His Avenger

by Guy de Maupassant

　　

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When M. Antoine Leuillet married the widow, Madame Mathilde Souris, hehad already been in love with her for ten years.M. Souris has been his friend, his old college chum. Leuillet was verymuch attached to him, but thought he was somewhat of a simpleton. Hewould often remark: "That poor Souris who will never set the world onfire."When Souris married Miss Mathilde Duval, Leuillet was astonished andsomewhat annoyed, as he was slightly devoted to her, himself. She wasthe daughter of a neighbor, a former proprietor of a draper'sestablishment who had retired with quite a small fortune. She marriedSouris for his money.Then Leuillet thought he would start a flirtation with his friend's wife.He was a good-looking man, intelligent and also rich. He thought itwould be all plain sailing, but he was mistaken. Then he really began toadmire her with an admiration that his friendship for the husband obligedhim to keep within the bounds of discretion, making him timid andembarrassed. Madame Souris believing that his presumptions had receiveda wholesome check now treated him as a good friend. This went on fornine years.One morning a messenger brought Leuillet a distracted note from the poorwoman. Souris had just died suddenly from the rupture of an aneurism.He was dreadfully shocked, for they were just the same age. But almostimmediately a feeling of profound joy, of intense relief, of emancipationfilled his being. Madame Souris was free.He managed, however, to assume the sad, sympathetic expression that wasappropriate, waited the required time, observed all social appearances.At the end of fifteen months he married the widow.This was considered to be a very natural, and even a generous action. Itwas the act of a good friend of an upright man.He was happy at last, perfectly happy.They lived in the most cordial intimacy, having understood andappreciated each other from the first. They had no secrets from oneanother and even confided to each other their most secret thoughts.Leuillet loved his wife now with a quiet and trustful affection; he lovedher as a tender, devoted companion who is an equal and a confidante.But there lingered in his mind a strange and inexplicable bitternesstowards the defunct Souris, who had first been the husband of this woman,who had had the flower of her youth and of her soul, and had even robbedher of some of her poetry. The memory of the dead husband marred thehappiness of the living husband, and this posthumous jealousy tormentedhis heart by day and by night.The consequence was he talked incessantly of Souris, asked about athousand personal and secret minutia, wanted to know all about his habitsand his person. And he sneered at him even in his grave, recalling withself-satisfaction his whims, ridiculing his absurdities, dwelling on hisfaults.He would call to his wife all over the house:"Hallo, Mathilde!""Here I am, dear.""Come here a moment."She would come, always smiling, knowing well that he would say somethingabout Souris and ready to flatter her new husband's inoffensive mania."Tell me, do you remember one day how Souris insisted on explaining to methat little men always commanded more affection than big men?"And he made some remarks that were disparaging to the deceased, who was asmall man, and decidedly flattering to himself, Leuillet, who was a tallman.Mme. Leuillet allowed him to think he was right, quite right, and shelaughed heartily, gently ridiculing her former husband for the sake ofpleasing the present one, who always ended by saying:"All the same, what a ninny that Souris was!"They were happy, quite happy, and Leuillet never ceased to show hisdevotion to his wife.One night, however, as they lay awake, Leuillet said as he kissed hiswife:"See here, dearie.""Well?""Was Souris--I don't exactly know how to say it--was Souris very loving?"She gave him a kiss for reply and murmured "Not as loving as you are, monchat."He was flattered in his self-love and continued:"He must have been--a ninny--was he not?"She did not reply. She only smiled slyly and hid her face in herhusband's neck."He must have been a ninny and not--not--not smart?"She shook her head slightly to imply, "No--not at all smart."He continued:"He must have been an awful nuisance, eh?"This time she was frank and replied:"Oh yes!"He kissed her again for this avowal and said:"What a brute he was! You were not happy with him?""No," she replied. "It was not always pleasant."Leuillet was delighted, forming in his mind a comparison, much in his ownfavor, between his wife's former and present position. He was silent fora time, and then with a burst of laughter he asked:"Tell me?""What?""Will you be frank, very frank with me?""Why yes, my dear.""Well then, tell me truly did you never feel tempted to--to--to deceivethat imbecile Souris?"Mme. Leuillet said: "Oh!" pretending to be shocked and hid her face againon her husband's shoulder. But he saw that she was laughing."Come now, own up," he persisted. "He looked like a ninny, thatcreature! It would be funny, so funny! Good old Souris! Come, come,dearie, you do not mind telling me, me, of all people."He insisted on the "me" thinking that if she had wished to deceive Sourisshe would have chosen him, and he was trembling in anticipation of heravowal, sure that if she had not been a virtuous woman she would haveencouraged his own attentions.But she did not answer, laughing still, as at the recollection ofsomething exceedingly comical.Leuillet, in his turn began to laugh, thinking he might have been thelucky man, and he muttered amid his mirth: "That poor Souris, that poorSouris, oh, yes, he looked like a fool!"Mme. Leuillet was almost in spasms of laughter."Come, confess, be frank. You know I will not mind."Then she stammered out, almost choking with laughter: "Yes, yes.""Yes, what?" insisted her husband. "Come, tell all."She was quieter now and putting her mouth to her husband's ear, shewhispered: "Yes, I did deceive him."He felt a chill run down his back and to his very bones, and he stammeredout, dumfounded: "You--you--deceived him--criminally?"She still thought he was amused and replied: "Yes--yes, absolutely."He was obliged to sit up to recover his breath, he was so shocked andupset at what he had heard.She had become serious, understanding too late what she had done."With whom?" said Leuillet at length.She was silent seeking some excuse."A young man," she replied at length.He turned suddenly toward her and said drily:"I did not suppose it was the cook. I want to know what young man, doyou hear?"She did not answer.He snatched the covers from her face, repeating:"I want to know what young man, do you hear?"Then she said sorrowfully: "I was only in fun." But he was tremblingwith rage. "What? How? You were only in fun? You were making fun ofme, then? But I am not satisfied, do you hear? I want the name of theyoung man!"She did not reply, but lay there motionless.He took her by the arm and squeezed it, saying: "Do you understand me,finally? I wish you to reply when I speak to you.""I think you are going crazy," she said nervously, "let me alone!"He was wild with rage, not knowing what to say, exasperated, and he shookher with all his might, repeating:"Do you hear me, do you hear me?"She made an abrupt effort to disengage herself and the tips of herfingers touched her husband's nose. He was furious, thinking she hadtried to hit him, and he sprang upon her holding her down; and boxing herears with all his might, he cried: "Take that, and that, there, there,wretch!"When he was out of breath and exhausted, he rose and went toward thedressing table to prepare a glass of eau sucree with orange flower, forhe felt as if he should faint.She was weeping in bed, sobbing bitterly, for she felt as if herhappiness was over, through her own fault.Then, amidst her tears, she stammered out:"Listen, Antoine, come here, I told you a lie, you will understand,listen."And prepared to defend herself now, armed with excuses and artifice, sheraised her disheveled head with its nightcap all awry.Turning toward her, he approached, ashamed of having struck her, butfeeling in the bottom of his heart as a husband, a relentless hatredtoward this woman who had deceived the former husband, Souris.

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