The Ghost of Monsieur Scarron

Thirteen

173 Thirteen in the weeks that followed, Marianne learned many deceptions . Most of them were simple. She learned to look at Paul in Jean’s presence so that her feeling was not visible in her face. She learned to accept with pride, knowing the reason, Paul’s disregard of her when they were not alone together; and she learned to multiply occasions when they might be alone. life was no longer monotonous. any moment might yield an encounter which would make her tingle with pleasure to her heels. and since any moment might betray her through some chance gesture or sudden change of color, she needed to be constantly alert, aware of herself as of the others. She had begun weeks before to take pains with the food she served, the way she dressed. now she wanted to sing as she scrubbed or swept. She contented herself with silence and with a freer and happier way of moving, so that even Jean looked at her with pleasure as she came and went. it seemed all a part, for him, of the well-being of his shop since the advent of his young assistant, the well-being of the city since the miracle of the saint. he could see that others besides the tall abbé têtu appreciated the work which issued from the shop. his business improved, in spite of the bad times. he enjoyed, also, when his depression over the absence of his son grew less extreme, having Paul to converse with, in his laconic way. 174 Janet Lewis as for Paul, he was happy. he was almost satisfied. Deception was nothing new to him; he sensed its novelty for Marianne and took a certain malicious pleasure in observing the ease with which she became adept. he noted also that the fear of being surprised heightened her pleasure in a kiss. the knowledge that he had persuaded an honest woman into his bed increased his triumph. the first time, after her visit to his room, that he embraced her as he found her standing midway between the table where she served their meals and the hearth where she prepared them, she was shocked. “not here, in my own kitchen,” she protested, with all the years of her unquestioned fidelity surrounding her. “why not?” said Paul. “is it less a sin to kiss on the street or in a stairway?” “here i am larcher’s wife,” she would have answered if in her confusion she could have found the words, but no words came, and Paul went on: “in my room you were not embarrassed, and my room is an unworthy place for you. a rat hole, filled with the stench of poverty, for you, who sleep in a great bed with red curtains, with clean white sheets that smell of the sun and air, who sleep in that great bed with your husband.” he was amused and brutal, and yet careful not to go too far. “But how beautiful you were in my room,” he said, turning quickly from the accusation of adultery which he had almost made. he kissed her under her chin, so that she smiled, and said, “you are a good wife, Mademoiselle. it pleases me that you put lavender between your sheets. i like to see you scour the copper. if i must envy Jean, i will envy him for everything.” in theory it was an excellent situation, beneficial to all three of them. the theory was Paul’s, which he expounded to 175 T H E G H O S T O F M O N S I E U R S C A R R O N Marianne. he relieved Jean of the responsibility of keeping his wife content, and at the same time provided him, in his bed and in his kitchen, with a woman who was even more attentive to his welfare than she had been before the ninth of June. he himself worked better than he had ever worked before. he exerted himself to be considerate of Jean. with all this assurance that she was not greatly wronging her husband, Marianne found it a little matter to excuse herself to Jean for not going to early Mass with him. She left the shop later, alone, and went not to Mass but to Paul’s stuffy little room, from which she returned with clear eyes and a deepened color...