The other almost struck him, but restrained himself, and went away muttering: "I'll manage to pay you out some day." An idea shot through his mind, and he added: "I will make a cuckold of you, old fellow!" And he took himself off, rubbing his hands, delighted at this project.
He resolved to set about it the very next day. He paid Madame Forestier a visit as a reconnaissance. He found her lying at full length on a couch, reading a book. She held out her hand without rising, merely turning her head, and said: "Good-day, Pretty-boy!"
He felt as though he had received a blow. "Why do you call me that?" he said.
She replied, with a smile: "I saw Madame de Marelle the other day, and learned how you had been baptized at her place."
He felt reassured by her amiable air. Besides, what was there for him to be afraid of?
She resumed: "You spoil her. As to me, people come to see me when they think of it—the thirty-second of the month, or something like it."
He sat down near her, and regarded her with a new species of curiosity, the curiosity of the amateur who is bargain-hunting. She was charming, a soft and tender blonde, made for caresses, and he thought: "She is better than the other, certainly." He did not doubt his success, it seemed to him that he had only to stretch out his hand and take her, as one gathers a fruit.
He said, resolutely: "I did not come to see you, because it was better so."
She asked, without understanding: "What? Why?"
"No, not at all."