"Oh! no, thanks, monsieur!"
"Then I will drink for both of us. This punch is too sweet! Here, waiter, put in more rum, a lot of it!"
"But, monsieur, there's no more punch in the bowl."
"Well! then make another bowl, but make it stronger."
The other bowl was brought.
After drinking two more glasses, Cherami tried to rise, but was obliged to hold on to the table to keep from falling; however, although he felt that his legs were wavering under him, he determined to maintain his dignity, and did his best to keep his balance as he walked toward the door.
"They are a long while coming back, those ladies!" muttered Gustave, coming and going from the room to the corridor.
"Oh! my dear fellow, when a woman's at her toilet, one can never be sure how long a time she'll spend over it. One day, I remember, in the time of my splendor, I was waiting for my mistress, to go to the theatre, to see a new play. I believe it was at the Opéra-Comique—but, no matter. She had finally got dressed,—it had taken her a long while,—when, happening to look in the mirror,she cried: 'My wreath of blue-bottles is too far down on my forehead—I must change it—it's just a matter of putting in a pin.'—'All right,' said I; 'put in your pin. I'll wait'—My dear fellow, that pin, and all the others that she put in after it, took an hour and a half! and when we reached the theatre, the new play was over."
Observing that his young companion had fallen into abstraction once more, and was paying no heed to him, Cherami decided to leave the private room and try his fortunes in the corridor, saying to himself:
"I feel the need of a little fresh air; it's as hot as the tropics in these private dining-rooms. Ah! what do I see yonder? Ladies—many ladies. I must go and cast an eye in that direction. The fair sex attracts me—it's my magnet."
The ladies of the Monléard party were beginning to return, arrayed for the ball. To reach the room where they were to dance, they had to pass along the corridor to the main staircase. Cherami took his stand at the head of the staircase, and there ogled the ladies, bowed to them all as if he knew them, and spoke to each of them as she passed.
"Charming, on my word! A divine costume!—White shoulders that would drive Venus to despair!—Ah! how we are going to flirt!—A very pretty head-dress; bravo!—Ah! here's a mamma who proposes to play the coy maiden. Dear lady, you will find difficulty in getting partners, I warn you. There are pretty faces here that will monopolize all the cavaliers. Oho! what fine eyes! they are like carbuncles. Who will deign to accept my hand or my arm? I am at your service, fair ladies!"
But the ladies, instead of accepting the hand which my gentleman offered them, passed him without replying,or shrank from him, because there was in his whole aspect a seediness entirely out of harmony with their ball-dresses; moreover, he smelt so strongly of punch and liquors that it was impossible to pass him without receiving a whiff of the odor.
Several ladies put their handkerchiefs to their faces as they hurried by, and some exclaimed: "Why, who can that man be? Where did he come from? He is drunk!—Surely he is not one of Monsieur Monléard's wedding guests. What is he doing there, like a sentinel? He speaks to everybody, and with an astonishing lack of ceremony. He poisons the air with wine and liquor. Can't somebody send the horrible creature away?"
These complaints soon reached the ears of the gentlemen who had remained to play cards. Some of them rose and walked into the hall, saying:
"Parbleu! we will find out who this fellow is who takes the liberty of speaking to ladies whom he doesn't know!"
Cherami had just offered his hand to a pretty little woman, who had refused it and instantly put her handkerchief to her nose. This pantomime, having been frequently repeated in front of the ex-beau, began to offend him, and he suddenly exclaimed:
"Deuce take it! what's the matter with all these prudes, that they hide their faces with their handkerchiefs? Can it be because they think that I have any desire to kiss them! Ah! I've seen prettier women than you—who didn't run away from me, my princesses!"
"To whom are you speaking, monsieur? Is it these ladies to whom you dare to address such language?"
"Hallo! who's this? where did he come from? Ah! what a noble head!"
"It is for you, monsieur, to answer those questions. Off with you, at once, or I'll put you out-of-doors."
"Out-of-doors, eh? Understand that I dined here—with my friend Gustave—Gustave something or other—and that I have as much right as you to stay here—that I won't go away."
"I forbid you to speak to these ladies."
"Thanks! I have my cue."
The ladies interposed to prevent a dispute, and succeeded in taking their champions away with them, saying:
"You can see that the man's drunk. What satisfaction do you expect to obtain from a man who hasn't his senses? Leave him there, and pay no more attention to him."
The men yielded to this request, and they left Cherami standing there and entered the ballroom.
Meanwhile, the waiter who had served the dinner in the private room ran up to Cherami.
"The gentleman who dined with you is going away; someone has come for him."
"What! my friend Gustave going away? Why, it's impossible! He won't go without me; besides, he's waiting for the bride; we must have the bride; she's been promised to us."
"He's going, I tell you."
The ex-beau decided to return to the private room, and found at the door his young friend and a man of mature years, short of stature, but with a cold, stern face which imposed respect. They were on the point of leaving.
"Well, well! what does this mean?" cried Cherami. "What! my dear Gustave, going, and without me—your intimate friend, your Orestes, your Patroclus?"
"Who is this new friend of yours, whom I don't know, whom I have never seen with you?" the short man asked Gustave, whose arm he held fast.
"It's a gentleman who has been kind enough to take some interest in me, uncle," faltered Gustave;—"I was so unhappy—and to keep me company."
"And whose dinner you have paid for, I presume? Your friend did not spare himself."
"What do I hear? Monsieur is your uncle?"
"Yes, monsieur; I am Gustave's uncle."
"Then you are Monsieur Grandcourt?"
"Just so."
"Oh! Delighted to make the acquaintance of my friend's uncle."
"I am obliged to you, monsieur; but we are going."
"What! you are going? Pray, do you not know that your dear nephew desires to speak once more with the bride, the faithless Fanny?"
"Indeed, I do know it, and it was for the express purpose of preventing that interview, which might result in a scandalous scene, that I came here and that I am taking my nephew away."
"But her little sister, the charming Adolphine, would have obtained an interview for us in secret."
"You are mistaken, monsieur; for it was Mademoiselle Adolphine herself who sent word to me that my nephew was here, and begged me to exert my authority to take him away and prevent his seeing her sister; that young woman realized all the impropriety of the proposed interview."
"What! it was the little sister who sent word to you? Ah! the little mouse! These women are all leagued together to fool us."
"On this occasion, monsieur, Mademoiselle Adolphine showed as much good sense as prudence, and she deserves only praise from us. Come, Gustave, say adieu to monsieur, thank him for the service which he intended, I doubt not, to render you, and let's be off."
"So it's all over, uncle, is it? you drag me away without allowing me to see her once more?"
"Really, nephew, you disgust me with your love and your regrets for a woman who has treated you with contempt, played with you like a child. Be a man, for God's sake! Repay contempt with contempt, scorn with scorn! and blush to think that you placed your affections so ill. Let us go."
"One moment, dear uncle of my friend: I desire most earnestly to know you more intimately. Gustave will tell you that I am worthy of your friendship. I do not accompany you, because I am going to the Blanquette wedding feast, which is on the second floor. Give me your address, please; I will call and breakfast with you to-morrow."
"It is useless, monsieur; to-morrow, we shall be at Havre."
"At Havre? Very good! it's all the same to me; I will go there with you. Ah! my dear Gustave, do let go of the dear uncle's arm a moment; I have a word to say to you in private, just a word; but it's very important."
But, paying no further heed to Cherami, Monsieur Grandcourt led his nephew away at a rapid pace, and they left the restaurant while Gustave's friend was still talking to them in the corridor.
When he finally discovered that he was alone, Cherami returned to the private dining-room, sat down at the table, looked into the bowl, where there was still some punch, and poured out a glass, saying to himself:
"After all, I shall have no difficulty in finding them again. The uncle doesn't seem quite so amiable as the nephew; there's a something stiff and cold in his face. He fell in here like a bombshell. It's a pity; I felt just in the mood to kidnap the bride before the noses of the Athenians and of all those hussies who hid their faces with their handkerchiefs. Suppose I go and clean out the whole crowd? No, they're not worth the trouble. I prefer to pay a visit to the Blanquette festivity; there I am known, they won't treat me as an intruder. Sapristi! what a pity that I hadn't the time to borrow a few napoleons from my new friend. He would have loaned them to me; there's no doubt about it. Ah! I waited too long; but I couldn't suspect that an uncle would arrive all of a sudden—just as they do in vaudevilles, to bring about an unexpected dénouement. Aha! what do I hear? Music, they're playing a quadrille. Gad! it seems to me that I could make a pretty figure at a little contra-dance. That music puts me right in the mood for it. O power of music!Emollit mores nec sint esse feros.I think I'll go and say that to the bucks who are dancing upstairs! They'd think I was asking them for a cigar.—Prettymusic! Sapristi! it shall not be said that I remained alone in this room, like a bear in its cage, while everybody else in the place is enjoying himself. Here goes for a look in at the Blanquette function."
And Cherami jumped to his feet, put his hat on his head, took his little cane, and rushed from the room. When he was in the corridor, he lurched against the wall more than once; but, with the instinct of a man accustomed to frequent over-indulgence, he drew himself up and steadied himself on his legs.
"What does this mean?" he said.—"You stumble for a glass or two of punch? Come, come, Arthur, I shouldn't know you, my boy; you're not drunk, you can't be drunk."
Thereupon the mind steadied the body, and he walked to the stairway with a somewhat less uncertain step. There he could plainly hear the orchestra of the elegant Monléard ball. He paused a moment, saying to himself:
"Suppose I should enter abruptly, and make a scene with the perfidious Fanny, in behalf of my young friend Gustave—what a stunning coup! what an effect I would produce!—Yes, but those people don't know me; they don't know that I once had thirty-five thousand francs a year, and that I have been the most popular man in Paris. They would be quite capable of treating me as an intruder! I should talk back—and then, duels! Let's not end in sadness a day so well employed.Dies fasti, as the Romans used to say. It's surprising how the punch brings back my Latin! Let's go up a floor, and join the Blanquette wedding party; there, at all events, I know the bridegroom slightly, and the uncle very well. I owe him four or five hundred francs for cloth—an additional reason why he should receive me well; a man never closes his door to his debtors."
Having arrived on the second floor, Cherami heard the strains of another orchestra; he passed through a large room where he saw nothing but men's hats hanging on hooks, and immediately hung up his own and placed his cane beside it.
"I must show my breeding," he said to himself; "one doesn't appear at a wedding party as at a messroom. Ah! what do I see in that corner? a very fine yellow glove, on my word! Pardieu! it arrives most opportunely! It's for the left hand, but, no matter: I can keep the other in my pocket. It fits me, it really fits me beautifully! What a pity that the man who dropped it didn't drop the right-hand one too! No matter; this one gives a sort of dressed-up, coquettish air, which sets off the wearer. I will keep my right hand under the tail of my coat—nay, I will skilfully hold both tails in my hand, and people will think I'm in full dress. Forward, charge their guns!"
Cherami passed into a second room, which was occupied by card-players: there were two tables of whist and one of écarté. With the exception of two elderly women at one of the whist tables, there were only men in the room; and as they were all busily engaged in playing, or watching the play, nobody noticed the arrival of the party in plaid trousers.
Cherami smiled at everybody, although he saw no one whom he knew; there were very few persons about the whist tables—only one or two enthusiasts watching the games—so that one could easily approach them. It was not the same with the écarté table; there was a crowd of young men about it, and it was very difficult to see their hands.
Cherami walked about for some minutes, daintily scratching the end of his nose with his gloved hand, andholding the other behind his back, under the skirt of his coat. Suddenly one of the players cried:
"Twenty francs lacking! Come, gentlemen; who'll make it good?"
"Not I, by a long shot!" said a young man, turning toward Cherami; "they're having extraordinary luck! They have passed six times over there! But I know Minoret; he's a lucky dog! When he sets about it, he's quite capable of passing twenty times in succession."
"Still twenty francs lacking," the same voice repeated; "who makes it good?"
"I," cried Cherami, in a loud voice. "I make it good; I trust to Monsieur Minoret's luck."
This remark attracted general attention to Cherami. The young men scrutinized him, then smiled, and said to one another:
"Who the deuce is this fellow?"
"What an extraordinary figure!"
"And his dress is even more extraordinary. Who ever heard of going to a wedding in plaid trousers and waistcoat!"
"And they're far from new."
"He wasn't at the supper, I'm sure."
"No. I would like right well to know who he is. He seems to know Minoret."
A moment later, the player addressed as Minoret spoke again:
"Well! who is it who makes good the twenty francs? Why doesn't he put up the money?"
"I am the man, monsieur, who makes it good," replied Cherami, still louder than before; "and, sapristi! when I say that I make it good, it seems to me that it's the same thing as if I had put up the money! But perhaps you'llgive me time to find my purse, which has slipped into the lining of my waistcoat."
The tone in which Cherami spoke imposed silence upon all those who surrounded the écarté table. It rarely happens that one cannot, by talking loud enough, produce that effect on the multitude; and if the victory on the battlefield almost always remains with the greatest numbers, so in a discussion it almost always remains with the loudest voices.
So the card-players concluded to deal the cards and go on with the game. Meanwhile, Cherami went through a very curious pantomime. Having decided to withdraw his right hand from behind his back, he plunged it into one pocket of his waistcoat, then into the other, then into his trousers-pockets, pretending to be in search of something which he was very sure of not finding; but he went about it with a zeal which deceived the most incredulous, interspersing his investigations with such ejaculations as:
"Where the devil have I put my purse! It's inconceivable—as soon as you begin to look for a thing, you can't remember what you did with it! I certainly had it just now when I paid my cabman. Can I have dropped it beside my pocket, thinking that I put it inside? Let's try this side; it seems to me that I feel something. Yes—I have it at last. Oh! the devil! it isn't my purse, it's my cigar-case!—I believe I haven't looked in this pocket."
But, as our bettor hoped, the game came to an end before he had finished his search; and ere long these words reached his ears, and filled his heart with joy:
"I was sure of it; Minoret has won again!"
Cherami instantly rushed to the table, extended his left hand, closed, to the player on whom he had bet, and said:
"I have just found my purse: here's the twenty francs I bet on you, monsieur."
"You don't need to put up the money, monsieur, as we have won," replied Minoret; "on the contrary, here's twenty francs that belongs to you."
As he spoke, the player handed Cherami a twenty-franc piece; but in order to take it, he would have had to open the hand which he held tightly closed, and then they would have seen that he had nothing in it. Like the shrewd man he was, he realized the peril of his position, and boldly solved the difficulty by replying in his turn:
"Very good, monsieur; keep the twenty francs; I will bet on you again."
To those who consider that it was very imprudent for a man who had not a sou, to risk upon one deal the twenty francs he had just won, we reply that, as a general rule, those who are most in need of money play for the highest stakes. Moreover, in this instance, Cherami was excused by the embarrassing position in which he was placed.
Monsieur Minoret's luck did not change; he won six times more, and was not beaten until the seventh; and Cherami, who had continued to bet on the same side, found himself in possession of one hundred and twenty francs when he left the table, at which he had taken his place without a sou. There was a fitting occasion to speak Latin; and our gambler, after the sacramental "I have my cue," did not fail to add: "Audaces fortuna juvat!" Never was maxim more fittingly applied; indeed, one might perhaps consider that on this occasion Cherami was something more than audacious.
"I must confess that I did well to bet!" said Cherami to himself, jingling in his pockets the gold pieces he hadwon. "Pardieu! I am tempted to go and buy a right-hand glove. Bah! what's the use? I may well have lost the other. The first owner of this one must find himself in the same predicament. Let's go to the ballroom; I feel in the mood for a polka, and if there's any susceptible female there, I will fascinate her by my glances."
The ballroom was long and narrow; a waltz was in progress at the moment selected by Cherami to make his appearance. He began by running into a couple who were waltzing in two-time, which means that they were out of step, as a waltz is always in three-time. Surely they who invented that style of dancing could not have had a musical ear. Now, waltzers in two-time always move very rapidly; indeed, that is the main purpose of the innovation. Cherami, colliding suddenly with the couple as they passed, stepped back and came in contact with some waltzers in three-time, who were abandoning themselves voluptuously to the charms of the waltz; the lady, letting her head hang languidly on one side, and keeping her eyes half-closed to avoid being dizzy; her partner, holding himself firm on his legs, pressing his partner's waist with an arm of iron, and gazing down at her with eyes that flashed fire.
Being abruptly aroused from their ecstasy by a person who bumped against them and threw them out of step, they cried:
"Pray be careful! Mon Dieu! how awkward some people are!"
"What's that! be careful yourselves!" retorted the man with one glove. "What the devil! you waltzed into my back."
"But you should get out of the way, monsieur! The idea of standing in front of people who are waltzing!"
"Ah! monsieur, you have torn my dress, and you trod on my foot!"
"But who is this shabbily dressed individual, who scratches his nose with a bright yellow glove, and runs into everybody? Do you know him?"
"No."
"Nor I."
"Nor I."
"Wait; Minoret must know him; he bet on Minoret's hand."
And a young man went up to Minoret, who had also entered the ballroom, and said to him:
"My dear Minoret, tell me who that extraordinary person in the Scotch trousers is, who bet twenty francs on you just now?"
"Who? that tall man with the red face, holding his left hand in the air?"
"Yes."
"I don't know him at all."
"But he called you by name when he bet."
"I don't know whether he knows me, or not, but I don't know him."
"That's strange. He acts as if he were a little tipsy. We must find out who he is. Ah! there's Armand, one of the groomsmen. I say, Armand, come here amoment; tell us who that man is, whose costume is so unconventional for a wedding party?"
"The gentleman in a frock-coat, who runs into everybody?"
"The same."
"I have just asked the bride, and she doesn't know him either."
"And the groom?"
"He is dancing. But there's his uncle, Monsieur Blanquette; I'll go and ask him about the fellow; and if nobody knows him, we'll soon show him the door, I promise you."
But before the groomsman could reach the bridegroom's uncle, Cherami, who had spied the linen-draper, hastened to meet him, and said, tapping him on the stomach:
"Here I am, my dear friend! You didn't ask me to your party, but I said to myself: 'I'll go all the same, because, with old acquaintances, one shouldn't take offence at trifles.'—Then what did I do?—I dined here, in a private room on the first floor, and dined magnificently, too, I flatter myself! and then I came up to say bonsoir to you, and to salute the bride—and to dance with anybody, I don't care who! I'm an obliging person, you see.—So there you are, my dear Papa Blanquette. Old friends are always on hand, as the song says."
Monsieur Blanquette was surprised beyond words to find himself confronted by the gentleman whom he had met in the afternoon, when he alighted from his carriage. He did not seem overjoyed to see him at the ball; but as he did not desire his nephew's wedding party to be disturbed by any unpleasant scene, he strove to conceal his annoyance, and rejoined:
"Faith, Monsieur Cherami, I didn't expect to see you again! So you dined at this restaurant, did you?"
"Yes, my estimable friend; and dined deliciously, too, I beg you to believe."
"So I perceive!"
"What! so you perceive! and by what do you perceive it, I pray to know?"
"Why, because you seem to be much inclined—to laugh."
"I am always cheerful when I am among my friends. That's my nature, you know. Pray present me to the bride."
"But, excuse me—it seems to me that you are hardly in ball dress—and the ladies are rather particular about that."
"If you'd invited me, I'd have come in full dress; you didn't invite me, so I came as a neighbor. All is for the best, as Doctor Pangloss says. Present me to your niece."
"Later; they are going to dance now; you see they are forming a quadrille. Let us go into another room."
"They are going to dance, eh? Then I'll not go, deuce take me! for I can dance, you know. I used to be one of the best of La Chaumière's pupils, and she was a pupil of Chicard. People fought for places to see me dance theTulipe Orageuse.I propose to show you that I haven't forgotten it all."
Thereupon the ex-beau, leaving Monsieur Blanquette, walked toward the benches on which the ladies were seated, and offered his gloved hand to one of the younger ones, saying:
"Will you do me the honor, lovely coryphée, to accept my hand for this contra-dance?"
"I am engaged, monsieur."
Cherami thereupon addressed the same request to one after another, varying his phrase slightly; but there was no variation in the replies; it was always the same formula:
"I am engaged."
For no young woman, married or unmarried, cared to dance with a person so red of face, so shabbily dressed, smelling so strongly of rum, and with his right hand always behind his back.
"Sapristi! it seems that all the ladies have been engaged beforehand!" cried Cherami, glaring at the benches in turn; "I am refused all along the line!"
But at every ball there is sure to be some elderly woman, ugly, dowdily dressed, who still has the assurance to take her place among the dancers. Our Arthur finally espied a lady of that type, sitting in a corner; on her head was a sort of turban, laden with an appalling mass of flowers, feathers, and lace.
"I shall be unlucky indeed, if this creature is engaged!" said Cherami to himself, boldly directing his steps toward the turbaned dame.
He had not delivered half of his invitation, when she rose as if impelled by a spring, and seized his gloved hand, saying:
"With pleasure; yes, monsieur; I accept. Oh! I will dance as long as you please."
"In that case, fair lady, let us take our places."
Almost all the sets were full. But Cherami was not to be denied; he planted himself in front of a short youth and his partner; and when the youth remonstrated: "But, monsieur, this place is taken, we were here before you," he replied, in a supercilious tone: "I don't know whether you were before us, my good man; but I do know that Ihave the honor to be here now with madame, and that I will not stir except at the point of the bayonet!"
The young man dared not make any further resistance; moreover, the guests were whispering to one another on all sides:
"That original is dancing with Aunt Merlin!"
"What! Aunt Merlin dancing?"
"Yes, with the man in Scotch trousers. This is going to be great fun!"
And all those who were not dancing ran to watch the set in which Cherami and Aunt Merlin were to figure.
"Sapristi! I have lost one of my gloves!" cried Arthur, making a pretence of feeling in his pocket, and looking on the floor. "Will you pardon me, fair lady, for dancing with a single glove?"
"Oh! certainly, monsieur," replied the lady with the turban, in a simpering tone; "you are forgiven; indeed, the same thing happened to Monsieur Courbichon; when he arrived here for the ball, he discovered that he had lost one of his gloves—only it was the left one, in his case."
"Ah! that's very amusing! Then we have the pair between us! I shall laugh a long while over that. It's our turn, fair lady."
The first figure passed off quietly enough, as the English chain and the cat's tail gave Cherami no chance to display his talent; but in the second, in theavant-deux, he began to take steps and attitudes of the cancan in its purest and most unblushing form. The men laughed till they cried, and the women as well, murmuring:
"Why, this is frightful! where does that fellow think he is, for heaven's sake?"
The most amusing feature of the episode was that Cherami's partner, spurred on by the strange evolutionsand the eccentric steps of her cavalier, thought that she ought to do as he did, and began to twist and turn, and throw her legs to right and left, with an ardor which kept all the flowers on her turban in commotion.
The laughter became more uproarious.
"I venture to believe that we are producing some effect," said Cherami to his partner; "but I am not surprised; whenever I dance, the people crowd to watch me."
Meanwhile, from one end of the room to the other, the guests were saying:
"The man in the plaid trousers is dancing the cancan with Aunt Merlin; it's most amusing!"
Some of the couples ceased dancing, in order to watch the performance of Aunt Merlin and her partner. The uproar soon reached the ears of Monsieur Blanquette, the uncle; the bride's mother, a most respectable woman, said to him:
"I beg you, Monsieur Blanquette, go and tell my sister not to dance the cancan. Everybody here is laughing at her, and she doesn't notice it. Oh! what a mistake you made in inviting that tall man with the red face!"
"Mon Dieu! madame, I assure you that I didn't invite him. He's a man who owes me money—whom I knew when he was rich and well-dressed.—He has ruined himself completely. He caught sight of me this morning, when we were getting out of the carriages; and to-night he takes the liberty of coming to our ball. I didn't dare tell him to leave—because, you understand, that's an embarrassing thing to do. But if he presumes to dance indecently—why, then I shan't hesitate."
Monsieur Blanquette walked toward the quadrille which caused such a prodigious sensation. Cherami was in the act of executing thechaloupewith his partner, whocontinued to second him as best she could. The bridegroom's uncle sidled up behind her, and said in an undertone:
"Don't dance like that, Madame Merlin, I beg you; that's the way they dance at low dance-halls. Decent people don't make such exhibitions of themselves in a salon."
"It seems to me that I am dancing very well, monsieur," replied Aunt Merlin, sourly; "and the way the people crowd to watch us proves it."
"I assure you, Madame Merlin, that it isn't proper, and your sister is much annoyed."
"My sister's annoyed because she's got beyond dancing. Let her leave me alone! I propose to dance, I tell you!"
"What is it, my nymph, eh?" cried Cherami; "what did old Père Blanquette say to you?"
"He declares that our dance isn't proper."
"Ah! that's very fine! What box has he just come out of, to be shocked at our dance? Doesn't he go to the play, I wonder? Hasn't he ever seen the Spanish dancers? They've been at almost all the theatres. Ah! bigre! if he'd seen those females do theirfandangos, theiriotas, and theirboleros, and indulge in all sorts of antics, showing their legs, yes, and their garters too! that's much worse than the cancan. But that doesn't prevent those Spaniards from drawing the crowd, wherever they are. And you don't like it, because I dance the cancan, and yet you rush to see licentious dances performed by women whose costumes add to the effect of their dancing! Sapristi! for God's sake, try to make up your mind what you want!—Our turn, my Terpsichore; attention! this is thepastourelle, and I am saving a little surprise for you in thecavalier seul."
Aunt Merlin darted off like an arrow, paying no heed to the remonstrances of Père Blanquette, who heaved sigh upon sigh when he saw how easy it is to lead a woman on to make a fool of herself, even when her age should make her sensible. But the time came for Cherami to perform thecavalier seul; excited by all that he had drunk, and recalling the feats of his younger days, he performed the evolution called thearaignée, which consists in throwing yourself flat on your stomach in front of the opposite couple. This bit of gymnastics was greeted with frantic laughter; and Aunt Merlin, turning to Papa Blanquette, cried:
"What do you say to that? Could you do as much?"
"No, certainly not, madame; and I wouldn't try," retorted the uncle; "but I consider it very presumptuous. Your partner must have the devil in him, to do such crazy things!"
Aunt Merlin had ceased to listen; the last figure had arrived, that in which the galop is the leading feature; and said Cherami, as he put his arm about her waist:
"We'll just show the others how to galop. Fichtre! they'd better look out for themselves. They ran into me when they were waltzing, but we'll pay them back in their own coin."
With that, he started off with his partner, whirling her about as they danced. Beau Arthur had been one of the most notable performers in the formidable galops which are a feature of the masked balls at the Opéra. The punch renewed the vigor of his youth. Throwing himself headlong into the midst of the assemblage, dancers and onlookers, he rushed through the room likea whirlwind or an avalanche, hurling this one aside, colliding with that one, and sowing confusion everywhere. In vain did they shout to him:
"Stop, monsieur; stop at once! you're throwing the ladies down!"
Cherami kept on; not until Aunt Merlin's turban fell, would he consent to deposit her upon a bench, with her eyes starting from her head. But at that moment several gentlemen, boiling over with wrath, surrounded the terrible galoper.
"Monsieur, you threw my partner down!"
"Monsieur, you have crushed my daughter's nose!"
"Monsieur, you upset my wife; when she fell, her elastic skirt sprang up over her head, so that everybody could see—what I alone have the right to see!"
"Monsieur, you must give me satisfaction!"
"Monsieur, you haven't seen the end of this!"
While he was thus apostrophized on all sides, Cherami calmly wiped the perspiration from his face, and said:
"Sapristi! what's the matter with them all? They are delightful!—I consider that you're a delightful lot! You ought to have got out of the way; that's what I did, when you ran into me while you were waltzing just now. Is it my fault, if you don't know how to keep on your legs? What a terrible thing, if your estimable daughter's nose is a little bruised; and if your wife, monsieur, did show some admirable things! It seems to me that you ought to be flattered by the accident, for everybody must envy your good fortune."
These retorts were far from appeasing the wrath of the husbands, brothers, and fathers who had been maltreated in the persons of the objects of their affections. But Uncle Blanquette forced his way through the crowd,and said to him who had caused all the confusion, assuming a tone which he strove to make dignified:
"Monsieur, you have caused a grave perturbation at my nephew's wedding party——"
"Ha! ha!perturbationis a pretty word; I must remember it. Never mind; proceed, Papa Blanquette."
"People in our society do not indulge in such improper dances as those you have performed, monsieur."
"But, if I remember right, Aunt Merlin seemed to enjoy that dance pretty well."
"I didn't invite you to our ball, monsieur; so I consider it much too—much too——"
"Presumptuous!—you can't find the word, but that's it, I fancy; eh?"
"Yes, monsieur; too presumptuous, to appear where you're not invited, and especially in a costume so negligée as yours. You have thrown down enough persons; we don't care to have any more of it, and I beg you to go."
"Ah! that's your idea of politeness, is it? Very good! bonsoir! I will go! Your party isn't so very fine, after all; I haven't seen a single glass of punch. And you fancy that you do things in style, do you? No, no! you're a long way behind the times!"
"Be good enough to remember also, monsieur, that you owe me four hundred and ninety-five francs; and, if you don't quit, I will take harsh measures——"
"Bravo! I expected that—that's the bouquet! The idea of talking about your account at a ball! Look you, old Blanquette: you make me sick!Adieu, Rome, I go!—Mesdames, I lay my homage at your feet. I am sorry to have jostled you a little; but, on my word of honor, it was the fault of your partners; they didn't know how to hold you."
This fresh insult to the male portion of the guests renewed their wrath, and they threatened to attack Cherami. He removed his yellow glove and threw it at their feet, saying:
"Here, this is all I can do for you! I expect you all to-morrow morning. My friend Blanquette[C]of veal will give you my address. Bring pistols, sabres, swords, what you please. I shall have nothing but a rabbit's tail, understand, and with that rabbit's tail I defy you all!"
This heroic challenge seemed to calm the wrath of his adversaries to some extent. But, while they were staring at one another, a little, bald man darted forward and picked up the glove.
"That's my glove," he cried; "I recognize it; it's the left-hand glove that I lost; it has been mended on the thumb; this is the very one!"
Cherami did not hear Monsieur Courbichon. He left the ballroom, passed rapidly through the cardroom, and, taking a hat from a nail and a cane from a corner, left the last of the rooms and descended the stairs, saying to himself:
"I snap my fingers at them. I'm not sorry I went to that party. I have my cue!"
And Cherami patted the pocket in which were the gold pieces he had won at écarté.
At the foot of the staircase, he saw several ladies standing, waiting for their carriages; they were guests of the party on the first floor, just leaving the ball. In a moment, another young couple appeared, and one of the ladies said to another:
"What does this mean? the bride going away already?"
"Yes, I believe she doesn't feel very well."
"Aha! that's the bride, who goes so early!" cried Cherami, putting his head forward. "Yes! it's she! it's the faithless Fanny! I recognize her."
These words were hardly out of his mouth, when the husband, who had his wife on his arm, left her abruptly, looked about, and rushed up to Cherami, to whom he said in a voice that trembled with emotion:
"Was it you who just spoke, monsieur?"
"What's that! Suppose it was? Well, yes, I did speak. Do you mean to say that it isn't my right?"
"Was it you who said: 'It's the faithless Fanny'?"
"Yes, pardieu! it was. Oh! I never deny my words."
"This is neither the time nor the place for an explanation, monsieur; but I will call on you to-morrow, and, if you're not a coward, you will give me satisfaction."
"I, a coward! Arthur Cherami, a coward! Well, well! that's a good one! And I have just challenged the whole Blanquette wedding party! I am always ready to fight with whatever anyone chooses—from a pin to a cannon, I'm your man!"
"We will see about that to-morrow. Your address?"
"There it is. I always carry a card about me with a view to affairs of this sort."
Monléard took the soiled yellow card which Cherami drew from his pocket, and hastened after his wife, who was already in the carriage. This little scene had taken place so rapidly that the persons who were standing had been able to catch only a few words.
The carriage which contained the newly married pair drove away. Cherami looked about for a cab, and having finally found one, jumped in, and called out to the driver:
"Rue de l'Orillon, Barrière de Belleville. I will tell you when we reach my hôtel."—Then he stretched himselfout comfortably on the back seat, with his feet on the other, murmuring: "The day has been complete. An excellent dinner, punch, cards, a ball, and a duel! And this morning I hadn't the wherewithal to buy a small loaf! In my place, a fool would have jumped into the water. But, with clever people, there is always some resource."
Rue de l'Orillon, which is outside the barrier, near the Belleville theatre, bears not the slightest resemblance to Rue de Rivoli, or to Rue de la Paix. There is much mud there at almost all seasons, and there are very few shops of the Magasin du Prophète variety; indeed, I think that I can safely say that there are none.
It was in a wretched furnished lodging on this street outside the walls that the ci-devant Beau Arthur, who had once dwelt in the fashionable precincts of the Champs-Élysées and the Chaussée d'Antin, had been compelled to take up his abode. He did not often pay his rent; however, on the day when he received his quarterly stipend, he sometimes persuaded himself to give two or three five-franc pieces to his landlady, and she waited patiently for her arrears, because she was proud to furnish lodgings to a man who had once had thirty-five thousand francs a year, and who still retained a trace of his former social position in his manners and his language.
The room occupied by Cherami was not furnished like the apartments of the Hôtel du Louvre. A blue wallpaper, at thirteen sous a roll, took the place of hangings; but this paper, already old, was torn in several places, and the breaches were concealed by scraps of paper of a different design, and, in many instances, of a different color, which gave to the room a sort of Harlequin aspect which was not altogether disagreeable—especially to those persons who like that costume. Now, Harlequins are very popular in Rue de l'Orillon.
A miserable cot-bed, surmounted by a rod which had never been gilded, and over which was thrown a curtain of yellow cloth much too narrow to surround the bed, stood opposite the window. At the foot of the bed was a screen four feet high, which was supposed to be a protection against the wind that came in under the ill-fitted door. A Louis XVI commode, an old Louis XV armchair, and a desk which claimed to be Louis XIII, with a few common chairs, were all the furniture that the apartment contained. On the mantel were two kitchen candlesticks, a small box of matches, and several cigar-butts, but not a single pipe: Arthur would have deemed himself a dishonored man if he had put a pipe to his lips.
It was noon, and Cherami lay on his bed, having just waked up. He stretched his arms, rubbed his eyes, and, glancing at the window, said to himself:
"On my word, I believe I've had quite a nap! Yes, if I can judge by the sun, which is shining in at my window, the morning must be well advanced. It is often unpleasant not to have a watch; but, at all events, in a furnished lodging-house there should be a clock on each mantel. That villainous Madame Louchard, my landlady,promises me every month that indispensable complement of my furniture, and I am like Sister Anne, I see nothing coming.Par la sambleu!as they say in Marivaux's plays, the rest has done me good, for yesterday was a tiresome day! But it seems to me that I had at least a dozen duels on hand for this morning; the deuce! and I don't know what time it is."
Thereupon Cherami began to knock loudly on the thin partition beside his bed, shouting at the top of his voice:
"Madame Louchard! I say there! Goddess of Cythera! Landlady of the Loves! Venus of La Courtille! hasten hither, I beseech thee.—Come, lady fair; I await thee! I await thee!—Damnation! start your boots, will you!"
After some five minutes, heavy footsteps were heard in the corridor, and a tall woman, thin as a lath, whose flat hips indicated a most profound contempt for every sort of hoop-skirt, entered the room occupied by Cherami. This woman had a huge nose, huge mouth, huge teeth, huge ears, and feet and hands to correspond. A child who had heard the tale of Little Red Riding Hood would inevitably have been afraid of her, mistaking her for the wolf disguised as the grandmother.
To complete the portrait, we may add that Madame Louchard had a yellow complexion, bleared eyes, and a nose always smeared with snuff; that her costume consisted of a long dressing-gown, shaped like an umbrella case (a reminder of the style in vogue under the Directory); and, finally, that her head-dress was a white cap, around which was tied a colored cotton handkerchief.
"Well! what's the matter? What are you shouting and hammering for? Couldn't you get up, MonsieurLazy-bones? I should think it had been light long enough."
Such was this lady's way of bidding her tenant good-morning.
"You are right as to that point, Queen of Cythera," replied Cherami, half rising.
"God forgive me! I believe he intends to get up before me! Was that why you called me—to let me see that sight? That strikes me as a strange kind of joke!"
"Nay, nay, virtuous Louchard; I will not rise in your presence. I know the rigidity of your morals, and I respect them! I know that with you Richelieu and Buckingham would have wasted their time."
"I don't know those gentlemen, but it would be just the same with them as with others! I have told you a hundred times that, since my husband's death, the late Louchard, men are nothing to me!"
"It would seem that the late Louchard was a phœnix, a jewel, the very pearl of husbands?"
"On the contrary, he had a lot of hidden drawbacks, and he was always drunk. That's what made me take a dislike to your sex, in the matter of love."
"Very good! I agree with you, on my honor. I think you did well to adopt that course."
"Why?"
"Because it makes you resemble Dido. But let us change the subject; tell me quickly what time it is."
"Dame!it's a good half-hour—yes, at least half an hour—since I heard the clock strike twelve."
"Then say at once that it's half-past twelve. Bigre! I have been lazy, and no mistake; but when I came in last night, it was two o'clock in the morning."
"No earlier; and you woke me up, too; you always make such a noise on the stairs!"
"At all events, I didn't wake your concierge, as you haven't one."
"What's the good of a concierge?—Everybody knows the secret of the passageway, and they can come in when they choose."
"And by feeling their way, which is often very imprudent."
"But I believe you rode home last night. Do the omnibuses run as late as that nowadays?"
"Omnibuses! Understand, Widow Louchard, that when I come home after midnight, I always come in a coupé or a cab."
"Peste! so the funds have gone up, have they? You'd better give me something on account."
"Don't bother me! I gave you ten francs."
"That was two months ago."
"That's not the question. Has anybody called to see me this morning?"
"No, not a cat."
"Not a cat! Oh! the cowards!"
"Why do you say that cats are cowards? Mine would fight a bulldog."
"I'm not talking about your cat, Widow Louchard; but about a lot of braggarts, all of whom challenged me yesterday, and who don't dare to call on me to-day."
"Do you mean that you wanted to fight again, pray? Good God! is it a disease with you? It isn't so very long since you were cured of that bullet in your side."
"Bah! a trifle, a scratch. I am not quarrelsome; but when a man seems to look askance at me, that irritatesme. After all, I am not particular about seeing those walking rushlights of the Blanquette wedding party. But there was another man; if he doesn't come, I shall be surprised. However, it's not too late yet; he was only married yesterday, and a man doesn't get up very early on the day after his wedding."
"What! you expect to fight with someone who was married yesterday?"
"Why not? We marry, we fight, we kill—or are killed! Such is life, lovely Artemisia!"
"What makes you call me Artemisia? that isn't my name."
"Because she was a widow who profoundly regretted her husband."
"But I have never regretted mine a single minute."
"That makes no difference.—So you say it's half-past twelve? Sapristi! Madame Louchard, when is that clock coming that you've been promising me so long?"
"I'm waiting for a good chance. I want something to match the rest of the furniture."
"In that case, my dear friend, as I have here a so-called Louis XIII desk, a Louis XV armchair, and a Louis XVI commode, it seems to me that you cannot do otherwise than procure a Louis XIV clock, to fill up the inter-regnum and reestablish the continuity of the dynasty."
"Yes, yes; I've seen lately a little rococo Pompadour one, second-hand."
"Take care! you don't go back far enough; I didn't say Pompadour, which would land you in the middle of Louis XV's reign! I said Louis XIV."
"Fourteenth or fifteenth! so long as it ain't too dear.—But what's all this? when I said you were in funds, I wasn't mistaken, was I? You've bought a new hat!I must say, you did well; for yours wouldn't have lasted out a storm."
"A new hat! What are you talking about, my fair hostess? I have thought of it more than once, but I have not yet carried out my project."
"Why, what's this, then?"
Madame Louchard took a hat from the commode and handed it to Cherami, who stared at it with wide-open eyes; for the hat was quite new and of a stylish shape.
"What the devil! is that my hat? That's a surprising thing; it has changed, much to its advantage; it has grown at least two years younger; and it fits me, pardieu! Yes, it fits me nicely; it's just the shape of my head."
"Of course you bought it yesterday?"
"Oh! no, I didn't buy it, I tell you again. Ah! I see: when I left that wedding ball, I was a little excited—a little angry; I seized the first hat that came under my hand, thinking it was mine."
"Well, there's no denying that you've got a lucky hand; you haven't lost by the change."
"Oh! dear me, such mistakes occur so often at balls and evening parties, that, frankly, I shall not demand mine back."
"You will make no mistake; but the man who found your hat in place of his—he may want his back."
"Very well! let him come; I am ready for him; I'll return his old tile, and give him others to boot."
"Ah! but that isn't all."
"What else is there, Widow Louchard? Can it be that I came home with two hats? I admit that that would astonish me."
"No, it isn't a hat this time; but this cane—this isn't your clothes-beater, which wasn't worth six sous."
Madame Louchard picked up a cane which lay in a corner of the room; it was a genuine rattan, with an agate head surrounded by gold rings, and cut in very peculiar fashion. She showed it to Cherami, who exclaimed in admiration:
"Oho! why, that's a beauty! A charming cane, excellent style—not too heavy; I like this sort of cameo for a head very much."
"So you got your cane the same way you did your hat, eh?"
"Pardieu! that goes without saying. It stood beside the hat. You see, I had placed my switch beside my beaver—so the joke was complete."
"Well, you're mighty lucky in your mistakes; that's sure. This cane must have cost a lot of money."
"Oh! I have seen much finer ones than this, in the old days. What the devil are you looking for on the floor and on the furniture, Madame Louchard?"
"Dame!I'm looking to see if you haven't brought something else home, by mistake."
Cherami instantly sat up in bed, crying:
"Thunder of Jupiter! Widow Louchard, what do you take me for, I'd like to know? Do you think I'm a thief, a pickpocket? I had a hat and a cane, and on leaving a ball I took a hat and a cane. They're not the ones that belong to me; I made a mistake, I was in error, and that may happen to anybody—errare humanum est, do you understand? No, you don't understand; never mind. But to carry away anything to which I have no right—fie! for shame!—To prove that I wouldn't do such a thing—I found a glove, and I returned it. Let me tellyou, madame, that a man may be without money, have debts, borrow and not pay, and even play cards on his word—for if I had lost last night, I shouldn't have been able to pay on the spot; but all those things don't prevent one's being an honest man."
"Mon Dieu! Monsieur Cherami, I don't say they do; you go off all of a sudden, like a spitfire!"
"Last night, I confess, I had dined very well. I wasn't drunk; I never get drunk; I was simply a little confused, which fully explains all these mistakes; and now, I feel as if I could take something."
"Would you like to have me make you a nice onion soup, while you're getting up? There's nothing that'll set you up better, the day after a spree."
"Onion soup! I do not disdain that dish; but I am tempted to look higher, and I believe that a good chicken—— But what's all that noise? I should say that a carriage was stopping in front of the hôtel! Go and look, my dear hostess."
Madame Louchard went to the window.
"Yes, it is," she said; "a handsome private cabriolet, with a fine dapple-gray horse, and a groom in livery! And there's a young dandy getting out; he's looking at the house; he's coming in; it must be for me."
"For you? Oh! no, it's for me, by all the devils! It must be that young husband, and here am I still in bed! I must dress at the double-quick."
Cherami jumped out of his bed, in his nightshirt; whereupon Madame Louchard instantly took flight, crying:
"I don't like this sort of thing, Monsieur Cherami; I told you not to get up before me. And a man who don't wear drawers, too!"
"Aha! my dear hostess, it would seem that you risked a glance! Oh! these women! they are all descended from Lot's wife! It's a pity that they're not changed into salt nowadays at every indiscretion; that would make a handsome reduction in the price of that product!"
It was, in fact, Monsieur Monléard who had alighted from the cabriolet, and, having scrutinized the exterior of the furnished lodging-house, had ventured into the rather gloomy hall of that establishment. There he looked in vain for the concierge; but the proprietor often served in that capacity, and it was she herself who hastily descended the stairs.
"Do you know a certain Monsieur Cherami in this house, madame?"
"Yes, monsieur; indeed I know him, as he's my tenant."
"Ah! very good. Would you kindly direct me to his room?"
"Second floor, second door on the right."
"Do you think that I shall find him?"
"Certainly, monsieur; for I just left him, and he was just going to get up."
"Thanks! Pardon me, madame; a word or two more, if you please."
"As many as you want, monsieur; I'm in no hurry."
"I would be glad, madame, to obtain some information about this gentleman: to know who he is, and what he does."
"Mon Dieu! it won't take long to tell you; he don't do anything, he lives on his income; he's a man who used to be very rich, and who did as so many others do—ran through his fortune with fast women; now, he's on his uppers; for I guess the income isn't very heavy!"
"Exceedingly obliged, madame."
Monléard left Madame Louchard, and went up to Cherami's room. That worthy was dressing behind his screen; but as it barely reached his shoulders, he was perfectly able to see anybody who came in, and could converse over the leaves of the article of furniture which encompassed him.
"Monsieur Arthur Cherami?" said the fashionably dressed young man as he entered.
"Present! here I am, monsieur. A thousand pardons for not being dressed; but it will take me only a minute. Pray be kind enough to take a seat while you wait."
"Thanks, I am not tired."
"Then, remain standing. You may do as you please.—Where the devil did I put my false collar?"
"You divine the motive of my visit, monsieur, I fancy?"
"What! do I divine it? Why, I have been waiting for you, with some impatience. But I said to myself: 'That gentleman will not come very early, because, on the day after his wedding—— ' Ha! ha! I don't think I need say any more."
"It has occurred to me, monsieur, that our duel might as well take place without witnesses. The subject of our dispute is such a delicate one! There are some things which one doesn't like to make a noise about; for the world, which is unkind, as a general rule, sometimes makes a mountain out of what was——"
"Only a mouse—parturiens montes.I am entirely of your opinion.—Ah! I have my collar."
"Then, monsieur, you consent to fight with no other witness than my servant?"
"Very gladly; I have already fought that way more than once."
"Thinking that you might have no weapons, monsieur, I brought two swords and a pair of pistols with me."
"You did very well; for, as you foresaw, I am without weapons at this moment. Ah! I used to have some beautiful ones in the old days! My pistols were made by Devisme; I could bring down a fly at fifty yards; but I had to let them go. What would you have?Deus dederat, Deus abstulit.—I will just put on my coat, and I am at your service."
"This is a most extraordinary individual," said Auguste Monléard to himself as he listened.
The Latin with which Cherami sprinkled his discourse, and his air of good-breeding, had modified the opinion he had formed of him; and he was not sorry to learn that he was not about to fight with a man devoid of breeding and education.
At last, Arthur came out from behind his screen, and saluted his adversary with all the ease of a man of the world, saying:
"Now I am at your service."
"Very good, monsieur. Doubtless you are well acquainted with this quarter, this neighborhood. It is entirely unfamiliar to me. Is there any spot hereabout where we can fight comfortably—without having to travel a couple of leagues to Vincennes or the Bois de Boulogne?"
"Wait a moment, while I think. We could go behind the Buttes Saint-Chaumont; there are some quarries there, where no one would see us. But it's rather hard to get there in a carriage; and then, too, the ground's rather uneven, and sometimes there are some low-lived rascals prowling about. But, pardieu! we have just what we want, close at hand. In the next street there's a large vacant lot, on which they're going to build, but the building isn't begun yet. No one ever passes through that street; we shall be as retired as we should be in our own house."
"But can we get into the lot?"
"Yes, indeed. On the street there's nothing but a board fence, and there's a gate in it. If there's anyone there, we'll say we are architects; that will make it all right."
"And it's not far from here?"
"We shall be there in five minutes."
"In that case, monsieur, let us go. We will let my cabriolet follow us."
"That's right; and as we must avoid making a noise and attracting attention, we will fight with swords, if you choose."
"With pleasure, monsieur."
Monléard and Cherami went down the stairs together. Madame Louchard, who was standing at the hall-door, was very much puzzled when she saw her tenant leave the house with the fashionably dressed owner of the cabriolet; but she dared not ask him a question. Instead of turning toward the main street of Belleville, the two men took a street which ran behind the theatre of that suburb.
Walking side by side with the individual with whom he was to fight, Monléard, more and more amazed byhis adversary's courteous manners and by his use of language which denoted familiarity with good society, said to him after a while:
"We are going to fight a duel, monsieur; that is a settled thing, which neither you nor I, I am sure, have any intention of avoiding."
"I agree with you, monsieur."
"But, before the duel takes place, will you not do me the favor to tell me where you knew the lady whom I have married, and how long you have known her?"
"It will give me very great pleasure to answer you. I have not the slightest acquaintance with your wife, and I never saw her until yesterday. First, when she alighted from her carriage at Deffieux's restaurant; and again, when you were taking her away last night, and I met you."
"But, in that case, monsieur, how do you explain the words you uttered: 'There's the faithless Fanny'? Was it a bet? Was it an insult?—And, again, how did you know my wife's Christian name, since you did not know her?"
"Mon Dieu! my dear monsieur, I can explain it all to you in a few words, and you will say that events succeeded one another naturally enough. When your young wife alighted from her carriage, a young man—a very pretty fellow, on my word! but a perfect stranger to me—was standing near me, in front of the restaurant. The poor fellow really made my heart ache: he was in the depths of despair, he tore his hair—no, he didn't go so far as that; but, what was worse, he insisted on accosting the bride and making a scene. I remonstrated with him, I prevented his doing it, and made him see that it would be in the worst possible taste to cause such a scandal in the street."
"I thank you, monsieur. But the young man's name—do you know it?"
"He told me while we were dining; for we dined together, and he told me the whole story of his love affair. I must hasten to add that there was nothing in it which casts the slightest reflection on madame's honor. But she allowed that young man to pay court to her, she flattered him with the hope that she would marry him some day. But when you appeared, the scales were very soon turned in your favor, and my poor lover was given the mitten."
"Then the man who told you all this must have been Monsieur Gustave Darlemont?"
"The very same; those are his names."
"Yes, I remember meeting him now and then at Monsieur Gerbault's, in the first days of my intimacy with that family. You will agree, monsieur,—for you seem well acquainted with society and its customs,—that it is indiscreet, to say no more, for a young man who has been kindly received by a respectable family, to go about telling of his love affairs, his disappointed hopes, in short, all his affairs, to someone whom he doesn't know, and whom he meets by chance in the street."
"It was, perhaps, a little foolish, I admit; but we must excuse some foolish performances in a lover. Poor Gustave adored your wife—he adores her still. She flirted a bit with him."
"Monsieur!"
"Oh! bless my soul, all the women do it; I know that well enough; maids, wives, and widows—before, during, and after—they always do it. It's their original sin. Eve set the example by flirting with the serpent. To try to cure them of that failing would be to attempt theimpossible: women are made that way.Quid levius pluma? pulvis! Quid pulvere? ventus! Quid vento? mulier! Quid muliere? nihil!"
"But, monsieur, how did it happen that it was you, and not this Monsieur Gustave, who indulged in that insulting exclamation?"
"For a very simple reason: Gustave wasn't there. After dining with me, at the same restaurant where you had your wedding banquet, for he was absolutely determined to speak to your wife, to bid her a last farewell——"
"The impertinent wretch! if he had dared!"
"Oh! mon Dieu! you wouldn't have known anything about it. The women do so many things that we don't know! But a certain uncle made his appearance—a gentleman who doesn't joke, and who hasn't an amiable manner every day. He dragged his nephew away, deaf to his prayers and lamentations—and poor Gustave had to go, without a sight of his faithless Fanny.—I beg your pardon, but that's the expression he always used in speaking of madame your wife; and that is why that exclamation escaped me last night, when I saw her on your arm. Now you know the whole story. Faith! here we are; see, this is the board fence about the vacant lot. We can go in here; there's a solution of continuity. Not so much as a cat, inside or out; this is delightful. You can get the swords from your servant."
Monléard, having taken the swords from his groom, ordered him to stay by the cabriolet; then he and Cherami entered the vacant lot, which had been made ready for building, but as yet contained nothing but stone. They soon reached a spot where there was nothing to embarrass them; there they removed their coats and stood at guard.By the way in which Cherami stood, the young dandy saw at once that he had to do with an expert fencer; and, as he was himself well skilled in the use of the sword, he was not sorry to meet an adversary worthy of his steel.
But after one or two passes, one or two deftly parried attacks, Monléard realized that he had before him an antagonist of the first order; and that he must needs exert his utmost talent and strength to gain the advantage. He had expected to have done with his opponent in a few thrusts; his self-esteem was touched by the necessity of defending himself. He attacked with an impetuosity which sometimes made him forget to be prudent; and Cherami, who fought as coolly as if he were playing shuttlecock, said to him from time to time:
"Take care, you are making mistakes, you'll run on my sword, you strike down too much! I give you warning; it won't be my fault. Ah! what did I tell you?"
Monléard, attacking awkwardly, had received a thrust in the arm, and the wound was so painful that he had to drop his sword.
"Enough, I am beaten!" said the young man, struggling to conceal his suffering. "But you are a skilful fencer, monsieur."
"Yes, I am somewhat expert with the foils. Wait a moment; let me take your handkerchief and bind up the wound, to stop the blood. Then we'll make a sling with your black silk cravat."
"I am extremely obliged, monsieur; a thousand pardons for the trouble I am causing you."
"Why, between honorable men, this is the way it should always be: when the fight's over, shake hands. It's a pity the sword went in so far, or we might have breakfasted together."
"Oh! I am forced to admit that that would be quite impossible."
"Yes, I understand. You are in for a fortnight of it, perhaps three weeks. There's a lot of muscles in the arm, that are as obstinate as the devil about getting well. Are you strong enough to walk to your cabriolet, leaning on me? Shall I call your groom?"
"Oh! there's no need; I can walk with your assistance."