“Madame, that is enough; not a word more, I beg you.”
“Very good! that is all, monsieur. I will leave you. Dance with this woman; make her your mistress again as she used to be when she lived under the eaves, in the attics of your house! I am going home.”
And she did go. But Madame Ernest had heard all; Eugénie had spoken loud enough to be sure of being overheard. Marguerite had turned red and pale by turns. She hung her head, and I thought that I could see tears glistening in her eyes. But she quickly recovered herself, wiped her eyes with her handkerchief, and tried to resume a smiling expression as she looked at her husband.
I was thunderstruck and enraged at the same time. I did not know where I was; and in the midst of all that perturbation of spirit, I had to dance!
“Well, it is your turn,” called Ernest. “Forward! what are you thinking about?”
Luckily he had heard nothing. I took advantage of a moment when we were not dancing, to say to my partner in an undertone:
“Madame, you heard what my wife said, I see. I do not ask you to forgive her; she is unpardonable, jealousy has disturbed her reason; but be good enough to believe that I am more hurt than you by what she has said.”
“I confess, Monsieur Blémont, that I was so surprised, so shocked!—To call me your mistress! Great heaven! who could have said that I had been your mistress?”
“I trust that you do not think it was anything that I have ever said to her, madame?”
“Oh, no indeed, monsieur! But who can have told her that?”