At first she thought of keeping the letter; but on second thoughts she burned it.
"Madame had just received such a fine love-letter; and she read it," said Caroline to the housemaid.
"I should never have thought that of madame," replied the other, quite surprised.
That evening Madame de Listomere went to a party at the Marquis de Beauseant's, where Rastignac would probably betake himself. It was Saturday. The Marquis de Beauseant was in some way a connection of Monsieur de Rastignac, and the young man was not likely to miss coming. By two in the morning Madame de Listomere, who had gone there solely for the purpose of crushing Eugene by her coldness, discovered that she was waiting in vain. A brilliant man--Stendhal--has given the fantastic name of "crystallization" to the process which Madame de Listomere's thoughts went through before, during, and after this evening.
Four days later Eugene was scolding his valet.
"Ah ca! Joseph; I shall soon have to send you away, my lad."
"What is it, monsieur?"
"You do nothing but make mistakes. Where did you carry those letters I gave you Saturday?"
Joseph became stolid. Like a statue in some cathedral porch, he stood motionless, entirely absorbed in the labors of imagination. Suddenly he smiled idiotically, and said:--
"Monsieur, one was for the Marquise de Listomere, the other was for Monsieur's lawyer."
"You are certain of what you say?"
Joseph was speechless. I saw plainly that I must interfere, as I happened to be again in Eugene's apartment.
"Joseph is right," I said.
Eugene turned and looked at me.
"I read the addresses quite involuntarily, and--"
"And," interrupted Eugene, "one of them was NOT for Madame de Nucingen?"
"No, by all the devils, it was not. Consequently, I supposed, my dear fellow, that your heart was wandering from the rue Saint-Lazare to the rue Saint-Dominique."
Eugene struck his forehead with the flat of his hand and began to laugh; by which Joseph perceived that the blame was not on him.
Now, there are certain morals to this tale on which young men had better reflect. FIRST MISTAKE: Eugene thought it would be amusing to make Madame de Listomere laugh at the blunder which had made her the recipient of a love-letter which was not intended for her. SECOND MISTAKE: he did not call on Madame de Listomere for several days after the adventure, thus allowing the thoughts of that virtuous young woman to crystallize. There were other mistakes which I will here pass over in silence, in order to give the ladies the pleasure of deducing them, "ex professo," to those who are unable to guess them.
Eugene at last went to call upon the marquise; but, on attempting to pass into the house, the porter stopped him, saying that Madame la marquise was out. As he was getting back into his carriage the Marquis de Listomere came home.
"Come in, Eugene," he said. "My wife is at home."
Pray excuse the marquis. A husband, however good he may be, never attains perfection. As they went up the staircase Rastignac perceived at least a dozen blunders in worldly wisdom which had, unaccountably, slipped into this page of the glorious book of his life.
When Madame de Listomere saw her husband ushering in Eugene she could not help blushing. The young baron saw that sudden color. If the most humble-minded man retains in the depths of his soul a certain conceit of which he never rids himself, any more than a woman ever rids herself of coquetry, who shall blame Eugene if he did say softly in his own mind: "What! that fortress, too?" So thinking, he posed in his cravat. Young men may not be grasping but they like to get a new coin in their collection.
Monsieur de Listomere seized the "Gazette de France," which he saw on the mantelpiece, and carried it to a window, to obtain, by journalistic help, an opinion of his own on the state of France.
A woman, even a prude, is never long embarrassed, however difficult may be the position in which she finds herself; she seems always to have on hand the fig-leaf which our mother Eve bequeathed to her. Consequently, when Eugene, interpreting, in favor of his vanity, the refusal to admit him, bowed to Madame de Listomere in a tolerably intentional manner, she veiled her thoughts behind one of those feminine smiles which are more impenetrable than the words of a king.
"Are you unwell, madame? You denied yourself to visitors."
"I am well, monsieur."
"Perhaps you were going out?"
"Not at all."
"You expected some one?"
"No one."
"If my visit is indiscreet you must blame Monsieur le marquis. I had already accepted your mysterious denial, when he himself came up, and introduced me into the sanctuary."
"Monsieur de Listomere is not in my confidence on this point. It is not always prudent to put a husband in possession of certain secrets."
The firm and gentle tones in which the marquise said these words, and the imposing glance which she cast upon Rastignac made him aware that he had posed in his cravat a trifle prematurely.