My father was dead; he also had been at the bar. He left me an honorable name, which I made it my pride to keep without stain; for one may have three or four mistresses at once without impairing one’s honor; especially when one has neither violence nor seduction with which to reproach oneself; and God be praised! we live in an age when it is easy to make love without resorting to such methods. I know very well that it is not strictly moral to deceive husbands. But example is so contagious! and then there are so many of those gentry who neglect their wives! Is it not natural to console them?
My mother, who passed her summers in the country, and her winters in Paris at a whist table, would certainly be very glad to have me married; she had three thousand francs a year which would come to me some day; but I never thought of that; when one loves one’s parents, one must always hope that they will not die.
I indulged in these reflections, I could not say why. After all, I had no purpose of marrying, or at all events of entering into one of those marriages which are arranged beforehand by parents or friends. If I married, I should have to be very deeply in love, and to be absolutely certain that I was dearly loved in return.
As I walked along, musing thus, I reached Giraud’s door. Should I go upstairs? Why not? I would pretend that I had lost a cane, a switch, the night before. I never carried one, but no matter. It was two o’clock, and I thought that Giraud would be in his office. I went up, and found the door on the landing open. The three children, dressed like little thieves, and as dirty as ragpickers, were in the reception room, playing with the dog, on whose head they had put their father’s black silk night-cap. I noticed that the rooms had not been put to rights. The maid was sweeping the salon, and told me that Giraud was at home. I supposed that he was in his office; but the little girl called out to me that her papa was dressing her mamma, and I dared not venture to enter Madame Giraud’s chamber. Someone went to call monsieur and I waited in the dust, pursued by the broom.
At last Giraud appeared, wringing his hands and making wry faces.
“Good-morning, my dear Blémont.”
“I am distressed to have disturbed you; I came up as I was passing, to——”
“You do not disturb me in the least; on the contrary, you have put an end to my sufferings. I was doing my utmost to fasten my wife’s dress. Ah! my thumbs! heavens! how they ache! I couldn’t succeed in doing it, and yet she pretends that her dress is too big; I don’t believe a word of it. Françoise, go and fasten my wife’s dress.”
“But, monsieur, you know very well that madame says I go about it awkwardly, that I’m not strong enough.”
“Never mind, go; you can finish the salon afterward.”