Ги де Мопассан
Bel Ami
"No, I dine with the governor. We have a heap of political and financial matters to talk over."
She had taken off her bonnet, and was now laying aside her bodice, which was too tight for her. He pointed out the bag on the mantel-shelf, saying, "I have bought you some marrons glaces."
She clapped her hands, exclaiming: "How nice; what a dear you are."
She took one, tasted them, and said: "They are delicious. I feel sure I shall not leave one of them." Then she added, looking at George with sensual merriment: "You flatter all my vices, then."
She slowly ate the sweetmeats, looking continually into the bag to see if there were any left. "There, sit down in the armchair," said she, "and I will squat down between your knees and nibble my bon-bons. I shall be very comfortable."
He smiled, sat down, and took her between his knees, as he had had Madame Walter shortly before. She raised her head in order to speak to him, and said, with her mouth full: "Do you know, darling, I dreamt of you? I dreamt that we were both taking a long journey together on a camel. He had two humps, and we were each sitting astride on a hump, crossing the desert. We had taken some sandwiches in a piece of paper and some wine in a bottle, and were dining on our humps. But it annoyed me because we could not do anything else; we were too far off from one another, and I wanted to get down."
He answered: "I want to get down, too."
He laughed, amused at the story, and encouraged her to talk nonsense, to chatter, to indulge in all the child's play of conversation which lovers utter. The nonsense which he thought delightful in the mouth of Madame de Marelle would have exasperated him in that of Madame Walter. Clotilde, too, called him "My darling," "My pet," "My own." These words seemed sweet and caressing. Said by the other woman shortly before, they had irritated and sickened him. For words of love, which are always the same, take the flavor of the lips they come from.
But he was thinking, even while amusing himself with this nonsense, of the seventy thousand francs he was going to gain, and suddenly checked the gabble of his companion by two little taps with his finger on her head. "Listen, pet," said he.
"I am going to entrust you with a commission for your husband. Tell him from me to buy to-morrow ten thousand francs' worth of the Morocco loan, which is quoted at seventy-two, and I promise him that he will gain from sixty to eighty thousand francs before three months are over. Recommend the most positive silence to him. Tell him from me that the expedition to Tangiers is decided on, and that the French government will guarantee the debt of Morocco. But do not let anything out about it. It is a State secret that I am entrusting to you."
She listened to him seriously, and murmured: "Thank you, I will tell my husband this evening. You can reckon on him; he will not talk. He is a very safe man, and there is no danger."
But she had eaten all the sweetmeats. She crushed up the bag between her hands and flung it into the fireplace. Then she said, "Let us go to bed," and without getting up, began to unbutton George's waistcoat. All at once she stopped, and pulling out between two fingers a long hair, caught in a buttonhole, began to laugh. "There, you have brought away one of Madeleine's hairs. There is a faithful husband for you."
Then, becoming once more serious, she carefully examined on her head the almost imperceptible thread she had found, and murmured: "It is not Madeleine's, it is too dark."
He smiled, saying: "It is very likely one of the maid's."
But she was inspecting the waistcoat with the attention of a detective, and collected a second hair rolled round a button; then she perceived a third, and pale and somewhat trembling, exclaimed: "Oh, you have been sleeping with a woman who has wrapped her hair round all your buttons."
He was astonished, and gasped out: "No, you are mad."
All at once he remembered, understood it all, was uneasy at first, and then denied the charge with a chuckle, not vexed at the bottom that she should suspect him of other loves. She kept on searching, and still found hairs, which she rapidly untwisted and threw on the carpet. She had guessed matters with her artful woman's instinct, and stammered out, vexed, angry, and ready to cry: "She loves you, she does – and she wanted you to take away something belonging to her. Oh, what a traitor you are!" But all at once she gave a cry, a shrill cry of nervous joy. "Oh! oh! it is an old woman – here is a white hair. Ah, you go in for old women now! Do they pay you, eh – do they pay you? Ah, so you have come to old women, have you? Then you have no longer any need of me. Keep the other one."
She rose, ran to her bodice thrown onto a chair, and began hurriedly to put it on again. He sought to retain her, stammering confusedly: "But, no, Clo, you are silly. I do not know anything about it. Listen now – stay here. Come, now – stay here."
She repeated: "Keep your old woman – keep her. Have a ring made out of her hair – out of her white hair. You have enough of it for that."
With abrupt and swift movements she had dressed herself and put on her bonnet and veil, and when he sought to take hold of her, gave him a smack with all her strength. While he remained bewildered, she opened the door and fled.
As soon as he was alone he was seized with furious anger against that old hag of a Mother Walter. Ah, he would send her about her business, and pretty roughly, too! He bathed his reddened cheek and then went out, in turn meditating vengeance. This time he would not forgive her. Ah, no! He walked down as far as the boulevard, and sauntering along stopped in front of a jeweler's shop to look at a chronometer he had fancied for a long time back, and which was ticketed eighteen hundred francs. He thought all at once, with a thrill of joy at his heart, "If I gain my seventy thousand francs I can afford it."
And he began to think of all the things he would do with these seventy thousand francs. In the first place, he would get elected deputy. Then he would buy his chronometer, and would speculate on the Bourse, and would —
He did not want to go to the office, preferring to consult Madeleine before seeing Walter and writing his article, and started for home. He had reached the Rue Druot, when he stopped short. He had forgotten to ask after the Count de Vaudrec, who lived in the Chaussee d'Antin. He therefore turned back, still sauntering, thinking of a thousand things, mainly pleasant, of his coming fortune, and also of that scoundrel of a Laroche-Mathieu, and that old stickfast of a Madame Walter. He was not uneasy about the wrath of Clotilde, knowing very well that she forgave quickly.
He asked the doorkeeper of the house in which the Count de Vaudrec resided: "How is Monsieur de Vaudrec? I hear that he has been unwell these last few days."
The man replied: "The Count is very bad indeed, sir. They are afraid he will not live through the night; the gout has mounted to his heart."
Du Roy was so startled that he no longer knew what he ought to do. Vaudrec dying! Confused and disquieting ideas shot through his mind that he dared not even admit to himself. He stammered: "Thank you; I will call again," without knowing what he was saying.
Then he jumped into a cab and was driven home. His wife had come in. He went into her room breathless, and said at once: "Have you heard? Vaudrec is dying."
She was sitting down reading a letter. She raised her eyes, and repeating thrice: "Oh! what do you say, what do you say, what do you say?"
"I say that Vaudrec is dying from a fit of gout that has flown to the heart." Then he added: "What do you think of doing?"
She had risen livid, and with her cheeks shaken by a nervous quivering, then she began to cry terribly, hiding her face in her hands. She stood shaken by sobs and torn by grief. But suddenly she mastered her sorrow, and wiping her eyes, said: "I – I am going there – don't bother about me – I don't know when I shall be back – don't wait for me."
He replied: "Very well, dear." They shook hands, and she went off so hurriedly that she forgot her gloves.
George, having dined alone, began to write his article. He did so exactly in accordance with the minister's instructions, giving his readers to understand that the expedition to Morocco would not take place. Then he took it to the office, chatted for a few minutes with the governor, and went out smoking, light-hearted, though he knew not why. His wife had not come home, and he went to bed and fell asleep.
Madeleine came in towards midnight. George, suddenly roused, sat up in bed. "Well?" he asked.
He had never seen her so pale and so deeply moved. She murmured: "He is dead."
"Ah! – and he did not say anything?"
"Nothing. He had lost consciousness when I arrived."
George was thinking. Questions rose to his lips that he did not dare to put. "Come to bed," said he.
She undressed rapidly, and slipped into bed beside him, when he resumed: "Were there any relations present at his death-bed?"
"Only a nephew."
"Ah! Did he see this nephew often?"
"Never. They had not met for ten years."
"Had he any other relatives?"
"No, I do not think so."
"Then it is his nephew who will inherit?"
"I do not know."
"He was very well off, Vaudrec?"
"Yes, very well off."
"Do you know what his fortune was?"
"No, not exactly. One or two millions, perhaps."
He said no more. She blew out the light, and they remained stretched out, side by side, in the darkness – silent, wakeful, and reflecting. He no longer felt inclined for sleep. He now thought the seventy thousand francs promised by Madame Walter insignificant. Suddenly he fancied that Madeleine was crying. He inquired, in order to make certain: "Are you asleep?"
"No."
Her voice was tearful and quavering, and he said: "I forgot to tell you when I came in that your minister has let us in nicely."
"How so?"
He told her at length, with all details, the plan hatched between Laroche-Mathieu and Walter. When he had finished, she asked: "How do you know this?"
He replied: "You will excuse me not telling you. You have your means of information, which I do not seek to penetrate. I have mine, which I wish to keep to myself. I can, in any case, answer for the correctness of my information."
Then she murmured: "Yes, it is quite possible. I fancied they were up to something without us."
But George, who no longer felt sleepy, had drawn closer to his wife, and gently kissed her ear. She repulsed him sharply. "I beg of you to leave me alone. I am not in a mood to romp." He turned resignedly towards the wall, and having closed his eyes, ended by falling asleep.
XIV
The church was draped with black, and over the main entrance a huge scutcheon, surmounted by a coronet, announced to the passers-by that a gentleman was being buried. The ceremony was just over, and those present at it were slowly dispersing, defiling past the coffin and the nephew of the Count de Vaudrec, who was shaking extended hands and returning bows. When George Du Roy and his wife came out of the church they began to walk homeward side by side, silent and preoccupied. At length George said, as though speaking to himself: "Really, it is very strange."
"What, dear?" asked Madeleine.
"That Vaudrec should not have left us anything."
She blushed suddenly, as though a rosy veil had been cast over her white skin, and said: "Why should he have left us anything? There was no reason for it." Then, after a few moments' silence, she went on: "There is perhaps a will in the hands of some notary. We know nothing as yet."
He reflected for a short time, and then murmured: "Yes, it is probable, for, after all, he was the most intimate friend of us both. He dined with us twice a week, called at all hours, and was at home at our place, quite at home in every respect. He loved you like a father, and had no children, no brothers and sisters, nothing but a nephew, and a nephew he never used to see. Yes, there must be a will. I do not care for much, only a remembrance to show that he thought of us, that he loved us, that he recognized the affection we felt for him. He certainly owed us some such mark of friendship."
She said in a pensive and indifferent manner: "It is possible, indeed, that there may be a will."
As they entered their rooms, the man-servant handed a letter to Madeleine. She opened it, and then held it out to her husband. It ran as follows:
"Office of Maitre Lamaneur, Notary,
"17 Rue des Vosges.
"Madame: I have the honor to beg you to favor me with a call here on Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday between the hours of two and four, on business concerning you. – I am, etc. – Lamaneur."
George had reddened in turn. "That is what it must be," said he. "It is strange, though, that it is you who are summoned, and not myself, who am legally the head of the family."
She did not answer at once, but after a brief period of reflection, said: "Shall we go round there by and by?"
"Yes, certainly."
They set out as soon as they had lunched. When they entered Maitre Lamaneur's office, the head clerk rose with marked attention and ushered them in to his master. The notary was a round, little man, round all over. His head looked like a ball nailed onto another ball, which had legs so short that they almost resembled balls too. He bowed, pointed to two chairs, and turning towards Madeleine, said: "Madame, I have sent for you in order to acquaint you with the will of the Count de Vaudrec, in which you are interested."
George could not help muttering: "I thought so."
The notary went on: "I will read to you the document, which is very brief."
He took a paper from a box in front of him, and read as follows:
"I, the undersigned, Paul Emile Cyprien Gontran, Count de Vaudrec, being sound in body and mind, hereby express my last wishes. As death may overtake us at any moment, I wish, in provision of his attacks, to take the precaution of making my will, which will be placed in the hands of Maitre Lamaneur. Having no direct heirs, I leave the whole of my fortune, consisting of stock to the amount of six hundred thousand francs, and landed property worth about five hundred thousand francs, to Madame Claire Madeleine Du Roy without any charge or condition. I beg her to accept this gift of a departed friend as a proof of a deep, devoted, and respectful affection."
The notary added: "That is all. This document is dated last August, and replaces one of the same nature, written two years back, with the name of Madame Claire Madeleine Forestier. I have this first will, too, which would prove, in the case of opposition on the part of the family, that the wishes of Count de Vaudrec did not vary."
Madeleine, very pale, looked at her feet. George nervously twisted the end of his moustache between his fingers. The notary continued after a moment of silence: "It is, of course, understood, sir, that your wife cannot accept the legacy without your consent."
Du Roy rose and said, dryly: "I must ask time to reflect."
The notary, who was smiling, bowed, and said in an amiable tone: "I understand the scruples that cause you to hesitate, sir. I should say that the nephew of Monsieur de Vaudrec, who became acquainted this very morning with his uncle's last wishes, stated that he was prepared to respect them, provided the sum of a hundred thousand francs was allowed him. In my opinion the will is unattackable, but a law-suit would cause a stir, which it may perhaps suit you to avoid. The world often judges things ill-naturedly. In any case, can you give me your answer on all these points before Saturday?"
George bowed, saying: "Yes, sir."
Then he bowed again ceremoniously, ushered out his wife, who had remained silent, and went out himself with so stiff an air that the notary no longer smiled.
As soon as they got home, Du Roy abruptly closed the door, and throwing his hat onto the bed, said: "You were Vaudrec's mistress."
Madeleine, who was taking off her veil, turned round with a start, exclaiming: "I? Oh!"
"Yes, you. A man does not leave the whole of his fortune to a woman, unless – "
She was trembling, and was unable to remove the pins fastening the transparent tissue. After a moment's reflection she stammered, in an agitated tone: "Come, come – you are mad – you are – you are. Did not you, yourself, just now have hopes that he would leave us something?"
George remained standing beside her, following all her emotions like a magistrate seeking to note the least faltering on the part of an accused. He said, laying stress on every word: "Yes, he might have left something to me, your husband – to me, his friend – you understand, but not to you – my wife. The distinction is capital, essential from the point of propriety and of public opinion."
Madeleine in turn looked at him fixedly in the eyes, in profound and singular fashion, as though seeking to read something there, as though trying to discover that unknown part of a human being which we never fathom, and of which we can scarcely even catch rapid glimpses in those moments of carelessness or inattention, which are like doors left open, giving onto the mysterious depths of the mind. She said slowly: "It seems to me, however, that a legacy of this importance would have been looked on as at least equally strange left to you."
He asked abruptly: "Why so?"
She said: "Because – " hesitated, and then continued: "Because you are my husband, and have only known him for a short time, after all – because I have been his friend for a very long while – and because his first will, made during Forestier's lifetime, was already in my favor."
George began to stride up and down. He said: "You cannot accept."
She replied in a tone of indifference: "Precisely so; then it is not worth while waiting till Saturday, we can let Maitre Lamaneur know at once."
He stopped short in front of her, and they again stood for some moments with their eyes riveted on one another, striving to fathom the impenetrable secret of their hearts, to cut down to the quick of their thoughts. They tried to see one another's conscience unveiled in an ardent and mute interrogation; the struggle of two beings who, living side by side, were always ignorant of one another, suspecting, sniffing round, watching, but never understanding one another to the muddy depths of their souls. And suddenly he murmured to her face, in a low voice: "Come, admit that you were De Vaudrec's mistress."
She shrugged her shoulders, saying: "You are ridiculous. Vaudrec was very fond of me, very – but there was nothing more – never."
He stamped his foot. "You lie. It is not possible."
She replied, quietly: "It is so, though."
He began to walk up and down again, and then, halting once more, said: "Explain, then, how he came to leave the whole of his fortune to you."
She did so in a careless and disinterested tone, saying: "It is quite simple. As you said just now, he had only ourselves for friends, or rather myself, for he has known me from a child. My mother was a companion at the house of some relatives of his. He was always coming here, and as he had no natural heirs he thought of me. That there was a little love for me in the matter is possible. But where is the woman who has not been loved thus? Why should not such secret, hidden affection have placed my name at the tip of his pen when he thought of expressing his last wishes? He brought me flowers every Monday. You were not at all astonished at that, and yet he did not bring you any, did he? Now he has given me his fortune for the same reason, and because he had no one to offer it to. It would have been, on the contrary, very surprising for him to have left it to you. Why should he have done so? What were you to him?"
She spoke so naturally and quietly that George hesitated. He said, however: "All the same, we cannot accept this inheritance under such conditions. The effect would be deplorable. All the world would believe it; all the world would gossip about it, and laugh at me. My fellow journalists are already only too disposed to feel jealous of me and to attack me. I should have, before anyone, a care for my honor and my reputation. It is impossible for me to allow my wife to accept a legacy of this kind from a man whom public report has already assigned to her as a lover. Forestier might perhaps have tolerated it, but not me."
She murmured, mildly: "Well, dear, do not let us accept it. It will be a million the less in our pockets, that is all."
He was still walking up and down, and began to think aloud, speaking for his wife's benefit without addressing himself directly to her: "Yes, a million, so much the worse. He did not understand, in making his will, what a fault in tact, what a breach of propriety he was committing. He did not see in what a false, a ridiculous position he would place me. Everything is a matter of detail in this life. He should have left me half; that would have settled everything."
He sat down, crossed his legs, and began to twist the end of his moustache, as he did in moments of boredom, uneasiness, and difficult reflection. Madeleine took up some embroidery at which she worked from time to time, and said, while selecting her wools: "I have only to hold my tongue. It is for you to reflect."
He was a long time without replying, and then said, hesitatingly: "The world will never understand that Vaudrec made you his sole heiress, and that I allowed it. To receive his fortune in that way would be an acknowledgment on your part of a guilty connection, and on mine of a shameful complaisance. Do you understand now how our acceptance of it would be interpreted? It would be necessary to find a side issue, some clever way of palliating matters. To let it go abroad, for instance, that he had divided the money between us, leaving half to the husband and half to the wife."
She observed: "I do not see how that can be done, since the will is plain."
"Oh, it is very simple. You could leave me half the inheritance by a deed of gift. We have no children, so it is feasible. In that way the mouth of public malevolence would be closed."
She replied, somewhat impatiently: "I do not see any the more how the mouth of public malevolence is to be closed, since the will is there, signed by Vaudrec?"
He said, angrily: "Have we any need to show it and to paste it up on all the walls? You are really stupid. We will say that the Count de Vaudrec left his fortune between us. That is all. But you cannot accept this legacy without my authorization. I will only give it on condition of a division, which will hinder me from becoming a laughing stock."
She looked at him again with a penetrating glance, and said: "As you like. I am agreeable."
Then he rose, and began to walk up and down again. He seemed to be hesitating anew, and now avoided his wife's penetrating glance. He was saying: "No, certainly not. Perhaps it would be better to give it up altogether. That is more worthy, more correct, more honorable. And yet by this plan nothing could be imagined against us – absolutely nothing. The most unscrupulous people could only admit things as they were." He paused in front of Madeleine. "Well, then, if you like, darling, I will go back alone to Maitre Lamaneur to explain matters to him and consult him. I will tell him of my scruples, and add that we have arrived at the notion of a division to prevent gossip. From the moment that I accept half this inheritance, it is plain that no one has the right to smile. It is equal to saying aloud: 'My wife accepts because I accept – I, her husband, the best judge of what she may do without compromising herself. Otherwise a scandal would have arisen.'"
Madeleine merely murmured: "Just as you like."
He went on with a flow of words: "Yes, it is all as clear as daylight with this arrangement of a division in two. We inherit from a friend who did not want to make any difference between us, any distinction; who did not wish to appear to say: 'I prefer one or the other after death, as I did during life.' He liked the wife best, be it understood, but in leaving the fortune equally to both, he wished plainly to express that his preference was purely platonic. And you may be sure that, if he had thought of it, that is what he would have done. He did not reflect. He did not foresee the consequences. As you said very appropriately just now, it was you to whom he offered flowers every week, it is to you he wished to leave his last remembrance, without taking into consideration that – "
She checked him, with a shade of irritation: "All right; I understand. You have no need to make so many explanations. Go to the notary's at once."
He stammered, reddening: "You are right. I am off."
He took his hat, and then, at the moment of going out, said: "I will try to settle the difficulty with the nephew for fifty thousand francs, eh?"
She replied, with dignity: "No. Give him the hundred thousand francs he asks. Take them from my share, if you like."
He muttered, shamefacedly: "Oh, no; we will share that. Giving up fifty thousand francs apiece, there still remains to us a clear million." He added: "Good-bye, then, for the present, Made." And he went off to explain to the notary the plan which he asserted had been imagined by his wife.
They signed the next day a deed of gift of five hundred thousand francs, which Madeleine Du Roy abandoned to her husband. On leaving the notary's office, as the day was fine, George suggested that they should walk as far as the boulevards. He showed himself pleasant and full of attention and affection. He laughed, pleased at everything, while she remained thoughtful and somewhat severe.
It was a somewhat cool autumn day. The people in the streets seemed in a hurry, and walked rapidly. Du Roy led his wife to the front of the shop in which he had so often gazed at the longed-for chronometer. "Shall I stand you some jewelry?" said he.
She replied, indifferently: "Just as you like."
They went in, and he asked: "What would you prefer – a necklace, a bracelet, or a pair of earrings?"
The sight of the trinkets in gold, and precious stones overcame her studied coolness, and she scanned with kindling and inquisitive eyes the glass cases filled with jewelry. And, suddenly moved by desire, said: "That is a very pretty bracelet."
It was a chain of quaint pattern, every link of which had a different stone set in it.
George inquired: "How much is this bracelet?"
"Three thousand francs, sir," replied the jeweler.
"If you will let me have it for two thousand five hundred, it is a bargain."
The man hesitated, and then replied: "No, sir; that is impossible."
Du Roy went on: "Come, you can throw in that chronometer for fifteen hundred; that will make four thousand, which I will pay at once. Is it agreed? If not, I will go somewhere else."
The jeweler, in a state of perplexity, ended by agreeing, saying: "Very good, sir."
And the journalist, after giving his address, added: "You will have the monogram, G. R. C., engraved on the chronometer under a baron's coronet."
Madeleine, surprised, began to smile, and when they went out, took his arm with a certain affection. She found him really clever and capable. Now that he had an income, he needed a title. It was quite right.
The jeweler bowed them out, saying: "You can depend upon me; it will be ready on Thursday, Baron."
They paused before the Vaudeville, at which a new piece was being played.
"If you like," said he, "we will go to the theater this evening. Let us see if we can have a box."
They took a box, and he continued: "Suppose we dine at a restaurant."
"Oh, yes; I should like that!"
He was as happy as a king, and sought what else they could do. "Suppose we go and ask Madame de Marelle to spend the evening with us. Her husband is at home, I hear, and I shall be delighted to see him."
They went there. George, who slightly dreaded the first meeting with his mistress, was not ill-pleased that his wife was present to prevent anything like an explanation. But Clotilde did not seem to remember anything against him, and even obliged her husband to accept the invitation.
The dinner was lovely, and the evening pleasant. George and Madeleine got home late. The gas was out, and to light them upstairs, the journalist struck a wax match from time to time. On reaching the first-floor landing the flame, suddenly starting forth as he struck, caused their two lit-up faces to show in the glass standing out against the darkness of the staircase. They resembled phantoms, appearing and ready to vanish into the night.
Du Roy raised his hand to light up their reflections, and said, with a laugh of triumph: "Behold the millionaires!"
