The priest, who was slowly taking a pinch of snuff, seated beside the
baroness still in tears, and endeavoring to fulfill his office of a
peacemaker, said: "Come, monsieur le baron, between ourselves, he has
done what every one else does. Do you know many husbands who are
faithful?" And he added with a sly good humor: "Come now, I wager that
you have had your turn. Your hand on your heart, am I right?" The
baron had stopped in astonishment before the priest, who continued:
"Why, yes, you did just as others did. Who knows if you did not make
love to a little sugar plum like that? I tell you that every one does.
Your wife was none the less happy, or less loved; am I not right?"
The baron had not stirred, he was much disturbed. What the priest said
was true, and he had sinned as much as any one and had not hesitated
when his wife's maids were in question. Was he a wretch on that
account? Why should he judge Julien's conduct so severely when his own
had not been above blame?
The baroness, still struggling with her sobs, smiled faintly at the
recollection of her husband's escapades, for she belonged to the
sentimental class for whom love adventures are a part of existence.
Jeanne, exhausted, lay with wide-open eyes, absorbed in painful
reflection. Something Rosalie had said had wounded her as though an
arrow had pierced her heart: "As for me, I said nothing, because I
liked him."
She had liked him also, and that was the only reason why she had given
herself, bound herself for life to him, why she had renounced
everything else, all her cherished plans, all the unknown future. She
had fallen into this marriage, into this hole without any edges by
which one could climb out, into this wretchedness, this sadness, this
despair, because, like Rosalie, she had liked him!
The door was pushed violently open and Julien appeared, with a furious
expression on his face. He had caught sight of Rosalie moaning on the
stairs, and suspected that something was up, that the maid had
probably told all. The sight of the priest riveted him to the spot.
"Why, what's the matter?" he asked in a trembling but quiet tone.
The baron, so violent a short while ago, did not venture to speak,
afraid of the priest's remarks, and of what his son-in-law might say
in the same strain. Little mother was weeping more copiously than
ever; but Jeanne had raised herself with her hands and looked,
breathing quickly, at the one who had caused her such cruel sorrow.
She stammered out: "The fact is, we know all, all your rascality
since--since the day you first entered this house--we know that the
child of this maid is your child, just as--as--mine is--they will be
brothers." Overcome with sorrow at this thought, she buried herself in
the sheets and wept bitterly.
Julien stood there gaping, not knowing what to say or do. The priest
came to the rescue.
"Come, come, do not give way like that, my dear young lady, be
sensible." He rose, approached the bed and placed his warm hand on the
despairing girl's forehead. This seemed to soothe her strangely. She
felt quieted, as if this strong peasant's hand, accustomed to the
gesture of absolution, to kindly consolations, had conveyed by its
touch some mysterious solace.