“His wife!” cried Caroline.
“His wife!” several others repeated.
“Monsieur,” I said, with great difficulty restraining my anger, “who requested you to go into details which concern nobody but me?”
“Mon Dieu! I had no idea that it was a secret, my dear Blémont; and then, I have just met your wife in the garden; and now I find you here; so I suppose that it’s all settled, that you have come together again, and——”
“That is enough, monsieur.”
“Your wife in the garden! what! is she your wife?” said Caroline, under her breath.
I lowered my eyes. At that moment I wished that the earth would open and conceal me from every eye; I heard people saying on all sides:
“He is the sick woman’s husband!”
Bélan, observing my embarrassment and the effect his words had produced in the salon, gazed at me with a stupid expression, muttering:
“If you are angry, I am very sorry; but I could not guess! you ought to have warned me. Of course you know what has happened to me? Parbleu! there is no mystery about that; my case was reported in the Gazette des Tribunaux a few days ago. I am—oh! it is all over; I am—I don’t care to say the word before these ladies. But see how unlucky I am! the court has decided that there were no proofs; it condemns me to continue to live with my wife, and insists that I am not a cuckold.—Bless my soul! the word slipped out after all!”