“It is possible that I am unjust; why did she give me a right to be? I entrust you to look after everything that concerns him, and to put him at school when he reaches the proper age. I will give you a letter to my notary, instructing him to supply you with money whenever you need it. Forgive me, my friend, for all the trouble I cause you.”
“Do not speak of trouble. But consider that that child——”
“Not another word about him, I beg you. I propose to try to banish from my memory those persons whom I am forced to banish from my heart. By the way, you must cease to call me Blémont, too; from this moment I lay aside that name and assume the name of Dalbreuse. So that is the name under which you must write to me, Ernest; for I trust that you will write to me, my friend.”
“Yes, to be sure; but I trust that you will not stay away from us a century. There will come a time, my dear Henri, when you will be able to live in Paris and to meet the—the person whom you avoid now, without its producing too serious an effect upon you.”
“I hope so. Meanwhile, I shall go away; I propose to visit Switzerland, the Alps, the Pyrenees, Italy—no, I shall not go to Italy. But I shall stop wherever I find that I enjoy myself. I shall try to paint some lovely views, some attractive landscapes.”
“Above all things, paint some portraits of beautiful women; they will distract you better than anything else. But when are you going? You must wait until you are perfectly well.”
“I flatter myself that in a week I shall not feel my wound; meantime, you will see me often; I am to be allowed to go out to-morrow, and I will go to your house.”
Ernest took his leave and I made arrangements for my journey. Ernest would let my apartment all furnished during my absence, and I left him in full charge of everything. I had but one wish, that was to be far away from Paris; but first I absolutely must see and embrace my daughter.
At last I was able to leave my room. I purchased two horses, for I proposed to travel by short stages as long as it amused me. Then I went to see my mother; I trembled lest she should have learned that I was no longer living with my wife. She did know it, in fact; some kind friends had not failed to inform her that I had separated from Eugénie; but she thought that it was nothing more than a quarrel which had caused the rupture. She proposed her mediation to reconcile us, for she also believed that it was I who was in the wrong; and she preached me a sermon.
I thanked my mother and told her of my approaching departure, which I said was due to important business. She hoped that at my return everything would be forgotten between my wife and myself; I encouraged her in that hope and bade her adieu. I was very certain that she would not go to see my wife, for that would disturb her habits.