[Footnote 3: Civil marriage is obligatory in
France, whether a religious ceremony takes place or
not.—TRANSLATOR.]
“At the end of that time, nothing, absolutely
nothing occurred. I always lost the game....
I waited for a fortnight, three weeks, continually
hoping. In the restaurants, I ate a number of
highly seasoned dishes, which upset my stomach, and
... and it was still the same thing ... or rather,
nothing. You will, therefore, understand, that,
in such circumstances, and having assured myself of
the fact, the only thing I could do was ... was ...
to withdraw; and I did so.”
Monsieur de Courville had to struggle very hard not
to laugh, and he shook hands with the Baron, saying:
“I am very sorry for you,” and accompanied
him half-way home.
When he got back, and was alone with his wife, he
told her everything, nearly choking with laughter;
she, however, did not laugh, but listened very attentively,
and when her husband had finished, she said, very
seriously:
“The Baron is a fool, my dear; he was frightened,
that is all. I will write and ask Berthe to come
back here as soon as possible.”
And when Monsieur de Courville observed that their
friend had made such long and useless attempts, she
merely said:
“Nonsense! When a man loves his wife, you
know ... that sort of thing adjusts itself to the
situation.”
And Monsieur de Courville made no reply, as he felt
rather confused himself.
“Madame Bonderoi?”
“Yes, Madame Bonderoi.”
“Impossible.”
“I tell you it is.”
Madame Bonderoi, the old lady in a lace cap, the devout,
the holy, the honorable Madame Bonderoi, whose little
false curls looked as if they were glued round her
head.
“That is the very woman.”
“Oh! Come, you must be mad.”
“I swear to you that it is Madame Bonderoi.”
“Then please give me the details.”
“Here they are. During the life of Monsieur
Bonderoi, the lawyer, people said that she utilized
his clerks for her own particular service. She
is one of those respectable middle-class women, with
secret vices, and inflexible principles, of whom there
are so many. She liked good-looking young fellows,
and I should like to know what is more natural than
that? Do not we all like pretty girls?”
“As soon as old Bonderoi was dead, his widow
began to live the peaceful and irreproachable life
of a woman with a fair, fixed income. She went
to church assiduously, and spoke evil of her neighbors,
but gave no handle to anyone for speaking ill of her,
and when she grew old she became the little wizened,
sour-faced, mischievous woman whom you know. Well,
this adventure, which you would scarcely believe,
happened last Friday.
