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Updated: July 15, 2025
"Frantz Frantz!" she said; and they remained there side by side, silent and burning with emotion, soothed by Madame Dobson's romance, which reached their ears by snatches through the shrubbery: "Ton amour, c'est ma folie. Helas! je n'en puis guei-i-i-r." Suddenly Risler's tall figure appeared in the doorway. "This way, Chebe, this way. They are in the summerhouse."
The new acquisitions of the household stared him in the face, reminding him of some request for a large amount. But the one thing that he studied more carefully than all else was Risler's countenance. In his view that woman was in a fair way to change his friend, the best, the most upright of men, into a shameless villain.
Whoever would have suspected such a thing? And to think that in the same year I had those two great pieces of good fortune a partnership in the house of Fromont and married to Sidonie Oh!" At that moment, to the strains of a giddy, languishing waltz, a couple whirled into the small salon. They were Risler's bride and his partner, Georges Fromont.
The open doors, the rugs lying in heaps in the corners, the salvers laden with glasses, the preparations for the supper, the table still set and untouched, the dust from the dancing on all the furniture, its odor mingled with the fumes of punch, of withered flowers, of rice- powder all these details attracted Risler's notice as he entered.
Sidonie had disappeared after exchanging a few unmeaning words with the impassive Frantz. Madame Dobson continued her tremolos on the soft pedal, like those which accompany critical situations at the theatre. In very truth, the situation at that moment was decidedly strained. But Risler's good-humor banished all constraint.
At each new effusion on Risler's part, Georges Fromont shrank visibly, ashamed and embarrassed by the strange expression on Frantz's face. The breakfast was lacking in gayety. Madame Dobson talked almost without interruption, overjoyed to be swimming in the shallows of a romantic love-affair.
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