Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - Part IV - III
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THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL 261
visible. The conversation dropped amid a general sense
of embarrassment.
When I was left alone with my friend, I begged him
to tell me frankly what he knew of those rumours which
were giving me so much uneasiness. He swore a solemn
oath that he knew nothing. I continued urging him, and
at last drew from him the following enigmatical words of
comfort
—
’•Moreover, my dear fellow, if you suspect one man,
you may be sure that there are several."
That was all. But from this day onward Marie, who
had been so fond of telling tales, of mentioning the
doctor’s name in public, that it sometimes seemed as if
she were trying to get accustomed to talk about him
without blushing, never again alluded to him.
This discovery impressed me so much that I took the
trouble to search my memory for similar evidence. I
recollected a play which had appeared at the time of her
divorce. It threw light, vague, uncertain light, it is true,
but yet sufficient light, on the channel which led up to
the source of those rumours.
A play by the famous Norwegian blue-stocking, the
promoter of the "equality-mania,’* had fallen into my
hands. I had read it without connecting it in the least
with my own case. Now, however, I applied it easily, so
easily that the blackest suspicions of my wife’s good fame
seemed justified.
This was the story of the play
—
A photographer (the realism of my writings had won
me this designation) had married a girl of doubtful
morality. She had been the mistress of a smelter, and
funds which she received from her former lover kept her
home going. She made herself proficient in her husband’s
profession ; and while she worked left him to loaf and spend
his time in the cafes, drinking with boon companions.
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