“I call you Clotilde, you might occasionally call me Philippe.”
“I never do call people by their names.”
“Oh, well! no matter!” he said bitterly. “I don’t presume to imagine that I shall change your habits.”
She picked up her stockings from the floor, stretching her back like a cat about to pounce upon a mouse.
“What does it matter? I never think of calling you by your Christian name, as I do my husband, or my brother, or my cousins.”
“All right! all right!” he replied. “I will conform to custom.”
“What custom?”
Jumping up with her stockings in her hand, she came across the room and kissed him upon the neck.
Though by no means a clever man, he was suspicious, and an idea that had lately struck him was worrying him; he suspected that Madame de Gromance was careful to avoid making use of his name, or of the name of any other lover, for fear of getting mixed in a moment of supreme excitement, for she was a sensitive soul!
He was not exactly jealous, but he had a certain amount of proper pride. Had he known that Madame de Gromance was unfaithful to him, his vanity would have suffered. On the other hand, the desire he had for the pretty creature was proportionate only to the desire he believed her to inspire in others. He was not at all sure that it was considered necessary to be the lover of Madame de Gromance, or of any other society woman; many of his intimate friends preferred an automobile to a mistress. He liked her well enough, and had no objection to being her lover so long as it was considered the thing, but if it was not, he could not see why he should persist in the matter. The deep animal instinct in him and his outlook as a man of the world scarcely agreed, and he was not clever enough to conciliate such conflicting elements, the result being that there was an imperfect, indeterminate tone about his remarks that rather fascinated Madame de Gromance, who would not take the trouble of finding the solution and making things clear. If it came to the point, his charmer would say to him, “Of course I’ve never loved any man but you!” but that was less in the hope of convincing him than in the desire to say the thing most fitting the occasion. And at such moments when reflection is at a disadvantage the tremendous difficulty presented by belief in such a statement never occurred to him. Later, when he began to reason, doubt assailed him.