I might have struck Dulac, and a duel would have followed; but, after the remarks that had already been made, everybody would have divined the cause, the motive of the duel. I determined to find some other way of satisfying my thirst for vengeance, without publishing my dishonor before the eyes of the world.
I rose. There were moments when the rush of my thoughts distracted me from my misfortune and gave me new courage; but the next moment the arguments lost their force and I remembered all that I had lost. I saw myself alone on earth, when I had thought that the woman whom I adored loved me; I saw all my plans destroyed, all my dreams unfulfilled.
Thereupon my heart broke, and my eyes filled with tears. I was like a person trying to climb out of an abyss, but constantly falling back to the bottom after every effort.
I walked on. I saw houses before me and a servant told me that I was at Montreuil. I looked at my watch: it was only noon. Great heaven! how the time would drag now!
I went into a sort of restaurant; I was not hungry, but I wanted to find some way of shortening the day; I did not wish to return to Paris so early. It seemed to me that everybody would read my misfortune in my face; but I dreaded especially the returning to my house. I hoped, however, that I should not find her there. Her property would enable her to live comfortably; let her go, but let her leave me my children; I must have them; I believed that I had the right to take them away from their mother. In any event, it would be no great deprivation to her; she did not know how to love her children; in truth, she did not deserve that I should regret her.
I tried to eat, but it was impossible for me to swallow. I paid, and left the inn. I walked on, and then looked at my watch again; the time stood still. However, it was necessary for me to return to Paris sooner or later. I arrived there at three o"clock.
If she were still at my house, I felt that I could not endure her presence; I therefore determined to ascertain before going in.
It gave me a pang to see those boulevards again, and a still greater pang to see my home. I looked up at our windows. She used to sit there sometimes, watching for me, and smiling at me. Why was she not there now? Oh! if it only might all prove to be a dream, how happy I should be, what a relief it would be to me! but no, it was only too true, I no longer had a wife! there was no Eugenie for me! What had I done to her that she should make me so wretched?
Fool that I was! I was weeping again, although I was in the midst of Paris, amid that throng of people who would laugh at me if they knew the cause of my grief.
I must be a man, at least in the presence of other people.
I entered the house and accosted my concierge.
"Is madame at home?"
"No, monsieur, madame went away about ten o"clock, in a cab, with bundles and boxes, and with mademoiselle her daughter."
"My daughter? She took my daughter?"
"Yes, monsieur; it looked to me as if madame were going into the country. Didn"t monsieur know it?"
I was no longer listening to the concierge. I went upstairs and rang violently. The maid admitted me; the poor girl began to tremble when she saw me.
"Your mistress has gone away?"
"Yes, monsieur, madame said that she was going into the country. In fact, when madame returned from the bath she looked very ill."
"From the bath?"
"Yes, monsieur, madame went out very early to go to the bath."
"Does she go often to the bath?"
"Why, yes, monsieur, quite often lately."
"Why did you never tell me?"
"Madame--told me not to."
"Oho! Well?"
"At first, madame shut herself up in her bedroom for a long time; then she called me and told me to pack up, and to make haste; then she told me to go and call a cab; she had the bundles taken down, and then she went away with her daughter, saying: "Give this letter to monsieur.""
"A letter! where is it?"
"I put it on your desk, monsieur."
I rushed to my study. There was the letter. What could she have to write to me? I broke the seal and looked for the marks of tears upon it, but there were none. She had left me, left me forever, without even shedding a tear! My heart sickened. Ah! if heaven were just, I thought, the day would come when I should make her shed as bitter tears as I had shed. I read the letter.
"Monsieur, I have deceived you. I might perhaps deny it still, but I prefer to be more honest than you were with me. I am guilty, I know it; but except for your example, I never should have been.
And, although in the eyes of the law, I am a greater culprit than you, I do not consider myself so. I realize that we can no longer live together. Indeed, I think that it will be a blessing to us both to part. I shall keep my daughter, and you your son. My fortune will suffice for me, and I shall never need to have recourse to yours. Adieu, monsieur, pray believe that I sincerely wish you happiness.
"EUGeNIE."
What a letter! not a word of regret, not a syllable of repentance! Well, so much the better; that gave me courage. But my daughter, my Henriette; so I must live without seeing and embracing her every day! What inhumanity! Eugenie knew how dearly I loved my daughter, and she had taken her away. It was not from maternal affection; no, she did not know what it was to love her children. So that it was simply to make me more unhappy. Henriette, dear child, you would no longer come and climb on my knees every morning; I could no longer pa.s.s my hand through your fair hair and hold your head against my breast; and, ceasing to see me, perhaps you will cease to love me.
I threw myself into a chair, and laid my head on my desk; I do not know how long I stayed in that position.
I heard the maid; the poor girl was standing behind my chair and had been talking to me for a long time, for all that I knew.
"What do you want?"
"Will not monsieur dine? It is after six o"clock; that is why I ventured--I was afraid that monsieur was ill."
"No, thanks, I will not dine. But what did my daughter say when she went away? What did she do, poor child?"
"Oh! she wanted to carry her doll, monsieur, but her mother would not let her; she told her that she would buy her another one."
"Is that all?"
"Then Mamzelle Henriette said: "Why don"t we wait for papa before we go to ride?""
"Dear child, she thought of me!"
Those words did me good. I came to my senses. Eugenie had not said where she was going, but I could learn through her banker. I simply must know, and then we would see if she would refuse to give me back my daughter. I cast my weakness behind me and thought only of avenging myself on Dulac.
I knew where he would be that evening. I was to take madame there. But suppose that she had written to him, suppose she had informed him of what had taken place? But no, her first thought had been to fly.
I asked the maid if madame had written any other letters; she did not know. Ah! if Dulac should escape me that evening! It was nearly seven o"clock, so I dressed to go out. To go into society! to pretend to be calm, to smile, when my heart was torn! But it would not be for long, I hoped.
I put a large sum of money in my pocket. It was still too early to go to an evening party, so I walked about my apartment. "Accursed apartment,"
I said to myself, "where I began by being unhappy, you will not see me much longer!"
At last the clock struck eight; I left the house. The reception was at the house of the lady where the magic lantern had been exhibited. It was there that I had first had any enlightenment concerning my misfortune; it was just that I should be revenged there.
Some guests had arrived; but very few, and he was not among them. People asked me about madame; I said that she was not feeling well, and I took my place at a card table.
Whenever the door of the salon opened, I turned with an involuntary shudder. He did not come.
Belan and Giraud arrived, and came to me to say good-evening; I pretended to be very intent upon the game, in order not to have to enter into conversation with them; but Belan succeeded in coming close enough to me to whisper in my ear:
"My friend, I am not; everything has been explained to my perfect satisfaction. I will come some morning and tell you about it."