My Neighbor Raymond (Novels of Paul de Kock Volume XI)

by Paul de Kock

“Why so! it’s easy enough to see: the wife, knowing what—what I saw, receives me very coldly; and the husband’s another oddity. I wished to try to arrange matters; it was no easy task, but still, as it was night, and moonlight—and then, with a shrewd wit one can make anything look all right.”

“Well?”

“Well, when you had gone, I tried first to help Madame de Marsan, who had fainted, as I thought; but the moment I put my salts to her nose, she got up without help, threw the salts into my face, and ran off and locked herself in her room. When I saw that, I said to myself: ‘I must go to the husband and throw dust in his eyes.’—I went to the salon, and motioned to Monsieur de Marsan to step out to speak to me; at first he was unwilling to leave the écarté table, but he finally made up his mind to it. I led him into a corner and said: ‘Monsieur, you mustn’t believe all you see, especially by moonlight, because the moon changes the aspect of things, and you may be misled. The scene they were rehearsing in the thicket was of my invention, and was to be played after the Barbier: it was a love scene, and in love scenes the actors sit very near together, on each other’s knees sometimes, take hold of hands, embrace—in fact, the more things they do, the more complete the illusion.’—That was rather clever, eh?”

“Very clever; and what reply did Monsieur de Marsan make?”

“He hardly let me finish; then he said in a very sharp tone: ‘Be good enough not to weary me with any more of your nonsense, and never to open your mouth again on that subject!’—And, with that, he turned on his heel. Faith! I confess that I call that very ill-mannered! I try to give a husband the matrimonial prism, and he receives me like a dog in a game of tenpins! you must agree that it was not very pleasant. To cap the climax, a moment later up comes the dairywoman with her two brats, who were purple in the face; they had just been found in an attic; and the impudent peasant began to abuse me, and promised me that, if they burst, her husband would summon me before the magistrate! As if it was my fault! Why, I told them to act the part of Cupid, not to stuff themselves with food!—Faith! when it came to that, I took my hat, and taking advantage of Figaro’s cabriolet—he was driving back to Paris—I turned my back on the fête, vowing that I would never again compose anacreontic scenes for peasants.”

My neighbor left me when he had finished his story. Despite the assurance that I had given him that I harbored no resentment against him on account of that incident, he seemed to me to retain in my presence a constrained, embarrassed air which was not usual with him. He had left me, whereas ordinarily I had hard work to get rid of him. I sought in vain a reason for this behavior, which was not natural in Raymond. However, it mattered little to me what maggot he had in his brain; it surprised me more than it interested me.

There was something that surprised and troubled me much more: for a long time I had received no bouquets from Nicette. At first, I thought that her mother’s death might have kept her busy for some days; but that had taken place more than six weeks before, and still I found nothing at my door! I had become so accustomed to those tokens of remembrance, that every evening, when I went home, I hastily put my hand to the doorknob; but I found nothing, and I said to myself sadly:

“She too has forgotten me! I might reproach her, but I do not want her to do from a sense of duty what I had thought was a pleasure to her.”

It was a long time since I had seen her; I woke too late in the morning; in the evening, I was either with Madame de Marsan, or some friend would drag me away to one of the parties which began to be more numerous with the approach of winter. Besides, I knew how dangerous it was to go to see her in the evening!—Meanwhile, my meetings with Madame de Marsan were daily becoming less frequent and more depressing; she was simply waiting for an excuse to break with me altogether; and I, from a spirit of contradiction, refused to furnish her with one.

For several days we had not met; but we had arranged to dine together on a certain day; it was almost like granting me a favor. We dined at the Cadran-Bleu; the sight of the Méridien, just opposite, reminded me of the much livelier repast of which I had partaken with Mademoiselle Agathe; and I said to myself that the grisette, who deceives one openly, is a hundred times preferable to the petite-maîtresse who clings to us when she does not love us. The dinner was a gloomy affair, despite my efforts to prolong it; at seven o’clock we had nothing more to say to each other. I suggested the theatre, but there was no play that attracted her; it was not the season for walking, and I did not know what to suggest, or how to amuse her. At last she began to complain of pain in the stomach and head, of the vapors, in short. She decided to go home and to bed early, and I applauded the idea, which was a great relief to us both. We left the restaurant; I was going to take her home in a cab, as usual, but she preferred to go on foot, thinking that the walk in the fresh air would do her good. It was dark, and we had no fear of unpleasant meetings. We walked along like a husband and wife of twenty years’ standing, exchanging a word every five minutes. We reached Rue Saint-Honoré and should soon pass Nicette’s little shop; but it would surely be closed, and I was very glad of it. As we drew near I saw that the shop was still open; the shrubs had not been taken inside. It was too late to turn back. Indeed, why should I turn back? Was I not at liberty to give my arm to whomever I chose? Yes; but still I hoped that she would not see me.