“Gentlemen and ladies, I believe that we were talking just now of the trial which is reported in the Gazette des Tribunaux, which I have in my hand; in fact, I was about to read what the paper says, when someone went to bring madame here. I imagine that you will not be sorry to hear the report now, and I will begin. Hum! hum!”
“It is very hard to read well,” said Monsieur Roquencourt; “we have many authors who don’t know how to read their works. Larive was the one who could read well; yes, he read perfectly! For my part, when I had a letter to read on the stage, I would not have the prompter give me a single word! But once a very amusing thing happened to me. It was in L’Etourdi, I believe.”
“Monsieur,” said the old gentleman angrily, coming forward with his newspaper, “do you or do you not wish me to read you the Gazette?”
“Oh! beg pardon! Read on, I pray you. I will tell you my story afterward; it will make you laugh.”
I was on thorns. Was I to be compelled to listen to the report of that trial? And yet, was it not the beginning of my revenge? Eugénie would suffer terribly on listening to all those details. But it seemed to me that I should suffer as much as she. The pitiless reader had unfolded the journal and put on his spectacles; we could not escape him.
“‘A case, of common enough occurrence in its general character, but very interesting in its details, and in the course of the trial——’”
“You have read us that, monsieur.”
“That is so; let us come to the trial. ‘Monsieur Bélan seeks to obtain a divorce from his wife Armide de Beausire, for infidelity. The facts which led Monsieur——’”
At the first words that he read, I watched Eugénie; she tried to rise and leave the room; but she had taken only a few steps when a low groan escaped from her lips, her limbs stiffened, and she fell at Mademoiselle Derbin’s feet.
“It is a nervous attack!” people exclaimed on all sides; “she is very ill; we must take her to her room.”