Artfulness
“Women?
“Well, what then? Women?
“Well, there are no such schemers in the world for landing you into trouble on every opportunity, with or without a reason, often for the sole pleasure of playing you. They cheat with incredible simplicity, amazing audacity, and invincible cunning. They cheat from morning to night, every one of them, the best of them, the most straightforward, the most sensible.
“Let us grant that they are sometimes almost driven to it. Man is always giving way to idiotic fits of obstinacy and tyrannical desires. In the home a husband is always insisting upon his own ridiculous way. He is full of crazes which his wife encourages while she turns them to account. She makes him believe that a thing costs so much because he would make a fuss if it were worth more. She always manages to extricate herself cleverly by methods so simple and wily that we cannot believe our senses when we do happen to notice what is happening. We say to ourselves, spellbound: ‘Why did we not notice this before?’ ”
The man who spoke was an ex-minister of the Empire, the Count of L⸺, a real rake, and very intelligent. A group of young men were listening to him.
He continued: “I was victimised by an ordinary little bourgeoise in a most brazen and amusing manner. I will tell you about it that you may profit thereby.
“I was then at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and I used to go for a long walk in the Champs Élysées every morning. It was May, and as I walked I inhaled greedily the sweet odour of the budding leaves.
“I soon noticed that I met an adorable little woman every day, one of those surprising, graceful creatures with the stamp of Paris upon them. Pretty? Yes and no. A good figure? No, better than that. I admit that her waist was too small, her shoulders too straight, her chest too curved, but I prefer these exquisite human dolls with their graceful curves to the big carcass of the Venus de Milo.
“Besides, they trip along in a way peculiar to themselves; the mere sight of their fluttering movements fills the very marrow of your bones with desire. She seemed to look at me as we passed each other. But these women are apparently capable of anything; one never knows. … One morning I saw her sitting on a bench holding an open book. I promptly sat down beside her, and five minutes later we were friends. Then, every day, after the smiling greeting: ‘Good morning, Madame’—‘Good morning, Monsieur,’ we chatted. She told me she was the wife of a clerk, that her life was sad, that her pleasures were few and that cares were numerous, and a thousand other things. I told her who I was, partly through thoughtlessness and partly perhaps through vanity: she made a very good pretence at being surprised. The following day she came to the Ministry to see me, and returned so often that the ushers soon got to know her and whispered to each other ‘Madame Léon’ (the name they had given her) whenever they saw her; Léon happens to be my Christian name.
“For three months I saw her every morning without growing tired of her for a second, so thoroughly skilled was she in the art of varying and intensifying her demonstrations of affection. But one day I noticed that her eyes were haggard and shining with suppressed tears, that she could scarcely speak, she was so preoccupied.
“I begged, I implored her to tell me the cause of her distress, and she ended by stammering: ‘I am—I am enceinte,’ with a shiver of apprehension. And she burst out sobbing. Oh! I made a horrible face, and I doubtless turned pale as men do at news of that kind. You cannot conceive what a shock it is to hear you are to be a father when you don’t expect it. But you will all know in time. All I could say was: ‘But—but—you are married, aren’t you?’ She answered: ‘Yes, but my husband has been in Italy for two months and will not return for some time.’
“I was determined at any cost to get out of my responsibility, and said: ‘You must join him immediately.’
“She blushed to her eyebrows and, looking down, replied: ‘Yes—but—,’ not daring or not wishing to finish the sentence.
“I had understood, and discreetly handed her an envelope containing the expenses of the journey.
“A week later she wrote to me from Genoa, the following week I received a letter from Florence, then from Leghorn, Rome, Naples. She said: ‘I am quite well, my dear love, but I am hideous. I am not going to let you see me till it is all over; you would cease to love me. My husband suspects nothing. As his business will keep him in this country for a long time still, I will only come back to France after my confinement.’ And after about eight months I received from Venice these few words: ‘It is a boy.’
“Some time after, she suddenly entered my study one morning, fresher and prettier than ever, and threw herself into my arms.
“And our old relations of intimacy were resumed.
“I left the Ministry and she came to my house in the Rue de Grenelle. She often talked to me about the child, but I paid very little attention: it did not concern me. Occasionally I gave her a considerable sum of money, saying: ‘Invest that for him.’
“Two more years passed by and she became more and more determined to give me news of the youngster, ‘of Léon.’ Sometimes she would say with tears in her eyes: ‘You don’t care about him; you won’t even see him; if you knew how miserable you make me!’
“Finally she worried me to such an extent that I promised to go the next morning to the Champs Élysées when she was taking him for his walk.
“But as I was leaving the house I was stopped by a feeling of dread. Man is weak and foolish; there was no knowing what might happen. Supposing I were to love this little mite, this small being who owed his life to me! my son!
“My hat was on my head, and my gloves were in my hands. I threw the gloves on my desk, and my hat on a chair: ‘No, I will certainly not go, it is wiser not.’
“The door opened and my brother entered the room, holding out an anonymous letter received that morning.
“ ‘Warn your brother, the Count of L⸺, that the little woman of the Rue Cassette is making game of him in the most shameless manner. Tell him to make inquiries about her.’
“I had never said a word to anybody about this long-standing intrigue. I was surprised, and told my brother the whole story from beginning to end. I added: ‘Personally, I don’t want to be bothered, but it would be kind of you to find out what you can.’
“When my brother had gone, I said to myself: ‘How can she be deceiving me? She has other lovers? What do I care? She is young, fresh and pretty: I ask no more. She seems to love me and, after all, does not cost me much. Really, I don’t understand what it’s all about.’
“My brother soon returned. The police had given him accurate information about the husband: ‘A clerk at the Home Office, correct and well reported upon, with the correct official views, but married to a very pretty woman whose expenses seemed rather high for her modest position.’ That was all.
“Now, my brother having sought for her at her house and having learned that she had gone out, succeeded in making the concierge gossip, with the assistance of a large tip.
“ ‘Madame D. is an excellent woman, and her husband a most worthy man; they are neither rich nor proud, but they are generous.’
“For the sake of saying something, my brother asked: ‘How old is the little boy now?’
“ ‘But she has no little boy, sir.’
“ ‘What? Little Léon?’
“ ‘No, sir, you are making a mistake.’
“ ‘I mean the child she had when she was in Italy, about two years ago.’
“ ‘She has never been to Italy, sir, she has never once left this house during the five years she has been living here.’
“Surprised, my brother continued his questions, carrying his investigations as far as possible. No child! No journey! I was astounded, but was far from understanding what would come of it.
“ ‘I want,’ said I, ‘to have a clear conscience on the subject. I will beg her to come and see me tomorrow. You must see her for me. If she has played a trick upon me, you will hand over to her this ten thousand francs and I will never see her again. In fact I am beginning to have enough of her.’
“Would you believe it? The night before, I was distressed because I had a child by that woman, and now I was ashamed, hurt and irritable because there was no child. I found myself free from all obligations and from all anxiety, and yet I felt indignant. The next day my brother awaited her in my study. She came in quickly, as usual, rushing towards him with arms outstretched, and stopped dead when she saw who it was.
“He bowed and apologised.
“ ‘I beg your pardon, Madame, for being here instead of my brother; but he has authorised me to ask you for an explanation, which it would have been painful for him to do himself.’
“Then, looking her straight in the face, he said abruptly: ‘We know you have not had a child by him.’
“After the first moment of surprise, she recovered her composure, took a seat, and gazed smilingly at the man who was sitting in judgment on her.
“ ‘No; I have no child.’
“ ‘We also know that you have never been to Italy.’
“This time she laughed outright:
“ ‘No, I have never been in Italy.’
“Aghast, my brother continued:
“ ‘The Count has requested me to hand you this money and to tell you that the affair is ended.’
“At that she became serious, calmly put the money into her pocket, and said ingenuously: ‘So—I shall never see the Count again?’
“ ‘No, Madame.’
“She seemed upset and added quietly: ‘It can’t be helped, I was very fond of him.’
“Seeing that she had decided to make the best of things as they were, my brother smilingly asked her:
“ ‘Now, tell me why you invented this long and complicated falsehood of the journey and the child.’
“She looked at my brother, amazed, as if he had asked a very stupid question, and replied:
“ ‘Well, you are queer! Do you think a poor little insignificant bourgeoise like me could have kept the Count of L⸺, a minister, a great nobleman, a popular man in society, wealthy and attractive, for three years if she had not given him something to think about? Now it’s over. It can’t be helped, it could not last forever. Nevertheless I have been successful for three years. Do not forget to remember me kindly to him.’
“She got up to go. My brother went on with his questions:
“ ‘But—the child? You had one to show him?’
“ ‘Certainly, my sister’s child. She lent it to me. I bet it was she who warned you.’
“ ‘Good! And the letters from Italy?’
“She sat down again to laugh with comfort.
“ ‘Oh! the letters, well, that’s a real poem. The Count was not at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs for nothing.’
“ ‘But—the rest.’
“ ‘The rest is my secret. I am not going to compromise anyone.’ And bowing to him with a slightly mocking smile, she made her exit, like an actress whose part is ended, without showing any feeling.”
And the Count of L⸺ added by way of moral: “Don’t put your trust in birds of that feather.”