Frequent disputes and rare reconciliations—so that was to be our life thenceforth. After Leberger’s ball, we passed a whole month without speaking to each other. That month seemed very long to me; I sighed for my bachelor days, but even more for the early months of our married life.

We spoke at last, but not with the same effusion of sentiment as before. On the slightest pretext my wife became excited and lost her temper. When I argued with her, she had hysterical attacks and shrieked at the top of her voice. When we were first married, if we had a little discussion, she wept, but she never shrieked and she was never hysterical.

My daughter was three years old and she had grown to be a lovely creature; her features were as beautiful as her mother’s, but she never sulked; she had already begun to talk and to argue with me. I was passionately fond of my little Henriette; when I was at odds with her mother, I would take my daughter in my arms, cover her with kisses, and make up to myself with her for the caresses which I no longer bestowed upon EugÉnie.

“You will always love me, won’t you?” I would say to Henriette; and when her sweet voice answered: “Yes, papa, always,” my heart experienced a thrill of well-being which often made me forget my quarrels with my wife.

When winter brought back the time of balls and parties, Leberger brought Monsieur Dulac to our house; he was a tall, dark young fellow, very good-looking, and with a somewhat conceited manner; but it is not safe to trust to the manners that a person displays in society: to know people well one must see them in private. However, Monsieur Dulac was well-bred and very agreeable; he was said to be an excellent musician; and he had an independent fortune; those recommendations were quite sufficient to cause him to be popular in society.

Monsieur Dulac seemed to enjoy coming to our house. He was a constant attendant at our receptions, and sometimes he came to see me in the morning. He had a trifling difference about a farm which he owned in common with a cousin of his; he requested me to adjust the affair, which I readily undertook to do. The young man manifested much regard for me, and although I knew that one should not rely upon society friends, I have always allowed myself to be taken in by manifestations of friendship for myself, for I have never pretended to like people whom I did not like.

Thanks to Monsieur Dulac, we had music at our house more frequently. My wife had almost abandoned her piano; I need not say that she had ceased to give me lessons, for one must be on the best of terms with a person to have patience enough to teach him to play on any instrument. We were not always on good terms, and EugÉnie was not patient; she had declared that I did not listen, and I had made the same complaint with respect to her painting; so that brush and piano were alike neglected.

But Monsieur Dulac, who played the violin very well, urged my wife to take up music again; I myself was very glad that EugÉnie should not forget an accomplishment in which she was proficient. She consented, because a stranger’s compliments are much more flattering than a husband’s; the piano resounded anew under her fingers, and I listened with pleasure; she used to play so often when I was paying court to her!

With the taste for music, EugÉnie also contracted a taste for balls, receptions, the theatre—in a word, for the world. We began to see a great many people; almost every day we had invitations to dinners or other festivities; and then we were bound to return the courtesies we had received; so that we had not a day to ourselves. That was not the placid existence which we had planned in the early days of our married life. For my own part, I confess that that constant rush made me dizzy; but it pleased my wife and it was one way of obtaining peace.

I earned enough money to meet the expenses of the life we led. EugÉnie now spent on her dress a large part of her income. She had become very coquettish of late; however, she was not yet twenty-five, and she was as pretty as ever.

What distressed me was that amid all this dissipation my wife paid little attention to her daughter; our Henriette never lacked anything and she was well taken care of, but it seemed to me that her mother did not pet her enough. EugÉnie loved her daughter dearly; I could not doubt that; perhaps it was because I spoiled her a little that she was more stern with her. I dared not reprove her; indeed at that moment I carefully avoided everything that could excite her; once more she was expecting to become a mother and I had received the news with the most intense delight; I felt that I should be so happy to have a son! To be sure I could not love him any more dearly than I loved my daughter, but I should love him as much, and from the delight that one child afforded me, I felt that with two my happiness would be twice as great. So I was most assiduous in my attentions to my wife; but I did not see that she was any more amiable to me.

I went very seldom to see Ernest, but I knew that they were happy. They had two children now, whom they adored, and Marguerite liked better to remain by their cradles than to go to balls or parties. I confessed to myself that I would have been glad if EugÉnie had had such quiet tastes. Marguerite always was kind enough to inquire for my wife; as for Ernest, he had never entered our house again, and I approved his course.

I had not met BÉlan for a long while, when he entered my study one morning, flushed, panting, and in a profuse perspiration. He sat down beside me and did not give me time to question him.

“I am, my friend, I certainly am! I am sure of it now. It is a most frightful, most abominable thing!”

“What is it that you are, then?” I asked, watching BÉlan mop his forehead.

“Parbleu! do you need to ask? I am a cuckold!”

BÉlan said this in such an absurd tone that I could not resist the desire to laugh. While I indulged it, BÉlan sprang to his feet and muttered in a feeling tone:

“I did not think that an old friend, a married man, would laugh like this at my misfortune.”

“I beg pardon, my dear BÉlan,” I said, forcing him to resume his seat; “I beg pardon. You certainly cannot suppose that I intended to hurt you. But the fact is that you said that so suddenly that I thought it was a joke.”

“No, I swear to you that there is no joke about it. Mon Dieu! that wicked Armide! Such a well-bred woman, and nobly born! A woman who wouldn’t let me take off my shirt in her presence! I cannot stand it any longer, and I have come to consult you as to what I had best do. You are a lawyer and you will advise me.—Shameless creature!”

“Come, come! First of all, calm yourself, BÉlan, and then, if you desire my advice, tell me what makes you think that your wife is deceiving you.”

“I have told you, my friend, of a certain marquis who used to pay court to my wife, and who afterward came in the kindest way to visit us. Oh! as to that, I must admit that he overwhelmed me with attentions. He came often——”

“It was you yourself who urged him to, so you told me.”

“Yes, that is true, because the Girauds had presumed to make remarks. Besides, could I ever have imagined? Perfidious Armide!—A woman who pinched and bit and scratched me on our wedding night, when I—you understand?”

“Well, my dear BÉlan?”

“Well, the marquis finally almost lived at our house. He escorted my wife to the theatre, brought her home from parties and sang duets with her; he has a very fine voice, I admit. All that was agreeable to me, it was all right. Moreover, I said to myself: ‘My mother-in-law is with them.’ But, the day before yesterday, having returned home when I was not expected, I thought I would go to my wife’s room; she was locked into her boudoir with the marquis. What for? There is no piano in her boudoir. My friend, I remembered my bachelor adventures, all the husbands I have wronged; it was as if someone had struck me with a hammer. I ran to the boudoir and knocked like a deaf man; my wife admitted me and made a scene. The marquis seemed offended by my air of suspicion, and I concluded that I was mistaken. But it seems that when those infernal ideas once get into your head, they don’t leave it again very soon. I dreamed all night of MoliÈre’s George Dandin, and Le Cocu Imaginaire. Ah! my dear BlÉmont, jealousy is a terrible thing! You know nothing about it and you are very lucky! And to think that it struck me like a pistol shot!”

“My wife has taught me all the suffering that jealousy can cause, my dear BÉlan, but go on.”

“Well, yesterday I was to dine out, and my wife was to dine with one of her aunts. I left the house. On the way I remembered my adventure with Madame Montdidier—you remember, before we were married?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“She also had said that she was going to dine with one of her aunts, and I was the aunt. Ah! my friend, I believe that it brings bad luck to have injured others so much. In short, it occurred to me to go home and watch my wife. I hurried back and went into a passageway opposite our door. That also reminded me of my bachelor days. After five minutes I saw Armide come out and get into a cab in a very alluring nÉgligÉ. My mother-in-law was not with her, although she had told me that they were going together. I followed the cab, at the risk of breaking a blood-vessel. It took my wife to the new boulevards, which were in the opposite direction from her aunt’s house. It stopped before a restaurant celebrated for its fried fish and gudgeons. Armide went in; a few seconds later I did the same; I put five francs in the waiter’s hand and ordered him to tell me with whom that lady was dining. He drew the portrait so accurately of the gentleman who was waiting for her that I could not help recognizing the marquis. He pointed out to me the room where they were, at the end of the corridor, and I ran there like a madman. I found the key on the outside, I rushed in like a lunatic, and I found myself in the presence of an artilleryman, who was toying with a grisette from the twelfth arrondissement.

“The artilleryman was enraged at being disturbed; I could not find excuses enough; he blackguarded me, and while the damsel was readjusting her neckerchief, he rushed at me, seized me by the shoulder and pushed me out of the room, saying that he would see me again after dessert. You will understand that I had no desire to wait for the artilleryman. Finding myself in the corridor, where there were no other keys on the outside, I began to shout in a stentorian voice: ‘Armide, open the door!’ No one opened the door, and the waiter informed me that, during my controversy with the soldier, the lady had hastily left with her escort. But where had she gone? That was what no one could tell me. I returned home; I found no one there but my mother-in-law, who called me a visionary; and that night, at the first words that I said to my wife, she locked herself into her room and refused to admit me. That is my situation, my friend; I dreamed again of George Dandin, and I hurried here this morning to tell you about it.”

BÉlan ceased to speak. I was still tempted to laugh, but I restrained myself.

“In all this that you have told me,” I said to him, “there are presumptions, but no proofs.”

“Ah! for us fellows, my dear BlÉmont, who have had so many adventures, who know all about such things, they are quite as good as proofs.”

“The waiter may have been mistaken; perhaps it wasn’t the marquis; you didn’t see him, did you?”

“No, for they had gone, and I had no desire to wait for the artilleryman.”

“You did not act shrewdly.”

“That is true, I was a perfect donkey; I lost my head.”

“You must distrust appearances, my poor BÉlan; I am better able than anybody to tell you that.”

“The deuce! do you mean that you have had suspicions about madame?”

“I? Oh no! never! but she had suspicions about me, and very ill-founded ones too, I promise you.”

“The deuce! suppose I was wrong! What do you advise me to do?”

“Wait, keep your eyes open, and watch, but with prudence; or else frankly ask your wife to explain her conduct yesterday; perhaps it was all very simple and innocent.”

“In fact, that is quite possible. The one thing that is certain is that I acted like a child. Dear BlÉmont, you calm my passions. After all, just because a young man comes often to one’s house, and is attentive to one’s wife, that doesn’t prove—for you yourself are not jealous of Monsieur Dulac, who is always at your house, and who often acts as escort to your wife. My mother-in-law was talking about it only the other day to my wife.”

“Indeed! those ladies were talking about me, eh?”

“No, they were simply talking about Monsieur Dulac. Armide thinks that he is a very handsome man, but for my part, I see nothing extraordinary about him. Then they cited you as an example; they said: ‘There’s a husband who is not jealous; look at him! Monsieur Dulac is his wife’s regular escort, and he doesn’t seem to notice it; he is a husband who knows how to live.’ And then they laughed, because, you know, when the women begin to pass us in review, there’s no end to it.—Well, well! What are you thinking about, my dear fellow? You are not listening to me.”

“I beg your pardon; I was thinking that the world notices things, which we, who are most interested in them, often do not notice at all.”

“You advise me to wait, to watch, and to be prudent; I will do it. If I should acquire proofs—Oh! then I shall explode, I shall be terrible, inflexible. Adieu, my dear fellow, I will leave you, for I see that you are preoccupied. Au revoir.”

BÉlan took his leave, and I bade him adieu with no desire to laugh. It was strange what an effect had been produced upon me by what he had told me of the comments of his wife and her mother. They noticed that Monsieur Dulac was an assiduous guest at my house and very attentive to my wife; and I myself had not noticed it. That was because I saw no harm in it, whereas the world is so evil-minded! And calumny is such a delicious weapon. Figaro was quite right: “Calumny, always calumny!”

Although I knew that it was mere malicious gossip, I involuntarily passed in review Monsieur Dulac’s conduct. I recalled his earnest desire to be received at my house after the ball from which he had escorted my wife home.

I became sad and pensive; I was conscious of a discomfort, a feeling of disquietude which I had never known before. I wondered if that was the way in which jealousy made itself felt. But what nonsense! What was I thinking about? It was that BÉlan, who had upset me with his own conjugal misfortunes. That his wife deceived him was possible, yes, probable; she had never loved him; but my EugÉnie, who used to love me so much, and who loved me still, I hoped—although jealousy had soured her disposition to some extent! But that very jealousy was a proof of love. And she had ceased to be jealous. Why? Ah! BÉlan need not have reported those remarks to me! He did it from malice.

To banish such thoughts, I left my study. I heard the piano; my wife was in the salon, and the sight of her would cause me to forget all the nonsense that had been passing through my mind. I entered abruptly. Monsieur Dulac was there, seated near my wife,—in fact, very near, as it seemed to me. At that moment, I admit that his presence caused me a very unpleasant sensation.

Dulac rose hastily and came toward me.

“Good-afternoon, Monsieur BlÉmont. I have brought madame a lovely fantasia on a favorite air of Rossini’s. Madame plays it at sight with such assurance and such taste!”

“Oh! you always flatter me, Monsieur Dulac.”

“No, madame; on my honor, you are a remarkable musician.”

I walked about the salon several times; then I asked EugÉnie:

“Why is not Henriette here?”

“Because she is playing in my room, I presume. Do you suppose, monsieur, that I can always attend to her? A girl who will soon be four years old can play alone.”

I sat down to listen to the music, but in five minutes my wife said that she was tired and left the piano. Monsieur Dulac talked a few minutes, then took his leave. My wife returned to her room, and I to my study, saying to myself that I must have seemed like a donkey to that man.

When I was alone I blushed at the suspicions that had passed through my head. In spite of that I became more constant in my attendance on my wife. I did not leave to others the duty of escorting her to parties; I went with her myself. But, as the time of her delivery drew near, EugÉnie went about less. Balls were abandoned, receptions less frequented, and even music was somewhat neglected. At last the moment arrived, and I became the father of a boy.

Nothing can describe my joy, my intoxication; I had a boy! I myself ran about to announce it everywhere; and among my visits I did not forget Ernest and his wife, for I knew that they would share my delight. They embraced me and congratulated me; they adored their children, so that they understood my feeling.

My mother was my son’s godmother, with a distant kinsman of my wife. I gave him the name of EugÈne and we put him out to nurse at Livry with the same peasant woman who had taken our daughter, and whose trade it was always to have a supply of milk.

EugÉnie seemed pleased to have a son, although her joy was less expansive than mine. Our acquaintances came to see us; Monsieur Dulac was not one of the last. That young man seemed to share my pleasure so heartily that I was touched. I had totally forgotten the ideas that had passed through my mind a few months before; I could not understand how I had been able to doubt my EugÉnie’s fidelity for an instant.

BÉlan also came to see me. He was satisfied now concerning his Armide’s virtue. She had demonstrated to him that she had arranged to meet the marquis on the new boulevards to go begging for the benefit of the poor; and her reason for doing it secretly was that her modesty would have suffered too much if people had known of all that she did for the relief of her fellow-creatures. BÉlan had humbled himself before his charitable better half; he went about everywhere extolling his wife’s noble deeds; he was no longer afraid of being betrayed. So much the better for him. I congratulated him and bowed him out just when he seemed to be on the point of mentioning Monsieur Dulac again. I gave him to understand that I did not like evil tongues and that I should take it very ill of anybody who tried to disturb the peace of my household.

No, I certainly would not be jealous again. I blushed to think that I had been for a single instant. If EugÉnie was no longer the same with me as in the first months of our wedded life, it was doubtless because we are not permitted to enjoy such happiness forever. Enjoyment, if it does not entirely extinguish love, certainly diminishes its piquancy; when one can gratify one’s desires as soon as they are formed, one does not form so many. And yet Ernest and Marguerite were still like lovers! To be sure, they were not married. Could it be that the idea that they could leave each other at any minute was the consideration that kept their love from growing old?

When she had entirely recovered her health, EugÉnie’s taste for society revived; she paid little attention to her daughter, and that distressed me. For our Henriette was fascinating. I passed hours talking with her, and those hours passed much more rapidly than those which I was obliged to spend at evening parties.

I suggested going to see my son at Livry. My wife declared that he was too small, that we must wait until his features had become more formed. But I did not choose to wait any longer; I longed to embrace my little EugÈne, so I hired a horse one morning, and went to the nurse’s house.

My son seemed to me a fascinating little fellow; I recognized his mother’s features in his. I embraced him, but I sighed; something was lacking to my happiness. I felt that it was wrong of EugÉnie not to have desired to embrace her son.

The nurse asked me if my wife was sick. The good people thought that she must be sick because she had failed to accompany me.

“Yes, she is not feeling very well,” I said to the nurse.

“Oh well! as soon as she’s all right again, I’m sure that madame will want to come too.”

“Yes, we will come together the next time.”

I passed several hours beside my son’s cradle. As I drove back to Paris, I indulged in reflections which were not cheerful. In vain did I try to excuse EugÉnie, I felt that her conduct was not what it should be, and it distressed me to feel that she was in the wrong.

I reached home at six o’clock. Madame was not there; she had gone to dine with Madame Dorcelles. She was one of her school friends whom she had met again in society; one of those dissipated, coquettish women, who consider it perfectly natural to see their husbands only by chance, when they dine with him. I did not like that woman, and I had told EugÉnie so and had requested her not to see too much of her; and she went to dine at her house!

She had not taken her daughter. My little Henriette ran out to embrace me, with outstretched arms! How could EugÉnie take any pleasure, away from her daughter? I could not understand it.

“Didn’t your mamma take you?” I asked the child, taking her on my knee.

“No, papa.”

“Did you cry when she went away?”

“Yes, papa, I cried.”

“Poor child! you cried, and your mother left you behind!”

“But mamma told me that if I was very good she would bring me a cake; so then I stopped crying.”

“Did anybody come to see your mamma to-day?”

“Yes, you know, that gentleman who plays music with mamma, and who gives me sweeties.”

“Monsieur Dulac?”

“Yes.”

“And did you stay with your mamma while she was playing music?”

“No, because mamma said that I was making too much noise; she sent me to play in the hall with my doll.”

I felt a weight at my heart; and for a long time I was silent. Evidently my little Henriette divined that I was unhappy, for she looked timidly at me and said nothing. I kissed her lovingly, and then she smiled again.

Where could EugÉnie be? That Madame Dorcelles did not receive that evening; at least, I thought that it was not her day. At all events, I did not choose to go to her house; I suspected that woman of giving EugÉnie very bad advice, and I might let my ill humor appear. It was much better not to go there.

But why should I always hold myself in check? Why should I not tell my wife frankly what my feelings were? In order to have peace, to avoid quarrels. But in order to have peace, should a man let his wife make a fool of herself and do rash things, if nothing worse? No, I determined to tell EugÉnie all that I had on my mind.

Perhaps those ladies had gone to the play. I went out, after kissing Henriette again and handing her over to her nurse. Where should I go? At what theatre should I look for them? I went into the VariÉtÉs, the Gymnase, and the Porte-Saint-Martin. And I remembered that I had met EugÉnie there on the day following Giraud’s ball, at which I saw her for the first time. My eyes turned toward the box in which she sat that evening. Ah! how glad I would have been to go back to that time! How madly in love I was! I still loved her as dearly! but she——

The time passes quickly when one is engrossed by souvenirs of the past. The play came to an end unnoticed by me. I was aroused from my reflections by seeing that everybody had gone; whereupon I understood that I must do likewise. I returned home. As I approached the house, I saw a gentleman and lady standing at the door, and I thought that I recognized my wife. I stepped behind one of the trees on the boulevard, where I could see them better. Yes, it was my wife and Monsieur Dulac. He had brought her home. But they talked together a very long time! He took her hand and did not release it. Why did he hold her hand like that? When a man holds a woman’s hand so long, it means that he is making love to her. I remembered very clearly that that was what I used to do; and that I used to bestow a loving pressure upon the hand that I held in mine. He was pressing my wife’s hand, no doubt, and she did not withdraw it! That idea maddened me, I could no longer restrain myself, and I walked rapidly toward them. They dropped each other’s hands; Dulac bowed ceremoniously, then exclaimed:

“Ah! here is Monsieur BlÉmont! I have brought madame home; she deigned to accept my arm. Good-night, madame; pray receive my respects.”

He bowed and walked away; I do not know whether I made any answer to him. I pushed my wife into the house and we went upstairs without exchanging a word. When we reached our apartment, madame entered her bedroom, and I followed her. I paced the floor a long while without speaking. I wanted to see whether she would ask me about my son, for she must have guessed that I had been to Livry. But she did not say a word; she simply began to arrange her hair in curl papers.

I could stand it no longer. I went to her and said:

“Where have you been to-day, madame?”

“Why, wherever I chose, monsieur. I believe that I am not in the habit of asking you where you go!”

“That is no argument, madame, and I have the right to ask you for an account of your actions.”

“Oho! a right! I had that right too, but when I undertook to exert it, it did not succeed!”

“I don’t know what you mean, madame. However, you do not answer my question.”

“I have been to dine with Madame Dorcelles; there was no mystery about it; I told the nurse, and I thought that you would call there for me.”

“You could not think that I would go to the house of a woman whom I do not like; and you must have known too that you would not please me by dining with this Madame Dorcelles, who has the reputation of being a flirt and not a respectable mother of a family.”

“Reputation! Was it Madame Ernest who told you that Laure was a flirt?”

“Madame Ernest never speaks ill of anyone.”

“She has her reasons for that.”

“For heaven’s sake, let us drop Madame Ernest, whom I almost never see.”

“Oh! that is a matter of indifference to me now.”

“I can well believe it; you have other things to occupy your mind.”

“What do you mean by that, monsieur?”

“If you should find me escorting a woman home as I just now found you with Monsieur Dulac, I should like to know what you would say?”

“Mon Dieu! do you mean to say that you are jealous, you, monsieur, who considered it so absurd that I should be?”

“Without being jealous, madame, I may look to it that you do not expose yourself to malicious gossip.”

“Oh! I am obliged to you, monsieur, but I am old enough to know how to behave.”

“You are becoming most peculiar, EugÉnie; I don’t know whose advice you are following, but I cannot believe that you act thus of your own accord; I doubt, however, whether this new method of treating me will make either of us happy. Upon my word, I do not recognize you.”

“I have said that of you for a very long time, monsieur!”

“I can understand your not being the same to me; but with your children! Why, you have not asked me anything about our son!”

“Could I guess that you had been to see him?”

“You leave little Henriette here, you abandon her to the care of a maid!”

“As if one could always drag a child about, when one goes into society!”

“Drag about! Ah! I prefer to believe, madame, that that word does not come from you; it was probably Madame Dorcelles who taught it to you, in speaking of her own children!”

“It is doubtless because Laure is one of my school friends that you do not like her, and that you say unkind things about her; but I warn you, monsieur, that that will not prevent me from seeing her and from going to her house whenever I please.”

“But if I should forbid you?”

“That would be an additional reason for me to do it.”

“Magnificent, madame! Go your own way and I will go mine.”

“Go where you please, it is all one to me!”

I made the circuit of the room once more, then left madame, who continued to adjust her curl papers.