Short Fiction

not happy⁠ ⁠… Mme. de Chantever Getting up. Sir, you insult me. M. de Garelle Eagerly. I implore you to listen to me a moment. I was jealous, very jealous, which proves that I loved you. I beat you, which is a still stronger proof of it, and beat you severely, which proves it up to the hilt. Very well, if you were faithful, and beaten, you have real grounds for complaint, indisputably real, I confess, and⁠ ⁠… Mme. de Chantever Don’t pity me. M. de Garelle What do you mean by that? It can be taken in two ways. Either you mean that you scorn my pity or that it is undeserved. Very well, if the pity of which I acknowledge you to be worthy is undeserved, then the blows⁠ ⁠… the violent blows you have had from me were more than deserved. Mme. de Chantever Take it as you please. M. de Garelle Good, I understand. So, when I was your husband, madame, I was a cuckold. Mme. de Chantever I’m not saying that. M. de Garelle You leave it to be understood. Mme. de Chantever I am leaving it to be understood that I don’t want your pity. M. de Garelle Don’t quibble, confess honestly that I was⁠ ⁠… Mme. de Chantever Don’t say that shameful word, which revolts and disgusts me. M. de Garelle I’ll let you off the word, but you must acknowledge the thing itself. Mme. de Chantever Never, it’s not true. M. de Garelle Then, I pity you with all my heart, and the suggestion I was going to make to you has now no possible justification. Mme. de Chantever What suggestion? M. de Garelle It’s no use telling you about it, since it’s only feasible if you did deceive me. Mme. de Chantever Well, suppose for a moment that I did deceive you. M. de Garelle That’s not sufficient. You must confess it. Mme. de Chantever I confess it. M. de Garelle That’s not sufficient. I must have proof. Mme. de Chantever Smiling. You’re asking too much now. M. de Garelle No, madame. As I have said, I was going to make a very serious suggestion to you, very serious; if I hadn’t intended to do so, I should not have come in search of you like this after what we have done to each other, what you did to me in the first place, and I to you afterwards. This suggestion, which can have the most serious consequences, for us both, is worthless if you did not deceive me. Mme. de Chantever You are an amazing man. But what more do you want? I have deceived you⁠—there. M. de Garelle I must have proof. Mme. de Chantever But what proofs do you want me to give you? I haven’t them on me, or rather I no longer have them. M. de Garelle It doesn’t matter where they are. I must have them. Mme. de Chantever But one can’t keep proof of things of that kind⁠ ⁠… and⁠ ⁠… or, at any rate, of a flagrant délit. After a pause. I think my word ought to be enough for you. M. de Garelle Bowing. Then, you are ready to swear to it. Mme. de Chantever Lifting her hand. I swear it. M. de Garelle Gravely. I believe you, madame. And with whom did you deceive me? Mme. de Chantever Oh, but now you’re asking too much. M. de Garelle It is absolutely necessary that I know his name. Mme. de Chantever It is impossible to give it to you. M. de Garelle Why? Mme. de Chantever Because I am a married woman. M. de Garelle Well? Mme. de Chantever And in the case of a professional secret? M. de Garelle You’re quite right. Mme. de Chantever Besides, it was with M. de Chantever that I deceived you. M. de Garelle That’s not true. Mme. de Chantever Why not? M. de Garelle Because he would not have married you. Mme. de Chantever Insolent creature! And this suggestion?⁠ ⁠… M. de Garelle It’s this. You have just confessed that, thanks to you, I was one of those ridiculous creatures, always regarded as laughingstocks whatever they do⁠—comic if they keep their mouths shut, and more grotesque still if they show their resentment⁠—that people call deceived husbands. Well, madame, it is beyond question that the number of cuts with a riding-whip you received are far from being an adequate compensation for the outrage and the conjugal injury I have experienced by your act, and it is no less beyond question that you owe me a more substantial compensation and a compensation of a different nature, now that I am no longer your husband. Mme. de Chantever You’re losing your senses. What do you mean? M. de Garelle I mean, madame, that you ought to restore to me today the delightful hours you stole from me when I was your husband to offer them to I don’t know whom. Mme. de Chantever You’re mad. M. de Garelle Not at all. Your love belonged to me, didn’t it? Your kisses were owing to me, all your kisses, without exception. Isn’t that so? You diverted a part of them for the benefit of another man. Well, it’s a matter of the utmost importance to me now that restitution should be made, made without any scandal, secret restitution, as free from scandal and as secret as were the shameless thefts. Mme. de Chantever What do you take me for? M. de Garelle For the wife of M. de Chantever. Mme. de Chantever Upon my word, this is too bad. M. de Garelle Pardon me, the man with whom you deceived me must have taken you for the wife of M. de Garelle. It’s only just that my turn should come. What is too bad is to refuse to restore what is legitimately due. Mme. de Chantever And if I said yes⁠ ⁠… you would⁠ ⁠… M. de Garelle Certainly. Mme. de Chantever Then, what purpose would the device have served? M. de Garelle The revival of our love. Mme. de Chantever You never loved me. M. de Garelle I am giving you the strongest possible proof of it, however. Mme. de Chantever In what way? M. de Garelle You ask me in what way. When a man is fool enough to offer himself to a woman first as her husband and then as her lover, it proves that he loves her, or I don’t know anything about love. Mme. de Chantever Oh, don’t let