He waved his hand, and ran lightly up the steps, while M. Rodoin proceeded thoughtfully on his way, resisting the impulse to turn into the Rue Neuve Saint Augustin, and learn whether Mme. Léon had obeyed his injunction to dine.
She had forced herself to this, but the sleeping was a different matter. Exhausted as she was by the emotions of the previous night, she flung herself on her bed, hoping to lose the too vivid consciousness with which her mind busied itself round her husband’s cruel position. For an hour she slept. But in that time a storm of wind and rain had risen, and the rattling of the window and the lashing torrent which beat against the outer shutters aroused her with the startled fancy that the fierce gurgle of the river was again in her ears. Alas! the remembrance of where her husband was spending this night was scarcely less painful. She slipped out of bed, and fell on her knees by its side. The tears at which Maître Barraud had mocked, and which she had so long restrained, now broke from her with a violence almost suffocating. She pictured his forlorn misery, the horror of mind which would seize him afresh whenever he realised where and what he was; she imagined she even heard him cursing her for having forced this fate upon him. Other wives of whom she had read had risked everything to save their husbands from prison; she had made it her task to persuade him to yield himself deliberately to its disgrace. A profound pity moved her. She knew that she was stronger than he with his light, butterfly nature. If only she could have sinned and suffered for him! She could think of herself in a cell without shrinking, while to picture him there was agony; and her sobs and prayers redoubled at the sad figure which rose before her eyes.
The tears which exhausted relieved her, but she slept no more. She lay turning in her heart what she could do for Léon, and conscious of her own weakness. She had not yet forgotten her former discontent with M. Rodoin—although she was forced to allow that this time he had presented himself as a different man—and the sight of Maître Barraud had caused her extreme dismay. In his round, chubby face she had seen nothing to inspire confidence; she distrusted the lawyer’s assurances, and the idea of Léon’s fate having been committed to a mere boy added intolerably to her anxiety, and flung more responsibility upon her own shoulders. If, as M. Rodoin appeared to think, the trial would be brought on very shortly, there could scarcely be time to change counsel, but she promised herself to consult the lawyer as to the possibility of engaging another of more experience.
She had not the opportunity for this, however, as soon as she desired; for after waiting in extreme impatience for M. Rodoin’s appearance, and for the permission to see her husband, which she trusted he might bring, he came at about twelve o’clock, and Maître Barraud with him.
The young counsel had, it must be owned, the air of a dog dragged with extreme unwillingness by his chain, or, as it rather appeared to Nathalie, that of a school-boy in the sulks. Although she could never lose the nobility of her expression, the sorrow and sleeplessness through which she had passed had robbed the young wife of much of her beauty, and left her pale, with dark rings round her eyes, and he was obstinately determined not to behold the charm of which M. Rodoin raved. He was enraged with her, too, for her allusion to a sore subject—his boyish appearance—while as this forced itself upon her again, she found it difficult to conceal her dismay. But her first question was as to the interview.
“There is no difficulty,” M. Rodoin assured her. “You can see your husband between two and three. Maître Barraud has just come from him.”
“Oh, monsieur!” She turned to him eagerly. “You have seen him! How is he? How does he look? Has he slept?”
The young man flung a glance at his friend, which said, “Did I not tell you? See what you have brought upon me!” and answered aloud, with a certain brusqueness, “Apparently, madame, monsieur le baron is in his usual health, but my inquiries did not take that direction.”
She coloured.
“Pardon, monsieur; I should have remembered that the situation is not so novel to you as to us. Did—did your other inquiries give you the information you require?”