And now that she is a respectable and respected widow,
Madame de Loubancourt is received everywhere by society
in those places of winter resort where people’s
by-gone history is so rarely gone into, and where
women bear a name, who are pretty, and who can waltz—like
the Germans can, are always well received.
“Well, really,” Chasseval said, standing
with his back to the fire, “could any of those
respectable shop-keepers and wine growers have possibly
believed that that pretty little Parisian woman, with
her soft innocent eyes, like those of a Madonna, with
such smiling lips and golden hair, and who always
dressed so simple, was their candidate’s mistress?”
She was a wonderful help to him, and accompanied him
even to the most outlying farms; went to the meetings
in the small village cafes and had a pleasant
and suitable word for every one, and did not recoil
at a glass of mulled wine or a grip of the hand, and
was always ready to join in farandole.[18]
She seemed to be so in love with Elienne Rulhiere,
to trust him so entirely, to be so proud of forming
half of his life, and of belonging to him, gave him
such looks full of pleasure and of hope, and listened
to all he said so intently, that voters who might
have hesitated, allowed themselves by degrees to be
talked over and persuaded; and promised their votes
to the young doctor, whose name they never heard mentioned
in the district before.
[Footnote 18: A dance in Provence in which the
dancers form a chain, and the movements are directed
by the leader.—TRANSLATOR.]
That electoral campaign had been like a truant’s
escapade for Jane Dardenne; it was a delightful and
unexpected holiday, and as she was an actress at heart,
she played her part seriously, and threw herself into
her character, and enjoyed herself more than she ever
enjoyed herself in her most adventurous outings.
And then there came in the pleasure of being taken
for a woman of the world, of being flattered, respected
and envied, and of getting out of the usual groove
for a time, and also the dream that this journey of
a few weeks would have the sequence, that her lover
would not separate from her on their return, but would
sacrifice the woman whom he no longer loved, and whom
he ironically used to call his Cinderella, to
her.
At night, when they had laid aside all pretense, and
when they were alone in their room in the hotel, she
coaxed him and flattered him, spurred his ambition
on, threw her quivering arms around him, and amidst
her kisses, whispered those words to him, which make
a man proud and warm his heart, and give him strength,
like a stout dram of alcohol.
