For a Night of Love (10 page)

‘My daughter, why don’t you defend yourself? Could your husband be telling the truth? Could you have kept this one last grief in store for my old age?… The affront would then be for me too; for in a family, the wrongdoing of a single member is enough to sully all the others.’

Then she made a gesture of impatience. Her father was certainly taking his time to accuse her! For a moment longer, she put up with his questioning, wanting to spare him the shame of a quarrel. But, as he in turn lost his temper, seeing her mute and provocative, she finally said, ‘Oh come on, Father, let this man play his role… You don’t know him. Don’t force me to speak, out of respect for you.’

‘He is your husband,’ resumed the old man. ‘He is the father of your child.’

Flavie had drawn herself to her full height, quivering.

‘No, no, he is not the father of my child… It’s time I told you everything. This man isn’t even a seducer, for that at least would have been an excuse, if he had loved me. This man simply sold himself and consented to cover for another man’s wrongdoing.’

The Baron turned to Nantas who, whey-faced, was shrinking back.

‘Listen, Father!’ continued Flavie more forcefully, ‘he sold himself, sold himself for money… I have never loved him, he has never so much as laid a finger on me… I wanted to spare you a great grief, I bought his services so he’d lie to you… Look at him, see if I’m telling the truth.’

Nantas was hiding his face in his hands.

‘And today,’ the young woman continued, ‘he comes telling me he even expects me to love him… He fell to his knees and burst into tears. All an act, I’m sure. Forgive me for having deceived you, Father; but do I really belong to that man?… Now that you know everything, take me away. He assaulted me just now, I’m not staying here a moment longer.’

The Baron straightened up his bent figure. And in silence he went over and gave his arm to his daughter. Together they crossed the room, without Nantas making a move to hold them back. Then, at the door, the old man deigned to say simply, ‘Goodbye, monsieur.’

The door had closed. Nantas was left alone, crushed, looking wildly at the emptiness all around him. As Germain had just entered and placed a letter on his desk, he opened it mechanically and ran his eyes over it. This letter, entirely handwritten by the Emperor, was offering him, in the most flattering terms, the finance ministry. He barely understood. The realisation of all his ambitions no longer affected him. On
the cash desks next door, the clink of gold had grown louder; it was the hour at which Nantas’ business house hummed with activity, setting a whole world in motion. And he, in the midst of this colossal labour that was all his creation, at the pinnacle of his power, his eyes gazing stupefied at the Emperor’s handwriting, wailed like a child, as if to revoke all he had so far lived through and achieved.

‘I’m so unhappy… I’m so unhappy…’

He wept, his head resting on his desk, and his hot tears blotted out the letter appointing him minister.

In the eighteen months since Nantas had been appointed finance minister, he seemed to have distracted himself from his sorrows through a superhuman amount of work. The day after the violent scene that had taken place in his study, he had had an interview with Baron Danvilliers; and, on her father’s advice, Flavie had agreed to return to the conjugal home. But husband and wife were no longer speaking to each other, apart from the charade they had to put on in society. Nantas had decided that he would not leave his residence. In the evening he would bring his secretaries with him and carry out his tasks at home.

This was the period in his life when he achieved the greatest things. A voice repeatedly inspired him with lofty and fertile ideas. Wherever he went, a murmur of liking and admiration greeted him. But he remained indifferent to all praise. He gave the impression of labouring without hope of any reward, with the intention of amassing his achievements in sole view of attempting the impossible. Each time he rose higher, he scrutinised Flavie’s face. Was she touched, at last? Did she forgive him his former infamy, seeing only how much his
intelligence had developed? And still he could detect no sign of emotion on that woman’s mute face, and he told himself, as he settled back down to his work, ‘Come on! I’m still not high enough for her, I have to rise even higher, rise without
stopping
.’ He intended to win through to happiness by sheer strength, just as it was by strength that he had made his fortune. All his belief in his own strength came back to him, he refused to accept that there was any other lever in this world, since it is the desire for life which has made humanity what it is. When at times he fell prey to despondency, he would lock himself away so no one would suspect the weaknesses of his flesh. His struggles could be surmised only from his increasingly deep-set, dark-rimmed eyes, in which an intense flame was burning.

He was now consumed by jealousy. To have failed to make Flavie love him was torture; but he was enraged and
maddened
at the thought that she could give herself to another man. To assert her freedom, she was capable of showing herself in public with M. des Fondettes. So he affected to take no notice of her, while in fact enduring agonies of anguish at her slightest absence. If he had not been afraid of appearing ridiculous, he would have followed her along the streets himself. It was then that the idea came to him of having her shadowed by a person whose loyalty he would buy.

Mlle Chuin had been kept on in the house. The Baron was used to her. In any case, she knew too much for them to get rid of her. The old maid had briefly planned to retire with the twenty thousand francs that Nantas had allotted her, the day after his wedding. But doubtless she had told herself that the house was a place in whose murky waters it might be profitable for her to fish. So she was on the lookout for a new opportunity, having calculated that she still needed twenty
thousand francs or so, if she wanted to buy, back in Roinville, where she came from, the lawyer’s house that she had so admired in her youth.

Nantas did not need to stand on ceremony with this old maid, whose expressions of sugary piety could no longer fool him. Still, on the morning he summoned her into his study and openly proposed that she keep him informed of his wife’s least activities, she pretended to protest, asking him whom he took her for.

‘Oh come now, mademoiselle,’ he said impatiently, ‘I’m a busy man, I’ve got people waiting. Let’s not beat about the bush, please.’

But she refused to listen to another word, unless he respected certain proprieties. She was a woman of principle who thought that things are not fair or foul in themselves, but become so depending on how they are presented.

‘Very well,’ he continued, ‘it’s a good deed that I have in mind, mademoiselle… I am afraid my wife may be hiding some anxieties from me. She has been looking sad for several weeks now, and I thought of you as someone who could find out why.’

‘You can count on me,’ she said, with maternal effusiveness. ‘I am devoted to madame, I will do anything for her honour and yours… Starting tomorrow, we’ll keep an eye on her.’

He promised to reward her for her services. At first she was indignant. Then, she cleverly forced him to name a sum: he would give her ten thousand francs, if she could give him formal proof of madame’s good or bad behaviour. Little by little, they had eventually managed to come down to specifics.

Thereafter, Nantas tormented himself less. Three months went by, he found himself engrossed in a huge task, the preparation of the budget. In agreement with the Emperor, he
had made important modifications to the financial system. He knew he would be bitterly attacked in the Chamber of Deputies, and it was necessary for him to prepare a
considerable
number of documents. Often he would work all through the night. That deadened his feelings and gave him patience. Whenever he saw Mlle Chuin, he would interrogate her briskly. Did she know anything? Had madame been out visiting a lot? Had she stayed particularly long in certain houses? Mlle Chuin kept a detailed diary. But so far she had picked up only unimportant facts. Nantas was starting to feel reassured, while the old woman sometimes winked, repeating that soon, perhaps, she would have some news.

The truth was that Mlle Chuin had thought long and hard. Ten thousand francs wasn’t going to be enough for her, she needed twenty thousand if she was going to buy the lawyer’s house. At first she had the idea of selling herself to the wife, after selling herself to the husband. But she knew madame, and was afraid she’d be turned out at the first word she uttered. For a long time, even before she had been given this particular task, she had been spying on madame on her own account, telling herself that the vices of the masters can make fortunes for their servants; and she had come up against one of those characters whose honesty is all the more impregnable as it is built on a sense of pride. Flavie’s wrongdoing had left her with a grudge against all men. So Mlle Chuin was starting to despair, when one day she met M. des Fondettes. He questioned her so avidly about her mistress that she suddenly realised that he was madly lusting after her, inflamed by the memory of the minute he had held her in his arms. And her plan was settled: she would serve both the husband and the lover – a scheme of genius, she thought.

Everything, indeed, came together just as she wanted. M. des Fondettes, rejected, deprived of hope, would have given his fortune to possess once more that woman who had been his. He was the first to sound out Mlle Chuin. He saw her again, put on a show of emotion, swearing that he would kill himself if she didn’t help him. At the end of a week, after a great display of sensibility and scruples, the deal was struck: he would give ten thousand francs, and she, one evening, would hide him in Flavie’s room.

In the morning, Mlle Chuin went to see Nantas.

‘What have you found out?’ he asked, turning pale.

But at first she wouldn’t go into details. Madame was certainly having an affair. She was even letting someone come to her apartment.

‘Get to the point, get to the point,’ he repeated, furious with impatience.

‘This evening, he’s going to be in madame’s room.’

‘That’s fine, thank you,’ stammered Nantas.

He gestured her to leave, afraid he might faint in front of her. This brusque dismissal came as a most pleasant surprise to her, as she had been expecting a long interrogation, and she had even prepared her answers in advance, so as not to get confused. She curtseyed, and withdrew, assuming a doleful expression.

Nantas had risen to his feet. As soon as he was by himself, he spoke out loud.

‘This evening… In her room…’

And he held his hands to his skull, as if he had heard it cracking open. This meeting, arranged in the conjugal house, seemed to him a monstrous piece of impudence. He could not let himself be insulted in this way. His wrists were clenched
like those of a wrestler, his rage inspired him with dreams of murder. But he had a piece of work to finish. Three times he sat back down at his desk, and three times his whole body rebelled, forcing him to his feet, while, from behind him, something urged him on, a need to go up immediately to his wife’s apartment and tell her she was a trollop. Finally he mastered himself, he settled back to his task, swearing that he would strangle them that evening. This was the greatest victory he ever won over himself.

That afternoon, Nantas went to the Emperor to submit the final draft of the budget. When the latter put forward a few objections, he went through them with perfect lucidity. But he had to promise to modify a whole section of his work. The bill had to be brought in the following day.

‘Sire, I’ll stay up all night,’ he said.

And, on his way home, he thought, ‘I’ll kill them at midnight, and then I’ll have until daybreak to finish this task.’

That evening, over dinner, Baron Danvilliers talked about this very same draft budget, which was giving rise to a lot of speculation. He did not approve of all his son-in-law’s ideas when it came to financial matters, but he found them
wide-ranging
and quite remarkable. As he was replying to the Baron, Nantas on several occasions thought he caught his wife’s eyes fixed on his. Often, these days, she would gaze at him in this way. Her gaze showed no emotion, she was simply listening to him and seemed to be trying to read what was hidden behind his expression. Nantas thought that she was afraid she had been betrayed. So he made an effort to appear as casual as he could: he talked a great deal, rose to heights of eloquence, and ended up convincing his father-
in-law
, who yielded to his great intelligence. Flavie was still gazing at him; and a scarcely perceptible ripple of softness
had swept momentarily across her face.

Until midnight, Nantas worked in his study. He had gradually become more and more enthralled by his task, nothing else existed but this creation of his, this financial mechanism which he had slowly constructed, cog by cog, in the face of innumerable obstacles. When the clock struck midnight, he instinctively looked up. A deep silence prevailed through the house. Suddenly he remembered: adultery was at large, there in the depths of that shadow and silence. But he found it painful to have to get up out of his chair: he regretfully laid down his pen, took a few steps as if to obey an old desire which he no longer felt. Then his face flushed hot, his eyes glowed with fire. And he went up to his wife’s apartment.

That evening, Flavie had sent her maid away early. She wanted to be alone. Until midnight, she remained in the little salon that led to her bedroom. Stretched out on a love-seat, she had picked up a book; but every minute the book would fall from her hands, and she would daydream, her eyes staring vacantly. Her face had grown softer again, from time to time a pallid smile passed over it.

She sat up with a start. There had been a knock at the door.

‘Who is it?’

‘Open the door,’ replied Nantas.

It was such a great surprise for her that she opened the door automatically. Never before had her husband turned up at her apartment like this. He came in, in a real state; anger had overcome him again as he was climbing the stairs. Mlle Chuin, who had been watching out for him on the landing, had just murmured in his ear that M. des Fondettes had been there for two hours. So he did not mince his words.