suit, who looked much altered and older, and as soon as he saw his old friend, he seized both his hands, and said in a somewhat tired voice: “I have just returned, my dear friend, and I have come to you immediately; I am thoroughly knocked up.”
Then he hesitated in visible embarrassment, and presently said: “I wished to tell you … immediately … that … that affair … you know what I mean … must come to nothing.”
Monsieur de Courville looked at him in stupefaction. “Must come to nothing? … Why?”
“Oh! Do not ask me, please; it would be too painful for me to tell you; but you may rest assured that I am acting like an honourable man. I cannot … I have no right … no right, you understand, to marry this lady, and I will wait until she has gone, to come here again; it would be too painful for me to see her. Goodbye.” And he absolutely ran away.
The whole family deliberated and discussed the matter, surmising a thousand things. The conclusion they came to was, that the Baron’s past life concealed some great mystery, that, perhaps, he had natural children, or some love affair of long standing. At any rate, the matter seemed serious, and so as to avoid any difficult complications, they tactfully informed Madame Vilers of the state of affairs, and she returned home just as much of a widow as she had come.
Three months more passed. One evening, when he had dined rather too well, and was rather unsteady on his legs, Monsieur de Coutelier, while he was smoking his pipe with Monsieur de Courville, said to him:
“You would really pity me, if you only knew how continually I am thinking about your friend.”
But the other, who had been rather vexed at the Baron’s behaviour in the circumstances, told him exactly what he thought of him:
“By Jove, my good friend, when a man has any secrets in his existence, like you have, he does not make advances to a woman, immediately, as you did, for you must surely have foreseen the reason why you had to draw back.”
The Baron left off smoking in some confusion.
“Yes, and no; at any rate, I could not have believed what actually happened.”
Whereupon, Monsieur de Courville lost his patience, and replied:
“One ought to foresee everything.”
But Monsieur de Coutelier replied in a low voice, in case anybody should be listening: “I see that I have hurt your feelings, and will tell you everything, so that you may forgive me. You know that for twenty years I have lived only for sport; I care for nothing else, and think about nothing else. Consequently, when I was on the point of undertaking certain obligations with regard to this lady, I felt some scruples of conscience. Since I have given up the habit of … of love, there! I have not known whether I was still capable of … of … you know what I mean … Just think! It is exactly sixteen years since … I for the last time … you understand what I mean. In this neighbourhood, it is not easy to … you know. And then, I had other things to do. I prefer to use my gun, and so before entering into an engagement before the Mayor and the Priest to … well, I was frightened. I said to myself: ‘Confound it; suppose I missed fire!’ An honourable man always keeps his engagements, and in this case, I was undertaking sacred duties with regard to this lady, and so, to make sure, I decided to go and spend a week in Paris.
“At the end of that time, nothing, absolutely nothing occurred. And it was not for want of trying. I went to the best there was, and they did everything they could. Yes … they certainly did their best! … And yet … they went away with nothing to show … nothing … nothing … I waited … I waited for a fortnight, three weeks, continually hoping. In the restaurants, I ate a number of highly seasoned dishes, which upset my stomach, and … and it was still the same thing … or rather, nothing. You will, therefore, understand, that, in such circumstances, and having assured myself of the fact, the only thing I could do was … was … to withdraw; and I did so.”
Monsieur de Courville had to struggle very hard not to laugh, and he shook hands with the Baron, saying: “I am very sorry for you,” and accompanied him halfway home.
When he got back, and was alone with his wife, he told her everything, nearly choking with laughter; she, however, did not laugh, but listened very attentively, and when her husband had finished, she said, very seriously:
“The Baron is a fool, my dear; he was frightened, that is all. I will write and ask Berthe to come back here as soon as possible.”
And when Monsieur de Courville observed that their friend had made such long and useless attempts, she merely said:
“Nonsense! When a man loves his wife, you know … that sort of thing always comes right in the end.”
And Monsieur de Courville made no reply, as he felt rather embarrassed himself.
The Chair Mender
It was at the end of the dinner opening the hunting season, at the house of Marquis de Bertrans. Eleven hunters, eight young women, and the doctor of the neighbourhood were seated around the large, well-lit table covered with fruits and flowers.
They came to speak of love, and a great discussion arose, the eternal discussion, as to whether one could love truly but once or many times. They cited examples of people who had never had but one serious love; they also cited other examples of others who had loved often, violently. The men, generally, pretended that passion, like a malady, could strike the same person many times, and strike to kill if an obstacle appeared in his path. Although the point of view was not contestable, the women, whose opinion depended upon literature rather than on observation, affirmed that love, true love, great love, could come only once upon a mortal;
