Monsier de Saint-Juery would not have deceived his
old mistress for anything in the world: perhaps
from an instinctive fear that he had heard of adventures
that turn out badly, make a noise, and bring about
hateful family quarrels, crises from which one emerges
enervated and exasperated with destiny, and, as it
were, with the weight of a bullet on one’s feet,
and also from his requirement for a calm, sheep-like
existence, whose monotony was never disturbed by any
shock, and perhaps from the remains of the love which
had so entirely made him, during the first years of
their connection, the slave of the proud, dominating
beauty, and of the enthralling charm of that woman.
He kept out of the way of temptation almost timidly,
and was faithful to her, and as submissive as a spaniel.
He paid her every attention, did not appear to notice
that the outlines of her figure, which had formerly
been so harmonious and supple, were getting too full
and puffy, that her face, which used to remind him
of a blush rose, was getting wrinkled, and that her
eyes were getting dull. He admired her in spite
of everything, almost blindly, and clothed her with
imaginary charms, with an autumnal beauty, with the
majestic and serene softness of an October twilight,
and with the last blossoms which unfold by the side
of the walks, strewn with dead leaves.
But although their connection had lasted for many
years, though they were as closely bound to each other
as if they had been married, and although Charlotte
Guindal pestered him with entreaties, and upset him
with continual quarrels on the subject, and, in spite
of the fact that he believed her to be absolutely
faithful to him, and worthy of his most perfect confidence
and love, yet Monsieur de Saint-Juery had never been
able to make up his mind to give her his name, and
to put their false position on a legal footing.
He really suffered from this, but remained firm and
defended his position, quibbled, sought for subterfuges,
replied by the eternal and vague: “What
would be the good of it,” which nearly sent Charlotte
mad, made her furious and caused her to say angry
and ill-tempered things. But he remained passive
and listless, with his back bent like a restive horse
under the whip.
He asked her whether it was really necessary to their
happiness, as they had no children? Did not everybody
think that they were married? Was not she everywhere
called Madame de Saint-Juery, and had their servants
any doubt that they were in the service of respectable,
married people? Was not the name which had been
transmitted to a man from father to son, intact, honored,
and often with a halo of glory round it, a sacred trust
which no one had a right to touch? What would
she gain if she bore it legitimately? Did she
for a moment suppose that she would rise higher in
people’s estimation, and be more admitted into
society, or that people would forget that she had
been his regular mistress before becoming his wife?
Did not everybody know that formerly, before he rescued
her from that Bohemian life in which she had been
waiting for her chance in vain, and was losing her
good looks, Charlotte Guindal frequented all the public
balls, and showed her legs liberally at the Moulin-Rouge[12].
