Pierre Ducal made me more uneasy. He brought into our woods the atmosphere of Paris, the dreaded judgment of Paris. His sarcasm is almost famous there. It is he who utters the last word about things, he who with no authority but his own acts as arbiter of fashion. Why did I choose him rather than another? I hoped by offering him this compliment to secure him as an ally. Would it not be better to have him with me than against me? Clearly I foresaw hostilities and in asking him to help me I would disarm him. Then too, although I had of late seen little of him, he still possessed for me the fascination with which he had once dazzled me. At one time, when the world monopolized me, I had copied him, so strongly did his assurance and ease of manner appeal to me as the summit of attractiveness.
From the moment of his arrival at the chateau he was on the alert. The news of my marriage had burst like a bombshell upon the society we frequented. I had been the target for several of those forward, modern girls who look up a possible husband’s eligibility in advance. What rival in some forgotten corner of the world had snatched me from out of their experienced hands? No one knew anything, no one suspected anything, for my brief letter of invitation explained nothing. Nevertheless, I have learned since, before leaving, he trumpeted forth great news of the event. He had been generally commissioned to investigate my case.
After the usual greetings he began the examination at once.
“Is she a neighbour in the country here?”
“Oh, a very close neighbour,” I replied. “She lives in the lodge which you see.”
“At the entrance of the Avenue? Isn’t that part of your estate?”
“Certainly, since her father is my superintendent.”
In order to be done with it as quickly as possible, I hurled the sentence at him in a single breath, as if it were the confession of a sin. I decidedly was not enjoying the serenity which should have come from the happiness and honour of marrying Raymonde. The presence of a single man was sufficient to cause me one of those little shudders of cowardice and baseness. Nothing suggested a greater menace to my own and Raymonde’s happiness than the troubled way in which I confessed this little fact to Ducal. It proved that I was not cured of my pettiest vanities.
Over them my love, born in solitude and nourished and beautified by the clear, fresh influence of my fiancée, temporarily triumphed. It did not destroy them. So many briers prevent the tree of our life from growing, and drain its sap.
When Pierre Ducal’s trunks arrived I laughed at their number.