True to his resolve, Floyd had spent his afternoons in the little house, reading his paper; but he was beginning to feel a superstitious dread when he put the key in the door. That day the room seemed unbearably chilly; he lit the fire with great difficulty. The wood piled up in a basket was damp, it sputtered awhile, gave out sighs as if it were in pain. Soon the fretful flame died out. He couldn’t read, looked at his watch, and went home.
The perfume from his wife’s room pervaded the house. His room was on the floor above—they had become fashionable. He saw less and less of Julie, she had no time for him; she was wrapped up in herself, her looks, her gowns; vanity had developed in her to such an extent it staggered him; she sought admiration, was a slave to style, adopting the daily change no matter how extreme; a night at home was unbearable to her; he dragged himself along; he wasn’t jealous of the crowd of men always around her; but it wouldn’t look well for the husband to be absent.
He hadn’t seen Martin for a very long time. He was sure Julie had forgotten him, she couldn’t love anyone but herself; he pulled himself up; he mustn’t think that way. He remembered her as a girl, so yielding, so sweet. Illness changes the character of people sometimes. He must be patient with her; but life had become very hard; the nights were spent in carousing. He didn’t know what to do with his days until Julie woke up—and he was only thirty.
He dressed and went down to his wife’s door—his Mecca; it was open. Hippolyte, with a strand of her hair over his shoulder, was bending down talking confidentially. Floyd abominated him; a man who could make a fortune out of the vanity of women was despicable; but most fortunes are directly or indirectly made out of the vanity of women.
“Floyd, come in, I’ve such news for you. I’ve sold our house.”
“What house?”
“Our little house, to Hippolyte.”
“You’re mad.”
Julie gave him a quick surprised look, and got rid of Hippolyte.
“Floyd, you shouldn’t speak to me like that before Hippolyte; he’ll tell the next customer we quarrel.” There was a suspicion of tears.