I was directed to my bedroom; I had been careful to take a light, otherwise I should have broken my neck in some of the innumerable rooms of that old house, and the time would have been very ill chosen for an accident. I saw a light—that must be the place. I opened a door and entered a very handsome bedroom, furnished somewhat à l’antique, but provided with everything. Two wax candles were burning on the mantel; I recognized several articles of mine on a table, for my sister had taken pains to have all my wardrobe transported to my new abode. I was at home; so far, so good. To make sure of not being disturbed, I bolted the door, then walked toward the bed, the curtains of which were drawn—from bashfulness, of course.
I heard no sound. Could she be asleep already? or was she pretending to be? I drew the curtains aside, and I saw no one in the bed, which had not been disturbed.
What did that mean? I was certainly in my apartment—everything that I found there proved it. In that case, where could my wife be? Did it mean that we were to have a bedroom each? Why, of course; and that was why they hoped that I would leave my wife in peace. “The devil take them with their nonsensical customs!” thought I.—If I had only known it sooner! However, I wanted my wife; I was determined to have her, I must have her. I had not married a pretty doll who never opened her mouth and kept her eyes on the ground all day to be alone at night and occupy a separate bed; the least I could expect was some little compensation for the ennui I had suffered.—I would sleep with my wife—that was my resolution—even though I must turn the whole house upside down to attain that end.
I reflected first of all that my wife’s room could not be far from mine. I concluded to try to find it, and to avoid making a noise if possible; for that would cause scandal in the household of Madame de Pontchartrain, who thought perhaps that I had married her niece to obtain the right to make love to her at those innocent parlor games.
I looked about and discovered a door which I had not noticed at first. I took a candle, opened the door, and found myself in a fine salon. That was very well; I continued my inspection of my suite. There was a door facing me; where did that lead? Into a dining room. Another door opened into a passageway; I went on and found a toilet room freshly painted; all very pleasant, but not what I was looking for at that moment.
I returned to the salon. Whither did that other door lead? To my wife’s room, no doubt; since I had been prowling about the salon as if I were playing hide-and-seek, I must have passed it many times. I tried to open it by turning the knob, but it resisted; it was locked on the inside. No more doubt: my wife was there, and had been advised to lock herself in. Ah! what sly creatures they were in that country!
I knocked—no answer. I knocked again, louder.
“Who is there?” someone asked at last; and I recognized Pélagie’s voice.
“It’s I, my dear love.”
“Oh! is it you, monsieur my husband?”