The baron stood still for a moment, smiling, almost experiencing an emotion on the threshold of this chamber dedicated to love.  But suddenly something appeared in the looking-glass, as if the phantoms which he had evoked had risen up before him.  A man and a woman who had been sitting on a low couch concealed in the shadow had arisen, and the polished surface, reflecting their figures, showed that they were kissing each other before separating.

Baron d’Etraille recognized his wife and the Marquis de Cervigne.  He turned and went away like a man who is fully master of himself, and waited till it was day before taking away the baroness; but he had no longer any thoughts of sleeping.

As soon as they were alone he said: 

“Madame, I saw you just now in Princesse de Raynes’ room; I need say no more, and I am not fond either of reproaches, acts of violence, or of ridicule.  As I wish to avoid all such things, we shall separate without any scandal.  Our lawyers will settle your position according to my orders.  You will be free to live as you please when you are no longer under my roof; but, as you will continue to bear my name, I must warn you that should any scandal arise I shall show myself inflexible.”

She tried to speak, but he stopped her, bowed, and left the room.

He was more astonished and sad than unhappy.  He had loved her dearly during the first period of their married life; but his ardor had cooled, and now he often amused himself elsewhere, either in a theatre or in society, though he always preserved a certain liking for the baroness.

She was very young, hardly four-and-twenty, small, slight—­too slight—­and very fair.  She was a true Parisian doll:  clever, spoiled, elegant, coquettish, witty, with more charm than real beauty.  He used to say familiarly to his brother, when speaking of her: 

“My wife is charming, attractive, but—­there is nothing to lay hold of.  She is like a glass of champagne that is all froth; when you get to the wine it is very good, but there is too little of it, unfortunately.”

He walked up and down the room in great agitation, thinking of a thousand things.  At one moment he was furious, and felt inclined to give the marquis a good thrashing, or to slap his face publicly, in the club.  But he decided that would not do, it would not be good form; he would be laughed at, and not his rival, and this thought wounded his vanity.  So he went to bed, but could not sleep.  Paris knew in a few days that the Baron and Baroness d’Etraille had agreed to an amicable separation on account of incompatibility of temper.  No one suspected anything, no one laughed, and no one was astonished.

The baron, however, to avoid meeting his wife, travelled for a year, then spent the summer at the seaside, and the autumn in shooting, returning to Paris for the winter.  He did not meet the baroness once.

He did not even know what people said about her.  In any case, she took care to respect appearances, and that was all he asked for.