Ill be fined for 
 
 ng in, OP in any \vay 
 
 ing this book* 
 
 1 be fined one cent 
 *~ch day took is overdue.
 
 *
 
 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 OF CALIF. LIBRARY, LOS ANGELES
 
 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 Selections from the works of 
 
 MARCEL PREVOST 
 
 Translated by 
 
 R. I. BRANDON-VAUV1LLEZ 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 THE MACAULAY COMPANY 
 1910
 
 Copyright, 1910, by 
 Tm MACAULAY COMPANY
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 BROTHER JACK n 
 
 A KIND HEART 18 
 
 AN INTERNATIONAL FLIRTATION 27 
 
 THE ADJUTANT 33 
 
 EXPERIENCE 41 
 
 RECONCILIATION 49 
 
 CONFESSION OF FAITH 64 
 
 HER FAVORITE AUTHOR 73 
 
 EARLY MORNING MAIL 80 
 
 GENEVIEVE'S DIARY 86 
 
 LES YEUX 106 
 
 ONE ROOM OR Two? 114 
 
 A NOVEL OF PASSION 130 
 
 THE GUEST 139 
 
 THE CONNECTING LINK 147 
 
 AFTER THE FALL 154 
 
 A FRIEND 161 
 
 A RIVAL 168 
 
 TESTAMENT 174 
 
 RESPECT 180 
 
 MY FIRST REMORSE 187 
 
 THE HUSBAND OF MADEMOISELLE HEUDIER . . 192 
 
 5 
 
 2131918
 
 SIMPLY WOMEN
 
 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 BROTHER JACK 
 
 (Mon. frere Jacques} 
 
 Madame veuve Laroche-Thiebault 
 To Madame d'Eprun : 
 
 WHAT is happening at Bourges, dear Colette? 
 What is going on amongst our friends? Is our 
 small little set still scandalizing the virtuous bour- 
 geois of Bourges with its madcap doings ? No mat- 
 ter how laboriously we are trying to appear fast 
 and pretending we are living the Parisian life we 
 cannot escape from the fact that we are still in the 
 melancholic town of Bourges, asleep in the shadow 
 of its cathedral. 
 
 I was so very tired of our good old town that, 
 unable to endure it for another minute, I took the 
 express for Paris without saying a word to any one. 
 Long live the freedom of widowhood 1 
 
 However, I will be frank with you being bored 
 was not the only reason why I went away. I had 
 been imprudent enough to grant a rendezvous for 
 the next day at my own house to Captain d'Exiles. 
 
 9
 
 io SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 From a distance it seemed very pleasant, but when 
 it came to the point of doing, why I'd much 
 rather go to hear a sermon. We are all a little 
 like that ! 
 
 As the train was carrying me away towards 
 Paris I found myself laughing like a schoolgirl at 
 the thought of Exiles coming to my house, care- 
 fully perfumed, his hair curled, ready to conquer. 
 I pictured at the same time the mischievous face of 
 my maid Solange saying to him : "Madame begged 
 me to tell the Capitaine that she was very sorry 
 Madame was obliged to go to Paris on important 
 business concerning her brother family affairs 
 you know " 
 
 And I could even hear in imagination the "Sacre 
 nom d " of the captain on his way back to the 
 barracks. 
 
 The company of M. d'Exiles will have a very 
 uncomfortable time for a few days while manoeu- 
 vring. 
 
 Solange's story is partly true. I went to my 
 brother's apartment when I reached Paris, having 
 previously sent him a telegram to expect me at 
 about eleven p. M., and it was about eleven-thirty 
 when I rang his door bell. 
 
 Jack has a very comfortable apartment on 
 the ground floor, Rue des Ecuries d y Artois, 
 which is wonderfully furnished. One per-
 
 BROTHER JACK n 
 
 ceives at once the hand of a woman, perhaps of 
 several. 
 
 Well, Jack was dressing for supper. He was 
 carefully tying his cravat under the supervision of 
 his valet. 
 
 "What the deuce brings you to Paris so sud- 
 denly?" he said to me. 
 
 "Dear Jack," I replied. "Do not scold me! I 
 was bored to death at Bourges." 
 
 "Truly ! Bourges is not very amusing twelve 
 months in the year but you really do not intend to 
 stay here to-night, I hope?" "Yes, for to-night. 
 To-morrow I'll get settled elsewhere." 
 
 Jack seemed very much embarrassed. Evidently 
 my arrival was very inopportune. However, as he 
 is very nice and very fond of his younger sister, he 
 pretended to be pleased. 
 
 "Very well, I'll give the order to have my room 
 prepared for you. I'll go and spend the night with 
 a friend. Only, I am sorry, but I must leave you 
 alone for supper." 
 
 "Oh, Jack! I was so happy. I have just ar- 
 rived, and you are going to leave me !" 
 
 "I cannot have you with me," said he. "I am 
 going where young widows are not allowed." 
 
 His valet had discreetly retired. I went to Jack 
 and smilingly said: 
 
 "You are going to have supper with ladies?"
 
 12 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 "Gentlemen and ladies?" 
 
 "One man only. You do not know him. He is 
 a nobleman I met in Bucharest Count Ildescu." 
 
 "Who are the women?" 
 
 "Lucienne d'Argenson, Fanny Love, and the 
 beautiful Cordoba. I know I am not going to en- 
 joy myself. The women bore me to death. Ildescu 
 is wild to know them, and I am introducing him to 
 all three at once in order to be done with it. He'll 
 leave me in peace after that." 
 
 "Well take me with you !" 
 
 I gave Jack no time to protest, but sat upon his 
 knee, and with much petting explained to him that 
 I, too, felt like Ildescu ; that Bourges was as bad as 
 Bucharest; that like him I was wild to see Fanny 
 Love, Lucienne d'Argenson the beautiful Cor- 
 doba. 
 
 "It is perfectly absurd. Suppose you should be 
 seen?" 
 
 "I'll wear a thick veil until we get in the private 
 dining-room. There will be no danger after that. 
 Neither your friend nor the women know me." 
 
 "They might say awful things." 
 
 "Surely, I am no prude! Well, if they go too 
 far, you can take me away." 
 
 In short, as it was getting near dinner time and 
 as I would not give in, Jack finally consented. It
 
 BROTHER JACK 13 
 
 was agreed that I was to play the role of a friend 
 of Jack's making my debut in Paris. 
 
 I had in my trunk a pretty, stylish evening dress. 
 I put it on. Jack played maid. He was beginning 
 to enter into the zest of the thing. 
 
 "By Jove," he said, when I was ready, "you arc 
 a great deal better looking than the geese we are 
 going to see. Ildescu will lose his head. Be care- 
 ful. He is dangerous." 
 
 The supper was to be served at Joseph's at one 
 o'clock. Fanny Love and the beautiful Cordoba 
 were not able to come until after the theatre, 
 Comte Ildescu was to bring Lucienne d'Argenson. 
 We were the last to arrive and were fifteen minutes 
 late. 
 
 Oh, dear Colette ! you should have seen the look 
 those three women gave me when my brother in- 
 troduced me as Mademoiselle Renee de Chatel- 
 lerault, who had come to Paris to stay. Men never 
 paid me compliments that pleased me as well as the 
 pout from those three pretty faces for they are 
 charming the creatures. 
 
 I was also very much flattered to see the angry 
 flash of their eyes as they realized I was as 
 pretty as they were they criticised my dress. I 
 could hear them making fun of it while 
 Ildescu, already very much smitten, was shower- 
 ing attentions on me. Truly they were
 
 14 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 much better dressed, in better taste and more ele- 
 gantly. 
 
 We sat down at the table. My place was be- 
 tween Ildescu and Mile. d'Argenson. I drank two 
 glasses of champagne as quickly as I could to 
 ease my conscience, after which I felt ready for 
 anything. 
 
 We spoke of the theatres. Fanny Love and the 
 beautiful Cordoba gave us their impressions on 
 contemporary dramatic art. They seemed much 
 better informed and hardly as silly as the women 
 of our aristocratic set. Lucienne d'Argenson gave 
 us sketches on society, upon the life of the mon- 
 dains upon the reduction of revenues. For in- 
 stance, she said: "In two years there will be no 
 more rich people left in Paris," etc. I remembered 
 having heard the same opinion expressed by the 
 wife of the Treasurer. Jack listened gravely and 
 replied accordingly. Ildescu, instead of listening, 
 began to whisper in my ear all sorts of foolish non- 
 sense, quite a different kind from that we hear from 
 the men of our set, meanwhile looking at me admir- 
 ingly. 
 
 "Well," I thought, "this supper is quite proper! 
 Evidently the women do not feel at home with me. 
 They must think I am silly and provincial I am 
 going to make them feel more at ease." 
 
 I drank another glass of champagne and began
 
 BROTHER JACK 15 
 
 telling the pretty adventure you told us so succes9- 
 fully the other night at the colonel's dinner the 
 story of the Confetti Revelateur. Ah, Colette! I 
 wish you could have seen the faces of the three 
 women. They affected not to hear. "Oh," they 
 haughtily whispered when I got through ! Jack, his 
 face quite red, thought it was his duty to apologize 
 for me to his neighbor. "You know she is quite 
 green later on she'll know better." Ildescu was 
 laughing heartily. 
 
 "Ah, very funny! very funny! Most amus- 
 ing ! Most Parisian !" he said. "She is adorable !" 
 and his knee tried to enter into conversation with 
 mine under the table. However, I do not like to 
 have a man take such liberties, especially without 
 my permission, but said to myself : "Evidently the 
 situation demands it. If I show what I feel they 
 will guess at once that I am not what I pretend to 
 be." Suddenly the shrill voice of Fanny Love was 
 heard saying, at the same time striking roughly 
 poor Jack's hand with her fan: 
 
 "Look here ! I'll thank you for not tearing my 
 dress with your feet ! Where do you think you are ? 
 At Chatellerault?" 
 
 "At Chatellerault!" I understood. This was 
 aimed at me directly. 
 
 Supper ended almost in silence. Lucienne and 
 the beautiful Cordoba kept the conversation going.
 
 1 6 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 They spoke about gold mines. At half-past two we 
 left the restaurant. The three women bade me 
 good-by in a very stiff way. Cabs were ready. 
 Ildescu wanted to come with me. 
 
 "Hold on, my dear," said Jack, "I am going to 
 see madame home." 
 
 Poor Roumanian comte. He looked so sad that 
 I allowed him to squeeze my hands as we parted. 
 
 Once alone in Jack's coupe I angrily said to him: 
 
 "You cannot make me believe that your suppers 
 are always like this one! You call that having n, 
 good time! You must have told them who I am. 
 It is outrageous ! If you hadn't I would have had 
 such a good time !" 
 
 "I give you my word of honor," said Jack, "that 
 all our suppers are like this one. From time to 
 time some one quarrels. Some one has hysterics. 
 That's the most interesting part otherwise they 
 are just like this one. Not very amusing, are they, 
 but we must pass away the evening." 
 
 "Surely they are not always as proper, the 
 women? I suppose that in the privacy of " 
 
 "Ah," replied Jack, smiling, "truly in the in- 
 timacy of it is quite different. However, intimacy 
 for them means work work for which they are 
 paid. They will not work for nothing when it is 
 time for them to rest. Love, you see, for such 
 women is their stock in trade."
 
 BROTHER JACK 17 
 
 This last remark of my brother was not without 
 depth. I meditated over it after I retired and you 
 may be sure, dear Colette, that my meditations 
 were extremely moral. Really, it is anything but 
 funny to be compelled to make love to any one, say 
 for instance like Ildescu, with whom you have had 
 supper. 
 
 Poor women ! To think we envy their apparently 
 gay life. How well I understand now their de- 
 sire to play the part of being good and proper for 
 a change, just as we sometimes pretend we are all 
 cocottes whenever we have the leisure. 
 
 I shall be back home on Tuesday next. Do an- 
 nounce my arrival to the captain. He is much pre- 
 ferable to the Roumanian. I want to tell you that 
 I found while looking over the personals in the 
 morning paper the following : 
 
 "Young man; rich; who dined with a delicious 
 woman from Chautellerault, is dying to see her 
 again I." 
 
 "I" is Ildescu. 
 
 Of the four of us, Fanny Love, Cordoba, d'Ar- 
 genson and myself, I, the amateur, had won Il- 
 descu.
 
 A KIND HEART 
 
 (Bon Cceur) 
 
 Rue Rembrant, on the first floor of a very pretty 
 house near the pare Monceau. Here is a tableau 
 lighted by the softer sun of the last days in Sep- 
 tember. 
 
 Time, 1 1 a. m. 
 
 MONSIEUR LAMBERT-DESNOYERS, President of 
 the P. L. M. Railroad, is seated reading his mail. 
 He is about fifty years old, but looks younger, 
 thanks to the progess of modern chemistry. 
 
 MADEMOISELLE NINA NINON, a young vaude- 
 ville actress, looking very pretty in her laces, is 
 glancing over his shoulder, as he reads. 
 
 MADEMOISELLE NINA NINON. What kind of 
 writing is this ? A woman's ? 
 
 MONSIEUR LAMBERT-DESNOYER. It is. (Keeps 
 on reading.) 
 
 MADEMOISELLE NINA NINON (striking a dig- 
 nified attitude suggesting jealousy) . And you have 
 the nerve to read letters from women in my house ! 
 before me I Give me that letter ! 
 
 MONSIEUR LAMBERT-DESNOYERS (calmly). 
 You want it very much ? 
 
 18
 
 A KIND HEART 19 
 
 MADEMOISELLE NINA NINON. Give me that 
 letter ! 
 
 MONSIEUR LAMBERT-DESNOYERS. I beg you 
 to remember that I have never asked you to show 
 me your correspondence. 
 
 MADEMOISELLE NINA NINON. It isn't the 
 same thing I do not receive letters from women 
 (with authority) . Give me that letter ! Quick! 
 
 MONSIEUR LAMBERT-DESNOYERS (giving her 
 the letter}. Here it is. (He looks at Mademoi- 
 selle Nina Ninon with an ironical smile as she reads 
 the letter] . 
 
 MADEMOISELLE NINA NINON (interrupting 
 her reading by exclamations] . "My darling : (Oh! 
 scandalizing] my darling I have been thinking 
 about you a great deal during the last few days, 
 and I am very sorry that you should have to re- 
 main in Paris. ( Yon know you can go away if 
 you are bored ) sh should have to remain in 
 Paris We are having delightful weather here 
 (where is that? Here. Oh, I see, Houlgate, Villa 
 des Oeillets] and we never let a day pass without 
 a ride or a picnic. In spite of all this I should be 
 very sad away from you, if I did not have the chil- 
 dren. ( The children, how absurd! It's from your 
 wife.} Louise has not been very well. I think she 
 played too long on the sand beach. As for Maxime, 
 he is very well. He fights with all the little boys
 
 20 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 and usually comes out victorious, but you have no 
 idea in what condition his clothes usually are! 
 (Nina Ninon reads on very seriously without inter- 
 ruption.) Almost all our friends have gone away. 
 Only the Boues are left and they are very kind to 
 me. Fraulein is teaching me German. It fills up 
 the time that is not taken up by the children. How- 
 ever, the days would not be so long if I heard from 
 you oftener. I do not wish to complain, but I do 
 worry when a week passes without a letter from 
 you. Will you not try to steal away a few minutes 
 from your work, and if you are not too tired, write 
 to me, if only two words, telling me you are well 
 and love me ? 
 
 "I shall write every day as usual, regretting only 
 that my letters are not more entertaining, but my 
 life is so quiet here I shall see you soon again, 
 sweetheart. The little ones send their love and I 
 the best tenderness of my heart. 
 
 "MARIE." 
 
 (Mademoiselle Nina Ninon having finished her 
 reading, remains a moment very thoughtful, the let- 
 ter still in her hand.) 
 
 MADEMOISELLE NINA NINON. How old is 
 your wife? 
 
 MONSIEUR LAMBERT-DESNOYERS. Thirty-one. 
 
 MADEMOISELLE NINA NINON. How long have 
 you been married?
 
 A KIND HEART 21 
 
 MONSIEUR LAMBERT-DESNOYERS. Eight years. 
 (Silence.) 
 
 MADEMOISELLE NINA NINON. Is she pretty? 
 (Monsieur Lambert considers a minute.} If she 
 is not pretty, why did you marry her? For her 
 money? (Silence.} How mercenary men are! 
 And she loves you, too, poor woman. Her letter 
 is awfully nice (Silence.} Why do you deceive 
 her? 
 
 MONSIEUR LAMBERT-DESNOYERS (smiling}. 
 Look at yourself in the mirror. 
 
 MADEMOISELLE NINA NINON. No compli- 
 ments, I beg of you if I am a pretty blonde ; if I 
 have to sing idiotic things I needn't be silly. On 
 the contrary, I think a great deal and I observe 
 I see well I do understand a great many things. 
 I could write a novel about men. 
 
 (Monsieur Lambert-Desnoyers smiles.} 
 
 Why do you laugh? Certainly I could write a 
 novel and I could write it about men. 
 
 MONSIEUR LAMBERT-DESNOYERS. I didn't say 
 you couldn't what are you driving at? 
 
 MADEMOISELLE NINA NINON (thinking). 
 What am I driving at? Men are not very won- 
 derful after all your wife is twenty years younger 
 than you. She positively adores you she writes 
 you lovely letters you have two children and you 
 leave them to have a good time in Paris (excit-
 
 22 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 edly] . You are perfectly disgusting, and if your 
 wife were here I should tell her this. Do you hear? 
 I should tell her: "Madame, your husband is dis- 
 gusting." There ! 
 
 (Mademoiselle Nina Ninon, after this tirade, 
 sits down and looks up at Monsieur Lambert-Des- 
 noyers, with the air of an outraged moralist. Still 
 calm he looks at her with a quizzical smile.} 
 
 MADEMOISELLE NINA NINON. Why don't you 
 say something? You sit there like a log. You 
 might at least be polite and answer me 
 
 MONSIEUR LAMBERT-DESNOYERS. But, my 
 dear, I really have nothing to answer. You are 
 right. 
 
 MADEMOISELLE NINA NINON. Ah, you agree 
 with me then? 
 
 MONSIEUR LAMBERT-DESNOYERS. I do agree 
 with you fully. You have convinced me. I know 
 now what there is left for me to do. 
 
 MADEMOISELLE NINA NINON. At last ! 
 
 MONSIEUR LAMBERT-DESNOYERS. I shall take 
 the first train for Houlgate and join my wife and 
 children. It will be hard for me not to see you 
 again, but 
 
 MADEMOISELLE NINA NINON (jumping up}. 
 What! Not see me again ! Are you crazy? 
 
 MONSIEUR LAMBERT-DESNOYERS. Well! my 
 dear you are telling me that I am deceiving my
 
 A KIND HEART 23 
 
 wife and leaving her to herself. I will go home 
 and be what I am not, a faithful husband. That's 
 very simple. 
 
 MADEMOISELLE NINA NINON. In other words, 
 after deceiving your wife, you'll deceive me ! You 
 are a horrible man. Moreover, you have no right 
 to leave me. It would be very cowardly. You 
 know what I gave up for you ! Now I do regret it 
 more than I can say. ( Tears and hysterics 
 Monsieur Lambert-Desnoyers remains calm.} 
 
 MONSIEUR LAMBERT - DESNOYERS. Listen, 
 dear I have no desire to leave you, as you say. I 
 thought you were sending me away because your 
 morals were shocked. Since you have changed 
 your opinion 
 
 MADEMOISELLE NINA NINON (quickly}. I 
 have not changed my opinion. I think that when 
 a man has a wife and children he should be with 
 them. That's all. As long as you are amusing 
 yourself, you had better be doing it with me than 
 some one else, n'est-ce pas? for your own good first 
 and for your wife's also. Heaven knows what 
 kind of woman her husband might have found ! 
 
 MONSIEUR LAMBERT-DESNOYERS. Assuredly, 
 she would be grateful to you if she only knew. 
 
 MADEMOISELLE NINA NINON. Perhaps more 
 than you think! I like the little woman who is 
 studying German and looking after her children at
 
 24 
 
 the seashore while her husband is having a good 
 time in Paris with actresses, and I want you to be 
 nice to her. (Monsieur Lambert-Desnoyers raises 
 his eyebrows.) You needn't go back to Houlgate 
 but begin by answering the letter you received this 
 morning (with authority} immediately. 
 
 MONSIEUR LAMBERT-DESNOYERS. You want 
 me to write a letter? 
 
 MADEMOISELLE NINA NINON. I certainly do. 
 Here is a pen, paper, ink, before you begin. Do 
 you hear? 
 
 MONSIEUR LAMBERT-DESNOYERS.* Are you 
 going to dictate the letter, also? 
 
 MADEMOISELLE NINA NINON. You're laugh- 
 ing? Well, that's precisely what I intend to do. 
 You haven't heart enough to answer decently a let- 
 ter from a woman like your wife, so I shall dictate 
 it. Are you ready? 
 
 MONSIEUR LAMBERT-DESNOYERS. I am ready. 
 
 MADEMOISELLE NINA NINON (dictating}. 
 "My beloved little sweetheart?" (Monsieur Lam- 
 bert-Desnoyers does not write.} Well, what are 
 you waiting for? 
 
 MONSIEUR LAMBERT-DESNOYERS. I warn you 
 that never in my life have I called my wife "My 
 beloved little sweetheart." 
 
 MADEMOISELLE NINA NINON. So much the 
 better it will be a change (Monsieur Lambert-
 
 A KIND HEART 25 
 
 Desnoyers resigns himself and writes) : "I received 
 your letter. It is a jewel. You do well to love the 
 children. Women who have children are very for- 
 tunate." 
 
 MONSIEUR LAMBERT-DESNOYERS. Why in the 
 the deuce do you want me to say such a thing to my 
 wife ? 
 
 MADEMOISELLE NINA NINON. Why? What I 
 am dictating isn't foolish, is it? My dear, I have 
 written many a letter in my life to ambassadors 
 and even to a king once! Go on. (Dictating) 
 "I am obliged to remain in Paris on very 
 important business, but do not be jealous. 
 I do not deceive you." ( To Monsieur Lam- 
 bert-Desnoyers) You understand it is better to 
 say that, so she won't have any suspicion. (Dic- 
 tating) "German is an extremely useful language. 
 It is spoken in Baden-Baden and in Munich." ( To 
 Monsieur Lambert-Desnoyers) I have been in 
 those places and it was a bore not to understand 
 what people said. (A thoughtful moment of 
 silence.) What could we tell her? Well, what 
 you have already written is not bad. It will do 
 very well. Now end with a very affectionate 
 farewell Wait. What is the color of her hair? 
 
 MONSIEUR LAMBERT-DESNOYERS. Rather 
 brown. 
 
 MADEMOISELLE NINA NINON (dictating). "A
 
 26 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 bientot, my darling brunette be good. Do not 
 deceive me. I kiss you any way you choose." 
 
 MONSIEUR LAMBERT-DESNOYERS. Oh 
 
 MADEMOISELLE NINA NINON. Why do you say 
 "Oh !" That is the way all love letters are finished. 
 I can show you more than a hundred letters. Oh, 
 the children, I was forgetting ! Write "Tell the 
 children that I love them very much and that I 
 have bought for them (she thinks) two hundred 
 francs' worth of toys." Now sign the envelope 
 there the address that's right. Well, what 
 are you doing? 
 
 MONSEIUR LAMBERT-DESNOYERS. Well, I am 
 putting the letter in my pocket I'll mail it when 
 I go out. 
 
 MADEMOISELLE NINA NINON. No no. No 
 such thing! It would be like you to forget it 
 purposely or otherwise. (She rings for the maid) 
 Here, Suzanne, mail this letter immediately ! 
 How happy I am ! 
 
 MONSIEUR LAMBERT-DESNOYERS (aside). I 
 would give a great deal to see my wife's face when 
 she reads that letter Oh, well ! 
 
 MADEMOISELLE NINA NINON (tenderly). 
 Now, kiss your darling I did well didn't I? 
 (Interlude kisses. )
 
 AN INTERNATIONAL FLIRTATION 
 
 ^ 
 
 (Fierge Etrangere) 
 
 Miss Ethel Briggs, Villa Belle Rose, Saint Enogat, 
 To M. Robert d'Yriac, 
 
 Villa Chateaubriand, Dinard: 
 
 You left me last night, my dear Robert, after 
 our last waltz at the Casino with an impatient word 
 and ugly look. 
 
 "What sort of woman are you?" you said, for- 
 getting for once that I am not a woman, much less 
 a woman belonging to you, but a young girl, free 
 to do with her heart as she pleases. And after your 
 truly shocking question you left me without waiting 
 for an answer, looking at me, furthermore, angrily 
 out of your beautiful black eyes for you have 
 beautiful eyes I love men with black eyes and ex- 
 pressive eyebrows. 
 
 It annoyed me to have you leave me for the rest 
 of the evening, although your place at my side was 
 immediately taken by M. Derwent in the flirting 
 room. You know him the young Englishman 
 who looks so well in a bathing costume. He is the 
 owner of two large blue eyes baby eyes which 
 make me want to laugh every time I look into them. 
 
 27
 
 28 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 I never care to look at him except at bathing time. 
 I was therefore soon bored and asked papa who 
 by the way was flirting with Mrs. Wilkinson to 
 take me home. 
 
 Once there I stayed a long time on the terrace 
 looking out over the sea, which was then at high 
 tide. My eyes were turned toward Dinard, and I 
 could see by moonlight the pointed gables of your 
 villa outlined against the sky. I thought you were 
 there thinking of me, angry with me. It irritated 
 me. It seemed to me unjust. This young French- 
 man, I thought, although he may have beautiful 
 black eyes and is witty, is nevertheless insufferable. 
 Because it did not suit me this evening to go out on 
 the Casino Terrace, to let him how would you say 
 it caress my arms he sulks, and insolently asks 
 what sort of woman I am and leaves me. Have I 
 been indiscreet with this young man ? Am I differ- 
 ent from other girls? Am I too forbidding for 
 men to flirt with me? 
 
 I assure you, my dear Robert, I was humbly 
 scrutinizing myself and trying to find out as 
 minutely as possible and with much curiosity what 
 sort of a woman I am. 
 
 I will tell you this morning the result of my 
 meditation, so that we may be better friends when 
 we meet this evening to flirt again. For you may 
 well imagine I do not wish to give up a splendid
 
 AN INTERNATIONAL FLIRTATION 29 
 
 flirt like you for a misunderstanding. Is it not nice 
 of me to tell you all this ? With you I am as amia- 
 ble as a French girl would be. 
 
 You are angry with me, dear, because although 
 I appear to be very much in love with you before 
 other people I do not make use of the first oppor- 
 tunity we are alone to throw myself into your arms. 
 I see quite well you hold against me these two 
 things, and that is the reason you ask what sort of 
 woman I may be. I will not let you caress my 
 arms on the Casino Terrace. I have no right to 
 think your eyes are beautiful, and since I do think 
 so, I myst let you caress my arms. Oh ! how very 
 French you are ! 
 
 Listen to me and try to understand what I am 
 going to endeavor to explain, having thought it out 
 for myself, last night, while looking at the sea. I 
 have no desire whatever, my dear Robert, to fall 
 into the arms of any young man, not even yours. I 
 am not interested in such things, at least in doing 
 them, and when I amuse myself by speaking of 
 them, it is always understood that I am not talking 
 about myself. I speak of them as jokes as I would 
 of any other pleasantry and never think of them 
 afterwards. It irritates me and makes me angry 
 to think that Frenchmen, who are such delightful 
 flirts, always reduce flirting to caressing one's arms 
 and doing other shocking things. Myself, my
 
 30 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 arms, my whole body, are something reserved, will- 
 ing to be present at a flirtation, but unwilling to be 
 drawn into it. I permit you to kiss my lips because 
 it is customary, but I do not like it, and you have 
 noticed it. You are angry to hear me say this. 
 Now, listen to something that will please your 
 vanity: Last Monday when we went on an excur- 
 sion to Mount Saint Michel I saw you from my 
 room dressing for dinner, and I thought you had 
 a really fine figure, at least it was as fine as M. 
 Derwent's and I enjoyed looking at you, but I was 
 looking at you as I would have inspected a fine piece 
 of statuary or a picture. Had I looked at you with 
 any other thought in my mind I would have been 
 very much ashamed of myself. 
 
 I know very well what you will say: "Well, 
 where will this lead us ?" You have often said that. 
 It is exactly what a Frenchman would say and it 
 simply shows you know nothing about flirting. 
 Real flirtation leads to flirtation and nothing more. 
 If it led to anything else you know I would have 
 long since forbidden it. You may think flirting is 
 only a means for a young girl to hoodwink proprie- 
 ties. Not at all. It is the means to amuse one's 
 self without shocking Mrs. Grundy. This flirta- 
 tion, begun at Dinard, will be followed by the win- 
 ter flirtation on the Riviera and later on during the 
 season in Paris and London, and so on until one of
 
 AN INTERNATIONAL FLIRTATION 31 
 
 us is tired of it. But neither in London, Paris nor 
 the Riviera will I permit you to kiss my arms unless 
 I should happen to marry you at any one of these 
 places. 
 
 Now, we have come to the great question which 
 must be in your mind, although you have never said 
 anything about it. "Shall we ever marry?" To 
 begin with, I'll tell you this first: The fact that I 
 am richer than you is no obstacle. To have the 
 husband I want I would willingly throw away all 
 the money my father made in Chicago, reserving 
 only enough to enable me to dress well. Marriage 
 
 would allow you, would it not, all I forbid 
 
 you just now. Therefore, I shall have no desire to 
 marry you as long as I dislike having you kiss my 
 lips and caress my arms. However, as soon as I 
 change my mind about these things, it will be abso- 
 lutely necessary for me to marry you. You need 
 not imagine that you must always mention the sub- 
 ject and be proposing every day. On the contrary, 
 as I have told you before, it would be most annoy- 
 ing, and I would hate both you and the idea of 
 marriage. Hence this is what I suggest after hav- 
 ing carefully thought the matter over on my ter- 
 race. 
 
 You will, I know, be very reasonable and flirt 
 nicely with me. You will never ask again to kiss 
 my lips. Your foot will never again seek mine
 
 32 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 underneath the table while sitting next to me at 
 dinner. You will never sulk because I object to 
 your caressing my arms on the Casino Terrace. As 
 a reward I will be with you always. I'll appear 
 to be very much in love with you before other peo- 
 ple. I'll flirt with no one else, not even with M. 
 Derwent who looks so well in his bathing suit. 
 At the same time I'll do my best to fall in love 
 with you and become your wife I had almost 
 succeeded in persuading myself I wanted to marry 
 you while looking at you at Mount Saint Michel, 
 when my maid's coming in to do my hair inter- 
 rupted my thoughts. Who knows? Next time I 
 may succeed in falling in love with you, for there 
 must be in this, as in all other sports, practice. 
 
 Now, my dear Robert, regain your high spirits. 
 Come and shake hands with me to-night at the 
 Casino. There is no one I like quite as well as I 
 do you. Do you not wish me to love you better 
 than any one in the world? It depends upon you. 
 Do through wisdom what the men of my own coun- 
 try do through laziness; that is to say, do not offer 
 yourself so freely, but endeavor to increase my 
 desire for you. Our marriage would be a lovely 
 thing, my dear Robert ! Think of it. It will help 
 you to be patient, and believe me 
 Votre sincerement, 
 
 ETHEL.
 
 THE ADJUTANT 
 (L' Adjutant) 
 
 Madame Vittoria Lanciani 
 
 To Monsieur Georges Brianchot: 
 
 THIS is the eleventh time you have written to me 
 since I have been playing in your city. Your first 
 letter said: 
 
 "This evening I shall be in the third row of the 
 parquet on the right. I shall be recognizable by 
 the uniform of an artillery adjutant. I will wear 
 also a red rose in my buttonhole. 
 
 "One who adores you in silence." 
 
 Indeed I saw you. I cannot say I looked at you 
 very carefully. 'Tis rather dangerous to let one's 
 mind wander while on the stage, but I did notice 
 an officer, quite young and good-looking, wearing 
 a beautiful red rose, seated where you indicated. 
 
 The next day as I came to the theatre for a 
 rehearsal another letter signed by you was handed 
 me, containing four closely written pages, in the 
 most beautiful handwriting I ever saw. You were 
 suffering cruelly, you said, loving me from afar. 
 You must see me, speak to me, spend a few minutes 
 now and then with me nothing more. Oh ! you 
 
 33
 
 34 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 swore upon your honor as a soldier that was all 
 which was needed to make you the happiest adju- 
 tant in the whole army! 
 
 I am sure you must have thought me very unkind 
 or else lacking in good breeding because I did not 
 answer your four pages. What could you expect? 
 I have received so many, many passionate notes of 
 this kind, conveying usually this thought of the 
 writer: They say this actress is capable of doing 
 something rash I am young and have no money. 
 What risks do I run ? Let's try. 
 
 I did not answer you you wrote every day. 
 There must have been some true feeling in those 
 daily letters, for I read them through instead of 
 using them to test my curling iron. Gradually they 
 became less respectful and more passionate you 
 were beginning to let me see you knew why you 
 were not received. "An artillery adjutant is not 
 very much surely especially when not very rich." 
 Then you would add you were worthy of being 
 better treated, you belonged to a very good family 
 rather wealthy that some day you would have 
 a very important position in the town, unless I 
 should prefer your remaining in the army. What 
 was I to answer to that? Tell me! Only one 
 answer was possible containing but five words : "I 
 expect you this evening." As I did not wish to see 
 you, I could not give you such an answer.
 
 THE ADJUTANT 35 
 
 I will tell you why directly. From that time 
 your opinion of me was formed and you discovered 
 it was simply too nai've to show too much sincere 
 passion to a woman like me. In an envelope you 
 enclosed five bank notes of a thousand francs each. 
 (Oh, those five notes! Cold perspiration stood 
 on my face when I found out that they came from 
 you) . With the five thousand francs were the fol- 
 lowing words : 
 
 "Adjutant Brianchot desires to spend to-morrow 
 night with Madame Lanciani. R. S. V. P." 
 
 For an answer the five bank notes were returned 
 to you immediately. As you are a gentleman you 
 realized at once you had done something nasty and 
 insulting. I am not a good woman, maybe, but I 
 am a woman upon whom you had no claim. To 
 this episode I owe your most touching letter, the 
 last one, in which you beg forgiveness. Why did 
 you end it with a threat? " 'Tis well," you say, "I 
 know now that you will never love me. You will 
 even hate me after this. I know what is left for me 
 to do. I will wait until to-morrow night. If by to- 
 morrow night I have no letter saying you will be 
 mine, Tuesday I shall have done away with myself. 
 Adieu, madame, forget and be happy." 
 
 Mon Dieuf I know such threats are often made 
 without any intention of carrying them out. How-
 
 36 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 ever, .sometimes Ah, what a horrible thought ! 
 You are impulsive. I have read your letters. I 
 have seen you so many evenings sitting pale and 
 dejected in your seat. Then, the five thousand 
 francs, enormous sum for a soldier. God knows 
 how you got them. Everything put together 
 frightened me. To your threat you owe this an- 
 swer. 
 
 You ask me to be yours. You do not want to 
 live unless I consent. Truly, child, I cannot be 
 angry with you because you find me to your liking. 
 On the contrary, I am flattered. Do not think that 
 I do not like you. I really do. You look so well 
 that I am certain you are very popular. This will 
 calm your ruffled vanity, I hope, will it not? Now, 
 this desire you feel for me do you not think dur- 
 ing the twenty-five years of stage life many men, 
 young and old, handsome and homely, rich and 
 poor, have told me a similar story almost every 
 evening? not counting afternoons and nights 
 and do not hold it against me if I have come to 
 look upon it this masculine desire as a common, 
 every-day offering, almost without value, merely 
 as the natural result of my personality and reputa- 
 tion. 
 
 I well know that any other actress in my place 
 would have called forth the same desire in men. 
 Ah, I assure you it is not very tempting, nor
 
 THE ADJUTANT 37 
 
 very decent, after a while, especially when one 
 is getting old which is my case. (I have a son 
 nineteen years old.) I see no homage in it rather 
 the opposite. 
 
 You reply: "I love you with my whole soul. I 
 am suffering intensely. I would rather die " 
 
 Nevertheless, if I had spent a night with you 
 for five thousand francs, you would have been sat- 
 isfied and you would no longer have thought of kill- 
 ing yourself. And if I became yours this 
 evening, you would be perfectly willing to al- 
 low me to go to-morrow on my tour in Belgium. 
 I know only too well the violent desire for 
 possession men feel for an actress. They must 
 have her at once. After that they are satisfied. 
 What matters it to them who will take her 
 afterwards or what she may become? No? 
 This is not your case? One moment of pleasure 
 will not satisfy you ? Then, child, I must not even 
 grant you that moment. I may really tell you the 
 truth. It is only the fear of being loved truly and 
 sincerely by you, which causes my refusal to see 
 you. 
 
 I am not a prude, believe me, all the fol- 
 lies of reckless youth, all the sad necessities of 
 my profession have thrown me into so many lovers' 
 arms, that I could be yours without feeling after- 
 wards any less respect for myself than I did before.
 
 38 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 What I am saying hurts you ? So much the better. 
 The pain will cure you. I will not have you love 
 me ! At your age you must only love a very young 
 woman who will be wholly yours, or the woman 
 you will marry. If you should care for me, what 
 do you suppose your future would be ? I could not 
 spend my life in your barracks. You would fol- 
 low me leave the army turn actor or worse, 
 an actress' lover, accompanying her wherever she 
 goes. You rebel That is what awaits you, my 
 dear, and you cannot deny it. 
 
 And pray, what of me, if you become thus 
 part of my luggage, as I have seen done by some 
 unfortunate artists of my age, with young men not 
 as good as you? 
 
 No, I have no illusions. After a few days of 
 folly you would realize all that you had 
 sacrificed for an old woman Yes, old old, old, 
 do you hear? I have been beautiful, but am so no 
 longer. Keep in your heart, child, the picture you 
 have of Mireille and of Marguerite as she ap- 
 peared to you under the rouge, the costumes, the 
 glamour of music and footlights. I should weep to 
 see the painful disillusion in your face were you to 
 see me as I really am, such as fifty years have made 
 me Now, supposing disillusion only came to you 
 after I had been yours? What if I began to love 
 you at the time you wanted to leave me and forget 1
 
 THE ADJUTANT 39 
 
 No, truly, I must not at my age risk such an ad- 
 venture. 
 
 I have no desire to gain the sincere love of a 
 young man having nothing to give in return. I 
 could not hold it. 
 
 Do you realize, at last, that all this is for your 
 own good and that, after all, I might well afford 
 to spend a night with a handsome adjutant? I did 
 consider it an instant. It would have been less 
 trouble than to write this long letter. On second 
 thought, I saw that instead of the feverish hours 
 you dreamed of spending at my side I could give 
 you something better than an old woman's caresses. 
 
 Enclosed in this envelope you will find a portrait 
 of myself taken about fifteen years ago, when I still 
 was, even to my lover, the handsome woman I ap- 
 pear to you on the stage ! Keep it as a proof that 
 I did not disdain the love of a young officer with a 
 red rose. Something written on the back of it will 
 say as much. 
 
 Come, child, be brave. You see I had to have 
 courage to write to you as I did about myself. If. 
 you want to know whence it came, I will tell you. 
 When I received the letter in which you spoke of 
 killing yourself I thought of my own dear boy who 
 will soon be out of college. He, too, will have to 
 enter the army. I pictured him, like you, a soldier 
 in a small town, falling in love with a passing act-
 
 40 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 ress. To kill one's self for so little ! spoil one's 
 life! May God save him from such a fate as a 
 reward for having saved you to-day ! 
 
 Foolish boy! let me kiss you as your mother 
 would 1
 
 EXPERIENCE 
 
 (Experience) 
 
 Madame Ambrus 
 
 To Her Son, Monsieur Jean Ambrus: 
 
 THIS trouble has crushed you, my poor, dear 
 child ; your strength is gone, and as you did when a 
 little boy and were hurt, you seek the shelter of 
 your mother's arms. Dearest, my arms are opened 
 to you and my humble roof is yours whenever you 
 wish to come and live beneath it. No need of your 
 asking leave to do so. Everything I possess is 
 yours. 
 
 However, before burning your bridges behind 
 you, I pray you will think seriously and also allow 
 me to advise you. I am not saying that the thing 
 you want to do so impulsively is not the best thing 
 after all. The matter is so very serious, once your 
 decision is made, it will be irrevocable. You will 
 not be angry with your oFd mother because she tells 
 you not to be too rash. You know she loves you 
 and only wishes what is best for you do you not ? 
 
 I am not taking Leonie's part. What she did 
 was very ugly and was done without the excuse 
 a neglecting and wild husband would have given 
 
 41
 
 42 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 her. You are uprightness itself, and a woman 
 ought to be satisfied with the depth of your charac- 
 ter. Leonie seemed sweet and affectionate and you 
 gave the impression of being happy in your home 
 and suddenly you learn of her meetings with 
 Letexier. 
 
 Here, let me tell you that you were wrong to 
 allow this young man to come so often to your 
 house. I was shocked to see during my last visit to 
 you that Letexier went with you to the theatre, to 
 the country, to dine at the restaurants; in fact, 
 whatever you planned included him. The habits of 
 a bachelor forty years old are never good, believe 
 me. He is apt to be blase and heartless, and in an 
 intimacy like yours his eyes would turn oftener in 
 the direction of your wife than in yours. However, 
 as I saw nothing improper, I said nothing. Why 
 should I alarm you ? To-day I regret having kept 
 silent. 
 
 The thought that Leonie and that man. Ah ! 
 my poor dear ! How dreadfully it has upset me. 
 I am sure that in your grief you called for your 
 mother, too far, alas ! to comfort you ; and at once, 
 impulsively, not wishing to see your unhappy wife, 
 not wishing to be in the same house with her, you 
 went to the hotel, leaving only a note, saying: "I 
 know. Good-by. You will never see me again." 
 As I told you before, I am not saying this was
 
 EXPERIENCE 43 
 
 wrong you obeyed the first call of honor but 
 acknowledge that it was rather imprudent. Your 
 young wife left alone without explanation. Do 
 you know that others might have done the very 
 thing you wanted to avoid? What would then 
 have become of your little girl? Thank God! 
 Leonie acted sensibly, wrote to you, asking to see 
 you, begging for forgiveness. 
 
 I know you are stubborn; you do not change 
 your mind easily. You refused to see her; now 
 when she writes to you, you do not even open her 
 letters. You want to leave Paris, forget you have 
 a wife and a child and come and live with your old 
 mother. You finish your letter by saying: "You 
 cannot blame me for acting as I do, for you have 
 always been a good woman and a saint." 
 
 "A saint," dear, that is too strong. I truly have 
 tried to set you a good example so that your 
 mother might be for you a woman such as you 
 would wish your wife to be. It is a good thing to 
 have a boy think his mother is perfection itself. 
 However, while living as good a life as she can a 
 woman learns to know life's difficulties; she sees 
 much misery around her, even in the homes which 
 seem most happy; some one is sure to confide in 
 her, and, having a heart even though it is only 
 the temptations and faults of others she witnesses, 
 should she herself be fortunate enough not to meet
 
 44 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 with the same fate she learns to be indulgent and 
 charitable. 
 
 That a woman should love some one else after 
 marriage is certainly indiscreet. You would be 
 wrong, however, to think as most men do that 
 because of that love she is necessarily worthless. 
 
 Often, believe me, she loves her husband and 
 her child and would gladly sacrifice everything to 
 them. A lover is the result of an awful accident 
 in her life, although she may see him again and 
 again, like one possessed of a chronic disease, in 
 spite of her remorse and ever-renewed, and never- 
 kept good resolutions. Here let me tell you, I 
 once had a friend I'll tell you about her when I 
 see you. Let us come back to Leonie. 
 
 Come, Jean. Although rightfully indignant at 
 her, you confess to me that the letters that moved 
 you most the first ones were those where "re- 
 morse and sincerity rung truest." 
 
 Dear boy, she was not acting, as you seem to 
 think. Be sure that she now hates the other man 
 and herself as much as you do. Society women 
 may look upon adventures lightly and be amused 
 by them, but we women wisely brought up to dis- 
 like vilaines femmes, it is a terrible thing for us 
 to have forfeited in our own eyes the right to call 
 ourselves good. The friend of whom I was speak- 
 ing to you a little while ago (you did not know her,
 
 EXPERIENCE 45 
 
 or at least, you cannot remember her, for you were 
 too small then), when she suddenly realized that 
 she could no longer call herself a "good woman" 
 nearly went mad. She wanted to break away from 
 her home; kill herself. She had a child. Well, 
 she finally made up her mind to go back and take 
 up the burden of her daily life as though nothing 
 had happened. She was a good woman, I assure 
 you. Do not be irritated because I say she was 
 good. She certainly was, for she suffered cruelly 
 of a fault that no one knew of but herself; sus- 
 pected by no one, losing none of the love her hus- 
 band and child bestowed upon her. 
 
 How such a thing happens in our peaceful ex- 
 istence, my dear, is incomprehensible. 
 
 It happens, I believe, that our modest and sim- 
 ple life, seemingly so full, so attractive, so amusing 
 during the first few years of married life, gradually 
 becomes insufficient to occupy all of one's 
 time and thought; the household is run- 
 ning smoothly, the child has grown up and 
 no longer requires ceaseless attention; one's 
 husband is still in love with one, assur- 
 edly, but is no longer as at first forever 
 thinking of one. Well! something is lacking the 
 days drag on drearily. One does take one's self 
 to task, remonstrate with and demonstrate to one's 
 self that one has everything wished for, that one
 
 46 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 is happy. Reason, however, does not always hold 
 against sentiment. There comes a day when one 
 begins to pity one's self. What? At twenty-eight 
 life has nothing more to offer one? The sweet- 
 ness of it all gone forever? Love, everything, gone 
 never to return ? And yet one would enjoy and ap- 
 preciate it all now so much more than when one 
 was younger. Then one tries to bring back those 
 wonderful years to charm one's husband again, 
 to love him more. He, poor man, his mind on 
 something else, contented with his peaceful home, 
 does not understand; and to one's amazement one 
 finds after a while how irresponsive one's husband 
 is and, very much annoyed, one becomes resentful. 
 
 Now, as all men try to win young women in 
 whose society they are thrown, it is a rare thing 
 that a woman who feels as I just pictured you 
 does not find a man at hand to help her to her 
 downfall. 
 
 Yes, thus it is, as I have observed, that such a 
 thing happens just because the woman wanted to 
 bring back the past years of love and happiness. 
 
 Women are honest in their frailty,and it seems 
 to me they should not be condemned too severely, 
 for they are most unhappy in their misery. If 
 you could have seen my poor friend I was telling 
 you of, if you could have seen how she suffered! 
 How many times she wished that what happened
 
 EXPERIENCE 47 
 
 to Leonie would happen to her in order to be 
 done with lies and deception. 
 
 You see, Jean, I am sure your wife's heart is all 
 right. Mothers, you know, cannot be deceived on 
 that score, when their son's happiness is at stake. 
 I have watched her. She loves you. I may tell 
 you now that Leonie wrote to me since this mis- 
 fortune befell her; she told me everything without 
 trying to excuse herself. She begged me to inter- 
 cede for her. You must not think she loves Letex- 
 ier. Indeed no ! There came a day in the spring 
 when the sun shone too bright; when life went 
 coursing through her veins, when she desired to 
 be loved and petted by you, my son ; yes, by you 
 there came a day when her peaceful existence no 
 longer satisfied her. Then the man who had been 
 watching her stole a desire, an emotion that was 
 intended for you. 
 
 The best way to avenge yourself is to win back 
 your wife. The wrecking of your life, your wife's, 
 and your child's would be too great a price to pay 
 for this mistake. Do you believe me? Will you 
 love me less because I say to you: "Leonie has 
 made a mistake, but I assure you she is a good 
 woman?" 
 
 Surely nothing gives me more pleasure than to 
 hear you say, "Mother, you are a saint." The 
 friend whose suffering I spoke of did not unde-
 
 48 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 ceive her husband and child, and her remorse was 
 the greater because of that. 
 
 However, if I thought that it would influence 
 you, I would say to you, I, your mother, do not 
 know whether or not I have the right to condemn 
 Leonie, for in her place I do not know whether I 
 should have had the strength to resist the tempta- 
 tion that came to her; and had I done so, it seems 
 to me that I would not have suddenly become un- 
 worthy of your pity, your affection and your re- 
 spect. 
 
 Now, child, be generous, forgive your wife and 
 take her back. She will never play with fire again. 
 It will never happen again, I give you my word. 
 Leonie will be to you if you consent to forget 
 a wife worthy of your love and respect. Yes, re- 
 spect; the very same respect you have for your 
 mother. Do you believe me? 
 
 Come! Leonie and your daughter are here at 
 my house. The child calls for you and weeps be- 
 cause you do not come. We told her you would 
 be here to-morrow. Will you have us tell the child 
 an untruth?
 
 RECONCILIATION 
 
 (Conciliation) 
 
 Madame Ardeville 
 
 To Madame Dumoiistier: 
 
 AH, MY dear, many things have happened to 
 me; many trials and tribulations have befallen me 
 in the last short month. I am all upset, and I do 
 not know whether I am dreaming or awake. This 
 morning, opening my eyes, my brain still half 
 asleep, I thought: "Well, I am no longer married. 
 I am alone all alone," and languidly stretching 
 myself, I came in contact with some part of my 
 husband's anatomy. My husband's, do you hear? 
 
 Have we made up? Yes, and I was far from 
 expecting we should. I enjoyed six weeks of free- 
 dom, and now I am in bondage again a married 
 woman once more. 
 
 After all, I am not a bit sorry, for I love Paul, 
 but it was fine to have no more cares, no more 
 duties, and I really was beginning to enjoy the 
 situation. I am a very proper married woman, 
 and I would not let any one so much as kiss my 
 cheek. If one is divorced or a widow, why that is 
 a different thing, for one is free. My freedom has 
 
 49
 
 50 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 been short, but I enjoyed it immensely. I was ac- 
 quiring valuable knowledge from the bar, the 
 judges and others. Suddenly all means of enlight- 
 enment was taken from me. Just imagine a blind 
 man made to see and suddenly losing his sight 
 again. Well this is my case. I am now blind. Let 
 me at least enjoy myself by telling you what I saw* 
 when I was not blind. 
 
 Darling Alice, you know I am an honest woman ; 
 rather thoughtless at times, but thoroughly honest 
 and careful of my husband's honor. Anyway, I 
 loved Paul and he loved me. He showed his love 
 in a thousand ways. We were very happy, were 
 we not? 
 
 Trouble came through my sister a sister fifteen 
 years older than one, and living with one and one's 
 husband is equal to two mothers-in-law. Poor An- 
 nette is not really wicked. But to see us forever 
 kissing each other when all she had to kiss were 
 pictures of the Madonna, or on cold winter nights 
 to have to take to bed an irresponsive hot-water 
 bottle while her younger sister has a live one with 
 lovely mustaches. Poor Annette ! Do you blame 
 her for being cross? She actually aged five years 
 during our first year of married life. The second 
 year Paul said to me: "Your sister is getting un- 
 bearable; we must find her a husband." 
 
 The idea seemed most amusing and incredible,
 
 RECONCILIATION 51 
 
 but on second thought I became convinced that this 
 was the only thing to do. 
 
 "I know some one," said Paul resolutely. "You 
 wait. Annette is not handsome, but she has a 
 pretty attractive dowry. Leave it to me." 
 
 He announced his intentions to my sister. At 
 first she took it for a joke, but when she realized 
 he was in earnest she showed such sincere joy that 
 Paul was actually touched. 
 
 The next day at lunch he brought in the suitor. 
 I expected to see some ridiculously bearded man. 
 Not at all ! He was a man about thirty, alert, 
 fairly well groomed, and one of the clerks in the 
 bank of which Paul is president. 
 
 "He is ambitious, intelligent, and frets at being 
 poor; he'll take her," said Paul to me. 
 
 For one week, two weeks, he paid his daily visit 
 to Annette. Annette was just flourishing. The 
 engagement was about to be announced, when one 
 fine morning a letter came for my husband. The 
 suitor would take no longer; everything was up; 
 disproportion of fortune difference in age, which 
 might lead to suppose that would always remem- 
 ber how kind, etc. The game was up ; the man was 
 beating a retreat. 
 
 "He is an idiot," said Paul. "I'm going to dis- 
 miss him." 
 
 Dismiss him he did. But would you believe it,
 
 52 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 my sister held Paul responsible for her disappoint- 
 ment. She accused him of having made her a sub- 
 ject of ridicule and began to hate him in earnest. 
 She had often tried to throw suspicion on his fidel- 
 ity to me. Do you know what she did? She 
 employed the help of an agency. It was discovered 
 that Paul spent an hour daily on a certain ground 
 floor of the Rue Bassano. Annette worked on me 
 so that I consented to lay a trap for my husband. 
 He was caught. I became the possessor of two 
 compromising letters. Left to myself I would 
 have forgiven him. My sister would not allow it. 
 She brought about a rupture between us, and I 
 brought suit for a divorce. 
 
 To ask for a divorce did not seem any harder to 
 me than to ask for a box at the Opera. Ah ! dear 
 one, never divorce. You can't imagine all that has 
 been invented to disgust the parties. You must 
 have an attorney, then a lawyer, then judges, a 
 president; a lot of things which demand many vis- 
 its and extensive correspondence. Things were 
 made harder for me because my husband filed a 
 suit against me. Annette, fearing we might make 
 up, had made me leave home. 
 
 We had taken refuge in a Retreat House, for 
 ladies only, and kept by Sisters. It was not very 
 cheerful; the very walls emitted boredom, evil- 
 mindedness, pose; but it was, to all appearances,
 
 RECONCILIATION 53 
 
 perfectly proper. They made a specialty of di- 
 vorce among society people. At the time I stayed 
 there we were six in number four young women 
 and two old ones. You should have heard us talk- 
 ing about men. And Annette ! Should a young girl 
 happen to spend a few days in the place she would 
 vow herself to spinsterhood forever and ever. By 
 the by, the two old women had their second hus- 
 bands in view. 
 
 The Superior gave us the names of the attorney 
 and lawyer; both seemed attached to the house like 
 secular preachers. They were the best that could 
 be had. The attorney was M. Cartelier, a blond 
 giant, with long drooping mustaches ; you know the 
 type of man I go wild over. The lawyer guess 
 Darthenay, my Darthenay our Darthenay, if you 
 prefer, for he made love to you as well as to me 
 at Etretat. Picture his astonishment. "You, 
 Blanche!" (He had fallen into the bad habit 
 of calling me Blanche after you went away. 
 He took my hands, kissed them. I was 
 rather moved myself, but managed to be cold 
 and dignified. "Sir, I did not come here to flirt 
 1 came to talk business with you. Mother Eu- 
 charis sent me." 
 
 Darthenay jumped. 
 
 "Mother Eucharis! Then you are suing for a 
 divorce?"
 
 54 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Never before did so small a word upset any one 
 so completely, I am sure. Before I had time to 
 move, my Darthenay (our Darthenay, for I will 
 not be selfish) had seized my hands and was draw- 
 ing me to him. 
 
 "Divorcing! Oh, Blanche, dear, how lovely! 
 You know I love you !" He tried to convince me; 
 I told him I was still married. He was so gently 
 sympathetic, so tender, that I made up my mind 
 on the spot that he must be my husband, so I said 
 to him: 
 
 "Henri, you must marry me !" 
 
 He did not seem surprised. 
 
 "Certainly," he replied. "You are the ideal 
 woman for a man tender and intelligent. (What 
 do you think of his conceit?) Pretty, elegant, 
 witty, somewhat in love." 
 
 I dropped my eyes. 
 
 "Then, as soon as I have my divorce?" I said. 
 
 "Surely! Only " 
 
 "Oh! there is an only!" 
 
 "I am married." 
 
 This was a blow I was far from expecting. I 
 should have thought of anything but that ! 
 
 "Sir, you have behaved shamefully. You should 
 not toy with a woman's honor. And you told me 
 you adored me at Etretat, and no sooner am I out
 
 RECONCILIATION 5$ 
 
 of sight than you get married. You did not love 
 me." 
 
 I felt very sorry. Darthenay gave me a graphic 
 picture of his despair at my refusal. "I knew you 
 were honesty itself I had no chance I tried to 
 forget." 
 
 "Well," I said to him, "get a divorce and we 
 will marry." 
 
 "That is a good idea," he replied. 'Til think 
 about it. But first, let's talk about yours. A month 
 will be all that is necessary. Meanwhile, when 
 shall I see you again?" 
 
 I made out I did not understand him. 
 
 "You may talk to my attorney." 
 
 "What do I care for your attorney. It's you I 
 want to see. Say when." 
 
 I finally promised to see him again. 
 
 "By the way, who is your attorney?" 
 
 "M. wait a minute. Mother Eucharis gave 
 me a slip of paper. M. Cartelier." 
 
 He did not seem a bit pleased. 
 
 "Cartelier! Let me advise you. Do not go to 
 see Cartelier." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "It is not proper for a pretty woman like you 
 to go to a lawyer who has such a reputation." 
 
 "What kind is it?" 
 
 "He is said to compromise his clients."
 
 56 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 "Well! What about you?" 
 
 "I am not in the habit of doing so. I am too 
 tender, while he he is a brute !" 
 
 He took me in his arms to prove to me how ten- 
 der he was, and as I was going down the steps he 
 called after me : 
 
 "Don't go. He is a brute." 
 
 Alice, what would you have done in like circum- 
 stances ? You would have gone straight to the at- 
 torney to prove to yourself that you were not 
 afraid of brutes. Well, I went back to the con- 
 vent, postponing the decision until to-morrow, and 
 to have another talk with Mother Eucharis. Upon 
 the repeated assertion of the latter that he was the 
 smartest attorney in town, I made up my mind to 
 ignore the advice of Darthenay. 
 
 In the presence of the man I understood his rep- 
 utation of being a "ladies' man." A beautiful 
 Celtic type, eyes like two blue gems, impossible to 
 fathom. Really, it is too bad such a man should 
 be an attorney he ought to be an artist or an 
 actor. I told him so, but not at my first call later. 
 Let me tell you about that. 
 
 Nothing that I feared happened during my visit. 
 He was perfectly proper even indifferent. He a 
 brute? No, indeed! He was not even amiable, 
 but very smart. In less than fifteen minutes he had 
 the whole case and was summing it up in tele-
 
 RECONCILIATION 57 
 
 graphic style: Husband fond of women nice in 
 his home embittered sister; she caused the trou- 
 ble; you were not very anxious at first; now your 
 mind is made up to go to the end. Is it not so ? 
 
 That was all, and it was time to go. 
 
 Why should I not tell you? I was disappointed. 
 It is not very pleasant to have made an extra pro- 
 vision of courage and then to find it had not been 
 at all necessary. Had Darthenay lied to me? I 
 wanted to make an impression upon my attorney. 
 I had failed. Too bad to like people 'who care 
 nothing for you. This thought took away all the 
 pleasure I might have felt on meeting Darthenay. 
 I certainly behaved abominably and treated the 
 poor man most unkindly. 
 
 Back to the convent I discreetly brought the con- 
 versation of my co-sufferers to the subject of Car- 
 telier. Every one praised his ability as a profes- 
 sional man "smart, very smart." When I tried 
 to make them talk about the man himself, I noticed 
 blushes, reticences. Ah! I thought, has the man 
 been rude to everybody but me? I took aside a 
 little brunette who was divorcing on ridiculous 
 grounds. I complained of Cartelier's manner to- 
 ward me. The little simpleton blushingly told me 
 he had been exceedingly brutal with her. 
 
 Really I must find out for myself. With some 
 excuse or other, I went to see the attorney again.
 
 5 8 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 I must find out, solve the riddle. You can imagine 
 how controlled I was to be even gracious to the 
 blond giant, whom I was beginning to dislike cor- 
 dially. I was gracious, even more than gracious. 
 Looking over his shoulder to examine one of the 
 documents I brushed his moustache ever so slightly. 
 It was hardly noticeable, but it sufficed to gal- 
 vanize him into action. Oh, my dear ! the terrible 
 adventure ! 
 
 It is useless to tell you that I never went back, 
 except when absolutely necessary, and that I was 
 very angry at myself. 
 
 I had one more visit to make to see the Presi- 
 dent, who was to try to reconcile us. Made wiser 
 by my first two experiences, I sent for the little 
 brunette, whose case was about a week ahead of 
 mine. 
 
 "Oh !" she said, "that one is perfectly harmless. 
 No longer young, lavish in his compliments, very 
 gallant after the manner of old gentlemen. Do 
 not be afraid and be kind to him, for he might 
 keep you from getting your divorce." 
 
 Keep me from getting my divorce ! Two weeks 
 before I would not have cared, except for Annette's 
 sake, but now that I had tasted freedom I could 
 not bear to be disappointed. 
 
 I was therefore amiable to the President, M. de 
 la Coudraie. He was a small man, well fed, not too
 
 RECONCILIATION 59 
 
 fat a florid face framed by brown side whiskers. 
 The one occupation of this man during our talk 
 was to indulge in more or less risque jokes, which 
 were not a bit witty, upon the relations between 
 man and wife. Every now and then to bring him 
 back to the point I would say : 
 
 "Every evening, sir, my husband would go and 
 spend an hour with Henriette de Conti." 
 
 He would interrupt : 
 
 "Every evening? What a wonderful man this 
 Paul must be! And he was nice to you? affec- 
 tionate? Wonderful! wonderful!" 
 
 He would walk about, spin on his heels, kiss my 
 hand, take me by the chin, smile into my eyes with 
 a look at once bold and paternal. I was exceed- 
 ingly bored, but remembering the threat of the 
 little brunette, I did not dare send him about his 
 business. Finally, after an hour of rambling talk, 
 he said to me: 
 
 "Come here, child." 
 
 "I went. He took my hands and began a very 
 nice little sermon : 
 
 "My dear child, to divorce is a very serious 
 thing. A pretty woman like you alone in the world, 
 without any protector. (His fingers were around 
 my wrists). For such a little thing. You cannot 
 make me believe that you no longer love your hus- 
 band because (his lips were on my wrists) he
 
 60 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 spent a few hours in the Rue Bassano? Think of 
 how many days of happiness he gave you. Re- 
 member (his left arm stole around my waist) how 
 happy you were on your wedding trip." 
 
 Was it not stupid? I was very much moved by 
 what the President was recalling to my mind. I 
 was thinking of Paul, poor Paul ! he certainly 
 was gay, amusing, generous and much in love. I 
 had missed him so much during the past six weeks. 
 The thought of coming back to him was shaping 
 itself slowly in my mind, and through the caressing 
 voice of the President I was already picturing a 
 new honeymoon, when 
 
 "Sir!" 
 
 I was on my feet in a minute, like one suddenly 
 awakened, and perfectly furious. M. de la Cou- 
 draie caught on the fly the hand that would have 
 struck him in the face and kissed it. 
 
 "Fortunately for you, my beauty," he said with 
 a smile, "I have not my judicial gown on, otherwise 
 this would have cost you five years of prison." 
 
 Thereupon we parted, not too angry with each 
 other. 
 
 This good man had spoken to me of Paul; had 
 said what I was dying to acknowledge to myself 
 every day and did not dare to. 
 
 Annette was watching for my return. She was 
 perfectly delighted with her new life, perfectly de-
 
 RECONCILIATION 61 
 
 lighted to live among women who by profession 
 always have something evil to say about men. 
 
 "Well," she asked, "are things going on well?" 
 
 I sent her forcibly about her business. 
 
 "Let me alone; you are always trying to excite 
 me against Paul. You alone are the cause of all 
 this trouble. I beg you will never again speak to 
 me about my husband in your evil way." 
 
 "Well," she replied, with that cutting voice I 
 envy her and which alone belongs to soured old 
 maids, "very well, go to him. You will find him 
 in the Rue Bassano. You three can have a cup of 
 tea together." 
 
 Yes, Paul might be with that woman. She is 
 pretty, too I saw her portrait and now that 
 Paul is free he probably does not leave her. 
 
 "You are right," I said to Annette. "I will have 
 my divorce." And I went to my room to weep. 
 
 Three days later I was called to meet my husband 
 and see if we could not be reconciled. I went with 
 Annette. Would you believe it, Alice, dear, my 
 heart was beating hard; not because I feared the 
 divorce would not be granted me, but at the thought 
 of seeing my husband again, of being face to face 
 with him once more. We were ushered into a 
 room full of people seated in corners, looking sad 
 and bored. I searched for Paul. He was not 
 there. Suddenly my sister's elbow dug into me.
 
 62 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 "There he is, the wretch. Do look dignified." 
 
 I was dignified and looked at the "wretch." He 
 was thinner, still elegant, fascinating, alert, violets 
 in his buttonhole, his hat well brushed, his necktie 
 of the latest pattern. I compared him to Darth- 
 enay, to the blond giant, and decided in his favor. 
 
 Meanwhile Annette was lecturing me: 
 
 "Try to be firm; don't be a weakling! Remem- 
 ber Henriette de Conti ! Well, what are you look- 
 ing at?" 
 
 I was looking at Paul. He was actually winking 
 at me. His pantomime was more that of a lover 
 than that of a husband. He still loved me so his 
 eyes were saying, and I telegraphed back: 
 
 "Husband mine, I should like to give you a kiss, 
 but Annette won't let me." At that moment An- 
 nette grabbed me by the arm and forced me to turn 
 my back upon Paul. Just then an usher called out : 
 
 "Ardeville against Ardeville !" 
 
 "Courage!" called my sister, "and remember 
 Henriette de Conti." 
 
 I heard her repeat that name until the door shut 
 behind us. 
 
 "Sit down," said the usher, "the President and 
 his clerk will be here in a few minutes." 
 
 We were left alone. Paul sat down and I went 
 to the window. I was trying hard to be angry 
 with him. I wanted to knock down the well-
 
 RECONCILIATION 63 
 
 dressed, handsome man a few steps back of me. 
 Suddenly I heard him get up. His boots creaked 
 upon the floor; the odor of violets came near. 
 How very foolish of me. I did not dare to turn 
 round; I did not dare move. I felt as though I 
 should faint, as though I should fall and effec- 
 tively I did fall into Paul's arms. Ah! I could 
 not help it! Say what you will, you would have 
 done the same thing had you been in my place. 
 
 "Well, everything is all right," said a voice I 
 recognized as belonging to President de la Cou- 
 draie, as he found us seated on the sofa, one o? my 
 hands in that of Paul's. 
 
 Bless his kind soul ! He sent us home by another 
 way and so we escaped Annette.
 
 CONFESSION OF FAITH 
 (Les Pratiques) 
 
 Madame de Raimbourg 
 
 To Madame Lespanie: 
 
 MY DEAR JULIE: 
 
 Two words only but very important ones. 
 
 First. Where can I find the little cakes, shaped 
 like tiles, which we ate at your house Wednesday 
 
 last? Both my husband and G are asking for 
 
 them. 
 
 Second. Lent is coming a time for grand wash- 
 ing of consciences. I do not know to whom I shall 
 go for confession. My old confessor Abbe La- 
 pioche who was so kind, so deaf, died last 
 January. 
 
 You who are a clever and well-informed wo- 
 man must know the best man to take his place. 
 He must be an intelligent priest, up-to-date an 
 homme du monde who will not ask absurd ques- 
 tions. In a word, a man who is accustomed to 
 hear confessions of such women as we are. Do not 
 send me a dozen names, for I should not 
 know how to select one. Just tell me to whom 
 you go. I'll go to your confessor. We must 
 
 64
 
 CONFESSION OF FAITH 65 
 
 be two of a kind, or at least have one common 
 sin. 
 
 Good-by, dear. I thank you beforehand. 
 
 ROBERTE. 
 
 P. S. Tell me the exact name of the cakes. 
 
 Madame Lespanie: 
 
 Here is, my dear Roberte, the address you re- 
 quested of me: Riboullet 340 Faubourg Saint 
 Honore (this is where you can find the cakes). 
 They are called "artichoke leaves." Keep it a 
 secret. It is so hard to have something new for 
 guests. My "artichoke leaves" have had much 
 
 success. Would you believe that H found 
 
 them out ? He is a wonder. 
 
 However, H cannot help me to find a con- 
 fessor as easily as he helped me find the cakes. 
 When Abbe Leplatre was suddenly transferred to 
 Langres, I found myself in the same trouble you 
 are in just now. He would have suited you to per- 
 fection a perfect saint very strict with himself, 
 and very indulgent to his worldly parishioners. 
 
 Quite a number of us "mondaines" were in the 
 habit of going to him. He was the confessor of 
 Madame de Formeuil, my dear, and of her sister- 
 in-law, Laura. You may know he was well sea- 
 soned ! nothing astonished him ! Now, he might 
 have been too holy to see anything wrong in us. I
 
 66 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 was inclined to think so when he would reply to my 
 most perilous confidences, "Very well, dear child," 
 in a most fatherly way. Well, it is not within our 
 province to give a confessor a course of lectures. 
 My conscience and I were at peace ! 
 
 After hearing of the good Abbe's transfer to 
 Langres, I called to congratulate him and at the 
 same time asked him who would succeed him, who 
 would henceforth undertake the cleansing of the 
 naughty consciences of Madame Formeuil, Laura, 
 and myself. 
 
 "I recommend all these ladies to the Abbe 
 Prudhon, who is to take my place at Saint Sulpice," 
 he said. 
 
 "Is he like you?" I asked. 
 
 "Mon Dieuf I do not know what I am like," 
 replied the good Abbe, smiling, "but Abbe Prudhon 
 is very venerable and learned. Moreover, he be- 
 longs to an excellent family. He lived in the world 
 for a long time before he was touched by grace. 
 He will be perfectly at home amongst you." 
 
 On the strength of this we all brought our sins, 
 great and small, to Abbe Prudhon. He understood 
 everything! To be sure it was very noticeable to 
 us that he had been touched by grace, as Abbe Le- 
 platre said, after fifteen years of fast living. I 
 think grace must have come to the Abbe in the 
 shape of a woman's deception and he is holding
 
 CONFESSION OF FAITH 67 
 
 the sex responsible for it! Ah, my dear Roberte, 
 one came out of his confessional pretty well broken 
 up in body and soul ! 
 
 The beloved lambs of Abbe Leplatre could not 
 endure such treatment more than once. They took 
 to their heels, and are still running. I, for my 
 part, respected him and would have returned to 
 
 him if H had not vetoed my going. Abbe 
 
 Prudhon had made me promise to have nothing 
 
 more to do with H , I think G would not 
 
 tolerate your going to Abbe Prudhon any more 
 
 than H did my going. Since then I have 
 
 lived without going to church till Easter. 
 
 At Easter my conscience awakened. I would 
 not let this great day pass without being absolved. 
 The difficulty, however, was in finding a confessor. 
 I thought the best thing to do would be to go to a 
 quarter of Paris unknown to me, step into tEe first 
 church I came across, make my confession without 
 knowing the priest, and without his knowing me. 
 
 The following Saturday I dressed plainly, took 
 a cab, and, at my request, the driver took me to the 
 Esplanade des Invalides. I left it to Providence to 
 guide my steps. 
 
 A half hour's walk through most interesting 
 streets brought me to a plain white church with- 
 out a steeple. I entered, hoping the good Lord 
 was with me.
 
 68 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 Confession was going on as I had foreseen. 
 Three or four old women in black, two young girls 
 and a little boy were kneeling, waiting before the 
 one confessional. I lingered till my turn came. It 
 was long in coming and I had plenty of time to 
 examine my conscience. Were the novelty and sim- 
 plicity of the place influencing me? I found my- 
 self exceedingly penitent ! 
 
 There were so many poor people coming and go- 
 ing. Their many attendant odors, mixed with the 
 stale smell of incense in the chapel, made my 
 wealth, comfort and security seem almost my great- 
 est sin. The one thing I had to confess appeared 
 so much worse here in this little church than if I 
 had been poor and one of the people, such" as my 
 kneeling neighbors. 
 
 Under these impressions I began my confession. 
 
 Ah, my dear! Take my advice. If you value 
 your peace of mind, never go to a priest in a poor 
 church. I should suppose the poor do not love 
 each other in the same way we worldly folks do 
 or perhaps those whose moral code is such as 
 ours do not go to confession. Really the poor 
 priest did not understand me at all. I must explain 
 to him give details tell how many times. It 
 was most uncomfortable I assure you. What a 
 scolding I received ! An awful sermon ! He com- 
 pared me successively to all the ill-famed women
 
 CONFESSION OF FAITH 69 
 
 of the Old and New Testament : Raab, Bathsheba, 
 the Samaritan woman, etc. The worst of it all was 
 that in my own mind I agreed with him, and I said 
 to myself: "Evidently this priest is right I am 
 beyond redemption an abominable sinner." 
 
 He ended his sermon by requesting a solemn 
 
 promise not to see H any more. Nothing short 
 
 of that. And he asked it as he might have asked 
 me to recite the Lord's Prayer or give a small 
 sum to the church. I protested I could not make 
 such a promise. I told him things were not done 
 in that way in society. He replied in good faith: 
 "Our Lord does not go into society. If you really 
 care to find Him, you must give up what you call 
 society." 
 
 He would not give in to my way of thinking, 
 and being too loyal to make a promise I never 
 could keep, I went home sorry, but unabsohed. 
 
 This adventure, however, had filled me with hu- 
 mility. 
 
 Once again in my own neighborhood, among 
 my bibelots, in my own house, my servants around 
 me, the contrition I had felt in the poor little church 
 diminished. However, it did not disappear alto- 
 gether. I felt like an awful sinner, and thought 
 over the matter of my conversion as the Abbe had 
 crudely put it during the following evening and 
 night. Next morning I was almost convinced,
 
 70 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 when, unfortunately, I received while still in bed 
 
 a lovely note from H asking a rendezvous 
 
 for the afternoon. My good resolutions toolc 
 flight forever. 
 
 What did I do next? 
 
 Well! I gave up trying to adorn sin with a 
 semblance of religion. I no longer go to confes- 
 sion but do not tell this to Laura or her sister-in- 
 law for it would do me harm. I go to church 
 occasionally to church bearing the names of 
 saints whose lives were not perfection like Saint 
 Augustin or Saint Magdala. I go there to pray 
 for my conversion with alas! a secret desire that 
 my prayer will not be answered very soon, for 
 youth fades quickly, and I passionately love my 
 sin. When Lent comes I no longer go to confes- 
 sion, seeking absolution in far-away churches, but 
 I have a private talk with my own God, telling 
 Him why I refrain. 
 
 My prayer to Him runs somewhat like this : 
 
 "Oh ! Lord, before Thee stands a miserable 
 Parisian woman, belonging to the world ou Von 
 s'amuse that is to say, an unimportant soul en- 
 closed in a body Thou hast deigned to fashion most 
 attractively. Allow me to remind Thee that my 
 parents, my husband, and all those who have had 
 charge of me have taken no care of my soul. They 
 did everything for its perishable envelope; they
 
 CONFESSION OF FAITH 71 
 
 cared for it; adorned it; and paid it all sorts of 
 homage. Alas! Lord, why didst Thou bring me 
 up so badly? Why didst Thou throw me into 
 such a sad world ? Why was I not born of parents 
 of kind and honest disposition, but bourgeois of 
 Langres for instance? My only ideal would then 
 be to embroider slippers for Abbe Leplatre. 
 
 "Wherever I look, I see nothing but bad exam- 
 ples. All that Thou forbiddest is joyfully done by 
 all the people in our set, and even by members of 
 my own family. How canst Thou expect poor 
 weak me to be a saint? To make matters worse, 
 
 Thou hast put H in my path a man no 
 
 woman has been able to resist and who loves me 
 at least he tells me he does. How could poor weak 
 me resist him ? Have pity on me do not condemn 
 me. In a little while I shall be no longer young, no 
 
 longer beautiful. H will cease to love me, 
 
 and I promise Thee I will then come back to Thee. 
 I will be Thine only, and will not neglect to go to 
 confession. 
 
 "Until then I must be satisfied to practise the 
 virtues that are not too hard for me, such as being 
 charitable to the poor loving my neighbor, and 
 forgiving them. 
 
 "I think a good father would understand me 
 and Thou art a good father."
 
 72 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 This is, my dear Roberta, my confession of faith 
 for the present. It must do, and I am telling you 
 about it as freely and as generously as I am giving 
 you the address where the cakes are to be bought. 
 
 Please do not tell our delightfully naughty 
 friends. They would laugh at me and go around 
 telling everybody I have no religion. 
 
 My love to you, your husband and G . 
 
 JULIE.
 
 HER FAVORITE AUTHOR 
 (Mon Romancier] 
 
 Madame Hautmont 
 
 To Monsieur Pierre Delestang, homme de 
 lettres: 
 
 ARE you satisfied, my dear Pierre, with the con- 
 tents of the ugly note you sent me? It is full of 
 venomous thoughts, clothed in novel-like phrases 
 and villainous, spiteful, and literary insults, such as 
 you newspaper men throw at each other. It is, no 
 doubt, the revenge your vanity is taking for having 
 been offended, even though the unconscious of- 
 fender is a woman you pretend to love. How many 
 ugly, dark recesses are to be found in your souls, 
 messieurs les celebres! 
 
 No matter! I care nothing for your note. I 
 laugh at your innuendoes, your insults and your 
 literary ability. In spite of your talent, your ce- 
 lebrity, your grand manners, and your stinging sen- 
 tences, you are a child that must be scolded, but 
 not too harshly, for fear of throwing him into 
 hysterics. 
 
 Come now and take your scolding, you naughty 
 romancier. 
 
 73
 
 74 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 May I ask you to tell me what crime I have com- 
 mitted against you? As far as I can see, my only 
 offence was due to carelessness, which made me 
 send a note to you that was meant for Captain 
 Lartigues, while he received a very gracious one 
 telling him I was thankful to him for having been 
 so unusually "brilliant at my last dinner party." He 
 took everything for granted. He accepted the 
 thanks and was very grateful to me for having ex- 
 tended them! He naively replied: "How strange! 
 It seems to me, I am always the same!" Dear 
 fellow, perspicacity is not his greatest fault! You, 
 a psychologist by profession, at once saw the mis- 
 take. I grant you my letter was too tender, and I 
 blush, my friend, to think you read the tender 
 phrases which were not meant for you. Now, 
 how can I help it? Love is rather profuse and does 
 not weigh methodically its endearments, and since 
 chance revealed my secret to you, I will frankly 
 tell you that I am very much in love with Captain 
 Lartigues. 
 
 In love! Now, I have said it. I have confessed 
 my crime. I, therefore, am disgraced I, there- 
 fore, deserve all the cutting things you showered 
 upon me when you sent back my stray letter. 
 
 Your note was truly a great success. "A woman 
 who receives such a letter from a friend will, if 
 she has any heart, feel the tears rush to her eyes
 
 HER FAVORITE AUTHOR 75 
 
 in spite of herself when she comes to the last 
 line." 
 
 I added this precious autograph to those I pre- 
 viously received from you, but before putting them 
 all out of sight I re-read those I had received 
 from you before my mistake. 
 
 The reading proved enlightening and whole- 
 some, I assure you. If any tears still lurked in the 
 corners of my eyes they were quickly dried before 
 I had quite finished the reading of the past month's 
 letters. I was laughing aloud and to myself. Can 
 you guess the reason why? Every one of your last 
 month's letters demanded, insistently, I say, that I 
 be to you what I am to your profound disgust 
 to Monsieur Lartigues. Yes, indeed, my roman- 
 cler ) you were simply suggesting and constantly 
 too that I should become yours. Furthermore, 
 you were not appealing to my heart in particular, 
 but offered as an inducement pleasures unknown to 
 married life. You boasted in a very discreet and 
 witty fashion that you would not love like any 
 ordinary lover. You knew, so you said, myste- 
 rious incantations that would increase our love and 
 enjoyment. 
 
 My popr Pierre, you were praising your wares 
 if I may so express myself and you were do- 
 ing it cleverly. I am convinced, however, that the 
 self-praises were true, and that you must be what
 
 76 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 you claim to be an artist in love-making. Can- 
 not you understand how amusing it was for me to 
 see you turning suddenly into a bitter moralist? 
 Taking me to task for my womanly weakness be- 
 cause Monsieur Lartigues was receiving the favors 
 you were begging with such persistence ? 
 
 I know very well the excuses you would give. 
 Monsieur Lartigues is not a great man. He is not 
 even a man with brains. I cannot help it. If he 
 had your wit and your genius I would like him none 
 the less, but although I enjoy your wit and genius 
 so much, I do not like them in the same way I like 
 Monsieur Lartigues. Why should this make you 
 angry? There is nothing offensive in what I say. 
 You artists are constantly committing the error of 
 thinking that we women must be in love with you 
 simply because we are women and admire you. 
 
 No, indeed, a thousand times no ! Our admira- 
 tion for genius does not force upon us such extreme 
 punishment. 
 
 We spontaneously separate your merits from 
 your charms ; something stronger than our will de- 
 termines what relations will exist between the one 
 and the other. 
 
 I know this is not a general rule. Some foolish 
 and vain women are not satisfied until they have 
 brought to their feet the five Academies. Are such 
 women worth having? Their hearts are opened to
 
 HER FAVORITE AUTHOR 77 
 
 you as freely as some would let you write on their 
 fans or in their albums. A woman of some tem- 
 perament and sound mind does not at once lose her 
 head over the author of a beautiful book she is 
 reading, nor over the composer of some rare music, 
 nor over the artist who paints a masterpiece. She 
 falls in love with a man for no apparent reason, 
 just because he is himself. 
 
 I love Captain Lartigues because his looks, his 
 voice, his manners, his disposition, please me; be- 
 cause he came into my life at the most opportune 
 moment; at the time when my husband's affections 
 seemed to turn elsewhere. I love him because in 
 some way this man with no more than an ordinary 
 mind has been able to persuade me that he loves 
 me passionately. My only excuse for this faux pas 
 is that there shall be no other. 
 
 Must I for that reason give up the society of a 
 man as famous as the novelist Pierre Delestang, 
 even though he makes love to me ? No doubt you 
 will boldly answer: "Yes," and begin a long dis- 
 sertation on the subject of woman's duplicity, the 
 way they lead a man on to hope and to wish for 
 something he will never attain! Come, my dear 
 Pierre, tell me, is this real life or merely romance ? 
 If it is merely romance, I'll listen to you. You may 
 describe your suffering and my perversity in such 
 a way that I will have no fault to find, have noth-
 
 78 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 ing to answer. If it is real life, I'll interrupt you 
 immediately, for your heart has not suffered for a 
 single moment, dear friend; it is simply your 
 vanity that has been hurt because some one else has 
 succeeded where you have failed. That is all. 
 Really, deep in your heart Monsieur Lartigues 
 does not worry you and because, above all, your 
 greatness has not been sufficient to attract me. 
 
 Such is, indeed, your most tender spot. Your 
 literary vanity is hurt. Your feminine victims in 
 society are dear to you only because your pride de- 
 mands that you should have as many as your col- 
 league, Monsieur, just as you must write a novel 
 that will have a greater sale than some one else's, 
 or a drama that will have a longer run. You are 
 a literary Don Juan and you would willingly adver- 
 tise the fact that two thousand copies of your last 
 novel have been sold. 
 
 After all, you are right since your conquests in 
 society come through your literary success to 
 think as you do. However, the reasoning of your 
 vanity is wrong when you find yourself in the pres- 
 ence of a woman who does not mistake literary ad- 
 miration for sensuous desires; or a woman who is 
 able to admire a book without thinking immedi- 
 ately that she must belong to the author. Your 
 vanity should not suffer because of my indifference, 
 for you know, sir, that none of the beauties who
 
 HER FAVORITE AUTHOR 79 
 
 have favored you have any higher appreciation of 
 your talent than I have. The only difference be- 
 tween them and me is, that I prefer admiring you 
 in my own way. 
 
 Have I not made this clear to you? I hope so. 
 If you are the man of sense I think you are, come 
 this evening and beg to be forgiven. In order to 
 make the thing easier to your beloved vanity, know 
 that it is being reported that you are my lover. 
 This piece of news has been given me by some 
 obliging friend of mine and I understood at once 
 that no denial on my part could change matters. 
 
 Is my romancier pleased? Will it not be an- 
 other conquest to be added to the mllle-e-tre? 
 Truly it is only a fictitious one, but it is said that 
 novelists do not mind such things !
 
 EARLY MORNING MAIL 
 
 (Courrier Matinal) 
 
 Eleven in the morning; a small house ', Rue Rem- 
 brandt. Madame d'Arteny, a plump brunette, 
 thirty years of age, is seated in her boudoir before 
 a writing-table, covering a sheet of grey-blue paper 
 with careful and aristocratic handwriting. 
 
 You must not hold against me the fact that our 
 walk together has left me delightfully and pain- 
 fully disturbed. Understand me, dear friend, it 
 was so sweet to walk at your side, my arm in yours, 
 through the pathways of the far-away park, where 
 we were sure not to meet a single face we knew, 
 trying to find thus the illusion that we legitimately 
 belong to each other. You are such a delightful 
 magician. Your words of tenderness intoxicated 
 me everything was combining to make me for- 
 get that duty called me yonder ! Did my lips utter 
 a promise of which I was hardly conscious? I 
 beg you will not hold me to it. You love me 
 you say it and I believe you do not abuse the 
 power which those few words, drawn from me by 
 the surroundings, have given you. If you could 
 
 80
 
 EARLY MORNING MAIL 81 
 
 only see me as I am to-day, you would surely take 
 pity upon your friend. 
 
 All my duties which were forgotten during our 
 walk to the observatory of Montsouris rushed 
 back upon me as I entered the house. My hus- 
 band was waiting for me he has a noble and gen- 
 erous heart, and I never will be able to deceive him 
 he spoke of his plan to rent a villa at the sea- 
 shore, in Normandy, so as to be able to leave Paris 
 with the children early in the season. The doctor 
 advises it. He, poor man, will remain here alone 
 all summer long, tied to his business, and he does 
 so loathe having to live the life of a bachelor. 
 
 After that came my son, Rene, home from 
 school, desirous to show me a good report, of 
 which he was justly proud. He kissed me on the 
 very spot your lips had accidentally rested while in 
 the carriage on our way back. I felt very re- 
 morseful. 
 
 Then came my daughter, holding on to her gov- 
 erness' hand, looking pale and delicate so charm- 
 ing to listen to when she talks in her language, half 
 French, half English. 
 
 My whole life as an honest woman was meeting 
 me on every turn. I love my husband. I love my 
 children I must tell you what I did then. 
 
 I ran to my room and with tears in my eyes I 
 scribbled you a short note, saying: "We must not
 
 82 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 see each other again, Maxime. I feel my liking 
 for you is too great to endure long, should I con- 
 tinue to think so much of you to meet you the 
 honest woman I am, have been, and will be. Adieu; 
 do not hate me. I could not bear it! I really 
 never could make you happy. Therefore, be glad 
 I am keeping you away from me." 
 
 This is what my note was saying, Maxime, and 
 you should have received it instead of this one. 
 
 After having written it I felt calmer during the 
 rest of the evening. However, upon reading it 
 over this morning I felt too fond of you to cause 
 you so much sorrow. I tore up this cruel note and 
 resolved not to dictate what you should do, but 
 leave it all to your judgment. I am now in your 
 hands and at your mercy. I know you are a gen- 
 tleman and a good man. Be stronger trlan I, 
 Maxime. You will have strength for both of us, 
 will you not, since I have none and our hearts alone 
 belong to one another? 
 
 Do answer me quickly ! I do need your letters so 
 much ! But please do not say in them anything I 
 ought not to hear. 
 
 The letter continues in this same tone for six 
 long pages. Madame d'Arteny signs it by the ab- 
 breviation of her first name "Gab" reads it 
 over and as she proceeds a light of satisfaction
 
 EARLY MORNING MAIL 83 
 
 dawns in her face. She folds the letter and ad- 
 dresses it to: 
 
 Monsieur Maxime Renouard, 
 
 Attache au Cabinet du Ministre des Affaires 
 
 Etrangeres, 
 8 Rue Montalivet, E. V. 
 
 After a few moments of thought she takes an- 
 other sheet and scribbles much more rapidly, and 
 in an entirely different style of handwriting, the 
 following lines: 
 
 Your note is received, and I appreciate the deli- 
 cacy that prompted it! You dared address your 
 letter to my own residence ! You speak in your note 
 of things that would leave no doubt in the mind of 
 you know who if he should happen to read it. 
 Truly, my dear, your tone is enough to cure me 
 forever of the weakness you have w r orked for three 
 years, were I not already cured. Let the past bury 
 its dead, however. We'll never mention it again. 
 
 You are willing to return my letters, you say, 
 on the condition that we shall see each other 
 "every now and then." "Every now and then" is 
 charming, indeed. It seems you do not care to go 
 on seeing me regularly but, of course, when you 
 have a free afternoon you do not know what to do 
 with you will condescend. Thank you ! You are
 
 84 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 too kind! I am not fond of the filling-in process, 
 nor of being picked up and thrown aside whenever 
 it suits your fancy. 
 
 When a man begins to think he does not care to 
 see me, except "every now and then," I do not care 
 to see him at all. Therefore, let us break off right 
 here and now, without any trouble or scandal, if 
 it can be done. You have some letters of mine I 
 want. I have a few confidential notes of yours 
 concerning certain financial enterprises did you 
 forget about them? Just imagine what your con- 
 stituents would say if some fine morning they 
 should read these letters in the papers. It is evi- 
 dently a case of give and take. The situation will 
 be clear after that; and I will be very glad to show 
 you a smiling face whenever we meet in society. 
 
 However, excepting for one thing, I'll tell you 
 directly I do not wish to meet you soon. 
 
 I shall leave Paris early this year my husband 
 uses for a pretext the necessity, the health of my 
 little girl, Valentine forces upon us to go to the 
 seashore as early as the month of June, to have 
 more time to give to his edifying annual bachelor 
 life while we are away. I request you, therefore, 
 not to come to the house between now and the time 
 set for my departure. If you will add to that time 
 the months we will be away, nearly half a year will 
 go by without our seeing each other. Is that not
 
 EARLY MORNING MAIL 85 
 
 sufficient time to turn our common memories into 
 a legend? 
 
 One word more relating to business! I know 
 you like business to be short and precise. It is ab- 
 solutely necessary for the settlement of our affairs. 
 I have just received the quarterly bill from Doucet. 
 You have always said to me: "I mean to pay all 
 the extra expenses your dressing will cost you as 
 long as you are doing it to please me, and it is a 
 credit to me." Whom do you think should pay this 
 bill? I leave it to you to decide. 
 
 It seems to me we could part amicably, and if 
 you are reasonable, I, myself, will willingly come 
 for the last time, since you wish to see me, and get 
 the receipted bill in our old loving home, Rue 
 Clement-Mar ot. 
 
 A vous, en bon camarade > 
 
 GABRIELLE. 
 
 Madame d'Arteny puts her letter in an en- 
 velope, on which she writes the following address: 
 
 Baron Siherberg, depute, 
 
 9, Avenue d'Antin, E. V. 
 
 and rings for her maid.
 
 GENEVIEVE'S DIARY 
 
 (Le Cahier de Genevieve) 
 
 May Twentieth. 
 
 WHY am I sad and restless? Why is my heart 
 so filled with black shadows, as Mother Superieur 
 Reine des Anges used to say, in the happy days 
 when I knew no greater care than those of child- 
 hood ; when I had no husband nor what was I go- 
 ing to write? All the joy I get now-a-days comes 
 from my child, a little darling, nineteen months 
 old, my little boy Rene. 
 
 Mother Reine des Anges had given the name of 
 "black shadows" to the vague and obscure things 
 that weigh upon one's heart without knowing 
 whence they come and what they are. She also had 
 discovered a method of fighting them. This is how 
 it was done: 
 
 You retired to your room, pen or pencil in hand ; 
 spread before you was a beautiful piece of white 
 paper. You would then reflect. After a steady 
 search the black shadows were always discovered, 
 each in a separate corner, deep down in your heart, 
 
 86
 
 GENEVIEVE'S DIARY 87 
 
 the real cause of your vague sadness would come 
 forth, little by little, and be revealed. 
 
 As you found a black shadow you would take 
 note of it as clearly as possible and number it. 
 When all that could be found were written on the 
 paper, you would then try to find a remedy for 
 them. You tried to resign yourself prayed over 
 it, and in this way calm and good cheer would 
 finally be restored. 
 
 Alas! as I advance in life I have not gone very 
 far I see why life is so hopeless, so full of pit- 
 falls and misery. It is because I have given up the 
 wholesome discipline of the convent days. How 
 much stronger it would make one if you could ap- 
 ply it to life at home and in society. 
 
 However, it is never too late to mend. Let us 
 try the remedy of Mother Superieur Reine des 
 Anges. We will apply it especially to myself. 
 Who am I ? I am Genevieve Olivier, ex-pupil and 
 boarder of the Convent of the Sacred Heart of 
 Blois, to-day bearing the title of Comtesse Raoul 
 de Boistelle, having taken unto myself three years 
 ago a naughty, very naughty and lovable man for 
 a husband. I am now twenty years old and mother 
 of a lovely baby, whom I worship. 
 
 Before me now is the prescribed white sheet of 
 paper. I take a brand-new pen and sit down to 
 write, having first bolted my door.
 
 88 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 Baby is asleep. His nurse is with him. Raoul 
 is at the club, or so, at least, we will suppose him to 
 be at this hour, this Sunday afternoon. 
 
 I shall not be disturbed. I may begin my search. 
 
 MY BLACK SHADOWS 
 
 No. I. It is Sunday, a sad day, most particularly 
 sad between lunch and dinner. It is hot abomi- 
 nably hot and that makes me very uncomfort- 
 able. 
 
 No. 2. Baby has a pimple at the corner of his 
 mouth. I have been anxious about him for a week. 
 I used to be so proud of his health, but for the past 
 week he looks pale and feverish. His nurse says 
 he does not sleep. 
 
 No. 3. Whitefern has made a fiasco of my 
 travelling suit after having tried it on ten times. 
 He finally sent it to me this morning while I was 
 asleep, evidently so that I could not try it on before 
 the girl who brought it. I am a sight in it ; I look 
 like a female coachman in the moving pictures. 
 All that is necessary to make the picture complete 
 is the hat and whip. How very troublesome ! My 
 leaving for the country will be delayed. 
 
 No. 4. But the real grief, the blackest of black 
 shadows, the only one which really counts, is that 
 I am jealous, not stupidly jealous without cause;
 
 GENEVIEVE'S DIARY 89 
 
 not simply for the sake of tormenting my husband 
 and myself ! I have a good reason, a very good 
 one. 
 
 To begin with, Raoul no longer loves me. If I 
 died he would be sorry, I think, but he would not 
 mourn very long. I can already see that I bore 
 him; that he prefers to be where I am not. It 
 breaks my heart to think of such things, but the 
 method of Mother Reine des Anges is very exact- 
 ing and requires a sincere scrutiny of the black 
 shadows. 
 
 To be no longer loved by my husband is bad 
 enough, but that is not all. He loves some one else. 
 I do not know exactly who is taking him away 
 from me nor how much he is interested. Oh, if I 
 only knew ! One thing I am certain of, and that is, 
 that some one is drawing him away. My suspicions 
 rest between a young married woman and a young 
 girl. 
 
 A young girl ! Can she be called a young girl in 
 the same sense of the word as it was applied to us 
 schoolgirls, so innocent, so timid, so reserved? 
 
 Mademoiselle Lucie de Giverny is one of those 
 ultra-fashionable Parisiennes who wants to intro- 
 duce amongst us the American customs. Mile, de 
 Giverny drives out alone; is seen alone at the 
 Salon with a gentleman who shows her the paint- 
 ings! Proprieties are not offended as long as her
 
 90 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 mother's carriage awaits them outside. At a ball 
 she selects the partner she likes, takes him into a 
 corner and there alone with him flirts outrageously ! 
 Yesterday at the Avrezacs' she chose my husband, 
 and he wondered why I became hysterical in the 
 carriage on the way home! 
 
 The young married woman, Madame Dela- 
 veaux, is the wife of an artist. She is an exquisite 
 blonde with pink and white complexion, very 
 pretty, too pretty in fact. 
 
 Why do we receive in our set people who do not 
 belong in it like this Madame Delaveaux, for in- 
 stance? It is said she was her husband's model 
 before she became his wife, and yet they are both 
 received everywhere, he because he has talent, she 
 because every man likes her. 
 
 She has made love to Raoul every woman 
 makes love to him Dieu ! I wish he were less 
 fascinating. I should love him just the same, but 
 every woman would not try to take him away from 
 me. 
 
 Madame Delaveaux had been making love to 
 my husband for a fortnight when all at once they 
 seemed to avoid each other, and I felt very happy 
 thinking they did not care for each other. When 
 I told mamma so she always calls my attention to 
 Raoul's misdeeds she said I was mistaken. 
 
 "Take care," she said. "They no longer flirt
 
 GENEVIEVE'S DIARY 91 
 
 openly; therefore they do it secretly. Keep an 
 eye on your husband." 
 
 "Then he is not flirting with Mademoiselle de 
 Giverny," I said. 
 
 "Look out for her, too," my mother replied. 
 
 I did what my mother told me to do. I distrust 
 Mademoiselle de Giverny. I distrust Raoul; con- 
 sequently I am very unhappy and suffer terribly. 
 
 These are the black shadows I found in my heart 
 after a thorough search. 
 
 REMEDIES FOR MY BLACK SHADOWS 
 
 1. This can easily be remedied. Giving orders 
 to the servants to keep my shutters closed will do it. 
 
 2. The baby? The doctor said it was nothing, 
 but as there is an epidemic of varioloid in the 
 neighborhood, I will send for a specialist. 
 
 3. My spoiled suit I will simply refuse to take 
 it and order another. Whitefern is very accom- 
 modating. He will have time to finish it before 
 I go. 
 
 4. Concerning my husband, oh, Mother Reine 
 des Anges, do come to my rescue I Inspire me ! 
 Help me ! as you used to do during your life. 
 
 I cannot stand by and see my husband's love 
 taken from me without making an effort to hold it. 
 I am very much in love with Raoul. I am his,
 
 92 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 heart and soul. I am pretty and many times since 
 our marriage men have shown me much attention. 
 Shall I flirt to make him jealous? No, I will not 
 stoop to such a method to keep my husband's love ! 
 What am I to do against my two enemies, Made- 
 moiselle de Giverny and Madame Delaveaux? A 
 scene in public would do more harm than good, and 
 although Raoul is flirting outrageously, he is ap- 
 parently not neglecting me. To accept things as 
 they are, is beyond my power. I will not. I am 
 no saint ! I cannot bear to be deceived. I have a 
 perfect right to his faithfulness. I must find out 
 the true state of affairs, but how? 
 
 The other day a circular came by mail addressed 
 to me Comtesse de Boistelle and I opened it un- 
 suspectingly before my husband. It was from an 
 agency who undertakes to watch husbands for the 
 sake of the wives and vice versa. 
 
 I held the circular out to him. After a glance he 
 crumpled it angrily and threw it in the fire. He 
 ought to know that I would never resort to such 
 means. I will never have him watched by detec- 
 tives ! I'll do it myself. He need have no fear I'll 
 open his mail or his desk; but since a woman must 
 follow her husband, the husband should not go 
 where he cannot take his wife. Let him look out ! 
 Maybe some day when he goes to a rendezvous 
 his eyes brilliant with anticipation as they some-
 
 93 
 
 times are he will find his wife instead of the 
 woman he is looking for. 
 
 I must have been meditating a long time. 
 Through the window everything in the garden ap- 
 pears beautiful under the rays of the setting sun, 
 and Paris seems far, far away. 
 
 How many apparently good reasons I have to 
 enjoy life ! Kind parents, a charming husband, a 
 beautiful child, every slight wish of mine gratified. 
 Yes, I would enjoy life but for two pairs of lovely 
 eyes, the one pair blue, the other pair black. I 
 would put out those eyes if I could do so without 
 making their owners suffer and without causing 
 pain to those who have a right to love them. 
 
 I love my husband. He must be mine and mine 
 only! 
 
 II 
 
 May Twenty-sixth. 
 
 I am all alone this evening, as has happened so 
 many times this year. Where is Raoul? I did not 
 even ask him where he was going, knowing full 
 well he would answer: "I am going to the club." 
 I must do him the credit to say he asked me to go 
 to the Avrezacs,' but I refused. I am certain he is 
 there because they will be there.
 
 94 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 I have told the nurse to go out and I am sitting 
 by baby's little bed. He is perfectly adorable when 
 he is asleep, and it is all I can do to refrain from 
 kissing him for fear of waking him up for when 
 disturbed in his first nap master baby flatly refuses 
 to fall asleep again until it is time for him to take 
 his second one. Next June he will be nineteen 
 months old. He is very tall for his age, and I do 
 hope with all my heart he will grow to be the 
 biggest, healthiest, smartest of all the children I 
 know. Pride and egotism are allowed to mother- 
 hood. 
 
 He has been better lately, although the doctor 
 comes to see him regularly every day. I finally suc- 
 ceeded in drawing out of the doctor that the child 
 was all right. 
 
 When I think of the possibility of losing him I 
 almost lose my mind. 
 
 While I am sitting with my son, Raoul is beg- 
 ging Mademoiselle de Giverny to grant him a tete- 
 a-tete, or else he is asking Madame Delaveaux for 
 a rendezvous. 
 
 I have come to the conclusion the flirtation has 
 gone further than the innocent stage. My per- 
 sonal experience, and above all, mamma's advice, 
 have dispelled my former naivete. "When your 
 husband flirts," said mother, "there is only between
 
 GENEVIEVE'S DIARY 95 
 
 flirtation and adultery the distance of a material 
 possibility." 
 
 I loathe the word flirtation. 
 
 To help pass the hours of watching by the baby's 
 bedside I went into Raoul's den for the papers. 
 Being a most careless and trusting husband, Raoul 
 had left his keys in the lock of his desk. Was I 
 tempted? I believe not. 
 
 I left the room, however; rang for my husband's 
 valet ; asked him to go and bring the papers to me. 
 I know as well as though I saw him do it that he 
 locked the desk and took away the keys. The man 
 had been with Raoul before his marriage and I 
 know he dislikes me. 
 
 Anyway, here are the papers: Le Figaro, Le 
 Gaulois, La Libre Parole. I do not usually indulge 
 in journalistic literature. Those that discuss serious 
 questions bore me. Those publishing stories our 
 brothers and husbands find amusing I do not un- 
 derstand. This one, says Raoul, is usually read by 
 brokers, cercleux clubmen and the demi-monde. 
 Let us try what reading it will do for a serious 
 woman, the wife of a cercleux. 
 
 "I learn that Mile. Irma Descloziers, Marguer- 
 ite de Bourgogne, Miss Champagne, etc., were seen 
 at the Bois." 
 
 Twelve lines given to them. Who is interested? 
 Their friends?
 
 96 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 Politics. Let's pass on. The events of the day. 
 Mathematical puzzles. Personals. This is amus- 
 ing! A great many comedies and dramas appear 
 in these few lines. 
 
 T. I spent an hour pyrm knpt vyq hrsm three 
 of which were quystg. Ogts will almost be a 
 wytmposrwmd if I have not rec. try to pqvn.-phule. 
 
 Fus Thanks 2 let. writ. H.A.A.S. Sed.S.V.P. 
 Map Will meet you at three P. M. CLEO. 
 
 Why what is this I see? Suddenly I felt as 
 though my heart had stopped ! The paper fell un- 
 heeded to the floor and I nearly lost consciousness. 
 Having slightly recovered from the shock, though 
 weak, I picked up the paper and re-read with dif- 
 ficulty the following lines : 
 
 R. Joy! To-morrow night. Saturday. Suc- 
 ceeded in getting away from this horrid country 
 place. Will be at the chosen nest at 10 P. M. Come 
 if you mean to be good, not otherwise. SUZE. 
 
 How did I know at once that R. is my husband 
 and Suze is Suzanne Delaveaux? I did not know
 
 GENEVIEVE'S DIARY 97 
 
 she was away from Paris! I even said jokingly to 
 Raoul this very day: "You will see the beautiful 
 Suzanne where you are going." He only looked at 
 me without saying a word. Did he not know she 
 was away or was he making fun of me? I know 
 not, but I am certain this personal signed "Suze" 
 is for Raoul. The more I read over the fateful 
 lines, the more I am convinced. 
 
 What I feared has come true then. There is 
 somewhere in Paris a place where the man to whom 
 I gave all that 
 
 The last words give me hope. She does not 
 love him. Otherwise she never would have said: 
 "Do not come unless you mean to be good." What 
 can the wretch want of him ? 
 
 Baby's nurse is coming back. I'll send her away. 
 I'll sleep near baby to-night. I could not bear to 
 see Raoul. Here, close to my son, I may have the 
 strength not to despair. God grant it 1 
 
 III 
 
 It is raining, and the depressing and sultry at- 
 mosphere is in perfect harmony with my condition 
 of mind. Everything is coming at once. 
 
 During the latter part of the night baby showed 
 signs of restlessness and fever. He is scarcely any 
 better this morning and I am awaiting anxiously
 
 98 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 the arrival of Doctor Robin. Oh, God! this is 
 almost more than I can bear, my child, my hus- 
 band. 
 
 Doubt has now become a certainty. I asked 
 Raoul this morning as quietly as I could : 
 
 "Was Madame Delaveaux at the party last 
 night?" He hesitated before replying: 
 
 "I don't know no she wasn't." 
 
 I insisted: "Has she left Paris?" 
 
 "Why, my dear," he replied impatiently, "how 
 should / know? Am I her keeper? Never men- 
 tion her name to me again. You do not like her. 
 I don't see why. She has always been kind to 
 you." 
 
 I was angry with him and left him without say- 
 ing anything to him about baby's condition. 
 
 So be it. Let him have a good time outside of 
 his home if he wants to ! I alone will watch ! He 
 has forfeited his right to his son. 
 
 Toward ten o'clock a man brought a band-box 
 to the house addressed to Madame de Boistelle, 13, 
 Rue Vezelay. As I live at Faubourg Saint-Honore 
 and always give my name as Comtesse de Boistelle 
 the mistake was evident. I sent for the man and 
 told him I had bought nothing at his store. 
 
 "Well," he said, "we thought there might be 
 some mistake, but the Comte ordered it himself, 
 and there was no one at Rue Vezelay." At that
 
 GENEVIEVE'S DIARY 99 
 
 moment I turned so very pale that the man 
 stopped. He understood ! 
 
 "Take it back," I said, and I ran to my own 
 room. This is the way chance took to reveal the 
 place of my husband's rendezvous. He is to meet 
 Madame Delaveaux to-night and I know the ad- 
 dress. What shall I do ? Is it not my duty to go 
 and prevent my husband from doing wrong? I am 
 tempted to tell Raoul when he comes to dinner: 
 "I know everything," and also to tell him how this 
 knowledge was forced upon me. 
 
 Of course he will deny everything. He has 
 learned to lie lately. Better say nothing and go 
 to-night to Rite Vezelay and wait for him outside. 
 He will not be able to deny then. 
 
 But what a dreadful thing. No matter I 
 must. 
 
 Next Day, 2 P. M. 
 
 The doctor has been here. He said nothing re- 
 assuring. Baby is ill. His temperature grows 
 higher every minute. Every now and then I hear 
 his tearful little voice say: "Mamma, cold." He 
 is shivering and yet his body is moist. 
 
 I asked the doctor to tell me the truth, whether 
 it was serious or not. He shook his head doubt- 
 fully and said gravely: 
 
 "I don't know for the present. It is only fever.
 
 ioo SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 It may leave him as quickly as it came. II it does 
 not, why it will turn into some of the diseases chil- 
 dren generally have measles, scarlet fever, vario- 
 loid." 
 
 Varioloid! That is what frightens me. I 
 looked through the paper this morning and saw 
 the epidemic was subsiding. 
 
 God has taken so many little ones away 
 from their poor mothers! Will He spare me 
 mine? 
 
 At lunch to-day Raoul and I spoke little. He 
 was very kind, trying to make me forget his ill- 
 humour of the morning, or perhaps what he in- 
 tends to do this evening. 
 
 He asked: "Is baby better?" 
 
 "No," I replied. "Worse. He has had a bad 
 night and I am very anxious about him." 
 
 I was unable to keep back the tears that came 
 to my eyes. Raoul got up to kiss me. Thinking 
 of the other woman, I drew back instinctively and 
 his lips only touched my hair. He sat down again. 
 He had turned very pale and shortly after resum- 
 ing his seat his tumbler broke at the stem. 
 
 Lunch ended in silence, and while Raoul lighted 
 his cigar I went back to baby. 
 
 I am a coward. I cannot bear to lose husband 
 or child. God give me strength ! I would rather 
 die than to have Raoul faithless. I would rather
 
 GENEVIEVE'S DIARY 101 
 
 die than lose my son ! But if I must choose oh, 
 God ! I will give up Raoul's love to save my child's 
 life. 
 
 IV. 
 
 TALLOIRES, June Eighteenth. 
 
 Everything is peaceful and bright around our 
 villa, which is asleep in the rays of the sun. The 
 mountains appear blue and white. The lake is 
 beautiful Paris seems so far away! 
 
 Paris is indeed far away, and so is yesterday's 
 past. The cruel hours of suffering which made 
 me wish for death are all over! Life begins 
 brightly and smoothly again. I hardly dare to be- 
 lieve that all my troubles are over. 
 
 The last lines written in my diary are very des- 
 perate ones. They were written beside baby's bed 
 when he was suffering dreadfully, moaning con- 
 stantly in his sleep. 
 
 Toward four o'clock there was a knock at the 
 door. Joseph, my husband's valet, came in. 
 
 "What is it, Joseph?" 
 
 "His lordship wants to know if Monsieur le 
 Vicomte is better." 
 
 Monsieur le Vicomte is my son. 
 
 "Did not his lordship go out?" 
 
 "No, my lady, his lordship is in his rooms and 
 wishes to be informed of the arrival of the doctor."
 
 102 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 "Very well, Joseph, the nurse will let him 
 know." 
 
 So my husband had not gone out. He was anx- 
 ious about the baby's health. He wanted to be 
 there when the doctor came. His solicitude irri- 
 tated me. I was so angry with him that I did not 
 want him to come near Rene. He should, at least, 
 leave me alone with the child. 
 
 The doctor came soon after five o'clock. I sent 
 the maid for Raoul. He came in looking so differ- 
 ent from his usual independent self that I felt sorry 
 for him. He was really suffering. 
 
 "Nothing new. We must wait," said the doc- 
 tor, putting down baby's head on the pillow. "You 
 must wait ; be ready for an emergency. Something 
 will surely develop. Have you a good physician 
 in the neighborhood?" 
 
 "Why do you ask?" 
 
 "In case he should be needed." 
 
 "Yes, there is a Doctor Guil." 
 
 "I'll write him a note and recommend you to 
 him. Send for him at any hour of the night." 
 
 The doctor went away and Raoul and I were 
 left together. I paid no attention to him whatever. 
 Raoul finally said in a strained voice : 
 
 "I will dine at home this evening." 
 
 I read him like an open book. Had Raoul said 
 this no later than yesterday I would have been be-
 
 GENEVIEVE'S DIARY 103 
 
 side myself with joy. To-day I did not care, and 
 coldly replied: 
 
 "You may if you like. I will not come down." 
 
 Our eyes met and he realized that I knew. 
 
 "As you wish," he answered. 
 
 I was standing before the baby's bed, partly 
 concealing him. Raoul did not venture nearer, and 
 after a moment's hesitation left the room. Then 
 the long hours of waiting and watching began 
 again. 
 
 Finally baby fell asleep, and overcome by the 
 moral and physical strain of the last few days, I, 
 too, dozed off. A slight noise awakened me. My 
 husband was leaning over the cradle, candle in 
 hand, looking intently at the child. He was 
 dressed ready to go out. I looked at the clock. It 
 was nine-thirty. He is going, I thought. In half 
 an hour he will be in Madame Delaveaux's arms. 
 For an instant I struggled with the desire to go 
 and be there first, but the struggle did not last long. 
 My place is here ! I am ready to make the sacrifice 
 of my husband's love, if that is to be the price of 
 baby's life. 
 
 Suddenly Raoul cried : 
 
 "Genevieve !" 
 
 I arose. Baby was at stake. I was sure of that. 
 
 "Well," what is it?" 
 
 "Look!"
 
 104 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 He was pointing to some large red spots on the 
 face and arms of the child. 
 
 "Oh, God! What is the matter? Surely not 
 varioloid?" And forgetting everything I threw 
 my arms around my husband. 
 
 Raoul went at once for the doctor. It seemed 
 an eternity before his return, bringing the doctor 
 with him. 
 
 Fully five minutes passed while the doctor ex- 
 amined Rene without speaking. We waited anx- 
 iously. 
 
 "Well, doctor," said the Comte. "Is it very 
 serious?" 
 
 "I think not, but I am not quite certain." 
 
 "Is it varioloid?" I asked breathlessly. 
 
 "I think not." 
 
 He said this calmly, quite unconscious he was 
 putting new life into me. I fell into Raoul's arms 
 when I heard him say, "Chicken-pox." Perhaps 
 my son was safe ! This great joy proved too much 
 for me, and I lost consciousness. 
 
 When I came to myself I was on the bed. My 
 husband was at my side. I asked about Rene. 
 
 "He is better. It is, after all, a slight case of 
 varioloid. He is all broken out ; looks very ugly ; 
 but the danger is past. The nurse is with him. 
 But you how are you?" 
 
 "I? I am very well."
 
 GENEVIEVE'S DIARY 105 
 
 I tried to get up, but was so very exhausted that 
 I fell back upon the pillow with a sigh. 
 
 "Poor child!" said Raoul, taking my hand. 
 
 During the silence that followed my thoughts 
 were busy. I said to myself: Raoul is here. He 
 must have returned from the Rue Pezelay, or else 
 he did not go at all. I could not refrain from 
 asking when he returned. 
 
 "Why, with the doctor. I have stayed at your 
 side ever since you have been lying here." 
 
 His face came quite close to mine. I murmured: 
 "Well?" 
 
 He understood and replied very low : 
 
 "You are the only woman I love, and you must 
 forgive me." 
 
 Never since the days of our honeymoon had he 
 given me such a kiss. 
 
 As soon as baby could be moved we came to 
 Talloires, our country place. I am very happy. 
 On the morning following that horrible night I 
 saw a telegram saying: 
 
 "I waited for you yesterday two hours in a 
 stupid room. I will have nothing to do with ill- 
 bred people. 
 
 "SUZE." 
 
 Concerning Mademoiselle de Giverny? She is 
 to be married in a few weeks.
 
 LES YEUX 
 
 Mademoiselle Antoinette Legrand 
 
 To Monsieur le Ficomte Herve de Laverriere: 
 
 THERE is no doubt in writing to you that my 
 name at the end of this letter will not tell you any- 
 thing, will recall nothing. So many adventures 
 must happen to you. 
 
 Although I am wrong to call what passed be- 
 tween us an adventure for you it was nothing at 
 all, because the next minute you had forgotten the 
 very young girl in black whom you followed one 
 evening, the eighteenth of last May, from the cor- 
 ner of the Rue Boissy d' Anglais to the Place des 
 Pyramides. Do you not remember? 
 
 You spoke to me there and we walked together 
 up to the Rue Montorgueil, near my home. You 
 were in evening dress, white necktie, patent leather 
 shoes and a black Macferlane, lined with satin. 
 Oh, I remember it all well enough ! It seemed so 
 funny, so charming, to be with you in the street, 
 chatting as if we knew each other! I was con- 
 fused, but I was happy. 
 
 I thought: Since he walks beside me before 
 everybody in broad daylight it must be that he 
 
 10$
 
 LES YEUX 107 
 
 thinks I am not too homely, neither too badly 
 dressed. And after you had left me, after having 
 kissed me, I knew that in spite of what I had said 
 I would go to the rendezvous that you gave me for 
 the next day, to your rooms in Rue de la Terrace. 
 Oh ! you cannot imagine all that went through my 
 head and heart during the time which followed 1 
 
 When I was telling you during our walk that I 
 had no sweetheart, that I had always been good 
 and had never wished to be anything else, you were 
 laughing, and you would stop to look at me in my 
 eyes, and you were saying to yourself: "Good! 
 Really! A little Parisienne like you? With such 
 eyes and such a mouth good at nineteen?" And 
 I could see that you only half believed me. Well, 
 it was true. I swear it still, and you would surely 
 believe me if you were near me at this moment, a 
 moment when one does not wish to joke or lie. 
 
 Ah ! Monsieur Herve, I am very 511 I, who was 
 so well all spring and summer. Bronchitis had come 
 over me as soon as the cold weather came. I have 
 never been very strong. Then our work, it is ter- 
 rible for delicate lungs. We try on one after 
 another an evening dress, a fur coat, and the awful 
 heat of the furnace and the change of doors opened 
 suddenly upon us ! Besides, always standing, turn- 
 ing round like a dummy that is what we are 
 called. Moreover but I must not write sad
 
 io8 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 things. I am not angry with you not at all, not 
 at all. I only have something to ask you which 
 would give me great pleasure. You will not re- 
 fuse me when you have read my letter. 
 
 The evening of the rendezvous (I had said no, 
 no; but you understood that it meant yes) I had 
 left the atelier one hour sooner than usual and 
 quickly ran home to dress. I said to my sister that 
 I was going to the theatre with friends. She 
 knows I am not frivolous, so she had no suspicion. 
 I assure you I was quite pretty when I came to 
 wait for you at nine o'clock at the corner of Rue 
 de la Terrace. I no longer wore my little black 
 gown. I had a pretty blue tailored costume, copied 
 after a model that we have made for an English 
 princess! I came to see you again, so happy that 
 I had no remorse left, I assure you. 
 
 (I have thought about it since, and in cold 
 blood, too. You might have done with me as you 
 wished. We know that one cannot be good all 
 one's life, and it is good luck if one marries one's 
 first sweetheart. You understand Monsieur Herve, 
 that I did not expect you to marry me. I knew that 
 you would soon be tired and would leave me, and 
 you would marry a rich young lady; but that didn't 
 matter I was happy, just the same, to think that 
 you would love me for a while and that I should 
 be to you what I had never been to any one, as
 
 LES YEUX 109 
 
 if you were my husband. You pleased me so much ! 
 You did not imagine the impression you made upon 
 me. We see so many gentlemen at our house, who 
 accompany their wives or friends, but no one has 
 your face, your pretty teeth and your eyes espe- 
 cially your eyes ! While I was waiting for you at 
 the Rue de la Terrace I was thinking of your eyes, 
 and I was thinking also that if I should dare when 
 we would be alone and I would kiss them kiss 
 them! 
 
 I waited one hour, two hours. I waited until 
 past midnight, watching the corner of Avenue Fil- 
 liers and the boulevard. I waited so long that peo- 
 ple evidently took me for what I was not. Some 
 gentlemen approached me and said unpleasant 
 things, and I did not know what to do to put them 
 aside, because I did not dare to go farther for fear 
 of missing you. Finally, when it was half after 
 midnight, when omnibuses have ceased to run, I 
 came home so that my sister should not be anxious. 
 
 My heart was heavy, Monsieur Herve, and I as- 
 sure you that once in bed I did not sleep much and 
 that I wept a great deal. In vain did I reason with 
 myself: He has been prevented by his family 
 business; he could not warn me, since he does not 
 know my address. I was a little ashamed to have 
 been alone at the rendezvous. I thought: If he 
 wanted to see me very much he could have found
 
 no SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 some means to join me. One may be good; one 
 sees well how men are when they are very much in- 
 terested in a woman. Then I was unhappy because 
 I did not know how we could find each other again. 
 I had not given my address ; I knew your name and 
 your club, but I never should have dared to write 
 to you. 
 
 After much thought, I surmised that if you 
 cared a little for me you would manage to find me, 
 since you knew where my work is and at what hour 
 I go out. 
 
 For many weeks, Monsieur Herve, I have gone to 
 your house, watching for your coming, and I went 
 up the Rue de Rivoli slowly. I have gone over the 
 way we walked together carefully. Never have I 
 found you. You were no longer thinking about 
 me. I had only to forget you, n'est-ce pas? That's 
 what I said to myself but I could not! The 
 more the time went on the more I thought about 
 you and the more I was unhappy. 
 
 The first evening I had thought you were charm- 
 ing and I had been happy when you kissed me un- 
 der the porte-cochere. Now because I desired so 
 much to see you without being able to succeed I 
 had such need to see you, that I understood quite 
 well I loved you ! 
 
 Do not laugh, Monsieur Herve; it would be 
 wrong. In your world people are distracted by so
 
 LES YEUX in 
 
 much amusement that they have no time to listen to 
 their heart ! As for us, we have only the atelier and 
 a home, which is not always a happy one. If now 
 and then we go to the theatre it's a great event. 
 Then during the day, while we try on chemisettes 
 and manteaux, or at night in bed, when sleep does 
 not come, there is plenty of time to be unhappy 
 thinking about a man. I have thought about you 
 so much that I have lost all taste for life. Before 
 knowing you I was cheerful. I was content with 
 my luck, had confidence in the future without quite 
 knowing why. Now I desire nothing, no longer 
 have any appetite and cannot sleep. 
 
 Would you believe that the last two weeks of 
 June I have waited for you every evening on the 
 sidewalk facing your club ? I have seen you eight 
 times, Monsieur Herve. Never have I been able to 
 speak to you; very seldom are you alone, or you 
 would enter your carriage immediately. Then I 
 trembled so much that I would not have been able, 
 I believe, to walk or talk. 
 
 Toward the end of June you left for the country. 
 I saw a notice of it in the Gaulois, which they take 
 at the atelier. "M. le Ficomte Herve de Laver- 
 riere, au Chateau d'Estussan (Fendee}." I was 
 more quiet during your absence, imagine ! I knew 
 you were not in Paris and there were no means of 
 seeing you. I said to myself: He will come back
 
 ii2 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 in the autumn. Both of us are not old; it would be 
 strange if we should never meet again. And I was 
 right, because I met you the day after your return 
 to Paris. I will tell you how. You must not be 
 angry with me, Monsieur Herve, because I am so 
 unhappy. 
 
 The newspaper had also told me that you were 
 back in Paris with many other people who have 
 chateaux. 
 
 About half-past nine I waited for you again op- 
 posite your club. There is a fate against us surely, 
 because I had been there but three minutes when a 
 private carriage stopped before the club. There 
 was a lady in the carriage. A little chasseur came 
 immediately to her and went in again to the club. 
 It must not hurt you, Monsieur Herve, if I tell 
 you that I did not think this lady very pretty or 
 very young, and that her gown is not one of those 
 we make for women comme il faut. Finally you 
 came to her; before entering the carriage you said 
 to the coachman: "Rue de la Terrace!" It went 
 through to my heart! Truly you had told me: "I 
 have an apartment there I only use for rendez- 
 vous!" Then I knew. Stupid! Until that even- 
 ing I had not been jealous. I do not know why. 
 I should have suspected that you were not a saint. 
 But to have seen the person and to know the place ! 
 Oh ! it did hurt me, it did hurt me ! I do not know
 
 LES YEUX 113 
 
 how I got back to the house. I went to bed im- 
 mediately. Did I take cold or was it the shock? 
 I was taken ill that night with fever, then my 
 throat, and I coughed so much that I have been 
 in bed a whole month. I have not been up since 
 and I fear never will again. 
 
 You understand, indeed, that I do not accuse you 
 of my illness. I have never had a very strong con- 
 stitution. Every winter I cough a great deal, and 
 what is happening now would probably have hap- 
 pened some day or other. It has only come a little 
 faster because of you, although without any wish 
 of yours. It is not very cheerful, n'est-ce pas? to 
 go at twenty without having had much happiness. 
 I should like to ask you something which would 
 give me great pleasure and will cost you very little 
 trouble. It would be to come to me to say good- 
 by, since I cannot go to you. Oh, there will be 
 no trouble or difficulty; you will speak to no one 
 but me. Three floors up, number fifteen, Rue 
 Montorgueil. Ring and ask for Mile. Antoinette 
 Legrand (of my sister, who will open the door to 
 you). She will leave us alone. I have changed 
 a great deal. I am very thin, but my face is 
 still mignonne, almost as it used to be, it seems to 
 me. You will talk to me ; I shall look at you, shall 
 hear your voice. It seems that I shall go happier 
 if you will allow me to kiss your eyes."
 
 ONE ROOM OR TWO? 
 (La Question du Lit) 
 
 Madame Dudozac to Madame Anquetin 
 From the Chateau of Serbat: 
 
 MY DEAR OLD FRIEND 
 
 I come to you as I so often have before because 
 you are the only one who can help me in this 
 trouble. Nothing threatens my husband or myself, 
 but I desire to talk to you about him. You know 
 that Maurice and I are quite congenial, although 
 our life has ceased to be a perpetual honeymoon. 
 You must remember that three years have elapsed 
 since we returned from our wedding trip. How- 
 ever, our love has behaved itself like a good legiti- 
 mate love, approved by civil and religious authori- 
 ties. It has lasted the usual time, that is to say, 
 from the night of the wedding to the night of our 
 home-coming. Then Maurice and I agreed to put 
 our love away in a jewel case if I may so say 
 and from time to time we bring it out like a price- 
 less gem, polish it a little to ascertain whether it 
 is still in good condition and, when need be, wear 
 it for a few moments. Then it is stowed away 
 again until the next occasion calls for it. 
 
 114
 
 ONE ROOM OR TWO? 115 
 
 Need I add that both Maurice and I enjoy the 
 inestimable delight of separate beds? We each 
 have our bedroom, dressing-room and bath. Mau- 
 rice said very judiciously once: "It would be a 
 pity to crowd ourselves into one room when your 
 father has spent eight hundred thousand francs in 
 building this mansion." Therefore, for the last 
 two years and a half I have lived very peacefully, 
 resuming all the good habits of my girlhood. 
 
 I have had the opportunity to roam about in my 
 night robe until a late hour, arranging my own pet 
 belongings, reading over old letters, sometimes 
 writing, or when in bed turning over the pages of 
 a favorite novel until ready to sleep. The light 
 out, I would really begin to appreciate the luxury 
 of being alone, being able to lie lengthwise, cross- 
 wise, curled up, or in any position I chose without 
 fear of disturbing any one. It was gloriously de- 
 lightful, and truly, the best of the twenty-four 
 hours began for me after I had locked my bed- 
 room door. 
 
 But you will ask, dear old friend, "What was 
 Maurice doing meanwhile?" Well, dear, I con- 
 fess that never worried me, and I frankly acknowl- 
 edge that it should have. It ought to have oc- 
 curred to me that men are differently constituted; 
 that they take a keen pleasure in what, let us say, 
 calls forth within us only a slight nervous irrita-
 
 n6 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 tion ; that the husband who so easily resigns himself 
 to sleeping alone may take a siesta during the day 
 somewhere else. It really was very thoughtless of 
 me to show such indifference. 
 
 If Maurice deceived me it was very discreetly 
 done, without scandal and without financial ex- 
 travagance. He never left me alone for dinner; 
 never pleaded extraordinary business away from 
 home, such as many of my friends have to put up 
 with. In short, he was always perfect a true gen- 
 tleman. If Maurice deceived me he did it as a 
 good husband might. 
 
 This conjugal happiness would still be lasting 
 if our Aunt Destorbes had not decided to die sud- 
 denly in her castle of Serbat, near Moncrabeau. 
 
 You do not know Moncrabeau, the castle of Ser- 
 bat, or our aunt ? 
 
 Following the death of her husband fifteen years 
 ago this old aunt died suddenly last March, after 
 giving no sign of life to any one, except her maid, 
 who was as old and eccentric as herself. Much 
 to our surprise we inherited the chateau of Serbat, 
 near Moncrabeau. This name, which really sug- 
 gests nothing poetical, was, however, sufficient to 
 electrify Maurice. I must tell you that the first 
 five or six years of his precious existence were spent 
 there, but he had never returned and could not 
 without emotion recall the place where he had
 
 ONE ROOM OR TWO? 117 
 
 played, fought and got into all sorts of mischiefs 
 with the little Gascons of his age. 
 
 It was then agreed that the following summer 
 we should spend a month in the castle which we 
 owed to the departure of our aunt to the unknown. 
 
 Ah, what a beautiful manor, my dear old 
 friend ! I know now how beautiful ; I am living in 
 it and would much rather be somewhere else. The 
 country is delightful. The castle is charming, with 
 its three low, square towers surmounted by a py- 
 ramidal roof of red tiles, and round it, like a blue 
 belt, is a dense oak grove. Oh, dear, the inside ! 
 the rooms ! Our aunt must not have been at all 
 acquainted with modern comfort. Should the 
 drawing-room wall-paper be mouldy, should the 
 dining-room ceiling fall over our heads, that would 
 not matter! But would you believe it, there was 
 one, and only one, habitable bedroom, that being 
 the room of the dead woman (not very cheerful, 
 is it?) and when I say habitable I mean it con- 
 tained a bed, standing on four legs, and a wash- 
 stand. 
 
 Dressing-rooms were unknown to the castle. 
 One of the rooms I noticed was furnished with 
 only a chair and a candlestick. 
 
 The castle was so utterly devoid of any kind of 
 furniture that after our first tour through our 
 newly acquired property Maurice and I were
 
 n8 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 seized with a fit of uncontrollable laughter. It 
 was about ten o'clock. The day had been spent 
 travelling and we were tired, and needed a place to 
 rest. 
 
 "Where will you sleep, my dear?" I said to 
 Maurice. 
 
 "I saw a large arm-chair in the small drawing- 
 room," he replied pitifully. "I'll have it brought 
 up." 
 
 It was then I gave way to a feeling of pity, 
 which I have ever since regretted. 
 
 "Mon Dieu !" I said, smiling, "if you are willing 
 to share my bed." 
 
 To-morrow, I thought, another bed will be put 
 up in another room. 
 
 The night passed without incident. We were 
 too tired to think of anything but sleep. 
 
 Next day, thanks to my care, Maurice's room 
 was ready, but when the time came to retire he 
 noticed he had no pillows. It seems it is not cus- 
 tomary in this part of the country to possess such 
 luxuries. 
 
 "Ma foil my dear, I shall again ask for your 
 hospitality to-night." I was willing, but being 
 more rested than the day before, I fell asleep only 
 toward morning. This long body beside me dis- 
 turbed me, made me restless, and I would awaken 
 suddenly after a few moments of fitful slumber.
 
 ONE ROOM OR TWO? 119 
 
 Fortunately, I thought while dressing the next 
 morning, it will be the last time. There has been 
 no last time since this unfortunate move. Maurice 
 enjoys sleeping in my bed. He positively refuses 
 to leave it. When I say "sleeping" it is not figur- 
 atively speaking. He occupies my bed to sleep 
 he says so, the wretch. 
 
 " 'Tis extraordinary how well I sleep beside you, 
 my dear! We will have to take this habit back 
 with us to Paris, for there my sleep is more or less 
 disturbed." 
 
 As for me, I undergo a thousand tortures. No 
 more hours of delightful idleness at night before 
 going to bed, no more correspondence. Not that 
 Maurice forbids it, but I like to be alone to do 
 such things, and two eyes, even though they be 
 looking on indifferently, disturb me. 
 
 Furthermore, I am obliged partly to restrain 
 myself. I say partly, because I indulge in antics 
 like a frog in a frying-pan on my own side of the 
 bed, at times kicking Maurice viciously to get more 
 room. This has little effect upon him. He scarce- 
 ly moves, murmurs a sleepy "pardon me" and 
 sleeps on. I have told him : "My dear, I want my 
 bed to myself. I cannot sleep with any one." 
 
 "Bah!" said he laughingly, "you would not 
 sleep any better if you were alone. The bed is 
 wide and I never stir." I told him he snored (that
 
 120 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 is a story). "Oh, no!" he replied with a conceited 
 laugh. "If I snored I would have been told so 
 before." 
 
 What am I to do, my trustworthy and resource- 
 ful friend? You cannot imagine how impatient 
 this offensive return of Maurice makes me take 
 this word offensive in its mildest meaning. My 
 virtue, happily, is still irreproachable, and no later 
 than yesterday I nipped in the bud his attempt at 
 love-making. 
 
 You see I am getting very cross and irritable. 1 
 am sure to do something I'll be sorry for. Do ad- 
 vise me. Find the means by which I'll regain my 
 freedom. I surely cannot ask for a divorce simply 
 because my husband insists upon sharing my couch. 
 
 II 
 
 Madame Anquelm to Madame Duclozac 
 
 From Paris: 
 
 It is very nice of you, little one, to think of your 
 old friend in your hour of need, and to run breath- 
 lessly to shelter your anxiety under the wings of my 
 experience ! Oh, a great, very great experience ! 
 To think that I have seen you making mud pies 
 when I was already hors de cause, giving advice 
 to young women, now almost old. Life flies by 
 like a cloud over the sea. Take care, to-morrow
 
 ONE ROOM OR TWO? 121 
 
 the time will be gone and with it beauty, when no 
 one, not even your husband, to whom at present 
 you begrudge a share of your bed, will want to lie 
 in it. The indifference to love you show so clearly 
 in your letter makes me deeply sorry. 
 
 What! Only twenty-five and you say all you 
 find in love is only a few seconds of nervous irrita- 
 tion? You are very frigid, my child, or else M. 
 Duclozac is very awkward. Take your spite out 
 on him, but do not slander love, of which you know 
 nothing. Que dlable! 
 
 My amorous reminiscences are very, very old; 
 still I know my temperament was different from 
 yours. 
 
 I understood pretty well the feelings that sur- 
 prise you and I had no false modesty in showing 
 them. To say that M. Anquetin never complained 
 of them would be to do him an honor his memory 
 does not deserve. He had married me for my 
 money, which he squandered in gambling. I 
 should have been foolish to disdain compensations. 
 I am therefore pretty well informed on the funda- 
 mental question of conjugal love. 
 
 Now listen, and take heed, my child! 
 
 First of all, I agree with you. There is no use 
 whatever in being two in a bed just to sleep. It 
 would be more unreasonable to have one plate only 
 for two to eat from and one chair only for two to
 
 122 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 sit at table. Therefore, your husband is wrong in 
 inflicting upon you his sleeping personality. You 
 must drive him away. 
 
 Where is the wife, unfortunately married, who 
 has not had, at least once in her lifetime, to under- 
 take such a campaign? You are not the only one. 
 All useless husbands have at times the monomania 
 to encumber their wife's bed. Even I had to strug- 
 gle for six months to reconquer mine from a hus- 
 band who, like yours, got into his head the desire 
 to occupy it platonically. 
 
 I tried different means successively. The first 
 was to make my presence obnoxious to him. I 
 would get up twenty times during the night, noisily 
 light the lamp, knock against the furniture, make 
 noise enough to awaken a dormouse in the dead of 
 winter. At first the results were successful. Al- 
 though my husband did not leave the bed, he slept 
 very badly. True, I slept still worse. Then hap- 
 pened what I should have foreseen. Fatigue 
 brought failure. My husband, however, slept in 
 spite of the noise and I lost all inclination to move 
 for need of sleep. 
 
 Then I tried perfumes. He loathed them. I 
 literally soaked the sheets with all sorts of unpleas- 
 ant odors, such as musk, peau d'Espagne, etc. My 
 husband lost his temper, swore and fell asleep. I 
 had to give up such a manner of dispensing hos-
 
 ONE ROOM OR TWO? 123 
 
 pitality, for I gained nothing but frightful head- 
 aches. 
 
 Less fortunate than yourself, I had no old friend 
 to whom I could turn for advice, but I had a few 
 young ones of my own age. 
 
 One day when I was complaining one of them 
 exclaimed : 
 
 "I wish I were in your place." 
 
 "Why, mon Diet*/" 
 
 "Because my husband does not share my bed 
 very often." 
 
 "For what reason?" 
 
 "// trouvait cela trop fatigant," she replied, 
 dropping her eyes blushingly. 
 
 My friend was a woman whom I should never 
 have suspected of possessing such a temperament. 
 Her disclosure suggested something to me. I put 
 it into practice. My whole conjugal tactics were 
 changed. I suppressed all the unpleasantness I 
 had introduced. I became charming, lovable, de- 
 sirable. True, my husband was not very passion- 
 ate, but he was a man for all that. The unex- 
 pectedness of my return flattered his vanity. He 
 gathered his courage, which lasted four nights. 
 The fifth night he pleaded a headache, the very 
 same headaches we make use of on occasions, kissed 
 me on the forehead and said: "My dear, if you'll 
 allow me I'll leave you alone to-night." As long
 
 124 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 as he lived, since that time, I enjoyed full posses- 
 sion of my sleeping quarters. That is the way I 
 did it, belle cherie try it and see for yourself. 
 It is distasteful? Well, courage is needed. 
 
 However, a woman of imagination need only 
 shut her eyes. The illusion is not to be despised. 
 If, after all, your heart is so devoid of everything 
 that even illusion has no place in it, why, mentally 
 recite, like another friend of mine, the long list of 
 the kings of France from Pharamond to Louis- 
 Philippe with their dates. 
 
 Adieu ! Let me know the results. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Madame Duclozac to Madame Anquetin. 
 
 Chateau of Serb at: 
 
 What have you done, dear friend, and what 
 have you advised me to do ! Yours was a nice 
 recipe, indeed! I followed your directions con- 
 scientiously. It is now the eighth day of the new 
 regime and Monsieur Duclozac is more attached 
 than ever to my bed. You surely did not expect 
 such results, did you? Are you sorry? You 
 needn't be. I bear you no grudge. You are a 
 dear, and I am madly in love with you and your 
 advice. Do you understand? No? I am rather ex- 
 cited just now, and oh, so happy in my excitement.
 
 ONE ROOM OR TWO? 125 
 
 Well, as soon as your letter came I became filled 
 with admiration for the ingenuity of the method. 
 It was, if I may say so, treating the disease by 
 homeopathy, for my bed, the cause of the trouble, 
 was going to furnish me the remedy. My own 
 husband was to be banished, beating a retreat, cov- 
 ered with ridicule in the bargain ! 
 
 I decided to open fire that very evening. To say 
 that I was looking forward to the campaign with 
 pleasure would be to exaggerate my feelings, but 
 there is always a certain satisfaction to one's pride 
 in following a treatment however severe. Then the 
 thought of the grave matters at stake upheld me, 
 freedom at night, the peaceful possession of my 
 own room and a bed all to myself. 
 
 I carefully prepared the campaign and made 
 ready to charm my own husband. I still possess 
 from my wedding trousseau a certain nocturnal 
 paraphernalia which is quite suggestive, although 
 it was worn under legitimate auspices. I was thus 
 clothed (like Esther appearing before King Ahas- 
 uerus) when Monsieur Duclozac found me at bed- 
 time. Nanon, the cook, and I had seen carefully 
 to the menu for dinner and he felt happy. 
 
 I did not have to wait long for developments. 
 Like a good general I feigned a retreat, the 
 enemy advanced; the battle began. 
 
 After several skirmishes both parties were left
 
 126 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 on the battlefield. It was difficult to say who was 
 conquered or conqueror. 
 
 The following day did not pass as smoothly as 
 usual. I had resumed toward my husband an air 
 of disagreeable coldness, which is generally affected 
 between man and wife, while I read in his eyes a 
 blending of satisfaction and irony that I could 
 hardly endure. It enraged me so I wished to beat 
 him. You just wait, I thought, we'll see shortly 
 whether you have cause to be so triumphant. My 
 mind was made up. It is said that a thing once 
 done is easier to do a second time. I was certain 
 now to be able to overcome my repugnance and 
 come through triumphant next time. To tell you 
 the whole truth it was easier to do the first time 
 than I had ever thought. 
 
 Nevertheless, to ease my mind I schooled my- 
 self. To-night, I thought, will probably be as last 
 night, and it will be very unpleasant. I will divert 
 myself by mentally reciting the list of the French 
 kings with their dates, as my good friend Anquetin 
 advised. My self-respect being thus quieted, I 
 waited for night to come. 
 
 When we were alone M. Duclozac showed me 
 at once he had not forgotten what had happened 
 the night before. The kings of France? What 
 of them? Well, the kings of France I did not 
 get a chance to go further than Merovee.
 
 ONE ROOM OR TWO? 127 
 
 No matter, I thought, as I rested in Maurice's 
 arms (which is part of the program, n'est-ce pas?} , 
 no matter. Did not my good friend say it took her 
 a whole week to get rid of her husband? A few 
 more sorties and then I am saved saved! 
 
 A few more battles ? 
 
 There were many more. 
 
 Your husband, dear friend, must not have felt 
 about it as mine does. What of the French kings? 
 Ahem ! They went lamely on as best they might. 
 Good will was not lacking to be sure, but memory 
 sometimes played false. One king was always sure 
 to escape. Now a Merovingian, now a Valois, 
 now a Bourbon, according to early or late failure 
 of my memory. Once I had thought I had almost 
 succeeded in reaching Napoleon then toward 
 morning, when I thought I would surely reach the 
 end I missed Louis-Philippe. 
 
 The constant call upon my memory brought 
 great fatigue. By the middle of the week I hardly 
 knew myself. Victory ? A fine victory, indeed ! I 
 was losing all control over myself. Not only my 
 husband was not driven away, but I no longer 
 knew whether I wanted him to go or not. Why 
 was I so changed? I was almost willing to 
 acknowledge defeat. I was no longer the same 
 indifferent little woman who had truthfully said 
 that love amounted to nothing but a few seconds
 
 128 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 of nervous irritation. What had come over me? 
 Here I was after three years of married life taking 
 a new wedding trip, and although it did not ex- 
 tend farther than my own room, it certainly was in 
 a great many respects much more interesting. 
 
 Justice must be done to Monsieur Duclozac, as 
 he behaved throughout like a perfect gentleman. 
 He did not gloat over his triumph, nor did he try 
 to humiliate me in any way. 
 
 When we dared talk about what was changing 
 our attitudes toward each other he showed himself 
 loving and tender, avowing himself my most de- 
 voted lover. 
 
 "I was far from suspecting I possessed such a 
 treasure," said he. "See how good this change has 
 been for you. It has revealed you to me, and per- 
 haps to yourself." 
 
 I asked him what he meant by "perhaps." 
 
 "Mow Dieu, my dear, for the last three years I 
 have been a most indifferent husband. I know I 
 can trust you, and my honor is perfectly safe in 
 your hands but no one is master of one's 5 
 thoughts, and I made no attempt to keep yours." 
 "Especially," he said, laughing, "when my dear 
 wife posesses a temperament I was far from sus- 
 pecting." 
 
 "Alas," I stammered, "neither did I." 
 
 "So far it proves nothing. You have shown
 
 ONE ROOM OR TWO? 129 
 
 more enjoyment than experience. Now, will you 
 explain why the other night when I was trying my 
 very best to make you think of me you called 
 'Louis' three times languidly but distinctly? My 
 name has been Maurice ever since I was born." 
 
 The words were hardly out of his mouth before 
 I was seized with uncontrollable laughter. I threw 
 myself on the sofa, and between what you might 
 almost call convulsions I said, "Why, dear, it was 
 it was Louis it was Louis XIV." (He verily 
 believed for a moment I had lost my mind and it 
 was only a long time afterward that he really un- 
 derstood.) 
 
 There, now, belle amie, I kiss your hands. I am 
 very grateful to you for having taught me so 
 clever a method of driving away my husband. 
 Bear me no grudge and do not say, "The little 
 minx." You know better than any one that the 
 heart of a woman is even to herself a mystery.
 
 A NOVEL OF PASSION 
 (Un Roman passionnel) 
 
 Chateau des Roches, in Touraine, toward the 
 end of the holidays, in the room of Mademoiselle 
 Julie de Lescourtois. Julie is sixteen, graceful and 
 slender, and has large innocent eyes. She is ready 
 for bed, and looks very pretty with her blond hair 
 braided like a little girl. Instead of going to bed 
 like a good child, in a small Louis XVI bed of 
 white lacquer with blue mouldings, whose pure 
 white sheets are open in a triangle, she has put on 
 a delicious mauve peignoir over her nightgown. 
 She comes near the door which communicates with 
 the next room, opens it and says: 
 
 "Are you coming, Jeanne?" 
 "Yes, darling." 
 
 And the next instant there is another girl in a 
 mauve dressing gown of the same age and the 
 same crape in Julie's room. The delicate figure of 
 Mademoiselle Jeanne Aimery appears, a plump 
 little blonde, the companion and inseparable friend 
 of Julie, both at the boarding school of Avenue 
 Hoche, and during vacation. 
 
 With mysterious ways and great seriousness 
 130
 
 A NOVEL OF PASSION 131 
 
 both go to the writing-table, which is in the mid- 
 dle of the room. Mademoiselle Julie opens a 
 large book of manuscript which is covered with 
 white paper. On the first page one can read these 
 words: 
 
 DESABUSEE 
 
 A Great Novel of Passion 
 
 by 
 Enguerrand De Casteljaloux 
 
 Mademoiselle de Lescourtois turns over the 
 pages of the manuscript. Her friend, Jeanne, gazes 
 at her with admiration. This faithful friend is the 
 only one who knows the great secret. Enguerrand 
 de Casteljaloux has blonde hair down her back, a 
 budding breast, and wears a mauve dressing gown. 
 The author of "Desabusee" is no other than Julie 
 herself, and this great passionate tale t already un- 
 folded to page one hundred and three, is the myste- 
 rious fruit of the vacation. Under the pretext of 
 writing letters or studying lessons, Julie shuts her- 
 self in her room in tete-a-tete with the precious- 
 manuscript, and in the evening, when everybody 
 in the castle has retired and all the doors are safely 
 shut, she reads to Jeanne Aimery the pages com- 
 posed during the day. 
 
 Jeanne asks: 
 
 "Have you written the great scene?"
 
 132 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 "Yes," answers Julie. 
 
 "Up to the moment when ?" 
 
 "Yes, listen." 
 
 The two friends sit down. 
 
 Julie coughs lightly and reads. 
 
 Captain Maxime did not deceive himself. The 
 impression he had produced on Marguerite 
 
 JEANNE (interrupting}. Made. 
 
 JULIE. What? made? (Understanding} Ah, 
 you're right. (She corrects) he had made on 
 Marguerite de Viran was awful. It had been 
 enough for her to see him once. 
 
 JEANNE (interrupting again} . To see him once? 
 
 JULIE (vexed}. Well, you know: don't inter- 
 rupt me like that all the time or I will not read. 
 It is tiresome, after all, this pose for grammatical 
 knowledge. 
 
 JEANNE (timidly}. But you can't leave such 
 mistakes. 
 
 JULIE. Such mistakes! To begin with, those 
 are not mistakes. They are corrected by the edi- 
 tors. Besides, there are some in every book there 
 are some (she thinks) in Boileau, in Mademoiselle 
 Zenai'de Fleuriot everywhere. 
 
 JEANNE. It is true, after all. Go on. 
 
 JULIE (reading}. For her to see him once was 
 to love him. She went back to her mother's man- 
 sion in a state impossible to describe. How hand-
 
 A NOVEL OF PASSION 133 
 
 some he is ! she thought. How beautifully his uni- 
 form shows his figure ! What pretty hands he has ! 
 What a superb mustache, and so proudly turned 
 up ! Courage can be read in burning letters on his 
 patibulary countenance. 
 
 JEANNE. What does that word patibulary 
 mean? 
 
 JULIE. Why, don't you know? It is said about 
 people who look awful brigands. 
 
 JEANNE (convinced). Ah! 
 
 JULIE (reading). Disturbed by these thoughts, 
 she threw herself at the feet of her crucifix, and 
 asked the Lord to help her marry the captain. 
 Otherwise, she felt herself capable of the greatest 
 folly, such as to run away. ( To Jeanne) It is good, 
 don't you think so? 
 
 JEANNE. It is terrible ! It will be a novel im- 
 possible to leave in everybody's hands. 
 
 JULIE (proudly). Oh, no indeed! (Reading) 
 Night had come; the whole valley of the Loiret 
 was covered by its sombre veil. No star shone in 
 the firmament. The snow had spread its cold 
 shroud over the horizon. Marguerite left her 
 room. The wind was raging through the halls of 
 the chateau. 
 
 JEANNE (a little pale). I am afraid, Julie. 
 Why do you write things like that? (She brings 
 her chair nearer Julie's.)
 
 i 3 4 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 JULIE (continuing). Was raging through the 
 halls of the chateau. Why did Marguerite feel 
 herself forced to leave her room and go out on the 
 terrace in such an icy gale? A mysterious force 
 drew her there. However, what was Captain 
 Maxime doing? 
 
 JEANNE (her voice changed by emotion). He 
 is there ! 
 
 JULIE. Where? There! 
 
 JEANNE. In the park of the castle ! I am sure 
 of it. Go on quickly. Heavens, how beautiful it 
 is! 
 
 JULIE (reading). The captain, who also had 
 been impelled by a mysterious force toward this 
 young girl on whom he had made (she hesitates a 
 moment ) such an impression, about eleven o'clock 
 at night had his horse, Artaban, saddled, and left 
 at great speed for the castle. He found the door 
 of the castle locked. (Julie stops to enjoy the ef- 
 feet.) 
 
 JEANNE. What is he going to do ? 
 
 JULIE (taking up her reading). Maxime came 
 down from his horse and knocked with the butt 
 end of his revolver on the keeper's door. The 
 latter opened, frightened. "Listen," said the cap- 
 tain. "If you say a word I will blow your brains 
 out with this revolver. If you let me go in, here 
 are one hundred thousand francs in bills."
 
 A NOVEL OF PASSION 135 
 
 JEANNE. You ought to say three hundred 
 thousand, Julie. 
 
 JULIE. Why? 
 
 JEANNE. A hundred thousand makes only 
 three thousand income and the keeper is going to 
 lose his position. 
 
 JULIE (correcting). "Here are three hundred 
 thousand francs in bills!" The keeper accepted 
 and the captain remounted his horse and en- 
 tered the park. The light which was shining 
 in the windows of Marguerite's room (To 
 Jeanne) now I warn you, it will be strong! Listen 
 carefully. It is like George Sand, but more 
 realistic 
 
 JEANNE. Well, go on. 
 
 JULIE (reading). Suddenly Marguerite, who 
 was leaning on the balustrade of the terrace which 
 overhangs the Loiret, heard a horse swimming in 
 the river. 
 
 JEANNE. You know the Loiret is not a river, 
 but it doesn't matter, go on. 
 
 JULIE (reading). "She," cried Maxime. She 
 had recognized and divined him through the 
 shadows of the night. The next moment he was in 
 her arms. 
 
 JEANNE (timidly). And the horse? 
 
 JULIE. Wait. The captain had put his horse 
 alongside the balustrade, which overhangs the
 
 136 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 Loiret. Standing in his stirrups, he just about 
 reached the balustrade, and could exchange with 
 Marguerite passionate caresses. (Jeanne is hold- 
 ing her breath with interest, and Julie continues.) 
 She put her beautiful white, fresh arms around 
 him, and her long hair covered him. Her large 
 blue eyes sent forth a burning languor and that 
 ardor which can triumph over all efforts of will, 
 and all scruples of conscience. The captain steeped 
 his lips in the same cup. 
 
 JEANNE (disturbed). Did you do that? 
 
 JULIE (embarrassed). Mais, oui Why? 
 
 JEANNE. Because I don't know. It seems to 
 me that I have read something like that. Oh, I've 
 got itl In the red book which you swiped from 
 the library last vacation. 
 
 JULIE. Well, I will tell you. I copied parts of 
 a phrase from that book, "Indiana," where Ray- 
 mond kisses the girl. Only I have changed it a little. 
 There it is, "her beautiful cool, brown arms and 
 her great black eyes " then the circumstances are 
 not the same. In "Indiana" they are both in Mad- 
 ame Delmare's room. In my novel, one is on a 
 horse, the other is on the terrace. It is a new 
 situation. 
 
 JEANNE (convinced). It is true. Is the scene 
 finished? 
 
 JULIE. No, indeed. The end is more exciting.
 
 A NOVEL OF PASSION 137 
 
 I'll write it to-morrow this last scene is not fin- 
 ished. 
 
 JEANNE. Read quickly what you have. 
 
 JULIE (reading). The trees of the park were 
 still blowing wildly, and the waters of the Loiret, 
 which was flowing at the foot of the terrace, shiv- 
 ered. Suddenly two strokes were heard from 
 the neighboring steeple "Two o'clock," cried 
 Marguerite. "I must go back to my little 
 room." 
 
 "Farewell, my beloved," replied the captain, "I 
 never will forget the delicious hours I have spent 
 with you. Farewell, or rather, au revoir," and 
 stretching himself in his stirrups, he passionately 
 kissed her lips. 
 
 JEANNE (scandalized). Oh 
 
 JULIE (smiling). C'est raide, n'est ce pas? 
 
 JEANNE. Are they going to marry? 
 
 JULIE. No, she would like to, but it is the cap- 
 tain who is not willing to marry her, because he is 
 in love with an American girl. 
 
 JEANNE (thoughtfully). How great it is to be 
 a man. 
 
 (After some time of reflection Julie shuts the 
 copy book which contains the manuscript and puts 
 it in a drawer under lock and key. Slowly Jeanne 
 goes back to her room.) 
 
 JULIE. Are you going to bed?
 
 i 3 8 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 JEANNE. Do you know, you have a great deal 
 of talent ? 
 
 JULIE. Truly, you believe that? Do you be- 
 lieve it is as good as George Sand? 
 
 JEANNE (thinking for a moment to form a 
 judicious judgment] . I think it is much more im- 
 proper, but on the whole, it's better done. 
 
 JULIE (impassionately) . I would like so much 
 to have it printed, published in a magazine. 
 Would you like that? 
 
 JEANNE. No, but I should like to be loved by 
 a man like the captain. ( The two young girls are 
 thoughtful a few moments.) 
 
 JULIE. Good-night, I am going to bed. 
 
 JEANNE. I am going to say my prayers. 
 
 JULIE. I have said mine. ( They kiss each other, 
 Jeanne shuts the door behind her. Julie goes to 
 bed.)
 
 THE GUEST 
 (L' Invite) 
 
 I 
 
 To Monsieur I' Abbe Binet 
 
 Rue d'Assas, 8, Paris: 
 
 MY DEAR ABBE 
 
 This little note is written hastily and confiden- 
 tially. I am, indeed, very happy, and my heart 
 cannot wait for the time of our return to Paris to 
 tell you the good news. 
 
 I believe everything is now well, or will soon be 
 so, and before the end of the winter my little girl, 
 Lucie, will be married most satisfactorily, thanks 
 to you. 
 
 I am deeply grateful to you, dear Abbe, for 
 coming to my help. I am so inexperienced and 
 live such a solitary life. 
 
 A widow whose children are getting on in years 
 soon realizes that a firmer and more worldly-wise 
 authority than hers is needed to guide their first 
 steps into the world. I am not half so worried 
 about Maurice's future as I am about his sister's. 
 
 I was greatly in doubt as to the success of an 
 experiment which I dreaded; but now that our 
 139
 
 i 4 o SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 plans have been successful I owe you an apology 
 for doubting your wisdom. I needed all the re- 
 gard I have for your opinion in order to consent 
 to receive the young man into our family. 
 
 Really, I never would have admitted into our in- 
 timacy during our stay in the country a young man 
 like Monsieur de Montivry, of whom we know so 
 little, if you had not urged it upon us. I feared his 
 stay would be wrongly interpreted by our neigh- 
 bors. Slander is not entirely excluded amongst 
 country folks. Alas ! 
 
 I said to myself, "This handsome young man 
 of twenty-two will not be taken easily for a friend 
 of a child like Maurice, although old for his age." 
 
 You gave me confidence. You said, "I'll take 
 the responsibility." And you were right. The 
 fact that he came with you to Beaucourt prevented 
 gossip. To see him at my table, walking with my 
 two children and Miss Jacobson, was looked upon 
 as perfectly natural. Every one admired his digni- 
 fied behavior. He stayed here a week and had 
 everybody devoted to him before he left. He 
 seemed to enjoy equally fencing and horseback 
 riding with Maurice, playing Liszt with Lucie, and 
 talking science with Miss Jacobson. His courtesy 
 to me brought back the ways of my lost husband. 
 
 When I think he is wealthy, has neither father 
 nor mother, and has been brought up under your
 
 THE GUEST 141 
 
 very eyes, why, my dear Abbe Binet, I think I am 
 the happiest mother in the world and have the 
 wisest counsellor. 
 
 My one anxiety, after finding out the good quali- 
 ties of this young man, was whether he would fall 
 in love with Lucie, and Lucie with him. She is 
 really charming, even though her mother says it 
 but so nai've ! so unsophisticated ! so incapable of 
 any coquetry with any young man! The dear 
 child would certainly not throw herself at his head. 
 However, between you and me, I believe her nat- 
 ural grace has made a profound impression on 
 Monsieur de Montivry. Not that he said any- 
 thing to her about his feelings he is too well bred 
 for that but he must have told Miss Jacobson 
 how he felt. Evidently her forty years of age 
 gave him confidence. She said to me a little while 
 ago, "Did you notice how anxious and nervous 
 Monsieur de Montivry was the day of his depart- 
 ure? The life at Beaucourt had none of the pleas- 
 ures Paris affords to a rich and aristocratic young 
 man like him. He must have left part of his heart 
 behind." 
 
 Miss Jacobson was reasoning correctly. She has 
 very good common sense. 
 
 Lucie, however, said nothing to any one, and in 
 her place I should have done the same. Every 
 young girl loves to surround her first love affair
 
 142 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 with mystery. I watched her and found she was 
 very gracious, without coquetry, to our guest, en- 
 joyed being with him and appeared somewhat at a 
 loss after his departure. 
 
 Really, things look hopeful and our wishes may 
 yet be fulfilled. Paris, I hope, will end what Beau- 
 court has started. It is agreed that we will see 
 much of each other during the winter. I intend 
 to ask Monsieur de Montivry to dinner for the sec- 
 ond day after our return to Paris, and in this way I 
 hope the two young people will grow very fond 
 of each other and will finally marry for love, in- 
 stead of making as I feared at first a marriage 
 of convenience. 
 
 Now^ dear Abbe, you will grant that we are 
 acting like true Machiavelists. However, it is for 
 the good of children we both love and the building 
 of a Christian family. I am happier than words 
 can tell and very grateful to you. 
 
 COMTESSE DE BEAUCOURT-GlVRY. 
 II 
 
 To Mademoiselle Clothilde de Lespron 
 General Delivery f 
 
 Boulevard Haussman, Pans: 
 I am sending you this letter, Clo darling, se- 
 cretly, so that mamma, Miss Jacobson, TAbbe 
 Binet, and others who are doing their best to play
 
 THE GUEST 143 
 
 the part of Providence in taking care of my seven- 
 teen years shall not have the chance to poke their 
 virtuous noses into our private affairs. What a lot 
 of gossip I have to tell you, my Clo ! 
 
 Now, listen. First of all, oh joy, we are going 
 to leave Beaucourt next Saturday. We are coming 
 back to the Rue de I'Universite. I shall be there 
 about five in the afternoon, and hope you will find 
 time to come, you and your brother Henri, if he 
 cares to see me and wants to know the latest about 
 my marriage. Doubt is no longer possible. 
 They expect me to marry our guest. The beloved 
 pupil of 1'Abbe Binet is destined to share my 
 couche as they say a la Comedie Frangaise. 
 Mamma and Miss Jacobson hold long and myste- 
 rious conversations since he went away. I am be- 
 ing petted, caressed, kissed, as though the hour ol 
 separation had already come. Monsieur de Mon- 
 tivry went back to Paris and his beloved Abbe. 
 Was he is love with me ? Truly I cannot say. 
 
 The pupil of the Abbe showed great reserve and 
 discretion during his stay. He is not stupid. His 
 movements are graceful, and he is neither uglier 
 nor handsomer than any other man, but you know, 
 dear Clo, the only man's face I like to look upon is 
 your brother Henri's you may tell him so there 
 is no need for him to be jealous. If mv intended 
 husband behaved with perfect proprieties it was
 
 i 4 4 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 not mamma's fault nor Miss Jacobson's, for they 
 both took every opportunity to throw us together, 
 relieving us of their presence whenever they could. 
 They, no doubt, thought that so many tete-a-tetes 
 would be too much for him; that a Don Juan 
 would be revealed who would be so enterprising 
 that it would be absolutely necessary for us to get 
 married immediately. 
 
 Not much ! As soon as we were alone our guest 
 would imperceptibly move his chair farther away 
 from mine and go on talking about music, bicy- 
 cling, automobiling, society, just as though the 
 Abbe and mamma were there looking on. 
 
 Really, Clo, I could not help feeling vexed. I 
 said to myself: "Well, the Abbe must bring up 
 his young men on a special model." Young men 
 usually cannot be ten minutes in my company with- 
 out saying very risque things. Then (do not tell 
 Henri) I was a coquette, a very little. I brought 
 into play the many little things used in flirtations, 
 such as glances, sudden contact of hands over the 
 piano keys, etc. It was not quite without effect, and 
 once or twice I believed he was about to make up 
 his mind to kiss my hair or my wrist ; but no indeed I 
 He refrained. It may be the way a man acts to- 
 ward a young girl whom he intends to marry. Do 
 tell your brother Henri that henceforth I expect 
 him to behave as properly with me as Monsieur
 
 THE GUEST 145 
 
 de Montivry does, or else I will never marry him. 
 I'll marry Monsieur de Montivry. (Have no fear, 
 I'd just as soon marry the Abbe Binet himself.) 
 
 Let it be said, however, to Monsieur de Mon- 
 tivry's praise that he appeared not quite himself 
 when he went away yesterday evening. At the 
 station he seemed quite excited. He called mamma 
 Monsieur I' Abbe and Miss Jacobson Daisy. He 
 kissed my hand. 
 
 I'll certainly lead him a merry dance this winter. 
 I have no intention to settle him right away, for 
 I have noticed since this marriage of mine is on 
 foot everybody is much nicer to me. I am allowed 
 to do anything I please. Jacobson herself is a 
 perfect dear. She has given me no work to do and 
 vows and declares I am doing beautifully. 
 
 'Tis but a short time before I am to see you 
 again, little Clo. I send you two kisses: one you 
 will keep for yourself and with the other you may 
 do what you please. I shall ask Henri for it when 
 I see him again. 
 
 I can hardly wait for our return to Paris. I do 
 so want to see you and gossip with you. Gossiping 
 is the nicest thing in the world. 
 
 LUCIE DE BEAUCOURT. 
 
 P. S. Should Henri deceive me with cocottes 
 I'll not marry him. Tell him I mean what I say. 
 I'll certainly find out. L.
 
 146 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 III. 
 
 To Monsieur de Montivry 
 
 23 Rue de la Boetie f Paris: 
 
 Day after to-morrow we are going back to Paris, 
 my magnificent darling, with little goose and her 
 mother. 
 
 I hope to see you that very day at about five in 
 the afternoon at your own room. Oh, you will 
 love me as much as you did at Beaucourt, will you 
 not? I am forever thinking of your French 
 naughtiness, and I blush. 
 
 Good-by, dear old chap. Plenty of kisses. 
 
 DAISY JACOBSON.
 
 THE CONNECTING LINK 
 
 (Le Trait d' Union) 
 
 Comtesse Clotilde d'Arminges 
 
 To Mademoiselle TLabel Sivry, of the Boufes- 
 Parisiens: 
 
 Sunday. 
 MADEMOISELLE 
 
 As there is a good reason for our knowing each 
 other by sight and by name, I hope this letter will 
 not cause you too great astonishment. 
 
 I'll grant we did not ever seem destined to cor- 
 respond. I beg you will excuse me, for Comte 
 Maxime, my husband and your friend is re- 
 sponsible for it. 
 
 For the last two days and as many nights my 
 husband has not been home. He is certainly at 
 liberty to amuse himself as he pleases and where 
 he chooses. I am the last one to find fault. How- 
 ever, such a prolonged absence is causing me some 
 anxiety. The Comte is a gentleman, and if he has 
 not sent me a reassuring word it is because it was 
 impossible for him to do so. 
 
 You probably know that Monsieur d'Arminges 
 is subject to spells which deprive him for hours of 
 the power of motion, and even at times of any 
 
 147
 
 148 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 semblance of life. These periods of coma neces- 
 sitate careful attention and special treatment. Has 
 my husband been overtaken by one of these spells 
 while away from home? I fear so. 
 
 He left me last Friday at the usual time to go to 
 his club. He was not seen at the club on Friday 
 nor since then. It is now Sunday night and he is 
 still absent. I even took the liberty to send a trust- 
 worthy maid to inquire about him from your con- 
 cierge, mademoiselle. He told her that Monsieur 
 d'Arminges had not been at your house for two 
 days. However, before getting the police to make 
 some inquiries I dislike such a thing very much 
 I wished to ask you personally if you know the 
 whereabouts of the Comte. 
 
 I hope you will appreciate the circumstances 
 which prompt my writing to you and that you will, 
 if you know, tell me where Comte Maxime is, or 
 at least if he is safe and in good health. 
 
 Believe me, mademoiselle, Yours truly, 
 
 COMTESSE D'ARMINGES. 
 
 Mademoiselle Zabel Sivry 
 
 To Madame la Comtesse d'Arminges: 
 MADAME 
 
 If you saw Comte Maxime Friday night you 
 are luckier than I am, for I have not heard from 
 him since Thursday afternoon. We made certain
 
 THE CONNECTING LINK 149 
 
 purchases that day at Fontana's, amongst which 
 was a diamond butterfly, which he intended to give 
 you. He asked my advice about selecting it, and 
 I did my best. This is my last news from him. 
 
 I, too, am anxious, not being accustomed to such 
 a long absence, and fearing, as you do, for the 
 Comte the accident you mentioned. 
 
 Of course, I should never have presumed to in- 
 quire first, although I acknowledge having also 
 sent as discreetly as possible for information at 
 your house. 
 
 May I hope, madame, that if you hear anything 
 about Monsieur d'Arminges it being impossible 
 for him to let me know personally you will kindly 
 reassure me? I shall do the same without delay 
 should I be the first one to hear anything about the 
 subject of our mutual anxiety. 
 
 Most respectfully yours, 
 
 ZABEL S. 
 
 Comtesse d'Arminges 
 
 To Mademoiselle Sivry: 
 
 It is agreed, mademoiselle, whoever hears any- 
 thing first will tell the other. So far I have heard 
 nothing. 
 
 P. S. Thank you for the help you gave the 
 Comte in selecting the butterfly at Fontana's. It 
 is beautiful and in perfect taste.
 
 1 50 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 Mademoiselle Sivry 
 
 To Madame d'Arminges: 
 
 Monday. 
 MADAME 
 
 Have no more anxiety. The Comte is found. 
 While we were anxious about his health he was 
 simple deceiving us. Providence punished him. 
 
 Here is the story in a few words : 
 
 Friday night as he left you he did not go to his 
 club. He went to his friend's, Monsieur Jules 
 Clair, a broker. Together they went to Bellevue, 
 near Paris. 
 
 At Bellevue there stands upon the edge of the 
 woods a villa. In this villa lives a Spanish lady 
 and her two daughters. The three of them always 
 extend a kind welcome to all the Parisians, espe- 
 cially to those who, like Monsieur d'Arminges, 
 are rich and well born. I know not what amuse- 
 ment had been promised to the two friends, 
 when the Comte was suddenly taken ill, as you 
 feared. The mistress of the house became fright- 
 ened. A doctor was sent for. His verdict was 
 that nothing could be done. They must watch 
 and wait. 
 
 Jules Clair dares not write to you. He remains 
 faithfully near his friend, hoping he will soon re- 
 cover consciousness. However, the days pass by. 
 There is no change in Comte Maxime's condition.
 
 THE CONNECTING LINK 151 
 
 The broker fears the consequences your anxiety, 
 the interference of the police and being really 
 inspired writes to me and tells me everything. 
 
 And now, Madame la Comtesse, you know 
 as much as I do. I am afraid your first im- 
 pulse will be to go to Bellevue to see the Spanish 
 woman. 
 
 Will you allow me respectfully to advise you? 
 Do not go. Let me do so. You must not be seen 
 there. It is a society with which I am unfortu- 
 nately better acquainted than you are. I know 
 what language to use. I will settle the matter 
 quickly and discreetly. 
 
 There is another reason for your keeping away. 
 When the Comte returns home you will be able 
 seemingly to ignore his adventure. It will be more 
 comfortable for both of you. 
 
 I am awaiting your wishes, and remain 
 Yours very respectfully, 
 
 ZABEL S. 
 
 Comtesse d'Arminges 
 
 To Mademoiselle Sivry: 
 
 (Telegram) 
 
 You are perfectly right, mademoiselle. I leave 
 everything to you. Thank you ! 
 
 COMTESSE D'ARMINGES.
 
 152 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 Comtesse d'Arminges 
 
 To Mademoiselle Sivry: 
 
 All is well! The Comte, after a few hours in 
 his bedroom, regained consciousness, thanks to the 
 care of his own physician. He is up now and has 
 already taken some nourishment and is, I suspect, 
 rather ashamed of himself. I wisely made no al- 
 lusion to Bellevue nor to the Spanish ladies. It 
 is tacitly understood that the accident took place 
 at your house. 
 
 Now that we are both reassured, I wish to thank 
 you, mademoiselle, for the discretion, the tact and 
 the devotion you have shown in this affair. I 
 knew already everybody in Paris knows that 
 you are a very charming woman and a greatly ad- 
 mired actress, but allow me to be sympathetically 
 surprised to meet amongst stage people, of whom 
 we are told so many evil things, a delicacy and a 
 courtesy I would vainly have looked for in our own 
 class. It will be impossible for me ever to repay 
 you for what you have done, and I willingly remain 
 your debtor. 
 
 Do me the favor to accept the butterfly which 
 is symbolical, alas ! the Comte gave me last week. 
 You helped him to select it; therefore you like it, 
 and I hope you will not refuse to accept a jewel I 
 have worn.
 
 THE CONNECTING LINK 153 
 
 I will take it to your house personally this after- 
 noon at about three o'clock. Should you be there 
 I shall be very glad to see you. 
 
 COMTESSE D'ARMINGES. 
 
 P. S. I'll ask you at the same time for your 
 milliner's address. Your hats are very much ad- 
 mired by all of us, and neither Reboux nor Virot 
 knows who trims them for you. You will give it 
 to me, will you not? We certainly can have the 
 
 same modiste, as we have the same 
 
 I almost said something improper.
 
 AFTER THE FALL 
 
 (Apres le Peche) 
 
 It is ten o'clock at night. A young woman of 
 about twenty-five, Madame de Robertier, is alone 
 in her bedroom, seated at a small desk of English 
 mahogany. The room is lighted by a tiny lamp. 
 A letter is before her. There is no address on the 
 long mauve envelope. 
 
 Madame de Robertier is in negligee very be- 
 coming to her. She is an exquisite blonde. Her 
 complexion is unusually clear and pure, but this 
 evening she has been crying a great deal and her 
 eyes show traces of tears. 
 
 MADAME DE ROBERTIER (meditating). Had 
 I any courage, were I really worth anything at all 
 I should write the truth to my husband. I should 
 tell him : I am a wretch, unworthy of you. Because 
 your business, which interests both of us equally, 
 keeps you away from me I have deceived you. I 
 have a lover, and what a lover! A cercleux, a 
 gambler, stupid as a log. He has handsome dark 
 eyes, it is true, and beautiful hands. He also has 
 a great name, Marquis de Hermoso. That should 
 not matter, should it? It should not be a sufficient 
 
 154
 
 AFTER THE FALL 155 
 
 reason to betray you after three years of happy 
 married life you whom I love and who loves me. 
 Because I love you, alas! Jean, yes, I love you, 
 especially now, much more than the Marquis, who 
 held me in his arms from five to seven at his house, 
 Rue de la Baume. 
 
 (Flood of reminiscences. Madame de Robertier's 
 thoughts drift a moment. She recovers herself.) 
 
 This is what I should write to Monsieur de 
 Robertier if I had any heart. That would be loyal, 
 honest (after a time) and absurd, because after 
 all it would be much worse for his peace of mind 
 to know everything. To-day from five to seven 
 Monsieur de Robertier has been as quiet and happy 
 as usual. In all reason no one can expect me to 
 make my husband unhappy through an excess of 
 loyalty. I will write to Jean in a minute a good, 
 long letter full of tender and passionate things (he 
 loves to receive such letters when he is away from 
 me). And the same mail will bring to Hermoso 
 this little note written immediately after leaving 
 him. 
 
 My husband will have his letter the day after to- 
 morrow. Monsieur de Hermoso will receive his 
 to-morrow morning. What a lovely surprise for 
 his awakening !
 
 156 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 I must read it again. 
 
 (Tears the envelope, opens the letter and 
 reads.} 
 
 "MONSIEUR: 
 
 "You have cruelly abused the confidence which 
 an honest woman placed in you. I thought I was 
 going to your house simply to look at your bibelots. 
 After what passed you understand I cannot see you 
 again. I am glad to be able to tell you that I love 
 my husband and feel for you the deepest disgust. 
 
 "JACQUELINE." 
 
 (She thinks a moment, still holding the note.} 
 
 But it is very imprudent, after all, to write 
 such things to this man. Suppose he should show 
 this letter at his club. It means clearly, "I have 
 been your mistress," and then (with an impercepti- 
 ble smile} the sentence about the bibelots is not a 
 happy one. I was so excited. The sentence about 
 the disgust, on the other hand, is perfect. 
 
 (She tears the letter, begins another, taking care 
 to change her handwriting.} 
 
 "DEAR SIR: 
 
 "You have failed to keep your word. I did
 
 AFTER THE FALL 157 
 
 what I did convinced that you would act like a gen- 
 tleman. You have taken advantage of me cruelly. 
 Henceforth you will understand that it will be im- 
 possible to see me again, for I am glad to be able 
 to tell you that I love my husband and feel for you 
 nothing but scorn. 
 
 ttT >1 
 
 (She thinks.) 
 
 This one is not so compromising, but it is idiotic. 
 "I did what I did" that does not mean anything 
 at all. Yes, it is badly written. And Hermoso 
 has been the lover of Madame Lescoeuvre, who can 
 write so well. Decidedly, this will not do. 
 
 (She tears the note and begins another.) 
 
 "DEAR SIR: 
 
 "I beg you will erase from your memory, as I 
 do from mine, the hours I spent with you to-day. 
 I address myself to your honor as a gentleman. 
 Everything, n'est ce pas, is over and forgotten. I 
 adore my husband and feel for you " (She stops) 
 
 Truly, writing to him in this way I cannot tell him 
 I feel for him the greatest disgust. Two lines 
 above I call him a gentleman. I will simply say, 
 "I adore my husband."
 
 158 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 Only this letter coming the day after he would 
 laugh and he would have the right to do so. Truly, 
 have I anything to reproach him with? He did 
 what any other man would have done under the 
 same circumstances. I accepted his invitation to 
 come and see his bibelots. I knew perfectly well 
 he would not act like the guardian of a museum. 
 I do not see how it happened. It is wrong of my 
 husband to leave me alone so long. 
 
 (She tears the letter which has just been written 
 and writes another.) 
 
 "DEAR SIR: 
 
 "I beg you to erase this day from your memory, 
 as I shall from mine, everything. All must be for- 
 gotten. I shall remember you with a heart full of 
 sadness, but without scorn and without hatred. 
 
 JJT 
 
 (Reading again.) 
 
 This one is pretty good. It is sad, calm, dignified. 
 It will not hurt the poor man too much. I have 
 played the coquette with him after all! 
 
 Now, shall I send the letter this evening? It is 
 too late, I fear. Betty would look at the address 
 and gossip with the servants. It will be better for 
 me to mail it to-morrow on my way to the Louvre. 
 Now, let's go to bed.
 
 AFTER THE FALL 159 
 
 (Night toilet, prayers, and so forth. Eight hours 
 of sound sleep. About half-past nine the next 
 morning, Betty, the maid, enters her mistress' 
 room.) 
 
 MADAME DE ROBERTIER (awakening). Well? 
 What is it? 
 
 BETTY. A large basket of flowers from Vail- 
 lent, madame. 
 
 MADAME DE ROBERTIER (gathering her wits). 
 Oh, some flowers. Yes, I know. All right. Close 
 the windows and bring the basket. (Betty brings 
 a basket of exquisite red and white roses and them 
 goes out.) 
 
 MADAME DE ROBERTIER. How nice of him. A 
 lovely morning's greeting. Poor fellow! And I 
 wrote him such a harsh letter last night ! 
 
 (She goes to her desk, tears open the letter writ- 
 ten the night before, reads it over; walks about the 
 room for a few minutes, stops before the pier glass 
 and sees, with a great deal of satisfaction, that sleep 
 has brought back freshness to her face. Goes to 
 her desk and tears the letter, saying:} 
 
 Decidedly, I cannot send this after this basket of 
 flowers.
 
 160 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 (Sits down and writes rapidly the following 
 note:) 
 
 "Thank you. I am very sad. I should like to 
 forget yesterday. I cannot. Be sorry for mel" 
 
 UT >> 
 
 (Reading.) 
 
 This will do. It is dignified and much better 
 than the other one. I'll post it on my way to the 
 Louvre. (Rings for Betty.)
 
 A FRIEND 
 (L'Amic) 
 
 Madame Gelabert 
 
 To Lieutenant Henri de Poy: 
 
 You honor me, dear friend, by your confidence. 
 Just think, not yet thirty years old being only 
 eighteen months older than my lovely friend 
 Yvonne, who had the great, good fortune of at- 
 tracting you to be asked to play matchmaker as 
 any old grandmother might. If it did not concern 
 Yvonne, whom I love, and you, whom I do not 
 dislike, I might have refused such an honor, but 
 being a true friend I'll do the best I can for both 
 of you. 
 
 You dare not, you say, speak about your feelings 
 to the charming Yvonne because you are naturally 
 timid and think yourself unworthy of her love. 
 Timid you certainly are ! I know no man as han- 
 dicapped as you when it comes to say to a woman, 
 "I love you." You reputed to be such a fine 
 officer so bold before the enemy's fire, you are 
 completely routed by the seemingly virtuous looks 
 of our sex. A haughty glance frightens you. Ah ! 
 Lieutenant, what a lot of fun you have already 
 missed! Handsome as you are (you are hand- 
 
 161
 
 1 62 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 some, do you know it?) you could have had many 
 a love affair in our set. We certainly cannot, in all 
 decency, make advances to you. To come back to 
 the subject. Yvonne, whom you formally call 
 Madame la Baronne de Guerbois, has not been 
 able to help you overcome your usual embarrass- 
 ment ! She is usually very clever. How skilfully 
 she used to bring about the meetings in which you 
 lost your heart to her ! To think that I suspected 
 nothing I I attributed her more frequent visits to 
 me to the leisure her widowhood gave her, and I 
 was glad to see you also come to my house more 
 and more frequently. Both of you certainly made 
 me play a singular part, but as you wish to marry 
 her I have no grudge against you, and forgive you, 
 especially, my dear Henri, since you ask my advice 
 and help in the matter. 
 
 Yes, dear friend, you have made a happy choice. 
 You know how much I love Yvonne. Time has 
 strengthened our friendship, which was begun in 
 the schoolroom. I have been the confidante of all 
 her girlish dreams, her love affairs, her failings. 
 I was her only support at the critical time in her 
 life she surely has told you which has not been 
 a haven of rest. Yvonne, with more heart, or if 
 you prefer, more temperament, than one would 
 suspect, was unhappily married. Her beauty, her 
 expensive tastes required money. M. de Guerbois,
 
 A FRIEND 163 
 
 a rich old man, gave her a good and honorable 
 name with luxuries. It intoxicated the dear Yvonne, 
 who had been poor since infancy and whose name 
 was Copain. By the way, never mention that 
 name to her, for she loathes it as too plebeian. Her 
 ancestors were all small tradespeople, very plain 
 though honorable. However, you would not be 
 marrying them. All you need to care for is the 
 fact that although of bourgeois extraction, Yvonne 
 is grace and distinction personified. 
 
 Having become Baronne de Guerbois, Yvonne, 
 as I said above, became intoxicated with her for- 
 tune and newly acquired entrance into aristocracy. 
 However, fortune and position are not always suffi- 
 cient to a beautiful and much admired woman of 
 twenty. The poor child did not even have any 
 strong religious belief to support her. In short, 
 her five years of married life did not pass without 
 storms. She certainly did not hide the fact from 
 you, for she is loyalty itself, and you are too sensi- 
 ble to resent her actions of the past. She did not 
 know you then. You have no right to be more 
 severe on the poor child than we have been, and 
 it will be a great honor as well as a great happiness 
 for you to give her the shelter of your spotless 
 name. It will reopen the few doors which have 
 been closed to her. 
 
 You see, dear friend, I fully approve of your
 
 1 64 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 plans and will be glad to see them come to ma- 
 turity. However, you are a man and would un- 
 doubtedly like to know the truth. I am not at all 
 certain Yvonne would marry you, not that she ever 
 told me anything to make me think she would not. 
 I wish she had. She speaks of you serenely and 
 openly. Knowing her as I do, I am tempted to 
 say she does not dream of your love. 
 
 Had I for a second thought her heart was no 
 longer in her keeping I should have suspected her 
 of having given it to young Maurice Lautrait. 
 Three months ago she was attracted by this cer- 
 cleux and did not hesitate to show it. As she has 
 said nothing about him for some time I have won- 
 dered, Ahem ! Can she be no longer able to freely 
 talk about him? Perhaps it only means that he 
 has been set aside and forgotten and her whole 
 thought is now centred upon you. I wish it with 
 all my heart! 
 
 I am only warning you against a possible disap- 
 pointment. Should you not succeed the first time 
 why, try again. Her caprices never last long and 
 she is too intelligent not to realize the advantages 
 of a marriage with a man like yourself, young, 
 rich and well established in society. If need be, 
 I'll use all the influence I have over her to help 
 your cause, and once her husband, you need not 
 receive M. Lautrait.
 
 A FRIEND 165 
 
 Shall we consider the thing now as settled ? Your 
 old friend is going to give you some advice, having 
 only the desire to make sure of your happiness and 
 Yvonne's. Promise me, my friend, to watch care- 
 fully over the dear child's health. Although she 
 looks strong and well she is nevertheless very deli- 
 cate, neurasthenic to a degree alarming to her phy- 
 sicians. This dreadful condition goes back to the 
 first year of her married life. It is said M. de Guer- 
 bois alone knows the cause. Poor child! You 
 will have to love her much to make her forget her 
 unpleasant memories. 
 
 I love her in spite of the changefulness of her 
 temper. To me she recalls all the physical and 
 moral tribulations she has passed through. 
 
 Never cross her in anything, and if sometimes 
 her whims surprise you, or one of those sudden 
 changes of moods comes on, such as I am ac- 
 quainted with, take her into your arms, kiss her, 
 but do not scold. It seems to be the only method 
 of calming her and it is infallible. 
 
 Some one she once loved told me: "The best 
 thing in Yvonne's disposition is her temperament." 
 My only fear, my dear friend, and my duty is to 
 tell it before the irretrievable step has been taken, 
 is not the fear that Yvonne will be unhappy with 
 you you are for her the unlooked-for husband 
 but I am less certain of your own happiness, and
 
 1 66 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 that worries me. Why did you ask my advice? 
 Why do you ask me to warn you against yourself ? 
 1 know you well. 
 
 It seems to me that to be happy with a woman 
 you would have to find in her more self-abnegation, 
 more motherliness if I may say so than you can 
 expect from the delightful Yvonne. 
 
 You have a brilliant future before you. I do not 
 see clearly what benefit marriage and the care of a 
 family could bring to your life, already so full. I 
 should like to see by your side a less exacting 
 woman, asking in return for her devotion only the 
 joy and pride your friendship would afford her. 
 Naturally all these objections fail before so great 
 an argument as love. If you truly love, if you 
 are not mistaking the thrill of desire for love a 
 timid man like you feels when he is with a coquette, 
 then I frankly say to you, marry. If you are if 
 you are then wait. I do not believe you have to 
 fear any serious rival. 
 
 Meditate upon this, my dear friend, and to- 
 morrow come and tell me the results at three in the 
 afternoon. I shall be at home for you only. My 
 husband will not disturb us, as he is away on a 
 hunting trip. You will speak to me freely, will 
 you not? Together we will examine your heart 
 and make sure you really know it. I am certain 
 you need some one to help you.
 
 A FRIEND 167 
 
 Whatever may be the result of this inspection I 
 shall have had the satisfaction of having done my 
 very best for you, and for my dear Yvonne, whom 
 I love almost as much as I do you.
 
 A RIVAL 
 
 (Rivale) 
 
 June Eighteen. 
 
 I HAD never been jealous of the women Maurice 
 courted until Juliette, nor was I jealous of his suc- 
 cess and good fortune in society or his conquests 
 with actresses and among ladies of all kinds. 
 Young women, young girls more or less emanci- 
 pated, all flew to him, attracted like larks by his 
 sparkling fame, his good looks and princely man- 
 ners. 
 
 I was not jealous; I was even proud that I re- 
 ceived some of the homage. 
 
 Of my flesh and blood I had made this hand- 
 some artist so quickly brought into fame ! 
 
 To comfort me from an early widowhood I had 
 wished no other love but his. Since I had deprived 
 myself of so many things, sacrificed so much to 
 bring up and educate him, his fame like his beauty 
 was my work. 
 
 Then he was so grateful, so tender to his old 
 mother, my cherished artist ! 
 
 Even before people he would always call me 
 "Maman." He would pretend to be so obedient 
 to my desires, this big boy, whose independence no 
 
 168
 
 A RIVAL 169 
 
 master had curbed. Ah ! they could pursue him in 
 his young glory! They could give themselves to 
 him ! I knew they were only an amusement ; that 
 he would tire of them and change, just as he took 
 a new horse to go to the Bois. The only woman in 
 his life, the true adviser, the confidante and his 
 refuge, was his mother. 
 
 He met Juliette among such bourgeois who like 
 to rub up against artists. She was a young girl 
 really no longer young who had flirted a great 
 deal; that is to say, had tried and missed many 
 matches. 
 
 She was pretty, I must admit, with red hair like 
 English mahogany; her skin like bran, so delicate 
 that one was afraid to mar it with a kiss; with 
 eyes of a peculiar green, very deep and dewy sea- 
 weed green eyes, if one can say that. She courted 
 Maurice like all the others, and Maurice rushed to 
 her with overflowing spirits, as he always did, be- 
 cause he imagined the first six weeks that he had 
 found the grande passion. I had no anxiety, know- 
 ing the length of such passion. 
 
 When he painted the portrait of Juliette she 
 made me uneasy with her seaweed eyes, watery and 
 cold, in which I did not read the adoration, the 
 desire of sacrifice, that Maurice inspired in women. 
 The anxious, agitated and uneasy one was rather 
 Maurice.
 
 1 70 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 He would try to divert himself when near her 
 by telling funny anecdotes or bons mots, but I knew 
 that his heart was not happy. Three times he 
 started the portrait of Juliette and three times he 
 made a failure. She would harshly remind him of 
 that. 
 
 The time of leaving for the country came. 
 Juliette was about to leave. A fourth trial was 
 postponed for the leisure of the country. Maurice 
 was to spend a few weeks with her parents on their 
 estate in Touraine, and there, more peacefully, 
 would begin and finish the portrait. 
 
 Until he left, my beloved artist was very sad and 
 all upset. I suffered as much as he did, because he 
 did not confide his misery to me. For the first time 
 he did not tell me anything. He never pronounced 
 Juliette's name in my presence. When I would try 
 to talk about her myself he showed me a face hard 
 and mute one that his old mother did not know. 
 
 He left. I was alone for one month and a half. 
 When he came he was well again and almost joy- 
 ful. He told me that he wished to marry Juliette. 
 Well! I could not endure it. I told him what 
 I thought of his Juliette; I had information and 
 knew stories and stories. The stories were perhaps 
 not absolutely authentic. There were some which 
 seemed to be invented, but I pretended to believe 
 everything and told him all. He listened to me
 
 A RIVAL 171 
 
 silently for a long time; then he grew pale and 
 left me. He came back only at night. He said, 
 kissing me, "Listen, mother, never speak to me as 
 you did a little while ago. Such baseness as has 
 been told you is unworthy of you. Juliette merits 
 to be loved and she loves me. Do not force me to 
 choose between her and you." 
 
 They were married. I was not able to bring 
 myself to live with them, although Juliette had 
 offered to have us live together. No! I would 
 not! I could not. I went to live near Paris in a 
 little house with my two servants. Maurice came 
 to see me from time to time; and on Sunday he 
 lunched with me. I never met my daughter-in-law 
 unless I went to Paris myself. 
 
 I lived thus two sad years, the saddest of my 
 life, and which have made me ten years older. 
 Never a betrayed wife or a deceived mistress has 
 been as jealous as I was. Not of the joys and 
 pleasures that she gave him, nor of the caresses 
 a fteur de nerfs that he had received and returned 
 to so many women! No but she was his com- 
 panion, confidante, shelter, all that I had been; 
 she was what I no longer was, the woman of his 
 life. 
 
 The first year of his marriage he did not exhibit 
 his paintings ; he did nothing. Would one believe 
 that I was pleased with that? And I said to my-
 
 1 72 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 self, "She prevents him from painting." The fol- 
 lowing year, however, with his Mart de Manon, he 
 triumphed, he received the prix du Salon, and his 
 success hurt me ! Me ! who had formerly lived on 
 his successes. It was because I had recognized the 
 undulating body, the red curls, the seaweed eyes of 
 Manon ! 
 
 He did not forget me; he always came to see his 
 old mother; little by little he came oftener, and it 
 seemed to me that he remained longer. One would 
 have said that he had something to confide that he 
 did not dare, and that he suffered for it. He was 
 suffering, and because I adored him I knew well 
 whence came the reason of his pain and I did not 
 wish that he should pour it in one avowal; it was 
 necessary that he should drink it to the lees alone, 
 without help, witness, so that he should come back 
 to me bruised and quivering, to be cured, and he 
 should owe me his life. I no longer hated Juliette 
 now that she did him harm. At the time of their 
 honeymoon I had not wished to know anything in 
 their life. Now that the April moon was rising I 
 entered into their existence ; I observed and saw and 
 understood everything at one glance. My daugh- 
 ter-in-law had no lover yet, but curiosity was awak- 
 ened in her impure mind. I went to one of their 
 receptions; I saw the man she wanted. He was 
 one of those who had formerly flirted with her
 
 A RIVAL 173 
 
 and had received demi-caresses the first one, per- 
 haps and now knowing what love was, she came 
 back to him. Our first love attracts us the rest of 
 our life, and sometimes we come- back to it in spite 
 of ourselves. 
 
 I came back to my little house in the suburbs, 
 calmed, sure of the future. Six weeks later, when 
 my poor beloved Maurice came to throw himself 
 in my arms, sobbing and prostrated, but also furi- 
 ous and enraged against that woman who was al- 
 ready out of reach, I pressed him against me, 
 thanking God, who was giving him back to me. 
 
 All my tortures were forgotten. He was back! 
 I had overcome my rival.
 
 Madame Pierre Durieu: 
 
 To Madame Pierre Durieu: 
 
 MY DEAR CHILD you for whom I write this 
 sort of testament I know you not. You are living, 
 however, at this moment somewhere in this great 
 Paris, outside of it perhaps, though I cannot im- 
 agine my beloved Parisian, Pierre, marrying a girl 
 brought up outside of Paris after I am gone. You 
 see I speak of his second marriage without any 
 anger, without any suffering, as of an inevitable 
 thing rather to be desired, for my dear Pierre must 
 not live alone, and soon I shall be no more. 
 
 I shall live one more week, this much the doctor 
 told me a little while ago. 
 
 For three years I have been suffering cruelly, 
 and I should hail my deliverance with joy if I were 
 not at the same time to part with my husband, 
 for I love him so passionately that the hours of 
 my present agonies seem short when he is by my 
 side. 
 
 Naturally, I wish to talk to you about him. 
 This is to be given to you a month after your mar- 
 
 174
 
 TESTAMENT 175 
 
 riage by Monsieur Legrand, my lawyer, whom I 
 can trust. Read this carefully, and think while 
 reading that it was written at a time when the soul 
 is almost freed from the body, by the woman who 
 has loved most dearly the man you now love most. 
 
 I was twenty-six when Pierre married me. I 
 am now thirty-four. I must give you a short story 
 of our life together so that you may well under- 
 stand what I shall tell you afterward. 
 
 We lived next door to each other; he was tak- 
 ing music lessons at the Conservatoire, and I was 
 giving private lessons all day. Pierre was twenty- 
 two, but scarcely looked eighteen; he was pale, 
 thin, coughed, and my mother and myself were 
 very sorry for him. We fell into the habit of doing 
 little motherly things for him; he often came to 
 dinner with us, and sometimes we passed the eve- 
 ning at his house. He played his compositions for 
 us upon a wretched piano he had rented. Mother 
 did not think much of his talent, while I was be- 
 ginning to suspect his genius. What shall I say, 
 my child ? We fell in love with each other. Pierre 
 proposed. I did not hide from him all the incon- 
 veniences there were in his making a poor mar- 
 riage, to say nothing of my being four years older 
 than he was. His mind was made up; nothing 
 could change his intentions, and I loved him too 
 much to resist him long.
 
 176 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 This disinterested marriage brought him luck. 
 Even before he had won the Prix de Rome he be- 
 gan to be known among artists and society people 
 interested in art. His pupils were many. A 
 very rich foreigner, exceedingly fond of music, pre- 
 sented at her house his wonderful lyric drama, 
 Enoch Arden, whom many insist on calling his 
 masterpiece. 
 
 Pierre had become famous. With it all he was 
 mine society had not turned his head. In Rome 
 he lived in retirement and worked hard, and I do 
 not believe any woman enjoyed more happiness 
 than I did during those few years. The only sor- 
 row, which came just before our return home, was 
 the loss of my dear mother. 
 
 Now, child, do not misunderstand me. I do not 
 wish to accuse Pierre, nor do I wish to make him 
 appear in your eyes selfish and worldly. We should 
 not demand in a man of genius the same virtues 
 that are the least duty of an ordinary man ; besides, 
 Pierre was tied to a woman older than himself, 
 whose health was undermined by a mysterious 
 sickness. I suffered horribly. 
 
 Paris once more after the peaceful years spent 
 in Italy, Paris so greedy for new names and new 
 fame ; Paris greeted him in a way that intoxicated 
 him. He was seized by a fever of worldliness and 
 he lost his head. His aim and ambition were now
 
 TESTAMENT 177 
 
 to be one of the world and the idol of society 
 women. He succeeded. His work suffered and 
 our happiness was destroyed. He neglected me. 
 He neglected his art. 
 
 True, sickness was taking from me youth and 
 personal charms. From time to time Pierre saw how 
 miserable I was, and would be moved by repent- 
 ance, and for weeks at a time he would come back 
 to me I suspect mostly when some society woman 
 had tormented or deceived him. If, however, I 
 was no longer the joy of his eyes I was still, as he 
 liked to call me, the keeper of his inner self. Will- 
 ingly I devoted myself to the task. More than 
 ever Pierre needed me. Our income was melting 
 rapidly in the feverish life he was living. He 
 worked little and the greatest economy became 
 necessary. Too long hours were not good for his 
 health; too high living, all irregularities, affected 
 his heart. I made use of my own sickness to de- 
 tain him at home at least two evenings a week; no 
 doubt he must have thought me selfish and I may 
 have lost some of his love by so doing, but I did 
 at least, in so far as I was able, mitigate the deadly 
 effect of his new life. 
 
 This motherly role I must also give up, and once 
 dead I wonder what will become of Pierre. I shall 
 require a promise that he marry again, for I am 
 too much afraid of chance companions.
 
 178 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 Whom will he choose ? Who will she be ? Will 
 she love him unselfishly for himself only, as a 
 woman should love an artist? Will she be the 
 keeper of his inner self as well as the delight of 
 his senses and the joy of his mind? 
 
 Dear child, let me advise you. To make him 
 happy you will have over me the advantages of 
 youth, health, and novelty. Without any jealousy, 
 I wish you to be more beautiful, more fascinating 
 than I was even when he thought I was. Make 
 use of your power to make him happy. Without 
 tormenting him by useless coquetries, be coquette 
 enough with him to foster his desire for you. I 
 never did that and therein lies my mistake. He 
 knew I would always be there to soothe and heal 
 his bruised heart. The less certain he will be 
 about you the less time he will have to spend out- 
 side in intrigues that are not good for his health 
 nor his talent. In a word, play the coquette while 
 thinking of him and not of yourself. 
 
 Perhaps you will be rich. I hope so, for one of 
 my greatest anxieties has always been Pierre's fu- 
 ture ; the terrible future of a poor artist who when 
 old age comes cannot earn his living and has been 
 unable to save. Yet Pierre might be capable of 
 marrying a penniless woman, and I would not be 
 the one to blame him for so doing. If you are, my 
 poor child, you will have to exercise the strictest
 
 TESTAMENT 179 
 
 economy and avoid debts. Let nothing interfere 
 with his material comfort, and above all do not 
 commit the crime of making him slave at work to 
 increase your own personal comfort. Remember 
 that any dress you buy, any jewel he gives you, will 
 cost him some of his health and genius both must 
 be sacred to you. Do not tire him with love, for he 
 is not so strong as he thinks. 
 
 It is probable that he will deceive you for other 
 women. You would not love him much if you did 
 not suffer, but you would love him still less if you 
 tormented him with your jealousy. Hold him as 
 well as you can, but sincerely forgive his weak- 
 nesses. You will be young enough to live to the 
 blessed old age (which would have been paradise 
 to me) when you will love each other peacefully 
 and your hair will be gray. That time is the real 
 honeymoon we wives of famous men do have. Let 
 that thought comfort you in the anxieties of the 
 present. 
 
 This is what I wanted to tell you. Death is the 
 great master of life, and it is close to the former 
 that one really begins to understand the latter. 
 Make Pierre happier than I did, child, and accept 
 the blessing of a soul purified by suffering.
 
 RESPECT 
 
 (Le Respect) 
 
 Mile. Zoe Canisy 
 
 To the Comte Louis de la Rivaudiere: 
 
 WHEN this letter reaches you, my dear Louis, I 
 shall be no longer in Paris, but on my way to Italy 
 with Sir William Hopkins, the apoplectic English- 
 man whom you met twice at my house during the 
 past week and whom I brazenly introduced to you 
 as my uncle. Sir William is not my uncle. He 
 is my friend. If I tell you this abruptly do not 
 think that I am doing so with the cruel desire to 
 hurt you. No, I love you, I still love you, believe 
 me, only our liaison was condemned to come to a 
 sudden end, having been based upon a misunder- 
 standing. Make up your mind courageously to 
 the inevitable and once again listen to me this 
 experience will be useful to you. 
 
 Do you remember, dear friend, the way we be- 
 came acquainted with each other toward the mid- 
 dle of June? How delightfully romantic! The 
 sudden heavy shower, the same carriage hailed by 
 both at the same time, the coachman stopping be- 
 fore you, and your offering me with the most 
 
 1 80
 
 RESPECT 181 
 
 profound bow this precious shelter on wheels of 
 which you said I stood in greater need than your- 
 self a thousand times more. You showed your- 
 self so perfect in manners and so very timid at 
 the same time (for you hesitated to get in with me, 
 child !) that I at once guessed you had been brought 
 up by the Good Brothers and became very much 
 infatuated. 
 
 How long it took you to awake to the fact ! I 
 had to lead you step by step until finally your in- 
 nocence took a plunge at my feet. But before it 
 came to that how many useless measures were 
 played through, as the bandmaster would say. 
 Five or six meals taken tete-a-tete, twenty rendez- 
 vous at least, during which our talk would have 
 edified a novitiate of the Carmelite Sisters. And 
 so much formality, so many Madame so many 
 When I had the pleasure of meeting you so many 
 Will you allow me to see you home? (As if I 
 objected, Silly!) All these marks of respect tried 
 my nerves terribly. After leaving you I almost had 
 hysterics. I would promise myself to send you 
 about your business, never to see you again. But 
 you see I was infatuated, and infatuation is for us 
 women a modern form of fatality. 
 
 Finally, when your white robe was gently cast 
 aside by my own hand and without any help 
 from you we had a few days of happiness. Oh !
 
 1 82 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 you played your part very awkwardly, dear, make 
 no mistakes on that score ! But I loved you much 
 and your awkwardness only made you more fas- 
 cinating. Your respect was in no way diminished. 
 You treated me as you would have treated Lady 
 de la Rivaudiere had there been one. When it 
 came to the horrible question of money I was 
 much more embarrassed. Personally I do not de- 
 spise it you may have noticed as much. Well, 
 we have to live, and as I was perfectly true to you 
 all my savings had been used up. You are ex- 
 tremely generous and very rich. Yet because of 
 the accursed respect which stopped the words in 
 your throat I had to play a disgusting comedy in 
 order to obtain the necessities of life. Yes, my 
 dear Comte, if I invented a father a captain of a 
 merchantman, whose ship was so suddenly 
 wrecked; all the cargo destroyed; anxious cred- 
 itors; the necessity of selling my home and fur- 
 niture to save the honor of the family you alone 
 are responsible. It was a monumental lie and I 
 had more trouble than you think, believe me, to 
 make the different pieces fit together. What was 
 I to do? 
 
 Everything was at last satisfactorily arranged. 
 You were very liberal, you did everything simply 
 and willingly. I would have asked nothing better, 
 you may be sure, than to reward you by a more
 
 RESPECT 183 
 
 active tenderness, a little less what shall I say? 
 monotonous than in the past. No, indeed! As 
 well try to make a deaf man hear or a blind one 
 see. Heaven knows how much perseverance and 
 inspiration I had to bring into play. Alas! you 
 would look away for fear temptation would prove 
 too great for you and you might be disrespectful 
 to me to me, who was only wishing you would. 
 One day, having had a little champagne, I tried 
 Ah! I did not go very far I soon discovered by 
 the painful expression of your face that I was on 
 the wrong road and drew back in haste. Acknowl- 
 edge it you were dreadfully frightened! 
 
 I then changed my tactics. I brought the con- 
 versation skilfully upon suggestive topics. I inno- 
 cently questioned you. I confided to you conver- 
 sations supposedly heard by accident ; I wanted ex- 
 planations. How funny you were stammering, 
 blushing trying to change the subject of conver- 
 sation. Cornered, you would say: "Yes assuredly 
 there are men without principles who bad women 
 who ," etc., but you, you would never love a 
 woman without showing her the respect you would 
 show your wife. 
 
 Finally I let you alone and our love kept its 
 even course, seasoned with respect. My infatua- 
 tion must have been immense to survive so many 
 proprieties. It did survive till boredom came be-
 
 1 84 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 tween us. I still loved you, but you bored me to 
 extinction. The very qualities that had made me 
 love you now exasperated me. You could scarcely 
 open your mouth or make a movement without irri- 
 tating me. I would gladly have lost my temper, 
 been disagreeable, and been relieved thereby; but 
 how could I quarrel with a man who always ad- 
 dresses one as though she were a princess, bows 
 before her slightest wish and who says and does 
 everything with the most aggravating perfection? 
 Oh, my dear Comte, how very respectful and what 
 a bore you were during those awful days ! 
 
 With it all I did not deceive you. Things might 
 have gone on much longer in the same way had 
 not chance taken a hand in the game. 
 
 Two weeks ago I was coming home from one of 
 our mournful seances, tired, my teeth on edge, 
 wishing I could beat some one; I heard a step be- 
 hind me. I turned partly around. I saw a man 
 about forty-five walking heavily, a large black 
 cigar in his mouth, looking every inch of him like 
 an English sportsman. I hurried, so did he. I 
 did not care whether he found out or not where 
 I lived, so I reached my house without apparently 
 having noticed anything unusual. 
 
 I was in my room, having taken off my hat and 
 veil, when suddenly the looking-glass over the 
 mantel reflected the face of the man who had fol-
 
 RESPECT 185 
 
 lowed me. He was standing quietly behind me, 
 having met no servant, or bribed them to let him 
 pass. 
 
 I turned around angrily. 
 
 "Sir, how dare you enter a woman's house in 
 this way? Go, before I have you thrown out." 
 
 He did not move, drew his pocketbook out and 
 showed several banknotes. 
 
 "I'll give you money, much money. I like 
 women like you " and as I stretched my hand 
 toward the bell he locked the door, seized my hands 
 and said: 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 What more shall I tell you, my dear Louis? Sir 
 William Hopkins, for it was he, behaved like a 
 brute, and now that I know him better I am not at 
 all surprised, for he has about as much refinement 
 as a stable boy. A woman's soul is a mystery to 
 herself. His roughness relieved the tension of my 
 nerves. 
 
 My new friend did not please me much, but he 
 was just the remedy I needed to cure the indiges- 
 tion of respect from which I was suffering. 
 
 Day before yesterday he suggested I accompany 
 him to Italy, travel with him for two months. All 
 my expenses would be paid, just like Sarah Bern- 
 hardt. I had also the privilege of taking two ser- 
 vants with me.
 
 1 86 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 I have accepted. 
 
 In two months I shall be back in Paris, where I 
 shall be glad to see you, if you care to come on 
 one condition, however, and that is that you will 
 leave respect behind.
 
 MY FIRST REMORSE 
 (Premier Remords) 
 
 AT times, looking back over the past, thinking 
 of what filled my life and made it a delightful spot 
 of lovely memories instead of the barren and 
 mournful years it would have been had begun to 
 be I would try hard to awaken my conscience, to 
 judge myself with severity. 
 
 After all, I thought, have I not the right to be 
 perfectly happy? True, my happiness is in a meas- 
 ure stolen. I am cheating society, law and duty. 
 I have not been true I have been deceiving my 
 husband for fourteen years. 
 
 I would try very hard to be indignant at myself; 
 it seemed to me I should have been less criminal 
 had I felt any remorse. I would look at my hus- 
 band, peacefully reading his newspaper as care- 
 fully as he does everything else, and I would re- 
 proach myself: Here is a good man, trusting you 
 with his good name, his peace of mind. How have 
 you kept your trust for the last fourteen years? 
 If this good man, who ploddingly earns his living, 
 yours and your daughter's, knew, do you think 
 the joys you are so proud of could outweigh the 
 sorrow he would feel ? 
 
 187
 
 i88 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 Well, he does not know; he will never know. 
 He has never laid eyes on the man for whom I 
 deceive him. It is precisely the certainty of his 
 security which keeps me from feeling any remorse. 
 Since I do not really love this husband of mine, 
 since I feel for him only affection born of habit due 
 to our long life together, I owe him nothing more 
 than to make his life a peaceful one and share his 
 interest. No matter how close the meshes of law 
 and proprieties are, a woman feels duty bound to 
 be faithful only to the man she loves with her whole 
 heart and soul. 
 
 Thus was I thinking yesterday, and to-day I 
 know what remorse is. I know it so well that I do 
 not see how I shall live. One word from my six- 
 teen-year-old daughter, Helene, brought it about. 
 
 I brought up the child to the best of my ability; 
 if I am not a blameless wife, I am at least a good 
 mother. Few girls, I believe, have been better 
 cared for during their childhood. Even when I 
 was most in love with Lucien, the care of my 
 daughter's health and happiness always brought 
 me back to reason and proprieties. For her sake 
 I would not consent to a scandal. 
 
 As Helene grew up I jealously watched over her 
 as well as myself. I certainly made greater effort 
 to hide the truth from those clear, childish eyes 
 than to keep my husband from knowing it. Guilty,
 
 MY FIRST REMORSE 189 
 
 soul-stained, I had the joy to bring up this young 
 soul in complete ignorance. Fearing to trust my- 
 self further, I placed her, at the age of ten, in a 
 convent, where her education could safely be at- 
 tended to. She came to see us only once a month, 
 she spent two weeks with us during the holidays 
 before going to her grandmother in the country, 
 and naturally during that time all relations between 
 Lucien and myself were suspended. I enjoyed see- 
 ing her grow up deliciously pure, in complete ig- 
 norance of the ugly things in life. This was also 
 a reason why I felt no remorse. However, I knew 
 the convent could not keep her forever, and I had 
 resolved to marry her young. Besides, I felt 
 strong enough to be good while she remained with 
 us at home. 
 
 Helene should have gone back to her convent 
 yesterday morning. In the afternoon I had a ren- 
 dezvous with Lucien. Yes, such blending of 
 motherly duties and dissipation is perfectly dread- 
 ful, but until now I had never suffered from it. I 
 would gladly have sacrificed my meeting with Lu- 
 cien for Helene's sake. F was to have seen him 
 to-day at three. A dispatch came in the morning 
 from the convent, informing us that the walls of 
 the dormitory had been painted over and that it 
 had been decided to give them time to dry, to pro- 
 long the holidays for two days. Helene was very
 
 190 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 happy, and I very much embarrassed. I thought 
 of sending Lucien a telegram, but during the whole 
 morning my daughter did not leave my side. I 
 would not have had the time to write, still less to 
 carry the telegram, and therefore decided to do 
 nothing. Lucien will wait, I thought ; he will think 
 that something prevented me from keeping my ap- 
 pointment. 
 
 He did wait, in fact, one hour, two hours ; but, 
 knowing my usual promptness, when five o'clock 
 came he began to be really worried. Perhaps his 
 not having seen me for a week made him more 
 anxious to see me again; at any rate, he jumped 
 into the first hansom he met and had himself driven 
 straight to our house. 
 
 The maid, who does not know Lucien (I tell 
 you the secret is impenetrable), came in shortly 
 after five to announce that a gentleman was ask- 
 ing for me. He was very insistent and would not 
 take no for an answer. I stepped into my hus- 
 band's private room, for he was not home yet, and 
 Helene waited for me in the next room. 
 
 When I saw Lucien it seemed to me that every- 
 thing was lost, the truth discovered, my misdeed 
 known. I uttered a cry. Lucien tried to calm me : 
 "I am going at once, but why did you not come 
 this afternoon?" I know not what I answered, I 
 was in such a hurry to see him go. He did not in-
 
 MY FIRST REMORSE 191 
 
 sist on staying, being sure now that I was well. 
 Before going back to Helene, I stepped into my 
 own room, where I tried to regain my self-posses- 
 sion. 
 
 Helene did not mention the wine merchant and 
 I had not the courage to speak of him first. I 
 could not lie with her penetrating eyes upon my 
 face. My husband came home. At dinner he was 
 very gay, being glad to have his daughter, whom 
 he loves dearly, one evening longer. At dessert 
 he asked: 
 
 "Did any one come this afternoon while I was 
 away?" 
 
 I felt myself turning pale and faint. I wanted 
 to speak; my mouth refused to utter a syllable, 
 and suddenly I heard my daughter's voice reply 
 calmly : 
 
 "No, father, no one came." 
 
 I looked at her; our eyes met. Hers were smil- 
 ing and clearly saying: "Have no fear, I'll stand 
 by you." 
 
 I could not sleep all night. I am ashamed of 
 myself. Yes, I am severely punished, for my child 
 has not only guessed (long ago perhaps) her 
 mother's shame, but has learned, by the example I 
 set her, to deceive, to lie for me and better than 1 
 can.
 
 THE HUSBAND OF MADEMOISELLE 
 
 HEUDIER 
 (Le Mari de Mile. Heudier) 
 
 I 
 
 I believe I shall not be long in this valley of 
 sorrows. There is only one important event in the 
 life of an old maid, a cheerful one on the whole in 
 spite of the solitary years. Behold, this event is 
 vanishing; it no longer is and never was. It was a 
 mistake. Only my dog Moustache and my har- 
 monium remain, with the care of my eternal salva- 
 tion. Hum ! it's little enough ! If I were a young 
 person in love I should at least have the resource 
 of writing my secret sorrows in a prettily bound 
 diary. But one doesn't start new habits at forty- 
 three. 
 
 I have been in love and loved from fourteen to 
 forty-three, until yesterday at half-past two in the 
 afternoon. Are there many professional beauties 
 in Paris or in London who could boast of as much, 
 with never any disputes, never any unfaithfulness? 
 Twenty-nine years of perfect love ! 
 
 This is how our love started. 
 
 My father was a modest man who held a gov- 
 192
 
 MLLE. HEUDIER'S HUSBAND 193 
 
 ernment position in the administration of revenues, 
 one of those men who never reach a very prominent 
 position because each time that there is a vacancy 
 some man less timid, or with more friends to help 
 him, hastens to obtain it. He merely vegetated all 
 his life in Sarthe, where he had been sent the day 
 after his marriage, and where I was born and grew 
 up. 
 
 It was there, at Givry, that I became acquainted 
 with "my husband." My parents and his had at 
 once called him thus, this little Lucien who came to 
 spend his holidays at home. 
 
 We were neighbors. He was one of five chil- 
 dren, and his father, a good man, could with some 
 difficulty provide for the wants of a wife and large 
 family. Beside them my parents, who had a little 
 income of their own and only one child, were al- 
 most rich. My spontaneous consent to a marriage 
 with Lucien was certainly free from pecuniary 
 thoughts ; moreover, we were both fourteen, he two 
 months older than I. At that age money does not 
 stand in the way. 
 
 Lucien and I were nice little lovers. He was ex- 
 tremely timid, very kindly disposed, although some- 
 what taciturn; I managed him altogether. I had 
 convinced him that he was my husband; he accepted 
 the fact. To be my husband between fourteen and 
 eighteen meant for him to be tied to my petticoat
 
 194 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 strings, like a younger brother, during holiday time, 
 in August and September. 
 
 Once in a while we kissed each other; it gave us 
 about as much thrill as the slaps which we might 
 happen to exchange. 
 
 I am beginning to believe, after forty-three years 
 of peace, that I have a rather cold temperament; 
 as to Lucien, up to the time he left me he was noth- 
 ing but a little girl, and perhaps I was not the most 
 innocent. Separation came when we were eighteen. 
 Thanks to the good offices of a deputy, the Leter- 
 tres had found for Lucien an unexpected position. 
 
 A rich Englishman who had spent his life 
 in business all over the globe wished to have as a 
 companion a young Frenchman, so that he could 
 travel now for his pleasure. He wanted a young 
 Frenchman for a companion, believing that the 
 conversation of French people is witty, diverting, 
 and pleasant. Lucien, in spite of the real feelings 
 he showed when he left me, was naturally intoxi- 
 cated at the thought of travelling all over the 
 world. 
 
 Future plans were not forgotten. "As soon as 
 the old soap merchant (it was the Englishman 
 Robinson's Soap) has given me enough guineas I 
 shall come back and marry you." We did not 
 realize how long it would take before we had 
 enough guineas, but evidently thought it would be
 
 MLLE. HEUDIER'S HUSBAND 195 
 
 a short time to wait for our marriage, perhaps only 
 a few months. 
 
 That happened twenty-five years ago. Twenty- 
 five years ! Long enough for a woman usually to 
 raise a family, and often to see another generation 
 succeed her children. 
 
 As for me, I have waited for marriage, children, 
 life, for twenty-five years. I know well that no 
 one would believe me, or that I would pass for a 
 lunatic if I made this confidence to any one else but 
 myself. However, it is true. 
 
 For twenty-five years my only reason for living, 
 or finding life sometimes agreeable, was that I 
 loved some one and that some one loved me. 
 
 My father died, then my mother. The small 
 fortune I possessed was greatly reduced through 
 the bad management of my lawyer, but I lived on 
 hopeful and with confidence in the future. 
 
 Without seeing Lucien once in twenty-five years ? 
 
 Yes; without seeing him again. I sincerely be- 
 lieved all that time that he loved me, because dur- 
 ing these twenty-five years he regularly wrote me 
 and he never made me feel that anything had been 
 changed regarding our future projects. His letters 
 were full of the same good affection which I showed 
 in mine. 
 
 He was seeing a great deal of the world during 
 that time : Egypt, North Africa, Russia, India, the
 
 i 9 6 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 two Americas. He travelled all over in company 
 of Robinson's Soap. From time to time he would 
 go through France, but in such haste that he never 
 could find the necessary twenty-four hours to come 
 to Givry and see "his wife." His wife! He still 
 called me that in his letters. I answered always, 
 "My dear husband." 
 
 II 
 
 Yesterday about two o'clock, as I was practising 
 on my harmonium a piece that I was to play in 
 church next Sunday, my little maid came to tell 
 me that a lady wished to see me. She was an old 
 friend of my parents who had become an important 
 official in education, a general inspector in the pub- 
 lic schools, I believe. She was going through 
 Givry, glad to show her success to those who had 
 known her as a young girl. We talked about half 
 an hour, mentioning some people we had known 
 mutually. Finally she said : 
 
 "Do you still hear about Monsieur Letertre?" 
 
 "Lucien Letertre?" 
 
 "Yes, the one who married in England and lives 
 in Derbyshire." 
 
 I had strength enough left to answer: 
 
 "No, I have lost sight of him," and I asked a 
 few details about Lucien, which she gave me in-
 
 MLLE. HEUDIER'S HUSBAND 197 
 
 stantly. It semed that only recently she had been 
 sent to England to inspect the organization of 
 manual schools, and that in passing through Derby- 
 shire whom did she meet at Derby in the Robin- 
 son's Soap manufacture? My husband, Lucien 
 Letertre, heir to old Robinson, a married man and 
 father of three children. 
 
 When I was alone I cried a little, then I laughed 
 at the old foolish woman that I have been to be- 
 lieve that a man remains faithful twenty-five years 
 to a memory. It is true that to this memory I 
 have given all my youth and some beauty which 
 might have caught me a husband. I started to write 
 to Lucien reproaching him, telling him of the use- 
 lessness of his letters. Then reflection stopped me. 
 Thanks to this lie, I have been happy for twenty- 
 five years. What might have been these years 
 without this happy illusion in which Lucien kept 
 me? Perhaps he knew that. That is probably 
 what prevented him from telling me nine years 
 ago, when he married, "My dear Adele, you must 
 no longer think about me." 
 
 I must be strong and not grieve too much. Dur- 
 ing twenty-five years I imagined that I was mar- 
 ried; to-day I am a widow or divorced, that's all. 
 I am thinking. He has three children. Suppose 
 I should write him a good letter, very affectionate, 
 and ask him to send to me one of his children, one
 
 198 SIMPLY WOMEN 
 
 that I would raise and educate here, with not as 
 much luxury as if at home in England, but like a 
 little French boy, speaking the language of his 
 father when he was in love with me. Truly, can 
 Lucien refuse me that? Then to love and care for 
 this little one would make me patiently wait for 
 the road which leads from my house to my last rest. 
 
 These thoughts leave me quite cheerful. Come ! 
 old foolish Adele Heudier, put on your spectacles 
 and your best writing pen. Write to the heir of 
 Robinson's Soap. 
 
 With a little kindness and courage one can over- 
 come one's bad fortune. You will be a mother, as 
 you have been a wife, in imagination I
 
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