The Gambler
Albert—with that black-jowled officer?”
“Oh, oh! Mais tu es—”
“Yes, you are lying right enough. But what makes you suppose that I
should be angry? Rubbish! Il faut que jeunesse se passe. Even if that
officer were here now, I should refrain from putting him out of the
room if I thought you really cared for him. Only, mind you, do not give
him any of my money. You hear?”
“You say, do you, that you would not be angry? Mais tu es un vrai
philosophe, sais-tu? Oui, un vrai philosophe! Eh bien, je t’aimerai, je
t’aimerai. Tu verras-tu seras content.”
True enough, from that time onward she seemed to attach herself only to
me, and in this manner we spent our last ten days together. The
promised “étoiles” I did not see, but in other respects she, to a
certain extent, kept her word. Moreover, she introduced me to Hortense,
who was a remarkable woman in her way, and known among us as Thérèse
Philosophe.
But I need not enlarge further, for to do so would require a story to
itself, and entail a colouring which I am loth to impart to the present
narrative. The point is that with all my faculties I desired the
episode to come to an end as speedily as possible. Unfortunately, our
hundred thousand francs lasted us, as I have said, for very nearly a
month—which greatly surprised me. At all events, Blanche bought herself
articles to the tune of eighty thousand francs, and the rest sufficed
just to meet our expenses of living. Towards the close of the affair,
Blanche grew almost frank with me (at least, she scarcely lied to me at
all)—declaring, amongst other things, that none of the debts which she
had been obliged to incur were going to fall upon my head. “I have
purposely refrained from making you responsible for my bills or
borrowings,” she said, “for the reason that I am sorry for you. Any
other woman in my place would have done so, and have let you go to
prison. See, then, how much I love you, and how good-hearted I am!
Think, too, what this accursed marriage with the General is going to
cost me!”
True enough, the marriage took place. It did so at the close of our
month together, and I am bound to suppose that it was upon the ceremony
that the last remnants of my money were spent. With it the episode—that
is to say, my sojourn with the Frenchwoman—came to an end, and I
formally retired from the scene.
It happened thus: A week after we had taken up our abode in Paris there
arrived thither the General. He came straight to see us, and
thenceforward lived with us practically as our guest, though he had a
flat of his own as well. Blanche met him with merry badinage and
laughter, and even threw her arms around him. In fact, she managed it
so that he had to follow everywhere in her train—whether when
promenading on the Boulevards, or when driving, or when going to the
theatre, or when paying calls; and this use which she made of him quite
satisfied the General. Still of imposing appearance and presence, as
well as of fair height, he had a dyed moustache and whiskers (he had
formerly been in the cuirassiers), and a handsome, though a somewhat
wrinkled, face. Also, his manners were excellent, and he could carry a
frockcoat well—the more so since, in Paris, he took to wearing his
orders. To promenade the Boulevards with such a man was not only a
thing possible, but also, so to speak, a thing advisable, and with this
programme the good but foolish General had not a fault to find. The
truth is that he had never counted upon this programme when he came to
Paris to seek us out. On that occasion he had made his appearance
nearly shaking with terror, for he had supposed that Blanche would at
once raise an outcry, and have him put from the door; wherefore, he was
the more enraptured at the turn that things had taken, and spent the
month in a state of senseless ecstasy. Already I had learnt that, after
our unexpected departure from Roulettenberg, he had had a sort of a
fit—that he had fallen into a swoon, and spent a week in a species of
garrulous delirium. Doctors had been summoned to him, but he had broken
away from them, and suddenly taken a train to Paris. Of course
Blanche’s reception of him had acted as the best of all possible cures,
but for long enough he carried the marks of his affliction, despite his
present condition of rapture and delight. To think clearly, or even to
engage in any serious conversation, had now become impossible for him;
he could only ejaculate after each word “Hm!” and then nod his head in
confirmation. Sometimes, also, he would laugh, but only in a nervous,
hysterical sort of a fashion; while at other times he would sit for
hours looking as black as night, with his heavy eyebrows knitted. Of
much that went on he remained wholly oblivious, for he grew extremely
absent-minded, and took to talking to himself. Only Blanche could awake
him to any semblance of life. His fits of depression and moodiness in
corners always meant either that he had not seen her for some while, or
that she had gone out without taking him with her, or that she had
omitted to caress him before departing. When in this condition, he
would refuse to say what he wanted—nor had he the least idea that he
was thus sulking and moping. Next, after remaining in this condition
for an hour or two (this I remarked on two occasions when Blanche had
gone out for the day—probably to see Albert), he would begin to look
about him, and to grow uneasy, and to hurry about with an air as though
he had suddenly remembered something, and must try and find it; after
which, not perceiving the object of his search, nor succeeding in
recalling what that object had been, he would as suddenly relapse into
oblivion, and continue so until the reappearance of Blanche—merry,
wanton, half-dressed, and laughing her strident laugh as she approached
to pet him, and even to kiss him (though the latter reward he seldom
received). Once, he was so overjoyed at her doing so that he burst into
tears. Even I myself was surprised.
From the first moment of his arrival in Paris, Blanche set herself to
plead with me on his behalf; and at such times she even rose to heights
of eloquence—saying that it was for _me_ she had abandoned him, though
she had almost become his betrothed and promised to become so; that it
was for _her_ sake he had deserted his family; that, having been in his
service, I ought to remember the fact, and to feel ashamed. To all this
I would say nothing, however much she chattered on; until at length I
would burst out laughing, and the incident would come to an end (at
first, as I have said, she had thought me a fool, but since she had
come to deem me a man of sense and sensibility). In short, I had the
happiness of calling her better nature into play; for though, at first,
I had not deemed her so, she was, in reality, a kind-hearted woman
after her own fashion. “You are good and clever,” she said to me
towards the finish, “and my one regret is that you are also so
wrong-headed. You will _her_ be a rich man!”
“Un vrai Russe—un Kalmuk” she usually called me.
Several times she sent me to give the General an airing in the streets,
even as she might have done with a lacquey and her spaniel; but, I
preferred to take him to the theatre, to the Bal Mabille, and to
restaurants. For this purpose she usually allowed me some money, though
the General had a little of his own, and enjoyed taking out his purse
before strangers. Once I had to use actual force to prevent him from
buying a phaeton at a price of seven hundred francs, after a vehicle
had caught his fancy in the Palais Royal as seeming to be a desirable
present for Blanche. What could _she_ have done with a
seven-hundred-franc phaeton?—and the General possessed in the world but
a thousand francs! The origin even of those francs I could never
determine, but imagined them to have emanated from Mr. Astley—the more
so since the latter had paid the family’s hotel bill. As for what view
the General took of myself, I think that he never divined the footing
on which I stood with Blanche. True, he had heard, in a dim sort of
way, that I had won a good deal of money; but more probably he supposed
me to be acting as secretary—or even as a kind of servant—to his
inamorata. At all events, he continued to address me, in his old
haughty style, as my superior. At times he even took it upon himself to
scold me. One morning in particular, he started to sneer at me over our
matutinal coffee. Though not a man prone to take offence, he suddenly,
and for some reason of which to this day I am ignorant, fell out with
me. Of course even he himself did not know the reason. To put things
shortly, he began a speech which had neither beginning nor ending, and
cried out, à bâtons rompus, that I was a boy whom he would soon put to
rights—and so forth, and so forth. Yet no one could understand what he
was saying, and at length Blanche exploded in a burst of laughter.
Finally something appeased him, and he was taken out for his walk. More
than once, however, I noticed that his depression was growing upon him;
that he seemed to be feeling the want of somebody or something; that,
despite Blanche’s presence, he was missing some person in particular.
Twice, on these occasions, did he plunge into a conversation with me,
though he could not make himself intelligible, and only went on
rambling about the service, his late wife, his home, and his property.
Every now and then, also, some particular word would please him;
whereupon he would repeat it a hundred times in the day—even though the
word happened to express neither his thoughts nor his feelings. Again,
I would try to get him to talk about his children, but always he cut me
short in his old snappish way, and passed to another subject. “Yes,
yes—my children,” was all that I could extract from him. “Yes, you are
right in what you have said about them.” Only once did he disclose his
real feelings. That was when we were taking him to the theatre, and
suddenly he exclaimed: “My unfortunate children! Yes, sir, they _are_
unfortunate children.” Once, too, when I chanced to mention Polina, he
grew quite bitter against her. “She is an ungrateful woman!” he
exclaimed. “She is a bad and ungrateful woman! She has broken up a
family. If there were laws here, I would have her impaled. Yes, I
would.” As for De Griers, the General would not have his name
mentioned. “He has ruined me,” he would say. “He has robbed me, and cut
my throat. For two years he was a perfect nightmare to me. For months
at a time he never left me in my dreams. Do not speak of him again.”
It was now clear to me that Blanche and he were on the point of coming
to terms; yet, true to my usual custom, I said nothing. At length,
Blanche took the initiative in explaining matters. She did so a week
before we parted.
“Il a de la chance,” she prattled, “for the Grandmother is now _really_
ill, and therefore, bound to die. Mr. Astley has just sent a telegram
to say so, and you will agree with me that the General is likely to be
her heir. Even if he should not be so, he will not come amiss, since,
in the first place, he has his pension, and, in the second place, he
will be content to live in a back room; whereas _I_ shall be Madame
General, and get into a good circle of society” (she was always
thinking of this) “and become a Russian châtelaine. Yes, I shall have a
mansion of my own, and peasants, and a million of money at my back.”
“But, suppose he should prove jealous? He might demand all sorts of
things, you know. Do you follow me?”
“Oh, dear no! How ridiculous that would be of him! Besides, I have
taken measures to prevent it. You need not be alarmed. That is to say,
I have induced him to sign notes of hand in Albert’s name.
Consequently, at any time I could get him punished. Isn’t he
ridiculous?”