"But what will become of me?" said my mother. "Sick and infirm as I am, poverty means death to me. Besides, my poor child, a separation is impossible. Your husband has a right to do this, so long as he does not bring this woman where you are; and as the law is on his side, and as he needs you, and is accustomed to your care and attentions when he is ill, he will not hear of a separation, and you will be obliged to remain with him. So make the best of it, my poor child. His infatuation for this creature will not last long. Sooner or later, your husband will return to you. Your patience and resignation will touch him; besides, he is in such poor health that this unfortunate affair is sure to be his last, so go on doing exactly as you have done in the past. In such cases, believe me, my child, a good woman suffers and waits and hopes.""
"What! your mother dared to--"
"Do not censure her too severely, Florence. She has such a horror of poverty, quite as much on my account as on her own. Besides, does not her advice conform in every respect with reason, the law, and the opinion of the world in general?"
"What you say is only too true, alas!"
"Ah, well, so be it, I said to myself bitterly. All possibility of a self-respecting, rightful revolt against this disgraceful state of things being denied me, marriage becomes only a degrading servitude henceforth. I accept it. I shall experience all the degradation of a slave, but I will also practise a slave"s perfidy and trickery. After all, degradation of soul has one advantage. It annihilates all remorse; it banishes every scruple. From this on, I will shut my eyes, and instead of struggling against the tide which is sweeping me on to ruin, I will yield myself to it."
"What do you mean?"
"It is now, Florence, that I need all your friendly indulgence. Up to this time I have deserved some interest and sympathy, perhaps, but now--"
The conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of Madame de Luceval"s maid.
"What do you want?" asked Florence, impatiently.
"Here is a letter a messenger just brought from M. de Luceval, madame."
"Give it to me."
After having read it, Florence turned to her friend and said: "M. de Luceval informs me that he will not dine at home, so can you not spend the afternoon and take dinner with me?"
"I accept your invitation with pleasure, my dear Florence," Madame d"Infreville replied, after a moment"s reflection.
"Madame d"Infreville will dine with me," said Madame de Luceval, turning to her maid. "Give the servants to understand that I am at home to no one,--absolutely no one."
"Yes, madame," replied Mlle. Lise, quitting the room.
CHAPTER III.
A CONFERENCE.
We will leave the two ladies for a time and give our attention to M. de Luceval. This gentleman, as we have just learned through his message to his wife, did not intend to dine at home that day.
The reason was this:
He had, as we know, left Madame de Luceval in a towering rage. He was also firmly resolved to insist upon his rights, and to force her to submit to his will, as well as to his mania for travelling.
He had gone only a few steps from his house before he was accosted by a rather distinguished looking man about forty-five years of age, whose worn and haggard features bore the lines and the impress of a premature old age. As M. de Luceval approached, this gentleman"s stern, arrogant face took on an expression of formal courtesy, and, bowing with great politeness, he inquired:
"Is it to M. de Luceval that I have the honour of speaking?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"I was on my way to your house to tender you both my apologies and my thanks."
"Before accepting either, may I not at least know, monsieur--"
"Who I am? Pardon me, monsieur, for not having told you sooner. I am M.
d"Infreville, so my name is not unknown to you, I think."
"We have several mutual friends, I think," replied M. de Luceval, "and I congratulate myself upon my good fortune in meeting you personally, monsieur. But we are only a short distance from my house, and if you will return with me--"
"I could not think of giving you that trouble, monsieur. Besides, to tell the truth, I should be almost afraid to meet Madame de Luceval."
"And why, monsieur?"
"The fact is, I have wronged madame so deeply, monsieur, that I must beg you to make my excuses to her before I have the honour to be presented to her."
"Pardon me," said Florence"s husband, more and more mystified, "but I really do not understand--"
"I will explain more clearly, monsieur. But we are almost at the Champs elysees. If agreeable to you, suppose we have a little chat together as we walk along."
"Certainly, if you prefer that."
And M. de Luceval, who manifested the same energy in his walk that he did in everything else, began to stride along, accompanied, or rather followed, by M. d"Infreville, who found it extremely difficult to keep up with his more agile companion. Nevertheless, continuing the conversation, he said, in a rather panting fashion:
"Just now, monsieur, when I had the honour to tell you my name, and to add that it was probably not unknown to you, you replied that we had mutual friends, and I--But pardon me, I have a favour to ask of you, monsieur," said M. d"Infreville, entirely out of breath now.
"What is it, monsieur?"
"I must ask you to walk a little more slowly. My lungs are not very strong, and I get out of breath very quickly, as you see."
"On the contrary, monsieur, it is I who should beg you to excuse me for walking so fast. It is a bad habit of which I find it very difficult to break myself; besides, if you prefer it, we can sit down. Here are some chairs."
"I accept the proposition with pleasure, monsieur," said M.
d"Infreville, sinking into a chair, "with very great pleasure."
The two gentlemen having established themselves comfortably, M.
d"Infreville remarked:
"Permit me to say, monsieur, that you must also have heard of me through some other intermediary than mutual friends."
"To what intermediary do you refer, monsieur?"
"To Madame de Luceval."
"My wife?"
"Certainly, monsieur, for though I have not yet had the honour of an introduction to her,--as I remarked a few minutes ago,--my wife is so intimate with your wife that you and I cannot be strangers to each other. The friendship of the ladies began at the convent, and still continues, as they see each other almost daily, and--"
"Pardon me, monsieur, but I think there must be some mistake--"
"Some mistake?"