The Seven Cardinal Sins: Envy and Indolence

"Never?" exclaimed Valentine's husband, so completely stupefied that M. de Luceval gazed at him in astonishment, and said:

"So, as I remarked a short time ago, there must be some mistake in regard to the name, as you tell me that your wife visits my wife every day."

M. d'Infreville's face had become livid. Big drops of sweat stood out upon his forehead, and a bitter smile contracted his bluish lips, but controlling himself, – for he was resolved to act the part of a gentleman in the presence of this stranger, – he responded in a sardonic tone:

"Fortunately, all this is between husbands, my dear sir; and we ought to feel a little compassion for each other, for, after all, each has his turn at it, as one never knows what may happen."

"What do you mean, monsieur?"

"Ah, my vague distrust was only too well founded," murmured M. d'Infreville, in a sort of sullen rage. "Why did I not discover the truth sooner? Oh, these women, these miserable women!"

"Once more, may I beg you to explain, monsieur."

"You are an honourable man, monsieur," replied M. d'Infreville, in an almost solemn tone, "and I trust to your loyalty, sure that you will not refuse to aid me in my efforts to ferret out and punish an infamous crime, for now I understand everything. Oh, these women, these women!"

M. de Luceval, fearing his companion's exclamations would attract the attention of several persons who were sitting a little distance from them, was endeavouring to calm him, when it so chanced that he caught sight of the footman Florence had sent out to mail her letter.

Seeing this man sauntering along with a letter which had, doubtless, been written by Florence immediately after the lively altercation with her husband, M. de Luceval, yielding to an almost irresistible impulse, called the servant to him, and asked:

"Where are you going?"

"I am going to buy some violets for madame la marquise, and post this letter," he replied, showing the missive to his master as he spoke.

That gentleman took it, and could not repress a movement of surprise as his eye fell upon the address, then, recovering himself, he dismissed the servant by a gesture, saying at the same time:

"You can go. I will take charge of the letter."

The footman having taken his departure, M. de Luceval turned to Valentine's husband, and remarked:

"A strange presentiment, but one which did not deceive me, I find, impelled me to secure this letter. It proves to be one which my wife has written to Madame d'Infreville."

"Why, in that case, my wife and your wife must at least keep up a correspondence," exclaimed Valentine's husband, more hopefully.

"True, but I discover this fact to-day for the first time, monsieur."

"Monsieur, I implore you, I adjure you, to open this letter. It is addressed to my wife. I will assume the whole responsibility."

"Here is the letter; read it, monsieur," responded M. de Luceval, quite as eager to know the contents of the missive as M. d'Infreville.

The latter gentleman, after hastily perusing the note, exclaimed:

"Read it, monsieur. It is surely enough to drive one mad, for in this letter your wife reminds my wife of the delightful day they spent together yesterday, as well as last Wednesday, and begs her to come again on Sunday."

"And I assure you, upon my word of honour, monsieur," responded M. de Luceval, after having perused the note in his turn, "that yesterday my wife did not get up until noon, that about three o'clock, I, with no little difficulty, succeeded in persuading her to take a drive with me. We returned a short time before dinner, and after dinner two friends of ours spent the evening with us. As regards Wednesday, I remember perfectly that I was in and out of my wife's room a number of times, and I again assure you, upon my word of honour, that Madame d'Infreville did not spend the day at our house."

"Then, how do you explain this letter, monsieur?"

"I do not explain it, monsieur. I merely confine myself to a plain statement of the facts of the case. I am as much interested in clearing up this mystery as you can possibly be."

"Oh, I will have my revenge!" exclaimed M. d'Infreville, his long repressed rage bursting forth at last. "I can doubt no longer now. The discovery that my wife has been absenting herself from home for days at a time naturally aroused my suspicions. I inquired the cause of these frequent and prolonged absences; she replied that she often went to spend the day with a former schoolmate, named Madame de Luceval. The name was so widely known and respected, the excuse so plausible, my wife's manner so sincere, that I, like a fool, believed her. Now, I know that it was an instinctive distrust that impelled me to seek you out. You see what I have discovered. Oh, the infamous wretch!"

"Be calm, I beg of you," entreated M. de Luceval, "your excited manner is attracting attention. Let us take a cab, and drive to my house at once, monsieur, for this mystery must be cleared up. I shudder to think that my wife, impelled by a desire to protect her friend, has consented to become an accomplice in a shameful deception. Come, monsieur, come. I count upon you, and you, in turn, can count upon me. It is the duty of all honest men to aid and sustain each other under such distressing circumstances. Justice must be done, and the guilty must be punished."

"Yes, yes. I will have my revenge! You may be sure I will have my revenge!"

He was trembling with rage, and his excitement increased his weakness to such an extent that he was obliged to lean heavily upon his companion's supporting arm to reach the carriage.

It was about an hour after this chance meeting of the two gentlemen that Florence received the note from her husband announcing that he would not dine at home that day.

So while this matrimonial storm is becoming more and more threatening, we will return to the two ladies who were left alone together after the departure of the maid who had brought M. de Luceval's note.

CHAPTER IV

THE CONFESSION

THE maid had no sooner quitted the apartment than Madame d'Infreville said to her friend:

"You proposed I should spend the rest of the day here, my dear Florence, and I accept your offer, so as to give a semblance of truth to my falsehood in case there should be any trouble."

"But my letter?"

"It will be supposed that the letter and I passed each other on the way, and that I reached here after the missive was sent."

"True."

"And now, my dear friend, grant me your indulgence, and perhaps, too, your compassion, while I tell you the rest of my sad story."

"Compassion, indulgence! Surely you feel that you can count upon both, my poor Valentine! But go on. I am listening."

"I have never told you that the windows of my bedroom, which is in the second story of M. d'Infreville's house, overlook a small garden which belongs to the ground floor of the adjoining house. About three months before I discovered that my husband had a mistress, and while he was still in a precarious state of health, the garden, as well as the apartments I speak of, – which had been vacant for a long time, – underwent numerous changes. I spent most of my time at home, my husband's ill health preventing me from going out at all. It was the beginning of summer. In order that I might enjoy more privacy when M. d'Infreville did not need my care, I often retired to my own room, and sewed or embroidered by the open window. The weather was delightful, and I began to notice with great interest the extensive improvements that were being made in the neighbouring garden. As I said a moment ago, they were peculiar changes, but they indicated so much originality, as well as good taste, that my curiosity gradually became much excited, especially as I saw all these changes effected without ever catching a glimpse of the new inmate of the neighbouring rez-de-chaussée. It was interesting to watch the transformation of this rather neglected, commonplace garden into a place of ravishing beauty. A conservatory filled with rare plants, and communicating with one of the rooms, was built along the south wall; the opposite wall was concealed from view by a grotto built of large rocks intermingled with shrubbery. A tiny waterfall trickled down one side of this rocky grotto into a big basin below, diffusing a refreshing coolness around; and finally, a sort of rustic summer-house, roofed with thatch and divided into arches, was constructed against the other side of the wall which enclosed this garden, which was soon so filled with flowers that, seen from my window, it resembled one gigantic bouquet. You will understand presently why I enter into these details."

"But this ravishing spot in the heart of Paris was a veritable paradise!"

"It was, indeed, a charming spot. A gilded aviary, filled with magnificent birds, was placed in the middle of the grass plot, and a sort of veranda or broad covered gallery was built in front of the windows, and furnished with rattan couches, Turkish divans, and costly rugs. A piano, too, was placed there, and this broad piazza, protected by Venetian blinds during the day, if necessary, made a delightfully cool and shady retreat in summer."

"Really, it seems to be a tale from the Arabian Nights that I am listening to! What a clever person it must have been who could gather together so many marvels of good taste and comfort in so small a space. But did the originator never show himself?"

"He did not appear until after all these arrangements had been completed."

"But hadn't you endeavoured to find out who this mysterious neighbour was? I confess that I couldn't have resisted the temptation to do so."

Valentine smiled sadly as she replied:

"It so happened that the sister of M. d'Infreville's steward was my mysterious neighbour's only servant. Informed by her brother, this woman had told her employer of this apartment and garden. One day, my curiosity so far got the better of me that I asked our steward if he knew who had just leased the ground floor in the next house, and he told me several things that excited my curiosity still more."

"Indeed, and what were these things, my dear Valentine?"

"He said that this new neighbour was the best and most generous-hearted man in the world, – for instance, when, after the death of an uncle who left him quite a handsome fortune, he wanted to hire several servants, and live in a rather more luxurious fashion, this same old woman whom I have spoken of, and who used to be his nurse, told him, with tears in her eyes, that she could not endure the thought of seeing other servants in his house. In vain he promised her that she should have authority over them all, act as a sort of confidential servant or housekeeper in short, but she would not listen to him. In his kindness of heart, he did not insist, so, in spite of his newly acquired wealth, he kept in his service only this old servant. This may seem a trivial incident to you, my dear Florence, but – "