That evening, at half past six, as he entered the Campardons’ apartments without ringing, he came suddenly upon the architect and Gasparine kissing each other in the ante-room. The latter, who had just come from the warehouse, had not even given herself time to close the door. Both stood stock-still.
“My wife is combing her hair,” stammered the architect, for the sake of saying something. “Go in and see her.”
Octave, feeling as embarrassed as themselves, hastened to knock at the door of Rose’s room, where he usually entered like a relation. He really could no longer continue to board there, now that he caught them behind the doors.
“Come in!” cried Rose’s voice. “So it is you, Octave. Oh! there is no harm.”
She had not, however, donned her dressing-gown, and her arms and shoulders, as white and delicate as milk, were bare. Sitting attentively before the looking-glass, she was rolling her golden hair in little curls.
“So you are making yourself beautiful again to-night,” said Octave, smiling.
“Yes, for it is the only amusement I have,” replied she. “It occupies me. You know I have never been a good housewife; and, now that Gasparine will be here—Eh? don’t you think that curl suits me? It consoles me a little when I am well dressed and I feel that I look pretty.”
As the dinner was not ready, he told her of his having left “The Ladies’ Paradise.” He invented a story about some other situation he had long been on the look-out for; and thus reserved to himself a pretext for explaining his intention of taking his meals elsewhere. She was surprised that he could give up a berth which held out great promises for the future. But she was busy at her glass, and did not catch all he said.
“Look at this red place behind my ear. Is it a pimple?”
He had to examine the nape of her neck, which she held toward him with her grand tranquillity of a sacred woman.
“It is nothing,” said he. “You must have dried yourself too roughly.”
And, when he had assisted her to put on her dressing-gown of blue satin embroidered with silver, they passed into the diningroom. As early as the soup, Octave’s departure from the Hédouins’ was discussed. Campardon did not repress his surprise, whilst Gasparine smiled faintly; they were quite at their ease together.