A Parisian Affair and Other Stories. Guy de Maupassant

      A year went by, and war was declared between the pair, incessant, bitter war, almost ferocious hatred. And Madame Bonnin never stopped saying over and over again: “Isn’t it dreadful to lose a fortune because one happens to have married a fool!” or “to think that if I had married another man, to-day I would have an income of forty thousand francs!” or again: “Some people are always in the way. They spoil everything.”

      In the evening, after dinner, the tension became well-nigh insufferable. One night, fearing a terrible scene, and not knowing how to ward it off, Léopold brought his friend, Frederic Morel, with whom he had almost had a duel, home with him. Soon Morel became the friend of the house, the counselor of husband and wife.

      The expiration of the delay stipulated in the will was drawing near; only six months more and the fortune would go to the poor and needy. And little by little Léopold’s attitude toward his wife changed. He too, became aggressive, taunting, would make obscure insinuations, mentioning in a mysterious way wives of clerks who had built up their husbands’ careers.

      Every little while he would bring up some story of promotion that had fallen to the luck of some obscure clerk. “Little Ravinot, who was only a supernumerary five years ago, has been made Chief-Clerk.” Then Madame Bonnin would reply: “It certainly is not you who could accomplish anything like that.”

      Léopold would shrug his shoulders.

      “As if he did more than anyone else! He has a bright wife, that is all. She captivated the head of the department and now gets everything she wants. In this life we have to look out that we are not fooled by circumstances.”

      What did he really mean? What did she infer? What occurred? Each of them had a calendar on which the days which separated them from the fatal term were marked; and every week, they were overcome by a sort of madness, a desperate rage, a wild, exasperation so that they felt capable of committing a crime if necessary.

      And then one morning, Madame Bonnin with shining eyes and a radiant face, laid her hands on her husband’s shoulders, looked at him intently, joyfully and whispered: “I believe that I am ‘enceinte.’ He experienced such a shock that he almost collapsed; and suddenly clasping his wife in his arms, he drew her down on his knee, kissed her like a beloved child and overwhelmed by emotion, sobbed aloud.

      Two months later, doubt was no longer possible. He went with her to a physician and had the latter make out a certificate which he handed to the executor of the will. The lawyer stated that, inasmuch as the child existed, whether born or unborn, he could do nothing but bow to circumstances, and would postpone the execution of the will until the birth of the heir.

      A boy was born, whom they christened Dieudonné, in remembrance of the practice in royal households.

      They were very rich.

      One evening, when M. Bonnin came home—his friend Frederic Morel was to dine with them—, his wife remarked casually: “I have just requested our friend Frederic never to enter this house again. He insulted me.” Léopold looked at her for a second with a light of gratitude in his eyes, and then he opened his arms; she flew to him and they kissed each other tenderly, like the good, united, upright little couple that they were.

      And it is worth while to hear Madame Bonnin discuss the women who have transgressed for love and those that a great passion has thrown into sin.