LITMIR.BIZ

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could no longer abandon the desire of taking this step. He wished to make a trial of his own strength, so that one day, all of a sudden, he polished his boots himself, bought white gloves, and set forth on his way, substituting himself for Frederick, and almost imagining that he was the other by a singular intellectual evolution, in which there was, at the same time, vengeance and sympathy, imitation and audacity.

      He announced himself as "Doctor Deslauriers."

      Madame Arnoux was surprised, as she had not sent for any physician.

      "Ha! a thousand apologies! – 'tis a doctor of law! I have come in Monsieur Moreau's interest."

      This name appeared to produce a disquieting effect on her mind.

      "So much the better!" thought the ex-law-clerk.

      "Since she has a liking for him, she will like me, too!" buoying up his courage with the accepted idea that it is easier to supplant a lover than a husband.

      He referred to the fact that he had the pleasure of meeting her on one occasion at the law-courts; he even mentioned the date. This remarkable power of memory astonished Madame Arnoux. He went on in a tone of mild affectation:

      "You have already found your affairs a little embarrassing?"

      She made no reply.

      "Then it must be true."

      He began to chat about one thing or another, about her house, about the works; then, noticing some medallions at the sides of the mirror:

      "Ha! family portraits, no doubt?"

      He remarked that of an old lady, Madame Arnoux's mother.

      "She has the appearance of an excellent woman, a southern type."

      And, on being met with the objection that she was from Chartres:

      "Chartres! pretty town!"

      He praised its cathedral and public buildings, and coming back to the portrait, traced resemblances between it and Madame Arnoux, and cast flatteries at her indirectly. She did not appear to be offended at this. He took confidence, and said that he had known Arnoux a long time.

      "He is a fine fellow, but one who compromises himself. Take this mortgage, for example – one can't imagine such a reckless act – "

      "Yes, I know," said she, shrugging her shoulders.

      This involuntary evidence of contempt induced Deslauriers to continue. "That kaolin business of his was near turning out very badly, a thing you may not be aware of, and even his reputation – "

      A contraction of the brows made him pause.

      Then, falling back on generalities, he expressed his pity for the "poor women whose husbands frittered away their means."

      "But in this case, monsieur, the means belong to him. As for me, I have nothing!"

      No matter, one never knows. A woman of experience might be useful. He made offers of devotion, exalted his own merits; and he looked into her face through his shining spectacles.

      She was seized with a vague torpor; but suddenly said:

      "Let us look into the matter, I beg of you."

      He exhibited the bundle of papers.

      "This is Frederick's letter of attorney. With such a document in the hands of a process-server, who would make out an order, nothing could be easier; in twenty-four hours – " (She remained impassive; he changed his manœuvre.)

      "As for me, however, I don't understand what impels him to demand this sum, for, in fact, he doesn't want it."

      "How is that? Monsieur Moreau has shown himself so kind."

      "Oh! granted!"

      And Deslauriers began by eulogising him, then in a mild fashion disparaged him, giving it out that he was a forgetful individual, and over-fond of money.

      "I thought he was your friend, monsieur?"

      "That does not prevent me from seeing his defects. Thus, he showed very little recognition of – how shall I put it? – the sympathy – "

      Madame Arnoux was turning over the leaves of a large manuscript book.

      She interrupted him in order to get him to explain a certain word.

      He bent over her shoulder, and his face came so close to hers that he grazed her cheek. She blushed. This heightened colour inflamed Deslauriers, he hungrily kissed her head.

      "What are you doing, Monsieur?" And, standing up against the wall, she compelled him to remain perfectly quiet under the glance of her large blue eyes glowing with anger.

      "Listen to me! I love you!"

      She broke into a laugh, a shrill, discouraging laugh. Deslauriers felt himself suffocating with anger. He restrained his feelings, and, with the look of a vanquished person imploring mercy:

      "Ha! you are wrong! As for me, I would not go like him."

      "Of whom, pray, are you talking?"

      "Of Frederick."

      "Ah! Monsieur Moreau troubles me little. I told you that!"

      "Oh! forgive me! forgive me!" Then, drawling his words, in a sarcastic tone:

      "I even imagined that you were sufficiently interested in him personally to learn with pleasure – "

      She became quite pale. The ex-law-clerk added:

      "He is going to be married."

      "He!"

      "In a month at latest, to Mademoiselle Roque, the daughter of M. Dambreuse's agent. He has even gone down to Nogent for no other purpose but that."

      She placed her hand over her heart, as if at the shock of a great blow; but immediately she rang the bell. Deslauriers did not wait to be ordered to leave. When she turned round he had disappeared.

      Madame Arnoux was gasping a little with the strain of her emotions. She drew near the window to get a breath of air.

      On the other side of the street, on the footpath, a packer in his shirt-sleeves was nailing down a trunk. Hackney-coaches passed. She closed the window-blinds and then came and sat down. As the high houses in the vicinity intercepted the sun's rays, the light of day stole coldly into the apartment. Her children had gone out; there was not a stir around her. It seemed as if she were utterly deserted.

      "He is going to be married! Is it possible?"

      And she was seized with a fit of nervous trembling.

      "Why is this? Does it mean that I love him?"

      Then all of a sudden:

      "Why, yes; I love him – I love him!"

      It seemed to her as if she were sinking into endless depths. The clock struck three. She listened to the vibrations of the sounds as they died away. And she remained on the edge of the armchair, with her eyeballs fixed and an unchanging smile on her face.

      The same afternoon, at the same moment, Frederick and Mademoiselle Louise were walking in the garden belonging to M. Roque at the end of the island.

      Old Catherine was watching them, some distance away. They were walking side by side and Frederick said:

      "You remember when I brought you into the country?"

      "How good you were to me!" she replied. "You assisted me in making sand-pies, in filling my watering-pot, and in rocking me in the swing!"

      "All your dolls, who had the names of queens and marchionesses – what has become of them?"

      "Really, I don't know!"

      "And your pug Moricaud?"

      "He's drowned, poor darling!"

      "And the Don Quixote of which we coloured the engravings together?"

      "I have it still!"

      He recalled to her mind the day of her first communion, and how pretty she had been at vespers, with her white veil and her large wax-taper, whilst the girls were all taking

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