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THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL 131
I was prevailed upon to write a letter to Matilda’s
father, in which I took the sins of everybody and the
responsibility for all the mischief on my own shoulders,
called God to witness that the Baron and the girl were
innocent, and asked the offended father to forgive me for
all the crimes I had committed—I, the only penitent one !
It was a beautiful action and a good one, and the
Baroness loved me for it as a woman loves a man who has
allowed her to trample on his honour, his self-respect, his
good name.
In spite of my resolution not to be mixed up in these
unsavoury family matters, I had been unable to steer clear
of them.
The mother-in-law paid me many visits, and, always
appealing to my love for her daughter, tried to incite me
against the Baron, but in vain ; I took my orders from
no one but the Baroness. Moreover, on this point I sided
A\ith the father. As he was taking charge of the child,
the dowry, imaginary or otherwise, belonged undoubtedly
to him.
Oh, this month of April ! What a springtime of love !
The beloved woman on the sick-bed, intolerable meetings
at which the two families washed their dirty linen, Avhich
I certainly never had the least desire to come into contact
with ; tears ; rudeness ; a chaos which brought to light
everything base that had hitherto been hidden under the
veneer of education.
That comes of raising a nest of hornets about one’s
ears ! . . .
No wonder that love suffered under such conditions.
Where is the charm of a woman who is always worn out
with contention, whose conversation bristles with legal
terms ?
Again and again I attempted to instil into her my
Vhoughts of consolation and hope, even though they v.eie
K 2
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