Married Part 35

Albert was beaten. Crushed with shame and furious with his false friend who had counselled him wrongly, he threw himself on his knees before her and stammered:

"Forgive me, Helena, you are n.o.bler, purer, better than I; you are made of finer fibre and you will lift me up when I threaten to perish in coa.r.s.e matter."

"Arise and be strong, Albert," said Helena, with the manner of a prophetess. "Go in peace and show to the world that love and base animal pa.s.sion are two very different things. Good-night!"

Albert rose from his knees and stared irresolutely after his wife who went into her room and shut the door behind her.

Full of the n.o.blest and purest sentiments he also went into his room.

He took off his coat and lighted a cigar. His room was furnished like a bachelor's room: a bed-sofa, a writing table, some book shelves, a washstand.

When he had undressed, he dipped a towel into his ewer and rubbed himself all over. Then he lay down on his sofa and opened the evening paper. He wanted to read while he smoked his cigar. He read an article on Protection. His thoughts began to flow in a more normal channel, and he considered his position.

Was he married or was he still a bachelor? He was a bachelor as before, but there was a difference--he now had a female boarder who paid nothing for her board. The thought was anything but pleasant, but it was the truth. The cook kept house, the housemaid attended to the rooms. Where did Helena come in? She was to develop her individuality!

Oh, rubbish! he thought, I am a fool! Supposing his friend had been right? Supposing women always behaved in this silly way under these circ.u.mstances? She could not very well come to him--he must go to her.

If he didn't go, she would probably laugh at him to-morrow, or, worse still, be offended. Women were indeed incomprehensible. He must make the attempt.

He jumped up, put on his dressing-gown and went into the drawing-room.

With trembling knees he listened outside Helena's door.

Not a sound. He took heart of grace, and approached a step or two.

Blue flashes of lightning darted before his eyes as he knocked.

No answer. He trembled violently and beads of perspiration stood on his forehead.

He knocked again. And in a falsetto voice, proceeding from a parched throat, he said:

"It's only I."

No answer. Overwhelmed with shame, he returned to his room, puzzled and chilled.

She was in earnest, then.

He crept between the sheets and again took up the paper.

He hadn't been reading long when he heard footsteps in the street which gradually approached and then stopped. Soft music fell on his ear, deep, strong voices set in:

"Integer vitae sclerisque purus...."

He was touched. How beautiful it was!

Purus! He felt lifted above matter. It was in accordance with the spirit of the age then, this higher conception of marriage. The current of ethics which penetrated the epoch was flowing through the youth of the country....

"_Nec venenatis...._"

Supposing Helena had opened her door!

He gently beat time and felt himself as great and n.o.ble as Helena desired him to be.

_"Fusce pharetra!"_

Should he open the window and thank the undergraduates in the name of his wife?

He got out of bed.

A fourfold peal of laughter crashed against the windowpanes at the very moment he lifted his hand to draw up the blind.

There could be no doubt, they were making fun of him!

Beside himself with anger he staggered back from the window and knocked against the writing-table. He was a laughing-stock. A faint hatred against the woman whom he had to thank for this humiliating scene, began to stir within him, but his love acquitted her. He was incensed against the jesters down below, and swore to bring them before the authorities.

But again and again he reverted to his unpleasant position, furious that he had allowed himself to be led by the nose. He paced his room until dawn broke in the East. Then he threw himself on his bed and fell asleep, in bitter grief over the dismal ending of his wedding-day, which ought to have been the happiest day of his life.

On the following morning he met Helena at the breakfast table. She was cold and self-possessed as usual. Albert, of course, did not mention the serenade. Helena made great plans for the future and talked volumes about the abolition of prost.i.tution. Albert met her half-way and promised to do all in his power to a.s.sist her. Humanity must become chaste, for only the beasts were unchaste.

Breakfast over, he went to his lecture. The serenade had roused his suspicions, and as he watched his audience, he fancied that they were making signs to each other; his colleagues, too, seemed to congratulate him in a way which offended him.

A big, stout colleague, who radiated vigour and _joie de vivre_, stopped him in the corridor which led to the library, seized him by the collar and said with a colossal grin on his broad face.

"Well?"

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," was the indignant reply with which he tore himself away and rushed down stairs.

When he arrived home, his flat was crowded with his wife's friends.

Women's skirts brushed against his legs, and when he sat down in an armchair, he seemed to sink out of sight into piles and piles of women's clothes.

"I've heard rumours of a serenade last night," said the professor's wife.

Albert grew pale, but Helena took up the gauntlet.

"It was well meant, but they really might have been sober. This excessive drinking among students is terrible."

"What did they sing?" asked the professor's wife.

"Oh! the usual songs: 'My life a sea,' and so on," replied Helena.

Albert stared at her in amazement, but he couldn't help admiring her.

The day went with gossip and discussions. Albert felt tired. Been joyed spending a few hours, after the daily toil was over, in pleasant conversation with women, but this was really too much. And moreover, he had to agree to everything they said, for whenever he attempted to express a contradictory opinion, they were down on him in a minute.

Night fell; it was bedtime. Husband and wife wished one another good night and retired to their separate rooms.

Again he was attacked by doubt and restlessness. He fancied that he had seen a tender look on Helena's face, and he wasn't quite sure whether she hadn't squeezed his hand. He lit a cigar and unfolded his paper. As soon as he began to read of every-day matters, he seemed to see clearly.

"It's sheer madness," he said aloud, throwing the paper aside.

He slipped on his dressing-gown and went into the drawing-room.

Somebody was moving in Helena's room.