* * *
We had reached that point, she in her isolation and growing unhappiness, I in that state of nervous irritation where my baffled worldly ambitions and the substitution of my personal life for our common life had thrown me, when my hopes were revived by a sudden and unexpected change.
* * *
Pierre Ducal, who in the old days had taught me the art of moving with ease in the most dissimilar salons, Pierre Ducal, whose support the negligence of my wife had diverted and I had counted too much on, sought again evidently to get into touch with us. He had then attained the summit of the only glory he had ever really desired. Slender of figure, graceful, his clean-shaven face sallow of tint but passing at night for interesting pallor, erect in carriage, affected in his wit, of dashing demeanour, he aspired now all the more to fascinate because he was pursued by the terror of old age. A time—not far distant—would come when he would have to take his place in the faded and worn-out category of old beaux, old fellows who had been handsome once, who continued to dress and carry themselves as if they still were so, touching knight-errants, a little comical, following that lost cause, their youth. Being discerning, he foresaw the end that awaited him. But this foresight diminished in proportion as the danger increased, or rather, the threat was already put into execution while he continued to believe it hanging over him. In the face of this shipwreck he turned to account with agonising haste all the possible pleasures of life. Never more than at this time had I seen him so engaging and so brilliant. Never had he enjoyed such prestige, never had his clever sayings, his judgments, his ironies been so much in demand, nor exercised so much effect.
I attribute the happy change in Ducal’s attitude to his regret that he had allowed our old friendship to lapse. He became our most intimate associate. He accompanied us to the races, and the theatres; we commenced to meet him in the society which we frequented, which was less riotous, more dignified than that which he effected. In spite of myself, I had submitted, in the choice of our associates, to the guidance of Raymonde. However, I was apprehensive as to the effect which my wife’s old-fashioned views could not fail to produce on our worldly companion. The first time this apprehension put me in torture. I was soon reassured. Pierre Ducal marvelled at her great originality, which Paris had not shaken. Far from being amused, as I feared, he invited comments which disconcerted him, but which he did not ridicule. He even tried to understand them. This new interest which he took in Raymonde’s reserved conversation was of great benefit to her. The world was not slow to amend the reputation it had given her for shyness and provincialism. I heard favourable echoes around me; the opinion of Pierre Ducal weighed so heavily.
“We see your friend very often,” my wife observed one day.
I expressed my contentment at this, but after she had made the remark she seemed to me, when Ducal was present, more reserved and distant than ever:—so much so, that I showed my displeasure and surprise.
“You are scarcely civil to him.”
“Oh, do you think so? Why should I be more agreeable?”
“He is my friend.”