LITMIR.BIZ

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of her toilets, in black, threw a thick veil over her head, and hastened to the Corbeil station at the hour that she thought the unknown girl would present herself there. She took a seat on a bench in the rear of the waiting-room. She had not long to wait. She soon perceived the count and a young girl coming along the avenue, which she could see from where she sat. They were arm in arm, and seemed to be in a very happy mood. They passed within a few steps of her, and as they walked very slowly, she was able to scrutinize Jenny at her ease. She saw that she was pretty, but that was all. Having seen that which she wished, and become satisfied that Jenny was not to be feared (which showed her inexperience) Bertha directed her steps homeward. But she chose her time of departure awkwardly; for as she was passing along behind the cabs, which concealed her, Hector came out of the station. They crossed each other’s paths at the gate, and their eyes met. Did he recognize her? His face expressed great surprise, yet he did not bow to her. “Yes, he recognized me,” thought Bertha, as she returned home by the river-road; and surprised, almost terrified by her boldness, she asked herself whether she ought to rejoice or mourn over this meeting. What would be its result? Hector cautiously followed her at a little distance. He was greatly astonished. His vanity, always on the watch, had already apprised him of what was passing in Bertha’s heart, but, though modesty was no fault of his, he was far from guessing that she was so much enamoured of him as to take such a step.

      “She loves me!” he repeated to himself, as he went along. “She loves me!”

      He did not yet know what to do. Should he fly? Should he still appear the same in his conduct toward her, pretending not to have seen her? He ought to fly that very evening, without hesitation, without turning his head; to fly as if the house were about to tumble about his head. This was his first thought. It was quickly stifled under the explosion of the base passions which fermented in him. Ah, Sauvresy had saved him when he was dying! Sauvresy, after saving him, had welcomed him, opened to him his heart, purse, house; at this very moment he was making untiring efforts to restore his fortunes. Men like Tremorel can only receive such services as outrages. Had not his sojourn at Valfeuillu been a continual suffering? Was not his self-conceit tortured from morning till night? He might count the days by their humiliations. What! Must he always submit to—if he was not grateful for—the superiority of a man whom he had always been wont to treat as his inferior?

      “Besides,” thought he, judging his friend by himself, “he only acts thus from pride and ostentation. What am I at his house, but a living witness of his generosity and devotion? He seems to live for me—it’s Tremorel here and Tremorel there! He triumphs over my misfortunes, and makes his conduct a glory and title to the public admiration.”

      He could not forgive his friend for being so rich, so happy, so highly respected, for having known how to regulate his life, while he had exhausted his own fortune at thirty. And should he not seize so good an opportunity to avenge himself for the favors which overwhelmed him?

      “Have I run after his wife?” said he to himself, trying to impose silence on his conscience. “She comes to me of her own will, herself, without the least temptation from me. I should be a fool if I repelled her.”

      Conceit has irresistible arguments. Hector, when he entered the house, had made up his mind. He did not fly. Yet he had the excuse neither of passion nor of temptation; he did not love her, and his infamy was deliberate, coldly premeditated. Between her and him a chain more solid than mutual attraction was riveted; their common hatred of Sauvresy. They owed too much to him. His hand had held both from degradation.

      The first hours of their mutual understanding were spent in angry words, rather than the cooings of love. They perceived too clearly the disgrace of their conduct not to try to reassure each other against their remorse. They tried to prove to each other that Sauvresy was ridiculous and odious; as if they were absolved by his deficiencies, if deficiencies he had. If indeed trustfulness is foolishness, Sauvresy was indeed a fool, because he could be deceived under his own eyes, in his own house, because he had perfect faith in his wife and his friend. He suspected nothing, and every day he rejoiced that he had been able to keep Tremorel by him. He often repeated to his wife:

      “I am too happy.”

      Bertha employed all her art to encourage these joyous illusions. She who had before been so capricious, so nervous, wilful, became little by little submissive to the degree of an angelic softness. The future of her love depended on her husband, and she spared no pains to prevent the slightest suspicion from ruffling his calm confidence. Such was their prudence that no one in the house suspected their state. And yet Bertha was not happy. Her love did not yield her the joys she had expected. She hoped to be transported to the clouds, and she remained on the earth, hampered by all the miserable ties of a life of lies and deceit.

      Perhaps she perceived that she was Hector’s revenge on her husband, and that he only loved in her the dishonored wife of an envied friend. And to crown all, she was jealous. For several months she tried to persuade Tremorel to break with Jenny. He always had the same reply, which, though it might be prudent, was irritating.

      “Jenny is our security—you must think of that.”

      The fact was, however, that he was trying to devise some means of getting rid of Jenny. It was a difficult matter. The poor girl, having fallen into comparative poverty, became more and more tenacious of Hector’s affection. She often gave him trouble by telling him that he was no longer the same, that he was changed; she was sad, and wept, and had red eyes.

      One evening, in a fit of anger, she menaced him with a singular threat.

      “You love another,” she said. “I know it, for I have proofs of it. Take care! If you ever leave me, my anger will fall on her head, and I will not have any mercy on her.”

      The count foolishly attached no importance to these words; they only hastened the separation.

      “She is getting very troublesome,” thought he. “If some day I shouldn’t go when she was expecting me, she might come up to Valfeuillu, and make a wretched scandal.”

      He armed himself with all his courage, which was assisted by Bertha’s tears and entreaties, and started for Corbeil resolved to break off with Jenny. He took every precaution in declaring his intentions, giving the best reasons for his decision that he could think of.

      “We must be careful, you know, Jenny,” said he, “and cease to meet for a while. I am ruined, you know, and the only thing that can save me is marriage.”

      Hector had prepared himself for an explosion of fury, piercing cries, hysterics, fainting-fits. To his great surprise, Jenny did not answer a word. She became as white as her collar, her ruddy lips blanched, her eyes stared.

      “So,” said she, with her teeth tightly shut to contain herself, “so you are going to get married?”

      “Alas, I must,” he answered with a hypocritical sigh. “You know that lately I have only been able to get money for you by borrowing from my friend; his purse will not be at my service forever.”

      Jenny took Hector by the hand, and led him to the window. There, looking intently at him, as if her gaze could frighten the truth out of him, she said, slowly:

      “It is really true, is it, that you are going to leave me to get married?”

      Hector disengaged one of his hands, and placed it on his heart.

      “I swear it on my honor,” said he.

      “I ought to believe you, then.”

      Jenny returned to the middle of the room. Standing erect before the mirror, she put on her hat, quietly disposing its ribbons as if nothing had occurred. When she was ready to go, she went up to Tremorel. “For the last time,” said she, in a tone which she forced to be firm, and which belied her tearful, glistening eyes. “For the last time, Hector, are we really to part?”

      “We must.”

      Jenny made a gesture which Tremorel did not see; her face had a malicious expression; her lips parted to utter some sarcastic response; but she recovered herself almost immediately.

      “I am going, Hector,”

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