Every day, or nearly every day, he was obliged to be on horseback in the Bois, between two and three o’clock, in the careful dress of a gentleman of leisure.  He had to learn at what house or theatre he could meet Madame de Vandenesse in the evening.  He was not able to leave the party or the play until long after midnight, having obtained nothing better than a few tender sentences, long awaited, said in a doorway, or hastily as he put her into her carriage.  It frequently happened that Marie, who by this time had launched him into the great world, procured for him invitations to dinner in certain houses where she went herself.  All this seemed the simplest life in the world to her.  Raoul moved by pride and led on by his passion never told her of his labors.  He obeyed the will of this innocent sovereign, followed in her train, followed, also, the parliamentary debates, edited and wrote for his newspaper, and put upon the stage two plays, the money for which was absolutely indispensable to him.  It sufficed for Madame de Vandenesse to make a little face of displeasure when he tried to excuse himself from attending a ball, a concert, or from driving in the Bois, to compel him to sacrifice his most pressing interests to her good pleasure.  When he left society between one and two in the morning he went straight to work until eight or nine.  He was scarcely asleep before he was obliged to be up and concocting the opinions of his journal with the men of political influence on whom he depended, —­not to speak of the thousand and one other details of the paper.  Journalism is connected with everything in these days; with industrial concerns, with public and private interests, with all new enterprises, and all the schemes of literature, its self-loves, and its products.

When Nathan, harassed and fatigued, would rush from his editorial office to the theatre, from the theatre to the Chamber, from the Chamber to face certain creditors, he was forced to appear in the Bois with a calm countenance, and gallop beside Marie’s carriage in the leisurely style of a man devoid of cares and with no other duties than those of love.  When in return for this toilsome and wholly ignored devotion all he won were a few sweet words, the prettiest assurances of eternal attachment, ardent pressures of the hand on the very few occasions when they found themselves alone, he began to feel he was rather duped by leaving his mistress in ignorance of the enormous costs of these “little attentions,” as our fathers called them.  The occasion for an explanation arrived in due time.

On a fine April morning the countess accepted Nathan’s arm for a walk through the sequestered path of the Bois de Boulogne.  She intended to make him one of those pretty little quarrels apropos of nothing, which women are so fond of exciting.  Instead of greeting him as usual, with a smile upon her lips, her forehead illumined with pleasure, her eyes bright with some gay or delicate thought, she assumed a grave and serious aspect.