Chapter X: A Quarrel.--The First Vexation

A few days after Bélan’s wedding, we received a visit from Monsieur and Madame Giraud. I divined what brought them, and in truth they were hardly seated before Giraud exclaimed:

“You must have been greatly surprised not to see us at Bélan’s wedding?”

“In fact,” added Madame Giraud, “it made an impression on everybody. It was so terribly vulgar! So extraordinary! Just think of it! It was at our house that they met, and it was Giraud who took the first steps, who sounded Madame de Beausire, and who enumerated to her the young man’s property and good qualities; and yet we were not invited to the breakfast, or even to the ball! It’s an outrage!”

“More than that, it was indecent!” cried Giraud; “and if my wife hadn’t restrained me, I would have demanded satisfaction.”

“No, no; people would have thought that we cared about a wedding party; but thank God! we have more of them than we want. By the way, they say that that one was very dismal and tiresome!”

“Why, it was not very lively,” said Eugénie.

“Ah! yours was the lovely one, my dear Madame Blémont, and managed with such taste and such profusion! I confess that I had thirteen ices; salvers kept passing me, and I forgot myself.”

“Yes, that was a charming wedding,” said Giraud; “but they tell me that at Bélan’s there weren’t enough people to form two quadrilles of twelve, and that they were almost all outlandish creatures of the last century. And that old Beausire woman did nothing but cry. And then that night--do you know what happened?”

“No, we don’t know.”

“Well, I know all about it, because I have a maid who used to live in the house where the Beausires live, and who still has friends there. Well, that night the mother-in-law refused to leave her daughter. When the husband arrived, Madame de Beausire sobbed so that she woke the neighbors. Bélan lost his temper, and they had a terrible scene; finally, in a rage, he went to bed in a little closet where they keep coal, and the next morning he came out looking like a coal heaver! Poor fellow! If he doesn’t look out, those two women will shut him up in a foot-warmer, and feed him through the holes when he’s a good boy.--Ha! ha! It is too funny!” said Madame Giraud. “However, I won’t give him a year to be--you know what--and he will well have deserved it.”

Monsieur and Madame Giraud took leave of us, renewing the assurances of their friendship, and they probably went about to all their acquaintances to do the same thing.

As her pregnancy advanced, my wife felt called upon to attend to a thousand little duties which made it necessary for her to neglect music and painting. Moreover, her health was often poor, and she needed a great deal of rest; the result was that I had much more time to work in my office. Besides, the title of father, which I hoped soon to have, made me reflect more reasonably than I had done for some months past. Although our fortune was large enough for Eugénie and myself, it would cease to be large enough if we should have several children, and on their account it would be well for me to think of increasing it.

Bélan made his wedding call with his wife, who had lost none of her stiffness and primness since her marriage. I found that the new husband’s eyes were as red as his mother-in-law’s. Perhaps he too wept sometimes to gratify Madame de Beausire. He was so attentive, so devoted to his Armide, and he waited upon her with such humility, that he seemed like his wife’s servant.

We returned their visit ceremoniously, and we did not go again; we remembered their breakfast.

Since I had given my attention to business once more and had returned to the practice of my profession, my mother said that we had become reasonable and that I now had the aspect of a married man. I do not know what aspect I may have had, but I know that I considered that we were becoming altogether too sedate; we no longer played together or fooled the time away, as we did in the early days of our marriage.

The longed-for moment arrived at last. Eugénie made me the father of a daughter whom I considered a sweet little thing. My wife was disappointed for a moment, for she had hoped for a boy and had convinced herself that it would be a boy. For my own part, I was quite as well satisfied with a girl. I comforted Eugénie. My daughter, to whom her godmother, Madame Dumeillan, gave the name of Henriette, was placed in the charge of a stout, motherly nurse, who lived only three leagues from Paris, so that we could go often to see her. My wife soon recovered her health, but she retained some unevenness of temper and some caprices; what she decided to do in the morning she sometimes did not want to do at night. I am extremely good-natured, but I like to have people do what they have planned to do, and not act like weather vanes. My wife would express a wish to go to walk; and when I called her for that purpose, she would have changed her mind because it was necessary to change her dress; thereupon I would return laughing to my office.

“If you make up your mind to go,” I would say to her; “you must come and call me.”

As I passed through Rue du Temple one day, I heard someone call my name. It was Ernest, who was behind me. I was overjoyed to see him again and we shook hands warmly.

“Is it really you, my dear Ernest? Mon Dieu! How long it is since we saw each other!”

“Yes, more than a year. I suppose that you are married now; for you were just about to marry your dear Eugénie the last time that I saw you.”

“Yes, I am married and I am a father; I wasted no time, you see.”

“That is splendid. Do you still live in the same apartment?”

“Yes; my wife likes it very much. And you?”

“We live in this street, only a step or two from here. I gave you our address, and you promised to come to see us; but you have forgotten your neighbors of the attic.”

“I plead guilty; the change that has taken place in my situation is my excuse.”

“If you want us to forgive you altogether, you must come up and bid my wife good-morning. I say my wife, although we are not married. But for the benefit of concierges and strangers I feel bound to call her my wife; that is a sacrifice to the proprieties. After all, what difference is there between us and married people? Simply a signature on a great book! And that signature, and the oath, and all the promises made before men, do not make people behave any better.”

“I am entirely of your opinion.”

“At all events, we are very happy; we love each other as dearly as ever, and we snap our fingers at evil tongues.”

“You are quite right, my dear Ernest, one should live for oneself and not for other people.”

“Now that I am prosperous, I don’t care what my parents say; I owe nothing to anybody and I am as happy as a king, I mean, happier than a king. But come on; Marguerite will be very glad to see you; we often speak of you.”

I followed Ernest; he led me into a very attractive house, and we went up three flights; he rang, and my former neighbor opened the door. She uttered a cry of surprise when she saw me.

“Ah! it is Monsieur Blémont! What a miracle!”

“Parbleu! if he has come, my dear love, it is simply because I met him and brought him by force; but for that, you wouldn’t have seen him yet.”

“Ah! how wicked it is to forget one’s good friends, one’s neighbors!”

“Mon Dieu! madame, you see--that----”

“Ha! ha! he is getting mixed up; he is ashamed of his wrongdoing,” said Ernest, laughingly; “we must be generous and say nothing more to him about it.”

They ushered me into a bedroom which served as a salon; it was not magnificent, but there was everything that was necessary, and there was an atmosphere of order and of neatness which did much credit to the mistress of the house.

Madame Ernest, for I could call her by no other name, was a little stouter than of old; she was most attractive, and her eyes and all her features expressed a contentment, a happiness which added to her charm. They made me sit down, and we talked of the evenings we had passed together in the attic, long ago.

“Are you married to your Eugénie?” asked Madame Ernest.

“Yes, madame, thirteen months ago.”

“You must be very happy! for you were very much in love with her, and she loved you dearly too.”

“Yes, madame.”

“Have you any children?”

“What a foolish creature!” said Ernest; “do you suppose that they have had six or seven in thirteen months?”

“I mean a child.”

“Yes, I have had a little daughter for two months and a half.”

“Ah! you are luckier than we are. I should like so much to have a child; and since my miscarriage--But this time I have hopes.”

And the little woman glanced at Ernest with a smile; he smiled back at her, saying:

“Are such things mentioned before people?”

“Oh! never mind! What harm is there in hoping to be a mother?--Besides, Monsieur Blémont isn’t ‘people;’ he is our friend; he proved it that night that I was sick.--But come and see what pretty rooms we have.”

The little woman showed me over her apartments, which consisted of three rooms and a small dressing-room. She stopped in front of the fireplace in her bedroom and said:

“Do you see? We have a clock!”

“Hush, Marguerite!” said Ernest.

“No, no, I am going to speak. Ought I to pretend to be proud with Monsieur Henri, who knew me when I was so poor and unhappy? I am sure that it pleases him to see that we have all these things.”

“Indeed, you are quite right, madame; and you judge me aright in thinking that I am happy in your happiness.”

“I was right, you see. I also have a woman who comes in in the morning, to do the heavy work. Ernest insisted upon it, because he declares that I am not strong enough.”

“How interesting to monsieur to know that!”

“Yes, yes, it is interesting.--He is always scolding me, because he says that I am ignorant of the proprieties. Bless my soul! it isn’t my fault; it seems to me that one may well talk to her friends about what interests her; I am so happy!”

And Marguerite began to dance about the room; then she ran and threw her arms about Ernest’s neck and kissed him. She was as much a child as ever; but she was not yet eighteen. I prayed that she might retain that happy disposition for a long time to come.

The time passes quickly when one is in pleasant company. I suddenly discovered that it was long past five o’clock; and my wife would be expecting me to dinner, and I was to take her that evening to see a new play! I bade my young friends good-bye. I promised to go again to see them and I urged Ernest to come upstairs when he passed my house.

It rarely happened that I was not at home some time before the dinner hour; and that day we were to dine before five o’clock, in order to have plenty of time to go to the theatre. I found Eugénie at the window, anxious and impatient.

“Where on earth have you been? It is almost half-past five; you never come home so late.”

“My dear love, I met a friend,--one of my old friends.”

“Should a man’s friends cause him to forget his wife?”

“I didn’t think about the time.”

“And you didn’t think of me, who have been waiting for you and who did not know what to think.”

“Nonsense! come to dinner.”

“But tell me, where have you been?”

“I will tell you at the table.”

We sat down, and I told my wife the story of my acquaintance with Ernest and Marguerite. I was obliged to begin some way back, in order to explain to her how it happened that I went up to the attic room. Eugénie, who listened at first with interest, became thoughtful, and her brow darkened. I finished my story, and still she was silent for a long time. I ate my dinner, but she did not eat. She continued to keep silent, and it vexed me at last.

“Why don’t you eat?”

“Because I am not hungry.”

“And why are you sulky with me?”

“Sulky! I am not sulky.”

“You don’t say a word; is that the way we ordinarily act when we are together?”

“I am thinking about your former neighbor, about your friend’s mistress, whom you used to go to see in her room under the eaves.”

“I went to see her when Ernest was there.”

“Oh! you were always sure to find him, were you?”

“Yes, for I seldom went except in the evening, and Ernest was almost always there then.”

“Almost always!”

“Eugénie, I have told you the truth; you would do very wrong to believe anything else.”

“But you seem to be so infatuated with this little Marguerite. You say that she is so pretty.”

“In the first place, I did not say that she was pretty. But even if she were, that isn’t what I admired in her; it was her love, her deep affection for her lover.”

“Oh, yes! that was what led you up to the eaves!”

“Yes, it was. Why do you think ill of a person whom you do not know?”

“Oh! you did so many things when you were a bachelor! You had so many mistresses!”

“A very good reason why I did not need to turn to somebody’s else, who would not have listened to me if I had.”

“You may very well have known Mademoiselle Marguerite before she knew her Monsieur Ernest, as you were her neighbor.”

“If I had dreamed that you would imagine all this, I would not have mentioned Ernest or his wife.”

“His wife! She isn’t his wife.”

“It is practically the same thing, as they live together.”

“Such people are always very queer, and that woman would not be received in decent society.”

“Queer! What foolish prejudices! People in what is called good society won’t receive a woman who has lived a long time with the only man whom she ever loved; whose only care, whose only glory consists in making him happy; who goes out with no one but him, adorns herself for no one else, knows no pleasure without him; but they will welcome and make much of the woman who ruins her husband by extravagance, who does not even take the trouble to conceal her love-affairs, who goes about with no one but her cicisbeo. And all because those women are married, forsooth! Upon my word, it does great honor to society!”

“Mon Dieu! how you flare up, monsieur!”

“Because I cannot tolerate injustice, and because this particular injustice is often perpetrated in society. For my own part, I tell you that I shall always rise above such prejudices, and that I should be very glad to welcome Ernest and his wife at my house.”

“I thank you, monsieur, but I trust that you will not do so.”

“If you knew them, I am sure that you would not talk like this.”

“I have no desire to make their acquaintance; it is quite enough for you to be Mademoiselle Marguerite’s intimate friend.”

“Great heaven! how absurdly you talk, Eugénie!”

“And she used to live in this house?”

“To be sure.”

“I am no longer surprised that you are so attached to your apartment.”

I angrily threw down my knife and fork and rose from the table, saying:

“Let us talk no more about it, for you will end with making me angry too. Are you ready? It is time to go to the theatre.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“And this morning you were looking forward to it. What is the meaning of this new whim?”

“It isn’t a whim; I don’t care about going to the theatre; I don’t want to go out.”

“As you please. Then I will go without you.”

I took my hat and went out, closing the door rather violently. One absolutely must vent one’s ill humor on something.

I was really distressed. That was the first quarrel I had had with my wife. It pained me all the more because I knew that I was not in the wrong; and when a person feels that he deserves neither reproof nor blame, he is doubly incensed with those who reprove or blame him.

To think of my being insulted by Eugénie! A few months before I could not have believed that that could happen. To think of being hurt and grieved by her! But it was jealousy that led her astray, that excited her. I tried to find excuses for her. We always try to find excuses for those whom we love; we should be so unhappy if we could not excuse them.

I found but little enjoyment at the theatre; there were times however, when, engrossed by the play, which was very pretty, I abandoned myself to the pleasure it afforded me; but the memory of my quarrel with my wife soon returned to my mind; it was as if a weight had resumed its place upon my chest; it embarrassed me and prevented me from enjoying myself. What a child I was! after all, it was a most trivial dispute; I was foolish to think that a husband and wife could always agree. Yet I did think so; I believed it. That quarrel, trivial though it was, caused me much distress, because it was the first, and because it destroyed one of my illusions.

My wife was in bed when I went home. The next day we did not mention our dispute of the day before. We were not on bad terms, and yet everything was not right between us. Eugénie was colder and less talkative than usual; there was none of the delightful unreserve of former days. But I could not ask her pardon when I had done nothing. Let madame sulk, if that amuses her, I thought; I will seem not to notice it.

A fortnight passed thus, during which I went once to Ernest’s; but I was careful not to tell my wife; one must needs have secrets from people who see evil in everything.

One morning, Eugénie said to me:

“We must see about finding a new apartment.”

“A new apartment? what for, pray?”

“Why, to move into, naturally.”

“Do you mean that you want to leave this apartment, which you like so much?”

“Oh! I can’t endure it now! and if I had known all that I know now, we certainly would have taken another when we were married.”

“Known all that you know? Are you going to begin again?”

“You can’t deny that this was the place where you knew Mademoiselle Marguerite; everybody in the house knows it, and you cannot certainly think it is pleasant for me to live here.”

“Everybody in the house knows that I used to talk to my neighbor; and everybody also knows that I was not her lover.”

“Oh! that isn’t what people say--even the concierges.”

“What, Eugénie! do you talk with the concierges?”

“No, not I; but our maid talks with them sometimes; that is natural enough. And I know, monsieur, that Mademoiselle Marguerite was not content to receive visits from you; she used to come to your room.”

“That is false, madame.”

“You won’t admit it, of course not. You could not say that she used to come here with her lover.”

“Oh, yes! I do remember now that she came once to my room, just once, one morning, to ask me if I had seen her cat which she had lost.”

“Her cat! ha! ha! a charming excuse! That virtuous young woman goes to a bachelor’s room to look for her cat!”

“I swear to you that that is the truth!”

“And another time she came to ask about her dog, I suppose?”

I made no reply, for I felt that I should lose my temper, and in such a case it is wiser to hold one’s tongue. Eugénie saw perhaps that she had gone too far, for after a moment she said to me gently:

“We shall have to move anyway when our daughter returns from her nurse’s; this apartment will be too small then. Why should we wait?”

“This apartment suits me, madame, and I propose to remain here.”

I was not in the habit of resisting my wife; but her suspicions concerning my friendship with Madame Ernest made me angry, and it annoyed me to think of leaving my apartment.

Eugénie did not insist; for several days we were on cool terms, and the question of apartments was not mentioned. I saw plainly enough that my wife longed to speak of it, but she dared not. At last I reflected that, after all, the neighbors and concierges and gossips might well have made remarks; such people care for nothing except slandering their neighbors. They had seen me go up to the young woman’s room and they might have thought that Ernest was not there.

Why should I force my wife to listen forever to the insinuations of those people? The apartment was distasteful to her. Besides, one must needs do something in order to have peace. Peace! ah, yes! I was beginning to realize that peace is a precious thing, which does not always dwell in families.

“If you will dress at once,” I said to Eugénie one morning, “we will go together to look at apartments.”

At that she threw herself into my arms and kissed me affectionately; she had recovered all her sunny humor of earlier days. To make the ladies amiable, all that is necessary is to do everything that they want.