“It shall be ready.”
“But until then not a word—no indiscretion!”
“I am as dumb as a dead man.”
Pettermann returned to Paris.
I felt more content with myself, better satisfied; and yet—I may confess it to myself—I had no love for Eugénie—no. But perhaps it was for the very reason that I had no love for her that it was possible for me to return to her. I saw in her the mother of my children, and I did not wish to condemn her to never-ending misery. We should never be to each other as we had been—that was impossible. I would treat her with consideration and affection, and time would do the rest. I should have to cease entirely to see Caroline. Ah! that was not the least of the sacrifices I should have made to my children. But, since everything was decided, since my resolution was irrevocable, I determined to go to see her on the next day for the last time, and to tell her that I was going back to my wife. She would think that I was influenced by her advice, her entreaties; I would not undeceive her.
I returned to the salon where all the others were assembled. I determined to forget myself, to be cheerful and merry. I played with the children, I kissed Madame Ernest, and I laughed with her husband.
“What’s the matter with him to-day?” Ernest and his wife asked each other; “how happy he seems!”
“I am happy.”
“What has happened to make you so cheerful?”
“I have had news that pleased me.”