Cherami's left eye was so badly damaged, and retained so long the marks of the blow it had received, that the ex-beau was obliged to keep his room six weeks, because he did not choose to go out with a bandage across his face.
Madame Louchard, who was frequently intrusted with the duty of dressing the wounded organ, said one day to her tenant:
"How in the world did you get thattrump?"
"You call that atrump, my amiable hostess! It would be a deuced fine hand which was full of such trumps!"
"You fought another duel, did you, hot-head?"
"I am forced to confess that I was beaten this time; I wasn't strong enough; there was a whole regiment against me."
"That wasn't done by a sword, was it?"
"No, unluckily! A sword puts your eye out, but doesn't force it out of your head. But I got it for the sake of two girls!"
"Aha! so you must have two at once! God! what good reason I have to hate men!"
"However, this forced retirement has compelled me to be economical; I have given you a superb payment on account."
"Twenty-five francs! Do you call that superb?"
"Everything is comparative; I usually give you only a hundred sous. My eye is getting well, thank God! I shall soon resume my activity."
"And run after your girls again, I suppose?"
"No, on my word as a gentleman, I shan't begin that again; I've had enough of it! I have my cue. I am going to try to find my friend Gustave; he may have been in Paris since I have kept my room. My first visit will be to his uncle, a by no means amiable party, who presumes to look askance at me; but, so long as he tells me where his nephew is, I will allow him to make faces at me, if it affords him any pleasure."
A few days later, Cherami was, in fact, able to go out, and without a bandage; his eye had resumed its normal appearance. Our man had taken great pains with his toilet: his boots were polished, his hat and coat carefully brushed; he took his switch, entered the omnibus from Belleville, took an exchange check, and, in due time, arrived at the banker's establishment in Faubourg Montmartre.
On this occasion, Cherami did not stop to talk with the concierge; he went straight to the office and found the same clerk still at work on his figures. It is a fact that there are some clerks in banking-houses who pass almost the whole day at that work. When they go to sleep, it would seem that they must always see figures dancing and fluttering about them; what a pleasant life! and what delightful dreams!
Cherami stopped in front of the old clerk, who kept his eyes fixed on his ledger as before, making the same dull sound that some machines make: "Six—eight—fourteen—twenty-seven—thirty."
"I say, my good man, haven't you stopped that since the last time I came?" cried Cherami, tapping on the clerk's desk with his switch. "Sapristi! you're no common clerk; you're a living logarithm, a ciphering-machine on which somebody ought to take out a patent! You ought to fetch a big price."
The old clerk replied simply, without raising his head:
"Don't hit my ledger like that; don't you see that you raise the dust?"
"Yes, to be sure, I see that I raise lots of dust; your office-boys don't dust here every day, it seems?"
"Thirty-five—forty-four—fifty-three."
"Ah! the machine's starting up again. Look you: I would be glad to avoid applying to your employer, Monsieur Grandcourt, as we're not on the best of terms. Come, Papa Double-Naught, tell me if the banker's nephew, Gustave, has returned from Germany. I have something to say to him—something important, very important; I am anxious to assure his happiness! Well?"
"Eighty from a hundred and sixty leaves——"
"Ah! this is too much! it passes conception! He ought to be sent to the Exposition!"
Having brought his switch down on the desk once more, with such violence that the sand and ink flew up into the clerk's face, Cherami strode toward the banker's private office, and found that gentleman reading the newspaper.
At sight of Cherami, whom he recognized at once, although his apparel was greatly improved, MonsieurGrandcourt frowned. His visitor, on the contrary, tried to smile, and said, bowing gracefully:
"Monsieur, I have the honor to be your servant."
"Good-morning, monsieur!"
"Do you remember me, by any chance?"
"Perfectly, monsieur. Indeed, you are not at all changed, except in respect to your dress, which I congratulate you upon having renewed."
"Ah! you notice that? You look at a man's dress, I see?"
"Why, I should say that it was impossible not to notice it."
"I mean to say that you attach importance to it, that you judge the man by his coat."
"Was it to ascertain my opinion on that subject that you called on me, monsieur?"
"No; oh, no! I snap my fingers at other people's opinions. I know my own value, and that's enough for me."
"I congratulate you, monsieur, on knowing your own value; it is quite possible that the world at large doesn't suspect it."
Cherami bit his lips and twisted his whiskers, muttering:
"This devil of a fellow hasn't changed, either—still sarcastic, mocking. I don't despise intellects of that type; they prick and stir one up. You retort, and the conversation is all the more highly spiced."
Monsieur Grandcourt repressed a faint smile and leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs, as if waiting to hear what his caller had to say.
"I would be willing to bet that you guess why I have come?" said Cherami at last.
"It is quite possible, monsieur; still, I may be mistaken."
"I have come to ask where your dear nephew is—my friend Gustave."
"He is travelling, monsieur."
"Still travelling? But, he must be somewhere."
"He was at Berlin not long ago."
"Not long ago—that's rather vague. However, he writes to you, and you answer him, I presume?"
"There is no doubt about that."
"Consequently, he tells you where to send your letters. Very good! be kind enough to give me his address, so that I may write to Gustave forthwith. I desire to tell him a piece of news which will make him very happy, and will probably hasten his return to Paris. When one can give a friend pleasure, it would seem that one cannot do it too quickly! Don't you agree with me in that?"
"Perhaps, monsieur; that depends on the possible results of the pleasure which you wish to afford your friend. What is this joyous news which you are in such haste to transmit to my nephew, so as to make him hurry back? Couldn't you tell me?"
"I might say that you are very inquisitive; but you are my friend's uncle, and, for that reason, I excuse you. The little woman whom Gustave adored, whom he still adores—at least, he told me so before he went away—that charming Fanny!—and she really is very pretty! I had a chance to examine her at my ease when I called on her—a refined, intellectual face, a coaxing voice, a foot just large enough to say that she has one——"
"Well, monsieur, this Fanny?"
"Well, dear uncle, she is a widow!"
"Oh! monsieur, I have known that a long while. She's a widow because her husband blew his brains out, which doesn't indicate that he was very happy at home."
"I beg your pardon; he killed himself because he was ruined—by unlucky speculations on the Bourse. Still, I am not talking about the dead man, but about his widow. Since the woman Gustave adored is free, what is there to prevent him, later—I don't say now, at once, but when her year of mourning has passed——"
"So, monsieur, it is with the purpose of reviving that idiotic passion of my nephew for a woman who laughed at him, that you insist upon knowing where he is? You hope that on receipt of your letter he will drop everything and return to Paris?"
"I am even capable of going where he is, myself, to fetch him home, if it isn't too far—and doesn't cost too much! I will travel third class; I don't mind. One must make some sacrifice to friendship."
"You will not have that trouble, monsieur; and as I consider that my nephew will certainly return soon enough, so far as seeing your Fanny is concerned, and as I flatter myself that he will then have ceased to think of that young woman, I shall not give you his address."
"Ah! indeed! so you are still as hard-hearted and tyrannical as ever?"
"A man is not necessarily a tyrant, monsieur, because he prevents silly boys from making fools of themselves. I am well aware that, nowadays, it is customary to give that name to those who insist that laws and customs and individual rights shall be respected; that old age shall be honored, that children shall revere their parents and celebrate their birthdays, and that there shall be no smoking in a room where there are ladies; if that'swhat you mean bytyrant, why, I am a tyrant, monsieur, and I am proud of it."
Cherami paced up and down the room, muttering:
"You are trying to make me think it's noon at two o'clock! I care nothing for all that! Once, twice, will you give me Gustave's address?"
"A hundred times, no!"
"Good-day, then! I have my cue!"
And Cherami rushed from the room in a rage, saying to himself:
"If I had such an uncle as that, I'd disinherit him!"
For several days, Cherami went every morning and inquired of the banker's concierge if the young traveller had returned; but as he always received a negative reply, he soon tired of repeating the same trip to no purpose, and confined himself to going there once a week.
Meanwhile, time passed, and Cherami, reduced once more to the necessity of living on his slender income, found himself anew without enough money in his pocket to buy a cigar.
But winter had given place to spring, fine weather had returned, and the ex-beau strolled about in search of acquaintances more persistently than ever.
One morning, near the Château d'Eau, he saw two girls, apparently waiting for an omnibus; he walked toward them, saying to himself:
"Par la sambleu! I believe those are my pretty feather-makers. Yes, they certainly are Mesdemoiselles Laurette and Lucie."
Hearing their names, the young women turned and looked at the stranger, who bowed low to them. Suddenly Laurette, the dark one, cried:
"Ah! I recognize monsieur now; he's the one who talked with us at Porte Saint-Martin last summer."
"Yes, mesdemoiselles; the same. Are you going up to Belleville again?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"And to the restaurant in Parc Saint-Fargeau?"
"No, monsieur; but we have a friend who lives in the village of L'Avenir."
"And where might the village of L'Avenir be, if you please?"
"What! you don't know it?"
"I have never been able to read the future (l'avenir), and I was not aware that it had a village."
"It's in Romainville Forest, a little this side, on high land from which you get a fine view. There have been a lot of houses built there, almost all alike; small, but very neat and prettily decorated, each with its little garden. As they don't cost much, and you can pay on very easy terms, why, the village of L'Avenir sprang up all at once, as if by magic."
"Pardieu! I'll go and buy a house there—as soon as I'm in funds. Ah! mesdemoiselles, I have hunted everywhere for you! If you knew all that I have done to find you!"
"Us, monsieur? Why did you want to find us?"
"To ask you to go to the play and to supper."
"Ah! what a fine idea! But perhaps we wouldn't have accepted?"
"Thatperhapsrelieves my mind. There was nothing improper in my suggestion."
"Monsieur certainly has too gentlemanly an air for anybody to distrust him."
"Damnation!" said Cherami to himself; "what a pity that I haven't a sou! I'll bet they would accept now."
"Where did you look for us, monsieur?"
"Why, in all the feather-shops on Rue Saint-Denis."
"Ah! you would have had to look a long while. We're not in the feather business now; we have changed."
"What are you in now?"
"Pearls; we string pearls."
"Ah! that's a very pretty trade. I have never worked in pearls myself, and yet I would have liked——"
"Here's our 'bus, Laurette—come. Adieu, monsieur!"
"In what quarter, please?"
"Rue des Arcis."
The young women climbed into the omnibus, and Cherami watched them ride away. He sighed, muttered a malediction against fate, tapped his trousers with his switch, and continued his promenade. But he had not walked a hundred yards, when he found himself face to face with a young lady dressed in mourning, who stopped and bestowed a gracious salutation upon him. Cherami bowed to the ground, for he had recognized Auguste Monléard's young widow.
"Good-morning, monsieur! do you recognize me?" said Fanny, with a smile.
"Ah! madame, I must be short-sighted to the last degree to have forgotten your enchanting face after I had seen it once!"
"But this mourning changes one a good deal."
"Whether you wear black, or pink, or nothing at all, I will answer for it that you will always be charming. Indeed, I should prefer the last."
"You are very gallant, Monsieur Cherami!"
"I am delighted to find that madame remembers my name."
"I have not forgotten it, monsieur; indeed, I was very anxious to see you."
"Really! If I could have dreamed of such a thing, madame, I would have done myself the honor to call upon you long since."
"I wanted first of all to thank you for your kindness in going to my father's to perform an unpleasant errand."
"Oh! let us say no more of that, I beg! Have you any other commission to intrust to me? I am at your service, I have nothing to do; command me."
"I thank you, Monsieur Cherami. Do you know Monsieur Gustave Darlemont?"
"Do I know him! He is my best friend, my Euryalus, my Orestes, my Pythias.—Yes, indeed, madame; I do know him and appreciate him; he is a charming fellow, who deserves to be loved."
"Tell me frankly, Monsieur Cherami,—surely you have no reason now to conceal the truth from me,—did Gustave ask you to fight with my husband?"
"Ah! so madame knows that it was I who——"
"Who fought a duel with Monsieur Monléard. To be sure; but have no fear; I bear you no ill-will at all for that."
"She's a charming creature," said Cherami to himself; "I fancy that she would bear me no more ill-will if I had killed her husband."
"But, monsieur," rejoined Fanny, "be good enough to tell me why you called me faithless when you saw me pass?"
"Oh! mon Dieu! my dear madame, it's very easy to understand. I had dined with poor Gustave at the restaurant where you gave your wedding party. During the whole meal, the dear fellow was in such utter despair that it was painful to see him. He didn't eat, he didn't drink; I was compelled to dine for two, and to hold on to him every minute to keep him from seeking you out in the midst of your party."
"Really! Poor fellow! was he so broken up as that?"
"In the evening, he spoke to your sister and made her promise that, when you came back for the ball, she would arrange it so that he could have an interview with you."
"My sister never told me a word of all this. That Adolphine's a strange creature!"
"On the contrary, it seems that she sent word to Gustave's uncle, to come to take him away."
"What business was it of hers?"
"The uncle came and compelled his nephew to go with him; I was left alone. I had drunk quite a lot of punch; I had looked in at a wedding party on the floor above yours. As I came from that party, heated by dancing, and still thinking of my disconsolate friend, I caught sight of you, and I let slip that remark; which I retract to-day, and offer a thousand apologies for making it."
"You are freely forgiven. So Gustave had nothing to do with the duel?"
"He knew absolutely nothing about it until he returned from Spain."
"Do you know where he is now?"
"Alas, no! In Prussia, I believe. I have been several times to ask; but he has an uncle who is the most disagreeable man you can imagine! If he weren't so closely connected with my friend, I would have run him through before this. Still, Gustave must return some time; I am on the watch for him."
"When you hear anything about him, it will be very kind of you to let me know. This is my new address."
"Be sure, madame, that I shall be only too happy to prove my zeal."
"Adieu, Monsieur Cherami!"
"Madame, accept my most respectful homage.—I don't know whether she is sincerely fond of Gustave," thought Cherami, as the charming widow left him, "but it is certain that she is burning to see him again."
Fanny had been a widow more than six months, when, as Cherami was approaching Monsieur Grandcourt's abode one morning, he saw Gustave come out. He uttered a joyful exclamation, and hastened to throw his arms about the young traveller, crying:
"Tandem!denique! here he is at last! this is good luck, indeed! Damnation! you've been away a long while, but we will hope that it's the last time."
"Good-day, my dear Arthur!" said Gustave, as they shook hands. "Were you coming to see my uncle?"
"Your uncle! Sapristi! he's a dear creature, is your uncle; let's talk about something else. Why, I have been here a hundred times; I wanted to get your address, so that I could write to you or come after you; but it was impossible to obtain the slightest information from your uncle. When did you return?"
"Last night, at nine o'clock. But why were you so anxious to know where I was? What had you to tell me that was so important?"
"Hasn't your uncle told you anything?"
"We had a talk this morning, on business; that's all."
"Ah! the old fox! there's no danger that he would tell you what interested you most."
"Then do you tell me, quickly, Cherami."
"Your former passion, that little woman you loved so dearly——"
"Fanny! Great God! is she dead?"
"No, no! she's not dead; she's in bewitching health, she's just as pretty as ever, and more than that—she's a widow."
"A widow! Great heaven! can it be possible?"
"It's more than possible, it's so. Her husband speculated in stocks, and ruined himself; then,crac! a pistol-shot—you understand."
"Oh! what a calamity! Why, it's perfectly ghastly; how long ago was it?"
"Almost immediately after you went away."
"Poor Fanny! she expected to find her happiness in that marriage; how she must have grieved! how bitterly she must have wept!"
"My dear Gustave, you don't know that young woman at all. She has very great strength of character; she received the news of her husband's death with a stoicalcourage worthy of the Spartan women who sent their sons to war, bidding them to return as victors or not at all."
"How do you know that, Cherami?"
"Pardieu! because it was I to whom her husband confided his last wishes and the mission of informing his wife of his death."
"To you! you who fought a duel with him?"
"Precisely! that duel made us the best friends in the world. I will tell you all about it in detail another time. Let it suffice for the present, that the young widow, who is already thoroughly consoled, does not cease to talk about you, to ask about you, and to inquire whether you will return soon."
"Is that true? you are not deceiving me? Fanny thinks of me?"
"It is as I have the honor to tell you, and, between ourselves, I believe that she never really loved her husband—which explains why she wasted so little regret on him."
"All that you tell me surprises me so that I can't collect my thoughts. Fanny widowed! Fanny free!"
"Yes, widowed, and more than six months passed already! By the way,—and this is the first question I should have asked you,—do you still love her?"
"Do I still love her! Ah! my dear Arthur, can you doubt it?"
"It seems to me that you have had plenty of time and a perfect right to forget her. I seem to recall that that was your hope when you went away."
"That may be; but I have not been able to do it. I tried to distract my thoughts, to fall in love with other women. One day, I fancied that I was; but the illusionsoon vanished; and then, the last time I met Fanny, she was so sweet with me that the memory of that occasion was not well calculated to destroy my love."
"Then you love her? you are sure of it?"
"Nonsense, my dear fellow! why do you ask me that?"
"Oh! because I had thought of something else; and if you were no longer in love with the widow—— But, as you are still daft over her, why, that's at an end; and I believe that things will go on now to suit you."
"I am going to see Adolphine, Fanny's sister, to-day."
"Why shouldn't you go to see Fanny herself? I should say that that would be the shortest way. I can give you her address."
"Oh! you can't mean that, my friend! that I should go to that young widow's house at once—I, who have not been to see her since her marriage! It wouldn't be proper. She must give me permission first."
"But, as she urged you to call on her when she was a married woman, it seems to me that she can afford to receive you now that she's a widow."
"To be sure, but not right away; I must see her first, at her father's. She must go there often, now?"
"I should rather see you go to the little widow's than to her father's."
"Why so?"
"Why, indeed! That's the sequel of the idea I spoke about just now. However, do as you think best; the main point is that you have come in time, and that you should stay in Paris; because I am horribly bored while you are away. On my word, I seem to miss something."
"Dear Arthur! I am really touched by the interest you take in everything that concerns me.—And yourself, my friend—are you happy, are you doing well in business?"
"I can't do badly, because I do no business at all. I am content—because I am a philosopher! I am happy—when I have my cue; but I haven't had it for some time."
"I'll bet that you have no money."
"You would win very often if you made that bet."
"And you didn't say a word about it! Am I no longer your friend?"
"My dear Gustave, you overwhelm me;—but I owe you something now, and——"
"What does that matter? Do friends keep accounts with one another? Isn't he who can oblige the other the happier?"
"Damme! if all my friends of the old days had been of your way of thinking!"
Gustave produced his wallet, took out a banknote, and thrust it into Cherami's hand, saying:
"Here, my good friend, take this; and when it's all gone, tell me so. Now, adieu! I must leave you and go to Monsieur Gerbault's; I dine with my uncle to-day; but if you will dine with me to-morrow, be in front of the Passage de l'Opéra at six o'clock."
"If I will! Par la sambleu! why, it will be a regular fête for me."
"In that case, adieu, until to-morrow!"
When Gustave was a long distance away, Cherami continued to look after him, saying to himself:
"There goes the pearl of friends; I don't know the pearls upon which Mesdemoiselles Laurette and Lucie are employed, but a real friend is worth far more than all the treasures of Golconda, and is much rarer too. I was on the point of mentioning a certain idea that I have got into my head relative to little Adolphine, thepretty widow's sister; but I thought, on reflection, that I should do better to say nothing about it. What good would it do to tell him that I think poor Adolphine's in love with him, when he still loves Fanny? It would make him unhappy, and that's all; he wouldn't dare to go to Papa Gerbault's to talk about his dear Fanny. I certainly did well to hold my tongue. Let's see what he slipped into my hand. Generous Gustave! he is quite capable of loaning me five hundred francs more."
Cherami unfolded the banknote which he held in his hand, and was thunderstruck when he saw that it was for a thousand francs.
Having satisfied himself that he was not mistaken, Cherami stuffed the note into his cigar-case, muttering:
"A thousand francs! he gave me a thousand francs, and said: 'When that's gone, let me know!' Sacrebleu! this unexpected wealth bewilders me. That young man's behavior touches me; it makes me blush for my own. Come, Arthur, my good friend, do you propose to continue your dissipation, your foolish courses? And because you have fallen in with a whole-souled fellow who gave you money without counting it, are you going to work, as usual, to waste that money as you wasted your fortune? I sayno! par la sambleu! I will not do it; I propose to show myself worthy to be Gustave's friend. From this day forth, I turn over a new leaf, I become a reasonable man, I put water in my wine; and, for a beginning, I will go and dine for thirty-two sous."
While Cherami was forming these excellent resolutions, Gustave betook himself, without loss of time, to Monsieur Gerbault's house.
Adolphine was alone, trying, by dint of practising diligently on the piano, to forget for a moment the secretpain which was gnawing at her heart. Fanny's sister had changed perceptibly in the last few months; a genuine passion does not leave one unscathed; at nineteen years of age, such a passion occupies one's every moment, obtrudes itself upon one's every thought. The girl's features bore traces of her suffering; her face had grown thin and pale, and constantly wore an expression of sadness, which she strove, but in vain, to hide beneath a smile in the presence of others; and her sister's company was not likely to afford her any distraction, because she talked almost incessantly of the man whom Adolphine would have been glad to forget.
Madeleine, who had recognized Gustave, did not deem it necessary to announce him, but allowed him to enter her mistress's apartment, where he could hear her playing the piano. He went forward softly and stood behind Adolphine, and several moments passed before she happened to glance at the mirror over the piano and saw him standing there. A cry escaped her; she whispered Gustave's name, then a ghastly pallor spread over her face, and she looked down at the floor.
"Mon Dieu! my dear Adolphine! what's the matter?" cried the young man, in dismay; "shall I call somebody?"
But Adolphine motioned to him not to go, and shook hands with him, saying in an uncertain voice:
"It's nothing—the surprise—the excitement; I was so unprepared to see you! But it's all gone.—So you are at home again, Monsieur Gustave?"
"Yes, my good little sister. So you didn't expect me, eh? You had forgotten all about me?"
"Oh! I don't say that; on the contrary, it seemed to me that you were staying away a long while this time."
"I have been away nearly seven months; and during that time, I understand that—many things have happened here."
"Ah! you know?"
"Yes, I know that your sister is a widow."
"Who has told you that, so soon?"
"Cherami; you know, the man who was with me the day of——"
"Oh, yes! I know him; it was he, too, who came to tell us the fatal news of poor Auguste's death; for, I don't know how it happens, but your Monsieur Cherami succeeds in having his finger in everything; everybody takes him for a confidant.—When did you return?"
"Only last evening."
"It was very nice of you to think of coming here. Father is out, but he will be at home soon."
"Good! for I shall be very glad to talk with him. I trust that he won't think it improper for me to come here now, as he did before?"
Adolphine could not restrain a nervous gesture as she replied:
"Ah! so you want to come to see us again? Yes—I understand—you are no longer afraid to meet Fanny."
"Do you think that I ought to avoid her presence still? tell me, dear Adolphine!"
"I? Oh! I don't think anything about it. Why should you suppose that I think that? I can't read your heart, you see, and I have no idea whether it still entertains the same sentiments as before."
"Ah! I can safely tell you, who have always treated me like a brother; indeed, why should I make a mystery of it, anyway? Yes, I love Fanny as dearly as ever, her image has not ceased for a single day to bepresent in my thoughts. My love, although hopeless, has never changed. Judge, then, whether I can cease to love her, now that I am once more at liberty to anticipate happiness in the future!"
Adolphine passed her hand across her brow and made an effort to retain her self-possession, as she replied:
"Ah! it's a fine thing to love like that, with a constancy which time and absence have failed to shake! It's a fine thing; and a woman could not love you too well to recompense a passion as true and pure as yours!"
"Now, that we are alone, tell me, dear Adolphine, do you think that Fanny will receive me kindly? Do you think that my constancy will touch her? that her heart will be moved by it? Ambition and the wish to cut a figure in the world caused her to prefer Monsieur Monléard to me. I can readily forgive her, young as she was, for listening to vanity rather than love—for I fancy that she never had much love for her husband."
"Oh, no! I don't think that she had, either."
"In that case, his death cannot have caused her a very deep grief?"
"She regretted his fortune, that's all."
"What are her means now?"
"Twenty-five hundred francs a year. My father asked her to come to live with us, but she preferred to have a home of her own."
"Twenty-five hundred francs! That's very little for one who has kept her carriage."
"It's quite enough for one whose happiness doesn't depend on money."
"You think so, Adolphine, because you haven't your sister's tastes; but all women aren't like you. Fannyloves society; she's a bit of a coquette, perhaps—that's a very pardonable fault. Thank heaven! I am so placed now that I can gratify the tastes of the woman whom I marry. I earn ten thousand francs a year; she will not be able to have horses in her stable and carriages in her carriage-house, but she will not be obliged to walk when she doesn't want to.—You don't answer me, Adolphine—do you think Fanny will consent to be my wife?"
"Oh! now that you earn ten thousand francs a year, she will smile on your suit, no doubt."
Gustave sighed, as he rejoined in a lower tone:
"Then, if I couldn't offer her that, she would refuse me again? That's what you mean to imply, isn't it?"
"No, no! Mon Dieu! Monsieur Gustave, I didn't mean to hurt you; I did wrong to say that. Fanny must love you—why shouldn't she love you? It would be awfully ungrateful of her not to—when you have given her abundant proof of so much love and constancy—and have forgiven her for the sorrow she caused you. Certainly she loves you; you will be happy with her; but—you see—I can't bear to talk about it all the time—because it worries me—it makes me uneasy—for you. Mon Dieu! I am all confused."
Gustave scrutinized the girl more closely, then exclaimed:
"Why, I hadn't noticed before! How you have changed; how thin you are! Have you been ill, my little sister?"
"Ah! you notice it now, do you? Why, no, I am not ill; nothing's the matter with me; I don't know why I should change."
"Are you in pain?"
Adolphine raised her lovely eyes, as if appealing to heaven, as she replied:
"No, I have no pain."
"I can't have you sick! I insist upon your recovering your fine, healthy color of the old days; and now that I have returned, I will look after your health."
"Thanks! thanks! you will come to see us often, then?"
"I hope to do so; and your sister—does she come here often?"
"Thursdays, because we receive then; occasionally on other days."
Monsieur Gerbault's arrival put an end to this conversation. He greeted Gustave cordially, and the young man made no secret of the pleasure it would give him to come frequently to the house; he did not mention Fanny, preferring not to begin to talk of his renewed hopes at their very first meeting; but he adroitly found a way to make known his financial position, which would enable him, if he married, to offer an attractive prospect to the woman who should bear his name.
Now that his oldest daughter was a widow, Monsieur Gerbault saw no impropriety in Gustave's meeting her; and he was the first to urge the young man to come to his house at his pleasure, as before. Gustave was enchanted; he pressed Monsieur Gerbault's hand, then Adolphine's, and took his leave without noticing that the latter's depression had become more marked than ever.
The next evening, at six o'clock, Cherami, dressed with an elegance which made of him once more the stylish beau of former days, was walking near the Passage de l'Opéra. Several of his former boon companions, who had ceased to bow to him since he had worn a threadbare coat, had stopped when they caught sight of him and acted as if they would accost him; but Cherami at once turned on his heel, saying to himself:
"Go your way, canaille! I know what you amount to, my fine fellows! You wouldn't look at me when I was strapped. You recognize me because I am well dressed. Avaunt! I have had enough of such people!"
Gustave soon appeared; he could not restrain an exclamation of surprise as he gazed at the man who could once more call himself Beau Arthur.
"Sapristi! my dear fellow! Pray excuse these manifestations of surprise," said Gustave; "but, upon my word, at first glance I didn't recognize you. You are superb—I don't exaggerate; no one could wear handsome clothes more gracefully."
"That's a relic of early habit."
"Why have you gotten yourself up so finely?"
"It was the least I could do to show my respect for such a friend as you."
"Let us go and dine, and we will talk."
"I am at your service."
The gentlemen entered the Café Anglais, and Gustave said to his companion:
"Order the dinner; you know how to do it."
"Pardon me, but I think I won't order again," said Cherami; "I went about it like a bull in a china-shop; I don't propose to do it any more; you do the ordering."
"What does this mean? You, a man who understood life so well!"
"On the contrary, I understood it very ill; and I have changed all that—a complete reformation; better late than never."
Gustave finally decided to order the dinner; but at every moment his guest said to him:
"Enough; that's quite enough! and we'll have only one kind of wine."
"Faith! my dear fellow, you may eat and drink what you choose; but I propose to order to suit myself; I haven't turned hermit, you see."
"Go on, you are the master. I will get drunk, if you insist; it's my duty to obey you."
Throughout the first course, Cherami put water in his wine, and was very abstemious.
"I shouldn't know you," said Gustave.
"So much the better! I aim to be unrecognizable; but let us talk of your affairs: have you been to Papa Gerbault's?"
"Yes; I saw Adolphine, Fanny's younger sister; still, as always, kind and affectionate and ready to help me."
"I have an idea that she is very affectionate, in truth."
"But I found her very much changed—she is thin, and she has lost her fresh color. One would say that the girl has some secret sorrow."
"There's nothing impossible in that, poor child! And you told her that you still love her sister?"
"To be sure; I confided to her all the hopes which Fanny's present position justified me in forming. Oh! I made no mystery to her of my love for her sister."
"That must have afforded her a great deal of pleasure!"
"Adolphine takes an interest in my happiness; if she can help me with Fanny, she will do it, I am sure."
"She is quite capable of it. But, look you, if you take my advice, you will go directly to the young widow, and not have the little sister for a constant witness of your love making; it's a dangerous business for a heart of nineteen years! When one sees others making love, it may arouse a longing to make love on one's own account."
"My dear Arthur, I ask nothing better than to go to Madame Monléard's; but I must see her first at her father's, and she must give me permission to call on her."
"Never fear; she'll give you permission. What about your uncle? have you spoken to him about the revival of your hopes?"
"No, indeed! he isn't fond of Fanny. There'll be time enough for that when affairs come to a head."
"By the way, if I want to see you now, where shall I find you? I don't want to apply to your uncle again; he's an old curmudgeon whom I can't get along with. He has a way of looking at me! If he hadn't been your uncle, we should have had it out before this, I promise you."
"My dear fellow, my uncle is a most excellent man, I give you my word; very just and fair at bottom; a little obstinate when he has formed a bad opinion of people; but very willing to revise his judgment when you prove to him that he was wrong."
"A noble trait, that!"
"He has a prejudice against Fanny; he believes her to be incapable of loving; but when she makes me happy, he will be the first to agree that he was wrong. As for myself, I have accepted a very nice suite of rooms in his house, where I shall stay till I marry."
"In your uncle's house! Then no one can see you without his permission?"
"Not so; my apartments are on the second floor, front, entirely separate from his."
"Does the concierge know you now?"
"Yes, never fear; he knows my name. Come, my good fellow, a glass of champagne to my love, to my union with Fanny!"
"You insist on drinking champagne?"
"Most certainly."
"Very good, if you insist on it! We might well have been content with this claret, which is perfect."
"But what is the meaning of this virtuous conduct? what revolution has taken place in you? who has wrought this miracle?"
"Who? Don't you suspect?"
"Faith, no!"
"Well, it was you, my dear Gustave."
"I? Nonsense!"
"It's the truth, none the less. Twice now, you have obliged me; and with such tact, such generosity——"
"Oh! I beg you——"
"Sacrebleu! let me speak; I am not talkingblaguenow, and you must believe me, because I have no reason for lying. I brought myself up with a sharp turn; I said to myself that, although I am no longer young, I am not old enough yet to live at other people's expense. In short, I don't propose to throw money out of window anymore.—Better still: I am conscious now of a desire to do something—to work and occupy my mind. I used to laugh at clerks, at the men employed in offices; but find me such a place, my friend, and I promise you that I'll fill it in such a way that they won't turn me away."
Gustave took Cherami's hand and pressed it warmly.
"This is very well done of you," he said; "I certainly can't blame you for such good resolutions. If you keep to them, why, I will look about, and I will find something for you."
"Oh! I shall keep to them; my mind is made up."
"Meanwhile, as one must never carry anything to excess, there's no law against your drinking champagne, provided you don't get drunk on it."
"Very good; let us drink it, then."
"To my love!"
"To your love! But take my advice, and attend to your business yourself; don't put it in the little sister's hands any more."
"Do you think her capable of doing me a bad turn with Fanny?"
"No, indeed! God forbid! she loves you too well to do you a bad turn with anybody. But the result of my experience is that, in love, you should never employ an ambassador. It's a waste of time."
"I will follow your advice. Thursday, I shall see Fanny at her father's, and I will ask her permission to call on her."
"In that way," said Cherami to himself, "that poor girl won't have them making love under her nose, at all events."
Thursday arrived, and on that day a few faithful friends and some less faithful acquaintances were accustomed to meet at Monsieur Gerbault's in the evening and play cards. Among the faithful friends—faithful in their attendance, that is—were Messieurs Clairval and Batonnin; among those who came only occasionally was young Anatole de Raincy, who, like a well-bred youth, had not taken offence at Adolphine's refusal of his hand; and, being still a great lover of music, did not, because of that refusal, renounce the pleasure of singing duets with her.
Since Fanny had been a widow, she had come regularly to her father's to dinner on Thursday; her sparkling conversation and her playful humor, upon which her bereavement had imposed silence for a fortnight at most, contributed not a little to the success of the evening party. The young widow, who knew that Anatole de Raincy had sought Adolphine's hand and had been refused, never failed, when she found herself in that young gentleman's company, to dart glances at him which might well have turned his head, but for the fact that, in order to captivate him, a woman must first of all possess a sweet voice; and Fanny sang very little, and then her singing was not true.
So that Monsieur de Raincy did not respond to the glances of the pretty widow, who soon confided to hersister that that Monsieur Anatole was nothing but a canary; that he ought to be fed on nothing but chickweed.
On the day in question, Adolphine, when she was joined by her sister, whom she had not seen during the week, experienced a feeling of discomfort which she strove to overcome, saying to her hurriedly:
"I imagine that you will see someone here this evening whose presence will not be distasteful to you."
"Ah! whom do you expect this evening, pray?"
"Monsieur Gustave Darlemont."
"Gustave! Is it possible? Gustave has returned, and you haven't told me?"
"You have only just come; I couldn't tell you any sooner."
"But when did he return? When did you see him?"
"He came to see us on Monday; I believe he arrived in Paris the night before."
"What! he has been here since Monday, and I didn't know it! And he's coming to-night—you are quite sure? Did father invite him for to-night?"
"Father didn't actually invite him; but he knows that we receive on Thursdays, and, as he expressed a wish to visit us anew—— And then, he knows that he will meet you."
"Did he talk much about me? Does he act as if he still loved me? Oh! tell me everything he said, little sister; don't forget a single thing. It is very important; I must know what to expect."
Adolphine made an effort, and replied in a voice trembling with emotion:
"Yes, Monsieur Gustave told me that he still loved you, that he had never ceased to think of you."
"Oh! how sweet of him! There's constancy for you! And they say that men can't be faithful!—The poor fellows: how they are slandered! Dear Gustave! then he's well pleased that I am a widow, I suppose?"
"You can understand that he couldn't quite say that."
"No, no, but he thinks it; that's enough. And he's coming? Mon Dieu! how does my hair look? it seems to me that this cap hides my forehead too much."
"You look very well; and, besides, doesn't a woman always look well to her lover?"
"Oh! my dear girl, in order to please, one must always try to look pretty."
And Fanny ran to a mirror; she arranged and rearranged her hair, took off her cap and put it on again; and finally tossed it aside, saying:
"I certainly look better without a cap."
"But, sister, I supposed that your mourning required——"
"My dear girl, I've been a widow more than six months; I have a right to arrange my head as I please, and when one has fine hair it's never a crime to show it."
During dinner, Fanny talked incessantly of Gustave; Adolphine said nothing; Monsieur Gerbault let his elder daughter talk on, but he kept a serious countenance and looked frequently at Adolphine. At the time that she fainted at the idea that Gustave was dead, a sudden light had shone in upon her father's mind; but he had made no sign; he respected his younger daughter's secret, although at the bottom of his heart he was the more deeply touched by her suffering, because he could see no way of putting an end to it.
The dinner seemed horribly long to Fanny; she asked for the coffee before her father had finished his dessert,and kept leaving the table to look at herself in the mirror. This manœuvre was repeated so often that Monsieur Gerbault could not resist the temptation to say to her, with a smile:
"My dear, it seems to me that, for a widow, you are rather coquettish."
"In my opinion, father," she made haste to reply, "a widow is more excusable for being coquettish than a married woman whose husband is alive; for, you see, a widow is free."
"Yes, no doubt that is true, especially when she has been a widow a long while."
"Well, do you call six months nothing? And I am in my seventh!"
"Yes, indeed! yes, indeed!—Never mind; the story of theMatron of Ephesusno longer seems improbable to me."
"What's that about theMatron of Ephesus? I don't know that story."
"It's a fable; but it might very well be history, after all."
"Ah! did someone ring?"
"I didn't hear anything."
"How late your people come!"
"Do you think so? It's only seven o'clock."
"Nonsense! Your clock is slow."
"It keeps excellent time."
"Oh! I don't know what's the matter with me; I can't keep still."
Adolphine followed her sister with her eyes, thinking:
"It's her love for him that makes her so coquettish and so impatient! It's very funny; when he used to come before, I never thought of looking in my mirror; I thought of him, not of myself."
At last, the bell rang; it was Monsieur Clairval, cold, phlegmatic, taciturn. Next came Madame Mirallon, who always wore full dress, even at small parties. Next came a lawyer and a doctor, enthusiastic whist players, who were constantly disputing, one being a hot partisan of the short-suit lead, the other declaring that a good player would never stoop to that.
At every ring, Fanny gazed eagerly at the door; she made a funny little wry face when she saw that the person who appeared was not he whom she expected.
"My gentleman keeps us waiting a long while!" she murmured; then ran to her sister.—"Adolphine, are you sure you told him Thursday? Perhaps you said some other day?"
"No. At all events, he knows that we have always received on Thursday."
"He knows, he knows! When a man travels so much, he can easily forget. It's after eight o'clock, and you see he doesn't come."
"Eight o'clock isn't late. Never fear; he'll come."
"You think so?"
"Oh! I am sure of it."
"You are quite sure that he still loves me?"
"If he doesn't, why should he have told me that he did?"
"Oh! my dear, men say so many things that they don't think!"
"I can't understand how anyone can lie about love."
"Ah! you make me laugh; love's just the thing they lie most about.—There's the bell. This time it must be he."
Fanny's expectation was deceived once more; Monsieur Batonnin appeared, with his inevitable smile, and his measured words.
"What a bore!" muttered the young woman, moving uneasily on her chair; "it's that wretched Batonnin—the doll-faced man, as we used to call him at our parties."
"Don't you like him? Why, he used to go to your house——"
"Well! what does that prove? Do you imagine that, in society, we are fond of everybody we receive? On the contrary, three-quarters of the time the greatest pleasure we have is in passing all our guests in review and picking them to pieces."
"Ah! what a pitiful sort of pleasure! But whom can you share it with? for, if you speak ill of everybody——"
"You take a new-comer, and go and sit down with him in a corner of the salon; and there, on the pretext of telling him who people are, you give everybody a curry-combing. It's awfully amusing!"
"But the new-comer, if he isn't an idiot, must say to himself: 'As soon as I have gone, she'll say as much about me.'"
"Oh! we don't even wait till he's gone to do that."
Monsieur Batonnin, having paid his respects to Monsieur Gerbault and to the card-players, joined the two sisters.
"How are the charming widow and her lovely sister? The rose and the bud—or, rather, two buds—or two roses; for, both being flowers, and the flowers being sisters, and having thorns—why——"
"Come, Monsieur Batonnin, make up your mind. I want to know whether I am a rose or a bud," said Fanny, glancing at the guest with a mocking expression.
"Madame, being no longer unmarried, you are necessarily a rose."
"All right; that fixes my status! And my sister is a bud?"
"Yes, to be sure—but I am pained to observe that this charming bud has drooped a little on its stalk for some time past."
"Do you hear, Adolphine? Monsieur Batonnin thinks that you are drooping on your stalk, which means, I presume, that you are losing your freshness."
"That isn't exactly what I meant to say."
"Don't try to back down, Monsieur Batonnin; besides, you are right; my sister has changed of late. She assures us that she is not ill, that she has no pain; for my part, I am convinced that something is the matter, but she doesn't choose to make me her confidante."
"Because I have nothing to confide," rejoined Adolphine, in a grave tone; "and it seems to me that monsieur might very well have avoided this subject."
"Excuse me, mademoiselle; I should be much distressed to have offended you; it was my friendship for you which led me to——"
"I myself, monsieur, have never been able to understand the kind of friendship which leads one to say to people point-blank: 'Mon Dieu! how you have changed! you are deathly pale! are you ill? you look very poorly!' If the person to whom you say it is really well, then you have seen awry; if she is really ill, you run the risk of making her worse by frightening her as to her condition. In either case, you see, it would be better to say nothing. Such manifestations of interest resemble those of the friends who can't reach you quickly enough when they have bad news to tell, but whom you never see whenyou have had any good fortune for which congratulations would be in order."
Monsieur Batonnin bit his lips, and tried to think of an answer; but they had ceased to pay any heed to him, for the door of the salon opened once more, and this time it was Gustave who appeared.
The young man, having shaken hands with Monsieur Gerbault, walked toward Adolphine and her sister; it was easy to see how excited and perturbed he was; but Adolphine, whose emotion was even greater perhaps, hastily left her seat and, after responding to Gustave's greeting, went to talk with Monsieur Clairval, who was not playing cards at that moment; so that there was no one to interfere with the interview which Gustave desired to have with her sister.
As for Fanny, she was absolutely unembarrassed; she smiled sweetly on Gustave, greeted him as if she had seen him the day before, and said, pointing to a seat by her side:
"So here you are at last, monsieur le voyageur! Mon Dieu! you seem to be imitating the Wandering Jew nowadays; you travel all the time, you are never at rest. Do you know, monsieur, that your friends are not reconciled to your long absences, and you surely will put an end to your peregrinations—unless you have a fancy to discover a new world?"
Gustave, bewildered by the jocular tone in which the widow addressed him, was unable for a moment to findwords in which to reply. Fanny interpreted his confusion to her own advantage, and continued, but with a change of manner, and in an almost sentimental tone:
"Many things have happened since we met."
"Yes, madame; I have heard of the—loss you have sustained; and I beg you to believe that I shared the grief which you must have felt."
"I don't doubt it; you have so much delicacy of feeling, Monsieur Gustave! Yes, I had a very cruel experience, although Monsieur Monléard hardly deserved the tears I shed for him. He was a proud man, overflowing with vanity, hard-hearted, loving only himself, conceited, self-sufficient; but he is dead, I don't mean to speak ill of him, although he left me in a decidedly equivocal position. Ah! if I had known—if I could have foreseen. I have bitterly regretted what—what——" Then, suddenly changing her tone again, and becoming playful once more: "You are just from Berlin, I hear? Is there much fun there? Are the balls gorgeous? do the women dress well? does everybody go to the theatre? The Germans are very fond of music; you must have gone to concerts and evening parties and the play a great deal. Ah! what fortunate creatures men are! They can do whatever they please, while we poor women are obliged to stay at home, and, in many cases, never have anyone come to see us! That's the way I've been living for six months; and I am terribly bored; oh! terribly!"
"You had your sister, at least, to share your troubles."
"My sister! She's a lively creature, isn't she? I don't know what's been the matter with her lately, but she's a regular extinguisher. And then, you know, my temperament isn't like Adolphine's; she is melancholy by nature, and I am very light-headed. Don't you remember,Gustave? Heavens! what a mad creature I am! here I am calling you Gustave, just as I used to before I was married! Does that offend you?"
"Oh! you can't think it; it reminds me of such a happy time!"
"Why, I don't see but that that time has come back; for we are in the same position that we were then—almost."
Gustave could not restrain a sigh at thatalmost. The young widow made haste to continue:
"And now that I am free, that I am my own mistress, won't you do me the favor of coming to see me sometimes, Monsieur Gustave? Won't you have a little pity on the tedium of a poor widow, who was so anxious for you to come back, who talked about you every day with Adolphine?"
"What, madame! can it be true? you have thought sometimes of me?"
"He asks me if I have thought of him! he doubts it!—Is it because you had altogether forgotten me?"
"I, forget you? Ah! that would be impossible! Your lovely features are engraved on my heart, on my mind. Although far from you, I saw you all the time. Ah! Fanny, when one has once loved you.—But, pardon me, madame, I am losing my head; I call you Fanny, as I used."
"That doesn't offend me in the least; on the contrary, I like it. But just see what faces Monsieur Batonnin is making at us! One would say that he was trying to throw his eyes at us. Mon Dieu! how funny he is when he looks like that! Ha! ha! ha! it's enough to kill one."
"Madame Monléard is in great spirits to-night," said Monsieur Clairval to Monsieur Batonnin, who replied:
"I've noticed that she's been in much better spirits ever since she's been a widow."
"That Monsieur Batonnin, with his soft-spoken ways, always has something unkind to say," muttered Madame de Mirallon.
"And he smears honey on his words, to make them go down; that's the custom."
Adolphine had walked mechanically to the piano; she was suffering intensely, she would have liked to leave the salon, but she dared not, because it would have worried her father. To make her misery complete, Monsieur Batonnin joined her.
"Are we going to have the pleasure of hearing you sing, mademoiselle?"
"No, monsieur; I could not possibly sing; I have a very sore throat."
"I trust, mademoiselle, that you are not still offended with me because I thought that you looked ill?"
"Oh! not at all, monsieur; indeed, I think that you must have been right, for I don't feel very well this evening."
"Madame your sister is well enough for two, I judge, she is in such good spirits; she seems to be talking a good deal with that gentleman. Isn't he the same one who was with you one morning when I came to your room with your father?"
"Yes, monsieur; that is he."
"He was very dismal then; it seems that his gloom has disappeared, for he is laughing heartily with your sister. Are they acquainted?"
"Why, to be sure; Monsieur Gustave is an old friend of ours."
"Very good! I said to myself: 'Madame Monléard doesn't stand much on ceremony with that young man; he must be an old acquaintance, at least.'"
To avoid listening any longer to Monsieur Batonnin, Adolphine seated herself by the whist table, and pretended to watch the game; but, sit where she would, she heard her sister's exclamations, whispering, and laughter, and the evening seemed endless to her.
At last the clock struck eleven; Fanny rose and prepared to take her leave. Gustave looked at her, as if undecided as to what he should do, but the young widow observed:
"Monsieur Clairval is playing whist; besides, I don't want him always to have the trouble of going home with me; and as Monsieur Gustave is here, perhaps he would be willing to escort me as far as my door."
Gustave's face beamed; he hastened to say that he should be too happy to offer her his arm. Whereupon, Fanny made haste to say good-night to her father and sister.
The young man, in his turn, went to Adolphine, and said to her in an undertone:
"Dear little sister, I am a very happy man! She has given me permission to call on her; she has even given me to understand that she regrets having refused to marry me; in short, she is touched by my constancy."
"It is well; be happy, that is my dearest wish; and, above all things, go to my sister's; that will be much better, believe me, than to come to court her here."
Gustave was about to reply, but Fanny called him and took him away. Thereupon Adolphine went to her room, saying to herself:
"Such evenings as this are too horrible; I shall not have the courage to endure them often. Oh! let them be happy together! but I pray that he may not come here any more, that I may not be forced to be a witness of his love for another!"