The Deputy of Arcis

by Honoré de Balzac

Marie-Gaston wrote as follows:—

Madame,—This letter will seem to you less amusing than those I
addressed to you from Arcis-sur-Aube. But I trust you will not be
alarmed by the decision which I now announce. I am going to rejoin
my wife, from whom I have been too long separated; and this
evening, shortly after midnight, I shall be with her, never to
part again.
You have, no doubt, said to yourselves—you and Sallenauve—that I
was acting strangely in not visiting her grave; that is a remark
that two of my servants made the other day, not being aware that I
overheard them. I should certainly be a great fool to go and look
at a stone in the cemetery which can make me no response, when
every night, at twelve o’clock, I hear a little rap on the door of
my room, and our dear Louise comes in, not changed at all, except,
as I think, more plump and beautiful. She has had great trouble in
obtaining permission from Marie, queen of angels, to withdraw me
from earth. But last night she brought me formal leave, sealed
with green wax; and she also gave me a tiny vial of hydrocyanic
acid. A single drop of that acid puts us to sleep, and on waking
up we find ourselves on the other side.
Louise desired me to give you a message from her. I am to tell you
that Monsieur de l’Estorade has a disease of the liver and will
not live long, and that after his death you are to marry
Sallenauve, because, on the other side, husbands and wives who
really love each other are reunited; and she thinks we shall all
four—she and I and you and Sallenauve—be much happier together
than if we had your present husband, who is very dull, and whom
you married reluctantly.
My message given, nothing remains for me, madame, but to wish you
all the patience you need to continue for your allotted time in
this low world, and to subscribe myself
Your very affectionately devoted

Marie-Gaston.

If, after reading this letter, it had occurred to Monsieur de l’Estorade to look at himself in the glass, he would have seen, in the sudden convulsion and discoloration of his face, the outward and visible signs of the terrible blow which his unfortunate curiosity had brought down upon him. His heart, his mind, his self-respect staggered under one and the same shock; the madness evident in the sort of prediction made about him only added to his sense of its horror. Presently convincing himself, like a mussulman, that madmen have the gift of second sight, he believed he was a lost man, and instantly a stabbing pain began on his liver side, while in the direction of Sallenauve, his predicted successor, an awful hatred succeeded to his mild good-will. But at the same time, conscious of the total want of reason and even of the absurdity of the impression which had suddenly surged into his mind, he was afraid lest its existence should be suspected, and he looked about him to see in what way he could conceal from his wife his fatal indiscretion, the consequences of which must forever weigh upon his life. It was certain, he thought, that if she found the paper in his study she would deduce therefrom the fact that he had read it. Rising from his desk, he softly opened the door leading from the study to the salon, crossed the latter room on tiptoe, and dropped the letter at the farther end of it, as Madame de l’Estorade might suppose she had herself done in her hasty departure. Then returning to his study, he scattered his papers over his desk, like a school-boy up to mischief, who wants to mislead his master by a show of application, intending to appear absorbed in his accounts when his wife returned. Useless to add that he listened with keen anxiety lest some other person than she should come into the salon; in which case he determined to rush out and prevent other eyes from reading the dreadful secrets contained in that paper.

Presently, however, the voice of Madame de l’Estorade, speaking to some one at the door of the salon, reassured him as to the success of his trick, and a moment later she entered the study accompanied by Monsieur Octave de Camps. Going forward to receive his visitor, he was able to see through the half-opened door the place where he had thrown the letter. Not only had it disappeared, but he detected a movement which assured him that Madame de l’Estorade had tucked it away in that part of her gown where Louis XIV. did not dare to search for the secrets of Mademoiselle d’Hautefort.

“I have come, my dear friend,” said Monsieur de Camps, “to get you to go with me to Rastignac’s, as agreed on last night.”

“Very good,” said the peer, putting away his papers with a feverish haste that plainly indicated he was not in his usual state of mind.

“Don’t you feel well?” asked Madame de l’Estorade, who knew her husband by heart too well not to be struck by the singular stupefaction of his manner, while at the same time, looking in his face, she saw the signs of internal convulsion.

“True,” said Monsieur de Camps, “you certainly do not look so well as usual. If you prefer it, we will put off this visit.”

“No, not at all,” replied Monsieur de l’Estorade. “I have tired myself with this work, and I need the air. But what was the matter with Rene?” he inquired of his wife, whose attention he felt was unpleasantly fixed upon him. “What made him cry like that?”