"One evening, to my sorrow," she resumed, "I met Vantrasson at a
ball. It was the 13th day of the month. I might have known no
good would come of it. Ah, you should have seen him at that time,
in full uniform. He belonged to the Paris Guards then. All the
women were crazy about soldiers, and my head was turned, too----"
Her tone, her gestures, and the compression of her thin lips,
revealed the bitterness of her disappointment and her unavailing
regret. "Ah, these handsome men!" she continued; "don't talk to
me about them! This one had heard of my savings. I had nineteen
thousand francs, so he begged me to marry him, and I was fool
enough to consent. Yes, fool--for I was forty, and he was only
thirty. I might have known it was my money that he wanted, and
not me. However, I gave up my situation, and even purchased a
substitute for him, in order that I might have him all to myself."
She had gradually warmed with her theme, as she described her
confidence and blind credulity, and then, with a tragic gesture,
as if she desired to drive away these cruel memories, she suddenly
seized her glass and emptied it at a draught.
Chupin, who was still at his post outside, experienced a thrill of
envy, and involuntarily licked his lips. "A mixed ratafia," he
said, longingly. "I shouldn't object to one myself."
However, this choice compound seemed to inspire Madame Vantrasson
with renewed energy, for, with still greater earnestness, she
resumed: "At first, all went well.
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