Chapter X.

Jealousy


The Du Roys had been in Paris two days and the journalist had
resumed work; he had given up his own especial province to assume
that of Forestier, and to devote himself entirely to politics. On
this particular evening he turned his steps toward home with a light
heart. As he passed a florist's on Rue Notre Dame de Lorette he
bought a bouquet of half-open roses for Madeleine. Having forgotten
his key, on arriving at his door, he rang and the servant answered
his summons.

Georges asked: "Is Madame at home?" "Yes, sir."

In the dining-room he paused in astonishment to see covers laid for
three: the door of the salon being ajar, he saw Madeleine arranging
in a vase on the mantelpiece a bunch of roses similar to his.

He entered the room and asked: "Have you invited anyone to dinner?"

She replied without turning her head and continuing the arrangement
of her flowers: "Yes and no: it is my old friend, Count de Vaudrec,
who is in the habit of dining here every Monday and who will come
now as he always has,"

Georges murmured: "Very well."

He stopped behind her, the bouquet in his hand, the desire strong
within him to conceal it--to throw it away. However, he said:

"Here, I have brought you some roses!"

She turned to him with a smile and said: "Ah, how thoughtful of
you!" and she kissed him with such evident affection that he felt
consoled.

She took the flowers, inhaled their perfume, and put them in an
empty vase. Then she said as she noted the effect: "Now I am
satisfied; my mantelpiece looks pretty," adding with an air of
conviction:

"Vaudrec is charming; you will become intimate with him at once,"

A ring announced the Count. He entered as if he were at home. After
gallantly kissing Mme. Du Roy's hand, he turned to her husband and
cordially offered his hand, saying: "How are you, my dear Du Roy?"

He had no longer that haughty air, but was very affable. One would
have thought in the course of five minutes, that the two men had
known one another for ten years. Madeleine, whose face was radiant,
said: "I will leave you together. I have work to superintend in the
kitchen." The dinner was excellent and the Count remained very late.
When he was gone, Madeleine said to her husband: "Is he not nice? He
improves, too, on acquaintance. He is a good, true, faithful friend.
Ah, without him--"

She did not complete her sentence and Georges replied: "Yes, he is
very pleasant, I think we shall understand each other well."

"You do not know," she said, "that we have work to do to-night
before retiring. I did not have time to tell you before dinner, for
Vaudrec came. Laroche-Mathieu brought me important news of Morocco.
We must make a fine article of that. Let us set to work at once.
Come, take the lamp."

He carried the lamp and they entered the study. Madeleine leaned,
against the mantelpiece, and having lighted a cigarette, told him
the news and gave him her plan of the article. He listened
attentively, making notes as she spoke, and when she had finished he
raised objections, took up the question and, in his turn, developed
another plan. His wife ceased smoking, for her interest was aroused
in following Georges's line of thought. From time to time she
murmured: "Yes, yes; very good--excellent--very forcible--" And when
he had finished speaking, she said: "Now let us write."

It was always difficult for him to make a beginning and she would
lean over his shoulder and whisper the phrases in his ear, then he
would add a few lines; when their article was completed, Georges re-
read it. Both he and Madeleine pronounced it admirable and kissed
one another with passionate admiration.

The article appeared with the signature of "G. du Roy de Cantel,"
and made a great sensation. M. Walter congratulated the author, who
soon became celebrated in political circles. His wife, too,
surprised him by the ingenuousness of her mind, the cleverness of
her wit, and the number of her acquaintances. At almost any time
upon returning home he found in his salon a senator, a deputy, a
magistrate, or a general, who treated Madeleine with grave
familiarity.

Deputy Laroche-Mathieu, who dined at Rue Fontaine every Tuesday, was
one of the largest stockholders of M. Walter's paper and the
latter's colleague and associate in many business transactions. Du
Roy hoped, later on, that some of the benefits promised by him to
Forestier might fall to his share. They would be given to
Madeleine's new husband--that was all--nothing was changed; even his
associates sometimes called him Forestier, and it made Du Roy
furious at the dead. He grew to hate the very name; it was to him
almost an insult. Even at home the obsession continued; the entire
house reminded him of Charles.

One evening Du Roy, who liked sweetmeats, asked:

"Why do we never have sweets?"

His wife replied pleasantly: "I never think of it, because Charles
disliked them."

He interrupted her with an impatient gesture: "Do you know I am
getting tired of Charles? It is Charles here, Charles there, Charles
liked this, Charles liked that. Since Charles is dead, let him rest
in peace."

Madeleine ascribed her husband's burst of ill humor to puerile
jealousy, but she was flattered and did not reply. On retiring,
haunted by the same thought, he asked:

"Did Charles wear a cotton nightcap to keep the draft out of his
ears?"

She replied pleasantly: "No, a lace one!"

Georges shrugged his shoulders and said scornfully: "What a bird!"

From that time Georges never called Charles anything but "poor
Charles," with an accent of infinite pity. One evening as Du Roy was
smoking a cigarette at his window, toward the end of June, the heat
awoke in him a desire for fresh air. He asked:

"My little Made, would you like to go as far as the Bois?"

"Yes, certainly."

They took an open carriage and drove to the Avenue du Bois de
Boulogne. It was a sultry evening; a host of cabs lined the drive,
one behind another. When the carriage containing Georges and
Madeleine reached the turning which led to the fortifications, they
kissed one another and Madeleine stammered in confusion: "We are as
childish as we were at Rouen."

The road they followed was not so much frequented, a gentle breeze
rustled the leaves of the trees, the sky was studded with brilliant
stars and Georges murmured, as he pressed his wife to his breast:
"Oh, my little Made."

She said to him: "Do you remember how gloomy the forest at Canteleu
was? It seemed to me that it was full of horrible beasts and that it
was interminable, while here it is charming. One can feel the
caressing breezes, and I know that Sevres is on the other side."

He replied: "In our forests there are nothing but stags, foxes,
roebucks, and boars, with here and there a forester's house." He
paused for a moment and then asked: "Did you come here in the
evening with Charles occasionally?"

She replied: "Frequently."

He felt a desire to return home at once. Forestier's image haunted
him, however; he could think of nothing else. The carriage rolled on
toward the Arc de Triomphe and joined the stream of carriages
returning home. As Georges remained silent, his wife, who divined
his thoughts, asked in her soft voice: "Of what are you thinking?
For half an hour you have not uttered a word."

He replied with a sneer: "I am thinking of all those fools who kiss
one another, and I believe truly that there is something else to be
done in life."

She whispered: "Yes, but it is nice sometimes! It is nice when one
has nothing better to do."

Georges' thoughts were busy with the dead; he said to himself
angrily: "I am foolish to worry, to torment myself as I have done."
After remonstrating thus with himself, he felt more reconciled to
the thought of Forestier, and felt like exclaiming: "Good evening,
old fellow!"

Madeleine, who was bored by his silence, asked: "Shall we go to
Tortoni's for ices before returning home?"

He glanced at her from his corner and thought: "She is pretty; so
much the better. Tit for tat, my comrade. But if they begin again to
annoy me with you, it will get somewhat hot at the North Pole!"

Then he replied: "Certainly, my darling," and before she had time to
think he kissed her. It seemed to Madeleine that her husband's lips
were icy. However he smiled as usual and gave her his hand to assist
her to alight at the cafe.

Chapter XI.

Madame Walter Takes a Hand


On entering the office the following day, Du Roy sought Boisrenard
and told him to warn his associates not to continue the farce of
calling him Forestier, or there would be war. When Du Roy returned
an hour later, no one called him by that name. From the office he
proceeded to his home, and hearing the sound of ladies' voices in
the drawing-room, he asked the servant: "Who is here?"

"Mme. Walter and Mme. de Marelle," was the reply.

His heart pulsated violently as he opened the door. Clotilde was
seated by the fireplace; it seemed to Georges that she turned pale
on perceiving him.

Having greeted Mme. Walter and her two daughters seated like
sentinels beside her, he turned to his former mistress. She extended
her hand; he took and pressed it as if to say: "I love you still!"
She returned the pressure.

He said: "Have you been well since we last met?"

"Yes; have you, Bel-Ami?" And turning to Madeleine she added: "Will
you permit me to call him Bel-Ami?"

"Certainly, my dear; I will permit anything you wish."

A shade of irony lurked beneath those words, uttered so pleasantly.

Mme. Walter mentioned a fencing-match to be given at Jacques Rival's
apartments, the proceeds to be devoted to charities, and in which
many society ladies were going to assist. She said: "It will be very
entertaining; but I am in despair, for we have no one to escort us,
my husband having an engagement."

Du Roy offered his services at once. She accepted, saying: "My
daughters and I shall be very grateful."

He glanced at the younger of the two girls and thought: "Little
Suzanne is not at all bad, not at all."

She resembled a doll, being very small and dainty, with a well-
proportioned form, a pretty, delicate face, blue-gray eyes, a fair
skin, and curly, flaxen hair. Her elder sister, Rose, was plain--one
of those girls to whom no attention is ever paid. Her mother rose,
and turning to Georges, said: "I shall count on you next Thursday at
two o'clock."

He replied: "Count upon me, Madame."

When the door closed upon Mme. Walter, Mme. de Marelle, in her turn,
rose.

"Au revoir, Bel-Ami."

This time she pressed his hand and he was moved by that silent
avowal. "I will go to see her to-morrow," thought he.

Left alone with his wife, she laughed, and looking into his eyes
said: "Mme. Walter has taken a fancy to you!"

He replied incredulously: "Nonsense!"

"But I know it. She spoke of you to me with great enthusiasm. She
said she would like to find two husbands like you for her daughters.
Fortunately she is not susceptible herself."

He did not understand her and repeated: "Susceptible herself?"

She replied in a tone of conviction: "Oh, Mme. Walter is
irreproachable. Her husband you know as well as I. But she is
different. Still she has suffered a great deal in having married a
Jew, though she has been true to him; she is a virtuous woman."

Du Roy was surprised: "I thought her a Jewess."

"She a Jewess! No, indeed! She is the prime mover in all the
charitable movements at the Madeleine. She was even married by a
priest. I am not sure but that M. Walter went through the form of
baptism."

Georges murmured: "And--she--likes--me--"

"Yes. If you were not married I should advise you to ask for the
hand of--Suzanne--would you not prefer her to Rose?"

He replied as he twisted his mustache: "Eh! the mother is not so
bad!"

Madeleine replied: "I am not afraid of her. At her age one does not
begin to make conquests--one should commence sooner."

Georges thought: "If I might have had Suzanne, ah!" Then he shrugged
his shoulders: "Bah, it is absurd; her father would not have
consented."

He determined to treat Mme. Walter very considerately in order to
retain her regard. All that evening he was haunted by recollections
of his love for Clotilde; he recalled their escapades, her kindness.
He repeated to himself: "She is indeed nice. Yes, I shall call upon
her to-morrow."

When he had lunched the following morning he repaired to Rue
Verneuil. The same maid opened the door, and with the familiarity of
an old servant she asked: "Is Monsieur well?"

He replied: "Yes, my child," and entered the drawing-room in which
some one was practising scales. It was Laurine. He expected she
would fall upon his neck. She, however, rose ceremoniously, bowed
coldly, and left the room with dignity; her manner was so much like
that of an outraged woman that he was amazed. Her mother entered. He
kissed her hand.

"How much I have thought of you," said he.

"And I of you," she replied.

They seated themselves and smiled as they gazed into one another's
eyes.

"My dear little Clo, I love you."

"And I love you."

"Still--still--you did not miss me."

"Yes and no. I was grieved, but when I heard your reason, I said to
myself: 'Bah, he will return to me some day.'"

"I dared not come. I did not know how I should be received. I dared
not, but I longed to come. Now, tell me what ails Laurine; she
scarcely bade me good morning and left the room with an angry air."

"I do not know, but one cannot mention you to her since your
marriage; I really believe she is jealous."

"Nonsense."

"Yes, my dear, she no longer calls you Bel-Ami, but M. Forestier
instead."

Du Roy colored, then drawing nearer the young woman, he said: "Kiss
me."

She obeyed him.

"Where can we meet again?" he asked.

"At Rue de Constantinople."

"Ah, are the apartments not rented?"

"No, I kept them."

"You did?"

"Yes, I thought you would return."

His heart bounded joyfully. She loved him then with a lasting love!
He whispered: "I adore you." Then he asked: "Is your husband well?"

"Yes, very well. He has just been home for a month; he went away the
day before yesterday."

Du Roy could not suppress a smile: "How opportunely that always
happens!"

She replied naively: "Yes, it happens opportunely, but he is not in
the way when he is here; is he?"

"That is true; he is a charming man!"

"How do you like your new life?"

"Tolerably; my wife is a comrade, an associate, nothing more; as for
my heart--"

"I understand; but she is good."

"Yes, she does not trouble me."

He drew near Clotilde and murmured: "When shall we meet again?"

"To-morrow, if you will."

"Yes, to-morrow at two o'clock."

He rose to take his leave somewhat embarrassed.

"You know I intend to take back the rooms on Rue de Constantinople
myself. I wish to; it is not necessary for you to pay for them."

She kissed his hands, saying: "You may do as you like. I am
satisfied to have kept them until we met again." And Du Roy took his
leave very well satisfied.

When Thursday came, he asked Madeleine: "Are going to the fencing-
match at Rival's?"

"No, I do not care about it. I will go to the chamber of deputies."

Georges called for Mme. Walter in an open carriage, for the weather
was delightful. He was surprised to find her looking so handsome and
so young. Never had she appeared so fresh. Her daughter, Suzanne,
was dressed in pink; her sister looked like her governess. At
Rival's door was a long line of carriages. Du Roy offered his arm to
Mme. Walter and they entered.

The entertainment was for the benefit of the orphans of the Sixth
Ward under the patronage of all the wiles of the senators and
deputies who were connected with "La Vie Francaise."

Jacques Rival received the arrivals at the entrance to his
apartments, then he pointed to a small staircase which led to the
cellar in which were his shooting-gallery and fencing-room, saying:
"Downstairs, ladies, downstairs. The match will take place in the
subterranean apartments."

Pressing Du Roy's hand, he said: "Good evening, Bel-Ami."

Du Roy was surprised: "Who told you about that name?"

Rival replied: "Mme. Walter, who thinks it very pretty."

Mme. Walter blushed.

"Yes, I confess that if I knew you better, I should do as little
Laurine, and I should call you Bel-Ami, too. It suits you
admirably."

Du Roy laughed. "I beg you to do so, Madame."

She cast down her eyes. "No, we are not well enough acquainted."

He murmured: "Permit me to hope that we shall become so."

"Well, we shall see," said she.

They descended the stairs and entered a large room, which was
lighted by Venetian lanterns and decorated with festoons of gauze.
Nearly all the benches were filled with ladies, who were chatting as
if they were at a theater. Mme. Walter and her daughters reached
their seats in the front row.

Du Roy, having obtained their places for them, whispered: "I shall
be obliged to leave you; men cannot occupy the seats."

Mme. Walter replied hesitatingly: "I should like to keep you, just
the same. You could tell me the names of the participants. See, if
you stand at the end of the seat, you will not annoy anyone." She
raised her large, soft eyes to his and insisted: "Come, stay with
us--Bel-Ami--we need you!"

He replied: "I obey with pleasure, Madame!"

Suddenly Jacques Rival's voice announced: "We will begin, ladies."

Then followed the fencing-match. Du Roy retained his place beside
the ladies and gave them all the necessary information. When the
entertainment was over and all expenses were paid, two hundred and
twenty francs remained for the orphans of the Sixth Ward.

Du Roy, escorting the Walters, awaited his carriage. When seated
face to face with Mme. Walter, he met her troubled but caressing
glance.

"Egad, I believe she is affected," thought he; and he smiled as he
recognized the fact that he was really successful with the female
sex, for Mme. de Marelle, since the renewal of their relations,
seemed to love him madly.

With a light heart he returned home. Madeleine was awaiting him in
the drawing-room.

"I have some news," said she. "The affair with Morocco is becoming
complicated. France may send an expedition out there in several
months. In any case the ministry will be overthrown and Laroche will
profit by the occasion."

Du Roy, in order to draw out his wife, pretended not to believe it.
"France would not be silly enough to commence any folly with Tunis!"

She shrugged her shoulders impatiently. "I tell you she will! You do
not understand that it is a question of money--you are as simple as
Forestier."

Her object was to wound and irritate him, but he only smiled and
replied: "What! as simple as that stupid fellow?"

She ceased and murmured: "Oh, Georges!"

He added: "Poor devil!" in a tone of profound pity.

Madeleine turned her back upon him scornfully; after a moment of
silence, she continued: "We shall have some company Tuesday. Mme.
Laroche-Mathieu is coming here to dine with Viscountess de Percemur.
Will you invite Rival and Norbert de Varenne? I shall go to Mmes.
Walter and de Marelle to-morrow. Perhaps, too, we may have Mme.
Rissolin."

Du Roy replied: "Very well, I will see to Rival and Norbert."

The following day he thought he would anticipate his wife's visit to
Mme. Walter and attempt to find out if she really was in love with
him. He arrived at Boulevard Malesherbes at two o'clock. He was
ushered into the salon and waited. Finally Mme. Walter appeared and
offered him her hand cordially. "What good wind blows you here?"

"No good wind, but a desire to see you. Some power has impelled me
hither, I do not know why; I have nothing to say except that I have
come; here I am! Pardon the morning call and the candor of my
explanation."

He uttered those words with a smile upon his lips and a serious
accent in his voice.

In her astonishment, she stammered with a blush: "But indeed--I do
not understand--you surprise me."

He added: "It is a declaration made in jest in order not to startle
you."

They were seated near each other. She took the matter as a jest. "Is
it a declaration--seriously?"

"Yes, for a long time I have wished to make it, but I dared not;
they say you are so austere, so rigid."

She had recovered her self-possession and replied:

"Why did you choose to-day?"

"I do not know." Then he lowered his voice: "Or rather because I
have thought only of you since yesterday."

Suddenly turning pale, she gasped: "Come, enough of this
childishness! Let us talk of something else."

But he fell upon his knees before her. She tried to rise; he
prevented her by twining his arms about her waist, and repeated in a
passionate voice: "Yes, it is true that I have loved you madly for
some time. Do not answer me. I am mad--I love you. Oh, if you knew
how I love you!"

She could utter no sound; in her agitation she repulsed him with
both hands, for she could feel his breath upon her cheek. He rose
suddenly and attempted to embrace her, but gaining her liberty for a
moment, she escaped him and ran from chair to chair. He, considering
such pursuit beneath his dignity, sank into a chair, buried his face
in his hands, and feigned to sob convulsively. Then he rose, cried:

"Adieu, adieu!" and fled.

In the hall he took his cane calmly and left the house saying:
"Cristi! I believe she loves me!"

He went at once to the telegraph office to send a message to
Clotilde, appointing a rendezvous for the next day.

On entering the house at his usual time, he said to his wife: "Well,
is everyone coming to dinner?"

She replied: "Yes, all but Mme. Walter, who is uncertain as to
whether she can come. She acted very strangely. Never mind, perhaps
she can manage it anyway."

He replied: "She will come."

He was not, however, certain and was rendered uneasy until the day
of the dinner. That morning Madeleine received a message from Mme.
Walter to this effect: "I have succeeded in arranging matters and I
shall be with you, but my husband cannot accompany me."

Du Roy thought: "I did right not to return there. She has calmed
down." Still he awaited her arrival anxiously.

She appeared very composed, somewhat reserved, and haughty. He was
very humble, very careful, and submissive. Mmes. Laroche-Mathieu and
Rissolin were accompanied by their husbands. Mme. de Marelle looked
bewitching in an odd combination of yellow and black.

At Du Roy's right sat Mme. Walter, and he spoke to her only of
serious matters with exaggerated respect. From time to time he
glanced at Clotilde.

"She is really very pretty and fresh looking," thought he. But Mme.
Walter attracted him by the difficulty of the conquest. She took her
leave early.

"I will escort you," said he.

She declined his offer. He insisted: "Why do you not want me? You
wound me deeply. Do not let me feel that I am not forgiven. You see
that I am calm."

She replied: "You cannot leave your guests thus."

He smiled: "Bah! I shall be absent twenty minutes. No one will even
notice it; if you refuse me, you will break my heart."

"Very well," she whispered, "I will accept."

When they were seated in the carriage, he seized her hand, and
kissing it passionately said: "I love you, I love you. Let me tell
it to you. I will not touch you. I only wish to repeat that I love
you."

She stammered: "After what you promised me--it is too bad--too bad."

He seemed to make a great effort, then he continued in a subdued
voice: "See, how I can control myself--and yet--let me only tell you
this--I love you--yes, let me go home with you and kneel before you
five minutes to utter those three words and gaze upon your beloved
face."

She suffered him to take her hand and replied in broken accents:
"No, I cannot--I do not wish to. Think of what my servants, my
daughters, would say--no--no--it is impossible."

He continued: "I cannot live without seeing you; whether it be at
your house or elsewhere, I must see you for only a moment each day
that I may touch your hand, breathe the air stirred by your gown,
contemplate the outlines of your form, and see your beautiful eyes."

She listened tremblingly to the musical language of love, and made
answer: "No, it is impossible. Be silent!"

He spoke very low; he whispered in her ear, comprehending that it
was necessary to win that simple woman gradually, to persuade her to
appoint a meeting where she willed at first, and later on where he
willed.

"Listen: I must see you! I will wait at your door like a beggar. If
you do not come down, I will come to you, but I shall see you to-
morrow."

She repeated: "No, do not come. I shall not receive you. Think of my
daughters!"

"Then tell me where I can meet you--in the street--it matters not
where--at any hour you wish--provided that I can see you. I will
greet you; I will say, I love you; and then go away."

She hesitated, almost distracted. As the coupe stopped at the door,
she whispered hastily: "I will be at La Trinite to-morrow, at half
past three."

After alighting, she said to her coachman: "Take M. du Roy home."

When he returned, his wife asked: "Where have you been?"

He replied in a low voice: "I have been to send an important
telegram."

Mme. de Marelle approached him: "You must take me home, Bel-Ami; you
know that I only dine so far from home on that condition." Turning
to Madeleine, she asked: "You are not jealous?"

Mme. du Roy replied slowly: "No, not at all."

The guests departed. Clotilde, enveloped in laces, whispered to
Madeleine at the door: "Your dinner was perfect. In a short while
you will have the best political salon in Paris."

When she was alone with Georges, she said: "Oh, my darling Bel-Ami,
I love you more dearly every day."

The cab rolled on, and Georges' thoughts were with Mme. Walter.

Chapter XII.

A Meetin and the Result


The July sun shone upon the Place de la Trinite, which was almost
deserted. Du Roy drew out his watch. It was only three o'clock: he
was half an hour too early. He laughed as he thought of the place of
meeting. He entered the sacred edifice of La Trinite; the coolness
within was refreshing. Here and there an old woman kneeled at
prayer, her face in her hands. Du Roy looked at his watch again. It
was not yet a quarter past three. He took a seat, regretting that he
could not smoke. At the end of the church near the choir; he could
hear the measured tread of a corpulent man whom he had noticed when
he entered. Suddenly the rustle of a gown made him start. It was
she. He arose and advanced quickly. She did not offer him her hand
and whispered: "I have only a few minutes. You must kneel near me
that no one will notice us."

She proceeded to a side aisle after saluting the Host on the High
Altar, took a footstool, and kneeled down. Georges took one beside
it and when they were in the attitude of prayer, he said: "Thank
you, thank you. I adore you. I should like to tell you constantly
how I began to love you, how I was conquered the first time I saw
you. Will you permit me some day to unburden my heart, to explain
all to you?"

She replied between her fingers: "I am mad to let you speak to me
thus--mad to have come hither--mad to do as I have done, to let you
believe that this--this adventure can have any results. Forget it,
and never speak to me of it again." She paused.

He replied: "I expect nothing--I hope nothing--I love you--whatever
you may do, I will repeat it so often, with so much force and ardor
that you will finally understand me, and reply: 'I love you too.'"

He felt her frame tremble as she involuntarily repeated: "I love you
too."

He was overcome by astonishment.

"Oh, my God!" she continued incoherently, "Should I say that to you?
I feel guilty, despicable--I--who have two daughters--but I cannot--
cannot--I never thought--it was stronger than I--listen--listen--I
have never loved--any other--but you--I swear it--I have loved you a
year in secret--I have suffered and struggled--I can no longer; I
love you." She wept and her bowed form was shaken by the violence of
her emotion.

Georges murmured: "Give me your hand that I may touch, may press
it."

She slowly took her hand from her face, he seized it saying: "I
should like to drink your tears!"

Placing the hand he held upon his heart he asked: "Do you feel it
beat?"

In a few moments the man Georges had noticed before passed by them.
When Mme. Walter heard him near her, she snatched her fingers from
Georges's clasp and covered her face with them. After the man had
disappeared, Du Roy asked, hoping for another place of meeting than
La Trinite: "Where shall I see you to-morrow?"

She did not reply; she seemed transformed into a statue of prayer.
He continued: "Shall I meet you to-morrow at Park Monceau?"

She turned a livid face toward him and said unsteadily: "Leave me--
leave me now--go--go away--for only five minutes--I suffer too much
near you. I want to pray--go. Let me pray alone--five minutes--let
me ask God--to pardon me--to save me--leave me--five minutes."

She looked so pitiful that he rose without a word and asked with
some hesitation: "Shall I return presently?"

She nodded her head in the affirmative and he left her. She tried to
pray; she closed her eyes in order not to see Georges. She could not
pray; she could only think of him. She would rather have died than
have fallen thus; she had never been weak. She murmured several
words of supplication; she knew that all was over, that the struggle
was in vain. She did not however wish to yield, but she felt her
weakness. Some one approached with a rapid step; she turned her
head. It was a priest. She rose, ran toward him, and clasping her
hands, she cried: "Save me, save me!"

He stopped in surprise.

"What do you want, Madame?"

"I want you to save me. Have pity on me. If you do not help me, I am
lost!"

He gazed at her, wondering if she were mad.

"What can I do for you?" The priest was a young man somewhat
inclined to corpulence.

"Receive my confession," said she, "and counsel me, sustain me, tell
me what to do."

He replied: "I confess every Saturday from three to six."

Seizing his arm she repeated: "No, now, at once--at once! It is
necessary! He is here! In this church! He is waiting for me."

The priest asked: "Who is waiting for you?"

"A man--who will be my ruin if you do not save me. I can no longer
escape him--I am too weak--too weak,"

She fell upon her knees sobbing: "Oh, father, have pity upon me.
Save me, for God's sake, save me!" She seized his gown that he might
not escape her, while he uneasily glanced around on all sides to see
if anyone noticed the woman at his feet. Finally, seeing that he
could not free himself from her, he said: "Rise; I have the key to
the confessional with me."

      *       *       *       *       *       *       *

Du Roy having walked around the choir, was sauntering down the nave,
when he met the stout, bold man wandering about, and he wondered:
"What can he be doing here?"

The man slackened his pace and looked at Georges with the evident
desire to speak to him. When he was near him, he bowed and said
politely:

"I beg your pardon, sir, for disturbing you; but can you tell me
when this church was built?"

Du Roy replied: "I do not know; I think it is twenty or twenty-five
years. It is the first time I have been here. I have never seen it
before." Feeling interested in the stranger, the journalist
continued: "It seems to me that you are examining into it very
carefully."

The man replied: "I am not visiting the church; I have an
appointment." He paused and in a few moments added: "It is very warm
outside."

Du Roy looked at him and suddenly thought that he resembled
Forestier. "Are you from the provinces?" he asked.

"Yes, I am from Rennes. And did you, sir, enter this church from
curiosity?"

"No, I am waiting for a lady." And with a smile upon his lips, he
walked away.

He did not find Mme. Walter in the place in which he had left her,
and was surprised. She had gone. He was furious. Then he thought she
might be looking for him, and he walked around the church. Not
finding her, he returned and seated himself on the chair she had
occupied, hoping that she would rejoin him there. Soon he heard the
sound of a voice. He saw no one; whence came it? He rose to examine
into it, and saw in a chapel near by, the doors of the
confessionals. He drew nearer in order to see the woman whose voice
he heard. He recognized Mme. Walter; she was confessing. At first he
felt a desire to seize her by the arm and drag her away; then he
seated himself near by and bided his time. He waited quite awhile.
At length Mme. Walter rose, turned, saw him and came toward him. Her
face was cold and severe.

"Sir," said she, "I beseech you not to accompany me, not to follow
me and not to come to my house alone. You will not be admitted.
Adieu!" And she walked away in a dignified manner.

He permitted her to go, because it was against his principles to
force matters. As the priest in his turn issued from the
confessional, he advanced toward him and said: "If you did not wear
a gown, I would give you a sound thrashing." Then he turned upon his
heel and left the church whistling. In the doorway he met the stout
gentleman. When Du Roy passed him, they bowed.

The journalist then repaired to the office of "La Vie Francaise." As
he entered he saw by the clerks' busy air that something of
importance was going on, and he hastened to the manager's room. The
latter exclaimed joyfully as Du Roy entered: "What luck! here is
Bel-Ami."

He stopped in confusion and apologized: "I beg your pardon, I am
very much bothered by circumstances. And then I hear my wife and
daughter call you Bel-Ami from morning until night, and I have
acquired the habit myself. Are you displeased?"

Georges laughed. "Not at all."

M. Walter continued: "Very well, then I will call you Bel-Ami as
everyone else does. Great changes have taken place. The ministry has
been overthrown. Marrot is to form a new cabinet. He has chosen
General Boutin d'Acre as minister of war, and our friend Laroche-
Mathieu as minister of foreign affairs. We shall be very busy. I
must write a leading article, a simple declaration of principles;
then I must have something interesting on the Morocco question--you
must attend to that."

Du Roy reflected a moment and then replied: "I have it. I will give
you an article on the political situation of our African colony,"
and he proceeded to prepare M. Walter an outline of his work, which
was nothing but a modification of his first article on "Souvenirs of
a Soldier in Africa."

The manager having read the article said: "It is perfect; you are a
treasure. Many thanks."

Du Roy returned home to dinner delighted with his day,
notwithstanding his failure at La Trinite. His wife was awaiting him
anxiously. She exclaimed on seeing him:

"You know that Laroche is minister of foreign affairs."

"Yes, I have just written an article on that subject."

"How?"

"Do you remember the first article we wrote on 'Souvenirs of a
Soldier in Africa'? Well, I revised and corrected it for the
occasion."

She smiled. "Ah, yes, that will do very well."

At that moment the servant entered with a dispatch containing these
words without any signature:

"I was beside myself. Pardon me and come to-morrow at four o'clock
to Park Monceau."

He understood the message, and with a joyful heart, slipped the
telegram into his pocket. During dinner he repeated the words to
himself; as he interpreted them, they meant, "I yield--I am yours
where and when you will." He laughed.

Madeleine asked: "What is it?"

"Nothing much. I was thinking of a comical old priest I met a short
while since."

      *       *       *       *       *       *       *

Du Roy arrived at the appointed hour the following day. The benches
were all occupied by people trying to escape from the heat and by
nurses with their charges.

He found Mme. Walter in a little antique ruin; she seemed unhappy
and anxious. When he had greeted her, she said: "How many people
there are in the garden!"

He took advantage of the occasion: "Yes, that is true; shall we go
somewhere else?"

"Where?"

"It matters not where; for a drive, for instance. You can lower the
shade on your side and you will be well concealed."

"Yes, I should like that better; I shall die of fear here."

"Very well, meet me in five minutes at the gate which opens on the
boulevard. I will fetch a cab."

When they were seated in the cab, she asked: "Where did you tell the
coachman to drive to?"

Georges replied: "Do not worry; he knows."

He had given the man his address on the Rue de Constantinople.

Mme. Walter said to Du Roy: "You cannot imagine how I suffer on your
account--how I am tormented, tortured. Yesterday I was harsh, but I
wanted to escape you at any price. I was afraid to remain alone with
you. Have you forgiven me?"

He pressed her hand. "Yes, yes, why should I not forgive you, loving
you as I do?"

She looked at him with a beseeching air: "Listen: You must promise
to respect me, otherwise I could never see you again."

At first he did not reply; a smile lurked beneath his mustache; then
he murmured: "I am your slave."

She told him how she had discovered that she loved him, on learning
that he was to marry Madeleine Forestier. Suddenly she ceased
speaking. The carriage stopped. Du Roy opened the door.

"Where are we?" she asked.

He replied: "Alight and enter the house. We shall be undisturbed
there."

"Where are we?" she repeated.

"At my rooms; they are my bachelor apartments which I have rented
for a few days that we might have a corner in which to meet."

She clung to the cab, startled at the thought of a tete-a-tete, and
stammered: "No, no, I do not want to."

He said firmly: "I swear to respect you. Come, you see that people
are looking at us, that a crowd is gathering around us. Make haste!"
And he repeated, "I swear to respect you."

She was terror-stricken and rushed into the house. She was about to
ascend the stairs. He seized her arm: "It is here, on the ground
floor."

When he had closed the door, he showered kisses upon her neck, her
eyes, her lips; in spite of herself, she submitted to his caresses
and even returned them, hiding her face and murmuring in broken
accents: "I swear that I have never had a lover"; while he thought:
"That is a matter of indifference to me."

Chapter XIII.

Madame de Marelle


Autumn had come. The Du Roys had spent the entire summer in Paris,
leading a vigorous campaign in "La Vie Francaise," in favor of the
new cabinet. Although it was only the early part of October, the
chamber was about to resume its sessions, for affairs in Morocco
were becoming menacing. The celebrated speech made by Count de
Lambert Sarrazin had furnished Du Roy with material for ten articles
on the Algerian colony. "La Vie Francaise" had gained considerable
prestige by its connection with the power; it was the first to give
political news, and every newspaper in Paris and the provinces
sought information from it. It was quoted, feared, and began to be
respected: it was no longer the organ of a group of political
intriguers, but the avowed mouthpiece of the cabinet. Laroche-
Mathieu was the soul of the journal and Du Roy his speaking-trumpet.
M. Walter retired discreetly into the background. Madeleine's salon
became an influential center in which several members of the cabinet
met every week. The president of the council had even dined there
twice; the minister of foreign affairs was quite at home at the Du
Roys; he came at any hour, bringing dispatches or information, which
he dictated either to the husband or wife as if they were his
secretaries. After the minister had departed, when Du Roy was alone
with Madeleine, he uttered threats and insinuations against the
"parvenu," as he called him. His wife simply shrugged her shoulders
scornfully, repeating: "Become a minister and you can do the same;
until then, be silent."

His reply was: "No one knows of what I am capable; perhaps they will
find out some day."

She answered philosophically: "He who lives will see."

The morning of the reopening of the Chamber, Du Roy lunched with
Laroche-Mathieu in order to receive instructions from him, before
the session, for a political article the following day in "La Vie
Francaise," which was to be a sort of official declaration of the
plans of the cabinet. After listening to Laroche-Mathieu's eloquence
for some time with jealousy in his heart, Du Roy sauntered slowly
toward the office to commence his work, for he had nothing to do
until four o'clock, at which hour he was to meet Mme. de Marelle at
Rue de Constantinople. They met there regularly twice a week,
Mondays and Wednesdays.

On entering the office, he was handed a sealed dispatch; it was from
Mme. Walter, and read thus:

    "It is absolutely necessary that I should see you to-day. It is
     important. Expect me at two o'clock at Rue de Constantinople. I
     can render you a great service; your friend until death,"

    "VIRGINIE."

He exclaimed: "Heavens! what a bore!" and left the office at once,
too much annoyed to work.

For six weeks he had ineffectually tried to break with Mme. Walter.
At three successive meetings she had been a prey to remorse, and had
overwhelmed her lover with reproaches. Angered by those scenes and
already weary of the dramatic woman, he had simply avoided her,
hoping that the affair would end in that way.

But she persecuted him with her affection, summoned him at all times
by telegrams to meet her at street corners, in shops, or public
gardens. She was very different from what he had fancied she would
be, trying to attract him by actions ridiculous in one of her age.
It disgusted him to hear her call him: "My rat--my dog--my treasure-
-my jewel--my blue-bird"--and to see her assume a kind of childish
modesty when he approached. It seemed to him that being the mother
of a family, a woman of the world, she should have been more sedate,
and have yielded With tears if she chose, but with the tears of a
Dido and not of a Juliette. He never heard her call him "Little one"
or "Baby," without wishing to reply "Old woman," to take his hat
with an oath and leave the room.

At first they had often met at Rue de Constantinople, but Du Roy,
who feared an encounter with Mme. de Marelle, invented a thousand
and one pretexts in order to avoid that rendezvous. He was therefore
obliged to either lunch or dine at her house daily, when she would
clasp his hand under cover of the table or offer him her lips behind
the doors. Above all, Georges enjoyed being thrown so much in
contact with Suzanne; she made sport of everything and everybody
with cutting appropriateness. At length, however, he began to feel
an unconquerable repugnance to the love lavished upon him by the
mother; he could no longer see her, hear her, nor think of her
without anger. He ceased calling upon her, replying to her letters,
and yielding to her appeals. She finally divined that he no longer
loved her, and the discovery caused her unutterable anguish; but she
watched him, followed him in a cab with drawn blinds to the office,
to his house, in the hope of seeing him pass by. He would have liked
to strangle her, but he controlled himself on account of his
position on "La Vie Francaise" and he endeavored by means of
coldness, and even at times harsh words, to make her comprehend that
all was at an end between them.

Then, too, she persisted in devising ruses for summoning him to Rue
de Constantinople, and he was in constant fear that the two women
would some day meet face to face at the door.

On the other hand, his affection for Mme. de Marelle had increased
during the summer. They were both Bohemians by nature; they took
excursions together to Argenteuil, Bougival, Maisons, and Poissy,
and when he was forced to return and dine at Mme. Walter's, he
detested his mature mistress more thoroughly, as he recalled the
youthful one he had just left. He was congratulating himself upon
having freed himself almost entirely from the former's clutches,
when he received the telegram above mentioned.

He re-read it as he walked along. He thought: "What does that old
owl want with me? I am certain she has nothing to tell me except
that she adores me. However, I will see, perhaps there is some truth
in it. Clotilde is coming at four, I must get rid of the other one
at three or soon after, provided they do not meet. What jades women
are!"

As he uttered those words he was reminded of his wife, who was the
only one who did not torment him; she lived by his side and seemed
to love him very much at the proper time, for she never permitted
anything to interfere with her ordinary occupations of life. He
strolled toward the appointed place of meeting, mentally cursing
Mme. Walter.

"Ah, I will receive her in such a manner that she will not tell me
anything. First of all, I will give her to understand that I shall
never cross her threshold again."

He entered to await her. She soon arrived and, seeing him,
exclaimed: "Ah, you received my dispatch! How fortunate!"

"Yes, I received it at the office just as I was setting out for the
Chamber. What do you want?" he asked ungraciously.

She had raised her veil in order to kiss him, and approached him
timidly and humbly with the air of a beaten dog.

"How unkind you are to me; how harshly you speak! What have I done
to you? You do not know what I have suffered for you!"

He muttered: "Are you going to begin that again?"

She stood near him awaiting a smile, a word of encouragement, to
cast herself into his arms, and whispered: "You need not have won me
to treat me thus; you might have left me virtuous and happy. Do you
remember what you said to me in the church and how you forced me to
enter this house? And now this is the way you speak to me, receive
me! My God, my God, how you maltreat me!"

He stamped his foot and said violently: "Enough, be silent! I can
never see you a moment without hearing that refrain. You were mature
when you gave yourself to me. I am much obliged to you; I am
infinitely grateful, but I need not be tied to your apron-strings
until I die! You have a husband and I a wife. Neither of us is free;
it was all a caprice, and now it is at an end!"

She said: "How brutal you are, how coarse and villainous! No, I was
no longer a young girl, but I had never loved, never wavered in my
dignity."

He interrupted her: "I know it, you have told me that twenty times;
but you have had two children."

She drew back as if she had been struck: "Oh, Georges!" And pressing
her hands to her heart, she burst into tears.

When she began to weep, he took his hat: "Ah, you are crying again!
Good evening! Is it for this that you sent for me?"

She took a step forward in order to bar the way, and drawing a
handkerchief from her pocket she wiped her eyes. Her voice grew
steadier: "No, I came to--to give you--political news--to give you
the means of earning fifty thousand francs--or even more if you wish
to."

Suddenly softened he asked: "How?"

"By chance last evening I heard a conversation between my husband
and Laroche. Walter advised the minister not to let you into the
secret for you would expose it."

Du Roy placed his hat upon a chair and listened attentively.

"They are going to take possession of Morocco!"

"Why, I lunched with Laroche this morning, and he told me the
cabinet's plans!"

"No, my dear, they have deceived you, because they feared their
secret would be made known."

"Sit down," said Georges.

He sank into an armchair, while she drew up a stool and took her
seat at his feet. She continued:

"As I think of you continually, I pay attention to what is talked of
around me," and she proceeded to tell him what she had heard
relative to the expedition to Tangiers which had been decided upon
the day that Laroche assumed his office; she told him how they had
little by little bought up, through agents who aroused no
suspicions, the Moroccan loan, which had fallen to sixty-four or
sixty-five francs; how when the expedition was entered upon the
French government would guarantee the debt, and their friends would
make fifty or sixty millions.

He cried: "Are you sure of that?"

She replied: "Yes, I am sure."

He continued: "That is indeed fine! As for that rascal of a Laroche,
let him beware! I will get his ministerial carcass between my
fingers yet!"

Then, after a moment's reflection, he muttered: "One might profit by
that!"

"You too can buy some stock," said she; "it is only seventy-two
francs."

He replied: "But I have no ready money."

She raised her eyes to his--eyes full of supplication.

"I have thought of that, my darling, and if you love me a little,
you will let me lend it to you."

He replied abruptly, almost harshly: "No, indeed."

She whispered imploringly: "Listen, there is something you can do
without borrowing money. I intended buying ten thousand francs'
worth of the stock; instead, I will take twenty thousand and you can
have half. There will be nothing to pay at once. If it succeeds, we
will make seventy thousand francs; if not, you will owe me ten
thousand which you can repay at your pleasure."

He said again: "No, I do not like those combinations."

She tried to persuade him by telling him that she advanced nothing--
that the payments were made by Walter's bank. She pointed out to him
that he had led the political campaign in "La Vie Francaise," and
that he would be very simple not to profit by the results he had
helped to bring about. As he still hesitated, she added: "It is in
reality Walter who will advance the money, and you have done enough
for him to offset that sum."

"Very well," said he, "I will do it. If we lose I will pay you back
ten thousand francs."

She was so delighted that she rose, took his head between her hands,
and kissed him. At first he did not repulse her, but when she grew
more lavish with her caresses, he said:

"Come, that will do."

She gazed at him sadly. "Oh, Georges, I can no longer even embrace
you."

"No, not to-day. I have a headache."

She reseated herself with docility at his feet and asked:

"Will you dine with us to-morrow? It would give me such pleasure,"

He hesitated at first, but dared not refuse.

"Yes, certainly."

"Thank you, dearest." She rubbed her cheek against the young man's
vest; as she did so, one of her long black hairs caught on a button;
she twisted it tightly around, then she twisted another around
another button and so on. When he rose, he would tear them out of
her head, and would carry away with him unwittingly a lock of her
hair. It would be an invisible bond between them. Involuntarily he
would think, would dream of her; he would love her a little more the
next day.

Suddenly he said: "I must leave you, for I am expected at the
Chamber for the close of the session. I cannot be absent to-day."

She sighed: "Already!" Then adding resignedly: "Go, my darling, but
you will come to dinner tomorrow"; she rose abruptly. For a moment
she felt a sharp, stinging pain, as if needles had been stuck into
her head, but she was glad to have suffered for him.

"Adieu," said she.

He took her in his arms and kissed her eyes coldly; then she offered
him her lips which he brushed lightly as he said: "Come, come, let
us hurry; it is after three o'clock."

She passed out before him saying: "To-morrow at seven"; he repeated
her words and they separated.

Du Roy returned at four o'clock to await his mistress. She was
somewhat late because her husband had come home for a week. She
asked:

"Can you come to dinner to-morrow? He will be delighted to see you."

"No; I dine at the Walters. We have a great many political and
financial matters to talk over."

She took off her hat. He pointed to a bag on the mantelpiece: "I
bought you some sweetmeats."

She clapped her hands. "What a darling you are!" She took them,
tasted one, and said: "They are delicious. I shall not leave one.
Come, sit down in the armchair, I will sit at your feet and eat my
bonbons."

He smiled as he saw her take the seat a short while since occupied
by Mme. Walter. She too, called him "darling, little one, dearest,"
and the words seemed to him sweet and caressing from her lips, while
from Mme. Walter's they irritated and nauseated him.

Suddenly he remembered the seventy thousand francs he was going to
make, and bluntly interrupting Mme. de Marelle's chatter, he said:

"Listen, my darling; I am going to intrust you with a message to
your husband. Tell him from me to buy to-morrow ten thousand francs'
worth of Moroccan stock which is at seventy-two, and I predict that
before three months are passed he will have made eighty thousand
francs. Tell him to maintain absolute silence. Tell him that the
expedition to Tangiers, is decided upon, and that the French
government will guarantee the Moroccan debt. It is a state secret I
am confiding to you, remember!"

She listened to him gravely and murmured:

"Thank you. I will tell my husband this evening. You may rely upon
him; he will not speak of it; he can be depended upon; there is no
danger."

She had eaten all of her bonbons and began to toy with the buttons
on his vest. Suddenly she drew a long hair out of the buttonhole and
began to laugh.

"See! Here is one of Madeleine's hairs; you are a faithful husband!"
Then growing serious, she examined the scarcely perceptible thread
more closely and said: "It is not Madeleine's, it is dark."

He smiled. "It probably belongs to the housemaid."

But she glanced at the vest with the care of a police-inspector and
found a second hair twisted around a second button; then she saw a
third; and turning pale and trembling somewhat, she exclaimed: "Oh,
some woman has left hairs around all your buttons."

In surprise, he stammered: "Why you--you are mad."

She continued to unwind the hairs and cast them upon the floor. With
her woman's instinct she had divined their meaning and gasped in her
anger, ready to cry:

"She loves you and she wished you to carry away with you something
of hers. Oh, you are a traitor." She uttered a shrill, nervous cry:
"Oh, it is an old woman's hair--here is a white one--you have taken
a fancy to an old woman now. Then you do not need me--keep the other
one." She rose.

He attempted to detain her and stammered: "No--Clo--you are absurd--
I do not know whose it is--listen--stay--see--stay--"

But she repeated: "Keep your old woman--keep her--have a chain made
of her hair--of her gray hair--there is enough for that--"

Hastily she donned her hat and veil, and when he attempted to touch
her she struck him in the face, and made her escape while he was
stunned by the blow. When he found that he was alone, he cursed Mme.
Walter, bathed his face, and went out vowing vengeance. That time he
would not pardon. No, indeed.

He strolled to the boulevard and stopped at a jeweler's to look at a
chronometer he had wanted for some time and which would cost
eighteen hundred francs. He thought with joy: "If I make my seventy
thousand francs, I can pay for it"--and he began to dream of all the
things he would do when he got the money. First of all he would
become a deputy; then he would buy the chronometer; then he would
speculate on 'Change, and then, and then--he did not enter the
office, preferring to confer with Madeleine before seeing Walter
again and writing his article; he turned toward home. He reached Rue
Drouot when he paused; he had forgotten to inquire for Count de
Vaudrec, who lived on Chaussee d'Antin. He retraced his steps with a
light heart, thinking of a thousand things--of the fortune he would
make,--of that rascal of a Laroche, and of old Walter.

He was not at all uneasy as to Clotilde's anger, knowing that she
would soon forgive him.

When he asked the janitor of the house in which Count de Vaudrec
lived: "How is M. de Vaudrec? I have heard that he has been ailing
of late," the man replied; "The Count is very ill, sir; they think
he will not live through the night; the gout has reached his heart."

Du Roy was so startled he did not know what to do! Vaudrec dying! He
stammered: "Thanks--I will call again"--unconscious of what he was
saying. He jumped into a cab and drove home. His wife had returned.
He entered her room out of breath: "Did you know? Vaudrec is dying!"

She was reading a letter and turning to him asked: "What did you
say?"

"I said that Vaudrec is dying of an attack of gout."

Then he added: "What shall you do?"

She rose; her face was livid; she burst into tears and buried her
face in her hands. She remained standing, shaken by sobs, torn by
anguish. Suddenly she conquered her grief and wiping her eyes, said:
"I am going to him--do not worry about me--I do not know what time I
shall return--do not expect me."

He replied: "Very well. Go."

They shook hands and she left in such haste that she forgot her
gloves. Georges, after dining alone, began to write his article. He
wrote it according to the minister's instructions, hinting to the
readers that the expedition to Morocco would not take place. He took
it, when completed, to the office, conversed several moments with M.
Walter, and set out again, smoking, with a light heart, he knew not
why.

His wife had not returned. He retired and fell asleep. Toward
midnight Madeleine came home. Georges sat up in bed and asked:
"Well?"

He had never seen her so pale and agitated. She whispered: "He is
dead!"

"Ah--and--he told you nothing?"

"Nothing. He was unconscious when I arrived."

Questions which he dared not ask arose to Georges' lips.

"Lie down and rest," said he.

She disrobed hastily and slipped into bed.

He continued: "Had he any relatives at his death-bed?"

"Only a nephew."

"Ah! Did he often see that nephew?"

"They had not met for ten years."

"Had he other relatives?"

"No, I believe not."

"Will that nephew be his heir?"

"I do not know."

"Was Vaudrec very rich?"

"Yes, very."

"Do you know what he was worth?"

"No, not exactly--one or two millions perhaps."

He said no more. She extinguished the light. He could not sleep. He
looked upon Mme. Walter's promised seventy thousand francs as very
insignificant. Suddenly he thought he heard Madeleine crying. In
order to insure himself he asked: "Are you asleep?"

"No." Her voice was tearful and unsteady.

He continued: "I forgot to tell you that your minister has deceived
us."

"How?"

He gave her a detailed account of the combination prepared by
Laroche and Walter. When he concluded she asked: "How did you know
that?"

He replied: "Pardon me if I do not tell you! You have your means of
obtaining information into which I do not inquire; I have mine which
I desire to keep. I can vouch at any rate for the truth of my
statements."

She muttered: "It may be possible. I suspected that they were doing
something without our knowledge."

As she spoke Georges drew near her; she paid no heed to his
proximity, however, and turning toward the wall, he closed his eyes
and fell asleep.

Chapter XIV.

The Will


The church was draped in black, and over the door a large escutcheon
surmounted by a coronet announced to the passers-by that a nobleman
was being buried. The ceremony was just over; those present went out
slowly, passing by the coffin, and by Count de Vaudrec's nephew, who
shook hands and returned salutations.

When Georges du Roy and his wife left the church, they walked along
side by side on their way home. They did not speak; they were both
preoccupied. At length Georges said, as if talking to himself:
"Truly it is very astonishing!"

Madeleine asked: "What, my friend?"

"That Vaudrec left us nothing."

She blushed and said: "Why should he leave us anything? Had he any
reason for doing so?" Then after several moments of silence, she
continued: "Perhaps there is a will at a lawyer's; we should not
know of it."

He replied: "That is possible, for he was our best friend. He dined
with us twice a week; he came at any time; he was at home with us.
He loved you as a father; he had no family, no children, no brothers
nor sisters, only a nephew. Yes, there should be a will. I would not
care for much--a remembrance to prove that he thought of us--that he
recognized the affection we felt for him. We should certainly have a
mark of friendship."

She said with a pensive and indifferent air: "It is possible that
there is a will."

When they entered the house, the footman handed Madeleine a letter.
She opened it and offered it to her husband.

    "OFFICE OF M. LAMANEUR,
     Notary.
     17 Rue des Vosges,"

    "Madame: Kindly call at my office at a quarter past two o'clock
     Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday, on business which concerns
     you."

    "Yours respectfully,"

    "LAMANEUR."

Georges, in his turn, colored.

"That is as it should be. It is strange, however, that he should
write to you and not to me, for I am the head of the family
legally."

"Shall we go at once?" she asked.

"Yes, I should like to."

After luncheon they set out for M. Lamaneur's office.

The notary was a short, round man--round all over. His head looked
like a ball fastened to another ball, which was supported by legs so
short that they too almost resembled balls.

He bowed, as Du Roy and his wife were shown into his office, pointed
to seats, and said, turning to Madeleine: "Madame, I sent for you in
order to inform you of Count de Vaudrec's will, which will be of
interest to you."

Georges could not help muttering: "I suspected that."

The notary continued: "I shall read you the document which is very
brief."

   "'I, the undersigned, Paul Emile Cyprien Gontran, Count de
     Vaudrec, sound both in body and mind, here express my last
     wishes. As death might take me away at any moment, I wish to
     take the precaution of drawing up my will, to be deposited with
     M. Lamaneur.'"

   "'Having no direct heirs, I bequeath all my fortune, comprising
     stocks and bonds for six hundred thousand francs and landed
     property for five hundred thousand, to Mme. Claire Madeleine du
     Roy unconditionally. I beg her to accept that gift from a dead
     friend as a proof of devoted, profound, and respectful
     affection.'"

The notary said: "That is all. That document bears the date of
August last, and took the place of one of the same nature made two
years ago in the name of Mme. Claire Madeleine Forestier. I have the
first will, which would prove, in case of contestation on the part
of the family, that Count de Vaudrec had not changed his mind."

Madeleine cast down her eyes; her cheeks were pale. Georges
nervously twisted his mustache.

The notary continued after a moment's pause: "It is of course
understood that Madame cannot accept that legacy without your
consent."

Du Roy rose and said shortly: "I ask time for reflection."

The notary smiled, bowed, and replied pleasantly: "I comprehend the
scruples which cause you to hesitate. I may add that M. de Vaudrec's
nephew, who was informed this morning of his uncle's last wishes,
expresses himself as ready to respect them if he be given one
hundred thousand francs. In my opinion the will cannot be broken,
but a lawsuit would cause a sensation which you would probably like
to avoid. The world often judges uncharitably. Can you let me have
your reply before Saturday?"

Georges bowed, and together with his wife left the office. When they
arrived home, Du Roy closed the door and throwing his hat on the
bed, asked: "What were the relations between you and Vaudrec?"

Madeleine, who was taking off her veil, turned around with a
shudder: "Between us?"

"Yes, between you and him! One does not leave one's entire fortune
to a woman unless--"

She trembled, and could scarcely take out the pins which fastened
the transparent tissue. Then she stammered in an agitated manner:
"You are mad--you are--you are--you did not think--he would leave
you anything!"

Georges replied, emphazing each word: "Yes, he could have left me
something; me, your husband, his friend; but not you, my wife and
his friend. The distinction is material in the eyes of the world."

Madeleine gazed at him fixedly: "It seems to me that the world would
have considered a legacy from him to you very strange."

"Why?"

"Because,"--she hesitated, then continued: "Because you are my
husband; because you were not well acquainted; because I have been
his friend so long; because his first will, made during Forestier's
lifetime, was already in my favor."

Georges began to pace to and fro. He finally said: "You cannot
accept that."

She answered indifferently: "Very well; it is not necessary then to
wait until Saturday; you can inform M. Lamaneur at once."

He paused before her, and they gazed into one another's eyes as if
by that mute and ardent interrogation they were trying to examine
each other's consciences. In a low voice he murmured: "Come, confess
your relations."

She shrugged her shoulders. "You are absurd. Vaudrec was very fond
of me, very, but there was nothing more, never."

He stamped his foot. "You lie! It is not possible."

She replied calmly: "It is so, nevertheless."

He resumed his pacing to and fro; then pausing again, he said:
"Explain to me, then, why he left all his fortune to you."

She did so with a nonchalant air: "It is very simple. As you said
just now, we were his only friends, or rather, I was his only
friend, for he knew me when a child. My mother was a governess in
his father's house. He came here continually, and as he had no legal
heirs, he selected me. It is possible that he even loved me a
little. But what woman has never been loved thus? He brought me
flowers every Monday. You were never surprised at that, and he never
brought you any. To-day he leaves me his fortune for the same
reason, because he had no one else to leave it to. It would on the
other hand have been extremely surprising if he had left it to you."

"Why?"

"What are you to him?"

She spoke so naturally and so calmly that Georges hesitated before
replying: "It makes no difference; we cannot accept that bequest
under those conditions. Everyone would talk about it and laugh at
me. My fellow-journalists are already too much disposed to be
jealous of me and to attack me. I have to be especially careful of
my honor and my reputation. I cannot permit my wife to accept a
legacy of that kind from a man whom rumor has already assigned to
her as her lover. Forestier might perhaps have tolerated that, but I
shall not."

She replied gently: "Very well, my dear, we will not take it; it
will be a million less in our pockets, that is all."

Georges paced the room and uttered his thoughts aloud, thus speaking
to his wife without addressing her:

"Yes, a million--so much the worse. He did not think when making his
will what a breach of etiquette he was committing. He did not
realize in what a false, ridiculous position he was placing me. He
should have left half of it to me--that would have made matters
right."

He seated himself, crossed his legs and began to twist the ends of
his mustache, as was his custom when annoyed, uneasy, or pondering
over a weighty question.

Madeleine took up a piece of embroidery upon which she worked
occasionally, and said: "I have nothing to say. You must decide."

It was some time before he replied; then he said hesitatingly: "The
world would never understand how it was that Vaudrec constituted you
his sole heiress and that I allowed it. To accept that legacy would
be to avow guilty relations on your part and an infamous lack of
self-respect on mine. Do you know how the acceptance of it might be
interpreted? We should have to find some adroit means of palliating
it. We should have to give people to suppose, for instance, that he
divided his fortune between us, giving half to you and half to me."

She said: "I do not see how that can be done, since there is a
formal will."

He replied: "Oh, that is very simple. We have no children; you can
therefore deed me part of the inheritance. In that way we can
silence malignant tongues."

She answered somewhat impatiently: "I do not see how we can silence
malignant tongues since the will is there, signed by Vaudrec."

He said angrily: "Do you need to exhibit it, or affix it to the
door? You are absurd! We will say that the fortune was left us
jointly by Count de Vaudrec. That is all. You cannot, moreover,
accept the legacy without my authority; I will only consent on the
condition of a partition which will prevent me from becoming a
laughing-stock for the world."

She glanced sharply at him: "As you will. I am ready."

He seemed to hesitate again, rose, paced the floor, and avoiding his
wife's piercing gaze, he said: "No--decidedly no--perhaps it would
be better to renounce it altogether--it would be more correct--more
honorable. From the nature of the bequest even charitably-disposed
people would suspect illicit relations."

He paused before Madeleine. "If you like, my darling, I will return
to M. Lamaneur's alone, to consult him and to explain the matter to
him. I will tell him of my scruples and I will add that we have
agreed to divide it in order to avoid any scandal. From the moment
that I accept a portion of the inheritance it will be evident that
there is nothing wrong. I can say: 'My wife accepts it because I,
her husband, accept'--I, who am the best judge of what she can do
without compromising herself."

Madeleine simply murmured: "As you wish."

He continued: "Yes, it will be as clear as day if that is done. We
inherit a fortune from a friend who wished to make no distinction
between us, thereby showing that his liking for you was purely
Platonic. You may be sure that if he had given it a thought, that is
what he would have done. He did not reflect--he did not foresee the
consequences. As you said just now, he offered you flowers every
week, he left you his wealth."

She interrupted him with a shade of annoyance:

"I understand. No more explanations are necessary. Go to the notary
at once."

He stammered in confusion: "You are right; I will go." He took his
hat, and, as he was leaving the room, he asked: "Shall I try to
compromise with the nephew for fifty thousand francs?"

She replied haughtily: "No. Give him the hundred thousand francs he
demands, and take them from my share if you wish."

Abashed, he murmured: "No, we will share it. After deducting fifty
thousand francs each we will still have a million net." Then he
added: "Until later, my little Made."

He proceeded to the notary's to explain the arrangement decided
upon, which he claimed originated with his wife. The following day
they signed a deed for five hundred thousand francs, which Madeleine
du Roy gave up to her husband.

On leaving the office, as it was pleasant, Georges proposed that
they take a stroll along the boulevards. He was very tender, very
careful of her, and laughed joyously while she remained pensive and
grave.

It was a cold, autumn day. The pedestrians seemed in haste and
walked along rapidly.

Du Roy led his wife to the shop into the windows of which he had so
often gazed at the coveted chronometer.

"Shall I buy you some trinket?" he asked.

She replied indifferently: "As you like."

They entered the shop: "What would you prefer, a necklace, a
bracelet, or earrings?"

The sight of the brilliant gems made her eyes sparkle in spite of
herself, as she glanced at the cases filled with costly baubles.

Suddenly she exclaimed: "There is a lovely bracelet."

It was a chain, very unique in shape, every link of which was set
with a different stone.

Georges asked: "How much is that bracelet?"

The jeweler replied: "Three thousand francs, sir."

"If you will let me have it for two thousand five hundred, I will
take it."

The man hesitated, then replied: "No, sir, it is impossible."

Du Roy said: "See here--throw in this chronometer at fifteen hundred
francs; that makes four thousand, and I will pay cash. If you do not
agree, I will go somewhere else."

The jeweler finally yielded. "Very well, sir."

The journalist, after leaving his address, said: "You can have my
initials G. R. C. interlaced below a baron's crown, engraved on the
chronometer."

Madeleine, in surprise, smiled, and when they left the shop, she
took his arm quite affectionately. She thought him very shrewd and
clever. He was right; now that he had a fortune he must have a
title.

They passed the Vaudeville on their way arid, entering, secured a
box. Then they repaired to Mme, de Marelle's at Georges' suggestion,
to invite her to spend the evening with them. Georges rather dreaded
the first meeting with Clotilde, but she did not seem to bear him
any malice, or even to remember their disagreement. The dinner,
which they took at a restaurant, was excellent, and the evening
altogether enjoyable.

Georges and Madeleine returned home late. The gas was extinguished,
and in order to light the way the journalist from time to time
struck a match. On reaching the landing on the first floor they saw
their reflections in the mirror. Du Roy raised his hand with the
lighted match in it, in order to distinguish their images more
clearly, and said, with a triumphant smile:

"The millionaires are passing by."

Chapter XV.

Suzanne


Morocco had been conquered; France, the mistress of Tangiers, had
guaranteed the debt of the annexed country. It was rumored that two
ministers, Laroche-Mathieu being one of them, had made twenty
millions.

As for Walter, in a few days he had become one of the masters of the
world--a financier more omnipotent than a king. He was no longer the
Jew, Walter, the director of a bank, the proprietor of a yellow
newspaper; he was M. Walter the wealthy Israelite, and he wished to
prove it.

Knowing the straitened circumstances of the Prince de Carlsbourg who
owned one of the fairest mansions on Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honore,
he proposed to buy it. He offered three million francs for it. The
prince, tempted by the sum, accepted his offer; the next day, Walter
took possession of his new dwelling. Then another idea occurred to
him--an idea of conquering all Paris--an idea a la Bonaparte.

At that time everyone was raving over a painting by the Hungarian,
Karl Marcovitch, exhibited by Jacques Lenoble and representing
"Christ Walking on the Water." Art critics enthusiastically declared
it to be the most magnificent painting of the age. Walter bought it,
thereby causing entire Paris to talk of him, to envy him, to censure
or approve his action. He issued an announcement in the papers that
everyone was invited to come on a certain evening to see it.

Du Roy was jealous of M. Walter's success. He had thought himself
wealthy with the five hundred thousand francs extorted from his
wife, and now he felt poor as he compared his paltry fortune with
the shower of millions around him. His envious rage increased daily.
He cherished ill will toward everyone--toward the Walters, even
toward his wife, and above all toward the man who had deceived him,
made use of him, and who dined twice a week at his house. Georges
acted as his secretary, agent, mouthpiece, and when he wrote at his
dictation, he felt a mad desire to strangle him. Laroche reigned
supreme in the Du Roy household, having taken the place of Count de
Vaudrec; he spoke to the servants as if he were their master.
Georges submitted to it all, like a dog which wishes to bite and
dares not. But he was often harsh and brutal to Madeleine, who
merely shrugged her shoulders and treated him as one would a fretful
child. She was surprised, too, at his constant ill humor, and said:
"I do not understand you. You are always complaining. Your position
is excellent."

His only reply was to turn his back upon her. He declared that he
would not attend M. Walter's fete--that he would not cross the
miserable Jew's threshold. For two months Mme. Walter had written to
him daily, beseeching him to come to see her, to appoint a meeting
where he would, in order that she might give him the seventy
thousand francs she had made for him. He did not reply and threw her
letters into the fire. Not that he would have refused to accept his
share of the profits, but he enjoyed treating her scornfully,
trampling her under foot; she was too wealthy; he would be
inflexible.

The day of the exhibition of the picture, as Madeleine chided him
for not going, he replied: "Leave me in peace. I shall remain at
home."

After they had dined, he said suddenly, "I suppose I shall have to
go through with it. Get ready quickly."

"I shall be ready in fifteen minutes," she said.

As they entered the courtyard of the Hotel de Carlsbourg it was one
blaze of light. A magnificent carpet was spread upon the steps
leading to the entrance, and upon each one stood a man in livery, as
rigid as marble.

Du Roy's heart was torn with jealousy. He and his wife ascended the
steps and gave their wraps to the footmen who approached them.

At the entrance to the drawing-room, two children, one in pink, the
other in blue, handed bouquets to the ladies.

The rooms were already well filled. The majority of the ladies were
in street costumes, a proof that they came thither as they would go
to any exhibition. The few who intended to remain to the ball which
was to follow wore evening dress.

Mme. Walter, surrounded by friends, stood in the second salon and
received the visitors. Many did not know her, and walked through the
rooms as if in a museum--without paying any heed to the host and
hostess.

When Virginie perceived Du Roy, she grew livid and made a movement
toward him; then she paused and waited for him to advance. He bowed
ceremoniously, while Madeleine greeted her effusively. Georges left
his wife near Mme. Walter and mingled with the guests. Five drawing-
rooms opened one into the other; they were carpeted with rich,
oriental rugs, and upon their walls hung paintings by the old
masters. As he made his way through the throng, some one seized his
arm, and a fresh, youthful voice whispered in his ear: "Ah, here you
are at last, naughty Bel-Ami! Why do we never see you any more?"

It was Suzanne Walter, with her azure eyes and wealth of golden
hair. He was delighted to see her, and apologized as they shook
hands.

"I have been so busy for two months that I have been nowhere."

She replied gravely: "That is too bad. You have grieved us deeply,
for mamma and I adore you. As for myself, I cannot do without you.
If you are not here, I am bored to death. You see I tell you so
frankly, that you will not remain away like that any more. Give me
your arm; I will show you 'Christ Walking on the Water' myself; it
is at the very end, behind the conservatory. Papa put it back there
so that everyone would be obliged to go through the rooms. It is
astonishing how proud papa is of this house."

As they walked through the rooms, all turned to look at that
handsome man and that bewitching girl. A well-known painter said:
"There is a fine couple." Georges thought: "If my position had been
made, I would have married her. Why did I never think of it? How
could I have taken the other one? What folly! One always acts too
hastily--one never reflects sufficiently." And longing, bitter
longing possessed him, corrupting all his pleasure, rendering life
odious.

Suzanne said: "You must come often, Bel-Ami; we can do anything we
like now papa is rich."

He replied: "Oh, you will soon marry--some prince, perhaps, and we
shall never meet any more."

She cried frankly: "Oh, oh, I shall not! I shall choose some one I
love very dearly. I am rich enough for two."

He smiled ironically and said: "I give you six months. By that time
you will be Madame la Marquise, Madame la Duchesse, or Madame la
Princesse, and you will look down upon me, Mademoiselle."

She pretended to be angry, patted his arm with her fan, and vowed
that she would marry according to the dictates of her heart.

He replied: "We shall see; you are too wealthy."

"You, too, have inherited some money."

"Barely twenty thousand livres a year. It is a mere pittance
nowadays."

"But your wife has the same."

"Yes, we have a million together; forty thousand a year. We cannot
even keep a carriage on that."

They had, in the meantime, reached the last drawing-room, and before
them lay the conservatory with its rare shrubs and plants. To their
left, under a dome of palms, was a marble basin, on the edges of
which four large swans of delftware emitted the water from their
beaks.

The journalist stopped and said to himself: "This is luxury; this is
the kind of house in which to live. Why can I not have one?"

His companion did not speak. He looked at her and thought once more:
"If I only had taken her!"

Suddenly Suzanne seemed to awaken from her reverie. "Come," said
she, dragging Georges through a group which barred their way, and
turning him to the right. Before him, surrounded by verdure on all
sides, was the picture. One had to look closely at it in order to
understand it. It was a grand work--the work of a master--one of
those triumphs of art which furnishes one for years with food for
thought.

Du Roy gazed at it for some time, and then turned away, to make room
for others. Suzanne's tiny hand still rested upon his arm. She
asked:

"Would you like a glass of champagne? We will go to the buffet; we
shall find papa there."

Slowly they traversed the crowded rooms. Suddenly Georges heard a
voice say: "That is Laroche and Mme. du Roy."

He turned and saw his wife passing upon the minister's arm. They
were talking in low tones and smiling into each other's eyes. He
fancied he saw some people whisper, as they gazed at them, and he
felt a desire to fall upon those two beings and smite them to the
earth. His wife was making a laughing-stock of him. Who was she? A
shrewd little parvenue, that was all. He could never make his way
with a wife who compromised him. She would be a stumbling-block in
his path. Ah, if he had foreseen, if he had known. He would have
played for higher stakes. What a brilliant match he might have made
with little Suzanne! How could he have been so blind?

They reached the dining-room with its marble columns and walls hung
with old Gobelins tapestry. Walter spied his editor, and hastened to
shake hands. He was beside himself with joy. "Have you seen
everything? Say, Suzanne, have you shown him everything? What a lot
of people, eh? Have you seen Prince de Guerche? he just drank a
glass of punch." Then he pounced upon Senator Rissolin and his wife.

A gentleman greeted Suzanne--a tall, slender man with fair whiskers
and a worldly air. Georges heard her call him Marquis de Cazolles,
and he was suddenly inspired with jealousy. How long had she known
him? Since she had become wealthy no doubt. He saw in him a possible
suitor. Some one seized his arm. It was Norbert de Varenne. The old
poet said: "This is what they call amusing themselves. After a while
they will dance, then they will retire, and the young girls will be
satisfied. Take some champagne; it is excellent."

Georges scarcely heard his words. He was looking for Suzanne, who
had gone off with the Marquis de Cazolles; he left Norbert de
Varenne abruptly and went in pursuit of the young girl. The thirsty
crowd stopped him; when he had made his way through it, he found
himself face to face with M. and Mme. de Marelle. He had often met
the wife, but he had not met the husband for some time; the latter
grasped both of his hands and thanked him for the message he had
sent him by Clotilde relative to the stocks.

Du Roy replied: "In exchange for that service I shall take your
wife, or rather offer her my arm. Husband and wife should always be
separated."

M. de Marelle bowed. "Very well. If I lose you we can meet here
again in an hour."

The two young people disappeared in the crowd, followed by the
husband. Mme. de Marelle said: "There are two girls who will have
twenty or thirty millions each, and Suzanne is pretty in the
bargain."

He made no reply; his own thought coming from the lips of another
irritated him. He took Clotilde to see the painting. As they crossed
the conservatory he saw his wife seated near Laroche-Mathieu, both
of them almost hidden behind a group of plants. They seemed to say:
"We are having a meeting in public, for we do not care for the
world's opinion."

Mme. de Marelle admired Karl Marcovitch's painting, and they turned
to repair to the other rooms. They were separated from M. de
Marelle. He asked: "Is Laurine still vexed with me?"

"Yes. She refuses to see you and goes away when you are mentioned."

He did not reply. The child's sudden enmity grieved and annoyed him.

Suzanne met them at a door and cried: "Oh, here you are! Now, Bel-
Ami, you are going to be left alone, for I shall take Clotilde to
see my room." And the two women glided through the throng. At that
moment a voice at his side murmured: "Georges!"

It was Mme. Walter. She continued in a low voice: "How cruel you
are! How needlessly you inflict suffering upon me. I bade Suzanne
take that woman away that I might have a word with you. Listen: I
must speak to you this evening--or--or--you do not know what I shall
do. Go into the conservatory. You will find a door to the left
through which you can reach the garden. Follow the walk directly in
front of you. At the end of it you will see an arbor. Expect me in
ten minutes. If you do not meet me, I swear I will cause a scandal
here at once!"

He replied haughtily: "Very well, I shall be at the place you named
in ten minutes."

But Jacques Rival detained him. When he reached the alley, he saw
Mme. Walter in front of him; she cried: "Ah, here you are! Do you
wish to kill me?"

He replied calmly: "I beseech you, none of that, or I shall leave
you at once."

Throwing her arms around his neck, she exclaimed: "What have I done
to you that you should treat me so?"

He tried to push her away: "You twisted your hair around my coat
buttons the last time we met, and it caused trouble between my wife
and myself."

She shook her head: "Ah, your wife would not care. It was one of
your mistresses who made a scene."

"I have none."

"Indeed! Why do you never come to see me? Why do you refuse to dine
with me even once a week? I have no other thoughts than of you. I
suffer terribly. You cannot understand that your image, always
present, closes my throat, stifles me, and leaves me scarcely
strength enough to move my limbs in order to walk. So I remain all
day in my chair thinking of you."

He looked at her in astonishment. These were the words of a
desperate woman, capable of anything. He, however, cherished a vague
project and replied: "My dear, love is not eternal. One loves and
one ceases to love. When it lasts it becomes a drawback. I want none
of it! However, if you will be reasonable, and will receive and
treat me as a friend, I will come to see you as formerly. Can you do
that?"

She murmured: "I can do anything in order to see you."

"Then it is agreed that we are to be friends, nothing more."

She gasped: "It is agreed"; offering him her lips she cried in her
despair: "One more kiss--one last kiss!"

He gently drew back. "No, we must adhere to our rules."

She turned her head and wiped away two tears, then drawing from her
bosom a package of notes tied with pink ribbon, she held it toward
Du Roy: "Here is your share of the profits in that Moroccan affair.
I was so glad to make it for you. Here, take it."

He refused: "No, I cannot accept that money."

She became excited: "Oh, you will not refuse it now! It is yours,
yours alone. If you do not take it, I will throw it in the sewer.
You will not refuse it, Georges!"

He took the package and slipped it into his pocket "We must return
to the house; you will take cold."

"So much the better; if I could but die!"

She seized his hand, kissed it passionately, and fled toward the
house. He returned more leisurely, and entered the conservatory with
head erect and smiling lips. His wife and Laroche were no longer
there. The crowd had grown thinner. Suzanne, leaning on her sister's
arm, advanced toward him. In a few moments, Rose, whom they teased
about a certain Count, turned upon her heel and left them.

Du Roy, finding himself alone with Suzanne, said in a caressing
voice: "Listen, my dear little one; do you really consider me a
friend?"

"Why, yes, Bel-Ami."

"You have faith in me?"

"Perfect faith."

"Do you remember what I said to you a while since?"

"About what?"

"About your, marriage, or rather the man you would marry."

"Yes."

"Well, will you promise me one thing?"

"Yes; what is it?"

"To consult me when you receive a proposal and to accept no one
without asking my advice."

"Yes, I will gladly."

"And it is to be a secret between us--not a word to your father or
mother."

"Not a word."

Rival approached them saying: "Mademoiselle, your father wants you
in the ballroom."

She said: "Come, Bel-Ami," but he refused, for he had decided to
leave at once, wishing to be alone with his thoughts. He went in
search of his wife, and found her drinking chocolate at the buffet
with two strange men. She introduced her husband without naming
them.

In a short while, he asked: "Shall we go?"

"Whenever you like."

She took his arm and they passed through the almost deserted rooms.

Madeleine asked: "Where is Mme. Walter; I should like to bid her
good-bye."

"It is unnecessary. She would try to keep us in the ballroom, and I
have had enough."

"You are right."

On the way home they did not speak. But when they had entered their
room, Madeleine, without even taking off her veil, said to him with
a smile: "I have a surprise for you."

He growled ill-naturedly: "What is it?"

"Guess."

"I cannot make the effort."

"The day after to-morrow is the first of January."

"Yes."

"It is the season for New Year's gifts."

"Yes."

"Here is yours, which Laroche handed me just now." She gave him a
small black box which resembled a jewel-casket.

He opened it indifferently and saw the cross of the Legion of Honor.
He turned a trifle pale, then smiled, and said: "I should have
preferred ten millions. That did not cost him much."

She had expected a transport of delight and was irritated by his
indifference.

"You are incomprehensible. Nothing seems to satisfy you."

He replied calmly: "That man is only paying his debts; he owes me a
great deal more."

She was astonished at his tone, and said: "It is very nice, however,
at your age."

He replied: "I should have much more."

He took the casket, placed it on the mantelpiece, and looked for
some minutes at the brilliant star within it, then he closed it with
a shrug of his shoulders and began to prepare to retire.

"L'Officiel" of January 1 announced that M. Prosper Georges du Roy
had been decorated with the Legion of Honor for exceptional
services. The name was written in two words, and that afforded
Georges more pleasure than the decoration itself.

An hour after having read that notice, he received a note from Mme.
Walter, inviting him to come and bring his wife to dine with them
that evening, to celebrate his distinction.

At first he hesitated, then throwing the letter in the fire, he said
to Madeleine: "We shall dine at the Walters' this evening."

In her surprise she exclaimed: "Why, I thought you would never set
your foot in their house again."

His sole reply was: "I have changed my mind."

When they arrived at Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honore, they found Mme.
Walter alone in the dainty boudoir in which she received her
intimate friends. She was dressed in black and her hair was
powdered. At a distance she appeared like an old lady, in proximity,
like a youthful one.

"Are you in mourning?" asked, Madeleine.

She replied sadly: "Yes and no. I have lost none of my relatives,
but I have arrived at an age when one should wear somber colors. I
wear it to-day to inaugurate it; hitherto I have worn it in my
heart."

The dinner was somewhat tedious. Suzanne alone talked incessantly.
Rose seemed preoccupied. The journalist was overwhelmed with
congratulations, after the meal, when all repaired to the drawing-
rooms. Mme. Walter detained him as they were about to enter the
salon, saying: "I will never speak of anything to you again, only
come to see me, Georges. It is impossible for me to live without
you. I see you, I feel you, in my heart all day and all night. It is
as if I had drunk a poison which preyed upon me. I cannot bear it. I
would rather be as an old woman to you. I powdered my hair for that
reason to-night; but come here--come from time to time as a friend."

He replied calmly: "Very well. It is unnecessary to speak of it
again. You see I came to-day on receipt of your letter."

Walter, who had preceded them, with his two daughters and Madeleine,
awaited Du Roy near the picture of "Christ Walking on the Water."

"Only think," said he, "I found my wife yesterday kneeling before
that painting as if in a chapel. She was praying!"

Mme. Walter replied in a firm voice, in a voice in which vibrated a
secret exaltation: "That Christ will save my soul. He gives me fresh
courage and strength every time that I look at Him." And pausing
before the picture, she murmured: "How beautiful He is! How
frightened those men are, and how they love Him! Look at His head,
His eyes, how simple and supernatural He is at the same time!"

Suzanne cried: "Why, He looks like you, Bel-Ami! I am sure He looks
like you. The resemblance is striking."

She made him stand beside the painting and everyone recognized the
likeness. Du Roy was embarrassed. Walter thought it very singular;
Madeleine, with a smile, remarked that Jesus looked more manly. Mme.
Walter stood by motionless, staring fixedly at her lover's face, her
cheeks as white as her hair.

Chapter XVI.

Divorce


During the remainder of the winter, the Du Roys often visited the
Walters. Georges, too, frequently dined there alone, Madeleine
pleading fatigue and preferring to remain at home. He had chosen
Friday as his day, and Mme. Walter never invited anyone else on that
evening; it belonged to Bel-Ami. Often in a dark corner or behind a
tree in the conservatory, Mme. Walter embraced the young man and
whispered in his ear: "I love you, I love you! I love you
desperately!"

But he always repulsed her coldly, saying: "If you persist in that,
I will not come again."

Toward the end of March people talked of the marriage of the two
sisters: Rose was to marry, Dame Rumor said, Count de Latour-Ivelin
and Suzanne, the Marquis de Cazolles. The subject of Suzanne's
possible marriage had not been broached again between her and
Georges until one morning, the latter having been brought home by M.
Walter to lunch, he whispered to Suzanne: "Come, let us give the
fish some bread."

They proceeded to the conservatory in which was the marble basin
containing the fish. As Georges and Suzanne leaned over its edge,
they saw their reflections in the water and smiled at them.
Suddenly, he said in a low voice: "It is not right of you to keep
secrets from me, Suzanne."

She asked:

"What secrets, Bel-Ami?"

"Do you remember what you promised me here the night of the fete?"

"No."

"To consult me every time you received a proposal."

"Well?"

"Well, you have received one!"

"From whom?"

"You know very well."

"No, I swear I do not."

"Yes, you do. It is from that fop of a Marquis de Cazolles."

"He is not a fop."

"That may be, but he is stupid. He is no match for you who are so
pretty, so fresh, so bright!"

She asked with a smile: "What have you against him?"

"I? Nothing!"

"Yes, you have. He is not all that you say he is."

"He is a fool, and an intriguer."

She glanced at him: "What ails you?"

He spoke as if tearing a secret from the depths of his heart: "I am-
-I am jealous of him."

She was astonished.

"You?"

"Yes, I."

"Why?"

"Because I love you and you know it"

Then she said severely: "You are mad, Bel-Ami!"

He replied: "I know that I am! Should I confess it--I, a married
man, to you, a young girl? I am worse than mad--I am culpable,
wretched--I have no possible hope, and that thought almost destroys
my reason. When I hear that you are going to be married, I feel
murder in my heart. You must forgive me, Suzanne."

He paused. The young girl murmured half sadly, half gaily: "It is a
pity that you are married; but what can you do? It cannot be
helped."

He turned toward her abruptly and said: "If I were free would you
marry me?"

She replied: "Yes, Bel-Ami, I would marry you because I love you
better than any of the others."

He rose and stammering: "Thanks--thanks--do not, I implore you, say
yes to anyone. Wait a while. Promise me."

Somewhat confused, and without comprehending what he asked, she
whispered: "I promise."

Du Roy threw a large piece of bread into the water and fled, without
saying adieu, as if he were beside himself. Suzanne, in surprise,
returned to the salon.

When Du Roy arrived home, he asked Madeleine, who was writing
letters: "Shall you dine at the Walters' Friday? I am going."

She hesitated: "No, I am not well. I prefer to remain here."

"As you like. No one will force you." Then he took up his hat and
went out.

For some time he had watched and followed her, knowing all her
actions. The time he had awaited had come at length.

On Friday he dressed early, in order, as he said, to make several
calls before going to M. Walter's. At about six o'clock, after
having kissed his wife, he went in search of a cab. He said to the
cabman: "You can stop at No. 17 Rue Fontaine, and remain there until
I order you to go on. Then you can take me to the restaurant Du Coq-
Faisan, Rue Lafayette."

The cab rolled slowly on; Du Roy lowered the shades. When in front
of his house, he kept watch of it. After waiting ten minutes, he saw
Madeleine come out and go toward the boulevards. When she was out of
earshot, he put his head out of the window and cried: "Go on!"

The cab proceeded on its way and stopped at the Coq-Faisan. Georges
entered the dining-room and ate slowly, looking at his watch from
time to time. At seven-thirty he left and drove to Rue La
Rochefoucauld. He mounted to the third story of a house in that
street, and asked the maid who opened the door: "Is M. Guibert de
Lorme at home?"

"Yes, sir."

He was shown into the drawing-room, and after waiting some time, a
tall man with a military bearing and gray hair entered. He was the
police commissioner.

Du Roy bowed, then said: "As I suspected, my wife is with her lover
in furnished apartments they have rented on Rue des Martyrs."

The magistrate bowed: "I am at your service, sir."

"Very well, I have a cab below." And with three other officers they
proceeded to the house in which Du Roy expected to surprise his
wife. One officer remained at the door to watch the exit; on the
second floor they halted; Du Roy rang the bell and they waited. In
two or three minutes Georges rang again several times in succession.
They heard a light step approach, and a woman's voice, evidently
disguised, asked:

"Who is there?"

The police officer replied: "Open in the name of the law."

The voice repeated: "Who are you?"

"I am the police commissioner. Open, or I will force the door."

The voice continued: "What do you want?"

Du Roy interrupted: "It is I; it is useless to try to escape us."

The footsteps receded and then returned. Georges said: "If you do
not open, we will force the door."

Receiving no reply he shook the door so violently that the old lock
gave way, and the young man almost fell over Madeleine, who was
standing in the antechamber in her petticoat, her hair loosened, her
feet bare, and a candle in her hand.

He exclaimed: "It is she. We have caught them," and he rushed into
the room. The commissioner turned to Madeleine, who had followed
them through the rooms, in one of which were the remnants of a
supper, and looking into her eyes said:

"You are Mme. Claire Madeleine du Roy, lawful wife of M. Prosper
Georges du Roy, here present?"

She replied: "Yes, sir."

"What are you doing here?"

She made no reply. The officer repeated his question; still she did
not reply. He waited several moments and then said: "If you do not
confess, Madame, I shall be forced to inquire into the matter."

They could see a man's form concealed beneath the covers of the bed.
Du Roy advanced softly and uncovered the livid face of M. Laroche-
Mathieu.

The officer again asked: "Who are you?"

As the man did not reply, he continued: "I am the police
commissioner and I call upon you to tell me your name. If you do not
answer, I shall be forced to arrest you. In any case, rise. I will
interrogate you when you are dressed."

In the meantime Madeleine had regained her composure, and seeing
that all was lost, she was determined to put a brave face upon the
matter. Her eyes sparkled with the audacity of bravado, and taking a
piece of paper she lighted the ten candles in the candelabra as if
for a reception. That done, she leaned against the mantelpiece, took
a cigarette out of a case, and began to smoke, seeming not to see
her husband.

In the meantime the man in the bed had dressed himself and advanced.
The officer turned to him: "Now, sir, will you tell me who you are?"

He made no reply.

"I see I shall have to arrest you."

Then the man cried: "Do not touch me. I am inviolable."

Du Roy rushed toward him exclaiming: "I can have you arrested if I
want to!" Then he added: "This man's name is Laroche-Mathieu,
minister of foreign affairs."

The officer retreated and stammered: "Sir, will you tell me who you
are?"

"For once that miserable fellow has not lied. I am indeed Laroche-
Mathieu, minister," and pointing to Georges' breast, he added, "and
that scoundrel wears upon his coat the cross of honor which I gave
him."

Du Roy turned pale. With a rapid gesture he tore the decoration from
his buttonhole and throwing it in the fire exclaimed: "That is what
a decoration is worth which is given by a scoundrel of your order."

The commissioner stepped between them, as they stood face to face,
saying: "Gentlemen, you forget yourselves and your dignity."

Madeleine smoked on calmly, a smile hovering about her lips. The
officer continued: "Sir, I have surprised you alone with Mme. du Roy
under suspicious circumstances; what have you to say?"

"Nothing; do your duty."

The commissioner turned to Madeleine: "Do you confess, Madame, that
this gentleman is your lover?"

She replied boldly: "I do not deny it. That is sufficient."

The magistrate made several notes; when he had finished writing, the
minister, who stood ready, coat upon arm, hat in hand, asked: "Do
you need me any longer, sir? Can I go?"

Du Roy addressed him with an insolent smile: "Why should you go, we
have finished; we will leave you alone together." Then, taking the
officer's arm, he said: "Let us go, sir; we have nothing more to do
in this place."

An hour later Georges du Roy entered the office of "La Vie
Francaise." M. Walter was there; he raised his head and asked:
"What, are you here? Why are you not dining at my house? Where have
you come from?"

Georges replied with emphasis: "I have just found out something
about the minister of foreign affairs."

"What?"

"I found him alone with my wife in hired apartments. The
commissioner of police was my witness. The minister is ruined."

"Are you not jesting?"

"No, I am not. I shall even write an article on it."

"What is your object?"

"To overthrow that wretch, that public malefactor."

Georges placed his hat upon a chair and added: "Woe to those whom I
find in my path. I never pardon."

The manager stammered: "But your wife?"

"I shall apply for a divorce at once."

"A divorce?"

"Yes, I am master of the situation. I shall be free. I have a stated
income. I shall offer myself as a candidate in October in my native
district, where I am known. I could not win any respect were I to be
hampered with a wife whose honor was sullied. She took me for a
simpleton, but since I have known her game, I have watched her, and
now I shall get on, for I shall be free."

Georges rose.

"I will write the item; it must be handled prudently."

The old man hesitated, then said: "Do so: it serves those right who
are caught in such scrapes."

Chapter XVII.

The Final Plot


Three months had elapsed. Georges du Roy's divorce had been
obtained. His wife had resumed the name of Forestier.

As the Walters were going to Trouville on the fifteenth of July,
they decided to spend a day in the country before starting.

The day chosen was Thursday, and they set out at nine o'clock in the
morning in a large six-seated carriage drawn by four horses. They
were going to lunch at Saint-Germain. Bel-Ami had requested that he
might be the only young man in the party, for he could not bear the
presence of the Marquis de Cazolles. At the last moment, however, it
was decided that Count de Latour-Ivelin should go, for he and Rose
had been betrothed a month. The day was delightful. Georges, who was
very pale, gazed at Suzanne as they sat in the carriage and their
eyes met.

Mme. Walter was contented and happy. The luncheon was a long and
merry one. Before leaving for Paris, Du Roy proposed a walk on the
terrace. They stopped on the way to admire the view; as they passed
on, Georges and Suzanne lingered behind. The former whispered
softly: "Suzanne, I love you madly."

She whispered in return: "I love you too, Bel-Ami."

He continued: "If I cannot have you for my wife, I shall leave the
country."

She replied: "Ask papa. Perhaps he will consent."

He answered impatiently: "No, I repeat that it is useless; the door
of the house would be closed against me. I would lose my position on
the journal, and we would not even meet. Those are the consequences
a formal proposal would produce. They have promised you to the
Marquis de Cazolles; they hope you will finally say 'yes' and they
are waiting."

"What can we do?"

"Have you the courage to brave your father and mother for my sake?"

"Yes."

"Truly?"

"Yes."

"Well! There is only one way. It must come from you and not from me.
You are an indulged child; they let you say anything and are not
surprised at any audacity on your part. Listen, then! This evening
on returning home, go to your mother first, and tell her that you
want to marry me. She will be very much agitated and very angry."

Suzanne interrupted him: "Oh, mamma would be glad."

He replied quickly: "No, no, you do not know her. She will be more
vexed than your father. But you must insist, you must not yield; you
must repeat that you will marry me and me alone. Will you do so?"

"I will."

"And on leaving your mother, repeat the same thing to your father
very decidedly."

"Well, and then--"

"And then matters will reach a climax! If you are determined to be
my wife, my dear, dear, little Suzanne, I will elope with you."

She clapped her hands, as all the charming adventures in the
romances she had read occurred to her, and cried:

"Oh, what bliss! When will you elope with me?"

He whispered very low: "To-night!"

"Where shall we go?"

"That is my secret. Think well of what you are doing. Remember that
after that flight you must become my wife. It is the only means, but
it is dangerous--very dangerous--for you."

"I have decided. Where shall I meet you?"

"Meet me about midnight in the Place de la Concorde."

"I will be there."

He clasped her hand. "Oh, how I love you! How brave and good you
are! Then you do not want to marry Marquis de Cazolles?"

"Oh, no!"

Mme. Walter, turning her head, called out: "Come, little one; what
are you and Bel-Ami doing?"

They rejoined the others and returned by way of Chatou. When the
carriage arrived at the door of the mansion, Mme. Walter pressed
Georges to dine with them, but he refused, and returned home to look
over his papers and destroy any compromising letters. Then he
repaired in a cab with feverish haste to the place of meeting. He
waited there some time, and thinking his ladylove had played him
false, he was about to drive off, when a gentle voice whispered at
the door of his cab: "Are you there, Bel-Ami?"

"Is it you, Suzanne?"

"Yes."

"Ah, get in." She entered the cab and he bade the cabman drive on.

He asked: "Well, how did it all pass off?"

She murmured faintly:

"Oh, it was terrible, with mamma especially."

"Your mamma? What did she say? Tell me!"

"Oh, it was frightful! I entered her room and made the little speech
I had prepared. She turned pale and cried: 'Never!' I wept, I
protested that I would marry only you; she was like a mad woman; she
vowed I should be sent to a convent. I never saw her like that,
never. Papa, hearing her agitated words, entered. He was not as
angry as she was, but he said you were not a suitable match for me.
As they had vexed me, I talked louder than they, and papa with a
dramatic air bade me leave the room. That decided me to fly with
you. And here I am; where shall we go?"

He replied, encircling her waist with his arm: "It is too late to
take the train; this cab will take us to Sevres where we can spend
the night, and to-morrow we will leave for La Roche-Guyon. It is a
pretty village on the banks of the Seine between Mantes and
Bonnieres."

The cab rolled on. Georges took the young girl's hand and kissed it
respectfully. He did not know what to say to her, being unaccustomed
to Platonic affection. Suddenly he perceived that she was weeping.
He asked in affright:

"What ails you, my dear little one?"

She replied tearfully: "I was thinking that poor mamma could not
sleep if she had found out that I was gone!"

      *       *       *       *       *       *       *

Her mother indeed was not asleep.

When Suzanne left the room, Mine. Walter turned to her husband and
asked in despair: "What does that mean?"

"It means that that intriguer has influenced her. It is he who has
made her refuse Cazolles. You have flattered and cajoled him, too.
It was Bel-Ami here, Bel-Ami there, from morning until night. Now
you are paid for it!"

"I?"

"Yes, you. You are as much infatuated with him as Madeleine,
Suzanne, and the rest of them. Do you think that I did not see that
you could not exist for two days without him?"

She rose tragically: "I will not allow you to speak to me thus. You
forget that I was not brought up like you, in a shop."

With an oath, he left the room, banging the door behind him.

When he was gone, she thought over all that had taken place. Suzanne
was in love with Bel-Ami, and Bel-Ami wanted to marry Suzanne! No,
it was not true! She was mistaken; he would not be capable of such
an action; he knew nothing of Suzanne's escapade. They would take
Suzanne away for six months and that would end it.

She rose, saying: "I cannot rest in this uncertainty. I shall lose
my reason. I will arouse Suzanne and question her."

She proceeded to her daughter's room. She entered; it was empty; the
bed had not been slept in. A horrible suspicion possessed her and
she flew to her husband. He was in bed, reading.

She gasped: "Have you seen Suzanne?"

"No--why?"

"She is--gone! she is not in her room."

With one bound he was out of bed; he rushed to his daughter's room;
not finding her there, he sank into a chair. His wife had followed
him.

"Well?" she asked.

He had not the strength to reply: he was no longer angry; he
groaned: "He has her--we are lost."

"Lost, how?"

"Why, he must marry her now!"

She cried wildly: "Marry her, never! Are you mad?"

He replied sadly: "It will do no good to yell! He has disgraced her.
The best thing to be done is to give her to him, and at once, too;
then no one will know of this escapade."

She repeated in great agitation: "Never; he shall never have
Suzanne."

Overcome, Walter murmured: "But he has her. And he will keep her as
long as we do not yield; therefore, to avoid a scandal we must do so
at once."

But his wife replied: "No, no, I will never consent."

Impatiently he returned: "It is a matter of necessity. Ah, the
scoundrel--how he has deceived us! But he is shrewd at any rate. She
might have done better as far as position, but not intelligence and
future, is concerned. He is a promising young man. He will be a
deputy or a minister some day."

Mme. Walter, however, repeated wildly: "I will never let him marry
Suzanne! Do you hear--never!"

In his turn he became incensed, and like a practical man defended
Bel-Ami. "Be silent! I tell you he must marry her! And who knows?
Perhaps we shall not regret it! With men of his stamp one never
knows what may come about. You saw how he downed Laroche-Mathieu in
three articles, and that with a dignity which was very difficult to
maintain in his position as husband. So, we shall see."

Mme. Walter felt a desire to cry aloud and tear her hair. But she
only repeated angrily: "He shall not have her!"

Walter rose, took up his lamp, and said: "You are silly, like all
women! You only act on impulse. You do not know how to accommodate
yourself to circumstances. You are stupid! I tell you he shall marry
her; it is essential." And he left the room.

Mme. Walter remained alone with her suffering, her despair. If only
a priest were at hand! She would cast herself at his feet and
confess all her errors and her agony--he would prevent the marriage!
Where could she find a priest? Where should she turn? Before her
eyes floated, like a vision, the calm face of "Christ Walking on the
Water," as she had seen it in the painting. He seemed to say to her:
"Come unto Me. Kneel at My feet. I will comfort and instruct you as
to what to do."

She took the lamp and sought the conservatory; she opened the door
leading into the room which held the enormous canvas, and fell upon
her knees before it. At first she prayed fervently, but as she
raised her eyes and saw the resemblance to Bel-Ami, she murmured:
"Jesus--Jesus--" while her thoughts were with her daughter and her
lover. She uttered a wild cry, as she pictured them together--alone-
-and fell into a swoon. When day broke they found Mme. Walter still
lying unconscious before the painting. She was so ill, after that,
that her life was almost despaired of.

M. Walter explained his daughter's absence to the servants by saying
to them that she had been sent to a convent for a short time. Then
he replied to a long letter from Du Roy, giving his consent to his
marriage with his daughter. Bel-Ami had posted that epistle when he
left Paris, having prepared it the night of his departure. In it he
said in respectful terms that he had loved the young girl a long
time; that there had never been any understanding between them, but
that as she came to him to say: "I will be your wife," he felt
authorized in keeping her, in hiding her, in fact, until he had
obtained a reply from her parents, whose wishes were to him of more
value than those of his betrothed.

Georges and Suzanne spent a week at La Roche-Guyon. Never had the
young girl enjoyed herself so thoroughly. As she passed for his
sister, they lived in a chaste and free intimacy, a kind of living
companionship. He thought it wiser to treat her with respect, and
when he said to her: "We will return to Paris to-morrow; your father
has bestowed your hand upon me" she whispered naively: "Already?
This is just as pleasant as being your wife."

Chapter XVIII.

Attainment


It was dark in the apartments in the Rue de Constantinople, when
Georges du Roy and Clotilde de Marelle, having met at the door,
entered them. Without giving him time to raise the shades, the
latter said:

"So you are going to marry Suzanne Walter?"

He replied in the affirmative, adding gently: "Did you not know it?"

She answered angrily: "So you are going to marry Suzanne Walter? For
three months you have deceived me. Everyone knew of it but me. My
husband told me. Since you left your wife you have been preparing
for that stroke, and you made use of me in the interim. What a
rascal you are!"

He asked: "How do you make that out? I had a wife who deceived me; I
surprised her, obtained a divorce, and am now going to marry
another. What is more simple than that?"

She murmured: "What a villain!"

He said with dignity: "I beg of you to be more careful as to what
you say."

She rebelled at such words from him: "What! Would you like me to
handle you with gloves? You have conducted yourself like a rascal
ever since I have known you, and now you do not want me to speak of
it. You deceive everyone; you gather pleasure and money everywhere,
and you want me to treat you as an honest man."

He rose; his lips twitched: "Be silent or I will make you leave
these rooms."

She cried: "Leave here--you will make me--you? You forget that it is
I who have paid for these apartments from the very first, and you
threaten to put me out of them. Be silent, good-for-nothing! Do you
think I do not know how you stole a portion of Vaudrec's bequest
from Madeleine? Do you think I do not know about Suzanne?"

He seized her by her shoulders and shook her. "Do not speak of that;
I forbid you."

"I know you have ruined her!"

He would have taken anything else, but that lie exasperated him. He
repeated: "Be silent--take care"--and he shook her as he would have
shaken the bough of a tree. Still she continued; "You were her ruin,
I know it." He rushed upon her and struck her as if she had been a
man. Suddenly she ceased speaking, and groaned beneath his blows.
Finally he desisted, paced the room several times in order to regain
his self-possession, entered the bedroom, filled the basin with cold
water and bathed his head. Then he washed his hands and returned to
see what Clotilde was doing. She had not moved. She lay upon the
floor weeping softly. He asked harshly:

"Will you soon have done crying?"

She did not reply. He stood in the center of the room, somewhat
embarrassed, somewhat ashamed, as he saw the form lying before him.
Suddenly he seized his hat. "Good evening. You can leave the key
with the janitor when you are ready. I will not await your
pleasure."

He left the room, closed the door, sought the porter, and said to
him: "Madame is resting. She will go out soon. You can tell the
proprietor that I have given notice for the first of October."

His marriage was fixed for the twentieth; it was to take place at
the Madeleine. There had been a great deal of gossip about the
entire affair, and many different reports were circulated. Mme.
Walter had aged greatly; her hair was gray and she sought solace in
religion.

In the early part of September "La Vie Francaise" announced that
Baron du Roy de Cantel had become its chief editor, M. Walter
reserving the title of manager. To that announcement were subjoined
the names of the staff of art and theatrical critics, political
reporters, and so forth. Journalists no longer sneered in speaking
of "La Vie Francaise;" its success had been rapid and complete. The
marriage of its chief editor was what was called a "Parisian event,"
Georges du Roy and the Walters having occasioned much comment for
some time.

The ceremony took place on a clear, autumn day. At ten o'clock the
curious began to assemble; at eleven o'clock, detachments of
officers came to disperse the crowd. Soon after, the first guests
arrived; they were followed by others, women in rich costumes, men,
grave and dignified. The church slowly began to fill. Norbert de
Varenne espied Jacques Rival, and joined him.

"Well," said he, "sharpers always succeed."

His companion, who was not envious, replied: "So much the better for
him. His fortune is made."

Rival asked: "Do you know what has become of his wife?"

The poet smiled. "Yes and no--she lives a very retired life, I have
been told, in the Montmartre quarter. But--there is a but--for some
time I have read political articles in 'La Plume,' which resemble
those of Forestier and Du Roy. They are supposed to be written by a
Jean Le Dol, a young, intelligent, handsome man--something like our
friend Georges--who has become acquainted with Mme. Forestier. From
that I have concluded that she likes beginners and that they like
her. She is, moreover, rich; Vaudrec and Laroche-Mathieu were not
attentive to her for nothing."

Rival asked: "Tell me, is it true that Mme. Walter and Du Roy do not
speak?"

"Yes. She did not wish to give him her daughter's hand. But he
threatened the old man with shocking revelations. Walter remembered
Laroche-Mathieu's fate and yielded at once; but his wife, obstinate
like all women, vowed that she would never address a word to her
son-in-law. It is comical to see them together! She looks like the
statue of vengeance, and he is very uncomfortable, although he tries
to appear at his ease."

Suddenly the beadle struck the floor three times with his staff. All
the people turned to see what was coming, and the young bride
appeared in the doorway leaning upon her father's arm. She looked
like a beautiful doll, crowned with a wreath of orange blossoms. She
advanced with bowed head. The ladies smiled and murmured as she
passed them. The men whispered:

"Exquisite, adorable!"

M. Walter walked by her side with exaggerated dignity. Behind them
came four maids of honor dressed in pink and forming a charming
court for so dainty a queen.

Mme. Walter followed on the arm of Count de Latour-Ivelin's aged
father. She did not walk; she dragged herself along, ready to faint
at every step. She had aged and grown thinner.

Next came Georges du Roy with an old lady, a stranger. He held his
head proudly erect and wore upon his coat, like a drop of blood, the
red ribbon of the Legion of Honor.

He was followed by the relatives: Rose, who had been married six
weeks, with a senator; Count de Latour-Ivelin with Viscountess de
Percemur. Following them was a motley procession of associates and
friends of Du Roy, country cousins of Mme. Walter's, and guests
invited by her husband.

The tones of the organ filled the church; the large doors at the
entrance were closed, and Georges kneeled beside his bride in the
choir. The new bishop of Tangiers, cross in hand, miter on head,
entered from the sacristy, to unite them in the name of the
Almighty. He asked the usual questions, rings were exchanged, words
pronounced which bound them forever, and then he delivered an
address to the newly married couple.

The sound of stifled sobs caused several to turn their heads. Mme.
Walter was weeping, her face buried in her hands. She had been
obliged to yield; but since the day on which she had told Du Roy:
"You are the vilest man I know; never speak to me again, for I will
not answer you," she had suffered intolerable anguish. She hated
Suzanne bitterly; her hatred was caused by unnatural jealousy. The
bishop was marrying a daughter to her mother's lover, before her and
two thousand persons, and she could say nothing; she could not stop
him. She could not cry: "He is mine, that man is my lover. That
union you are blessing is infamous."

Several ladies, touched by her apparent grief, murmured: "How
affected that poor mother is!"

The bishop said: "You are among the favored ones of the earth. You,
sir, who are raised above others by your talent--you who write,
instruct, counsel, guide the people, have a grand mission to
fulfill--a fine example to set."

Du Roy listened to him proudly. A prelate of the Roman Church spoke
thus to him. A number of illustrious people had come thither on his
account. It seemed to him that an invisible power was impelling him
on. He would become one of the masters of the country--he, the son
of the poor peasants of Canteleu. He had given his parents five
thousand francs of Count de Vaudrec's fortune and he intended
sending them fifty thousand more; then they could buy a small estate
and live happily.

The bishop had finished his harangue, a priest ascended the altar,
and the organ pealed forth. Suddenly the vibrating tones melted into
delicate, melodious ones, like the songs of birds; then again they
swelled into deep, full tones and human voices chanted over their
bowed heads. Vauri and Landeck of the Opera were singing.

Bel-Ami, kneeling beside Suzanne, bowed his head. At that moment he
felt almost pious, for he was filled with gratitude for the
blessings showered upon him. Without knowing just whom he was
addressing, he offered up thanks for his success. When the ceremony
was over, he rose, and, giving his arm to his wife, they passed into
the sacristy. A stream of people entered. Georges fancied himself a
king whom the people were coming to greet. He shook hands, uttered
words which signified nothing, and replied to congratulations with
the words: "You are very kind."

Suddenly he saw Mme. de Marelle, and the recollection of all the
kisses he had given her and which she had returned, of all their
caresses, of the sound of her voice, possessed him with the mad
desire to regain her. She was so pretty, with her bright eyes and
roguish air! She advanced somewhat timidly and offered him her hand.
He took, retained, and pressed it as if to say: "I shall love you
always, I am yours."

Their eyes met, smiling, bright, full of love. She murmured in her
soft tones: "Until we meet again, sir!" and he gaily repeated her
words.

Others approached, and she passed on. Finally the throng dispersed.
Georges placed Suzanne's hand upon his arm to pass through the
church with her. It was filled with people, for all had resumed
their seats in order to see them leave the sacred edifice together.
He walked along slowly, with a firm step, his head erect. He saw no
one. He only thought of himself.

When they reached the threshold he saw a crowd gathered outside,
come to gaze at him, Georges du Roy. The people of Paris envied him.
Raising his eyes, he saw beyond the Place de la Concorde, the
chamber of deputies, and it seemed to him that it was only a stone's
throw from the portico of the Madeleine to that of the Palais
Bourbon.

Leisurely they descended the steps between two rows of spectators,
but Georges did not see them; his thoughts had returned to the past,
and before his eyes, dazzled by the bright sunlight, floated the
image of Mme. de Marelle, rearranging the curly locks upon her
temples before the mirror in their apartments.

La Paix du Menage




Dramatis Personae


Monsieur de Sallus

Jacques de Randol

Madame de Sallus


Time: Paris, 1890




Act I.


Scene I.

Mme. de Sallus _in her drawing-room, seated in a corner by the
fireplace. Enter_ Jacques de RANDOL _noiselessly; glances to see that no
one is looking, and kisses_ Mme. de Sallus _quickly upon her hair. She
starts; utters a faint cry, and turns upon him._

MME. DE SALLUS

Oh! How imprudent you are!

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Don't be afraid; no one saw me.

MME. DE SALLUS

But the servants!

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Oh, they are in the outer hall.

MME. DE SALLUS

How is that? No one announced you

JACQUES DE RANDOL

No, they simply opened the door for me.

MME. DE SALLUS

But what will _they_ think?

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Well, they will doubtless think that _I_ don't count.

MME. DE SALLUS

But I will not permit it. I must have you announced in future. It does
not look well.

JACQUES DE RANDOL [_laughs_]

Perhaps they will even go so far as to announce your husband--

MME. DE SALLUS

Jacques, this jesting is out of place.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Forgive me. [_Sits_.] Are you waiting for anybody?

MME. DE SALLUS

Yes--probably. You know that I always receive when I am at home.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

I know that I always have the pleasure of seeing you for about five
minutes--just enough time to ask you how you feel, and then some one
else comes in--some one in love with you, of course,--who impatiently
awaits my departure.

MME. DE SALLUS [_smiles_]

Well, what can I do? I am not your wife, so how can it be otherwise?

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Ah! If you only were my wife!

MME. DE SALLUS

If I were your wife?

JACQUES DE RANDOL

I would snatch you away for five or six months, far from this horrible
town, and keep you all to myself.

MME. DE SALLUS

You would soon have enough of me.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

No, no!

MME. DE SALLUS

Yes, yes!

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Do you know that it is absolute torture to love a woman like you?

MME. DE SALLUS [_bridles_]

And why?

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Because I covet you as the starving covet the food they see behind the
glassy barriers of a restaurant.

MME. DE SALLUS

Oh, Jacques!

JACQUES DE RANDOL

I tell you it is true! A woman of the world belongs to the world; that
is to say, to everyone except the man to whom she gives herself. He can
see her with open doors for a quarter of an hour every three days--not
oftener, because of servants. In exceptional cases, with a thousand
precautions, with a thousand fears, with a thousand subterfuges, she
visits him once or twice a month, perhaps, in a furnished room. Then she
has just a quarter of an hour to give him, because she has just left
Madame X in order to visit Madame Z, where she has told her coachman to
take her. If he complains, she will not come again, because it is
impossible for her to get rid of her coachman. So, you see, the
coachman, and the footman, and Madame Z, and Madame X, and all the
others, who visit her house as they would a museum,--a museum that never
closes,--all the he's and all the she's who eat up her leisure minute by
minute and second by second, to whom she owes her time as an employee
owes his time to the State, simply because she belongs to the world--all
these persons are like the transparent and impassable glass: they keep
you from my love.

MME. DE SALLUS [_dryly_]

You seem upset to-day.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

No, no, but I hunger to be alone with you. You are mine, are you not?
Or, I should say, I am yours. Isn't it true? I spend my life in looking
for opportunities to meet you. Our love is made up of chance meetings,
of casual bows, of stolen looks, of slight touches--nothing more. We
meet on the avenue in the morning--a bow; we meet at your house, or at
that of some other acquaintance--twenty words; we dine somewhere at the
same table, too far from each other to talk, and I dare not even look at
you because of hostile eyes. Is that love? We are simply acquaintances.

MME. DE SALLUS

Then you would like to carry me off?

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Unhappily, I cannot.

MME. DE SALLUS

Then what?

JACQUES DE RANDOL

I do not know. I only know this life is wearing me out.

MME. DE SALLUS

It is just because there are so many obstacles in the way of your love
that it does not fade.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Oh! Madeline, can you say that?

MME. DE SALLUS [_softening_]

Believe me, dear, if your love has to endure these hardships, it is
because it is not lawful love.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Well, I never met a woman as positive as you. Then you think that if
chance made me your husband, I should cease to love you?

MME. DE SALLUS

Not all at once, perhaps, but--eventually.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

What you say is revolting to me.

MME. DE SALLUS

Nevertheless, it is quite true. You know that when a confectioner hires
a greedy saleswoman he says to her, "Eat all the sweets you wish, my
dear." She stuffs herself for eight days, and then she is satisfied for
the rest of her life.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Ah! Indeed! But why do you include me in that class?

MME. DE SALLUS

Really, I do not know--perhaps as a joke!

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Please do not mock me.

MME. DE SALLUS

I say to myself, here is a man who is very much in love with me. So far
as I am concerned, I am perfectly free, morally, since for two years
past I have altogether ceased to please my husband. Now, since this man
loves me, why should I not love him?

JACQUES DE RANDOL

You are philosophic--and cruel.

MME. DE SALLUS

On the contrary, I have _not_ been cruel. Of what do you complain?

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Stop! you anger me with this continual raillery. Ever since I began to
love you, you have tortured me in this manner, and now I do not even
know whether you have the slightest affection for me.

MME. DE SALLUS

Well, you must admit that I have always been--good-natured.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Oh, you have played a queer little game! From the day I first met you I
felt that you were coquetting with me, coquetting mysteriously,
obscurely, coquetting as only you can without showing it to others.
Little by little you conquered me with looks, with smiles, with
pressures of the hand, without compromising yourself, without pledging
yourself, without revealing yourself. You have been horribly
upright--and seductive. I have loved you with all my soul, yes,
sincerely and loyally, and to-day I do not know what feeling you have in
the depths of your heart, what thoughts you have hidden in your brain;
in fact, I know-I know nothing. I look at you, and I see a woman who
seems to have chosen me, and seems also to have forgotten that she _has_
chosen me. Does she love me, or is she tired of me? Has she simply made
an experiment--taken a lover in order to see, to know, to
taste,--without desire, hunger, or thirst? There are days when I ask
myself if among those who love you and who tell you so unceasingly there
is not one whom you really love.

MME. DE SALLUS

Good heavens! Really, there are _some_ things into which it is not
necessary to inquire.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Oh, how hard you are! Your tone tells me that you do not love me.

MME. DE SALLUS

Now, what _are_ you complaining about? Of things I do not
say?--because--I do not think you have anything else to reproach me
with.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Forgive me, I am jealous.

MME. DE SALLUS

Of whom?

JACQUES DE RANDOL

I do not know. I am jealous of everything that I do not know about you.

MME. DE SALLUS

Yes, and without my knowing anything about these things, too.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Forgive me, I love you too much--so much that everything disturbs me.

MME. DE SALLUS

Everything?

JACQUES DE RANDOL


Yes, everything.

MME. DE SALLUS

Are you jealous of my husband?

JACQUES DE RANDOL [_amazed_]

What an idea!

MME. DE SALLUS [_dryly_]

Well, you are wrong.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Always this raillery!

MME. DE SALLUS No, I want to speak to you seriously about him, and to
ask your advice.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

About your husband?

MME. DE SALLUS [_seriously_]

Yes, I am not laughing, or rather I do not laugh any more. [_In lighter
tone_.] Then you are not jealous of my husband? And yet you know he is
the only man who has authority over me.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

It is just because he has authority that I am not jealous. A woman's
heart gives nothing to the man who has authority.

MME. DE SALLUS

My dear, a husband's right is a positive thing; it is a title-deed that
he can lock up--just as my husband has for more than two years--but it
is also one that he can use at any given moment, as lately he has seemed
inclined to do.

JACQUES DE RANDOL [_astonished_]

You tell me that your husband--

MME. DE SALLUS

Yes.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Impossible!

MME. DE SALLUS [_bridles_]

And why impossible?

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Because your husband has--has--other occupations.

MME. DE SALLUS

Well, it pleases him to vary them, it seems.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Jesting apart, Madeline, what has happened?

MME. DE SALLUS

Ah! Ah! Then you _are_ becoming jealous of him.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Madeline, I implore you; tell me, are you mocking me, or are you
speaking seriously?

MME. DE SALLUS

I am speaking seriously, indeed, very seriously.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Then what has happened?

MME. DE SALLUS

Well, you know my position, although I have never told you all my past
life. It is all very simple and very brief. At the age of nineteen I
married the Count de Sallus, who fell in love with me after he had seen
me at the Opéra-Comique. He already knew my father's lawyer. He was very
nice to me in those early days; yes, very nice, and I really believed he
loved me. As for myself, I was very circumspect in my behavior toward
him, very circumspect indeed, so that he could never cast a shadow of
reproach on my name.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Well, did you love him?

MME. DE SALLUS

Good gracious! Why ask such questions?

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Then you did love him?

MME. DE SALLUS

Yes and no. If I loved him, it was the love of a little fool; but I
certainly never told him, for positively I do not know how to show love.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

I can vouch for that!

MME. DE SALLUS

Well, it is possible that I cared for him sometimes, idiotically, like a
timid, restless, trembling, awkward, little girl, always in fear of that
disturbing thing--the love of a man--that disturbing thing that is
sometimes so sweet! As for him,--you know him. He was a sweetheart, a
society sweetheart, who are always the worst of all. Such men really
have a lasting affection only for those girls who are fitting companions
for clubmen--girls who have a habit of telling doubtful stories and
bestowing depraved kisses. It seems to me that to attract and to hold
such people, the nude and obscene are necessary both in word and in
body--unless--unless--it is true that men are incapable of loving any
woman for a length of time.

However, I soon became aware that he was indifferent to me, for he used
to kiss me as a matter of course and look at me without realizing my
presence; and in his manners, in his actions, in his conversation, he
showed that I attracted him no longer. As soon as he came into the room
he would throw himself upon the sofa, take up the newspaper, read it,
shrug his shoulders, and when he read anything he did not agree with, he
would express his annoyance audibly. Finally, one day, he yawned and
stretched his arms in my face. On that day I understood that I was no
longer loved. Keenly mortified I certainly was. But it hurt me so much
that I did not realize it was necessary to coquet with him in order to
retain his affection. I soon learned that he had a mistress, a woman of
the world. Since then we have lived separate lives--after a very stormy
explanation.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

What do you mean? What sort of explanation?

MME. DE SALLUS

Well--

JACQUES DE RANDOL

About--his mistress?

MME. DE SALLUS

Yes and no. I find it difficult to express myself. To avoid my
suspicions he found himself obliged, doubtless, to dissimulate from time
to time, although rarely, and to feign a certain affection for his
legitimate wife, the woman who had the right to his affection. I told
him that he might abstain in future from such a mockery of love.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

How did you tell him that?

MME. DE SALLUS

I don't remember.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

It must have been amusing.

MME. DE SALLUS

No, he appeared very much surprised at first. Then I formulated a nice
little speech and learned it by heart, in which I asked him to carry
such intermittent fancies elsewhere. He understood me, saluted me very
courteously, and--did as I asked him.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Did he never come back?

MME. DE SALLUS

Never, until--

JACQUES DE RANDOL [_interrupts_]

Has he never again tried to tell you of his love?

MME. DE SALLUS

No, never, until--

JACQUES DE RANDOL [_interrupts_]

Have you regretted it?

MME. DE SALLUS

That is of small importance. What is of importance, though, is that he
has had innumerable mistresses whom he entertains, whom he supports,
whom he takes out. It is this that has irritated and humiliated me--in
fact, cut me to the quick. But then I took heart of grace, and too late,
two years too late, I took a lover--you!

JACQUES DE RANDOL [_kisses her hand_]

And I, Madeline, I love you with my whole soul.

MME. DE SALLUS

Well, all this is not at all proper.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

What do you mean by "all this"?

MME. DE SALLUS

Life in general--my husband--his mistresses--myself--and you.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Your words--prove beyond a doubt that you do not love me.

MME. DE SALLUS

Why?

JACQUES DE RANDOL

You dare to say of love that it is not proper? If you loved me, it might
be divine, but a loving woman would abhor a phrase which should contain
such an idea. What! True love not proper?

MME. DE SALLUS

Possibly. It all depends upon the point of view. For myself, I see too
much.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

What do you see?

MME. DE SALLUS

I see too well, too far, too clearly.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

You do not love me?

MME. DE SALLUS

If I did not love you--a little--I should have had no excuse for giving
myself to you.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

A little--just sufficient to warrant that excuse!

MME. DE SALLUS

But I do not excuse myself: I accuse myself.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Then you did love me a little--and then--now--you love me no more!

MME. DE SALLUS

Do not let us argue.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

You do nothing else.

MME. DE SALLUS

No, I only judge the present by the past; the only just ideas and sane
notions of life one can form are those concerning that which is past.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

And do you regret--

MME. DE SALLUS

Perhaps!

JACQUES DE RANDOL

And what about to-morrow?

MME. DE SALLUS

I do not know.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Is it nothing to you to have one who is yours, body and soul? MME. DE
SALLUS [_shrugs her shoulders_]

Yes, mine to-day.

JACQUES DE RANDOL [_vehemently_]

And to-morrow!

MME. DE SALLUS [_shrugs her shoulders again_]

Yes, the to-morrow that follows to-night, but not the to-morrow of a
year hence.

JACQUES DE RANDOL [_emphatically_]

You shall see. But how about your husband?

MME. DE SALLUS

Does he annoy you?

JACQUES DE RANDOL By heaven--

MME. DE SALLUS

Hush! [_Archly._] My husband has fallen in love with me again.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Is it possible?

MME. DE SALLUS [_indignantly_]

What do you mean by such an insolent question, and why should it not be
possible?

JACQUES DE RANDOL

A man falls in love with his wife before he marries her, but after
marriage he never commits the same mistake.

MME. DE SALLUS

But perhaps he has never really been in love with me until now.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

It is absolutely impossible that he could have lived with you--even in
his curt, cavalier fashion--without loving you.

MME. DE SALLUS [_indifferently_]

It is of little importance. He has either loved me in the past, or is
now beginning to love me.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Truly, I do not understand you. Tell me all about it.

MME. DE SALLUS

But I have nothing to tell. He declares his love for me, takes me in his
arms, and threatens me with his conjugal rights. This upsets me,
torments me, and annoys me.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Madeline you torture me.

MME. DE SALLUS [_quickly_]

And what about me? Do you think that I do not suffer? I know that I am
not exactly a faithful woman since I received your addresses, but I
have, and shall retain, a single heart. It is either you _or_ he. It
will never be you _and_ he. For me that would be infamy--the greatest
infamy of a guilty woman, the sharing of her heart--a thing that debases
her. One may fall, perhaps, because there are ditches along the wayside
and it is not always easy to follow the right path. But if one falls,
that is no reason to throw oneself in the abyss.

JACQUES DE RANDOL [_takes her in his arms and kisses her_]

I simply adore you!

MME. DE SALLUS [_melts_]

And I, too, love you dearly, Jacques, and that is the reason why I fear.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

But, tell me, Madeline how long has it been since your husband reformed?

MME. DE SALLUS

Possibly fifteen days or three weeks.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Without relapse?

MME. DE SALLUS

Without relapse.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

I will explain the mystery. The fact of the matter is this, your husband
has simply become a widower.

MME. DE SALLUS

What do you say?

JACQUES DE RANDOL

I mean that your husband is unattached just now, and seeks to spend his
leisure time with his wife.

MME. DE SALLUS

But I tell you that he is in love with me.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Yes--yes--and no. He is in love with you--and also with another. Tell
me, his temper is usually bad, isn't it?

MME. DE SALLUS

Execrable!

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Well, then, here is a man in love with you who shows his wonderful
return of tenderness by moods that are simply unsupportable--for they
are unsupportable, aren't they?

MME. DE SALLUS

Absolutely.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

If he wooed you with tenderness you would not feel fear. You would say
to yourself, "My turn has come at last," and then he would inspire you
with a little pity for him, for a woman has always a sneaking sort of
compassion for the man who loves her, even though that man be her
husband.

MME. DE SALLUS

Perhaps that is true.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Is he nervous, preoccupied?

MME. DE SALLUS

Yes.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

And he is abrupt with you, not to say brutal? He demands his right
without even praying for it?

MME. DE SALLUS

True.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

My darling, for the moment you are simply a substitute.

MME. DE SALLUS

Oh! no, no!

JACQUES DE RANDOL

My dearest girl, your husband's latest mistress was Madame de Bardane,
whom he left very abruptly about two months ago to run after the
Santelli.

MME. DE SALLUS

What, the singer?

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Yes, a capricious, saucy, cunning, venal little woman. A woman not at
all uncommon upon the stage, or in the world either, for that matter.

MME. DE SALLUS

Then that is why he haunts the Opéra.

JACQUES DE RANDOL [_laughs_]

Without a doubt.

MME. DE SALLUS [_dreamily_]

No, no, you are deceiving yourself.

JACQUES DE RANDOL [_emphatically_]

The Santelli resists him and repulses him; then, burdened with a heart
full of longing that has no outlet, he deigns to offer you a portion.

MME. DE SALLUS

My dear, you are dreaming. If he were in love with the Santelli, he
would not tell me that he loves me. If he were so entirely preoccupied
with this creature, he would not woo me. If he coveted her, he would not
desire me at the same time.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

How little you understand certain kinds of men! Men like your husband,
once inoculated with the poison of love,--which in them is nothing but
brutal desire,--men like him, I say, when a woman they desire escapes or
resists them, become raging beasts. They behave like madmen, like men
possessed, with arms outstretched and lips wide open. They must love
some one, no matter whom just as a mad dog with open jaws bites anything
and everybody. The Santelli has unchained this raging brute, and you
find yourself face to face with his dripping jaws. Take care! You call
that love! It is nothing but animal passion.

MME. DE SALLUS [_sarcastically_]

Really, you are very unfair to him. I am afraid jealousy is blinding
you.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Oh, no, I am not deceiving myself, you may be sure.

MME. DE SALLUS

Yes, I think you are. Formerly my husband neglected and abandoned me,
doubtless finding me very insipid; but now he finds me much improved,
and has returned to me. It is very easy to understand, and moreover, it
is the worse for him, for he _must_ believe that I have been a
_faithful_ wife to him all my life.

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Madeline!

MME. DE SALLUS

Well, what?

JACQUES DE RANDOL

Does a girl cease to be a faithful wife, if, when deserted by the man
who has assumed charge of her existence, and her happiness, and her
love, and her ideals, she refuses to resign herself--young, beautiful,
and full of hope--to eternal isolation and everlasting solitude?

MME. DE SALLUS

I think I have already told you that there are certain things which it
is _not_ necessary to discuss, and this is one of them. [_The front door
bell sounds twice._] Here is my husband. Please be silent. He is in a
gloomy mood just now.

JACQUES DE RANDOL [_rises_]

I think I shall go. I am not in love with your husband any more, for
many reasons, and it is difficult for me to be polite to him when I
despise him, and when I know that he ought to despise me, and would
despise me when I shake hands with him, did he know all.

MME. DE SALLUS [_annoyed_]

How many times must I tell you that all this is entirely out of place?