Wenceslas got home at about one in the morning; Hortense had him since half-past nine. From half-past nine till ten she had to the carriages, telling herself that had her husband come in so late from with Florent and Chanor. She sat by the child's cot, for she had to save a needlewoman's pay for the day by doing the herself. From ten till half-past, a her mind; she sat wondering:
"Is he gone to dinner, as he told me, with Chanor and Florent? He put on his best and his pin when he dressed. He took as long over his as a woman when she wants to make the best of herself. I am crazy! He loves me! And here he is!"
But of stopping, the she past.
From eleven till midnight Hortense was a to terrible alarms; the where they was now deserted.
"If he has set out on foot, some accident may have happened," she. "A man may be killed by over a or to see a gap. Artists are so heedless! Or if he should have been stopped by robbers! It is the time he has left me alone here for six hours and a half! But why should I worry myself? He for no one but me."
Men ought to be to the who love them, were it only on account of the by true love in the regions of the world. The woman who loves is, in relation to the man she loves, in the position of a to the should give the painful power, when she to be the of the world, of being as a woman of what she has as a somnambulist. Passion the of a woman to the at which is as as the of a clairvoyant. A wife she is betrayed; she will not let herself say so, she still—she loves so much! She the to the of her own Pythian power. This of love a special of worship.
In souls, of this will always be a safeguard to protect them from infidelity. How should a man not a and can to such manifestations?
By one in the Hortense was in a of such anguish, that she to the door as she her husband's ring at the bell, and him in her arms like a mother.
"At last—here you are!" she, her voice again. "My dearest, where you go I go, for I cannot again the of such waiting. I pictured you over a curbstone, with a skull! Killed by thieves! No, a second time I know I should go mad. Have you so much? And without me! Bad boy!"
"What can I say, my darling? There was Bixiou, who fresh for us; Leon de Lora, as as ever; Claude Vignon, to I the only article that has come out about the Montcornet statue. There were "
"Were there no ladies?" Hortense inquired.
"Worthy Madame Florent "
"You said the Rocher de Cancale. Were you at the Florents'?"
"Yes, at their house; I a mistake."
"You did not take a coach to come home?"
"No."
"And you have walked from the Rue Tournelles?"
"Stidmann and Bixiou came with me along the as as the Madeleine, talking all the way."
"It is then on the and the Place de la Concorde and the Rue de Bourgogne? You are not at all!" said Hortense, looking at her husband's leather boots.
It had been raining, but the Rue Vanneau and the Rue Saint-Dominique Wenceslas had not got his soiled.
"Here—here are five thousand Chanor has been so as to me," said Wenceslas, to cut this lawyer-like examination.
He had a of the ten thousand-franc notes, for Hortense and for himself, for he had five thousand francs' of of which Hortense nothing. He money to his and his workmen.
"Now your are relieved," said he, his wife. "I am going to work tomorrow morning. So I am going to this minute to up early, by your leave, my pet."
The that had in Hortense's mind vanished; she was miles away from the truth. Madame Marneffe! She had of her. Her for her Wenceslas was that he should in with prostitutes. The names of Bixiou and Leon de Lora, two noted for their wild dissipations, had her.
Next she saw Wenceslas go out at nine o'clock, and was reassured.
"Now he is at work again," said she to herself, as she to dress her boy. "I see he is in the vein! Well, well, if we cannot have the of Michael Angelo, we may have that of Benvenuto Cellini!"
Lulled by her own hopes, Hortense in a happy future; and she was to her son of twenty months in the language of that when, at about eleven o'clock, the cook, who had not Wenceslas go out, in Stidmann.
"I pardon, madame," said he. "Is Wenceslas gone out already?"
"He is at the studio."
"I came to talk over the work with him."
"I will send for him," said Hortense, Stidmann a chair.
Thanking Heaven for this piece of luck, Hortense was to Stidmann to ask some questions about the before. Stidmann in of her kindness. The Countess Steinbock rang; the cook appeared, and was to go at once and her master from the studio.
"You had an dinner last night?" said Hortense. "Wenceslas did not come in till past one in the morning."
"Amusing? not exactly," the artist, who had to Madame Marneffe. "Society is not very unless one is in it. That little Madame Marneffe is clever, but a great flirt."
"And what did Wenceslas think of her?" asked Hortense, trying to keep calm. "He said nothing about her to me."
"I will only say one thing," said Stidmann, "and that is, that I think her a very woman."
Hortense as as a woman after childbirth.
"So—it was at—at Madame Marneffe's that you dined—and not—not with Chanor?" said she, "yesterday—and Wenceslas—and he "
Stidmann, without what he had done, saw that he had blundered.
The Countess did not her sentence; she away. The artist rang, and the came in. When Louise to her into her bedroom, a attack came on, with hysterics. Stidmann, like any man who by an has the on a husband's to his wife, not that his should produce such an effect; he that the Countess was in such health that the was mischievous.
The cook presently returned to say, in loud tones, that her master was not in the studio. In the of her anguish, Hortense heard, and the fit came on again.
"Go and madame's mother," said Louise to the cook. "Quick—run!"
"If I where to Steinbock, I would go and him!" Stidmann in despair.
"He is with that woman!" the wife. "He was not to go to his work!"
Stidmann off to Madame Marneffe's, by the truth of this conclusion, to the second-sight of passion.
At that moment Valerie was as Delilah. Stidmann, too to ask for Madame Marneffe, walked in past the lodge, and ran up to the second floor, thus: "If I ask for Madame Marneffe, she will be out. If I point-blank for Steinbock, I shall be laughed at to my face. Take the by the horns!"
Reine appeared in answer to his ring.
"Tell Monsieur le Comte Steinbock to come at once, his wife is "
Reine, a match for Stidmann, looked at him with blank surprise.
"But, sir—I don't know—did you "
"I tell you that my friend Monsieur Steinbock is here; his wife is very ill. It is for you to your mistress." And Stidmann on his heel.
"He is there, sure enough!" said he to himself.
And in point of fact, after waiting a minutes in the Rue Vanneau, he saw Wenceslas come out, and to him to come quickly. After telling him of the in the Rue Saint-Dominique, Stidmann Steinbock for not having him to keep the of yesterday's dinner.
"I am done for," said Wenceslas, "but you are forgiven. I had totally that you were to call this morning, and I in not telling you that we were to have with Florent. What can I say? That Valerie has my head; but, my dear fellow, for her is well lost, well won! She is! Good Heavens! But I am in a fix. Advise me. What can I say? How can I myself?"
"I! you! I don't know," Stidmann. "But your wife loves you, I imagine? Well, then, she will anything. Tell her that you were on your way to me when I was on my way to you; that, at any rate, will set this morning's right. Good-bye."
Lisbeth, called by Reine, ran after Wenceslas and him up at the of the Rue Hillerin-Bertin; she was of his Polish artlessness. Not to be in the matter, she said a to Wenceslas, who in his her then and there. She had no pushed out a to the artist to this place in his affairs.
At the of her mother, who had to her aid, Hortense into of tears. This the of the attack.
"Treachery, dear mamma!" she. "Wenceslas, after me his word of that he would not go near Madame Marneffe, with her last night, and did not come in till a quarter-past one in the morning. If you only knew! The day we had had a discussion, not a quarrel, and I had to him so touchingly. I told him I was jealous, that I should die if he were unfaithful; that I was easily suspicious, but that he ought to have some for my weaknesses, as they came of my love for him; that I had my father's blood in my as well as yours; that at the moment of such I should be mad, and of deeds—of myself—of us all, him, his child, and myself; that I might kill him and myself after—and so on.
"And yet he there; he is there! That woman is on all our hearts! Only yesterday my and Celestine their all to pay off seventy thousand on notes of hand for that good-for-nothing creature. Yes, mamma, my father would have been and put into prison. Cannot that woman be with having my father, and with all your tears? Why take my Wenceslas? I will go to see her and her!"
Madame Hulot, to the by the Hortense was out, her by one of the which a mother can make, and her daughter's on to her to it with kisses.
"Wait for Wenceslas, my child; all will be explained. The cannot be so great as you picture it! I, too, have been deceived, my dear Hortense; you think me handsome, I have blameless; and yet I have been for three-and-twenty years—for a Jenny Cadine, a Josepha, a Madame Marneffe! Did you know that?"
"You, mamma, you! You have this for twenty "
She off, by her own thoughts.
"Do as I have done, my child," said her mother. "Be and kind, and your will be at peace. On his death-bed a man may say, ‘My wife has cost me a pang!' And God, who that breath, it to us. If I had myself to like you, what would have happened? Your father would have been embittered, he would have left me altogether, and he would not have been by any of paining me. Our ruin, as it now is, would have been complete ten years sooner, and we should have the world the of a husband and wife apart—a of the most horrible, heart-breaking kind, for it is the of the family. Neither your you have married.
"I myself, and that so bravely, that, till this last of your father's, the world has me happy. My and has, till now, screened Hector; he is still respected; but this old man's is taking him too far, that I see. His own folly, I fear, will through the I have the world and our home. However, I have that for twenty-three years, and have it—motherless, I, without a friend to trust, with no help but in religion—I have for twenty-three years the family "
Hortense with a gaze. The of and of such the of her wound; the rose again and in torrents. In a of affection, overcome by her mother's heroism, she on her Adeline, took up the of her dress and it, as Catholics the of a martyr.
"Nay, up, Hortense," said the Baroness. "Such from my out many sad memories. Come to my heart, and for no but your own. It is the of my dear little girl, was my only joy, that the seal which nothing ought to have from my lips. Indeed, I meant to have taken my to the tomb, as a the more. It was to your that I spoke. God will me!
"Oh! if my life were to be your life, what would I not do? Men, the world, Fate, Nature, God Himself, I believe, make us pay for love with the most grief. I must pay for ten years of and twenty-four years of despair, of sorrow, of "
"But you had ten years, dear mamma, and I have had but three!" said the self-absorbed girl.
"Nothing is yet," said Adeline. "Only wait till Wenceslas comes."
"Mother," said she, "he lied, he me. He said, ‘I will not go,' and he went. And that over his child's cradle."
"For pleasure, my child, men will the most cowardly, the most actions—even crimes; it in their nature, it would seem. We are set for sacrifice. I my were ended, and they are again, for I to by with my child. Courage—and silence! My Hortense, that you will discuss your with but me, let them be by any third person. Oh! be as proud as your mother has been."
Hortense started; she had her husband's step.
"So it would seem," said Wenceslas, as he came in, "that Stidmann has been here while I to see him."
"Indeed!" said Hortense, with the angry of an woman who to stab.
"Certainly," said Wenceslas, surprise. "We have just met."
"And yesterday?"
"Well, yesterday I you, my love; and your mother shall judge us."
This his wife's heart. All like the truth than lies. They cannot to see their smirched; they want to be proud of the they to.
There is a of this in the of the Russians to their Czar.
"Now, listen, dear mother," Wenceslas on. "I so love my sweet and Hortense, that I from her the of our poverty. What I do? She was still nursing the boy, and such would have done her harm; you know what the is for a woman. Her beauty, youth, and health are imperiled. Did I do wrong? She that we five thousand francs; but I five thousand more. The day yesterday we were in the depths! No one on earth will to us artists. Our are not less than our whims. I in at every door. Lisbeth, indeed, offered us her savings."
"Poor soul!" said Hortense.
"Poor soul!" said the Baroness.
"But what are Lisbeth's two thousand francs? Everything to her, nothing to us. Then, as you know, Hortense, she spoke to us of Madame Marneffe, who, as she so much to the Baron, out of a of honor, will take no interest. Hortense wanted to send her diamonds to the Mont-de-Piete; they would have in a thousand francs, but we needed ten thousand. Those ten thousand were to be had free of for a year! I said to myself, ‘Hortense will be none the wiser; I will go and them.'
"Then the woman asked me to dinner through my father-in-law, me to that Lisbeth had spoken of the matter, and I should have the money. Between Hortense's on one hand, and the dinner on the other, I not hesitate. That is all.
"What! Hortense, at four-and-twenty, lovely, pure, and virtuous, and all my and glory, that, when I have left her since we married, I now prefer—what? a tawny, painted, creature?" said he, using the of the studio to his wife by the that like.
"Oh! if only your father had spoken so-!" the Baroness.
Hortense her arms her husband's neck.
"Yes, that is what I should have done," said her mother. "Wenceslas, my dear fellow, your wife was near of it," she on very seriously. "You see how well she loves you. And, alas—she is yours!"
She deeply.
"He may make a of her, or a happy woman," she to herself, as every mother thinks when she sees her married. "It to me," she said aloud, "that I am to to see my children happy."
"Be easy, dear mamma," said Wenceslas, only too to see this moment end happily. "In two months I shall have that woman. How I help it," he on, this Polish with a Pole's grace; "there are times when a man would borrow of the Devil. And, after all, the money to the family. When once she had me, should I have got the money at all if I had to her with a refusal?"
"Oh, mamma, what papa is on us!" Hortense.
The Baroness her on her daughter's lips, by this complaint, the she had of a father so screened by her mother's silence.
"Now, good-bye, my children," said Madame Hulot. "The is over. But do not any more."
When Wenceslas and his wife returned to their room after out the Baroness, Hortense said to her husband:
"Tell me all about last evening."
And she his all through the narrative, him by the questions that on a wife's mind in such circumstances. The Hortense reflect; she had a of the which an artist must in such company.
"Be honest, my Wenceslas; Stidmann was there, Claude Vignon, Vernisset. Who else? In short, it was good fun?"
"I, I was of nothing but our ten thousand francs, and I was saying to myself, ‘My Hortense will be from anxiety.'"
This the Livonian excessively; he a moment to say:
"And you, my dearest, what would you have done if your artist had proved guilty?"
"I," said she, with an air of decision, "I should have taken up Stidmann—not that I love him, of course!"
"Hortense!" Steinbock, starting to his with a and emphasis. "You would not have had the chance—I would have killed you!"
Hortense herself into his arms, him closely to him, and him with kisses, saying:
"Ah, you do love me! I nothing! But no more Marneffe. Never go into such bogs."
"I to you, my dear Hortense, that I will go there no more, to my note of hand."
She at this, but only as a woman to something for it. Wenceslas, out with such a morning's work, off to his studio to make a sketch of the Samson and Delilah, for which he had the in his pocket.
Hortense, for her little temper, and that her husband was with her, to the studio just as the had the with the that an artist when the mood is on him. On his wife, Wenceslas the wet over the group, and arms her, he said:
"We were not angry, were we, my puss?"
Hortense had of the group, had the over it, and had said nothing; but as she was leaving, she took off the rag, looked at the model, and asked:
"What is that?"
"A group for which I had just had an idea."
"And why did you it?"
"I did not you to see it till it was finished."
"The woman is very pretty," said Hortense.
And a thousand up in her mind, as, in India, tall, rank plants up in a night-time.
