The Complete Works: Short Stories, Novels, Plays, Poetry, Memoirs and more. Guy de Maupassant
with undefined jealousy, jealousy of everything — of women whom she saw passing by her window, and whom she thought charming, without even having any proof that Bretigny had ever spoken to them.
She asked of him: “Have you noticed a very pretty woman, a brunette, rather tall, whom I saw a little while ago, and who must have arrived here within the past few days?”
When he replied, “No, I don’t know her,” she at once jumped to the conclusion that he was lying, turned pale, and went on: “But it is not possible that you have not seen her. She appears to me very beautiful.”
He was astonished at her persistency. “I assure you I have not seen her. I’ll try to come across her.”
She thought: “Surely it must be she!” She felt persuaded, too, on certain days, that he was hiding some intrigue in the locality, that he had sent for his mistress, an actrcss perhaps. And she questioned everybody, her father, her brother, and her husband, about all the women young and desirable, whom they observed in the neighborhood of Enval. If only she could have walked about, and seen for herself, she might have reassured herself a little; but the almost complete loss of motion which her condition forced upon her now made her endure an intolerable martyrdom.
When she spoke to Paul, the tone of her voice alone revealed her anguish, and intensified his nervous impatience with this love, which for him was at an end. He could no longer talk quietly about anything with her save the approaching marriage of Gontran, a subject which enabled him to pronounce Charlotte’s name, and to give vent to his thoughts aloud about the young girl. And it was a mysterious source of delight to him even to hear Christiane articulating that name, praising the grace and all the qualities of this little maiden, compassionating her, regretting that her brother should have sacrificed her, and expressing a desire that some man, some noble heart, should appreciate her, love her, and marry her.
He said: “Oh! yes, Gontran acted foolishly there. She is perfectly charming, that young girl.”
Christiane, without any misgiving, echoed: “Perfectly charming. She is a pearl! a piece of perfection!”
Never had she thought that a man like Paul could love a little maid like this, or that he would be likely to marry her. She had no apprehensions save of his mistresses. And it was a singular phenomenon of the heart that praise of Charlotte from Christiane’s lips assumed in his eyes an extreme value, excited his love, whetted his desire, and surrounded the young girl with an irresistible attraction.
Now, one day, when he called at Madame Honorat’s house to meet there the Oriol girls, they found Doctor Mazelli installed there as if he was at home. He stretched forth both hands to the two young men, with that Italian smile of his, which seemed to give away his entire heart with every word and every movement.
Gontran and he were linked by a friendship at once familiar and futile, made up of secret affinities, of hidden likenesses, of a sort of confederacy of instincts, rather than any real affection or confidence.
The Comte asked: “What about your little blonde of the Sans-Souci wood?”
The Italian smiled: “Bah! we are on terms of indifference toward one another. She is one of those women who offer everything and give nothing.”
And they began to chat. The handsome physician performed certain offices for the young girls, especially for Charlotte. When addressing women, he manifested a perpetual adoration in his voice, his gestures, and his looks. His entire person, from head to foot, said to them, “I love you” with an eloquence in his attitude which never failed to win their favor. He displayed the graces of an actress, the light pirouettes of a danseuse, the supple movements of a juggler, an entire science of seduction natural and acquired, of which he constantly made use.
Paul, when returning to the hotel with Gontran, exclaimed in a tone of sullen vexation: “What does this charlatan come to that house for?”
The Comte replied quietly: “How can you ever tell when dealing with such adventurers? These sort of people slip in everywhere. This fellow must be tired of his vagabond existence, and of giving way to every caprice of his Spaniard, of whom he is rather the valet than the physician — and perhaps something more. He is looking about him. Professor Cloche’s daughter was a good catch — he has failed with her, he says. The second of the Oriol girls would not be less valuable to him. He is making the attempt, feeling his way, smelling about, sounding. He would become co-proprietor of the waters, would try to knock over that idiot, Latonne, would in any case get an excellent practice here every summer for himself, which would last him over the winter. Faith! this is his plan exactly — no doubt of it!”
A dull rage, a jealous animosity, was aroused in Paul’s heart. A voice exclaimed: “Hey! hey!” It was Mazelli, who had overtaken them. Bretigny said to him, with aggressive irony: “Where are you rushing so quickly, doctor? One would say that you were pursuing fortune.” The Italian smiled, and, without stopping, but skipping backward, he plunged, with a mimic’s graceful movement, his hands into his two pockets, quickly turned them out and showed them, both empty, holding them wide between two fingers by the ends of the seams. Then he said: “I have not got hold of it yet.” And, turning on his toes, he rushed away like a man in a great hurry.
They found him again several times, on the following days, at Doctor Honorat’s house, where he made himself useful to the three ladies by a thousand graceful little services, by the same clever tactics which he had no doubt adopted when dealing with the Duchess. He knew how to do everything to perfection, from paying compliments to making macaroni. He was, moreover, an excellent cook, and protecting himself from stains by means of a servant’s blue apron, and wearing a chef’s cap made of paper on his head, while he sang Neapolitan ditties in Italian, he did the work of a scullion, without appearing a bit ridiculous, amusing and fascinating everybody, down to the half-witted housekeeper, who said of him: “He is a marvel!”
His plans were soon obvious, and Paul no longer had any doubt that he was trying to get Charlotte to fall in love with him. He seemed to be succeeding in this. He was so profuse of flattery, so eager, so artful in striving to please, that the young girl’s face had, when she looked at him, that air of contentment which indicates that the heart is gratified.
Paul, in his turn, without being even able to account to himself for his conduct, assumed the attitude of a lover, and set himself up as a rival. When he saw the doctor with Charlotte, he would come on the scene, and, with his more direct manner, exert himself to win the young girl’s affections. He showed himself straigthforward and sympathetic, fraternal, devoted, repeating to her, with the sincerity of a friend, in a tone so frank that one could scarcely see in it an avowal of love: “I am very fond of you; cheer up!”
Mazelli, astonished at this unexpected rivalry, had recourse to all his powers of captivation; and, when Bretigny, bitten with jealousy, that naïve jealousy which takes possession of a man when he is dealing with any woman, even without being in love with her, provided only he has taken a fancy to her — when, filled with this natural violence, he became aggressive and haughty, the other, more pliant, always master of himself, replied with sly allusions, witticisms, well-turned and mocking compliments.
It was a daily warfare which they both waged fiercely, without either of them perhaps having a well-defined object in view. They did not want to give way, like two dogs who have gained a grip of the same quarry.
Charlotte had recovered her good humor, but along with it she now exhibited a more biting waggery, a certain sphinxlike attitude, less candor in her smile and in her glance. One would have said that Gontran’s desertion had educated her, prepared her for possible deceptions, disciplined, and armed her.
She played off her two admirers against one another in a sly and dexterous fashion, saying to each of them what she thought necessary, without letting the one fall foul of the other, without ever letting the one suppose that she preferred the other, laughing slightly at each of them in turn in the presence of his rival, leaving them an equal match without appearing even to take either of them seriously. But all this was done simply, in the manner of a schoolgirl rather than in that of a coquette, with that mischievous air exhibited by young girls which sometimes