Le Cocu Part 61

"I believe, mademoiselle, that I have never said a word to you which could lead you to believe that----"

"No, that is true, you have said nothing to me. I am a coquette, a foolish girl. Oh, no! you have never tried to please me.--But you have my portrait, and it seems to me that it is useless, to say the least, for you to keep it: for I trust that we shall never see each other again, monsieur."

"Here it is, mademoiselle; I intended to send it to you from the first post-office."

Caroline took, or rather, s.n.a.t.c.hed the portrait from my hands; at that moment a servant called me and Pettermann shouted that the horses were ready.

I rose: Caroline did the same; but at the first step that I took she seized my arm and said to me in an imploring tone:

"Monsieur, I cannot believe that your heart is deaf to the names of husband and father. Perhaps your departure will cause the death of her who came here, I doubt not, in the hope of being reunited to you. Oh! do not disappoint her hope. Give her back a husband, give your children a father. Will all the pleasures of which you are going in search equal those which await you with the wife who adores you? For she does adore you, I am sure, and she will forgive you. Just think that she is here, in yonder garden. She hears you, perhaps. Look, see that white shadow which I can make out near the garden gate."

In truth, despite the darkness, I fancied that I saw a woman. I instantly disengaged my arm and hurried away from Caroline; I ran across the courtyard and jumped into the carriage which was awaiting me; Pettermann followed me and we drove away.

XXII

THE CHILDREN

We made the journey without stopping. The farther I left Eugenie behind, the more relieved I felt. I could not understand how I had ever consented to remain where she was. Mademoiselle Derbin must have had great influence over me to make me forget all my resolutions. Should I ever have reached the point of standing in Madame Blemont's presence without emotion? Oh, no! that could never be. When she defied me, I was angry; but now that she seemed to be suffering, I was more embarra.s.sed than ever before her.

We arrived in Paris. When we left the chaise, poor Pettermann could not walk, his trousers were stuck to him; despite all his efforts to conceal his suffering, he made wry faces, which would have amused me if I had not been in such haste to reach Ernest's house. I hired a cab and a.s.sisted my companion to enter it; he sat opposite me, exclaiming:

"Prout! this is what one might call travelling fast: two relays more and my rump would have been cooked."

I was going to see my daughter again, to embrace her at my ease. How slow that driver was! how lazily his horses went! At last we arrived in front of Firmin's house; I jumped from the cab before Pettermann had succeeded in moving.

Another disappointment: Firmin and his wife were at Saint-Mande, where they had bought a little house; they pa.s.sed the whole summer there. So I must go to Saint-Mande. I procured their address, I returned to the cab, and we started again, to the utter despair of Pettermann, who had risen and could not sit down again.

Luckily, Saint-Mande is not far from Paris. When we reached the village, I alighted, for I could go more rapidly on foot; I hurried forward and soon spied the house that had been described to me: two floors, gray blinds, an iron gate, and a garden behind; that was the place. I rang, or rather jerked, the bell. A servant came to the door.

"Monsieur Firmin?"

"This is where he lives, monsieur."

I asked no more questions, but hastened up the first flight of stairs that I saw; I paid no attention to the maid, who called after me: "Monsieur is at work and doesn't want to be disturbed."--I was sure that Ernest would forgive me if I interrupted him in the middle of a scene or of a couplet.

I reached the first floor and pa.s.sed through several rooms; at last I found my author. He opened his mouth to complain of being disturbed; but on recognizing me, he threw down his pen, and rushed to embrace me.

"So you have come back at last, my dear Henri! We have been expecting you every day."

"Yes, here I am, my friend, and in a terrible hurry to see my daughter."

"She is here. Your--your wi--Madame Blemont placed her in our charge."

"I know it."

"You know it? And I hoped to surprise you! Who told you?"

"Eugenie herself."

"You have seen her?"

"At Mont-d'Or. I will tell you all about it. But pray tell me where Henriette is."

"All the children are in the garden with my wife."

"Come, show me the way. But I beg you, say nothing to her; I want to see if she will recognize me; a child forgets so quickly at her age!"

"My friend, it isn't the children alone who forget quickly. I am sure your daughter will recognize you."

We went down into the garden; my heart beat fast with pleasure. At the end of a path I saw Madame Firmin seated on a gra.s.sy bank; a little beyond was a patch of turf, on which four children were playing. My eyes sought my daughter only, and I recognized her at once. She had grown, but she had changed very little.

The children were engrossed by their play, and they did not hear us coming. Marguerite caught sight of us, and on recognizing me she started to meet us. I motioned to her to stay where she was and to say nothing.

I walked softly to the patch of turf; I crept behind Madame Ernest, to where a lilac bush concealed me from the children. Then I called Henriette aloud.

She raised her head and looked about her in amazement, saying:

"Who called me? It wasn't you, was it, my dear friend?"

"No," said Marguerite, "but perhaps it was my husband, for here he is now."

"Oh, no, it wasn't his voice. It is funny, but it was a voice that I know."

I called again without showing myself. Henriette seemed startled; her face flushed and she trembled; she looked about in all directions, crying:

"Why, I should think that it was papa's voice!"

I could hold out no longer; I stepped from behind the bush; Henriette saw me, uttered a shriek, and rushed into my arms, saying again and again:

"Oh! it is my papa! it is my papa!"

"Dear love! how happy it makes me to hold you in my arms again! how could I have delayed my return so long!"

I sat down beside Madame Ernest and took my daughter on my knee.

"So you recognized me, did you?" I asked her.

"Oh, yes, papa; I recognized your voice too."

"Have you thought of me sometimes?"

"Yes, papa, and I said that you were an awful long time away."

"My dear love, after this, I won't leave you any more."