Fanny was resplendent in costume, jewels, and style; and it must be said that, like all women with whom personal adornment is a special study, she carried her splendor well, and that it added materially to the attractions she had received from nature.
The young woman was nowise perturbed at sight of Gustave Darlemont; she honored him with an affable smile, and her vanity seemed flattered that he whose hand she had refused should see her now in all the glory of her good-fortune and her magnificent toilet. Adolphine, on the contrary, was pale and trembling. As for Gustave, he could not conceal the emotion he felt on seeing Fanny again, and especially in such seductive guise.
"Bonjour, little sister!" said Fanny, kissing Adolphine.—"But, I cannot be mistaken—this is Monsieur Gustave. I am delighted to see you, monsieur."
Gustave barely managed to stammer:
"Madame—I confess that I did not expect—to meet you here."
"Why, it seems to me quite natural that I should come to my father's house. To be sure, it doesn't happen very often: I have so little time to myself! When one goes much into society, one must make and receive so many calls, dress, give orders when one entertains. And, by the way, we give a large party in six days, to inaugurate our winter evenings.—I came to tell you, Adolphine, so that you may have time to prepare a bewitching costume,do you hear? I will advise you, of course, for you don't keep very well abreast of the fashions.—But I thought that you were abroad, Monsieur Gustave?"
"I have just come from Spain, mademoiselle—I beg your pardon—madame. I have been away about five months."
"Indeed! then that is why you look so brown; but that doesn't do you any harm—far from it. Did you enjoy yourself?"
"Enjoy myself? not exactly that, madame; but that wasn't what I went for."
"They say that the women are very pretty in Spain; that their eyes, especially, are dazzlingly bright. Is it true, Monsieur Gustave? Did you see any eyes in that country that excel those of us Frenchwomen?"
"I saw none, madame, which could be compared to——"
The young man checked himself, and added:
"I saw none which made me forget those of the Parisian women."
"Good! that is very polite! And you are settled in Paris now?"
"I do not know, madame; that will depend on—my uncle."
"Well, monsieur, while you are here, if it will afford you any pleasure to come to our evenings at home, Monsieur Monléard, I am sure, will be delighted to see you. At all events, he allows me to invite whom I choose—and he does the same. I greet his friends courteously, he does as much for mine; in that way, we always agree. Stay! next Thursday, as I was saying to my sister, we give a large party; there will be everything: music, dancing, cards, and supper; it will last all night, and weshall have lots of fun. You must come. We shall have all Paris—that is to say, all the best artists, all the celebrities. Will you come?"
Gustave was struck dumb by this invitation, and especially by the light, careless tone in which it was offered; he was more distressed than gratified, and answered, with a low bow:
"No, madame; I shall not have the honor of accepting your invitation."
"Indeed! And why not, may I ask, monsieur?"
"Why, because—at this party—in your husband's house—it seems to me, madame, that I should be out of place; and I am sure beforehand that I should take no pleasure in it. Pray receive, madame, my thanks and my adieux."
Thereupon Gustave went up to Adolphine, who had listened without a word, and pressed her hand, saying in an undertone:
"Adieu, my only friend! Ah! your father is right: it is much better that I should not come here again."
Gustave left the room. Adolphine had difficulty in concealing her grief. Fanny, meanwhile, looked at herself in a mirror, saying:
"What is the matter with Monsieur Gustave, I wonder? He had a very tragic air as he left us. It wasn't polite of him to refuse my invitation. And I fancied that it would give him the greatest pleasure! There are so many young men who would be overjoyed to have the opportunity to come to my evenings!"
"In your eyes, Monsieur Gustave ought not to be like other young men. And I cannot conceive how you could have dreamed of urging him to come to see you," rejoined Adolphine, in a trembling voice.
"Why not, I should like to know? You seem to be surprised at everything!"
"But after all that happened between you before you were married——"
"All what? Monsieur Gustave was in love with me. Ah! there are many others who are in love with me to-day—yes, and who pay court to me, too. But that won't keep them from coming to dance at our ball—quite the contrary; and they have engaged me beforehand for I don't know how many contra-dances. But I shall take only those whom I like. I would have done as much for Gustave; or, rather, I would have given him the preference—I would have let him have more dances."
"But don't you see that Gustave still loves you? that he can't accustom himself to seeing you as another man's wife, and that it would be impossible for him to meet your husband?"
"Do you think that that young man still loves me so much as that?"
"To be sure; he was just telling me so himself when you came."
"Ah! the poor boy! I am sorry for him, but I thought he had grown reasonable! A constant lover! Why, the fellow is a perfect phœnix!"
"A phœnix that you would have none of!"
"I don't repent. My husband is not a phœnix in love, I admit. At first, he adored me; then, it suddenly passed away. But I wasn't silly enough to groan over it. He has continued to lavish on me all the pleasures and amusements that wealth can procure. What more could I ask? I consider myself the luckiest woman in Paris. Whereas with that poor Gustave—that phœnix of constancy!—Ishould have vegetated; I should have gone to the play on Sunday, as a treat!"
"Monsieur Gustave is already in a much better position. His uncle is so well satisfied with him that he gives him ten thousand francs a year now."
"Ten thousand francs! Well, yes, that is something. One can manage to live with that. But how far he is still from Auguste's position!"
"And then, too, Fanny, when you invite Monsieur Gustave to your house, you seem to forget that duel. Your husband knows that it was he who was in such despair on account of your marriage, and that that was the cause——"
"Oh! for heaven's sake, let me alone, Adolphine! My husband has forgotten all about that. He has much more important things in his head. When a man is intent on making millions, do you suppose he wastes any time on trifles of that sort? Oh! mon Dieu! chattering here with you, I forgot that I have to call on my broker."
"You have a broker, Fanny?"
"To be sure. I speculate on the Bourse, too—just to amuse myself a little, you know. But I do not intrust my affairs to my husband, because he would ridicule me. Adieu, little sister! Make your preparations for our grand party on Thursday. Oh! we shall have much sport. I am going to have a ravishing gown."
Madame Monléard took her leave; whereupon Adolphine sank into a chair, saying to herself:
"Now I can cry at my ease, for he said that he should not come here any more!"
On leaving Monsieur Gerbault's house, Gustave did not return at once to his uncle's office; he felt that he must be by himself, in the open air, and, although it was winter, he had no fear of the cold; on the contrary, it seemed to him that the keen north wind would cool his blood and tranquillize his mind, which the sight of Fanny had overturned anew.
Having her before his eyes, more bewitching than ever, Gustave had realized how dearly he still loved her who had refused to be his wife. And he had already found, in the depths of his heart, innumerable reasons to excuse her conduct; in his eyes, she was rather frivolous than guilty.
Now that he had seen Fanny again, that she had talked with him as pleasantly as before her marriage, and had urged him to call upon her, Gustave did not know what to believe, what to think, what to conjecture, from it all. He asked himself why she wanted to see him. Whether it was because she still felt some affection for him, whether she derived any pleasure from his presence, whether she sympathized secretly with his grief; or was it simply for the purpose of flaunting in his face her brilliant social position, her superb gowns, and the homage that was paid to her?
Gustave walked a long time at random on the boulevard, where he met very few people, on account of the cold.
"No," he said to himself; "I will not go to her house! Have I courage to be a witness of her husband's happiness? Moreover, her husband hasn't invited me; it seems to me that he is sure to receive me very coldly. That's what I would do in his place. But Fanny didn't think of what she was saying; she invited me thoughtlessly—or else from simple courtesy. Ah! she is very pretty still; she's a hundred times more fascinating than ever! I did very wrong to go to Monsieur Gerbault's!"
Suddenly the melancholy lover was roused from his reflections by someone who threw his arms about him, embraced him, and kissed him on the cheek, crying:
"Ah! here he is! it is he! At last I have found him—my dear, good Gustave! Victory! Castor has found Pollux! I have my cue!
"'And since I've found my faithful friend,My luck will take a different trend!'"
Gustave struggled to free himself, in order to see the face of the individual who was so lavish of tokens of affection, and he finally recognized his impromptu friend of Fanny's wedding day, the man with whom he had dined at Deffieux's.
Cherami was the same as always. But his costume seemed even shabbier in the cold weather then prevailing than in summer; for his frock-coat, more threadbare than ever, was drawn so tightly across his shoulders that one could see that there was nothing under it; his plaid trousers, worn thinner than ever, evidently afforded his legs very little protection against the sharp north wind; and the Courbichon hat, by dint of being planted on the side of his head, was beginning to resemble the one it had replaced. But all this did not prevent the ci-devantBeau Arthur from holding himself erect and eying everybody he met from top to toe.
"Why, it is Monsieur——"
"Arthur Cherami. Yes, my dear fellow; it is I, your faithful friend, your Pylades, who has been seeking you over hill and dale, and who even called to inquire for you at your uncle's,—Grandcourt, the banker,—who, I am bound to say, did not receive me with all the consideration I deserve! But uncles are not very amiable, as a general rule. He told me that you were in Spain."
"He told the truth; I returned only last night."
"And I have been scouring the four quarters of Paris every day, saying to myself: 'If Gustave has returned, I cannot help meeting him.'—And here you are, my dear friend, whose absence seemed so long! Well! don't we propose to shake hands with our intimate friend, on whose bosom we poured out our woes?"
But Gustave hesitated to give his hand to Cherami, and replied in a serious tone:
"Before shaking hands with you, monsieur, I must have an explanation with you. You fought a duel with Monsieur Auguste Monléard, and you made that duel inevitable by addressing an insulting remark to his bride. By what right did you take that step? Why did you do it? for what object? Come, answer me."
"Ah! par la sambleu! this is a cross-examination which I was far from expecting! I fight in a friend's cause, I wound his fortunate rival—I didn't kill him, to be sure; but still, I might have killed him. Then, your charmer would have been a widow, and you would have married her!"
"Ah! I thank heaven that Monsieur Monléard got off with a wound in the arm! If you had killed him, I should have been accused of the murder!"
"What's that? you? Everybody knows that it wasn't you who fought with him. I see a young man, miserable, desperate, because the woman he loves marries another. That young man interests me. I dine with him, and he pours his sorrows into my bosom. Every instant, he complains of the perfidy of the woman who has deceived him; and, that same day, when I chance to meet that faithless creature on her conqueror's arm, you would not have me try to avenge my friend's wrongs? Damnation! what the devil do you understand by friendship, I wonder? If that's your idea of it, why, adieu, bonjour, let's say no more about it! Go and look elsewhere for friends; but you won't find my sort lying around by the dozen!"
Gustave detained Cherami as he turned away, and offered him his hand, saying:
"Come, come, don't get excited, hot-head! I see that one cannot bear you a grudge; give me your hand!"
"This is very fortunate. He realizes at last that I am entirely devoted to him, and that his happiness alone is my object."
"My dear monsieur——"
"Don't call memonsieur, or it will be my turn to be angry!"
"Very well! my dear Arthur, that duel of yours annoyed me very much, because I was afraid that it would have set Fanny against me altogether. But, thank heaven! it did nothing of the kind."
"As if women were ever angry because a man fights for them! You evidently don't know them; on the contrary, it flatters their self-esteem—it serves to set them off a little."
"I have just seen Fanny, I met her at her sister's. I didn't expect to see her there. Ah! if you knew—I am still all upset by that meeting."
"Do you mean that you still love that young woman?"
"Do I love her! Alas! yes, I love her still, and I feel that my passion will make my whole life miserable."
"Did the little lady receive you coldly?"
"Why, no; on the contrary, she gave me a most delicious smile, and talked to me just as she used to before her marriage. In fact,—can you believe it?—she invited me to a large party that she gives next Thursday."
"And still you have a sad, woe-begone air! why, I should say that you have every reason to rejoice!"
"Why so?"
"Because when this lady, who knows that you once adored her, and who must have seen that you love her still—when, I say, she asks you to come and see her, it means that she proposes to reward you for your constancy—to crown your passion. Pardieu! that's not hard to understand. Go to her party, my dear friend, and I'll stake my head that within six weeks the husband has rooms at the sign of the Stag or the Crescent, as long as you choose."
"Ah! what do you presume to imply? You imagine that Fanny is capable of betraying her husband, of forgetting her duty? No, no! she may be fickle, coquettish, if you please, but she will never be guilty. And I myself—oh! that is not my conception of love. A woman who shares her favors—who pretends to feel for one man the love which she really feels for another—oh! I should soon cease to love such a woman!"
Cherami shook his head, as he muttered:
"You are young, my dear Gustave; you are very young! You don't know the world as I do. You say that you still adore your Fanny, and that you wouldn't have her deceive her husband for you?"
"In the first place, she wouldn't do it!"
"I am strongly inclined to believe the contrary; but let us admit that you are right. I see but one means of making you happy, and that is to carry the young woman off. Do you want me to do that? I'll undertake it, if you do."
"No, my dear Arthur; I have never had such a thought. Fanny has all that she wants—she is happy; I shall be very careful to avoid disturbing her happiness; I have neither the right nor the desire to do so. But, as I feel that the sight of her intensifies my suffering, by reviving the passion which I am trying to extinguish; as I do not wish to expose myself—for some time, at least—to the chance of meeting her at the theatre or in society, why, I shall leave Paris, and travel once more. My uncle always has business in other countries, and he will not be sorry to employ me in that way again."
"That's a crazy idea of yours! So, if your love happens to hang on, that little woman will make you do the tour of the world?"
"Let us hope that time will cure me."
"There is something that works quicker than time in the cure of love; to wit, another love. You ought to have had ten mistresses in Spain."
"Impossible! I thought of nobody but her."
"You can fairly boast of being a paladin of the good old times. You could have givenRolandandAmadispoints. So you are going to leave Paris again! Would you like me to travel with you?"
"Thanks! my company is far from agreeable; my sole pleasure consists in musing by myself—thinking of the happiness to which I looked forward for some time, but which I am never to know."
"We would have sought adventures together, aye, and found them too, I promise you! That would have diverted your thoughts."
"I do not care to divert my thoughts, as my only pleasure is the thought of her."
"Sapristi! yours is a devilishly persistent passion! However, as you're so obstinate——"
Cherami paused, and seemed to reflect upon the best means of changing the subject.
"In that case, it will be another long while before I see you again?" he said at last. "That troubles me—especially as there are times when a friend is very essential!"
Cherami shook his head, rubbed his chin, and added, between his teeth:
"I haven't my cue at this moment—I need it damnably!"
Gustave glanced at the ex-beau, whose piteous expression was even more noticeable against his wretched costume; then he exclaimed:
"Can I do anything for you, my dear friend? If so, tell me, I beg; I should be happy to be of any service to you!"
"Faith! my dear fellow, I will not conceal from you that I am at this moment absolutely cleaned out. I counted on some money that was owing me; my quarterly income isn't due for six weeks."
"You need money? Why, in heaven's name, didn't you tell me? I am entirely at your service. How much do you need?"
"Why, at this moment—it's very cold—my rascal of a tailor broke his word—so—I ought to have—say, a hundred francs, to furbish me up a bit."
"A hundred francs! Why, you couldn't do anything with that. Here, my good friend, here's five hundred! Take it; I can spare it."
Gustave took a banknote from his wallet as he spoke, and handed it to Cherami, who could not restrain a joyful movement when he received that windfall; he seized the young man's hand and pressed it with all his strength, crying:
"Ah! you are the friend I have dreamed about! My dear Gustave, I shall never forget what you do for me at this moment! Henceforth we are friends in life and death! I cannot name the exact day when I shall be able to repay this money——"
"Eh? who said anything about that? I have more money than I need, and, I say again, I am delighted to be able to be of service to you."
"Excellent and worthy friend! You are made on the antique pattern; you have something of Socrates and of Marcus Aurelius about you. So you don't want me to kidnap Fanny?"
"No, I won't have it!"
"Well, if you change your mind, you have only to write me a line at the same address: Cherami, Hôteldu Bel-Air, Rue de l'Orillon, Belleville. By the way, I will call on your uncle's concierge now and then, to find out whether you have returned. Sapristi! it pains me to have you go."
"I shall return—and perhaps I shall be more reasonable."
"Then we will enjoy ourselves, we will laugh and make merry! Au revoir, then, my dear Gustave! If you have any commission for me, write me a line. But prepay your letters, for my hostess has a habit of refusing to take in those that have to be paid for."
"What! even when they are for her tenants?"
"Above all, when they are for her tenants."
Gustave walked away after shaking hands with Cherami, who looked after him with a touched expression, saying to himself:
"Excellent heart! he reconciles me with mankind; clearly, there still are such things as friends; they are rare, but, still, they do exist, and it's simply a matter of finding them. Now, I must see about getting some comfortable duds; that won't be an extravagance. When anyone brushes against me, I am always afraid he'll carry away a piece of my coat."
Cherami soon found one of the great furnishing shops where you can procure a complete change of raiment, from head to foot. He bought a pair of trousers, very full, a thickly padded waistcoat, and a roomy coat; and he put them all on over the clothes he was wearing.
"I am like Bias, one of the seven sages of Greece," he said; "I carry my whole wardrobe on my back."
Cherami made all these purchases for ninety francs. He left the shop much stouter than he entered, and his double trousers compelled him to walk with a certaingravity. But he was so content, he considered himself so comely in his new clothes, that he smiled benignly on everybody, even on the cabmen who passed him. But something was still lacking: since he had restored Monsieur Courbichon's cane, he had not replaced it, for lack of funds; and that was to him a great privation. Now he could gratify his longing; a man who has four hundred and ten francs in his pocket, after purchasing a new outfit throughout, can well afford to humor his fancy for a cane.
Cherami spied a shop where canes of all sorts were for sale; he examined a score, among which there were some very expensive ones. After hesitating for some time between a superb Malacca joint at seventy-five francs, and a light switch at a hundred sous, he finally decided upon the latter. "For, after all," he reflected, "I don't need a cane to lean on! Thank God, I haven't the gout! I will take the switch; it can be used as a crop when I ride; and then, I like something that bends—one can play with it."
Armed with his switch, with which he beat the air in a very unpleasant fashion for those who passed him, Cherami betook himself to the Palais-Royal, saying to himself:
"I think I will dine at Les Frères Provençaux. I like that old-fashioned house; you are always treated well there. It's a little dear, perhaps, but one can't pay too much for what is good."
"Pray be careful, monsieur! you hit me with your cane!"
"What's the matter, monsieur? what are you complaining about?"
"You hit me with your cane, I tell you."
"In the first place, monsieur, it isn't a cane; it's a switch; in the second place, you have only to walk farther away from me."
"Monsieur, I am on the sidewalk, as you are. I have a right to be here, I fancy."
"What's all this?—Cheap talk? impertinence? If you're not satisfied, monsieur, say so at once; I'm your man; I won't run away!"
His interlocutor, who had not left home with the intention of fighting a duel, quickened his pace and disappeared without making any further reply.
Cherami began to wave his switch about as before.
"These fellows are amazing, on my word!" he muttered. "They want to frighten me out of playing with this little stick. As if I would put myself out—as if——"
But this time he concluded to stop, hearing the crash of broken glass; he had shattered with his switch a beautiful mirror which formed part of the show-window of a perfumer's shop. The mistress of the establishment was already in her doorway, where she said to Cherami in an angry tone:
"You broke that mirror, monsieur; you broke it!"
Beau Arthur, with no outward indication of excitement, smiled at the perfumeress as he rejoined:
"Very good! my dear woman, if I broke your mirror, I'll pay for it. You shouldn't lose your temper for a little thing like that. How much will it cost to replace it?"
"Twenty francs, monsieur."
"Twenty francs! here's your money! a mere bagatelle!—I am not sorry to have christened my switch," he added, as he walked away.
When he learned that his nephew wished to leave Paris again, Monsieur Grandcourt did not conceal the regret which he felt at the thought of another separation; but when he realized that Gustave still loved Madame Monléard, he placed no obstacle in the way of his departure, and it was decided that the young man should go to Germany.
"During your absence," said the banker, "an individual came here to inquire for you—I say anindividual, for I don't know how else to describe the man, whose whole aspect was more than questionable. His name, I believe, is Arthur Cherami, and he claims to be an intimate friend of yours, because you paid for his dinner the day Mademoiselle Fanny was married."
"Ah! yes, I know whom you mean, uncle; I have seen him; I met him a couple of days ago."
"I trust, my dear Gustave, that you will not affect that gentleman's society. You don't know, perhaps, what he did? He fought a duel with Monsieur Monléard, after making an insulting remark to his wife."
"I know it, uncle. But, in the first place, that day, or rather that night, the poor devil was a little tipsy—he lost his head—he thought he was avenging me; after all, it only goes to prove that he's a brave fellow."
"My dear boy, the gentry who stop public conveyances on the highroad are generally brave fellows, too, but that doesn't prevent their being brigands."
"Oh! uncle, do you mean that you think that that poor Arthur——"
"I don't say that he's a thief; but I don't advise you to make a companion of him."
"He's no fool; he has had a good education, and he knows the world."
"He is all the more reprehensible for having allowed himself to sink so low! For he seems to me to be always in search of a dinner. However, as you are going away again for some time, I trust that your relations with the fellow will be entirely broken off."
Gustave hastened the preparations for his journey; but, being obliged to wait for certain letters which his uncle desired to give him for his correspondents, he was not ready to leave Paris until the following Thursday evening. He desired to see Adolphine once more before he went; she had always been so kind and affectionate to him, that it seemed to him that it would be ungracious to leave Paris again without bidding her adieu. But the fear of another meeting with Fanny held him back. He suddenly remembered, however, that that was the day of the grand affair to which Madame Monléard had invited him.
"Surely," he said to himself, "Fanny has too much to do at home to-day, to find time to go to her sister's. So that I can call on Adolphine with no fear of meeting her whose presence causes me more pain than pleasure now."
Adolphine was at home, engaged in preparations for the ball; for although she anticipated no pleasure at her sister's magnificent function, she could not do otherwise than go. She was looking with an indifferent air at a lovely ball gown which her father had given her, and which would have delighted most young women of her age beyond measure.
"But," thought Adolphine, "what do I care whether people think me pretty? There will be nobody at the ball whom I care to please. Ah! if he were going! But he was wise to refuse; he could not, ought not to go."
Madeleine noiselessly opened the door, and said:
"Mamzelle, here's the young man who came the other day—the one who's so good-looking, and seems so sad-like."
"Monsieur Gustave?"
"Yes, that Monsieur Gustave, who was so scared by your sister the other time, that he went right away."
"Mon Dieu! Is father at home?"
"Yes, mamzelle; but he's in his room with Monsieur Batonnin, who came just a minute ago. They'll probably have a lot to talk about, and you know your father hardly ever comes into your room. And, to-day, he knows that you're getting your dress ready."
"Show Gustave in, quickly."
Trimmings, flowers, ribbons, all were thrown aside; Adolphine was so happy at the thought of seeing Gustave. In a moment, he entered the room, ran to her side, and pressed her hand affectionately.
"Will you forgive me for disturbing you again, dear Adolphine?" he asked.
"Will I forgive you! Why, I am very glad to see you; for, when you went away the other day, you said that you wouldn't come again, and that grieved me much."
"That was because I was so unprepared to meet your sister. I didn't expect to see her, and I confess that it affected me so deeply that it revived all my suffering."
"Oh! I saw that; but it was by the merest chance that you met her; she comes here very seldom."
"No matter; I would not have run the risk of a second meeting; but I remembered that this is the day of her grand ball, and I thought that she would have no leisure to come here this morning."
"But I should have said that Fanny was glad to see you."
"Oh! that makes no difference, my good little sister; her glances, her voice, her smile, all made my heart ache! You can't imagine what agony it is to be with a person you love, and who doesn't love you!"
"Yes, yes, I understand."
"Especially when you have imagined for some time that you possessed that person's heart; when you have flattered yourself with the prospect of passing your life with her! To see that woman again, when she belongs to another, is the most frightful torture. Fanny smiled at me, she asked me to call on her. But I would have preferred a cold, harsh greeting a hundred times over; I would have liked her to avoid my presence as I meant to avoid hers; for then I would have thought: 'I am not utterly indifferent to her.'—However, that won't happen again, for I am going away, and I have come to say good-bye."
"You are going away again! Mon Dieu! you have only just returned!"
"Ah! I should have done better not to return so soon. Living in Paris weighs on me, it recalls the past too vividly."
"And where are you going now?"
"To Germany, Austria—as far away as possible!"
"For a long time?"
"Oh! yes, for I don't propose to return until I am thoroughly cured of my unhappy passion."
Adolphine put her handkerchief to her eyes.
"But it's not our fault," she stammered,—"if my sister doesn't love you—and yet, because she doesn't, we—must lose a friend."
"Dear Adolphine, such woe-begone friends as I am are hardly worth regretting."
"Do you think so? But suppose I like them so?"
"When I return, I shall probably find you married, too."
"No, no! I shall not be married, I—I am sure of it."
"What do you know about it? There are certain to be plenty of aspirants to your hand."
"I refused two, not long ago. They were both rich, but I am not like my sister; I want to love my husband!"
"Do you think, pray, that Fanny doesn't love hers?"
"Mon Dieu! I know nothing about it. I don't know what I am saying; I am so disappointed!"
At that moment, the door opened. Monsieur Gerbault appeared, with Monsieur Batonnin, who entered first.
"Pray excuse me, mademoiselle," he began; "I come to engage you for the first contra-dance that——"
The soft-spoken gentleman stopped abruptly, seeing a young man seated beside Adolphine; he rolled his eyes in the direction of the father, adding:
"Ah! mademoiselle has a visitor; we disturb her."
Monsieur Gerbault was no less surprised than he at finding a man in his daughter's room, and her with her eyes full of tears. But he soon recognized Gustave, who bowed respectfully to him and said:
"Forgive me, monsieur, for presuming to call upon your daughter; but I came to bid her good-bye, and I hoped to have the honor of paying my respects to you as well before leaving the house."
"Ah! is it you, Monsieur Gustave? I thought that you were in Spain?"
"I returned a week ago, monsieur; and to-night I start for Germany."
"Why, what's the matter, Adolphine? you look as if you had been crying. But I cannot conceive what reason you can have to be unhappy."
Monsieur Batonnin thought it advisable to intervene.
"It always saddens one to say good-bye to one's friends," he murmured. "Life is so short! When we part, we are never sure of meeting again."
"What do you say, monsieur?" cried Adolphine, with a pathetic glance at Gustave.
"I had no purpose to grieve you, mademoiselle, believe me," Batonnin made haste to reply; "on the contrary, I came to solicit the honor of dancing the first contra-dance with you; for you surely have not forgotten that madame your sister gives a ball this evening?"
"No, monsieur."
"I realize," said Gustave, "that I came at a very inopportune moment, and interrupted mademoiselle in her preparations for that festivity, diverting her thoughts to a poor traveller who desired to carry away with him a friendly word or two. Pray forgive my intrusion, mademoiselle. I am an unlucky mortal, for my sadness constantly casts a shadow on the happiness of other people. But I am sure that you will forgive me, in memory of our former friendship.—Monsieur Gerbault, will you allow me to shake hands with you?"
The melancholy and at the same time dignified manner in which Gustave spoke banished the last trace of sternness from Monsieur Gerbault's face; he took the young man's hand and pressed it warmly, saying to him:
"Come, come, my friend, drive away the gloomy thoughts that assail you. At your age, the future is boundless. Don't submit to be crushed by fruitless regrets; you may still be happy, and you will be some day, I am sure. A pleasant journey to you! Study the manners and customs of the countries you visit, and I am convinced that you will return in an infinitely more cheerful frame of mind."
"Thanks for your kind wishes, monsieur; allow me to bid you adieu."
Gustave pressed Adolphine's hand, bowed to the visitor, whom he did not know, and left the room. While the young woman escorted him to the door, Monsieur Batonnin observed to Monsieur Gerbault:
"That young man is in love with Mademoiselle Adolphine, I see, and you have refused him her hand. Doubtless he isn't a suitable match for her; but still it is very good-natured of you to give him encouragement for the future."
"My dear Monsieur Batonnin, you are all off the track. It was not Adolphine, but her sister Fanny, with whom Gustave was in love, and he flattered himself that he was going to marry her, when Auguste Monléard came forward. Faith! he had better luck. He offered her a position which any young woman would have liked, and she accepted him. It was a very hard blow to this young Gustave."
"I understand. Then it was he who fought a duel with your son-in-law, and gave him the wound which made him carry his arm in a sling so long?"
"You are wrong again. It was not Gustave who fought with Monsieur Monléard, for Gustave was a long way from Paris when the duel took place."
"Whom did your son-in-law fight with, then?"
"Faith! you ask me too much!"
Adolphine's return put an end to Monsieur Batonnin's questions. "Mademoiselle," he said, in his most silvery tones, "I beg your pardon if I repeat the same thing again and again, like a parrot, but I should be glad to know if I may obtain from you the favor of the first contra-dance. I present my request thus early, because I am sure that you will be beset, overwhelmed with invitations this evening, and it will be very difficult to obtain a word with you."
Adolphine seemed to make an effort to throw off her preoccupation, and replied:
"But I am not sure yet, monsieur, whether I shall dance at my sister's this evening, for I have a very severe headache, and, unless it gets better, I shall cut a very sad figure in a dance."
"Don't pay any attention to her," said Monsieur Gerbault. "These girls are forever having headaches, which take them all of a sudden when they have the least thought of such a thing; but, have no fear, there never was a headache that didn't surrender at the signal given by the orchestra at a ball. So, as you've delivered your invitation, you are certain of being her first partner. And now, let us leave mademoiselle to her preparations. Come, my dear Monsieur Batonnin."
The soft-spoken gentleman bestowed a superb smile upon Adolphine, accompanied by a respectful bow.
"Mademoiselle," he said, "I rest my hopes upon what your father says, too fortunate if you crown my desires; and if my invitation, albeit a little premature perhaps, and rather unseasonable——"
"Come, Monsieur Batonnin, come."
The maker of compliments, being led away by Monsieur Gerbault, was compelled to complete his sentence in the reception-room; and Adolphine, left alone at last, cursed Monsieur Batonnin for coming, with his invitation, to interrupt her interview with Gustave.
"A ball, indeed!" she murmured, angrily tossing her furbelows about; "I must needs dance this evening, when my heart is full, when I would like to weep undisturbed! Ah! if these are the pleasures which society has to offer, they who are debarred from them are the most fortunate!"
At ten o'clock, Monsieur Monléard's magnificent salons were resplendent with light, flowers, and new draperies, arranged with an artistic skill which did honor to the taste of the organizer of the festivity. At eleven, the guests arrived in swarms. The ladies were superbly dressed, and the flashing of their diamonds dazzled the eye; some—but by no means the larger number—were more simply attired, and were content to attract by the charms of their persons alone. The men admired the beautiful dresses, but preferred to linger by those whose attractions depended less upon their costumes. A fine orchestra played quadrilles, polkas, mazurkas. Its strains seemed to enliven the faces of the guests, which fairly beamed with pleasure—the pleasure which they already enjoyed, and that to which they looked forward: the latter is always the more agreeable.
At midnight, the number of guests was already so great that it was becoming very difficult to pass from one room into another. To do so required an amount of persevering effort which many of the ladies did not choose to put forth, and which, indeed, the enormous dimensions of their skirts made almost impossible.
The ball was at its height. The queen of the fête did the honors with much grace, and everybody agreed in voting her charming. Fanny was, in very truth, most bewitchingly and becomingly dressed; her white moire gown, albeit not overladen with trimming, was studded with bunches of real flowers, and in her hair there were no jewels save a cluster of diamonds; but the satisfaction which her vanity experienced in the giving of such a fête imparted to her eyes an unusual brilliancy, to her smile more expression, to her voice more feeling. She was surrounded by men who contended for the honor of dancing a polka or a quadrille with her, and everyone envied the lucky mortal who was her partner for the time being, especially as she was a beautiful dancer; she was as light as a feather, and her feet seemed hardly to touch the floor.
Auguste Monléard was very far from displaying the same glee and satisfaction which were so apparent on his wife's features; he did the honors of his salons with the exquisite courtesy and refinement of a man in the best society, who is accustomed to party-giving; but there was in his smile a something forced and constrained, which was better adapted to freeze than to provoke gayety; at times, too, a dark cloud passed over his forehead, his eyebrows contracted, his lips tightened, and he seemed utterly oblivious to what was being said to him. But these periods of distraction lasted but a moment.Auguste would suddenly come to himself and struggle to assume a cheerful aspect.
Adolphine, who came early with her father, did not dazzle the beholder by the splendor of her costume; but she was charming by virtue of her natural grace of manner, her perfect figure, the sweet expression of her lovely eyes, and perhaps, too, by virtue of a touch of melancholy, which she strove to overcome, but which added to the charm of her face.
Monsieur Batonnin did not fail to be on hand when the leader of the orchestra gave the signal for the dancing to begin, and the girl had no choice but to accept him for her partner; indeed, it mattered little to her with whom she danced; what she would have liked would have been not to dance at all; but, as she was the hostess's sister, that was impossible; too many people would have inquired the reason for her abstinence, and it would have worried her father and annoyed her sister. On the contrary, she felt that she must act as if she were enjoying herself hugely, and that was very difficult; we can do many things to oblige another, but the eyes never have complaisance enough to hide thoroughly our real feelings.
While dancing with Adolphine, Monsieur Batonnin did not fail to overwhelm her with compliments, scattered among his remarks upon the party.
"It's magnificent! it's enchanting! it's delightful! How elegantly these salons are decorated! and with such taste! Flowers everywhere—to say nothing of those who are dancing; for women and flowers, you know, are very much alike. Others have said that before me, to be sure; but there are things that can't be repeated too often. It must have cost a lot—to give a party like this! but then, when one has the means! Monsieur Monléarddoesn't look as cheerful as his wife does; he doesn't seem to be dancing. Still, a host can't dance all the time. I don't suppose he's sick, although he is very pale; but he's almost always pale."
To all this Adolphine replied only by monosyllables, and the gentleman with the doll's face said to himself after the quadrille:
"That young lady is just about as cheerful as her brother-in-law; it's of no use for Papa Gerbault to tell me that that young man I saw there this morning was in love with her sister; that wouldn't make this one cry. There's something else—yes, there certainly is something else."
In a salon set aside for card-players, Messieurs Clairval and Gerbault and young Anatole de Raincy met.
"How's this? you are not dancing?" they said to the last named.
"Oh! dear me, no! I wath never mad over danthing," replied the young dandy, looking at himself in a mirror; "and there'th thuch a crowd! How can one expect to do anything? When I danth, I like to let mythelf go."
"Do you mean that you dance the cancan, De Raincy?" queried a young man with a jovial face, putting his hand on Anatole's shoulder.
"How thtupid you are, Vauflers! Jutht becauth I like to put a little grath into my danthing, it dothn't follow that I danth the cancan."
"Well, you see, I don't dance half lying down, as you do."
"In the firtht plath, I thtoop, not lie down—a very different thing. You ought to know that, to danth properly, you mutht thtoop a little. I learned that from a great danther."
"From Vestris?"
"You tire me! Ever thinth thith fellow hath been eighth clerk to a broker, he maketh fun of everybody."
"What news from the Bourse to-night?" said Monléard, accosting the young man whom Anatole had called Vauflers.
"You know that several firms were sold out this morning. I believe that we haven't seen the end yet. There's need of a thorough weeding-out. There are some fellows who have been playing too high for a long time."
Auguste pressed his lips together and walked away.
"Shan't we have a game of bouillotte?" said the young man.
"Bouillotte ith bad form jutht now, my dear fellow; nobody playth it," replied tall Anatole, gazing admiringly at his gloves.
"Bézique's the proper thing, I suppose?"
"No, lanthquenet thtill."
"Ah, yes! because you can ruin yourself faster at that. Thanks! I think I'll go and dance. I asked the hostess for a dance, and she put my name down; but I was twenty-first on the list."
"In that cath, your turn will come by to-morrow night."
"Oh! Madame Monléard will make an exception in my favor."
"Why tho, pray?"
"Because I am her broker."
"Oho! do you mean that Madame Monléard gambleth on the Bourth?"
"Why, yes—moderately; but she's luckier than her husband."
"Tho he hath been lothing, hath he?"
"I should say so!—immense sums, of late. Indeed, I will admit that I was much surprised at his giving aparty—although, to be sure, that is sometimes an excellent way of deceiving people as to one's position and retaining one's credit."
"The deuth! what are you talking about?"
"At this moment, I have an idea that he is staking all to win all, as they say, on a certain deal; but if he loses——"
"Look out! here comth hith father-in-law. Come thith way."
The two young men, arm in arm, walked into another room.
"Mon Dieu! how beautifully your wife dances!" said Batonnin to Monléard, as Fanny whirled by them, dancing the mazurka with a partner who guided her perfectly and executed some novel steps.
"What! did you say that it's too warm here?"
"No, I never complain of the heat; I'm a genuine African in that respect. I was admiring Madame Monléard's dancing—she's dancing the mazurka at this moment; there they go again! I must say that she has a partner who does himself credit, too; he holds her so firmly, and she trusts herself to his guidance with such abandon! a very pretty fellow that! What is his name? By the way—what! he has gone, and without answering my question! Hum! They may say what they choose, but Monsieur Monléard isn't in his usual form to-night; he's too preoccupied, too distraught. It's a good thing that that doesn't keep his wife from dancing."
About two o'clock, the ladies were invited to repair to a table laden with a magnificent supper; as the company was so large that all could not sup at once, the ladies took their turn first, and the men waited until they had finished, except a few impatient individuals, such as onesees at almost all balls, who found a way to squeeze in at the table with the ladies, where, on the pretext of waiting on them, they did not fail to help themselves abundantly to everything that was most delicate and appetizing. Indeed, it not infrequently happens that, after they have laid hands upon everything within reach, and eaten uninterruptedly, while most of the ladies have done nothing but talk, these same gallant creatures return to the supper table with the men, and fall to anew, as if they had eaten nothing. There are some worthies capable of that; we ourselves have seen it done.
Monsieur Batonnin tried to find a seat at the ladies' table, but, despite his everlasting smile, no one would make room for him. So he decided to remain standing, and naturally stationed himself behind Adolphine, whom he pestered with attentions; for Adolphine had no appetite, and refused almost everything which he ordered for her, and which he did not fail to obtain at once by saying:
"It's for the sister of Madame Monléard, the queen of the fête."
With these magic words, Batonnin was quite sure to obtain all that he could possibly want; but if his courtesy was absolutely wasted, it was not so with the dishes which were refused; for when Adolphine said: "Thanks, monsieur; but I will not eat anything," the soft-spoken gentleman invariably adjudged what happened to be on the plate to himself, saying:
"Well, since you don't care for it, faith! I'll eat it myself."
And, thanks to this clever management, he supped quite as well as, perhaps better than, if he had had a seat among the ladies. To be sure, he had to eat standing.
When the ladies had left the table, and the men came to take their places, Monsieur Batonnin, whether by accident or from absent-mindedness, imitating the worthies of whom we spoke a moment ago, found himself seated beside Monsieur Clairval.
"What! eating another supper?" queried the latter.
"Why another? I haven't supped yet."
"But, unless I am very much mistaken, when I looked in just now to admire the charming picture presented by all the ladies seated at the table, you were behind Mademoiselle Adolphine, with a plate in your hand, and eating what was on the plate."
"That is to say, I was standing behind Mademoiselle Adolphine to wait upon her, and I passed her whatever she wanted."
"I saw that you were eating all the time."
"Tasting, perhaps, but if you call that eating! And then, I was standing up. What one eats standing never counts."
"Well, my dear Monsieur Batonnin, I don't undertake to reprove you for it; on the contrary, you deserve to be congratulated.—Honor to great talents of all varieties! A good stomach is a blessing of Providence. The wealthiest of men, if his liver doesn't work right, is, to my mind, less to be envied than the poor man who can readily digest his bacon-rind and similar delicacies."
Auguste Monléard joined his male guests at supper, to do the honors of his table; he began by pouring down several glasses of champagne; then, like one who is determined to divert his thoughts at any cost, he drank glass after glass of different kinds of wine, in rapid succession. This manœuvre succeeded; in a quarter of anhour his brow had cleared, his eyes sparkled; he talked with all his guests, and challenged them to drink with him; in fact, he was almost gay, and he laughed—a laugh that was a little nervous, a little forced, perhaps, but which produced a most excellent effect toward the end of the supper. When the gentlemen finally left the table, at which they had made quite an extended sojourn, they did not fail to call for acotillon, the dance which has become almost the obligatory conclusion of a ball; and Auguste Monléard proposed to lead it.
The suggestion was received with delight by the dancing contingent. Adolphine, greatly surprised by the animation now exhibited by her brother-in-law, mentioned it to her sister.
"Your husband seems to be in high spirits now," she said; "and I am very glad to see him so."
"Why! did you think that he wasn't in good spirits before?" rejoined Fanny. "You are wrong, my dear girl! Auguste always enjoys himself—only, he doesn't look as if he did; that's his way."
The cotillon came to an end, and the tired dancers began at last to think of retiring. Batonnin, having supped satisfactorily twice over, left the house with Anatole de Raincy, humming:
"'La belle nuit! la belle fête!'"
"I know that! it ith from a comic opera," said the tall young man.
"True; but you must agree that it's apropos:la belle fête!"
"Yeth, but I'm afraid—according to what Vauflers thaid——"
"What did he say?"
"That Augutht Monléard had lotht enormouth thumth on the Bourth of late, and that he mutht be in a very bad way."
"Ah! the devil! that's why I found him so distraught, then. At supper, he drank a lot to forget himself, I noticed that."
"After all, he may pull up again—luck may turn. Ah! I thee a cab. Monthieur, I with you good-night, or rather good-day, for here'th the light."
"Your servant, monsieur."
Batonnin returned to his lodgings alone and on foot, saying to himself:
"Well, whether Monléard is ruined or not, I had two suppers, all the same!"
Our friends and acquaintances almost always welcome our misfortunes in such wise.
Cherami, in accordance with his usual custom, spent very freely the money Gustave had given him; he still possessed a few francs out of the five hundred, however; and his appearance was very decent, too, for he had presented himself with a new hat, and he still had his new switch. One cold but beautiful morning, about ten o'clock, as he strolled in the direction of the Madeleine, to give himself an appetite, the ci-devant Beau Arthur saw coming toward him a woman of enormous size, holding by each hand a small boy, one of whom worea hat surrounded by feathers, which gave him the look of a trained monkey. The children, as well as their mother, were so enveloped and swaddled in winter garments that they had not the free use of their limbs. These three living bundles rolled along the street, lurching against one another; but when they came face to face with our stroller, they halted, and the stout woman exclaimed:
"I cannot be mistaken; it is certainly Monsieur Cherami, out walking so early!"
Cherami had already recognized Madame Capucine and her sons, and, being by no means overjoyed at the meeting, would gladly have turned back to avoid it, but it was too late; so he courageously made the best of it, and replied, with a courteous salutation:
"Myself, fair lady; and I congratulate myself on the good-fortune which I owe to chance; for you are far from home. Do you happen to be going to Romainville?"
"No, monsieur, no; we are not going to Romainville; this isn't the way there, either," replied Madame Capucine, eying her interlocutor from head to foot; and the great change which had taken place in the apparel of her debtor was naturally reflected in her manner of speaking to him. As the change was altogether to his advantage, she smiled graciously, and continued:
"Aunt Duponceau don't live at Romainville any more; she has sold the house she used to own there."
"Indeed? why did she do that?"
"Oh! because—because that neighborhood has such a reputation. You know the ballad: Thatlovely wood, to lovers——"
"Presents a thousand charms!—Yes, I know it by heart. But there's no wood left, except a little bit whichhas been bought by a novelist of whom I am very fond, and all surrounded by walls—not the novelist, but his woods; so I don't see what could have frightened your Aunt Duponceau so."
"Mon Dieu! you know how ill-natured people can be! There was always somebody to say: 'Ah! so you live at Romainville; that's the place for grisettes, gin-shops, and low dance-halls! one always meets a lot of drunken people there.'"
"I should say that you find them everywhere."
"It isn't the fashionable drive nowadays."
"The most fashionable resort isn't always the most amusing."
"You don't see the latest styles there."
"Oh, well! if you go into the country to see the styles, you would do better never to go anywhere but the Opéra."
"But the strongest reason, and the one that finally decided my aunt, is that there isn't any railroad to Romainville."
"Surely that must be a great deprivation to a person who, when she is once settled in her country-house, never goes to Paris at all."
"And so my aunt bought a house in the opposite direction—at Passy."
"Passy and Romainville are not exactly side by side, that is true; and they are not much alike, either."
"Oh! they're entirely different!—Aristoloche, do keep still!—Passy's a fashionable, convenient place to live in; you can't go out of the house unless you're dressed up."
"That must be very pleasant when one's in the country."
"The houses all have polished floors from top to bottom. The one my aunt bought—don't jump about so,Narcisse!—the one my aunt bought is smaller than her house at Romainville; but it cost a lot more. There's no fruit in the garden, but it's ever so much smaller."
"What does grow in the garden—ducks?"
"There's a little honeysuckle, and ivy, and grass—oh! it's well kept up."
"If it satisfies all of you, that's the main point.—Are you going to the country on such a cold day as this?"
"Aunt always expects us Saturday, to stay till Monday."
"Ah, yes! it is Saturday, isn't it?—just as it was when I met you waiting for an omnibus at Porte Saint-Martin."
"But, since then—Aristoloche, if you move again, I'll box your ears!—since then, it seems to me, Monsieur Cherami, that things have improved a little with you—judging by your dress?"
"Yes, my dear Madame Capucine; I have collected a little money that was owing me.—Mon Dieu! that reminds me; twenty times I have had it in my mind to look you up and settle that little balance I still owe your husband; but something else has always put it out of my head; it's a mere trifle, to be sure, but I propose to settle it very soon."
"Very good! but if you want to see Capucine, there's a very simple way to do it—that is, unless you are engaged for the day."
"The day? I can do what I choose with it, I am as free as air."
"Then come with us to Passy, to my aunt's; she expects us to breakfast, in fact; we're a little late, and—Narcisse, will you please not pull the feathers of your beautiful Henri IV hat like that; you'll spoil them!"
"The old hat makes me squint; it puts my eyes out."
"What a bad boy! A hat that your aunt gave you!"
"You were saying, my dear Madame Capucine?"
"I was asking you to come with us to Aunt Duponceau's; you know her; and to-night, at six o'clock, Capucine will join us there, and you can settle your little account with him. What do you think of my scheme?"
Cherami reflected a moment, then replied:
"Your scheme hits me—I mean, it suits me perfectly. The company of a charming woman—an improvised trip to the country—this breakfast, which will not detract from the pleasure of the occasion—I am at your service. Let's be off."
"Ah! that's very good of you!"
And the stout lady smiled a smile of lingering sweetness at Cherami, who was in her eyes a very handsome fellow now that he was well dressed. He had already formed his plan, into which the payment of his debt did not enter; but he was certain of a good breakfast, and probably of being invited to dine as well, with Aunt Duponceau; after dinner, he would readily find some pretext for escaping from the Capucine family.
"Here comes the Passy omnibus," said Madame Capucine; "let's not miss it."
They entered the omnibus; Madame Capucine took Master Aristoloche on her lap, in order to avoid paying for a seat for him; she requested Cherami to do as much for Narcisse, a suggestion which did not seem to tempt the ex-beau. Luckily for him, the urchin insisted upon having a seat all to himself, threatening, if they did not humor him, to sit on his Henri IV hat. This threat produced its effect: Master Narcisse took his seat in a corner, and Cherami declared that the little fellow deserved to be put by himself.
The omnibus started, and they soon arrived at Passy; thereupon Cherami had no choice but to offer Madame Capucine his arm to her aunt's abode. The little boys went before them, jumping and frolicking. At Passy they were in no danger from wagons, and Master Narcisse had seized Cherami's switch, with which he belabored all the stone posts and benches; a proceeding which was far from amusing to the owner of the stick, who expected from moment to moment to see it in the same state as Monsieur Courbichon's cane.
"That little fellow promises well!" he exclaimed.
"Isn't he full of ideas?"
"I am convinced that he will end by breaking my switch. But how does it happen that you didn't bring your maid Adelaide?"
"Oh! don't talk to me about that girl, I beg!"
"What! can it be that the faithful Adelaide stole from you?"
"No, it wasn't her honesty that gave out; it was something else. Ah! who would ever have thought, who would ever have believed—— An ugly, thin, shapeless creature. Oh! men have very beastly tastes sometimes!"
"The deuce! do you mean to say that Capucine——"
"What! oh! no, indeed, monsieur; it wasn't my husband! Ah!"
And Madame Capucine looked up at the sky with an expression which seemed to say:
"If it only had been!"
Then she added indignantly:
"Ballot, monsieur; Ballot, our young clerk!"
"The devil! that young man you liked so well?"
"To be sure. As if anyone could have dreamed! He behaved very well at first."
"And he went astray in the kitchen?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"But was it perfectly certain? People are so ill-natured!"
"They were caught, monsieur; caught among the bunches of onions."
"Enough! tell me no more; you would bring tears to my eyes."
"So, as you can imagine, I purified my house on the instant; I dismissed Mademoiselle Adelaide."
"And your clerk too?"
"He went of his own accord. We might have forgiven him, perhaps; he was so young!"
"Of course, and the smell of onions goes to the heart."
"But Monsieur Ballot chose to lose his head, and away he went."
"You will find somebody to take his place."
"That's what I'm looking for at this moment. Ah! Monsieur Cherami, a young man who had—my whole confidence! You can't rely on anything or anybody nowadays!"
"That's the only way to avoid being taken in."
The stout lady heaved a tremendous sigh and leaned heavily on the arm of her escort, who said to himself:
"I wonder if she would like to have me replace Monsieur Ballot?—Thanks! I have my cue."
In due time, they arrived at Madame Duponceau's house. She was a little woman, who shook her head constantly when conversing, so that she seemed always to reply in the negative to the questions that were asked her. She received Cherami with cordiality, although she barely knew him; but she liked company, and was especially eager to have people admire her house. Cherami wasinclined to favor admiring her breakfast first; and, as the young Capucines supported that idea, they repaired at once to the dining-room.
The breakfast consisted of a pie, boiled eggs, ham, and coffee only; but the pie was succulent, the eggs fresh, the ham tender, and the coffee very strong, so that they breakfasted satisfactorily; then Aunt Duponceau cried:
"You must come and see my house, from cellar to roof."
Cherami, whose paunch was well filled, was already saying to himself:
"Sapristi! if I have got to stay here till night, between the aunt and the niece, with the accompaniment of two little brats who keep wiping their hands on my trousers, I shall pay dear for my dinner! Let's see if I can't find a back-door.—We had better begin the inspection of your house with the garden," he said to Aunt Duponceau; "after such an excellent breakfast, one feels the need of a breath of fresh air."
This suggestion was adopted, and they adjourned to the garden, which was of small dimensions and offered nothing attractive to the eye save four gillyflowers in pots; for in December there are few leaves on the trees. The garden presented but slight attraction, therefore, but at the end of it was a gate opening on the Bois de Boulogne. The ladies and the children, being stiff with cold, soon had enough of the garden; whereupon Cherami took a cigar from his pocket, saying:
"I am going to ask your leave to smoke this cigar outside, in the Bois. I cannot go without a smoke after breakfast; it's a habit that has fastened itself on me: a very bad habit, I admit, but it's too late to cure myself of it."
"Smoke in the garden," said Madame Duponceau.
"No, indeed! Your garden's very small, and the smell of tobacco would sadly impair the perfume of your gillyflowers. I don't choose to turn your delightfulcottageinto a barrack."
"He is very well bred," whispered Madame Duponceau to her niece.
"Yes," replied Madame Capucine; "I shouldn't know Monsieur Cherami, now that he's decently dressed."
Our smoker succeeded, not without difficulty, in rescuing his switch from the hands of young Narcisse, who insisted on beating his brother with it; he lighted his cigar, passed through the gate at the end of the garden, and drew a long breath of relief.
"Par la sambleu!" he exclaimed; "here I am outside at last; there are breakfasts which cost a big price. Madame Capucine ogles me in a way that begins to alarm me. Her aunt always seems to refuse what you ask her. The little brats are two infernal monkeys, who ought to be kept in the big cage at the Jardin des Plantes. Ouf! I feel the need of air! I hardly expected this morning to go for a walk in the Bois de Boulogne, in such an atmosphere as this. But, since I am here, I must make the most of my luck. I won't go back to those mummies till dinner time. I'll tell them that my cigar made me ill."