Le Cocu (Novels of Paul de Kock Volume XVIII)

by Paul de Kock

Although the property at stake was of no great value, Madame Dumeillan thanked me effusively; mothers think a great deal of money. Eugénie thanked me courteously, but that was all. As a general rule our relations were rather cool. Why did she not treat me as she did other men? Had she noticed that I was annoyed when men paid court to her, that I moved away when others approached? Did she not like my disposition? In truth she must have found me far from amiable. I was much less so than any of the other men who visited her mother. I never made any flattering remarks to her, I made no pretence of being devoted or gallant to her. Was that the way for me to succeed in making myself agreeable to her? Yes, I preferred that she should love me as I was! I wanted her to prove to me that she had read my heart, and I did my utmost to conceal from her what was taking place in it! Love sometimes makes us very eccentric.

Sometimes I promised myself to change my manner toward Eugénie; I tried to do as the other young men did who came to her house: to be agreeable and gallant, to laugh and joke when others were about her; but I did not play my part well, my gayety was forced; Eugénie seemed to notice it, and that made me still more awkward.

The young men who were received at Madame Dumeillan’s were all men of breeding; there was nothing in their attentions to Mademoiselle Eugénie which could offend the greatest stickler for propriety. Why then should I take offense? Because I could not be agreeable to her, was it any reason that others should not be? I realized that I was wrong; but I was determined to study and become thoroughly acquainted with Eugénie’s character. I thought her a little inclined to flirt. In a girl of her age, and so pretty, that is very excusable; and besides, are not all women flirts? Yes, all, a little more or a little less; but it is a failing inherent in their nature. But is it a failing? Innocent coquetry is nothing more than a desire to please; that desire leads them to take more care with their dress, with the arrangement of their hair, with their whole personal appearance. What should we say of a woman who neglected all such things? We should blame her, or we should think that she had no taste. Why then should we call that a failing which is done to charm and fascinate us? By their education, by the place they fill in society, women are debarred from occupations in which they would be more successful perhaps than we are; from important negotiations, which they would untangle more quickly than many diplomatists; and from political discussions, in which so many men do not know what they are saying. We have left to women the simple and less arduous occupations of the household; but those occupations, even if they suffice to employ the time, can not furnish sufficient occupation for the mind and the imagination, to prevent them from seeking other employment. Some men think that a needle, an embroidery frame, or a piano ought to be enough to keep a woman busy. I do not think, like Cato, that wisdom and common sense are incompatible with the female mind; I believe that their intellects, their imaginations require other resources than a needle and a piano. They are forced to become coquettes because the desire to please is an employment which occupies the mind and gives it food for dreams; they would be much less coquettish if they were employed upon the same tasks that we are. And then there are so many degrees in coquetry! The sort of which I speak is perfectly natural, and perfectly legitimate for women. Eugénie had no other. She was fond of amusement, that was natural; and yet she never showed any disappointment when her mother declined an invitation to a ball. I was sure that she had an affectionate heart; her eyes sometimes had such a tender expression, and I had seen her shed tears at the performance of a sad play. But that was not sufficient proof that she would ever love passionately.

I was inclined to believe that she took no interest at all in me; she was most cold and reserved with me. She noticed doubtless that I followed her with my eyes, that I constantly watched her. I did not see the sense of going to a house to be dismal when others are merry, and perhaps to make oneself ridiculous. That thought made me blush for my weakness; self-esteem has so much influence on our hearts! I determined to think no more of Eugénie, and in order to forget her more quickly I determined not to call at her mother’s for a fortnight.

It was very hard for me to adhere to that resolution, for I had never passed more than two days without seeing her! However, a week passed, and I had kept my word; on the ninth day I reflected that Madame Dumeillan, who always was very friendly to me and always seemed to be very glad to see me, would think it strange that I had allowed so long a time to pass without calling. After all, if her daughter was cool to me, it was not that excellent lady’s fault, and it should not make me discourteous to her. On the tenth day I decided to call there in the evening.

I did not select a reception day; however, I found some old acquaintances of Madame Dumeillan there who had come to play boston; two ladies and an old gentleman were playing with the mother, and Eugénie was alone, in a corner of the salon, embroidering.

Madame Dumeillan inquired with interest for my health; she had been afraid that I was ill and was intending to send to my apartment the next day. I thanked her, and apologized on the plea of a press of business; then I left the mother to her game and took a seat beside Eugénie.

She bowed coldly to me; she did not raise her eyes and addressed to me only the most trivial remarks; she was not even so polite as to reproach me for having allowed a long time to pass without calling. It seemed to me then that that young woman was as odious to me as she had been fascinating; if I had dared, I would have taken my hat and left the room instantly; but that would have been discourteous.

Ah! if we had loved each other, how much we should have found to say at that moment, when we were practically alone in the salon, for no one paid any heed to us! But we must needs confine ourselves to exchanging a few meaningless words! Sometimes we were several minutes without speaking; she would not raise her eyes from her work. Ah! how I should have delighted to destroy that embroidery, which seemed to engross her so completely!

A half hour passed in this way. She continued to work with the same assiduity, and I was still beside her, saying little and sighing involuntarily. Suddenly the door of the salon opened; it was Monsieur Gerval, one of Eugénie’s most persistent suitors, who often played and sang with her in the evening. This Gerval was a good-looking fellow and very agreeable; so that he was one of those whom I detested most heartily. I am sure that I changed color when he came in; I instantly felt an enormous weight settle down upon my chest. While Monsieur Gerval went to pay his respects to Madame Dumeillan, I walked quickly to the corner of the room where I had placed my hat; for I did not propose to stay a minute longer; I wished that I were a hundred leagues away; I was angry with myself for having come. I already had my hat in my hand and was on the point of leaving the room without a word to anyone, when a hand clasped mine, pressed it gently, and detained me; at the same moment Eugénie, for it was she, said to me in a tone which I had never before heard from her lips: