Fromont and Risler, vol 3 | Page 4

to sample the author's ideas before making
an entire meal of them. D.W.]

FROMONT AND RISLER
By ALPHONSE DAUDET

BOOK 3.

CHAPTER XIV
EXPLANATION
By slow degrees Sidonie sank to her former level, yes, even lower.
From the rich, well-considered bourgeoise to which her marriage had
raised her, she descended the ladder to the rank of a mere toy. By dint
of travelling in railway carriages with fantastically dressed courtesans,
with their hair worn over their eyes like a terrier's, or falling over the
back 'a la Genevieve de Brabant', she came at last to resemble them.
She transformed herself into a blonde for two months, to the
unbounded amazement of Rizer, who could not understand how his
doll was so changed. As for Georges, all these eccentricities amused
him; it seemed to him that he had ten women in one. He was the real
husband, the master of the house.
To divert Sidonie's thoughts, he had provided a simulacrum of society
for her--his bachelor friends, a few fast tradesmen, almost no women,
women have too sharp eyes. Madame Dobson was the only friend of
Sidonie's sex.
They organized grand dinner-parties, excursions on the water,
fireworks. From day to day Risler's position became more absurd, more
distressing. When he came home in the evening, tired out, shabbily
dressed, he must hurry up to his room to dress.
"We have some people to dinner," his wife would say. "Make haste."
And he would be the last to take his place at the table, after shaking
hands all around with his guests, friends of Fromont Jeune, whom he
hardly knew by name. Strange to say, the affairs of the factory were
often discussed at that table, to which Georges brought his
acquaintances from the club with the tranquil self-assurance of the
gentleman who pays.
"Business breakfasts and dinners!" To Risler's mind that phrase
explained everything: his partner's constant presence, his choice of

guests, and the marvellous gowns worn by Sidonie, who beautified
herself in the interests of the firm. This coquetry on his mistress's part
drove Fromont Jeune to despair. Day after day he came unexpectedly to
take her by surprise, uneasy, suspicious, afraid to leave that perverse
and deceitful character to its own devices for long.
"What in the deuce has become of your husband?"
Pere Gardinois would ask his grand-daughter with a cunning leer.
"Why doesn't he come here oftener?"
Claire apologized for Georges, but his continual neglect began to
disturb her. She wept now when she received the little notes, the
despatches which arrived daily at the dinner-hour: "Don't expect me
to-night, dear love. I shall not be able to come to Savigny until
to-morrow or the day after by the night-train."
She ate her dinner sadly, opposite an empty chair, and although she did
not know that she was betrayed, she felt that her husband was
becoming accustomed to living away from her. He was so
absent-minded when a family gathering or some other unavoidable
duty detained him at the chateau, so silent concerning what was in his
mind. Claire, having now only the most distant relations with Sidonie,
knew nothing of what was taking place at Asnieres: but when Georges
left her, apparently eager to be gone, and with smiling face, she
tormented her loneliness with unavowed suspicions, and, like all those
who anticipate a great sorrow, she suddenly became conscious of a
great void in her heart, a place made ready for disasters to come.
Her husband was hardly happier than she. That cruel Sidonie seemed to
take pleasure in tormenting him. She allowed everybody to pay court to
her. At that moment a certain Cazabon, alias Cazaboni, an Italian tenor
from Toulouse, introduced by Madame Dobson, came every day to sing
disturbing duets. Georges, jealous beyond words, hurried to Asnieres in
the afternoon, neglecting everything, and was already beginning to
think that Risler did not watch his wife closely enough. He would have
liked him to be blind only so far as he was concerned.

Ah! if he had been her husband, what a tight rein he would have kept
on her! But he had no power over her and she was not at all backward
about telling him so. Sometimes, too, with the invincible logic that
often occurs to the greatest fools, he reflected that, as he was deceiving
his friend, perhaps he deserved to be deceived. In short, his was a
wretched life. He passed his time running about to jewellers and
dry-goods dealers, inventing gifts and surprises. Ah! he knew her well.
He knew that he could pacify her with trinkets, yet not retain his hold
upon her, and that, when the day came that she was bored--
But Sidonie was not bored as yet. She was living the life that she
longed