She waited, full of nervous energy, without any fear
of him now, ready for anything, and almost triumphant,
for she had found means of torturing him continually
during every moment of his life.
But the first gleam of dawn came in through the fringe
at the bottom of her curtain without his having come
into her room, and then she awoke to the fact, with
much amazement, that he was not coming. Having
locked and bolted her door, for greater security,
she went to bed at last and remained there, with her
eyes open, thinking and barely understanding it all,
without being able to guess what he was going to do.
When her maid brought her tea she at the same time
handed her a letter from her husband. He told
her that he was going to undertake a longish journey
and in a postscript added that his lawyer would provide
her with any sums of money she might require for all
her expenses.
It was at the opera, between two acts of “Robert
the Devil.” In the stalls the men were
standing up, with their hats on, their waistcoats cut
very low so as to show a large amount of white shirt
front, in which gold and jewelled studs glistened,
and were looking at the boxes full of ladies in low
dresses covered with diamonds and pearls, who were
expanding like flowers in that illuminated hothouse,
where the beauty of their faces and the whiteness
of their shoulders seemed to bloom in order to be
gazed at, amid the sound of the music and of human
voices.
Two friends, with their backs to the orchestra, were
scanning those rows of elegance, that exhibition of
real or false charms, of jewels, of luxury and of
pretension which displayed itself in all parts of the
Grand Theatre, and one of them, Roger de Salnis, said
to his companion, Bernard Grandin:
“Just look how beautiful the Comtesse de Mascaret
still is.”
The older man in turn looked through his opera glasses
at a tall lady in a box opposite. She appeared
to be still very young, and her striking beauty seemed
to attract all eyes in every corner of the house.
Her pale complexion, of an ivory tint, gave her the
appearance of a statue, while a small diamond coronet
glistened on her black hair like a streak of light.
When he had looked at her for some time, Bernard Grandin
replied with a jocular accent of sincere conviction:
“You may well call her beautiful!”
“How old do you think she is?”
“Wait a moment. I can tell you exactly,
for I have known her since she was a child and I saw
her make her debut into society when she was quite
a girl. She is—she is—thirty—thirty-six.”
“Impossible!”
“I am sure of it.”
“She looks twenty-five.”
“She has had seven children.”
“It is incredible.”
“And what is more, they are all seven alive,
as she is a very good mother. I occasionally
go to the house, which is a very quiet and pleasant
one, where one may see the phenomenon of the family
in the midst of society.”
