I reached the peasants’ house. They asked me about my wife as before. I cut their questions short by telling them that she had gone on a long journey. Then I asked for my son. They brought little Eugène to me. I took him in my arms and was about to cover him with kisses, when suddenly a new idea, a heartrending thought passed through my mind; my features altered, I put aside the child, who was holding out his arms to me, and replaced him in his nurse’s arms. That worthy woman utterly failed to understand the change which had taken place in me. She gazed at me and cried: “Well! what’s the matter? You give me back your son without kissing him! Why, he is a pretty little fellow, poor child!” “My son!” I said to myself, “my son! he is only eleven months old, and Dulac began coming to the house before Eugénie was enceinte.” A new suspicion had come to aggravate my suffering. Who could assure me that that was my child? that I was not on the point of embracing the fruit of their guilty intercourse? At that thought I sprang to my feet. “Are you sick, monsieur?” the nurse asked me. I did not answer her, but left the house. I walked about for some time in the fields. I realized that thenceforth I should not be able to think of my son without being haunted by that cruel thought; when I embraced the child, that suspicion would poison my happiness, and would diminish the affection that I should otherwise have had for him. And these women claim that they are no more guilty than we are! Ah! they are always sure when they are mothers; they are not afraid lest they may lavish their caresses on a stranger’s child. That is one great advantage that they have over us. But nature does not do everything; one becomes a father by adopting an innocent little creature; and he who neglects and abandons his children ceases to be a father. I returned to the nurse’s house, somewhat calmer. The poor woman was sitting in a corner with the child in her arms; she dared not bring him to me again. I went to her and kissed the child on the forehead, heaving a profound sigh. I commended him to the peasants’ care, I gave them money, and I returned to Paris more depressed than ever. I found Ernest at my rooms waiting for me. He had been to my former home, had learned my new address, and had been looking for me everywhere since the morning, to divert me and comfort me. “What do people say in society?” That was my first question when I saw him; for I confess that my greatest dread was that people should know that my wife had deceived me, and it was much less on my own account than on hers that I dreaded it. I did not wish that she should be held guilty in the eyes of society; it was quite enough that she should be guilty to my knowledge; so I begged Ernest to conceal nothing from me.