“I will put it on,” said Théophraste, “for my own sake, as my wife won’t see it. I’m not going near her. I shall only see her from a distance. I only want to learn if she is happy.”
CHAPTER XXXIX
The Final Tragedy
IT was nine o’clock in the evening, the season was well advanced, and a heavy mist hung over the land. M. Longuet went up the long drive toward the “Villa Flots de Azure.” His hand trembled as he cautiously pushed open the little garden gate. He crossed the garden step by step, to look around. His whole demeanor was one of evil intent. There was a light in the parlor, and the window was half open. With short steps Théophraste advanced, and stretching his head he peered in.
He fell back groaning. Placing his hands over his face, he tore the white locks on his forehead. The sight had frenzied him, and he felt a pang of agonizing jealousy go through his frame.
Marceline and Adolphe were there, locked in affectionate embrace! This is what he had come to see! His wife no doubt was happy, but in quite a different way from what he expected.
He sat down on the ground and wept with rage. Rising, his curiosity forced him to get nearer and listen.
What he heard only made him worse, and he inwardly felt that he was about to commit a great crime. However, he battled against this feeling, and ran away from the house. Something compelled him to return!