"Why, I mean Madame de Grangeville's departure from Paris, her travelling with Monsieur de Roncherolle; however, you know all that as well as I do, and I fancy that it cannot be very agreeable to you that I should expatiate farther upon these details in the life of a person who no longer bears your name."
"My dear Monsieur de Merval, as I told you before I began the story of my deplorable misadventure, only a short time ago I should not have had the courage to do it, or to listen calmly while you spoke of that woman whom I loved so well; but I have seen that woman again, here—I mean in this neighborhood—only a few days ago."
"What! you have seen——"
"The person who calls herself now the Baronne de Grangeville, yes. It was at the party given by my neighbors, the people whose house you were leaving when I met you this morning. They had invited me, and I, surmounting for once my aversion to society, attended the party. In fact, I may as well confess that I had not entirely lost the hope of finding Roncherolle; I have been positively assured that he is in Paris now, and as most of my neighbor's guests were likely to come from Paris, I said to myself: 'I will go back into society, and perhaps I shall meet there the man whom I have sought in vain so long.' So I went to Monsieur Glumeau's; they were giving theatricals in his woods, and I stood apart from the others, but where I could see everybody. Imagine my feelings when my eyes met those of a lady seated beside Madame Glumeau, who very quickly turned her head aside when her glance and mine met. That glance, brief as it was, impressed me—it instantly reminded me of Lucienne. I left my place, and standing farther away under the trees, it was easy for me to observe at my leisure that person's features. I cannot describe my sensations; I could not, I did not wish to believe that it was my wife; I imagined her still young and pretty; in short, still as fascinating as at the time I parted from her."
"And you found a tremendous change! Remember that twenty years make great ravages, especially in women who were formerly very pretty; the ugly ones change much less, and it is that fact that consoles them for being ugly.—Did Madame de Grangeville recognize you?"
"I have every reason to think so; when a few drops of rain put the guests to flight, she alone remained in her seat, she seemed afraid to move; at last, however, she turned her head to see if I were still there; she saw me and her terror seemed to redouble; apparently I frightened her! As for myself, she aroused my compassion, nothing more! I was about to go away, when several young men came in search of her and escorted her back to Monsieur Glumeau's house, where, as you may imagine, I was careful not to follow her.—Now, Monsieur de Merval, explain to me, pray, how it happens that that meeting, which, by arousing all my memories, should have renewed my former griefs, has produced an absolutely contrary effect? Yes, since that moment my heart has been calmer, my thoughts have been much less gloomy; it seems to me that my mind views things in an entirely different aspect now!"
"The change seems to me very easy to explain, monsieur le comte. Before this meeting, your wife was still in your eyes the youthful beauty with whom you were in love and of whom you were jealous; your memories were the more bitter because they always recalled the treachery of a very fascinating person! To-day that same person appears before you with twenty years more upon her, and she is so changed that you have difficulty in recognizing her. You realized then that you were still in love with, and unhappy about, a person who no longer exists. For to you, who have passed nearly twenty years without seeing your wife, her beauty has entirely vanished; whereas to those who have seen her constantly, she may still appear beautiful. As a man of much wit once said: 'How do you expect that one person should notice that another grows old, when they see each other every day?'—Hence I conclude, Monsieur de Brévanne, that sentiments of regret are much less poignant when the object regretted has ceased to be what it once was."
"I believe that there is much truth in what you say. But have you seen Madame de Grangeville lately, Monsieur de Merval?"
"Yes, I too met her at the Glumeaus', in Paris, some time before the festivity in question. I had seen Madame de Grangeville more recently than you had, for I had caught sight of her occasionally at the play or at concerts; but I never ventured to speak to her; the false position which she occupied imposed that restraint upon me. At the Glumeaus', it was she who accosted me and attempted to renew our acquaintance; she even invited me to call upon her."
"And you accepted that invitation?"