"Do you know, Adolphine, I have no idea what is going on in Fanny's head, but all this isn't natural. At the point we have reached,—we are to be married in six weeks, and we are both free,—two people don't pass a whole day without exchanging a glance, or a grasp of the hand. I tell you, there's something wrong. Could she deceive me again? Oh! no, that isn't possible; it would be too ghastly! too shameless!—No, I blush for having had such a thought. I have no doubt that she is at home and waiting for me. Au revoir, little sister!"
"Gustave, if anything should happen, you would tell me at once, wouldn't you?"
But Gustave did not hear; he was already at the foot of the stairs, and he hurried away to Fanny's house. She had not returned; he remembered the apartment he had asked her to inspect, and, although it was hardly customary to look at apartments in the evening, he said to himself: "Perhaps she has gone there." And in a few moments he was in Rue Fontaine. He inquired of the concierge who had the keys to the apartment, and was told that no lady had come that day to look at it.
One more hope dashed to the ground: as Fanny had gone out, why had she not gone to inspect the apartment of which he had spoken so highly the night before, telling her that they must make haste lest it should be rented to others? Gustave said all this to himself as he returned to Madame Monléard's abode. She had not returned; but it was only nine o'clock; she must return sooner or later, and Gustave was determined not to go to bed until he had seen her and spoken to her, even if he had to pass half the night on sentry-go before her door. But a woman, unattended, was unlikely to stay out late; she could not have gone to a ball; ladies did not go alone to the theatre; so she must be at some small party; someone would probably escort her home, but he would find out who her escort was.
How many ideas pass through the mind of a jealous, worried lover in a few seconds! The imagination moves so fast that it does not know where to stop, or on what to decide. Every moment that passed without bringing Fanny added to Gustave's anxiety, his suffering, his suspicions. At last, about half-past ten, a cab stopped in front of the house. Gustave ran forward and was at the door before the cabman had alighted from his box. Fanny was in the cab, alone. When she recognized Gustave in the man who opened the door for her, she laughed heartily and cried:
"Ah! you open carriage-doors now, do you? Ha! ha! I congratulate you on your new trade."
This outburst of merriment seemed untimely, to say the least, to Gustave, who rejoined:
"I have no choice but to wait for cabs to arrive, as I fail to find you at home; as you go out without even leaving a line for me so that I may know where you are."
"Oh! mon Dieu! what a terrible crime! Am I no longer my own mistress—to go where I please without asking your leave? That would be very amusing!"
"You know very well, Fanny, that that isn't what I mean; you know that you are at liberty to do whatever you choose to do. So do not try to dodge the question. At the point we have reached, it is natural for us to tell each other what we do; for we ought to have no secrets from each other. I came here this morning, and you didn't see me on account of your headache."