The Complete Works: Short Stories, Novels, Plays, Poetry, Memoirs and more. Guy de MaupassantЧитать онлайн книгу.
him to ask him to dance the first quadrille with the Count de Latour Yvelin.
He was astonished, and asked: “Who is he, too?”
Susan answered maliciously: “A new friend of my sister’s.” Rose blushed, and murmured: “You are very spiteful, Susan; he is no more my friend than yours.”
Susan smiled, saying: “Oh! I know all about it.”
Rose annoyed, turned her back on them and went away. Du Roy familiarly took the elbow of the young girl left standing beside him, and said in his caressing voice: “Listen, my dear, you believe me to be your friend?”
“Yes, Pretty-boy.”
“You have confidence in me?” “Quite.”
“You remember what I said to you just now?”
“What about?”
“About your marriage, or rather about the man you are going to marry.” “Yes.”
“Well, then, you will promise me one thing?”
“Yes; but what is it?”
“To consult me every time that your hand is asked for, and not to accept anyone without taking my advice.”
“Very well.”
“And to keep this a secret between us two. Not a word of it to your father or your mother.”
“Not a word.”
“It is a promise, then?” “It is a promise.”
Rival came up with a bustling air. “Mademoiselle, your papa wants you for the dance.”
She said: “Come along, Pretty-boy.”
But he refused, having made up his mind to leave at once, wishing to be alone in order to think. Too many new ideas had entered his mind, and he began to look for his wife. In a short time he saw her drinking chocolate at the buffet with two gentlemen unknown to him. She introduced her husband without mentioning their names to him. After a few moments, he said, “Shall we go?”
“When you like.”
She took his arm, and they walked back through the reception-rooms, in which the public were growing few. She said: “Where is Madame Walter, I should like to wish her goodbye?”
“It is better not to. She would try to keep us for the ball, and I have had enough of this.”
“That is so, you are quite right.”
All the way home they were silent. But as soon as they were in their room Madeleine said smilingly, before even taking off her veil. “I have a surprise for you.”
He growled ill-temperedly: “What is it?”
“Guess.” “I will make no such effort.”
“Well, the day after tomorrow is the first of January.”
“Yes.”
“The time for New Year’s gifts.”
“Yes.”
“Here’s one for you that Laroche-Mathieu gave me just now.”
She gave him a little black box resembling a jewel-case. He opened it indifferently, and saw the cross of the Legion of Honor. He grew somewhat pale, then smiled, and said: “I should have preferred ten millions. That did not cost him much.”
She had expected an outburst of joy, and was irritated at this coolness. “You are really incredible. Nothing satisfies you now,” said she.
He replied, tranquilly: “That man is only paying his debt, and he still owes me a great deal.”
She was astonished at his tone, and resumed: “It is though, a big thing at your age.”
He remarked: “All things are relative. I could have something bigger now.”
He had taken the case, and placing it on the mantelshelf, looked for some moments at the glittering star it contained. Then he closed it and went to bed, shrugging his shoulders.
The Journal Officiel of the first of January announced the nomination of Monsieur Prosper George Du Roy, journalist, to the dignity of chevalier of the Legion of Honor, for special services. The name was written in two words, which gave George more pleasure than the derivation itself.
An hour after having read this piece of news he received a note from Madame Walter begging him to come and dine with her that evening with his wife, to celebrate his new honors. He hesitated for a few moments, and then throwing this note, written in ambiguous terms, into the fire, said to Madeleine:
“We are going to dinner at the Walter’s this evening.”
She was astonished. “Why, I thought you never wanted to set foot in the house again.”
He only remarked: “I have changed my mind.”
When they arrived Madame Walter was alone in the little Louis XVI. boudoir she had adopted for the reception of personal friends. Dressed in black, she had powdered her hair, which rendered her charming. She had the air at a distance of an old woman, and close at hand, of a young one, and when one looked at her well, of a pretty snare for the eyes.
“You are in mourning?” inquired Madeleine.
She replied, sadly: “Yes, and no. I have not lost any relative. But I have reached the age when one wears the mourning of one’s life. I wear it to-day to inaugurate it. In future I shall wear it in my heart.”
Du Roy thought: “Will this resolution hold good?”
The dinner was somewhat dull. Susan alone chattered incessantly. Rose seemed preoccupied. The journalist was warmly congratulated. During the evening they strolled chatting through the saloons and the conservatory. As Du Roy was walking in the rear with Madame Walter, she checked him by the arm.
“Listen,” said she, in a low voice, “I will never speak to you of anything again, never. But come and see me, George. It is impossible for me to live without you, impossible. It is indescribable torture. I feel you, I cherish you before my eyes, in my heart, all day and all night. It is as though you had caused me to drink a poison which was eating me away within. I cannot bear it, no, I cannot bear it. I am willing to be nothing but an old woman for you. I have made my hair white to show you so, but come here, only come here from time to time as a friend.”
She had taken his hand and was squeezing it, crushing it, burying her nails in his flesh.
He answered, quietly: “It is understood, then. It is useless to speak of all that again. You see I came to-day at once on receiving your letter.”
Walter, who had walked on in advance with his two daughters and Madeleine, was waiting for Du Roy beside the picture of “Jesus Walking on the Waters.”
“Fancy,” said he, laughing, “I found my wife yesterday on her knees before this picture, as if in a chapel. She was paying her devotions. How I did laugh.”
Madame Walter replied in a firm voice — a voice thrilling with secret exultation: “It is that Christ who will save my soul. He gives me strength and courage every time I look at Him.” And pausing in front of the Divinity standing amidst the waters, she murmured: “How handsome he is. How afraid of Him those men are, and yet how they love Him. Look at His head, His eyes — how simple yet how supernatural at the same time.”
Susan exclaimed, “But He resembles you, Pretty-boy. I am sure He resembles you. If you had a beard, or if He was clean shaven, you would be both alike. Oh, but it is striking!”
She insisted on his standing beside the picture, and they all, indeed, recognized that the two faces resembled one another. Everyone was astonished. Walter thought it very singular. Madeleine, smiling, declared that Jesus had a more manly air. Madame Walter stood motionless,