At five, I hastened to the Champs-Elysees. "If I meet her," Ithought, "I will put on an indifferent air, and she will be convinced that I no longer think about her."As I turned the corner of the Rue Royale, I saw her pass in her carriage. The meeting was so sudden that I turned pale. I do not know if she saw my emotion; as for me, I was so agitated that Isaw nothing but the carriage.
I did not go any farther in the direction of the Champs-Elysees.
I looked at the advertisements of the theatres, for I had still a chance of seeing her. There was a first night at the Palais Royal. Marguerite was sure to be there. I was at the theatre by seven. The boxes filled one after another, but Marguerite was not there. I left the Palais Royal and went to all the theatres where she was most often to be seen: to the Vaudeville, the Varietes, the Opera Comique. She was nowhere.
Either my letter had troubled her too much for her to care to go to the theatre, or she feared to come across me, and so wished to avoid an explanation. So my vanity was whispering to me on the boulevards, when I met Gaston, who asked me where I had been.
"At the Palais Royal."
"And I at the Opera," said he; "I expected to see you there.""Why?"
"Because Marguerite was there."
"Ah, she was there?"
"Yes.
"Alone?"
"No; with another woman."
"That all?"
"The Comte de G. came to her box for an instant; but she went off with the duke. I expected to see you every moment, for there was a stall at my side which remained empty the whole evening, and Iwas sure you had taken it."
"But why should I go where Marguerite goes?""Because you are her lover, surely!"
"Who told you that?"
"Prudence, whom I met yesterday. I give you my congratulations, my dear fellow; she is a charming mistress, and it isn't everybody who has the chance. Stick to her; she will do you credit."These ****** reflections of Gaston showed me how absurd had been my susceptibilities. If I had only met him the night before and he had spoken to me like that, I should certainly not have written the foolish letter which I had written.
I was on the point of calling on Prudence, and of sending her to tell Marguerite that I wanted to speak to her; but I feared that she would revenge herself on me by saying that she could not see me, and I returned home, after passing through the Rue d'Antin.
Again I asked my porter if there was a letter for me. Nothing!
She is waiting to see if I shall take some fresh step, and if Iretract my letter of to-day, I said to myself as I went to bed;but, seeing that I do not write, she will write to me to-morrow.
That night, more than ever, I reproached myself for what I had done. I was alone, unable to sleep, devoured by restlessness and jealousy, when by simply letting things take their natural course I should have been with Marguerite, hearing the delicious words which I had heard only twice, and which made my ears burn in my solitude.
