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An Artifice
by [?]

The old doctor sat by the fireside, talking to his fair patient who was lying on the lounge. There was nothing much the matter with her, except that she had one of those little feminine ailments from which pretty women frequently suffer–slight anaemia, a nervous attack, etc.

“No, doctor,” she said; “I shall never be able to understand a woman deceiving her husband. Even allowing that she does not love him, that she pays no heed to her vows and promises, how can she give herself to another man? How can she conceal the intrigue from other people’s eyes? How can it be possible to love amid lies and treason?”

The doctor smiled, and replied: “It is perfectly easy, and I can assure you that a woman does not think of all those little subtle details when she has made up her mind to go astray.

“As for dissimulation, all women have plenty of it on hand for such occasions, and the simplest of them are wonderful, and extricate themselves from the greatest dilemmas in a remarkable manner.”

The young woman, however, seemed incredulous.

“No, doctor,” she said; “one never thinks until after it has happened of what one ought to have done in a critical situation, and women are certainly more liable than men to lose their head on such occasions:”

The doctor raised his hands. “After it has happened, you say! Now I will tell you something that happened to one of my female patients, whom I always considered an immaculate woman.

“It happened in a provincial town, and one night when I was asleep, in that deep first sleep from which it is so difficult to rouse us, it seemed to me, in my dreams, as if the bells in the town were sounding a fire alarm, and I woke up with a start. It was my own bell, which was ringing wildly, and as my footman did not seem to be answering the door, I, in turn, pulled the bell at the head of my bed, and soon I heard a banging, and steps in the silent house, and Jean came into my room, and handed me a letter which said: ‘Madame Lelievre begs Dr. Simeon to come to her immediately.’

“I thought for a few moments, and then I said to myself: ‘A nervous attack, vapors; nonsense, I am too tired.’ And so I replied: ‘As Dr. Simeon is not at all well, he must beg Madame Lelievre to be kind enough to call in his colleague, Monsieur Bonnet.’ I put the note into an envelope and went to sleep again, but about half an hour later the street bell rang again, and Jean came to me and said: ‘There is somebody downstairs; I do not quite know whether it is a man or a woman, as the individual is so wrapped up, but they wish to speak to you immediately. They say it is a matter of life and death for two people.’ Whereupon I sat up in bed and told him to show the person in.

“A kind of black phantom appeared and raised her veil as soon as Jean had left the room. It was Madame Berthe Lelievre, quite a young woman, who had been married for three years to a large a merchant in the town, who was said to have married the prettiest girl in the neighborhood.

“She was terribly pale, her face was contracted as the faces of insane people are, occasionally, and her hands trembled violently. Twice she tried to speak without being able to utter a sound, but at last she stammered out: ‘Come–quick–quick, doctor. Come–my–friend has just died in my bedroom.’ She stopped, half suffocated with emotion, and then went on: ‘My husband will be coming home from the club very soon.’

“I jumped out of bed without even considering that I was only in my nightshirt, and dressed myself in a few moments, and then I said: ‘Did you come a short time ago?’ ‘No,’ she said, standing like a statue petrified with horror. ‘It was my servant–she knows.’ And then, after a short silence, she went on: ‘I was there–by his side.’ And she uttered a sort of cry of horror, and after a fit of choking, which made her gasp, she wept violently, and shook with spasmodic sobs for a minute: or two. Then her tears suddenly ceased, as if by an internal fire, and with an air of tragic calmness, she said: ‘Let us make haste.’