“Monsieur! Well, well, so something else has gone wrong. Upon my word, this happens too often. Tell me, what is the matter to-day?”
“Oh! I ought not to be surprised; I ought to be prepared for everything with you. But there are things which I shall never be able to take coolly; and when a woman finds that she is deceived so shamefully——”
“Deceived! come, come! explain yourself, madame, I beg you. What fable has somebody been telling you to-day?”
“No one has been telling me any fables, monsieur. This time I have proofs, undeniable proofs. Do not think that I was looking for them; they fell into my hands by the merest chance. When I was trying to put your desk in place, something broke, the drawer opened and I saw—here, monsieur, this is what I found.”
Eugénie opened a drawer and threw upon a table in front of me the eight portraits of women, which I had kept in my desk.
I confess that at sight of them I was speechless for a few moments; but I recovered myself at last.
“Why should the discovery of these portraits offend you? You know very well that I amuse myself by painting a little. When I was a bachelor, I made these miniatures. They are fancy faces, and I saw no harm in keeping them.”
“Ah! they are fancy portraits, are they?” cried Eugénie; and she trembled with anger, and her eyes gleamed. “Monster that you are! I expected that reply. You forget that I saw one of the models yesterday! Look, monsieur, is this a fancy portrait? Oh! the likeness is too good for anyone to mistake it; it is a portrait of that woman who was with you yesterday.”
She held out the portrait of Lucile. I had forgotten that it was among those which I had kept; and as it happened, it was one of the best likenesses. I did not know what to say; I was so vexed to appear like a culprit when I had done no wrong, above all, I was so irritated by my wife’s reproaches that I threw myself on a chair and said nothing more.
Eugénie pursued me, with Lucile’s portrait in her hand.