"Well, I did all I could to get her away from you, and I believe you
will be thankful to me later on."
"I owe you a double gratitude," I added, rising, for I was disgusted
with the woman, seeing her take every word I said to her as if it were
serious.
"You are going?"
"Yes."
I had learned enough.
"When shall I be seeing you?"
"Soon. Good-bye."
"Good-bye."
Prudence saw me to the door, and I went back to my own rooms with tears
of rage in my eyes and a desire for vengeance in my heart.
So Marguerite was no different from the others; so the steadfast love
that she had had for me could not resist the desire of returning to
her former life, and the need of having a carriage and plunging into
dissipation. So I said to myself, as I lay awake at night though if I
had reflected as calmly as I professed to I should have seen in this
new and turbulent life of Marguerite the attempt to silence a constant
thought, a ceaseless memory. Unfortunately, evil passion had the upper
hand, and I only sought for some means of avenging myself on the poor
creature. Oh, how petty and vile is man when he is wounded in one of his
narrow passions!
This Olympe whom I had seen was, if not a friend of Marguerite, at all
events the woman with whom she was most often seen since her return to
Paris. She was going to give a ball, and, as I took it for granted that
Marguerite would be there, I tried to get an invitation and succeeded.
When, full of my sorrowful emotions, I arrived at the ball, it was
already very animated. They were dancing, shouting even, and in one of
the quadrilles I perceived Marguerite dancing with the Comte de N., who
seemed proud of showing her off, as if he said to everybody: "This woman
is mine."
I leaned against the mantel-piece just opposite Marguerite and watched
her dancing. Her face changed the moment she caught sight of me. I
saluted her casually with a glance of the eyes and a wave of the hand.
When I reflected that after the ball she would go home, not with me but
with that rich fool, when I thought of what would follow their return,
the blood rose to my face, and I felt the need of doing something to
trouble their relations.
After the contredanse I went up to the mistress of the house, who
displayed for the benefit of her guests a dazzling bosom and magnificent
shoulders. She was beautiful, and, from the point of view of figure,
more beautiful than Marguerite. I realized this fact still more clearly
from certain glances which Marguerite bestowed upon her while I was
talking with her. The man who was the lover of such a woman might well
be as proud as M. de N., and she was beautiful enough to inspire a
passion not less great than that which Marguerite had inspired in me. At
that moment she had no lover. It would not be difficult to become so; it
depended only on showing enough money to attract her attention.