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Madame Nanteuil, despite her years, had resumed an old lover, out of her love for her child, that she might not want for anything. She had renewed her former liaison with Tony Meyer, the picture-dealer in the Rue de Clichy. Tony Meyer was a poor substitute for Girmandel; he was none too free with his money.
"By the way," he remarked, "I saw Girmandel just now in a carriage." Madame Nanteuil made no comment. "He was driving down the Boulevard Saint-Michel in a cab. I certainly thought I recognized him. I should be greatly surprised if it wasn't he." Madame Nanteuil made no comment. "His fair beard, his high colour he's an easy man to recognize, Girmandel." Madame Nanteuil made no comment.
But it was permissible to speak of Girmandel to Madame Nanteuil, who saw nothing that was other than respectable in the relations of her household with the Government official, who was well-to-do, married, and the father of two charming daughters. To bring Girmandel's name into the conversation he had only to resort to a stratagem. Chevalier hit upon one which he thought was ingenious.
She had lied out of self-respect, and in order not to reveal a domestic secret which she regarded as derogatory to the honour of her family. The truth was that, being carried away by her passion for Ligny, Félicie had given Girmandel the go-by, and he, being a man of the world, had promptly cut off supplies.
The idea that the girl might be with Girmandel appeased his jealousy, and he dreaded to learn that she had broken with him. Of course he would never have allowed himself to question a mother as to her daughter's lovers.
"You were very friendly with him at one time, you and Félicie. Do you still see him?" "Monsieur Girmandel? Oh yes, we still see him," replied Madame Nanteuil softly. These words made Chevalier feel almost happy. But she had deceived him; she had not spoken the truth.
It was true that in the first beautiful hours of his love he had known that Félicie had a lover, one Girmandel, a court bailiff, who lived in the Rue de Provence, and he had felt it deeply. But as he never saw him he had formed so confused and ill-defined an idea of him that his jealousy lost itself in uncertainty.
Now, in the misery of his existence, in the distress of his heart, he was full of an eager desire that Félicie, who loved him no longer, should love Girmandel, whom she loved but little, and he hoped with all his heart that Girmandel would keep her for him, would possess her wholly, and leave nothing of her for Robert de Ligny.
Félicie assured him that she had never been more than passive in her intercourse with Girmandel, that she had not even pretended to care for him. He believed her, and this belief gave him the keenest satisfaction. She also told him that for a long time past, for months, Girmandel had been nothing more than a friend, and he believed her.
Madame Nanteuil, who was wise and knew the value of things, did not complain on that account, and she was rewarded for her devotion, for, in the six weeks during which she had been loved anew, she had grown young again. Chevalier, following up his idea, inquired: "You would hardly say that Girmandel was still a young man, would you?" "He is not old," said Madame Nanteuil.
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