“What is the time?” she asked.
“Almost two lock, Madame.”
Two! Why, she had left her room, gone to lunch, eaten and drunk and sat there all that time, not knowing what she was doing, her mind wandering far away, on the obscure paths of the past!
Sleepily, she replied:
“Yes, I am going out.... Give me my blue dress.... My astrakhan coat....”
She went wearily to the window and lifted the curtains. A heavy white mist hung low between the houses. It seemed as if a smoke was rising from everything, from the trees in the park, at the end of her street, from the street pavement and from the asphalt on the sidewalks; even men and horses that passed by threw it out of their nostrils in thick, parallel clouds. Far, far above, the sun gave out a pale light, like a lamp in a room where men have smoked much.
Such a cold, funereal day was a good day for lovemaking, was it not? Mme. Chambannes dreamt. To love Gerald, all kinds of weather seemed propitious to her, as the lower classes think all days are good for drinking.
Where was her Raldo now, he of the great, wide, beloved eyes? How she detested the unworthy wretch!... What were they talking about at the Mathays’, in the drawing-room darkened by the fog? Naïvely, she let the curtains down again, as if she feared to see. Once more sobs came to her throat! Well, she must forgot, get some distraction, take a walk until four! Where could she go?
She raked her mind for names; she thought of visits to pay, of dressmakers and modistes. Then all at once she skipped and beat her hands with a childish gesture.
Of course! She had decided on the previous day to invite M. Raindal to her house, to make of him a super, if not a star, at her receptions, a noted and venerable pillar of her salon; why should she waste time, why not seize the opportunity? Tuesday was Mme. Rainda day. Again, there was their daughte accident; to go there and inquire about her—why, these were all pretexts that no one could suspect. She must not lose an instant!