On leaving Rue de la Ville-l'Évêque, Arthur Cherami followed the boulevard in the direction of the Bastille; he did not take an omnibus—first, because he was in no hurry; and, secondly, because he had reflected:
"If I could happen to meet in the street some old friend, some good fellow, I would ask him to be my second. On a pinch, if it was necessary, I would sacrifice myself so far as to pay for his breakfast or dinner—but at a soup-kitchen only."
But Cherami arrived at Boulevard du Temple, without falling in with what he sought.
"Shall I go home?" he thought; "what's the use? My hôtel is not the place to find what I want; the poor devils who lodge there seldom wear coats. I am sure that this Comte de la Bérinière will send me two very distinguished gentlemen; they will turn up their noses enough when they see the Widow Louchard's hôtel; Imust confront them with men who represent—— Damnation! I haven't my cue! it's infernally embarrassing! The devil take the obstinacy of that count, who insists on having seconds!"
As he walked on, Cherami saw a short man coming toward him, armed with a pretty cane of cherry wood.
"Here comes a grotesque figure which reminds me of a clown I have seen somewhere or other," he said to himself. "Pardieu! it's Courbichon. I must catch him on the wing."
The little bald man was speechless with surprise when he found his passage barred by a tall man; and he seemed by no means pleased when he recognized the gentleman with whom he had dined on the Champs-Élysées.
But Cherami seized his hand and shook it warmly.
"A lucky meeting!" he said; "it is my dear Monsieur Courbichon!Bone Deus!So we are no longer in Touraine?"
"Ah! monsieur, I have the honor—no, as you see, I am in Paris."
"And fresher and lustier than ever! I am tempted to repeat the fable: 'How pretty you are! how handsome you look to me!'"
"You don't need to: I know it."
"That's a pretty cane you have there. It isn't the same one, is it?"
"No, monsieur; it certainly isn't the one you broke."
"Didn't you have it mended?"
"It wasn't mendable, monsieur."
"Nonsense! why, they even mend porcelain! This is cherry, I see; let me look at it."
Cherami put out his hand for the cane, but Monsieur Courbichon hastily put it behind his back.
"No, no," he cried; "I have no desire that you should break this one too; one was quite enough."
"Oh! mon Dieu! my excellent and worthy friend, who said anything about breaking your cane? There is nobody throwing skittles at your legs at this moment, and I fancy that this switch is worth quite as much as your cherry stick."
"Did this one come from China, too?"
"No, my boy. Do not revive my sorrow! My Chinese switch will never be replaced; but enough about canes. I have a very great favor to ask of you, my dear Monsieur Courbichon, one of those favors which a man of honor never refuses to grant."
"I have no money with me at this moment, monsieur; and it would be impossible for me——"
"Who the devil said anything about money? Mordieu! do I look like a man who borrows money?"
Monsieur Courbichon examined Cherami, who had made himself as fine as possible for his visit to Monsieur de la Bérinière; and he took off his hat, murmuring:
"I beg your pardon; indeed, I had not noticed—— But what is the favor you wish to ask me, monsieur?"
"A nothing, a mere bagatelle—to act as my second in a duel, to-morrow."
"A duel! it's about a duel! and you dare to propose to me to take part in it! What have I done to you, monsieur, that you should suggest such a thing to me?"
"I tell you, Monsieur Courbichon, it's a mere matter of form; the seconds don't fight."
"I, be present at a duel! Understand that I never fought a duel, monsieur! I would rather die than fight!"
"You are like Gribouille, then, who jumped into the water for fear of the rain."
"It's an outrage, your proposition to me! I will request you, monsieur, not to speak to me hereafter. I do not consort with men who fight duels, not I! Don't detain me, or I shall call for help."
The little bald man almost ran away. Cherami shrugged his shoulders, saying to himself:
"Old guinea-hen! I might have guessed that the simple wordduelwould frighten him! He won't be my second. Sapristi! I haven't my cue!"
Cherami was almost at the end of Boulevard Beaumarchais, when he heard a voice exclaim:
"Yes, yes, it's him; there he is—the man who keeps us waiting for dinner, and never comes! God bless my soul! it takes you a long time to smoke your cigar."
At the sound of those familiar accents, Beau Arthur turned, and saw Madame Capucine, attended as always by her two brats; the elder still wearing his Henri IV hat, with the feathers falling over his eyes; the younger eating gingerbread, and finding a way to stuff his fingers into his nose at the same time.
"Ah! upon my word, it's the lovely Madame Capucine," said Cherami, joining the group.
The stout woman, glancing at her debtor's fashionable attire, smiled amiably, as she rejoined:
"I ought not to speak to you again, by good rights! That was a very pretty trick you played us at Passy: to leave us on the pretext of smoking a cigar! Oh! monsieur would only be gone a few minutes; and it was eleven months ago!"
"I was blameworthy, I know it; I treated you badly! But if you knew what events were in store for me that day in the Bois de Boulogne!"
"My aunt bears you a grudge! Oh! she's furious with you."
"I will make my peace with the venerable Madame Duponceau. And the first time that I go to the Bois de Boulogne——"
"No, no; you needn't go to the Bois de Boulogne for that. My aunt isn't at Passy now; she didn't like it there. It's a place where you have to dress too much; it's enough to ruin you."
"Ah! so the dear aunt has changed her villa once more? She is just a little bit fickle. And whither has she transported her sheep—that is to say, her rural Penates?"
"To Saint-Mandé. You see, we're just going to take the omnibus to go there."
"What! you are going to your aunt's? How funny! It seems to be written that I shall always meet you, lovely creature, when you are on your way to your aunt's. But this isn't Saturday?"
"No; but to-morrow is my aunt's birthday, Saint Élisabeth's day; and it's our duty to go to wish her many happy returns."
"Ah! yes, I understand; Madame Duponceau's name is Élisabeth."
"Do you want to make your peace with her? Here's an excellent chance. Come with us; you can congratulate my aunt, and dine at Saint-Mandé. My husband is coming to join us there at five o'clock."
Cherami reflected for some minutes. He remembered that Capucine was a corporal in the National Guard, and thought that he might perhaps consent to act as his second. That hope decided him; he smiled at his stout friend, and replied:
"You do whatever you please with me. I had important business in Paris; but your husband can help me about it, I think. I am at your service. Ho for Saint-Mandé!"
"Good! you are very obliging. If you go on as you have begun, I will forgive you, too."
These words were accompanied by a languishing glance of immeasurable length. It made Cherami shudder.
"I am terribly afraid," he thought, "that she would like me to take up Ballot's duties."
Madame Capucine called Jacqueline. An old servant, all twisted and bent, came limping along, with an enormous basket on her arm.
"Tudieu!" thought Cherami; "here's a soubrette who will hardly divert the attention of the haberdasher's young clerk."
"Is the 'bus there, Jacqueline?"
"It's just comin', madame."
"Let's hurry up and get seats, Monsieur Cherami. Will you take Aristoloche by the hand?"
"With pleasure."
"My! what a pleasant surprise this will be for Aunt Duponceau! She's very fond of you, you fickle man!"
"She has no ingrate to deal with, in me."
They entered the omnibus, and Cherami agreed to hold young Aristoloche on his knees, in order to save his mamma six sous. She tried to provide for Narcisse in the servant's lap, but the conductor declared that he must pay, which seemed to cause Jacqueline the keenest satisfaction. At last they started, and in due time arrived at Saint-Mandé.
Madame Duponceau's latest purchase was at the entrance to the avenue. The house was even smaller thanthat at Passy; and there was no garden: it was replaced by a courtyard in which naught could be seen, in any direction, save rabbit-hutches; it was a veritable library of rabbits.
The aunt appeared, shaking her head as always. She uttered a cry of surprise when she saw Cherami, then offered him her cheek, saying:
"Kiss me; I forgive your disappearance at Passy."
The penalty seemed to Cherami a little severe, but he submitted to it; and while he was in training, Madame Capucine offered him her cheek.
"Do the same for me," she said; "I forgive you, too."
"The devil! this dinner comes pretty high!" said Beau Arthur to himself, after kissing both ladies.
"You must come and see what a pretty little place I've got," said Madame Duponceau; "what a pity that you always come in winter!"
"I don't see what difference that makes here, as you have no garden."
"But I have rabbits."
"Are they finer in summer than in winter?"
"No; but they show themselves more, because they ain't cold."
"They show themselves quite enough as it is, in my opinion. I should be glad of a little refreshment."
"And then you must tell us what happened to you at Passy that kept you from coming back to dinner with us."
Cherami allowed himself to be taken all over the house; he was not even spared an inspection of the attic. He found everything charming, admirable, even the lean-to where the servant slept. At last, when the inspection was at an end, they begged him to tell them hisadventures in the Bois de Boulogne. He told the whole story, taking care not to mention names; and when he had finished, Madame Duponceau cried:
"That's what it is to fight a duel with pistols!"
"Corbleu de mordieu!" thought Cherami; "what an idiot I am to take the trouble to tell anything to such mummies! This will teach me a lesson; I ought to have told them about Blue Beard."
The dinner hour arrived, but Monsieur Capucine did not. They waited another half-hour; but the two boys complained so loudly of hunger, that it was decided to adjourn to the table.
First came a thin soup, then a rabbit-stew, then a roasted rabbit.
Cherami, seeing nothing but rabbit, made a wry face, and muttered under his breath:
"Apparently they are on a rabbit diet here. And that miserable Capucine doesn't come! To have nothing to eat but rabbit, and not obtain a second! what, in God's name, did I come to this hole for?"
By way of vegetables, of which there were none, a dish of minced rabbit, stuffed with chestnuts, was served.
"It's very strange that my husband doesn't come!" said the corpulent dame; "he must have had some order to be filled in a hurry."
"And then, perhaps he doesn't like rabbit?" suggested Cherami.
"Oh! yes, he eats it."
"What's that? Par la sambleu! I eat it, too, and I've been eating it for an hour, but I don't like it any better for that."
"You don't like it? What a pity! there's more of it coming!"
"A rabbit-cream, perhaps?"
"No, a pie."
"Thanks; if you will allow me, I will take some cheese, as a pleasant substitute. Gad! I don't wonder that your yard is carpeted with rabbit-hutches; they are productive evidently."
"Much more so than fruit trees."
"Well, well! I see that you will end by preserving them. But your wine is good, that's something."
"Here's my aunt's health!"
"With great pleasure. Vive Élisabeth!"
"Aristoloche and Narcisse, now recite your congratulations."
"What! have the dear children learned something by heart?"
"Yes, aunt; we'll show you."
"Oh! the dear loves, how sweet of them! Who wrote them?"
"My husband, aunt; they are in poetry!"
"Your husband writes poetry? I didn't know he had that talent; how long has he been a poet?"
"Since we have had for a customer a literary man who writes mottoes; he brings us some every time he comes to the house. Come, Aristoloche, begin. Go and stand in front of your aunt; and pronounce your words plain."
The little fellow tried first of all to obtain possession of the visitor's stick, and to gallop round the table astride it; they could not succeed in making him behave except by promising him that, if he would repeat his verses nicely, he should play with a rabbit which was very gentle and which was sometimes brought into the salon to entertain the company.
At last, Master Aristoloche took his stand in front of his great-aunt, and recited without stopping to take breath:
"'Ah! quel bonheur, en ce beau jour,De vous prouver tout mon amour!Du plaisir, je suis dans l'attente,Quand je dois aller chez ma tante!En amour comme en amitiéSachez tout mettre de moitié.'"
"It is easy to see that our papa knows a maker of mottoes," thought Cherami.
"What do you think of my husband's poetry?" asked Madame Capucine.
"It is the more ingenious in that it can be adapted to any possible occasion."
"And you, aunt?"
Madame Duponceau was delighted with the verses, and said to the boy, after giving him a kiss:
"Go and find the maid, and tell her to give you Coco to play with."
Master Aristoloche disappeared; it was his brother's turn to recite his congratulations; but young Narcisse was sulky; he rebelled.
"Well, monsieur," said his mother, "come and repeat your poetry to your aunt."
"No, I won't; it makes me sick."
"What do I hear, Monsieur Narcisse? What is the meaning of that answer?"
"I mean what I say; you always let Aristoloche play with Coco, and never let me."
"Will you hold your tongue—a great tall boy like you! just beginning to learn to write. You, want to play with the little rabbit!"
"Yes, I like rabbits, and I want to play with 'em."
"It seems to me," said Cherami, "that you ought not to be too hard on the child for liking rabbits; this is a good school for that. By dint of eating a thing, one sometimes ends by acquiring a taste for it. When I was a boy, I remember, I could not endure bread-soup, but they made me eat it every day to force me to like it."
"And you ended by liking it?"
"No; I detest it!"
"Come, Narcisse, come and recite your poetry to your dear aunt—if you don't, she won't give you another beautiful hat with feathers."
"I don't want any more of her feathers; they make me blind. Somebody told me that I looked like a trained dog in that hat."
"Look out, Monsieur Narcisse, or we shall be cross with you! Your poetry, this minute!"
"No, I won't!"
"Ah! we'll see about that, you little rascal!"
Madame Capucine left the table, seized Cherami's switch, which was standing in a corner, and advanced upon her son; but young Narcisse, when he saw what he was threatened with, began to run around the table, thus compelling his mother, still armed with the formidable switch, to run after him, striking blindly in every direction. Thinking that she was chastising her son, she twice brought the switch down on Cherami's shoulders, who found the manœuvre executed by the stout woman and her son far from amusing, although it reminded him somewhat of a circus performance.
At last, seeing that he was on the point of being captured, Narcisse changed his tactics, and slipped under the table. Madame Capucine, although disconcerted for a moment by this evolution, soon found a way to profit by it; she thrust her switch under the table, striking at random to right and left. Thereupon, the old aunt began to cry out: her niece was switching her legs. Luckily, Cherami succeeded in pulling Narcisse out from under the table; he was forced to stand in front of Madame Duponceau; and his mother stationed herself by his side, with her stick in the air, saying in a threatening tone:
"Your poetry, quick!"
Master Narcisse, although still in the sulks, decided to obey, and muttered in a drawling voice:
"'Ah! que je suis—Ah! que je suis donc content!De vous—de vous—de vous——'"
"De vous, what, idiot?"
"I forget."
"You just wait, and I'll freshen your memory, you bad boy!"
"'De vous fêter, objet charmant——'"
"It can't beobjet charmant!I know that's wrong."
"Why do you think it can't beobjet charmant, niece, I should like to know?" said Madame Duponceau, pursing up her lips.
"Because, aunt, I am perfectly sure it's something else."
"In my judgment," interposed Cherami, "objet charmantshould be allowed to remain; the expression is most appropriate."
The old aunt was so delighted by the compliment, that she left her seat and embraced her guest again.
"That will teach me to hold my tongue!" said Cherami to himself.
"Come, monsieur; go on with your poetry," continued Madame Capucine.
"'De vous—de vous—fêter en ce moment,'"
began Narcisse.
"You see!" cried Madame Capucine; "I knew it wasn'tobjet charmant."
"It's hardly worth while to interrupt just for that, niece. Go on, my boy."
But young Aristoloche had entered the dining-room, holding in his arms a little white rabbit, which he was tickling with a stick. That spectacle sadly distracted the attention of Master Narcisse, whom his mother continued to threaten with the switch to make him finish his lines. But Narcisse, as he recited, kept turning to look at his brother.
"'Quand je me trouve à votre table—à votre table——'
I'll fix you, if you don't give me the rabbit when I get through."
"No, they gave the rabbit to me—see!"
"'À votre table—à votre table—Ah! que le temps——'
I'll box your ears——
'est agréable!'"
"Mamma, brother says he'll lick me!"
"Don't listen to him, darling; he's the one who'll be licked, if he doesn't say his poetry better for his aunt. Come, Monsieur Narcisse."
"'Voulez-vous lire dans mon cœur——'
Wait till you want my battledore again!"
"I don't want it; papa'll give me another."
"'Dans mon cœur——'
Let Coco go."
"No, I won't let him go."
"All right; I'll fix you in a minute——
'Dans mon cœur—vous y verrez mon ardeur.'"
"You said that as badly as you could, monsieur! but you'll have to say it better at breakfast to-morrow."
"Oh! mamma, mamma; he's trying to take Coco away from me."
Narcisse, having finished his congratulations, had run after his brother and was trying to obtain possession of the rabbit; Madame Capucine, to put an end to the dispute, turned her elder son out of the dining-room, with an accompaniment of kicks in the posterior; then returned to her seat beside Cherami.
"And, after all," she said, "my husband didn't come!"
"And he probably won't come now, for it's almost nine o'clock. I am very sorry for that; I wanted to speak to him."
"About that little bill? Oh! there's no hurry about that."
"It was about something else."
"Well, I am going to have a very uncomfortable night of it. You must know that I'm very timid in the country. It's foolish of me, I know that well enough; for nothing ever happens to my aunt, who lives here alone with her servant; but what can I do? one can't control those things. When my husband's in bed beside me, that gives me courage, and I can sleep a little. But without him—why, I can't close my eyes. If we only had a man in the house; but nothing but women and children! What would become of us if we should be attacked?"
"What's the meaning of this attempt to entrap me?" thought Cherami, stroking his whiskers; "I can see myself passing the night here, to eat more rabbit to-morrow morning! On the contrary, I can't be off soon enough."
"Well, Monsieur Cherami," continued Madame Capucine, with a tender glance at her neighbor, "do you refuse to watch over us to-night? You are your own master; what is there to prevent you from sleeping here? If you would, I should feel perfectly safe, and I should have a quiet night. There's a guest-chamber just opposite mine."
The last words were accompanied by a sidelong glance ending in a sigh. Cherami began to cough in a significant fashion, and whispered:
"On the same floor?"
"Yes; you can understand what a relief it will be to me."
"I understand perfectly."
"Then you'll stay with us, won't you? When the children have gone to bed, we'll play a game of loto."
"That is a very seductive prospect."
"You shall draw the numbers."
"You will see how well I do it!"
At that moment, Madame Duponceau's servant rushed into the dining-room and exclaimed in dismay:
"O madame! madame! if you knew!"
"What is it, then, Françoise, for heaven's sake? You frighten me!"
"There's reason enough!"
"Is the house on fire?"
"Is it robbers?"
"No; but your rabbits. That little scamp of a Narcisse has opened all the hutches, and the rabbits are all loose; they're running everywhere—into the yard, and the cellar, and upstairs."
"Oh! mon Dieu! what do you mean? We must catch them! Niece, Monsieur Cherami, come quick, I beg you! Bring candles! Oh! my poor rabbits!"
Everybody hurried into the yard. In the confusion, Cherami did not fail to take his hat and cane; but, instead of going to the yard, he headed for the front door, crying:
"There go two of them into the road! I'll run after them."
"Do you think so?"
"I saw them."
"How could they have got out?"
"Under the gate. They scratched till they made a hole. But don't be disturbed; I'll catch them, if I have to chase them to Vincennes!"
And Cherami ran out into the road, leaving the ladies and the servant to hunt the rabbits.
Cherami went across fields to the village of Bagnolet, thence to Belleville, and returned to his domicile, consigning the Capucine family and its rabbits to the evil one.
"No seconds," he said to himself, as he went to bed; "and the count's will be here at ten o'clock to-morrow! No matter; let's go to sleep; it will be light to-morrow."
At seven o'clock, Cherami rose, dressed, and went to his window. It was just daylight, and Rue de l'Orillon was deserted. About eight o'clock, a water-carrier's cart came along. It stopped in front of Madame Louchard's house, and the master carrier and his man came upstairs with their pails.
Cherami opened his door, and scrutinized the two men closely as they came up.
"There are two stout fellows," he mused. "Sapristi! such seconds would just do for my affair! Why not? Pardieu! by making a slight sacrifice; and this is no time for economizing, but for going through with my duel in a dignified way. Gad! I am inclined to think that it's a good idea; I see no other way of obtaining seconds."
Cherami waited for the two men to come down the stairs; he stopped them as they passed, asked them into his room, and said to them:
"I have a favor to ask of you, messieurs."
The master, a tall, robust Auvergnat, replied, in the accent of his province:
"A pail to fill?"
"No."
"Do you want some water?"
"It is something out of your regular line. It will be a change for you."
"We must serve our customers."
"Listen to me first. If your customers should be served a little later than usual for once, it won't kill them. I have a duel to arrange for. Do you know what a duel is?"
"It's a clock that strikes the hours, ain't it?"
"You are a long way off."
The apprentice, a young Piedmontese, nearly six feet tall, suddenly exclaimed:
"Yes, yes, I know the vendetta, basta! I've seen friends who'd been out to fight with fists."
"Your young man understands rather better; yes, a duel's a fight, but not with fists."
"Where do you fight?" rejoined the Piedmontese.
Cherami made a wry face, muttering:
"Sapristi! I prefer the Auvergnat accent to that jargon.—Look you, messieurs, I just want you to be my seconds; I expect my opponent's seconds here at ten o'clock, and you must both be here then. I will give you a hundred sous each for the morning; and you will be free at half-past ten; for the fight will not come off till to-morrow, I fancy."
"All right! five francs; all right!"
"What have we got to do?"
"In the first place, my boy, you will be good enough not to speak at all; for you have a way of pronouncingyour t's and s's which will produce a very bad effect. Your master can say that you're a Pole, and that you don't know a word of French. That's your rôle, then—to say nothing. But I must dress you, my friends; I can't have seconds in short jackets. Do you own a coat, my boy?"
"No, but I've got a much better jacket."
"I don't want seconds in jackets. My landlady must have some coats that belonged to her late husband; we will get one of them. Have you a hat?"
"I have a new cap."
"How you run your words together! We'll find a hat somewhere in the house.—And you, master—what's your name?"
"Michel."
"Good! well, Michel, have you any good clothes?"
"Dame!I should say so; my new frock-coat—only three years old—which comes down to my heels."
"Then I'll make an old soldier of you. You must put on a black stock. Go and dress. Put your cask in a safe place, and come back at once with your man, whom I will dress. Be here at half-past nine, and I will tell you what you have to do; it will be very simple. You will agree to whatever is proposed by the men who come here."
"We will agree, if they'll pay for something to drink."
"There's no question of taking anything to drink. However, I shall be here; I'll prompt you. Go, and make haste."
"And the five francs?"
"Here they are; I pay in advance; you see that I have confidence in you."
"Oh! never fear; our word's sacred.—Come, Piedmontese. Let's go and take care of the cask."
"Where'll you put it?"
"In the next yard."
The water-carriers departed, and Cherami went down to his landlady.
"Have you a man's hat to loan me for this morning and to-morrow?" he asked her.
"A man's hat? What do you want it for?"
"Don't be alarmed; I don't propose to make an omelet in it, as the prestidigitators do; I want it for someone to wear."
"Yes, I have a hat that belonged to Louchard, which I am keeping to give my godson when he grows up."
"Do me the favor to loan it to me; I will take the best of care of it."
"I trust you will."
Madame Louchard left the room, and soon returned with a felt hat in reasonably good condition.
"Look; I call that rather fine, myself!"
"The devil! it's gray."
"Well! it's all the more stylish."
"I don't say it isn't, in summer; but in November gray hats are not worn much."
"If you don't want it, leave it."
"Never mind; I'll take it. A Pole may like gray hats at all seasons. Now, Madame Louchard, I must have either an overcoat or a frock-coat."
"I have nothing but a green sack-coat of Louchard's, which I also intend for my godson."
"A sack-coat! that's risky, because it shows the trousers! But, no matter! give it to me."
"You'll be responsible for it?"
"I'll be responsible for everything."
Cherami returned to his room with the clothes; at half-past nine, the water-carriers appeared. The Auvergnat wore a long blue overcoat that reached to his heels, a collar that came to the bottom of his ears, and a three-cornered hat. He was a perfect type of a laundryman going out to dinner. The Piedmontese was still in his jacket; but he had on a white striped waistcoat and olive-green trousers. Cherami bade him put on the green coat, which was too short in front and showed half of the waistcoat. By way of compensation, the late Louchard evidently had an enormous head, for the gray hat came down so far that it almost concealed the young water-carrier's eyes. These preparations completed, Cherami, having examined his two seconds, exclaimed:
"What in the devil will they take you for? However, damn the odds!—You, Piedmontese, will bow whenever anyone speaks to you, but you must not say a word in reply."
"Never fear! what would I say to them, anyway?"
"Very good! You are Monsieur de Chamousky, a Polish nobleman."
"No; for I was born in Piedmont."
"Hold your tongue; I make you a Pole!—You, Michel, are a wealthy land-holder from Auvergne; at all events, you will be rightfully entitled to your accent."
"Yes, yes, I have some land at home, and all planted with chestnuts."
"The gentlemen who are coming will tell you what weapons the count proposes to fight with, also the time and place; to whatever they propose, you will reply: 'Very well, we agree.'—Do you understand?"
"Pardi! that ain't very hard: 'Very well; that hits us!'"
"I didn't say: 'That hits us,' but: 'We agree.'"
"Bah! it amounts to the same thing."
"No, no! Sacrebleu! it doesn't amount to the same thing! Don't you go making mistakes; no foolishness! Ah! mon Dieu! I hear a carriage stopping in front of the house; two gentlemen are getting out—they are the ones. Attention! I leave the door unlocked, so that they can open it themselves. I go into this little dark closet for a moment; I want them to think that I have more than this one room. Now: a serious face, heads up, and be cool!"
Cherami disappeared. The two water-carriers stared at each other in speechless amazement to see themselves so finely arrayed. Soon there was a knock at the door; then, as no one answered, the door was opened, and Monsieur de la Bérinière's two seconds entered the room.
One was a man of some fifty years, tall and thin, with a decidedly unamiable manner, a rigid bearing, and a severely simple costume. The other, who was at least fifteen years younger, with a pleasant face, and dressed in the height of fashion, had all the manners of a modern Don Juan. He entered the room first, and, having glanced about, exclaimed:
"This isn't the place; it can't be; the woman directed us wrong."
"But there are some people here," said the other; "we had better inquire.—Monsieur Cherami, if you please?" he continued, addressing the Auvergnat, who stood in the centre of the room.
The water-carrier buried his chin in his cravat, and answered, without hesitation:
"Very well; we agree."
The old gentleman turned to his companion, who said:
"He did not understand you."—Whereupon he, in his turn, addressed the Auvergnat: "We desire to know, monsieur, if this is where Monsieur Cherami lives."
Again Michel replied in his deep voice:
"Very well; we agree."
At that, the young man burst out laughing.
"Gad!" he exclaimed; "this is evidently a joke, a wager! What do you think about it, Monsieur de Maugrillé?"
"I think that we did not come here to joke, and if I knew that there was any purpose to make fools of us——"
Cherami, who was listening, and saw that his seconds were in a fair way to wreck the whole business, hastily left the closet, and saluted the new-comers with much courtesy, saying:
"Pardon, messieurs, a thousand pardons! I crave a little indulgence for my seconds,—most respectable persons, by the way,—one of whom, being a Pole, recently arrived in France, is not able as yet to express his thoughts in our language. As for the other, Monsieur de Saint-Michel, a wealthy land-holder in the outskirts of Clermont, in Auvergne—he is not yet at home in all the details of affairs of this sort. However, messieurs, as I have determined in advance to agree to what Monsieur de la Bérinière may suggest, it seems to me that your mission is very much simplified, and that the affair will settle itself; my seconds are here only as a matter of form."
"Ordinarily, monsieur, the details of a meeting are not arranged with the adversary himself, but with his seconds."
"I know it, monsieur. Pardieu! you cannot teach me how affairs are managed in duels; this isn't the first time I have fought."
"In that case, monsieur," queried the younger man, with a smile, "why did you select seconds who apparently have no understanding of what is going on?"
"Because I found no others at hand, in all probability," retorted Cherami, biting his lips wrathfully. "Come, messieurs, let us come to terms. Is it such a difficult matter, pray, to tell us where, when, and how the count proposes to fight?"
"I beg your pardon, monsieur," observed Monsieur de Maugrillé; "but, as I, for my part, insist that everything shall be done in accordance with the established etiquette of duels, I will tell your seconds, and no one else."
"Tell my concierge, if you choose; it makes confounded little difference to me, after all."
"What does that tone mean, monsieur?"
"It means that you make me very weary with all your nonsense; and if you're not satisfied with the tone I adopt, why, I'll give you satisfaction as soon as I have done with the count; or before, if you choose."
"Monsieur!"
The discussion was on the verge of ending in a quarrel, when the Auvergnat, seeing that things seemed to be approaching a crisis, shouted in stentorian tones:
"Very well,fouchtra!very well! We agree, I say!"
This outburst was delivered in such unique fashion by the water-carrier, that the younger of the count's seconds roared with laughter again, and Cherami himself could not keep a sober face. He turned his back and put his handkerchief to his mouth. The old gentleman aloneretained an air of displeasure; but his young companion said to him earnestly:
"Come, Monsieur de Maugrillé, let us not have trouble over an affair which really seems to me quite simple.—Monsieur de la Bérinière selects swords; he wishes to fight to-morrow, about nine o'clock, in Vincennes Forest; we will meet at the entrance to the forest, near Porte Saint-Mandé, on the highroad. Those are our conditions, messieurs; are they satisfactory to you?"
Then or never was the time for the water-carrier to repeat the phrase he had been taught; but, just as it frequently happens on the stage, that, when an actor has begun his lines too soon, he is silent when he ought to speak, so did the Auvergnat look stolidly at the others and utter never a word.
Cherami, who was gazing at him impatiently, at last walked up behind him and struck him in the side, crying:
"Well, Monsieur de Saint-Michel, have you suddenly lost your voice?"
"Ah! bless my soul! what was I thinking about?—Very well, very well! We agree to everything," said the water-carrier.
Thereupon the young man took his companion's arm and led him from the room, laughing still, and saying in his ear:
"I think that we may retire, now that everything is settled."
Cherami saluted them, and escorted them to the door.
"Be sure, monsieur," he said, "that we shall be on hand promptly at the rendezvous; we shall not keep you waiting. By the way! it will be very kind of you to bringswords for both, for I broke mine recently and have not yet replaced it."
"Very good, monsieur; we will do so."
The younger man bowed with much affability; his older associate bent his head almost imperceptibly, retaining his ill-humored expression; then they left the house and returned to their carriage.
"Sapristi!" cried Cherami, when the count's witnesses had gone; "I thought that we weren't going to get out of that hole; they had difficulty in swallowing my seconds, and I don't wonder."
"Ain't you satisfied with us?" inquired the water-carrier; "I should say that I said just what you told me to."
"That is to say, you said it when you shouldn't have, and held your tongue when you should have answered."
"I didn't say a single word," observed the Piedmontese.
"It's lucky you didn't! That would have been the last straw! Well, that's all for to-day; you may go back to your cask; but be here to-morrow at half-past seven sharp, dressed just the same; don't forget it!"
"For five francs more apiece?"
"Of course, as that's what we agreed."
"We won't fail."
The next day, the two water-carriers appeared at seven o'clock, each in his costume of the preceding day: the Piedmontese in the late Louchard's green sack-coat and gray hat, which he was obliged to push up from his faceevery minute, so that he could see where he was going. Cherami dressed in haste; he paid particular attention to his toilet, which presented a striking contrast to that of his two seconds; then he requested his landlady to send for a cab. Madame Louchard was much disturbed when she recognized the coat and hat of her deceased husband on the water-carrier.
"Why have you rigged that fellow up like that?" she asked her tenant. "He'll just ruin my husband's things. I wouldn't have lent 'em to you, if I'd known you wanted 'em for him. Are you going to a wedding so early in the morning?"
"Widow Louchard, I will be responsible for your chattels—don't bother us! Your man's cast-off clothes are more fortunate than they deserve, to be present at such a festivity.—Get in, messieurs."
Cherami pushed the water-carrier and his man into the cab, and shouted to the driver to take them to Porte Saint-Mandé; then, taking a seat beside his seconds, he said to them:
"Listen carefully to my instructions for this morning, and, ten thousand cigars! try not to make any mistakes; I am going to fight with a third gentleman, whom you didn't see yesterday."
"Ah! you ought to fight with your fists; that's our way; we're good hands at it; eh, Piedmontese?"
"Yes, just let me get a crack at 'em! I'd like that better than to stand and say nothing, like a stuffed goose!"
"Nevertheless, you must make up your mind to that, my boy. I didn't bring you with me to fight, but to be my seconds. I am to fight with a sword. You will simply measure the two swords, to make sure that they're of the same length."
"What with? I didn't bring a rule."
"You measure two swords by putting them side by side. It's simple enough."
"And must I say again: 'Very well; we agree'?"
"No, there's no need of it. You must say: 'Everything is ready, let them proceed.' If I am wounded, you will bring me back to this cab, which will wait for us, and take me home. If it's the other who is wounded,—and it will be,—you will help his seconds to take him to his carriage. Do you understand?"
"That's all right."
They arrived at Porte Saint-Mandé, where they alighted from the cab and walked into the woods. It was a cold, dull morning; it was not nine o'clock, and they met nobody.
"We are ahead of time," said Cherami, "but I prefer to be. Above all things, my boys, be very polite to the men we are waiting for: take your hats off and bow, and don't put them on again till after they do."
"What if they don't put 'em on at all?"
"Never fear—they will. Now, we have nothing to do but walk back and forth and wait."
"Why don't we go and take a glass of wine at the nearest inn, while we wait?"
"Dame!" said the apprentice; "I'm with you for a glass of wine!"
"But I am not with you, not by any means, messieurs. After the fight, you shall drink as much as you please, but not before."
"We might treat the others to a glass when they come; that's polite, you know!"
"The gentlemen who are coming don't drink at wine-shops!—No fool's tricks, sacrebleu! or you'll compromiseme! But, see! that carriage coming along the road yonder is probably bringing our adversaries. It's a private carriage—the count's, no doubt. Yes, those are they. Attention, my seconds! Well, well, what in the devil are you doing? Taking off your hats before the gentlemen have left their carriage!"
"You told us to be polite."
"I didn't tell you to bow to the horses."
The count and his seconds alighted and came toward Cherami. The grotesque aspect of the latter's attendants seemed greatly to amuse Monsieur de la Bérinière, who could not take his eyes from the two water-carriers. They, at a sign from Cherami, hastily removed their hats when the new-comers were close at hand. But the Piedmontese, in his eagerness to uncover, forgot that his hat was too large for him, and struck Monsieur de Maugrillé in the nose with it, that gentleman happening to be directly in front of him.
The old gentleman made an angry gesture. But the tall youth, as he picked up his hat, cried:
"Excuse me! I didn't do it a-purpose! it slipped out of my hand."
The count glanced at his seconds. They looked at Cherami. And he, hardly able to resist the temptation to plant his foot in the apprentice's posterior, struggled to restrain himself, as he said:
"Monsieur is a Pole; he speaks French very badly! indeed, he fairly murders it."
"So we observe," rejoined the count, with a smile. "But it's none too warm here, and I am anxious to have done with this affair. It seems to me that we shall be very well placed behind this low wall."
"I agree with you, monsieur le comte."
They walked a short distance, and halted behind a wall which would serve to conceal the combatants from any chance passers-by. While the principals removed their coats, the younger of the count's seconds handed to the water-carrier two swords which he carried out of sight under his overcoat. The Auvergnat measured them so long that Cherami went to him and took one out of his hands.
"They're all right!" he exclaimed; "they're exactly alike! I will take this one, unless monsieur le comte prefers it."
But Monsieur de la Bérinière at once took the other, while his older second grumbled:
"In God's name, who are these two idiots of seconds who know absolutely nothing as to what they are doing?"
Cherami at once stood on guard, saying:
"At your service, monsieur le comte, whenever you choose."
"I am here, monsieur."
Monsieur de la Bérinière had been a very good fencer in his youth, but years had impaired his agility and strength. It was easy to see that Cherami was sparing his adversary, to whom he observed, as he parried his thrusts:
"Well done, monsieur le comte! very pretty work, indeed! You must have been a fine fencer formerly."
But these compliments, instead of flattering the count, stung and irritated him, because he saw that his opponent was playing with him; and he suddenly cried:
"What the devil! in God's name, monsieur, attack! you confine yourself to parrying! Do you think you're fighting with a novice?"
"Is that your wish, monsieur le comte? Solely to comply then——"
And Cherami, suddenly striking down his adversary's sword, plunged his own into the count's right side.
Monsieur de la Bérinière staggered a moment, then fell.
"Fouchtra!he's got his reckoning!" cried the Auvergnat, while the count's witnesses ran forward to help him and carry him off the field. But, at a sign from Cherami, the tall Piedmontese lifted the wounded man in his arms as if he were a child, and carried him to the elegant equipage, in which a surgeon was waiting, who had come with the gentlemen, but whom they had not thought it necessary to take with them to the field of battle.
"There's one job done!" said the young water-carrier.
The count's seconds could hardly keep up with him. In the end, they seated themselves by the wounded man's side in the carriage, which drove away at a walk.
"The wound can't be dangerous," said Cherami to his seconds, when they were alone; "it's in among the ribs. He will be laid up a fortnight or three weeks, unless I touched some vital part. Ah! they forgot to take away their sword. I will carry it back myself, and that will give me an opportunity to inquire for the count."
"Ah!fouchtra!you're a smart one! how you run on!"
"Now it's all over, ain't we going to have a glass of wine at the nearest wine-shop, to refresh us?"
"My boys, here's a hundred sous for each of you. Go and refresh yourselves all you choose; I am going to take the cab and go home. Do you prefer to ride back?"
"No, no! Riding makes us sick; eh, Piedmontese?"
"Yes, yes, I prefer to walk."
"But don't forget, my boys, to bring that coat and gray hat back to Madame Louchard."
"Don't you be afraid; we're just going to have a little fun with our hundred sous."
"Have all the fun you can, my boys. Good-day!"
"Say, Monsieur Cherami, you're satisfied with us, ain't you? We did what you wanted us to."
"Yes, my friends, I am very well satisfied.—But God preserve me from ever having you as seconds again!" added Cherami, as he drove away.
On the day after the duel, Cherami, concealing under his coat the sword which had been loaned to him the day before, betook himself to the count's abode and asked the concierge how his master was. The concierge replied, with a profound sigh:
"Would you believe, monsieur, that, in spite of his years—for although monsieur le comte dresses like a young man, it's easy to see that he isn't one; his valet tells me he's past sixty—well, in spite of his years, he fought a duel yesterday."
"A man fights a duel when the occasion arises; there's no prescribed term for that."
"No, monsieur; no, a man doesn't fight—and with swords, above all—when his wrist is no longer firm; and it seems that Monsieur de la Bérinière's opponent was a great, tall rascal—a professional—one of those fellows who pass their time fighting. A fine profession!"
Cherami pushed the sword still farther under his coat, stared at the concierge as if he would swallow him, and said in a sharp tone:
"Your reflections tire me; I am going up to the count's apartments."
"But, monsieur, you can't go up; monsieur le comte is very badly wounded, so it seems. He is forbidden to read or talk."
"I don't mean to speak to him, but to his valet, who isn't so much of an ass as you, I trust."
And Cherami rapidly ascended the stairs, opened the door of the reception-room by turning the knob, and found there the valet, who knew him. He handed him the sword, saying:
"Here, my friend, is a sword which your master loaned to the person with whom he fought yesterday, and which that person requested me to return to him, and at the same time to inquire as to his condition. Is the count's wound dangerous?"
"No, monsieur. The surgeon said that it wasn't mortal, and that monsieur would recover."
"Ah! so much the better! I am very glad to hear that."
"But it may take a long time; he'll have to be very careful. Monsieur has lost a great deal of blood; he is very weak, and, between ourselves, he's no longer young."
"Between ourselves, and between all the rest of the world, too."
"He is forbidden to speak or to receive visits to-day."
"And I have no intention of asking to be admitted; I simply wanted to know how he was; he will get well, that's the main point. What does it matter whether it's along recovery or not? The count is rich; he can coddle himself in bed as long as it's necessary."
"True, monsieur; but, still, this wound comes at a very bad time; for—I can safely tell you; it's no longer a secret—my master's on the point of being married."
"Married!"
"Yes, it's a fact; and to a young lady, a very pretty one."
"Well, my boy, to marry, at your master's age, is much more dangerous than a sword-thrust—especially when the bride is young and pretty—aggravating circumstances!"
"Ha! ha! I fancy monsieur is right."
"Good-morning! I will call again to inquire."
"And now," said Cherami to himself, "if I knew where Gustave is, I would tell him that his rival is on his back. I think I will go to his house to inquire. He has separate apartments; and, at a pinch, if the concierge can't tell me anything, I will brave once more the uncle's winning countenance."
Gustave's concierge knew that he was not in Paris, but he knew no more than that. Cherami decided to make his way once more into the banker's private office; he was always sure to find him at his desk in the morning.
Monsieur Grandcourt frowned when he recognized his visitor. But Cherami was even more carefully dressed than on the occasion of his last visit. With the thousand francs he had received from Gustave, and by virtue of his newly-adopted system of economy, Beau Arthur had reached the point where he was no longer an ex-beau, and had almost recovered his former air of distinction.
He saluted the banker with the ease of manner which was natural to him, but to which his dress imparted additional charm. Monsieur Grandcourt replied with a cool nod. As he did not leave his armchair, Cherami took a seat and began by making himself comfortable. The two men looked at each other for several minutes without speaking: the banker retaining his scowling expression, Cherami smiling as if he were at the Théâtre du Palais-Royal, listening to Arnal.
"How are you this morning, my dear Monsieur Grandcourt?" began Cherami, lolling back in his chair.
"Very well, I thank you, monsieur. Is it to inquire for my health that you come to my office to-day?"
"Oh! if I should sayyes, you wouldn't believe me."
"True. But I remember that my nephew told me that you wished to find employment. You appear, however, monsieur, to be more fortunately placed than you were when I first saw you?"
"It is a fact, monsieur, that my condition has improved somewhat. But that does not interfere with my seeking a—suitable place. I am beginning to tire of doing nothing. I am really desirous to have something to occupy my time."
"That desire comes a little late!"
"You know the proverb: better late than never. And then, after all, I am only forty-eight; I am not an old man. You are fully as old as that, and yet you work!"
"But I have always worked, monsieur; it's a habit with me, a necessity. I didn't have to make a study of it—a study which is often repellent when one begins it late in life."
"Have you any place to offer me, monsieur?"
"No, I have not."
"Well, then, why do you ask me all these questions? I do not imagine that it is your purpose to make sport of me."
"Is it yours to pick a quarrel with me?"
"No, no! sapristi! I am not picking a quarrel with you—Gustave's uncle, and he my best friend! Oh! if you weren't his uncle, I don't say that—but you are his uncle.—Let us come to the point; I came to ask you where your nephew is at this moment."
"My nephew is travelling: he is in one place to-day, in another to-morrow."
"Oh! I see that we are going to have the same old song over again! You will not give me his address?—But if I want to write to him, to tell him something which will give him great pleasure, which will make him happy?"
"Tell me, and I'll write it to him."
"That isn't the same thing. But, no matter, I will tell you. You know, I suppose, that hispassion, whom he thought he was surely going to marry this time, has thrown him over again, in favor of a very rich old count?"
"I know all that, monsieur."
"Good! but what you don't know is that I don't propose that my friend shall be played with with impunity. That is why I hunted up this Comte de la Bérinière; I insulted him; we fought a duel, and he is now in his bed with a famous sword-thrust in his right side."
Monsieur Grandcourt jumped from his chair and struck his desk a violent blow, crying:
"Is it possible? You have done that?"
"As I have the honor to tell you. Do you wish to embrace me?"
"On the contrary, monsieur, I am much more inclined to throw you out of the window!"
"Indeed! well, as we are on the ground floor, if that will give you pleasure——"
"Why, monsieur, this is a horrible thing that you've done! And you call yourself Gustave's friend! You seem to be trying to wreck his life. Can't you see that this Fanny is an infernal coquette, who cares for nothing but money and pleasure, and who never had the slightest feeling of love for my nephew?"
"As far as that goes, I am entirely of your opinion."
"Very well! do you think, then, that marriage with such a woman would make Gustave happy?"
"Dame!since he adores her——"
"Why, monsieur, do I need to tell you that love doesn't last forever? Besides, what purpose does that sentiment serve in a household when it's not reciprocated? Gustave is kind-hearted, sensitive, affectionate—much too affectionate. What he needs is a sweet, modest, loving helpmeet."
"That is true!" murmured Cherami; "and I know one of that sort."
"And you would have him marry a woman who has spurned him twice? Why, to miss being this Fanny's husband was the most fortunate thing that could happen to him! All his true friends ought to congratulate him on it. And you, monsieur, you set about removing the obstacle which had risen between my nephew and that widow! You fight with the man she preferred to Gustave! Ah! monsieur, cease to call yourself his friend; for his bitterest enemy would not have acted otherwise!"
Cherami paced the floor of the office with long strides, and bit his lips, muttering:
"Sacrebleu! that is all true. There is good sense in what you say. On the impulse of the moment, I didn't reflect. I saw but one thing to do—and that was to prevent the little widow's making a fool of Gustave."
"Oh! monsieur, she would do it much more effectively if he should marry her."
"After all, I didn't kill the count—a sword-thrust in the side is nothing; he will get well; the doctor said so."
"That is possible; but who can say that this duel will not change his plans, his ideas? At the count's age, a wound, an illness, sometimes ages a man ten years; and then love takes flight, and with it all thought of marriage."
"Oh! the count was dead in love, and when a fire gets started in an old house it burns faster than a new one."
"Do you still consider, monsieur, that it's very important to tell my nephew of your fine exploit? Have you any wish to see him rush to that wretched Fanny's side again?"
"You have changed my ideas entirely, dear uncle. I'm a hot-headed creature; but I am not pig-headed. When I feel that I've done a foolish thing, I admit it."
"That's something."
"But, I tell you again, the count's wound is not dangerous; he will recover."
"I trust so, monsieur; and above all things that he will marry this Fanny."
"In that case, you will no longer feel inclined to throw me out of the window?"
"In that case, I will forgive you for this last escapade."
"Adieu, dear uncle! Look you: you are hard with me; but in my heart I don't lay it up against you, because I see that you love your nephew."
"Ah! have you just discovered that?"
"I shall take pains to keep you informed as to the health of our venerable lover. As soon as he is on his legs again, I will come to tell you. And then, if he should try to back out of marrying the little widow, why, par la sambleu! he will have to draw his sword again."
"I beg you, monsieur, don't interfere any more; that's the only way to have the thing end satisfactorily."
"You haven't much confidence in me, dear uncle; but I will compel you to do me justice."—And Cherami took leave of the banker, saying to himself: "That devil of a man is right. I made an ass of myself; but I'll go to work differently now."