The Sign
The little Marquise de Rennedon was still asleep, in the warm scented room, in her soft low wide bed, between her sheets of fine lawn, as fragile as love, as caressing as a kiss; she slept alone, peacefully, the deep happy sleep of the divorced.
She was awakened by the sound of sharp voices in the little blue drawing room. She recognised her dearest friend, the little Baroness de Grangerie, arguing her right to come in with the maid who was guarding her mistress’s door.
Then the little Marquise rose, drew the bolts, turned the key, lifted the curtain and thrust out her head, only her fair head, hidden under a cloud of hair.
“What has brought you here so early?” she said. “It’s not nine o’clock yet.”
The little Baroness, very pale, nervous and feverish, answered:
“I must speak to you. A dreadful thing has happened to me.”
“Come in, darling.”
She came in, they kissed; and the little Marquise climbed back into bed while the maid opened the windows, letting in air and light. Then, when the servant was gone, Mme. de Rennedon went on: “Now tell me.”
Mme. de Grangerie began to cry, shedding those pretty crystal drops that add so to a woman’s charm, and stammered—without drying her eyes, which would have made them red: “Oh, my dear, what’s happened to me is dreadful, too dreadful. I haven’t slept all night, not a minute: not one minute, I tell you. There, feel my heart, how it’s beating.”
And, taking her friend’s hand, she pressed it against her breast, on that firm rounded barrier that protects the hearts of women and is all that most men ask, so that they do not inquire what lies beneath it. Her heart was beating quite steadily.
She went on:
“It happened yesterday during the day … about four o’clock … or half past four. I don’t know the exact hour. You know all about my apartment, you know that my little first-floor drawing room, the one I always use, looks out on to the Rue Saint-Lazare, and that I adore sitting in the window to watch the people passing. The road to the station is so gay, so busy and full of people. … I love it. Well, yesterday I was sitting in the low chair I have drawn across my window; the window was open, and I was thinking of nothing at all: I was enjoying the fresh air. You remember how lovely it was yesterday.
“Suddenly, on the other side of the street, I saw another woman sitting at her window, a woman in a red dress; I was wearing mauve, don’t you know, my pretty mauve frock. I did not recognise the woman, a new tenant, who has only been in a month; and as it has rained for the last month I’d never seen her before. But I saw at once that she was no good. At first I was thoroughly disgusted and very shocked to see her sitting at the window just as I was doing; and then, gradually, I found it amusing to watch her. She was leaning on her elbows and she stared at the men, and the men stared at her, all of them, or almost all of them. You’d have thought something warned them as they got near the house, and they scented her out as dogs scent game, for they lifted their heads suddenly and exchanged quick glances with her, a freemasonry of glances. Hers said: ‘Won’t you?’
“Theirs answered: ‘No time,’ or ‘Another day,’ or ‘Not a cent,’ or ‘Take yourself out of sight, you hussy.’ This last phrase was signalled from the eyes of fathers of families.
“You can’t imagine how odd it was to watch her practising her wiles, or rather her profession.
“Sometimes she shut the window down quickly and I saw a gentleman turn in at the door. She had hooked him as a fisherman hooks a gudgeon. Then I took out my watch. They stayed a dozen or twenty minutes, never longer. I got wildly excited over her at last, spider that she is. And she wasn’t an ugly wench either.
“I wondered: What does she do to make herself so clearly, quickly and completely understood? Does she make a sign with her head or wave her hand as well as look at them?
“And I took my opera glasses to investigate the process. Oh, it was quite simple: first a glance, then a smile, then just the least inclination of the head that meant: ‘Are you coming up?’ But so slight, so casual and so discreet that one would have to be very clever to do it as well as she did.
“And I wondered: Could I do it as cleverly, that little upward tilt, bold and graceful? For it really was a graceful gesture.
“I went to my looking-glass and tried. My dear, I did it better than she did, much better. I was delighted; and I went back to my place in the window.
“She wasn’t getting anyone now, poor girl, not a single person. In fact she hadn’t the chance. It really must be dreadful, don’t you know, to earn your living like that, dreadful, and sometimes amusing, because the men one meets in the street aren’t so bad, after all.
“They were all walking along my pavement now, and not a single one on hers. The sun had come round. One after another they came, young and old, dark and fair, grey heads and white heads.
“I noticed some very charming ones, oh, very charming, my dear, much better than my husband or yours—your former husband, now you’ve divorced him. You can make your choice now.
“I said to myself: ‘If I, a virtuous woman, were to make them the sign, would they understand me?’ And then the mad longing took me to make them the sign—such a longing, like women get when they’re going to have a child … the maddest longing, don’t you know, the sort of longing one simply can’t resist. I feel like that sometimes. Don’t you think it’s silly? I believe we have the souls of monkeys, we women. I’ve been told (it was a doctor who told me) that the brain of a monkey is very like ours. We must always be imitating someone. We imitate our husbands, when we love them, during the honeymoon, and then after that our lovers, our friends, our confessors if we like them. We adopt their manner of thinking, their manner of speaking, their words, their gestures, everything about them. It’s silly.
“Well, when I’m too strongly tempted to do a thing, I always do it.
“So I said to myself: ‘Now, I’ll try it on one of them, just one, to see what happens. What can happen to me? Nothing! We shall exchange a smile, and that’s all, and I shall never see him again, and if I see him I shan’t recognise him, and if he recognises me I shall disclaim any acquaintance, and there you are.’
“So I began choosing. I wanted a really good one, a very good one. All at once I saw a tall fair man coming, a very beautiful young man. I love fair men, don’t you know.”
“I looked at him. He looked at me. I smiled, he smiled; I made the right gesture, oh, ever so little, the least little movement; he nodded ‘Yes’ and—what do you think?—in he came, my dear! He came in by the front door of the house.
“You can imagine what my thoughts were at that moment! I thought I should go off my head. Oh, I was terrified! Think of it, he must be speaking to the servant. To Joseph, who is devoted to my husband. Joseph would certainly have believed that I had known this gentleman for a long time.
“What could I do? What could I say? What could I do? He would be ringing in a minute, this very minute. What could I do or say? I thought that the best thing would be to run and meet him, to tell him that he was making a mistake and beg him to go away. He would take pity on a woman, a helpless woman. I flung myself at the door and I opened it just as he put his hand on the bell.
“Utterly distracted, I stammered: ‘Go away, sir, go away, you are making a mistake. I am a good woman, a married woman. It’s a mistake, a frightful mistake; I took you for a friend of mine who is very like you. Let me alone, sir.’
“And—what do you think, my dear?—he burst out laughing and answered: ‘Good afternoon, dearie. I know all about your little tale, you know. You’re married, and it will be two louis instead of one. You shall have them. Now show me the way.’
“And he pushed me aside, he shut the door and as I stood in front of him, absolutely terrified, he kissed me, put his arm round me and led me back into the drawing room, the door of which was standing open.
“And then he began to look round him as if he had come to value the place, and he went on: ‘Damn it, you’ve a charming place here, it’s very smart. You must be in a bad way just now to play the window game.’
“And then I began to implore him again: ‘Oh, sir, go away! Go away! My husband will be coming in! He’ll be in any moment, it’s his time. I assure you you’re making a mistake.’
“He answered calmly: ‘Now, my dear girl, that’s enough of that. If your husband comes in, I’ll give him five francs to go and stand himself a drink across the road.’
“He saw a photograph of Raoul on the mantelpiece and asked:
“ ‘Is that your … your husband?’
“ ‘Yes, that’s he.’
“ ‘He’s got a face on him, hasn’t he! And who’s this? One of your friends?’
“It was your photograph, my dear, you know, the one in evening dress. I didn’t know what I was saying by this time, and I stammered:
“ ‘Yes, it’s a friend of mine.’
“ ‘She’s very charming. You must introduce me to her.’
“And the clock was just going to strike five; and Raoul was in every day at half past five. If he came back before the other man had gone, think of it! Then … then … I lost my head … altogether. … I thought … I thought … that … that the best thing to do was to … to … to … get rid of this man as … as quickly as possible. … The sooner it was finished … you understand … and … and so … so … since it had to be done … and it did have to be done, my dear … he wouldn’t go away without … so I … I … I locked the drawing room door. … There.”
The little Marquise of Rennedon had begun to laugh; she laughed uncontrollably, her head buried in the pillow, shaking the whole bed.
When she was a little quieter, she demanded:
“And … and … he was a handsome young man?”
“He was.”
“And you’re dissatisfied?”
“But … but … don’t you see, my dear? … he … he said … he would come back tomorrow at the same time … and I’m … I’m dreadfully afraid. … You’ve no idea how insistent he is … and headstrong. … What shall I do … or say? … What shall I do?”
The little Marquise sat up in bed to consider the problem; then she said decisively:
“Have him arrested.”
The little Baroness was thunderstruck. She stammered:
“What? What do you say? What are you thinking about? Have him arrested? On what pretext?”
“Oh, it’s quite simple. You go to the police; you’ll tell them that a gentleman has been following you for three months; that he had the insolence to force his way into your home yesterday; that he has threatened to make another visit tomorrow, and that you demand the protection of the law. They’ll give you two officers who’ll arrest him.”
“But, my dear, suppose he tells. …”
“But no one will believe him, idiot, when once you’ve told your tale to the police. They’ll believe you, because you’re a woman of the world and above suspicion.”
“Oh, I’ll never dare do it.”
“You must, my dear, or you’re ruined.”
“Remember that he will … that he will insult me … when they arrest him.”
“Well, you’ll have witnesses and you can get him sentenced.”
“Sentenced to what?”
“To pay damages. You’ve got to be quite ruthless in an affair like this.”
“Oh, talking of damages … there’s one dreadfully annoying thing … dreadfully annoying. … He left me … two louis … on the mantelpiece.
“Two louis?”
“Yes.”
“No more than that?”
“No.”
“It isn’t much. I’d have felt humiliated. Well?”
“Well! What ought I to do with the money?”
The little Marquise hesitated a moment, then answered gravely:
“My dear … you must … you must make your husband a little present … it’s only fair.”