One Evening Page #3

"One Evening" by Guy de Maupassant is a captivating short story that revolves around a chance encounter between a man and a woman during a serene evening. As they converse, their dialogue reveals their inner thoughts and desires, reflecting themes of love, longing, and the complexities of human relationships. The narrative encapsulates the allure of fleeting connections and the profound emotions that can arise in a brief moment, showcasing Maupassant's mastery of character exploration and atmospheric storytelling.

• Short story

								

she turned round suddenly. It was she! When she saw me, she grew very
red and stopped, and then, with a smile, she said: 'Oh! Here you are!' I
felt choking.

"'Yes; so you have come out? And how is your headache?'

"'It is better, and I have been out on an errand.'

"'Where?'

"'To Lacaussade's, in the Rue Cassinelli, to order some pencils,'

"She looked me full in the face. She was not flushed now, but rather
pale, on the contrary. Her clear, limpid eyes--ah! those women's
eyes!--appeared to be full of truth, but I felt vaguely and painfuly
that they were full of lies. I was much more confused and embarrassed
than she was herself, without venturing to suspect, but sure that she
was lying, though I did not know why, and so I merely said:

"'You were quite right to go out, if you felt better.'

"'Oh! yes; my head is much better.'

"'Are you going home?'

"'Yes, of course I am.'

"I left her, and wandered about the streets by myself. What was going
on? While I was talking to her, I had an intuitive feeling of her
falseness, but now I could not believe that it was so, and when I
returned home to dinner, I was angry for having suspected her, even for
a moment.

"Have you ever been jealous? It does not matter whether you have or not,
but the first drop of jealousy had fallen into my heart, and that is
always like a spark of fire. It did not formulate anything, and I did
not think anything; I only knew that she had lied. You must remember
that every night, after the customers and clerks had left, we were
alone, and either strolled as far as the harbor, when it was fine, or
remained talking in my office, if the weather was bad, and I used to
open my heart to her without any reserve, because I loved her. She was
part of my life, the greater part, and all my happiness, and in her
small hands she held my trusting, faithful heart captive.

"During those first days, those days of doubt, and before my suspicions
increased and assumed a precise shape, I felt as depressed and chilly as
when we are going to be seriously ill. I was continually cold, really
cold, and could neither eat nor sleep. Why had she told me a lie? What
was she doing in that house? I went there, to try and find out
something, but I could discover nothing. The man who rented the first
floor, and who was an upholsterer, had told me all about his neighbors,
but without helping me the least. A midwife had lived on the second
floor, a dressmaker and a manicure and chiropodist on the third, and two
coachmen and their families in the attics.

"Why had she told me a lie? It would have been so easy for her to have
said that she had been to the dressmaker's or the chiropodist's. Oh! How
I longed to question them, also! I did not say so, for fear that she
might guess my suspicions. One thing, however, was certain; she had been
into that house, and had concealed the fact from me, so there was some
mystery in it. But what? At one moment, I thought there might be some
laudable purpose in it, some charitable deed that she wished to hide,
some information which she wished to obtain, and I found fault with
myself for suspecting her. Have not all of us the right of our little,
innocent secrets, a kind of second, interior life, for which one ought
not to be responsible to anybody? Can a man, because he has taken a girl
to be his companion through life, demand that she shall neither think
nor do anything without telling him, either before or afterwards? Does
the word marriage mean renouncing all liberty and independence? Was it
not quite possible that she was going to the dressmaker's without
telling me, or that she was going to assist the family of one of the
coachmen? Or she might have thought that I might criticize, if not
blame, her visit to the house. She knew me thoroughly, and my slightest
peculiarities, and perhaps she feared a discussion, even if she did not
think that I should find fault with her. She had very pretty hands, and
I ended by supposing that she was having them secretly attended to by
the manicure in the house which I suspected, and that she did not tell
me of it, for fear that I should think her extravagant. She was very
methodical and economical, +and looked after all her household duties
most carefully, and no doubt she thought that she should lower herself
in my eyes, were she to confess that slight piece of feminine
extravagance. Women have very many subtleties and innate tricks in their
soul!

"But none of my own arguments reassured me. I was jealous, and I felt
that my suspicion was affecting me terribly, that I was being devoured
by it. I felt secret grief and anguish, and a thought which I still
veiled, and I did not dare to lift the veil, for beneath it I should
find a terrible doubt.... A lover! ... Had not she a lover? ... It was
unlikely, impossible.... A mere dream ... and yet? ...

"I continually saw Montina's face before my eyes. I saw the tall,
silly-looking, handsome man, with his bright hair, smiling into her
face, and I said to myself: 'He is the one!' I concocted a story of
their intrigues. They had talked a book over together, had discussed the
love ventures it contained, had found something in it that resembled
them, and they had turned that analogy into reality. And so I watched
them, a prey to the most terrible sufferings that a man can endure. I
bought shoes with india-rubber soles, so that I might be able to walk
about the house without making any noise, and I spent half my time in
going up and down my little spiral staircase, in the hope of surprising
them, but I always found that the clerk was with them.

"I lived in a constant state of suffering. I could no longer work, nor
attend to my business. As soon as I went out, as soon as I had walked a
hundred yards along the street, I said to myself: 'He is there!' and
when I found he was not there, I went out again! But almost immediately
I went back again, thinking: 'He has come now!' and that went on every
day.

"At night it was still worse, for I felt her by my side in bed asleep,
or pretending to be asleep! Was she really sleeping? No, most likely
not. Was that another lie?

"I remained motionless on my back, hot from the warmth of her body,
panting and tormented. Oh! how intensely I longed to get up, to get a
hammer and to split her head open, so as to be able to see inside it! I
knew that I should have seen nothing except what is to be found in every
head, and I should have discovered nothing, for that would have been
impossible. And her eyes! When she looked at me, I felt furious with
rage. I looked at her ... she looked at me! Her eyes were transparent,
candid ... and false, false! Nobody could tell what she was thinking of,
and I felt inclined to run pins into them, and to destroy those mirrors
of falseness.

"Ah! how well I could understand the Inquisition! I would have applied
the torture, the boot.... Speak!...Confess!...You will not? ...Then
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