Dunoisse did not quite know. But he was sensible of a vigorous growth of distaste for plaid pelisses in combination with frilled pantalettes, and for at least a week, pigtails, whenever encountered—and they were everywhere—smote upon his naked conscience like scourges set with thorns.
He rid himself of the absurd obsession presently, and was happier than ever. The world was a gay, bright, pleasant place when one took it easily, and did not demand too much virtue of oneself or the people of one’s set.
But yet, on those rare occasions when one was hipped and blue with overmuch wine, or gambling, or pleasure, there were moments when the words of that old boyish vow, so earnestly made, so painfully kept, so recently broken, would start out against the background of half-conscious thought as plainly as the Writing on the Wall, and he would hear himself saying to a woman whose face he had nearly forgotten, that he hoped the day that should see him broach that banked-up store of thousands might bear him fruit of retribution, in bitterness, and sorrow, and shame....
What a fool he had been!—what a narrow-minded, straitlaced idiot! Why, the money had procured Dunoisse everything that was worth having in the world.
The open companionship and secret possession of a beautiful, amorous, high-bred woman; the friendship of many others, only a little less adorable, and the good-fellowship of crowds of agreeable men. Membership of many fashionable Clubs, invitations to all the best houses. His brevet as Major, or chef de bataillon, though the General Staff appointment that should have accompanied it unaccountably delayed upon the road. And to cap all, life had been made yet easier by the removal of de Roux to a distant post abroad.
For happy as Dunoisse was, it had been constantly borne in upon him that he would be a great deal happier if the reproach of this man’s presence could be removed.
He hinted as much to Henriette. She looked at him with sweet, limpid eyes of astonishment. What! did he actually feel like that? How odd!
Dunoisse was secretly a little angry with her for not understanding. It showed a want of delicacy, not suspected in her before.
“Poor Eugène! So easy-going, good-humored and amiable. And you really wish him ... out of the way?”
She crumpled her slender eyebrows and pondered a while, her little jeweled fingers cupping her adorable chin. “Perhaps the Prince-President could offer him some foreign appointment,” she said at last. “Monseigneur is always so good!”