I kissed Eugénie’s hand and Madame Dumeillan’s, and hurried from the house, to go to my mother. Ah! I was very happy; and yet I longed to be a few weeks older, in order to be even happier. But we are forever longing to grow old, and if we had our whole lives at our disposal, we should use them up in a very short time.
My mother was not at home. What a nuisance! She had gone out to make some calls. Upon whom? Where should I look for her? I went away, informing the servant that I would come again. I went away, but I had no idea where to go. My mother lived on Rue du Pas-de-la-Mule, and I knew no one in that neighborhood. Eugénie lived too far away for me to return there, for I intended to go to my mother’s again soon. I determined to walk about on the boulevards in the Marais; they are less frequented there than elsewhere, and I could think of my Eugénie without being distracted by the crowd.
I walked there for fifteen minutes, then returned to my mother’s; she had not come in, and I must needs walk still longer. What a bore! I should have had time to go to see Eugénie; away from her, I seemed not to live.
A little man passed me, turned about, then stopped, barring my path. I had paid no attention to his performance, but he called out:
“I say! what in the devil are you thinking about, that you don’t recognize your friends?”
It was Bélan. I shook hands with him.
“I beg your pardon, my dear Bélan, but I did not see you.”
“You were terribly preoccupied. You were thinking of your love-affairs, I’ll wager.”
“Faith, yes; I don’t deny it. I was thinking of the woman I shall adore all my life.”
“Oho! how exalted we are! I recognize myself in that!”