The Complete Works: Short Stories, Novels, Plays, Poetry, Memoirs and more. Guy de MaupassantЧитать онлайн книгу.
returned towards the fireplace. Madeleine had recovered all her coolness, and seeing that all was lost, was ready to dare anything. Her eyes glittered with bravado, and twisting up a piece of paper she lit, as though for a reception, the ten candles in the ugly candelabra, placed at the corners of the mantelshelf. Then, leaning against this, and holding out backwards to the dying fire one of her bare feet which she lifted up behind the petticoat, scarcely sticking to her hips, she took a cigarette from a pink paper case, lit it, and began to smoke. The commissary had returned towards her, pending that her accomplice got up.
She inquired insolently: “Do you often have such jobs as these, sir?”
He replied gravely: “As seldom as possible, madame.”
She smiled in his face, saying: “I congratulate you; it is dirty work.”
She affected not to look at or even to see her husband.
But the gentleman in the bed was dressing. He had put on his trousers, pulled on his boots, and now approached putting on his waistcoat. The commissary turned towards him, saying: “Now, sir, will you tell me who you are?”
He made no reply, and the official said: “I find myself obliged to arrest you.”
Then the man exclaimed suddenly: “Do not lay hands on me. My person is inviolable.”
Du Roy darted towards him as though to throw him down, and growled in his face: “Caught in the act, in the act. I can have you arrested if I choose; yes, I can.” Then, in a ringing tone, he added: “This man is Laroche-Mathieu, Minister of Foreign Affairs.”
The commissary drew back, stupefied, and stammered: “Really, sir, will you tell me who you are?”
The other had made up his mind, and said in forcible tones: “For once that scoundrel has not lied. I am, indeed, Laroche-Mathieu, the minister.” Then, holding out his hand towards George’s chest, in which a little bit of red ribbon showed itself, he added: “And that rascal wears on his coat the cross of honor which I gave him.”
Du Roy had become livid. With a rapid movement he tore the bit of ribbon from his buttonhole, and, throwing it into the fireplace, exclaimed: “That is all that is fit for a decoration coming from a swine like you.”
They were quite close, face to face, exasperated, their fists clenched, the one lean, with a flowing moustache, the other stout, with a twisted one. The commissary stepped rapidly between the pair, and pushing them apart with his hands, observed: “Gentlemen, you are forgetting yourselves; you are lacking in self-respect.”
They became quiet and turned on their heels. Madeleine, motionless, was still smoking in silence.
The police official resumed: “Sir, I have found you alone with Madame Du Roy here, you in bed, she almost naked, with your clothes scattered about the room. This is legal evidence of adultery. You cannot deny this evidence. What have you to say for yourself?”
Laroche-Mathieu murmured: “I have nothing to say; do your duty.”
The commissary addressed himself to Madeleine: “Do you admit, madame, that this gentleman is your lover?”
She said with a certain swagger: “I do not deny it; he is my lover.”
“That is enough.”
The commissary made some notes as to the condition and arrangement of the rooms. As he was finishing writing, the minister, who had finished dressing, and was waiting with his greatcoat over his arm and his hat in his hand, said: “Have you still need of me, sir? What am I to do? Can I withdraw?”
Du Roy turned towards him, and smiling insolently, said: “Why so? We have finished. You can go to bed again, sir; we will leave you alone.” And placing a finger on the official’s arm, he continued: “Let us retire, Mr. Commissary, we have nothing more to do in this place.”
Somewhat surprised, the commissary followed, but on the threshold of the room George stopped to allow him to pass. The other declined, out of politeness. Du Roy persisted, saying: “Pass first, sir.”
“After you, sir,” replied the commissary.
The journalist bowed, and in a tone of ironical politeness, said: “It is your turn, sir; I am almost at home here.”
Then he softly reclosed the door with an air of discretion.
An hour later George Du Roy entered the offices of the Vie Francaise. Monsieur Walter was already there, for he continued to manage and supervise with solicitude his paper, which had enormously increased in circulation, and greatly helped the schemes of his bank. The manager raised his head and said: “Ah! here you are. You look very strange. Why did you not come to dinner with us? What have you been up to?”
The young fellow, sure of his effect, said, emphasizing every word: “I have just upset the Minister of Foreign Affairs.”
The other thought he was joking, and said: “Upset what?”
“I am going to turn out the Cabinet. That is all. It is quite time to get rid of that rubbish.”
The old man thought that his leader-writer must be drunk. He murmured: “Come, you are talking nonsense.”
“Not at all. I have just caught Monsieur Laroche-Mathieu committing adultery with my wife. The commissary of police has verified the fact. The minister is done for.”
Walter, amazed, pushed his spectacles right back on his forehead, and said: “You are not joking?”
“Not at all. I am even going to write an article on it.”
“But what do you want to do?”
“To upset that scoundrel, that wretch, that open evildoer.” George placed his hat on an armchair, and added: “Woe to those who cross my path. I never forgive.”
The manager still hesitated at understanding matters. He murmured: “But — your wife?”
“My application for a divorce will be lodged tomorrow morning. I shall send her back to the departed Forestier.”
“You mean to get a divorce?”
“Yes. I was ridiculous. But I had to play the idiot in order to catch them. That’s done. I am master of the situation.”
Monsieur Walter could not get over it, and watched Du Roy with startling eyes, thinking: “Hang it, here is a fellow to be looked after.”
George went on: “I am now free. I have some money. I shall offer myself as a candidate at the October elections for my native place, where I am well known. I could not take a position or make myself respected with that woman, who was suspected by every one. She had caught me like a fool, humbugged and ensnared me. But since I became alive to her little game I kept watch on her, the slut.” He began to laugh, and added: “It was poor Forestier who was cuckold, a cuckold without imagining it, confiding and tranquil. Now I am free from the leprosy he left me. My hands are free. Now I shall get on.” He had seated himself astride a chair, and repeated, as though thinking aloud, “I shall get on.”
And Daddy Walter, still looking at him with unveiled eyes, his spectacles remaining pushed up on his forehead, said to himself: “Yes, he will get on, the rascal.”
George rose. “I am going to write the article. It must be done discreetly. But you know it will be terrible for the minister. He has gone to smash. He cannot be picked up again. The Vie Francaise has no longer any interest to spare him.”
The old fellow hesitated for a few moments, and then made up his mind. “Do so,” said he; “so much the worse for those who get into such messes.”
French
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