He had already turned in our direction; he bowed to Mademoiselle Derbin, and, in spite of the signals that I made to him, exclaimed when he saw me: “I am not mistaken! it is Blémont! dear Blémont, whom I have not seen for two years! Ah! my dear friend, embrace me!” He opened his arms; it seemed to me that I could choke him with great good will. All eyes were turned upon us. I could not conceal my embarrassment, my irritation. Bélan seized me and embraced me in spite of myself, still exclaiming: “Dear Blémont! how pleasant it is to meet a friend when travelling, isn’t it?” “Hum! may the devil take----” “What’s that? He has not yet got over his surprise.” Caroline, her attention attracted by the name of Blémont, gazed steadfastly at me and said to Bélan: “Why, are you not mistaken, monsieur? It is Monsieur Dalbreuse whom you are speaking to. Am I not right, monsieur? Pray answer!” I did not know what to say. Bélan rejoined: “So his name is Dalbreuse now? Faith, my dear fellow, I never knew you by that name, but I understand--ah! the rascal!--it was when he left his wife that he changed his name, in order to play the bachelor.” “His wife!” cried Caroline. “His wife!” several others repeated. “Monsieur,” I said, with great difficulty restraining my anger, “who requested you to go into details which concern nobody but me?” “Mon Dieu! I had no idea that it was a secret, my dear Blémont; and then, I have just met your wife in the garden; and now I find you here; so I suppose that it’s all settled, that you have come together again, and----” “That is enough, monsieur.” “Your wife in the garden! what! is she your wife?” said Caroline, under her breath. I lowered my eyes. At that moment I wished that the earth would open and conceal me from every eye; I heard people saying on all sides: “He is the sick woman’s husband!” Bélan, observing my embarrassment and the effect his words had produced in the salon, gazed at me with a stupid expression, muttering: “If you are angry, I am very sorry; but I could not guess! you ought to have warned me. Of course you know what has happened to me? Parbleu! there is no mystery about that; my case was reported in the Gazette des Tribunaux a few days ago. I am--oh! it is all over; I am--I don’t care to say the word before these ladies. But see how unlucky I am! the court has decided that there were no proofs; it condemns me to continue to live with my wife, and insists that I am not a cuckold.--Bless my soul! the word slipped out after all!” “Cuckold!” repeated several young men with a laugh. “Can it be that monsieur is the Monsieur Ferdinand Bélan of whom the Gazette des Tribunaux had something to say recently?” “I am the man, messieurs: Julien-Ferdinand Bélan, who sought a divorce from Armide-Constance-Fidèle de Beausire. They have condemned me to keep my wife, but I shall appeal. I am certain that I am a cuckold; my judges were bribed.”