“It appears he is ruining himself,” continued Mme Chantereau. “My husband has had a bill of his in his hands. At present he’s living in that house in the Avenue de Villiers; all Paris is talking about it. Good heavens! I don’t make excuses for Sabine, but you must admit that he gives her infinite cause of complaint, and, dear me, if she throws money out of the window, too—”
“She does not only throw money,” interrupted the other. “In fact, between them, there’s no knowing where they’ll stop; they’ll end in the mire, my dear.”
But just then a soft voice interrupted them. It was M. Venot, and he had come and seated himself behind them, as though anxious to disappear from view. Bending forward, he murmured:
“Why despair? God manifests Himself when all seems lost.”
He was assisting peacefully at the downfall of the house which he erewhile governed. Since his stay at Les Fondettes he had been allowing the madness to increase, for he was very clearly aware of his own powerlessness. He had, indeed, accepted the whole position—the count’s wild passion for Nana, Fauchery’s presence, even Estelle’s marriage with Daguenet. What did these things matter? He even became more supple and mysterious, for he nursed a hope of being able to gain the same mastery over the young as over the disunited couple, and he knew that great disorders lead to great conversions. Providence would have its opportunity.
“Our friend,” he continued in a low voice, “is always animated by the best religious sentiments. He has given me the sweetest proofs of this.”
“Well,” said Mme du Joncquoy, “he ought first to have made it up with his wife.”
“Doubtless. At this moment I have hopes that the reconciliation will be shortly effected.”
Whereupon the two old ladies questioned him.
But he grew very humble again. “Heaven,” he said, “must be left to act.” His whole desire in bringing the count and the countess together again was to avoid a public scandal, for religion tolerated many faults when the proprieties were respected.