amazement, for she could not understand her question.
“Yes, did you hear anyone knock? Was there any noise?”
“If anybody knocked at night, it couldn’t be anybody but monsieur, but he did not come in; we were not disturbed, thank God! And everybody slept soundly; that isn’t surprising after the hurly-burly of the night before last; we were tired out.”
Adeline dismissed her maid, feeling a little more tranquil; she was certain at all events that her dishonor was a secret; she went to her little Ermance; she took her in her arms, and sought consolation with her; a voice within told her that she was not to blame; she felt that it was true, and recovered a little courage. Intent alone constitutes the crime, and Adeline felt the most violent hatred for Dufresne; she nourished that sentiment with delight; it seemed to her that the more horror she felt for him, the less guilty she was in her own eyes.
But a crushing thought came to her mind; she remembered Dufresne’s last words: Edouard loved another woman. It was in the arms of a woman that he had passed that wretched night; he had come home and had not thought of seeking her; it was all over; he had forgotten her, he was unfaithful. That certainty filled the cup of poor Adeline’s despair; it took away her last hope of happiness.
Still bewildered by the day and night that he had passed, Edouard had left Madame de Géran’s house to return home; but a sense of shame, a secret feeling of remorse prevented him from going to his wife. In vain does a man make excuses for himself, unless he has long been addicted to all forms of excess, and accustomed to defy public opinion—he does not commit a culpable act without feeling an inward dissatisfaction, without hearing the reproofs of his conscience. Edouard was still too unused to the paths of vice not to feel the remorse which follows a first sin. A night passed away from home, his wife neglected, a large sum of money lost at play in two days! What fruitful subjects for reflections! Edouard did as most men do who have just committed some foolish act; instead of determining to be more prudent and more orderly in the future, he sought to forget himself, and abandoned himself more ardently than ever to his passions; like those poor wretches who drown themselves for fear the world’s end is at hand.
With Dufresne, Edouard was sure of finding distraction. So it was to his lodgings that he betook himself. Dufresne was alone, absorbed in deep thought. For the first time Murville began to use the familiar form of address; he felt more at his ease with him since he had ceased to be happy in his own family. He shared Dufresne’s principles and his way of looking at things tothe full, so that all ceremony was naturally banished between two friends so closely united. Edouard threw himself into a chair and looked at Dufresne, who waited for him to speak first.
“Here I am, my dear fellow; I expected to find you at my house.”
“I went there last evening; but as you didn’t return and I was tired of waiting, I came away.”
“Faith! it is quite as well that you did. You would have waited in vain. I passed the night at Madame de Géran’s. You understand me?”
“Yes, perfectly. I congratulate you; you could not be more fortunate. That woman adores you!”
“Oh! she is mad over me!—that’s the word; she didn’t want me to leave her this morning; I had difficulty in tearing myself from her arms.”
“Be careful; Madame de Géran has intense passions, a fiery brain, an exalted imagination! She is capable of dogging your steps all the time.”
“You enchant me! I like such women!”
“But suppose your wife should discover it?”
“Bah! she is such an indolent creature! Her way of loving doesn’t resemble Madame de Géran’s in the least.”
“If I dared give you some advice——”
“Speak; but no more of the formal mode of address between us, my dear Dufresne. Let us banish ceremony.”
“With all my heart.”
“You were saying——”
“If you take my advice, you will send your wife into the country, in order to be more free.”
“Parbleu! that is an excellent idea of yours! In truth, she talks to me every day about the fields and meadows and green grass. I will send her to pasture, and I will remain in Paris.”
“But you don’t mention your game of cards with Chevalier Desfleurets; did you recoup your losses?”
“No; on the contrary, I played in the most extraordinary luck; I lost continually.—By the way, that reminds me that I owe him three thousand francs, and that I promised to give them to him this morning.”
“Gambling debts are sacred; you must pay up.”
“That is what I propose to do. I made an appointment with him at the Palais-Royal, at number 9; does he live there?”
“Ha! ha! ha! how ignorant you are, my dear Murville! Don’t you know that number nine is anacademy, a roulette establishment?”
“What! the chevalier frequents a roulette establishment?”
“Why not? You will see the most fashionable people there; many nobles who try their hardest to win the money of plebeians, and worthy bourgeois, who are delighted to play with a chevalier or a viscount; but always the utmost decency and good-breeding; no disturbance! I assure you that more than one society gambler might take lessons in deportment at the academy; people lose their money there without whining; they swear only under their breath; in short, everything there is most agreeable.”
“Parbleu! I am curious to see the place; but I thought that a business man ought not to show himself in such places; I have been told that it was very injurious to the reputation.”
“You have been misinformed; and the proof is that you will see many merchants, business agents, brokers, commission merchants there; it is a very respectable assemblage; the rendezvous of soldiers, foreigners, and great noblemen travelling incognito; and the police seeto it that none of the riffraff gets in; they leave number 113 to the workmen, the apprentices, and the petty tradesmen, because those good people must enjoy themselves also; but number 9 is almost as respectable as Frascati’s.”
“According to that, I may go there without fear.”
“You cannot fail to find Desfleurets there; he is there from the time it opens till the dinner hour, and indeed he does not always go out for dinner. He sits at the green table, pricking cards. For ten years he has been seeking amartingalecertain to make his fortune; and he declares that he will have it before long, and then he will tell it to all his acquaintances. If one could find that, on my word, it would be delightful; one would no longer need to worry about anything; we would enjoy ourselves and lead the gayest lives imaginable.”
“Do you think that it is possible?”
“Why, certainly! More extraordinary things have been seen; examples are plentiful. Look you, between ourselves, I know more than twenty people, who hold an excellent position in society, who spend a great deal of money, follow the fashions, deny themselves nothing, and who live solely by gambling; listen to a favorite author:
“’Tis play brings many lives of ease—As hosts of cabbies, chairmen; add to theseThe lombard keen, with faded gems suppliedWhich every day sees on new fingers tried,And Gascons loud who sup at game-house board,Unribboned knights, and misses all ignoredWho, save for lansquenet and gains quite sly,Their virtue weak would market far from high!”
“’Tis play brings many lives of ease—As hosts of cabbies, chairmen; add to theseThe lombard keen, with faded gems suppliedWhich every day sees on new fingers tried,And Gascons loud who sup at game-house board,Unribboned knights, and misses all ignoredWho, save for lansquenet and gains quite sly,Their virtue weak would market far from high!”
“You surprise me; I would not have believed it, for it is always a matter of chance.”
“Oh! my dear fellow, there is no such thing as chance for the man who chooses to reason coolly, to reckon the chances, the series of numbers and the probabilities. However, what I am saying is not meant to induce you to play; you are not lucky, and you had much better hold on to something solid.”
“By the way, what about business?”
“Absolute stagnation; we must wait.”
“All right. Ah! my dear Dufresne, if you should find a reliable martingale, what sport we would have while my wife is in the country!”
“Nonsense! take my advice and think no more about that! It is mere folly, a delusion.—I must leave you.”
“We shall meet this evening.”
“Where?”
“Parbleu! at Madame de Géran’s.”
Dufresne and Edouard parted; the former perfectly certain of the effect which his remarks had produced upon the feeble brain of Adeline’s husband, and the latter dreaming only of roulette and martingales, and already forming the most extravagant projects.
It was in this frame of mind that Edouard sought the place mentioned by the chevalier; he entered and walked through several rooms, until at last he reached one where a number of gamblers were assembled around a roulette table. He felt the blood mount to his cheeks, and he tried to conceal his embarrassment and to assume the air of an habitué of the game. Chevalier Desfleurets spied him; he rose, and ran toward him, and forgot to prick his card, he was in such haste to receive the three thousand francs. Edouard at once paid his debt; the chevalier was delighted with his debtor’s promptitude, and he invited him to sit down for a moment beside him. Edouard hesitated; he looked uneasily about him, fearingto meet someone whom he knew. He did in fact see several business agents whom he had met with Dufresne, and some other persons who had come to his party. But they all seemed wholly engrossed by the green cloth, and paid no attention to him. The chevalier led him, he allowed himself to be led, and in a moment he was seated at the roulette table.
Desfleurets took up his cards and began to prick again, after having inquired of a tall, lean man in a nut-colored coat, what numbers had come out. The tall man glanced angrily at him, coughed, spat, blew his nose, made a grimace, clenched his fists, and did not reply.
“He is a crank,” said the chevalier to Edouard, in an undertone; “he pricks his card three hours before risking his five-franc piece, and he almost always waits too long. He was watching the red zero, and I will wager that it came out before he bet on it. That man will never know the way to gamble; he is too much of a coward!”
Edouard looked on and listened with astonishment to what was taking place before him for the first time; for before his marriage he had never chosen to enter a gambling house, being prudent enough then to distrust his own weakness. It is only when one is certain not to yield to temptation, when one experiences for games of chance the horror which they should inspire in every sensible man, that one can safely enter a gambling hell. What a vast field for watching and studying the effects of that deplorable passion! The result of one’s reflections is melancholy, but it teaches a useful lesson, and a gambling house is the best place for a young man to correct himself of that fatal taste, if, instead of abandoning himself to the passion that leads him thither, he could examine coolly what is taking place about him.
What vertigo has seized upon those unhappy wretches, who crowd about the table and devour with their eyes the heaps of silver and gold, and the bank notes spread out before the croupiers? They do not see that all that money is there only to allure them, to lead them on; they say to themselves: “This one wins, that one goes away with his pockets full; why should not we be as fortunate as they?”—Ah! even if they should, would the money won in a gambling hell ever serve to enrich a family, to support a wife; to endow a daughter, to help the unfortunate? No, the gambler’s heart is hard and unfeeling, his mind is sordid and debased by the passion which dominates it. If they win to-day, they will play again to-morrow, until they can no longer procure aught to satisfy the insatiable greed which draws them to the fatal table. If they return home with their pockets filled with gold, do not imagine that they will be more generous with their families. Their wives are ill-clad, their children lack everything, creditors besiege their door; but they will give nothing, they will pay nobody, they will laugh at the threats of those whose wages they hold back, and will be indifferent to the voice of nature. Soon they will lose the money that a lucky chance caused them to win, and then woe to the poor creatures that surround them! it is upon them that they vent their rage, which they do not dare to display before strangers. It is in their own homes that they abandon themselves to anger, to brutality, even to the last excesses. They must have money; they seize upon everything that can still produce it; their children’s last garments are sold, the result of a day’s work disappears in a second upon a color or a number. Then they glare darkly about them, despair is depicted upon all their features; they gaze in frenzy at that gold which they cannot possess, and at the croupiers,who observe their despair with the coldest indifference. Then the guiltiest desires and the basest villainy torment their frantic imagination; they covet their neighbors’ money; they put out their hand toward it, and often, impelled by the cruel passion which destroys their wits, they commit the most shameful crimes. Such examples are only too common; gambling has three results, but they are inevitable: it leads either to suicide, to the poor-house or to the stool of repentance.
Edouard did not indulge in these reflections, unfortunately for him. He watched the game, and after he had mastered its principles, he placed a twenty-franc piece on the red; that color came out nine times in succession; and as Edouard had left his stake each time, he won in five minutes ten thousand two hundred and forty francs. Chevalier Desfleurets, leaping up and down on his chair in amazement at the sight of such extraordinary good-fortune, advised Murville in a whisper to stop there for the time, because, according to the probabilities and the prickings on his card, the black could not fail to come out next. The chevalier was very pleased to see the young man win, for he expected to meet him at Madame de Géran’s, and as he played very badly at écarté and paid very promptly, it was very satisfactory to know that he was in funds.
Edouard did not care about probabilities, but he was conscious of a great void in his stomach; for the occupation with which his new conquest had provided him all night made him feel the necessity of renewing his strength. So he rose and left the table, promising the chevalier to play with him that evening.
At that moment the ball stopped in a compartment, and, contrary to Desfleurets’s expectations, it rested on the red. Edouard was terribly vexed that he had left the gameso soon, but he promised to make up for it at the first opportunity. The tall man in the nut-colored coat, who had overheard the advice which the chevalier had given Edouard, uttered a vulgar oath when he saw the red come out; whereat Murville was slightly astonished, in view of the fact that Dufresne had emphasized the extreme good breeding which prevailed in that establishment; but he stuffed his gold in his pockets none the less, and left the place, radiant because of his good luck.
He turned his steps homeward; on the way he thought of his wife; she must be very anxious, and very angry with him; she had not seen him since the day before. He felt greatly embarrassed about speaking to her, but he decided to go to her, and, after taking his money to his office, where he found his clerk asleep over theMoniteur, Edouard went up to his wife’s apartment.
Despite the indifference which Edouard had felt for his wife for some time past, he was moved when he saw the change which had taken place in her whole person since the day before. Adeline was pale and depressed; her swollen, red eyes were still full of tears; every feature bore the mark of the most intense suffering. Edouard had no doubt that his long absence was the cause of his wife’s grief; so he approached her and tried to find some excuses to palliate his conduct.
“Perhaps you sat up for me last night; no doubt you were anxious; but I was detained against my will at a party where there was card playing; I was winning, and I could not decently leave.”
“You are the master of your actions, monsieur,” replied Adeline, without looking up at her husband; “you would be very foolish to put yourself out for me.”
Edouard did not expect to find such submission; he dreaded reproaches, complaints and tears; but Adelinedid not say another word; she seemed resigned, she sighed and held her peace. This behavior produced more effect on her husband’s heart than outcries and remonstrances; he felt touched; he was on the point of falling at his wife’s feet and asking her pardon for his misdeed; but Madame de Géran’s image presented itself to his mind and changed all his sensations; he repelled a sentimentality too vulgar for a man of fashion, and returned to his new plans.
“Madame, you have expressed a wish to return to the country; the summer is advancing and you must take advantage of it. Moreover, I believe that it will be an excellent thing for our child. I advise you to start at once. I cannot go with you now, for some important matters keep me in Paris; but I hope to come to see you often.”
“Very well, monsieur; I will make all necessary preparations for going away and for my stay in the country, where I shall remain until I receive your orders to return.”
“On my honor,” said Edouard to himself, “my wife is charming! such obedience! It is altogether extraordinary.”
He took Adeline’s hand and pressed it lightly; and paying no heed to the trembling of that once cherished hand, he imprinted a very cold kiss upon it, and hurried away with the rapidity of a schoolboy when he hears the bell ring for recess.
“He wants me to go away,” said Adeline to herself when she was alone; “my presence embarrasses him. Well, we will go. What does it matter to me now in what part of the world I live, since I shall find happiness nowhere? I have lost my husband’s love, I have lost honor and repose of mind; I will go away and conceal mymelancholy existence; for my daughter’s sake only do I desire to preserve it, and I will devote it entirely to her. Poor child! What would become of you if you should lose me?”
Adeline embraced her daughter; only by reminding herself that she was a mother could she succeed in reviving her vanishing courage. She made preparations for her departure for Villeneuve-Saint-Georges; she would have been glad to induce her mother to accompany her; but Mamma Germeuil cared very little for the country; she had her own habits, her acquaintances in Paris, and old age always grows selfish; she felt that she had but few pleasures left to enjoy, and she did not care to sacrifice any of them.
A week was sufficient for Adeline to prepare all that was necessary for her and her daughter in the country. At the end of that time, during which she caught a glimpse of her husband at rare intervals, she prepared to start. But before taking her leave, she determined to make a last effort, not to recover her husband’s love, for she well knew that that sentiment cannot be commanded, but to show him Dufresne as he really was. Edouard did not listen to her and refused to believe her when she mentioned the villain who was leading him on to his ruin; but Adeline thought of Madame Dolban; she thought that she would not refuse to write Murville another letter, wherein she would describe in detail the wickedness of the man whom he called his friend.
It was for Edouard’s honor and his good name that Adeline took this last step, which could not restore her happiness but would reassure her concerning the future of her husband.
The young wife went at once to Madame Dolban’s house and asked the concierge if she could see her.
“You come too late, madame,” the man replied; “Madame Dolban died three days ago!”
“She is dead! Why, she wrote to me only nine days ago!”
“Oh! mon Dieu! that’s the way things go in this world! A severe attack of fever, and then nervous collapse, and I don’t know what else. It carried her off right away.”
“All is lost,” said Adeline as she turned away; “there is no hope now of convincing Edouard. Dufresne triumphs. He will drag him to his destruction!”
Discouraged by this fresh disappointment, the griefstricken Adeline made haste to leave Paris; she started with her daughter for Villeneuve-Saint-Georges, and as she sat in the carriage, with none but her child to witness her grief, she thought of the difference between that journey and the journey of the preceding year, and she wept over the rapidity with which her happiness had vanished.
Rid of his wife’s presence, the sight of whom was still disturbing to his conscience, Edouard abandoned himself without restraint to Dufresne’s advice, to his love for Madame de Géran, and to his passion for gambling.
Dufresne had kept half of the sum produced by the sale of the consols. He had always intended to appropriate a portion of Edouard’s fortune, upon whose pursehe had already been drawing for some time, because, as he said, business was not good. But Dufresne added to all his other vices that of gambling, and the sum that he kept was speedily lost in the gulf in which he had, in a very short time, squandered Madame Dolban’s fortune.
Edouard passed a large part of his days in the academies, and his nights with Madame de Géran, at whose house there was gambling of the wildest sort. People reasonably well dressed, but whose faces denoted the vilest sort of characters, resorted every evening to the house of the general’s widow, where they were certain to find Monsieur Murville and some other dupes, over whom the schemers and kept women disputed.
But Madame de Géran did not lose sight of her lover; she did not propose that her slave should escape her; she was an adept at working all the springs of coquetry; all sorts of stratagems, all methods were employed to bewilder and blind a man who believed himself to be adored, and who made every conceivable sacrifice to gratify the wishes of his mistress.
Madame de Géran led her lovers a rapid pace: cards, theatres, dinners, drives, select parties, dresses, shawls, jewels, suppers, love, caresses!—only with the aid of all these could one rely even upon ostensible fidelity from her. But it must be confessed too, that amid all these diversions, Edouard had not a moment to himself; he did not even find time to be bored; and that is rarely the case when one is surfeited with everything.
But luck had ceased to be favorable to him. After winning at roulette several times in succession, he experienced the inconstancy of fortune and lost considerable sums. Instead of stopping, he persisted obstinately in going on; that is the inevitable result of a first gain, which acts as a bait to people who are beginning tofrequent gambling hells; so that the bankers watch with a smile the gambler who goes out with his pockets full of gold, feeling very sure that the next day the unfortunate wretch will lose twice what he has won.