A Meeting

Guy de Maupassant

It was nothing but an accident, an accident pure and simple. On that particular evening the

princess' rooms were open, and as they appeared dark after the brilliantly lighted parlors,

Baron d'Etraille, who was tired of standing, inadvertently wandered into an empty bedroom.

He looked round for a chair in which to have a doze, as he was sure his wife would not

leave before daylight. As soon as he became accustomed to the light of the room he

distinguished the big bed with its azure-and- gold hangings, in the middle of the great room,

looking like a catafalque in which love was buried, for the princess was no longer young.

Behind it, a large bright surface looked like a lake seen at a distance. It was a large mirror,

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

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

He became dreadfully bored, travelled again, restored his old castle of Villebosc, which

took him two years; then for over a year he entertained friends there, till at last, tired of all

these so-called pleasures, he returned to his mansion in the Rue de Lille, just six years after

the separation.

He was now forty-five, with a good crop of gray hair, rather stout, and with that melancholy

look characteristic of those who have been handsome, sought after, and liked, but who are

deteriorating, daily.

A month after his return to Paris, he took cold on coming out of his club, and had such a

bad cough that his medical man ordered him to Nice for the rest of the winter.

He reached the station only a few minutes before the departure of the train on Monday

had not stirred all night, and seemed still to be sound asleep.

M. d'Etraille made use of the opportunity to brush his hair and his beard, and to try to

freshen himself up a little generally, for a night's travel does not improve one's appearance

when one has attained a certain age.

A great poet has said:

"When we are young, our mornings are triumphant!"

Then we wake up with a cool skin, a bright eye, and glossy hair.

As one grows older one wakes up in a very different condition. Dull eyes, red, swollen

cheeks, dry lips, hair and beard disarranged, impart an old, fatigued, worn-out look to the

face.

The baron opened his travelling case, and improved his looks as much as possible.

The engine whistled, the train stopped, and his neighbor moved. No doubt he was awake.

She looked at him calmly, did not seem to recognize him, and then slowly laid aside her

wraps. She had that quiet assurance of a woman who is sure of herself, who feels that on

awaking she is in her full beauty and freshness.

The baron was really bewildered. Was it his wife, or else as like her as any sister could be?

Not having seen her for six years, he might be mistaken.

She yawned, and this gesture betrayed her. She turned and looked at him again, calmly,

indifferently, as if she scarcely saw him, and then looked out of the window again.

He was upset and dreadfully perplexed, and kept looking at her sideways.

Yes; it was surely his wife. How could he possibly have doubted it? There could certainly

not be two noses like that, and a thousand recollections flashed through his mind. He felt

belonged to him; he had only to say to her:

"I insist upon it."

He had formerly slept in her arms, existed only in her love, and now he had found her again

certainly, but so changed that he scarcely knew her. It was another, and yet it was she

herself. It was some one who had been born and had formed and grown since he had left

her. It was she, indeed; she whom he had loved, but who was now altered, with a more

assured smile and greater self-possession. There were two women in one, mingling a great

part of what was new and unknown with many sweet recollections of the past. There was

something singular, disturbing, exciting about it --a kind of mystery of love in which there

floated a delicious confusion. It was his wife in a new body and in new flesh which lips had

never pressed.

And he thought that in a few years nearly every thing changes in us; only the outline can be

recognized, and sometimes even that disappears.

The blood, the hair, the skin, all changes and is renewed, and when people have not seen

each other for a long time, when they meet they find each other totally different beings,

What was he to do? How should he address her? and what could he say to her? Had she

recognized him?

The train stopped again. He got up, bowed, and ,said: "Bertha, do you want anything I could

bring you?"

She looked at him from head to foot, and answered, without showing the slightest surprise,

or confusion, or anger, but with the most perfect indifference:

"I do not want anything---thank you."

He got out and walked up and down the platform a little in order to recover himself, and, as

He would look like a fool, and, besides, he really had no right to do so.

out on the seat, radiant, and without showing any emotion.

He turned to her, and said: "My dear Bertha, since this singular chance has brought up

together after a separation of six years--a quite friendly separation--are we to continue to

look upon each other as irreconcilable enemies? We are shut up together, tete-d-tete, which

is so much the better or so much the worse. I am not going to get into another carriage, so

don't you think it is preferable to talk as friends till the end of our journey?"

She answered, quite calmly again:

"Just as you please."

Then he suddenly stopped, really not knowing what to say; but as he had plenty of

assurance, he sat down on the middle seat, and said:

"Well, I see I must pay my court to you; so much the better. It is, however, really a pleasure,

for you are charming. You cannot imagine how you have improved in the last six years. I do

not know any woman who could give me that delightful sensation which I experienced just

now when you emerged from your wraps. I really could not have thought such a change

since I last saw you?"

She said, quite calmly: "I have taken care of appearances, as you ordered me."

He was very nearly saying something brutal, but he checked himself; and kissed his wife's

hand:

"And I thank you," he said.

She was surprised. He was indeed diplomatic, and always master of himself.

He went on: "As you have acceded to my first request, shall we now talk without any

bitterness?"

She made a little movement of surprise.

"Bitterness? I don't feel any; you are a complete stranger to me; I am only trying to keep up

a difficult conversation."

"How old are you now? I thought you were younger than you look."

"I am forty-five"; and then he added: "I forgot to ask after Princesse de Raynes. Are you still

intimate with her?"

She looked at him as if she hated him:

Nice, are you not?"

moments, when we get to the station, you will see the Princesse de Raynes and Comtesse

The princess stretched out her arms to embrace her,--and the baroness said, painting to the

baron, who was dumb with astonishment, and was trying to get at the truth:

"You do not recognize Raymond? He has certainly changed a good deal, and he agreed to

come with me so that I might not travel alone. We take little trips like this occasionally, like

good friends who cannot live together. We are going to separate here; he has had enough of

me already."

She put out her hand, which he took mechanically, and then she jumped out on to the