M. Marin resumed:
“I suppose you have come to Paris to divert your mind a little?”
The good man replied:
“No, I have some business to attend to.”
“Ali! Is it important business? Might I venture to ask what it is? If I can be of any service to you, you may command me.”
The priest seemed embarrassed. He murmured:
“Oh, it is a little personal matter; a little difficulty with – with my bishop. It would not interest you. It is a matter of internal regulation – an ecclesiastical affair.”
M. Marin was eager.
“But it is precisely the state council that regulates all those things. In that case, make use of me.”
“Yes, monsieur, it is to the council that I am going. You are a thousand times too kind. I have to see M. Lerepere and M. Savon and also perhaps M. Petitpas.”
M. Marin stopped short.
“Why, those are my friends, Monsieur l’Abbe, my best friends, excellent colleagues, charming men. I will speak to them about you, and very highly. Count upon me.”
The cure thanked him, apologizing for troubling him, and stammered out a thousand grateful promises.
M. Marin was enchanted.
“Ah, you may be proud of having made a stroke of luck, Monsieur l’Abbe. You will see – you will see that, thanks to me, your affair will go along swimmingly.”
They reached the council hall. M. Marin took the priest into his office, offered him a chair in front of the fire and sat down himself at his desk and began to write.
“My dear colleague, allow me to recommend to you most highly a venerable and particularly worthy and deserving priest, M. L’Abbe – ”
He stopped and asked:
“Your name, if you please?”
“L’Abbe Ceinture.”
“M. l’Abbe Ceinture, who needs your good office in a little matter which he will communicate to you.
“I am pleased at this incident which gives me an opportunity, my dear colleague – ”
And he finished with the usual compliments.
When he had written the three letters he handed them to his protege, who took his departure with many protestations of gratitude.
M. Marin attended to some business and then went home, passed the day quietly, slept well, woke in a good humor and sent for his newspapers.
The first he opened was a radical sheet. He read:
“OUR CLERGY AND OUR GOVERNMENT OFFICIALS
“We shall never make an end of enumerating the misdeeds of the clergy. A certain priest, named Ceinture, convicted of conspiracy against the present government, accused of base actions to which we will not even allude, suspected besides of being a former Jesuit, metamorphosed into a simple priest, suspended by a bishop for causes that are said to be unmentionable and summoned to Paris to give an explanation of his conduct, has found an ardent defender in the man named Marin, a councillor of state, who was not afraid to give this frocked malefactor the warmest letters of recommendation to all the republican officials, his colleagues.
“We call the, attention of the ministry to the unheard of attitude of this councillor of state – ”
M. Marin bounded out of bed, dressed himself and hastened to his colleague, Petitpas, who said to him:
“How now? You were crazy to recommend to me that old conspirator!”
M. Marin, bewildered, stammered out:
“Why no – you see – I was deceived. He looked such an honest man. He played me a trick – a disgraceful trick! I beg that you will sentence him severely, very severely. I am going to write. Tell me to whom I should write about having him punished. I will go and see the attorney-general and the archbishop of Paris – yes, the archbishop.”
And seating himself abruptly at M. Petitpas’ desk, he wrote:
“Monseigneur, I have the honor to bring to your grace’s notice the fact that I have recently been made a victim of the intrigues and lies of a certain Abbe Ceinture, who imposed on my kind-heartedness.
“Deceived by the representations of this ecclesiastic, I was led – ”
Then, having signed and sealed his letter, he turned to his colleague and exclaimed:
“See here; my dear friend, let this be a warning to you never to recommend any one again.”
THE DOOR
“Bah!” exclaimed Karl Massouligny, “the question of complaisant husbands is a difficult one. I have seen many kinds, and yet I am unable to give an opinion about any of them. I have often tried to determine whether they are blind, weak or clairvoyant. I believe that there are some which belong to each of these categories.
“Let us quickly pass over the blind ones. They cannot rightly be called complaisant, since they do not know, but they are good creatures who cannot see farther than their nose. It is a curious and interesting thing to notice the ease with which men and women can, be deceived. We are taken in by the slightest trick of those who surround us, by our children, our friends, our servants, our tradespeople. Humanity is credulous, and in order to discover deceit in others, we do not display one-tenth the shrewdness which we use when we, in turn, wish to deceive some one else.
“Clairvoyant husbands may be divided into three classes: Those who have some interest, pecuniary, ambitious or otherwise, in their wife’s having love affairs. These ask only to safeguard appearances as much as possible, and they are satisfied.
“Next come those who get angry. What a beautiful novel one could write about them!
“Finally the weak ones! Those who are afraid of scandal.
“There are also those who are powerless, or, rather, tired, who flee from the duties of matrimony through fear of ataxia or apoplexy, who are satisfied to see a friend run these risks.
“But I once met a husband of a rare species, who guarded against the common accident in a strange and witty manner.
“In Paris I had made the acquaintance of an elegant, fashionable couple. The woman, nervous, tall, slender, courted, was supposed to have had many love adventures. She pleased me with her wit, and I believe that I pleased her also. I courted her, a trial courting to which she answered with evident provocations. Soon we got to tender glances, hand pressures, all the little gallantries which precede the final attack.
“Nevertheless, I hesitated. I consider that, as a rule, the majority of society intrigues, however short they may be, are not worth the trouble which they give us and the difficulties which may arise. I therefore mentally compared the advantages and disadvantages which I might expect, and I thought I noticed that the husband suspected me.
“One evening, at a ball, as I was saying tender things to the young woman in a little parlor leading from the big hall where the dancing was going on, I noticed in a mirror the reflection of some one who was watching me. It was he. Our looks met and then I saw him turn his head and walk away.
“I murmured: ‘Your husband is spying on us.’
“She seemed dumbfounded and asked: ‘My husband?’
“‘Yes, he has been watching us for some time:
“‘Nonsense! Are you sure?’
“‘Very sure.’
“‘How strange! He is usually extraordinarily pleasant to all my. friends.’
“‘Perhaps he guessed that I love you!’
“‘Nonsense! You are not the first one to pay attention to me. Every woman who is a little in view drags behind her a herd of admirers.’
“‘Yes. But I love you deeply.’
“‘Admitting that that is true, does a husband ever guess those things?’
“‘Then he is not jealous?’
“‘No-no!’
“She thought for an instant and then continued: ‘No. I do not think that I ever noticed any jealousy on his part.’
“‘Has he never-watched you?’
“‘No. As I said, he is always agreeable to my friends.’
“From that day my courting became much more assiduous. The woman did not please me any more than before, but the probable jealousy of her husband tempted me greatly.
“As for her, I judged her coolly and clearly. She had a certain worldly charm, due to a quick, gay, amiable and superficial mind, but no real, deep attraction. She was, as I have already said, an excitable little being, all on the surface, with rather a showy elegance. How can I explain myself? She was an ornament, not a home.
“One day, after taking dinner with her, her husband said to me, just as I was leaving: ‘My dear friend’ (he now called me ‘friend’), ‘we soon leave for the country. It is a great pleasure to my wife and myself to entertain people whom we like. We would be very pleased to have you spend a month with us. It would be very nice of you to do so.’
“I was dumbfounded, but I accepted.
“A month later I arrived at their estate of Vertcresson, in Touraine. They were waiting for me at the station, five miles from the chateau. There were three of them, she, the husband and a gentleman unknown to me, the Comte de Morterade, to whom I was introduced. He appeared to be delighted to make my acquaintance, and the strangest ideas passed through my mind while we trotted along the beautiful road between two hedges. I was saying to myself: ‘Let’s see, what can this mean? Here is a husband who cannot doubt that his wife and I are on more than friendly terms, and yet he invites me to his house, receives me like an old friend and seems to say: “Go ahead, my friend, the road is clear!”’
“Then I am introduced to a very pleasant gentleman, who seems already to have settled down in the house, and – and who is perhaps trying to get out of it, and who seems as pleased at my arrival as the husband himself.
“Is it some former admirer who wishes to retire? One might think so. But, then, would these two men tacitly have come to one of these infamous little agreements so common in society? And it is proposed to me that I should quietly enter into the pact and carry it out. All hands and arms are held out to me. All doors and hearts are open to me.
“And what about her? An enigma. She cannot be ignorant of everything. However – however – Well, I cannot understand it.
“The dinner was very gay and cordial. On leaving the table the husband and his friend began to play cards, while I went out on the porch to look at the moonlight with madame. She seemed to be greatly affected by nature, and I judged that the moment for my happiness was near. That evening she was really delightful. The country had seemed to make her more tender. Her long, slender waist looked pretty on this stone porch beside a great vase in which grew some flowers. I felt like dragging her out under the trees, throwing myself at her feet and speaking to her words of love.
“Her husband’s voice called ‘Louise!’
“‘Yes, dear.’
“‘You are forgetting the tea.’
“‘I’ll go and see about it, my friend.’
“We returned to the house, and she gave us some tea. When the two men had finished playing cards, they were visibly tired. I had to go to my room. I did not get to sleep till late, and then I slept badly.
“An excursion was decided upon for the following afternoon, and we went in an open carriage to visit some ruins. She and I were in the back of the vehicle and they were opposite us, riding backward. The conversation was sympathetic and agreeable. I am an orphan, and it seemed to me as though I had just found my family, I felt so at home with them.
“Suddenly, as she had stretched out her foot between her husband’s legs, he murmured reproachfully: ‘Louise, please don’t wear out your old shoes yourself. There is no reason for being neater in Paris than in the country.’
“I lowered my eyes. She was indeed wearing worn-out shoes, and I noticed that her stockings were not pulled up tight.
“She had blushed and hidden her foot under her dress. The friend was looking out in the distance with an indifferent and unconcerned look.
“The husband offered me a cigar, which I accepted. For a few days it was impossible for me to be alone with her for two minutes; he was with us everywhere. He was delightful to me, however.
“One morning he came to get me to take a walk before breakfast, and the conversation happened to turn on marriage. I spoke a little about solitude and about how charming life can be made by the affection of a woman. Suddenly he interrupted me, saying: ‘My friend, don’t talk about things you know nothing about. A woman who has no other reason for loving you will not love you long. All the little coquetries which make them so exquisite when they do not definitely belong to us cease as soon as they become ours. And then – the respectable women – that is to say our wives – are – are not – in fact do not understand their profession of wife. Do you understand?’
“He said no more, and I could not guess his thoughts.
“Two days after this conversation he called me to his room quite early, in order to show me a collection of engravings. I sat in an easy chair opposite the big door which separated his apartment from his wife’s, and behind this door I heard some one walking and moving, and I was thinking very little of the engravings, although I kept exclaiming: ‘Oh, charming! delightful! exquisite!’
“He suddenly said: ‘Oh, I have a beautiful specimen in the next room. I’ll go and get it.’
“He ran to the door quickly, and both sides opened as though for a theatrical effect.
“In a large room, all in disorder, in the midst of skirts, collars, waists lying around on the floor, stood a tall, dried-up creature. The lower part of her body was covered with an old, worn-out silk petticoat, which was hanging limply on her shapeless form, and she was standing in front of a mirror brushing some short, sparse blond hairs. Her arms formed two acute angles, and as she turned around in astonishment I saw under a common cotton chemise a regular cemetery of ribs, which were hidden from the public gaze by well-arranged pads.
“The husband uttered a natural exclamation and came back, closing the doors, and said: ‘Gracious! how stupid I am! Oh, how thoughtless! My wife will never forgive me for that!’
“I already felt like thanking him. I left three days later, after cordially shaking hands with the two men and kissing the lady’s fingers. She bade me a cold good-by.”
Karl Massouligny was silent. Some one asked: “But what was the friend?”
“I don’t know – however – however he looked greatly distressed to see me leaving so soon.”
A SALE
The defendants, Cesaire-Isidore Brument and Prosper-Napoleon Cornu, appeared before the Court of Assizes of the Seine-Inferieure, on a charge of attempted murder, by drowning, of Mme. Brument, lawful wife of the first of the aforenamed.
The two prisoners sat side by side on the traditional bench. They were two peasants; the first was small and stout, with short arms, short legs, and a round head with a red pimply face, planted directly on his trunk, which was also round and short, and with apparently no neck. He was a raiser of pigs and lived at Cacheville-la-Goupil, in the district of Criquetot.
Cornu (Prosper-Napoleon) was thin, of medium height, with enormously long arms. His head was on crooked, his jaw awry, and he squinted. A blue blouse, as long as a shirt, hung down to his knees, and his yellow hair, which was scanty and plastered down on his head, gave his face a worn-out, dirty look, a dilapidated look that was frightful. He had been nicknamed “the cure” because he could imitate to perfection the chanting in church, and even the sound of the serpent. This talent attracted to his cafe – for he was a saloon keeper at Criquetot – a great many customers who preferred the “mass at Cornu” to the mass in church.
Mme. Brument, seated on the witness bench, was a thin peasant woman who seemed to be always asleep. She sat there motionless, her hands crossed on her knees, gazing fixedly before her with a stupid expression.
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