This etext was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net>
[NOTE: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of thefile for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making anentire meal of them. D.W.]
By ALPHONSE DAUDET
By slow degrees Sidonie sank to her former level, yes, even lower. Fromthe rich, well-considered bourgeoise to which her marriage had raisedher, she descended the ladder to the rank of a mere toy. By dint oftravelling in railway carriages with fantastically dressed courtesans,with their hair worn over their eyes like a terrier's, or falling overthe back 'a la Genevieve de Brabant', she came at last to resemble them.She transformed herself into a blonde for two months, to the unboundedamazement of Rizer, who could not understand how his doll was so changed.As for Georges, all these eccentricities amused him; it seemed to himthat he had ten women in one. He was the real husband, the master of thehouse.
To divert Sidonie's thoughts, he had provided a simulacrum of society forher—his bachelor friends, a few fast tradesmen, almost no women, womenhave too sharp eyes. Madame Dobson was the only friend of Sidonie's sex.
They organized grand dinner-parties, excursions on the water, fireworks.
From day to day Risler's position became more absurd, more distressing.
When he came home in the evening, tired out, shabbily dressed, he must
hurry up to his room to dress.
"We have some people to dinner," his wife would say. "Make haste."
And he would be the last to take his place at the table, after shakinghands all around with his guests, friends of Fromont Jeune, whom hehardly knew by name. Strange to say, the affairs of the factory wereoften discussed at that table, to which Georges brought his acquaintancesfrom the club with the tranquil self-assurance of the gentleman who pays.
"Business breakfasts and dinners!" To Risler's mind that phraseexplained everything: his partner's constant presence, his choice ofguests, and the marvellous gowns worn by Sidonie, who beautified herselfin the interests of the firm. This coquetry on his mistress's part droveFromont Jeune to despair. Day after day he came unexpectedly to take herby surprise, uneasy, suspicious, afraid to leave that perverse anddeceitful character to its own devices for long.
"What in the deuce has become of your husband?"
Pere Gardinois would ask his grand-daughter with a cunning leer. "Whydoesn't he come here oftener?"
Claire apologized for Georges, but his continual neglect began to disturbher. She wept now when she received the little notes, the despatcheswhich arrived daily at the dinner-hour: "Don't expect me to-night, dearlove. I shall not be able to come to Savigny until to-morrow or the dayafter by the night-train."
She ate her dinner sadly, opposite an empty chair, and although she didnot know that she was betrayed, she felt that her husband was becomingaccustomed to living away from her. He was so absent-minded when afamily gathering or some other unavoidable duty detained him at thechateau, so silent concerning what was in his mind. Claire, having nowonly the most distant relations with Sidonie, knew nothing of what wastaking place at Asnieres: but when Georges left her, apparently eager tobe gone, and with smiling face, she tormented her loneliness withunavowed suspicions, a