To say that Monsieur Eugène did not nourish vague regrets would hardly be true. But he had acquired, with years, a certain indifference to what might have been, which contributed greatly to his tranquillity of mind.
When Catherine entered he asked her to sit down for a moment while he wrote a few lines. Monsieur Eugène’s library was an artistic, beautiful room. Rare volumes filled the shelves and exquisite objets d’art and unique vertu were scattered about in profusion. All these things, however, were quite lost upon the ordinary peasant who came to him for advice. Only a few, like Catherine and Savin, could appreciate his taste, the rest declaring that Monsieur Eugène was bizarre and eccentric in this particular. Catherine was too much excited to contain herself, and stepping up to his desk she simply said: “Monsieur Eugène, I want to procure a separation.”
“What! Has Savin been unkind to you?”
“Yes, and moreover he struck me on the shoulder. I will not stand such indignities, of course, and besides, we are both unhappy together, so it will be far better if we are separated.”
“Was any one present at your quarrel?”
“No.”
“That is unfortunate, for witnesses are necessary in such a case. A tribunal would not be satisfied with your word alone.”
“Ah! and what if he kills me in the mean time?”
“My dear Catherine, I do not say the law is always agreeable. I only tell you what the law is.”
“Then it is impossible for me to free myself from him?”