On pretense of helping to paint, in company with two brother artists, in a studio of the Boulevard Monceau, a panorama, he said he was forced to give up the greater part of his time to his work. Lise believed him; but for her the days were endless, notwithstanding that she had her baby. As when, of an evening, she asked Paul how the work was getting on, he made scarcely any answer, she soon gave over asking him, and accepted this painful loneliness, though her pride began to revolt, while jealousy gnawed at her heart.
However, too proud to complain, Mme. Meyrin addressed no reproach to her husband; and when Mme. Frantz, who visited her at long intervals, complimented her on the simplicity of her dress and the quiet style of her house, she had strength enough to betray nothing of her humiliation. She tried to hide the truth even from Mme. Daubrel and Dumesnil, but they loved her too much to be blind to it long. Lise, when one day she was affectionately questioned, had to tell them all.
For some months Marthe had seen quite well what was going on. Nevertheless, she did her best to reassure her friend, saying that she had exaggerated the truth; most likely Paul was anxious about the artistic enterprise he was engaged in, and on account of it alone these changes appeared in his character and his mode of life.
Dumesnil, who had often been surprised at meeting Paul so seldom in his studio, backed up all that Marthe said, and, wanting to allay the young woman's fears at any cost, he said, laughing at and scolding her too a little:
"Come, come, my dear child, you must not be raising specters and falling into despair so quickly. How could you think for a moment that Paul is forgetting or deceiving you? Don't believe it. He is young; he must have fresh air and exercise. Besides
"Il est bon qu'un mari nous cache quelque chose,
Qu'il soit quelquefois libre et ne s'abaisse pas
A nous rendre toujours compte de tous ses pas."
(A husband should have something to conceal from us. He should have his liberty at times, and not stoop to render account of every step he takes.)
"I am not the wife of Polyeucte, and I don't love Sévère," said Lise, with a sad smile at this quotation by the old actor; "and I fear it is not God that my husband prefers to me. But perhaps you are both right; no doubt I take fright without cause. Come, let us speak no more of it. You won't forsake me, will you? I don't know what would become of me if you did."
Mme. Daubrel's reply to her friend took the form of a tender embrace, and Dumesnil's a kiss upon the two hands that Mme. Meyrin offered him.
Alas! the evil was worse than Marthe and the old comedian had feared; for a few days afterward, while Paul was away from home, Lise received the following letter: