The Complete Works: Short Stories, Novels, Plays, Poetry, Memoirs and more. Guy de Maupassant
indecency, naughty elegance, music hall singers, and couplets from operettas. Every time that one of the fencers lunged a thrill of pleasure ran through the public. The one who turned her back to the seats, a plump back, caused eyes and mouths to open, and it was not the play of her wrist that was most closely scanned. They were frantically applauded.
A bout with swords followed, but no one looked at it, for the attention of all was occupied by what was going on overhead. For some minutes they had heard the noise of furniture being dragged across the floor, as though moving was in progress. Then all at once the notes of a piano were heard, and the rhythmic beat of feet moving in cadence was distinctly audible. The people above had treated themselves to a dance to make up for not being able to see anything. A loud laugh broke out at first among the public in the fencing saloon, and then a wish for a dance being aroused among the ladies, they ceased to pay attention to what was taking place on the platform, and began to chatter out loud. This notion of a ball got up by the late-comers struck them as comical. They must be amusing themselves nicely, and it must be much better up there.
But two new combatants had saluted each other and fell on guard in such masterly style that all eyes followed their movements. They lunged and recovered themselves with such easy grace, such measured strength, such certainty, such sobriety in action, such correctness in attitude, such measure in their play, that even the ignorant were surprised and charmed. Their calm promptness, their skilled suppleness, their rapid motions, so nicely timed that they appeared slow, attracted and captivated the eye by their power of perfection. The public felt that they were looking at something good and rare; that two great artists in their own profession were showing them their best, all of skill, cunning, thought-out science and physical ability that it was possible for two masters to put forth. No one spoke now, so closely were they watched. Then, when they shook hands after the last hit, shouts of bravoes broke out. People stamped and yelled. Everyone knew their names — they were Sergent and Ravignac.
The excitable grew quarrelsome. Men looked at their neighbors with longings for a row. They would have challenged one another on account of a smile. Those who had never held a foil in their hand sketched attacks and parries with their canes.
But by degrees the crowd worked up the little staircase. At last they would be able to get something to drink. There was an outburst of indignation when they found that those who had got up the ball had stripped the refreshment buffet, and had then gone away declaring that it was very impolite to bring together two hundred people and not show them anything. There was not a cake, not a drop of champagne, syrup, or beer left; not a sweetmeat, not a fruit — nothing. They had sacked, pillaged, swept away everything. These details were related by the servants, who pulled long faces to hide their impulse to laugh right out. “The ladies were worse than the gentlemen,” they asserted, “and ate and drank enough to make themselves ill.” It was like the story of the survivors after the sack of a captured town.
There was nothing left but to depart. Gentlemen openly regretted the twenty francs given at the collection; they were indignant that those upstairs should have feasted without paying anything. The lady patronesses had collected upwards of three thousand francs. All expenses paid, there remained two hundred and twenty for the orphans of the Sixth Arrondissement.
Du Roy, escorting the Walter family, waited for his landau. As he drove back with them, seated in face of Madame Walter, he again caught her caressing and fugitive glance, which seemed uneasy. He thought: “Hang it all! I fancy she is nibbling,” and smiled to recognize that he was really very lucky as regarded women, for Madame de Marelle, since the recommencement of their amour, seemed frantically in love with him.
He returned home joyously. Madeleine was waiting for him in the drawingroom.
“I have some news,” said she. “The Morocco business is getting into a complication. France may very likely send out an expeditionary force within a few months. At all events, the opportunity will be taken of it to upset the Ministry, and Laroche-Mathieu will profit by this to get hold of the portfolio of foreign affairs.”
Du Roy, to tease his wife, pretended not to believe anything of the kind. They would never be mad enough to recommence the Tunisian bungle over again. But she shrugged her shoulders impatiently, saying: “But I tell you yes, I tell you yes. You don’t understand that it is a matter of money. Now-a-days, in political complications we must not ask: ‘Who is the woman?’ but ‘What is the business?’”
He murmured “Bah!” in a contemptuous tone, in order to excite her, and she, growing irritated, exclaimed: “You are just as stupid as Forestier.”
She wished to wound him, and expected an outburst of anger. But he smiled, and replied: “As that cuckold of a Forestier?”
She was shocked, and murmured: “Oh, George!”
He wore an insolent and chaffing air as he said: “Well, what? Did you not admit to me the other evening that Forestier was a cuckold?” And he added: “Poor devil!” in a tone of pity.
Madeleine turned her back on him, disdaining to answer; and then, after a moment’s silence, resumed: “We shall have visitors on Tuesday. Madame Laroche-Mathieu is coming to dinner with the Viscountess de Percemur. Will you invite Rival and Norbert de Varenne? I will call tomorrow and ask Madame Walter and Madame de Marelle. Perhaps we shall have Madame Rissolin, too.”
For some time past she had been strengthening her connections, making use of her husband’s political influence to attract to her house, willy-nilly, the wives of the senators and deputies who had need of the support of the Vie Francaise.
George replied: “Very well. I will see about Rival and Norbert.”
He was satisfied, and rubbed his hands, for he had found a good trick to annoy his wife and gratify the obscure rancor, the undefined and gnawing jealousy born in him since their drive in the Bois. He would never speak of Forestier again without calling him cuckold. He felt very well that this would end by enraging Madeleine. And half a score of times, in the course of the evening, he found means to mention with ironical good humor the name of “that cuckold of a Forestier.” He was no longer angry with the dead! he was avenging him.
His wife pretended not to notice it, and remained smilingly indifferent.
The next day, as she was to go and invite Madame Walter, he resolved to forestall her, in order to catch the latter alone, and see if she really cared for him. It amused and flattered him. And then — why not — if it were possible?
He arrived at the Boulevard Malesherbes about two, and was shown into the drawingroom, where he waited till Madame Walter made her appearance, her hand outstretched with pleased eagerness, saying: “What good wind brings you hither?”
“No good wind, but the wish to see you. Some power has brought me here, I do not know why, for I have nothing to say to you. I came, here I am; will you forgive me this early visit and the frankness of this explanation?”
He uttered this in a gallant and jesting tone, with a smile on his lips. She was astonished, and colored somewhat, stammering: “But really — I do not understand — you surprise me.”
He observed: “It is a declaration made to a lively tune, in order not to alarm you.”
They had sat down in front of one another. She took the matter pleasantly, saying: “A serious declaration?”
“Yes. For a long time I have been wanting to utter it — for a very long time. But I dared not. They say you are so strict, so rigid.”
She had recovered her assurance, and observed: “Why to-day, then?”
“I do not know.” Then lowering his voice he added: “Or rather, because I have been thinking of nothing but you since yesterday.”
She stammered, growing suddenly pale: “Come, enough of nonsense; let us speak of something else.”
But he had fallen at her feet so suddenly that she was frightened. She tried to rise, but he kept her seated by the strength of his arms passed round her waist, and repeated in a voice of passion: “Yes, it is true