"Oh! my dear, good father! how good it is of you, not to force your children to marry!"
"Now, my dear love, it is for you to choose. These two offers are equally advantageous. Monsieur de la Bérinière makes you a countess, with thirty thousand francs a year—that is very attractive. To be sure, he is sixty years old, which lessens the attraction. Monsieur Anatole de Raincy is not a count; but he is of a very old family; he has only fifteen thousand francs a year, but he is only twenty-seven, and that's a valuable asset. Now, you are fully posted as to these two aspirants to your hand. Reflect and choose."
"Oh! the reflecting is all done, father! I want neither of them."
"What! you refuse?"
"I refuse them both."
"But you are unreasonable, my child!—Either of the two marriages would be honorable; it would be hard tofind a better match in respect to fortune; indeed, I am afraid that you'll never do so well."
"You know, don't you, father, that I care nothing about money?"
"My dear girl, it isn't well, perhaps, to love money as your sister loves it; but it isn't well to despise it, either. It is a great help to happiness. Come, between ourselves, why do you refuse both of these two offers? The count, I can understand; he's too old for you; but Monsieur Anatole is young, not a bad-looking fellow——"
"I refuse them, father, because I want to love my husband, and I shall never love Monsieur de la Bérinière or Monsieur de Raincy."
"So you are quite determined, are you?"
"Absolutely. You can tell them that I don't want to marry now. A well-bred man understands that that's a polite way of refusing."
"Very good, since you have made up your mind. Gad! you're not much like your sister! You see, she is rich, and happy! always at some festivity, always enjoying herself!"
"I don't envy her happiness; I should not be happy in the life she leads."
"Well, let's say no more about it."
Monsieur Gerbault left his daughter; but she could read in his eyes that he was not pleased that she had refused the two eligible husbands who had offered themselves. As for Adolphine, she said to herself:
"I cannot marry either of those men, for I love someone else. The man I love will never marry me,—I know that,—for he never thinks of me! But I choose to have the right to think of him always."
After his duel with Auguste Monléard, Cherami returned to his lodgings, whistling a polka. He found his hostess where he had left her, standing in her doorway.
Madame Louchard was very inquisitive; it had stirred her curiosity to the highest pitch to see her tenant go away with the young exquisite who owned a cabriolet; and when the former returned alone, she cried:
"Well! what have you done with him?"
"With whom? with what?"
"Why, with that elegant gentleman who went away with you on foot,—a strange thing to do when he has a cabriolet at his command. You might just as well have got into it, both of you, as it followed you."
"It wasn't worth while to ride; we only went a little way."
"Oho! where did you go?"
"To that vacant lot over yonder, by the theatre."
"What in the world did you go there for? Does your friend think of buying the lot?"
"Not at all. We went there to fight. It's a very convenient place for that."
"To fight? Is it possible!"
"As I have the honor to tell you."
"With your fists?"
"Madame Louchard, you always imagine that you are talking to the clowns who are your usual associates. Understand, pray, that a man like me doesn't fight withhis fists! I sometimes send the toe of my boot into the fleshy part of an upstart who bores me—but when it's a question of a duel, that's another affair."
"What did you fight with, then?"
"With swords."
"You didn't have any."
"That gentleman had a whole arsenal in his carriage."
"Mon Dieu! And which of you was killed?"
"Why, your question is rather beside the mark. Do I look like a dead man?"
"Ah! that's so. It was the other man, then? Poor young man!"
"Don't be alarmed; he isn't dead, and he won't die. A simple wound—and I warned him, too; I said: 'You strike down too much!'—He fences rather well, but he isn't in my class yet."
"You villain! always in trouble—fighting duels. But what if he had killed you, eh?"
"In that case, superb Louchard, I should not, at this moment, have the pleasure of gazing upon your strongly-marked features."
"And the cause of your duel?"
"A trifle—a mere nothing—a jest. But that young man's coming prevented me from breakfasting, and I feel the need of attending to that important function. I go to my room to get my pretty cane with the agate head, and I fly to the Véfour of the Quarter. But, no; there isn't one here, and, as I wish to breakfast very well indeed, I will go as far as Passoir's."
"Anyone can see that you're in funds."
"Indeed, it is true, divine hostess."
"And you don't leave me a little on account."
"We will talk of that later."
Cherami took his new cane, placed his new hat on the side of his head, and with his pockets lined with the money he had won at écarté the night before, left the house, saying:
"I have my cue!"
According to his custom, Cherami spent his gold pieces freely. But it seemed that that money had brought him luck. Being a great lover of the game of billiards, he did not fail, after dinner, to go and play pool at a café where he knew that there was always a game in progress in the evening; and for some days fortune favored him so persistently, that all the frequenters of the café frowned when he appeared, muttering:
"Here comes the pool-shark!"
But one evening the luck turned; Cherami left the café with empty pockets.
"Palsambleu!" he said to himself; "here I am reduced to extremities again!—For I shall not receive my quarterly income for a fortnight, and that stingy Bernardin wouldn't pay me a single day in advance. But why wouldn't this be a good time to pay a little visit to our young friend Gustave, in whose behalf I fought a duel, and who has not even come to thank me? By the way, I think I didn't give him my address, and, on the other hand, he didn't give me his. But he lives with his Uncle Grandcourt; he's a banker, or a merchant, no matter which; I ought to find his address in theAlmanack du Commerce.To-morrow I will obtain it, and I will go and bid friend Gustave good-day. And if he is still in the depths, I'll dine with him again. He will tell me his woes, and I will order the dinner. And at dessert he certainly will lend me a hundred francs to carry me to my next quarterly payment—that will beeasy to manage. Indeed, I am convinced that dear Gustave is surprised at my non-appearance, and that he is looking for me everywhere.—But, to make up for my neglect, I'll not leave him for a fortnight."
The next day, Cherami found Monsieur Grandcourt's address, and lost no time in betaking himself thither. Having arrived at a handsome house in Faubourg Montmartre, he tapped on the concierge's window with his pretty cane.
"Monsieur Grandcourt, the banker?"
"His offices are on the ground floor, at the rear, right-hand door."
"Very good. Shall I find Monsieur Gustave Darlemont in the office?"
"Monsieur Gustave?"
"Yes, the banker's nephew, who is employed by his uncle."
"Faith! monsieur, I don't know; there are several clerks; I don't know their names."
"You don't seem very well posted, that's a fact. All right; I'll go to the office, and it's to be hoped that someone will be able to answer me there."
Cherami walked to the rear of the building, and entered a room where an elderly clerk, half reclining on a ledger, was adding columns of figures.
"Will you kindly tell me where I can find my friend Gustave?"
The clerk made no reply, but continued to mutter:
"Forty-five, fifty-two, four, six, sixty."
"Is this old fossil afflicted with deafness, I wonder?" said Cherami to himself.—"I ask you, monsieur," he added aloud, "to direct me to the desk—the office—the chamber of my friend Gustave; don't you hear me?"
"Eight and eight are sixteen—and sixteen, thirty-two."
"Sacrebleu! we've known for a long while that eight and eight are sixteen! Is it such nonsense as that that keeps you from answering me?"
As he spoke, Cherami seized the old clerk's collar and shook him roughly. He turned upon his assailant in a rage, exclaiming:
"I am adding my balances, monsieur; and when I am adding, no one has any right to disturb me—do you hear?"
"Well, well! you are another pretty specimen, you are! They ought to frame you and hang you up in the water-closet!"
"Monsieur! What do you mean?"
"There, there, my old mummy; let's not lose our temper. Where is Monsieur Grandcourt's nephew?"
"As if I knew, monsieur! I keep accounts, and nothing else, and I can't talk. You have put me out; I must begin all over again!"
"Very well, you shall begin again; nothing trains the youthful mind like addition. But you must answer my question first."
"Monsieur Grandcourt's private office is at the end of this passage, monsieur. Go and tell him what you want, and leave me to my accounts."
"All right! Do you know, I believe that excessive adding has hindered you sadly in your growth."
Cherami followed the passage, and, upon turning the knob of a door at the end, found himself in the banker's office. Monsieur Grandcourt was writing at his desk; being accustomed to the frequent coming and going of his clerks, he went on writing without looking up.
Cherami closed the door, examined Monsieur Grandcourt for a moment, and said to himself:
"That's our uncle—I recognize him. I never saw him but once, but that's enough. Besides, he has one of those peppery faces which have a certainchic."
He walked to the desk and removed his hat, saying:
"Good-morning, dear uncle! You are at work, I see. Bigre! it seems that dig's the word in your shop; for I found outside here an old pensioner so buried in his figures that I couldn't see the end of his nose.—Well, how does it go?—Don't you know me? I am Arthur Cherami."
Monsieur Grandcourt raised his head, and stared in utter amazement at the individual before him.
"Might I know, monsieur," he rejoined, "what you want, what brings you here? for I probably didn't understand what you said."
"Ah! you didn't understand, eh? Are you adding figures, too? That occupation seems to deaden the intellect. But, never mind about that! So you don't recognize me, dear uncle?"
"No, monsieur, no; and I confess that I fail to understand this title ofunclewhich you persist in giving me."
"That is a title of affection, because I am a friend of your nephew—dear Gustave—who was so desperate on the day that his faithless Fanny married another. And on that same day, I dined with him at Deffieux's. He was absolutely determined to speak to the lovely bride, when you fell into our private room like a bombshell, and dragged the poor fellow away."
"Ah! very good, monsieur! now I understand, and I recognize you. Yes, it was you who were at the restaurant with my nephew—and you attempted to interfere with my taking him away."
"Dame!he was so anxious to see his Fanny! I have always protected love affairs."
"And do you realize, monsieur, all that might have resulted from an interview between Gustave and that young woman?"
"Why, no more, I fancy, than did actually happen—a duel, that's all!"
"What do you mean, monsieur? My nephew fought no duel; that I know; I didn't leave him until the very moment of his departure."
"Well, I don't say that it was he who fought; it was I; but it amounts to the same thing."
"What! you fought a duel—you?"
"Just a little, nephew—I mean, uncle. Indeed, I administered to the young husband a very neat sword-thrust in the arm. However, he's a stout fellow; but he holds himself back too much in fencing; that's very dangerous."
"You fought with Monsieur Monléard?"
"Why, yes! what of it? You open your eyes like porte cochères! One would say that it was a most extraordinary thing!"
"But, monsieur, it's a horrible thing for you to have done! You have compromised that young woman, you have compromised my nephew, you have——"
"Sacrebleu! do you know that you make me tired! Where the devil did I get an uncle like this, who doesn't appreciate the services I have rendered his nephew?"
"A little less noise, monsieur, if you please!"
"Ah! you don't like that! Very good! but, no! You are Gustave's uncle; I cannot fight with you; it would grieve him. After all, my business isn't with you; and if that old baked apple out yonder had told me where I could find your nephew, you wouldn't have had a call from me. Tell me at once, and I'll make my bow."
"You want to see Gustave?"
"That was my only reason for coming here."
"My nephew is not now in France, monsieur; he is in Spain."
"In Spain? Do you mean it? it isn't a sell?"
Monsieur Grandcourt made a gesture of impatience, whereupon Cherami continued:
"Don't you like the word? You surprise me! It is adopted now in the best society. It's likebalancé.You say: 'I havebalancéSo-and-so,' which means: 'I have sent him about his business.' We have enriched the French language with a lot of such locutions, more or less picturesque. Ah! the Latin tongue is much more forcible, much more complete. You can say things in Latin that you'd never dare to say in French. Look you, for example, Plautus, in his comedies,—inCasina, I believe,—makes an amorous old man say, when he thinks of his mistress:
"'Jam, Hercle, amplexari, jam osculari gestio!'
Ah! they were great jokers, those Latin and Greek authors! Write comedies now like those of Aristophanes—you'd have a warm reception! They are beginning already to find Molière too free! We are becoming very refined, very severe, in the matter of language! Does that mean that we are growing more virtuous? Frankly, I don't think it. Habits, customs, and manners change; but passions, vices, absurdities, are always the same!"
The banker's brow lost some of its wrinkles as he listened to Cherami. He scrutinized him more carefully, and said:
"How does it happen, monsieur, that, having received a good education, knowing your classics as you do, inshort, being a well-informed man, you do not make use of your knowledge, to——"
"To do what? To buy a coat? Is that what you mean?"
"Faith! something like it."
"I love independence, liberty, monsieur."
"Those words have been sadly abused of late, monsieur. And if your love of liberty compels you to go abroad in shabby clothes, it seems to me that you would do well to prefer love of work to it."
"Look you, my dear monsieur, I believe that you are undertaking to preach to me—and I have never stood that from anybody!"
"Perhaps that is the great mistake you have made."
"Corbleu! you are lucky to be the uncle of a young man for whom I felt at once a sincere affection.—Let us say no more. Gustave is in Spain?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"For a long time?"
"I cannot tell exactly."
"That's as good a way as any of not telling me. But when he is in Paris, I promise you that I shall not fail to find him."
"Have you anything important to say to him, monsieur? if so, tell it to me, and I will transmit it."
Cherami reflected a moment, then pulled his hat over his eyes, and said:
"No, I simply wanted to shake hands with him, to inquire for his health, and to find out whether he is finally cured of his love for the faithless Fanny."
"His letters tell me that his health is good. As for his foolish passion for a woman who never loved him, I like to believe that it has succumbed to absence."
"Say rather to the glances of the Andalusians; for they have terrible eyes, those Spanish women! I know something of them. I have known three, who——"
"Pardon me, monsieur; but I am very busy, and, if you have nothing else to say to me——"
"Ah! you dismiss me?—Very good; that's very polite. I have my cue!"
"You have your cue? What do you mean by that?"
"Oh! it's of no consequence. It's a little phrase which I often use; it's as if I said: 'I see where I stand.'"
"That makes a difference, monsieur. I wish you good-morning!"
"And I wish you nothing at all!"
Thereupon Cherami left the banker's office, saying to himself:
"There's a tough old uncle for you! I think I won't borrow money of him—I won't do him that honor. No, never! especially as he wouldn't lend me any."
Cherami strolled about at random for some time, seeking some person of his acquaintance with whom he could negotiate a small loan. But he saw few save unfamiliar faces, and if by chance he did espy some former friend, that friend turned away to avoid meeting him.
"The devil!" said Cherami to himself; "the day opens badly! I counted on Gustave for breakfast, and now it's after twelve o'clock, and I'm as hungry as a cannibal. However, if I must, I will dispose of my new cane.I shall be sorry to do it, for it's a pretty one—a genuine rattan. But I should be still more sorry to go without breakfast. It must have cost at least thirty francs. A dealer will give me six for it,—they have all the cheek they need, those fellows,—and he'll act as if he were doing me a favor! I prefer to leave it in pawn for a beefsteak and its accessories. Come, let us look for a café where we can get a good breakfast."
Cherami was then on the boulevard, where there is no lack of cafés; for one cannot walk thirty feet without passing one. The ex-Beau Arthur entered the establishment which had the most modern show-front, seated himself at a table, hung up his hat, laid his cane on the seat, and summoned the waiter with that resounding voice and in that arrogant tone which never fail to produce their effect on the waiters in a café.
"What does monsieur wish?"
"Radishes, sardines, and butter; then a beefsteak-châteaubriand, rare, with roquefort and a bottle of bordeaux. After that, we will see. Go!—That cane is certainly worth all that I have ordered," he said to himself; "yes, and I can safely add a cup of coffee and apetit verre.At all events, if they are not satisfied, I will do like Bilboquet inLes Saltimbanques, I will pledge my signature.—I am annoyed, all the same, to find that my young friend Gustave is in Spain. But is he really in Spain? That is what I must find out."
Cherami had eaten his hors-d'œuvre, and was about to attack his beefsteak-châteaubriand, when a short man, dressed with some pretension, with a stupid face and a bald head which seemed to beg for a wig, took his place at the table next to his, and sat down on the cane which Cherami had laid on the bench.
The new-comer jumped to his feet, putting his hand to his posterior, and exclaiming:
"Great heaven! what am I sitting on?"
Cherami picked up his cane and stood it on the floor, between himself and his neighbor.
"It's lucky for you that you didn't break it," he said; "for it would have cost you a pretty penny!"
"I didn't do it purposely, monsieur."
"No matter! if you had broken it, you'd have paid for it!"
"And I hurt myself, too."
"If it had been a blackthorn stick, it would have hurt you much more."
The gentleman did not seem to be consoled by that reflection; he paid no attention to the cane, but was intent only upon rubbing the wounded part of his anatomy. Then he ordered a glass of grog, picked up a newspaper, and began to read, in evident ill-humor. But Cherami, who loved to converse, kept on talking while he ate.
"I went into a public house one day," he said; "I had ridden horseback six leagues without dismounting, and was naturally very tired. I walked into the common-room, and threw myself into an easy-chair near the fireplace. But as I sat down, a piercing shriek escaped me. Everybody crowded around me: 'What is it, monsieur? what's the matter? what has happened to you?'—But I could only point to my posterior, saying: 'I don't know what I sat down on, but I am wounded—badly wounded!'—The hostess wanted to look and see what it was—she wanted to dress the wound. She was a bright-eyed hussy, with a buxom figure. I would gladly have done as much for her, if she had been wounded. But the husband interposed, considering thelocation of the wound. He declared that he was the only one of the family who ought to meddle with it. Well, they investigated.—I had sat down on a nail, a huge carpenter's nail. How did it happen to be there—with the point up? That is something nobody could explain. But the important thing was to remove it. The landlord couldn't do it. He sent for a locksmith with his pincers, and he had such hard work pulling the infernal spike out of my rump, that, when he did get it out, it looked more like a corkscrew than a nail!"
The bald party made no other comment on this story than a low grunt, and continued to read his newspaper.
Cherami scrutinized him for some minutes, saying to himself: "Where in the devil have I seen that phiz? I can't remember, but this certainly isn't the first time that I have had the misfortune to meet this bald-headed boor.—It seems that the story of my nail didn't affect you, monsieur?" he said aloud to his neighbor, who was stirring his grog.
"I paid very little attention to it, monsieur. When I am reading the paper, I am engrossed by my reading."
"And you believe everything you find in it, I suppose?"
"Why not, monsieur?"
"Ah! I should judge that you were quite capable of it!—But you don't know how to fix your grog, monsieur."
"What! I don't know how to fix my grog?"
"No, not at all. You keep stirring and stirring; but you don't crush the piece of lemon-peel with your spoon and squeeze out the juice."
"How does it concern you, monsieur, whether I crush my lemon-peel or not? If it suits me to drink my grog like this, am I not at liberty to do it?"
"Oh! to be sure! I give you good advice—you don't want it. As you please! I'll bet that you're looking through the advertisements in the paper to find something to make the hair grow?"
"No, monsieur. Let me tell you that if I wanted hair, I could have as much as anybody."
"I don't doubt it, with your money; you could wear three wigs, one on top of another; that would give you a superb head of hair!"
"But I don't like artificial things, monsieur; I detest what is false! The truth before everything!"
"Ah! I understand, then, why you parade your skull. But if you propose always to show us the truth, that may carry you rather far! That goddess's costume is a little scanty, or rather she has none at all. She appears to the world quite naked! I would like to see you go out in the street in that condition, for love of the truth. I fancy that a police officer wouldn't listen to that excuse. Look you, monsieur, it has often been said that it isn't always well to tell the truth; we might add that it isn't always well to see it. In general, a man is wise to conceal his infirmities, his deformities, and whatever he may have that is unpleasant to look at; he does well to make himself as attractive, or as little unattractive, as possible. To embellish, to seek to please, such seems to be the purpose of nature, everywhere and in everything. Look at a mother with her child: her first care is to dress it up, to try to embellish it. Women are born with the instinct of coquetry; men have it, too, although the rush and hurry of business compels them to pay less heed to their persons. When you take lodgings, your first care is to make them attractive; if you have a garden, you embellish it by planting flowers in it; if yougive a dinner party, you want it to be stylish, sumptuous, enriched by handsome plate.—For instance, see this thin glass from which I am drinking my claret: it improves the wine, monsieur; it makes it taste better—for the wine would seem much less delicious to me if it were served in a preserve-jar. And take your own case—would you have liked it if they had brought you your grog in a wash-basin, eh?—Deuce take me! I believe the little fellow isn't listening!" exclaimed Cherami, suddenly interrupting his dissertation. "Where in the world have I seen that face?—Waiter! my coffee!"
As he threw himself back on the bench, Cherami knocked his cane against his neighbor. Whereupon the latter turned, and pushed the cane away, muttering:
"Have you made a wager to annoy me?"
"What's that! a wager—just because my cane slipped against you? I say, my dear monsieur, who are so attached to the truth, you're very touchy, aren't you?"
The bald man made no reply; as he pushed the cane away, he had glanced at it, and from that moment he kept his eyes fixed upon it.
"Ah! you are admiring my cane now?" said Arthur; "you begin to understand that it would have been a pity to break it!—It's very neat."
Still the bald man made no reply, but raised his eyes and examined the hat which its owner had hung on a hook. He scrutinized it so carefully that Cherami lost patience, and said to himself:
"Well, well! what's the matter with this creature! How much longer is he going to stare at my hat and cane? He's beginning to make me very weary."
At last, the little man made up his mind to speak:
"That cane, monsieur—with that agate head; it's very singular!"
"You find that my cane has a singular look? Distinguished, you mean, I doubt not?"
"Why, monsieur, the fact is, that that cane—the more I look at it—a rattan—exactly!—and the hat, too—the same kind of a band—very broad——"
"Tell me, monsieur—when you have finished, will you very kindly explain yourself?" said Cherami. He began to suspect who his companion was, but he did not choose to let it appear.
"This is how it is, monsieur: I had a cane exactly like this one—so much like it that I could swear it was the same one."
"We see canes that look just alike, every day, monsieur; there's nothing extraordinary in that; there are many men who are mistaken for one another, and yet there is an expression, an animation, on a man's face which you would seek in vain on the head of a cane."
"Excuse me, monsieur; but all canes haven't an agate head cut like this one."
"If they had, they would be too common, and I wouldn't want one."
"Well, monsieur, I lost my cane and my hat at a wedding party which I attended about two months ago; thatis to say, I didn't positively lose them, but they were exchanged—and I didn't gain by the change! In place of my hat, which had a band exactly like this—very broad—and the same shape—they left a pitiful, disgraceful thing; and I was obliged to buy a new one the next day; and in place of my cane I found a sort of switch, of the kind they beat clothes with—not worth six sous!"
"Corbleu! monsieur, what do you mean to imply by all this? This cane that you lost, with an agate head—and your hat with a band like this—do you know that I am beginning to lose my temper? Do you mean to say that I stole your cane?"
"No, monsieur—but——"
"Then you insult me, and I will not brook an insult!—When we leave this café, we will go and cut each other's throats, like a couple of young dandies!"
"Never, monsieur; not by any means! I am mistaken, monsieur; I am wrong. No, no, it isn't my cane—let it be as if I had said nothing; I beg your pardon."
The little bald man, trembling like a leaf, seemed inclined to disappear under the table at which he was seated. Cherami, having reflected two or three minutes, looked at him with an affable expression, and said:
"Didn't you lose something else at the party you mentioned just now."
"Something else? yes, I did, monsieur; I was in bad luck that night! When I arrived at the ball, I had lost one of my gloves—a yellow glove. To be sure, it was returned to me later—but in such a state!"
"Ah! now I understand! I recognize you now!"
"You recognize me?"
"To be sure—you are Monsieur Courbichon."
"That's my name, sure enough! But how——?"
"Pardieu! we met at our friend Blanquette's little party. Dear Monsieur Courbichon! I have been looking for you a long while!"
"You have been looking for me, monsieur? For what, pray?"
"For what? Why, to return your cane."
"But, monsieur, I don't know whether——"
"And your hat too, if you insist upon it; but, as the one you have now is newer, you would lose again by the change. But the cane is certainly yours; do you consider me capable of keeping something that doesn't belong to me,—that is in my possession only as the result of a mistake?"
"Ah! monsieur, I am sensible——"
"You understand, of course, that before returning this cane, which I carried away by mistake from my friend Blanquette's party, I wished to be sure of returning it to its owner and no one else. Have you my switch?"
"No, monsieur; I haven't it—I don't even know what has become of it."
"Bigre! I am very sorry for that. You thought, I suppose, that it was just a common switch; you didn't see that it was anerf de bœuf, which came from China, where they make a great many canes of that material, because it bends and never breaks. You value it at six sous, but it was worth forty francs."
"Oh! if I had known that——"
"You'd have taken more care of it. However, that's a trifling mishap. You pay for what I have eaten, and we will dine together; then we shall be quits."
"What, monsieur, you propose——"
"Pray take your cane; it's a fascinating thing! Everybody stared at it. Dear Courbichon! I am delightedto have returned it to you; but I greatly regret my Chinese switch! Such is very rare in Paris. Very few like it come here from China.—I say, waiter, how much do I owe?"
"Seven francs fifty, monsieur."
"Very good. Monsieur here will attend to it."
Monsieur Courbichon did not seem overjoyed to pay for his neighbor's breakfast; however, he did it. They left the café together, and, when they were on the boulevard, Cherami passed his arm through that of the owner of the cane, saying:
"Where shall we go now?"
"Faith! monsieur, I had intended to go for a stroll on the Champs-Élysées. It's a fine day, and near the end of September; we must make the most of these last good days. And then, I am very fond of watching them play bowls."
"Very good! that suits me—that suits me to the very tick: let us go to the Champs-Élysées, and see them play bowls. Walking helps the digestion; it gives one an appetite. We will dine there; I know all the good restaurants on the Champs-Élysées. Oh! never fear, Papa Courbichon, you are with a buck who knows what good living is!"
"I don't doubt it, monsieur, but——"
"Sapristi! what a pretty cane! everybody admires it as they pass. It must have cost a lot?"
"I cannot tell you, monsieur; it's a present from my nephew."
"Ah, indeed! I was just saying to myself, that it's a surprising thing that Monsieur Courbichon should have bought a cane like that. Your nephew's a man of taste. What does he do?"
"He's in business. He has gone to America. This was his cane; he gave it to me, because, as he said, he was going to a country where there are plenty of canes, and it was useless for him to carry this one."
"Do you mean that he carries a piece of sugar-cane in his hand when he goes out to walk?"
"I can't tell you, I don't know. The cane suited me, because at need I could use it to defend myself."
"My Chinese switch was a famous weapon of defence, too."
"What! a switch?"
"Remember that it was anerf de bœuf.I could have killed a calf with it."
"What a curious idea of those Chinese to make canes withnerfs de bœuf!"
"An additional proof, my dear Monsieur Courbichon, that the Chinese are much more advanced than we are—much more progressive! They build houses of india-rubber."
"Hard rubber, of course?"
"I don't know whether it's hard or not—it makes no difference. Pardieu! Monsieur Courbichon, you must agree that there are lucky chances, and that we were both happily inspired when we went to that café to-day!"
"It is certain, monsieur, that otherwise——"
"You would never have seen your charming cane again. Are you married, Monsieur Courbichon?"
"I have been married, monsieur, but I am a widower."
"A superb position for a man still young and made to please the ladies."
"Oh! monsieur, I am fifty-five."
"That is the very prime of life, the age at which a man makes most conquests, because he knows betterhow to go about it. Ah! I would like to be fifty-five! I hope to get there, but I haven't yet. You have some means?"
"Five or six thousand francs a year, which I made in dried fruit."
"A very pretty business!—That isn't a magnificent fortune, but it is that pleasant mediocrity so highly praised by Horace. Do you know Horace?"
"Yes, I have seen it played at the Théâtre-Français."
"Ah! I guess we will stop there! Have you children, excellent Courbichon?"
"I have a daughter, monsieur,—a married daughter; I have set her up in business."
"In dried fruit?"
"No, monsieur; she is in olive oil."
"Oh! the deuce! that's very different! But it will preserve her longer. You have no other daughter?"
"No, monsieur."
"What a pity!"
"Why so, monsieur?"
"Because I feel so strongly attracted to you that I would have asked her hand in marriage. Faith! yes, I would have renounced my liberty, which I have never done yet—but there's an end to everything. Does your son-in-law enjoy good health?"
"Yes, monsieur, excellent!"
"So much the worse!"
"Why so much the worse?"
"Because, if he should die soon, I might marry his widow."
"Oh! what an idea, monsieur!"
"He is in good health, so there's an end of that; let us say no more about it. Don't be alarmed; I haveno idea of killing him. If he had insulted me, I don't say——"
"A thousand pardons, monsieur; but I should be very glad to know your name."
"My name? So you have forgotten it, have you? But I was called by name often enough at young Blanquette's wedding party—while I was dancing with Aunt Merlin."
"I don't remember it."
"My name is Arthur Cherami."
Courbichon, thinking that his companion was addressing him as his dear friend (cher ami), replied:
"Oh! yes, your name is Arthur—— Nothing more?"
"What do you say? nothing more? Why, I have just told you—Arthur Cherami."
"Yes, I understand—Arthur; that's a very pretty name. Are you in business?"
"I don't do anything; I live on my income, like you."
"Oh! that's different! When one has enough to live on, one certainly has the right to loaf as much as he pleases."
"That's so, isn't it, my dear Courbichon? Ah! I am delighted to see that we agree. We were destined to become close friends; it was written, as the Arabs say."
While conversing thus,—that is to say, while Cherami conversed and his companion listened, with difficulty finding a chance to put in a word or two from time to time,—they had reached the Champs-Élysées. They sauntered toward a spot where a game of bowls was in progress, and looked on for a while. According to his habit, Cherami made his reflections aloud and gave his opinion on the strokes. He did not hesitate to say: "That was wretchedly played!" to the face of the player.The latter, a youngster of sixteen years, came up to him with an irritated air, crying:
"What business is it of yours? Perhaps you wouldn't do as well!"
"No, I flatter myself that I wouldn't do as well, for I would do much better. And if you don't like what I say, my boy, just come with me. There's a shooting-gallery yonder. I will take you for my target, and you take me; we'll see which of us will bring the other down."
The bowler retired without making any reply.
"You are too quick, my dear Monsieur Arthur," said Courbichon, putting his hand on Cherami's shoulder; "you take fire like saltpetre."
"Ah! that's the way I was made, my dear Courbichon. What would you have—a man can't make himself over!—But just let anyone presume to insult you, when you're with me! Bigre! a dwarf, a giant, a colossus—it's all one to me; I would grind him to powder on the spot, and it wouldn't take long!"
Meanwhile, the young bowler, who had returned to his game boiling with rage, had formed a plan to revenge himself upon the person who had said that he bowled badly; and when it was his turn to bowl, he threw the ball with all his force in Cherami's direction, hoping that it would strike his legs. But a small stone caused it to deviate slightly, and, instead of striking Beau Arthur, it came in contact with Monsieur Courbichon's legs. That gentleman staggered, and uttered a piercing shriek. Cherami saw plainly whence the ball came, and saw the bowler laughing uproariously. Instantly, snatching the cane from his companion's hand, he ran toward the author of the assault, shouting:
"Never fear, my poor Courbichon; I will avenge you, and I'll do it thoroughly, too. He'll have his rabbit, the villain!"
The youngster who had thrown the ball fled when he saw Cherami running toward him. But Cherami pursued him; while Monsieur Courbichon rubbed his legs, saying:
"This is the first time such a thing ever happened to me while I was watching the game; and it's the more surprising, because I wasn't in line with the pins. So it must have been done on purpose; but why should the fellow aim at my legs? I didn't make any comment on his play—I didn't have any dispute with him.—This will certainly leave a mark on my legs.—Where in the deuce has Monsieur Arthur gone? That man is too quick-tempered."
In a few minutes, Cherami returned, flushed and triumphant, crying:
"You are avenged, my dear Courbichon! yes, what anyone would call thoroughly avenged; the rascal has had what he deserved; and here's the proof."
As he spoke, he handed his new friend his beautiful cane broken in two.
Monsieur Courbichon was dumfounded, and gazed with an air of consternation at the pieces of the cane.
"Ah! mon Dieu!" he faltered; "it is broken!"
"True—it is broken; but I broke it on the back of the ragamuffin who threw his ball at your skittles—I mean, your legs."
"What a pity! You struck him too hard."
"One cannot strike an enemy too hard."
"Such a pretty cane!"
"You still have the pieces—or, at all events, the head; you can have it put on another stick."
"It was a genuine rattan."
"Pardieu! it was genuine enough; the fact that it broke so soon proves that. But there are other rattans in the shops."
"I'm very sorry that you broke my cane."
"If you hadn't lost my Chinese switch, I would have beaten him with that; and that wouldn't have broken, I promise you!"
"It makes me feel very bad—my beautiful cane!"
"Saperlotte! are you going to cry over it? Oughtn't you rather to thank me for avenging the insult to your legs? Come, take your cane, and let us go and dine; the walk has given me an appetite."
Poor Courbichon, with a lachrymose expression, took the pieces of his cane, and submitted to be led away by Cherami, who took his arm and conducted him to one of the best restaurants on the Champs-Élysées. They took their seats out-of-doors, at one of the tables surrounded by hedges in such wise as to form private rooms with walls of verdure. Courbichon placed the fragments of his cane on a chair by his side, heaving a profound sigh; for his new friend intimidated him so that he no longer dared, in his presence, to betray the chagrin caused by the spectacle of his broken treasure.
Cherami ordered the dinner, saying:
"Rely on me; I will order the dinner; and as we are sensible men and have no women with us, there's no need of our making fools of ourselves. We don't want to have a magnificent feast, but simply to dine comfortably. Is that your idea?"
"Exactly; still——"
"You have just the disposition I like! I shall mark with a white cross—album dies!—the day which brought us together and enabled me to return your cane. I regretthat you lost my Chinese switch! but you have your cane; that's the main thing!"
Whenever his new friend mentioned his cane, Monsieur Courbichon made a wry face, but he did not venture to make any complaint. They proceeded to dine: one, talking constantly as he ate; the other, eating almost without speaking; and, although Cherami had informed his host that they would dine like sensible men, when the bill was brought, it amounted to twenty-two francs.
"That is not too much," said Cherami, passing the check to his companion; "for we have had a good dinner and punished our three bottles."
The little bald man seemed to be of a different opinion; he turned the paper over and over in his hand, muttering:
"Twenty-two francs! twenty-two francs!"
"Well, my good Courbichon, that won't drain the sea dry! How many times I have spent ten times as much on a dainty dinner, tête-à-tête with a pretty woman! To be sure, we used to have all the delicacies of the season—asparagus at thirty francs the bunch, strawberries at fifteen francs, pineapples, wine of Constance.—The women adore that wine! they delight in getting tipsy on Constance—in the bottle!—Have you ever indulged in that sort of affair, amiable Courbichon? Oh! you must have done it, many a time! That's where you lost your hair; eh, old boy?"
"Twenty-two francs! twenty-two francs!"
"Those figures seem to worry you! Do you find a mistake in the addition?"
"No, it isn't that; but I am afraid I haven't enough money with me. I paid quite a large amount at the café, this morning. I didn't expect to spend so muchto-day. Would you be kind enough to lend me what I need?"
"I would do so with the most lively satisfaction, my estimable friend; but, as I was feeling in my pocket just now, I discovered that I have forgotten my purse; which, by the way, happens quite often, for I am very absent-minded. I may add that, when I made that discovery, I intended to borrow a few francs of you—as is often done between good friends; for what's the use of friendship, if not to oblige? O divine friendship! gift of the gods!"
"Mon Dieu! what are we going to do, if we haven't enough money between us to pay for our dinner?"
"Don't you be alarmed! I have found myself in that position more than once. You can leave your cane in pawn."
"My cane! When it was whole, that might have been—but now I can only offer some pieces of a cane as a pledge."
"Then leave your watch, my friend."
"I haven't worn it since my last one was stolen."
"But don't worry! They will give us credit on our respectable appearance."
"Let me see; with every sou I can find—— Search your pockets, too."
"Oh! that's useless; I never carry money loose in my pockets. I have my purse, or I haven't it."
Monsieur Courbichon, having collected all that he had in his pockets, could find only twelve francs and two sous. But suddenly, upon renewing his search, he produced something carefully wrapped in paper, and that something proved to be a gold piece of ten francs. The bald man's face lightened.
"Ah!" he cried; "the ten francs that I loaned to Mathieu, and that he paid back this morning; I had forgotten them. That makes up the amount and two sous over—for the waiter."
"If I were in your place," said Cherami, "I would keep Mathieu's ten francs, so that we might have something to refresh ourselves with when we go back; and I would leave my cane for the balance."
"What! you want me to ask for credit when I have enough money to pay the bill?"
"You haven't enough; for with a bill of twenty-two francs, you can't think of giving the waiter less than twenty sous; if you offer him two, he'll throw them in your face."
"If he refuses them, he'll get nothing at all—so much the worse for him! but I shall pay my bill."
"And suppose you feel the need of something while we are walking back?"
"We have dined so well that I shall not want anything."
"On the contrary, you may have an attack of indigestion—you are very red already—and then you'll want a glass of sugar and water."
"I can do without it; I am not in the habit of being sick."
"There are lots of things we're not in the habit of having, and yet they come—as, sudden death, for example; certainly one hasn't the habit of it, and it takes you all of a sudden."
Cherami's arguments were of no avail; Monsieur Courbichon held his ground. He called the waiter, paid for his dinner, and told him that he gave him only two sous because he had nothing but banknotes which he did not wish to change.
They left the restaurant. The little bald man carried the pieces of his cane, but his face wore a very unamiable expression. Cherami, who had ceased to enjoy his society, soon left him, saying:
"Give me your address, my dear friend. I will come soon and bid you good-morning."
"It is useless, monsieur; I start to-morrow for Touraine, where I expect to settle."
"What! you are leaving Paris, too? Very well; if you go to Tours, send me some plums—Rue de l'Orillon, Belleville, Hôtel du Bel-Air; but prepay the freight!"
Monsieur Courbichon saluted Cherami, and hurried off as fast as his little legs would carry him, thrusting a fragment of his cane into each pocket.
Monsieur Gerbault transmitted his daughter's reply to the two suitors who had asked for her hand. Young Anatole took his rebuff without any indication of emotion. He said simply:
"I am very thorry, becauth our two voitheth went very well together. I am thure that we would have thung beautifully, and I am tho fond of muthic that we thould have been very happy."
The Comte de la Bérinière did not accept Adolphine's refusal of his offer so philosophically.
"Upon my word, my dear Gerbault," he exclaimed, "I have bad luck with your daughters! One marriesjust when I am about to ask for her hand. This one will have none of me; for I understand perfectly that her reply is simply a courteously disguised refusal. Well, I must make the best of it! I will take a trip into Italy, and try to console myself. The Italian women are not the equals of your daughters, but, at all events, they will distract my thoughts."
And, a few days later, the Comte de la Bérinière did, in fact, leave Paris.
But there was one person who was entirely unable to understand Adolphine's conduct: that was her sister Fanny. Learning that she had refused to marry either Monsieur de Raincy or the count, she went to see her one morning.
"Can what father tells me be true? You have refused to marry, when two magnificentpartishave offered themselves? But, no, it can't be true; you haven't done that! or else you were sick at the time. Surely you didn't realize what you said, when you gave father that answer?"
"Indeed I did, my dear love," Adolphine replied, with a smile; "I knew perfectly well what I was saying; I had considered the matter fully when I refused to marry those gentlemen."
"Upon my word, I don't understand you! What reason, what motives, can have prompted your refusal? The Comte de la Bérinière has thirty thousand francs a year; and he would make you a countess. Just think of it—a countess! Isn't it perfectly bewildering to think of being called Madame la Comtesse?"
"It tempts me very little."
"To be sure, the count is no longer young; but, once married, if you knew, my dear girl, how little you thinkabout your husband's age! Auguste might be sixty years old, now, and it would be all the same to me."
"My ideas are not at all the same as yours, as I have already told you."
"But I have had experience now, and you ought to listen to me. Come, let us admit that you refused the count because you thought he was too old, which is the merest childishness—that reason doesn't apply in the case of Monsieur de Raincy; he is young, good-looking——"
"He has a stupid, self-sufficient manner."
"But what difference does that make? I have always heard it said that a stupid man makes an excellent husband. I should be glad enough if my husband was stupid! Then he wouldn't keep flinging little sarcastic remarks at me when I talk about the state of the market—of the rise or fall in railway shares. Auguste is clever—yes, very clever. But what good does it do me to have him clever and agreeable in society? In his own home, a husband never uses his wit except to make sport of his wife. Monsieur Anatole de Raincy isn't as rich as the count, but he has a very good position in society. Where do you expect to find a better match?"
"I expect nothing."
"Why do you refuse these offers, then?"
"Because I do not love either of them."
"Ah! an excellent reason! How absurd you are, my poor Adolphine! Happiness in wedlock does not consist in love, but in wealth, in luxury, in the power to buy whatever we please, to have magnificent dresses which drive other women mad, to go to balls and parties every day, to have the best boxes at the theatre; not in havingto sit sighing by your husband while you watch the soup-kettle."
"I have told you before that my tastes aren't the same as yours."
"Oh! you say that, but, in reality, you would be very glad to cut as fine a figure yourself. But you are romantic! perhaps you have a passion hidden away in your heart. Oh! yes, to refuse two such chances as you have had, you must be in love with somebody!"
Adolphine blushed, but made haste to reply:
"No, you are mistaken. I never think of any man; it is not right of you to say that."
"Very well! then, my dear girl, I say again that it was perfectly absurd of you to refuse those two! Adieu! I am going to select some flowers for my head, for I am going to a large party to-night, and I propose to eclipse all the other women."
Some little time after this interview, Adolphine was alone, thinking of him whose image was always present in her mind; for she had not told her sister the truth when she said that she never thought of any man; but there are passions which one does not choose to confide except to a heart capable of understanding them, and she was well aware that Fanny would not understand hers.
Madeleine suddenly entered her mistress's room, and said:
"Mamzelle, a young man wants to speak to you."
"To me? He probably has business with my father."
"No, mamzelle; it was you he asked to see—and monsieur your father isn't at home, either."
"Very well! show him in."
Soon the door opened anew, and Gustave appeared before Adolphine. The girl uttered an exclamation, forshe recognized him at once; and she was so disturbed that she had to lean upon a chair.
"What! is it you, Monsieur Gustave?" she murmured.
Madeleine retired, for she read in her mistress's eyes that the visit caused her no displeasure.
"Yes, Mademoiselle Adolphine," Gustave replied; "yes, my dear sister. Ah! allow me to call you by that name still, as I used, for we have had no falling-out; you have not spurned me, and I venture to hope that you still feel for me a little of that sweet friendship which you seemed to feel in the old days."
Adolphine was so perturbed that she could hardly stammer:
"Of course—yes—I have no reason not to be the same as always with you. But do sit down, Monsieur Gustave. Mon Dieu!—how strange it is!—it's only five months since we saw each other—and you seem changed—— Oh! not for the worse—on the contrary—you have a more serious, more thoughtful, air than before. Is it the result of your travels?"
Adolphine was right; the five months which Gustave had passed away from France had wrought a very considerable change in him, to his advantage; he had lost that bewildered, hare-brained look which people used to criticise in him; now he was a man—young, no doubt, but whose serious, sedate, sensible aspect indicated a person who was accustomed to think before speaking, and to reflect before acting. His face had gained vastly by the change; his manner was colder, perhaps, but you realized that you could rely on what he said. Lastly, the faintest shadow of melancholy that could still be detected on his brow gave an added charm to the gentle expression of his eyes and to the tone of his voice.
Adolphine saw all this at a glance: that is all a woman needs to draw a man's portrait. With trembling hand she pointed to a chair, and Gustave sat down beside her with an ease of manner which covered no hidden motive.
"I don't know whether my travels have changed me," said the young man; "they may, perhaps, have matured my mind somewhat; they have made me a better business man. I realize fully now that I did some things which lacked common-sense, and I shall not make such a fool of myself again!"
"Oh! you are cured of your love for Fanny?" cried Adolphine, with an expression of delight which she could not restrain.
"No, dear Adolphine, no, that is not what I meant!" replied Gustave, sadly; "do what I will, I haven't yet been able to drive that love from my heart. But I meant simply that that unhappy passion will not lead me into doing any more such absurd, unreasonable things as I once did. I have become a man; if I suffer, I can at least conceal my suffering. I have learned to respect the happiness of other people—the desire to disturb it is very far from my thoughts! I realize, in short, that I ought, above all things, to avoid the presence of her who cannot, should not, sympathize with the pain she causes me."
Adolphine turned her head away to conceal the tears which filled her eyes, murmuring:
"Mon Dieu! do you still love her as dearly as ever?"
"I don't know whether it is less or more—I don't know how much I love her; and I would give anything in the world to cease thinking of her! But I cannot—do what I will, her image is always here. I forget that she flirted with me—that she pretended to love me, only to throw me over the next minute. I say to myself that all womentry to please, and that they cannot love all the men they have fascinated. I say to myself that this Monsieur Auguste Monléard offered her a brilliant fortune, and all the pleasures, all the enjoyment, all the luxury, in which, to a young woman, the happiness of life consists.—I say all this to myself, and I understand perfectly how she could have refused the poor clerk's hand to accept that of the man who was wealthy and distinguished. So that, if I am unhappy, I can blame nothing but fortune—and Fanny is so pretty, so fascinating, so well worthy to shine in society! She will never be mine, and yet I love her—yes, I still love her! They say that men don't know the meaning of constancy; but you see that that isn't true, Adolphine; you see that there are some who can love faithfully—and, unluckily, they are the ones who are not loved."
Adolphine did not reply for some time; she was suffocating, she could not keep back the tears which dimmed her sight. Gustave saw them; he seized her hand and pressed it, crying:
"You weep—dear sister!—my unhappiness makes you shed tears. Oh! forgive me for coming here and grieving you by the story of my suffering."
"Yes—it does grieve me to know that you are unhappy! But, after all, it seems to me that you ought to try—that you do not make enough effort to divert your thoughts; you see, when one has no hope, one ought to forget."
"Oh! that makes no difference at all."
"Yes, it is possible.—How long since you returned to Paris?"
"Only last evening; and, as you see, I came to you at once this morning."
"Yes—to talk to me about her!"
"I admit it—but to see you, too,—you who have always shown me so much affection, and whom I am so happy to call my sister still!"
"Oh! of course—because that was the name you gave me when you were to marry Fanny! But you don't know—I have not dared to tell you that father says that you must not come to our house any more!"
"Not come here any more! Why not, pray?"
"Why, because of that unfortunate duel——"
"Duel! What do you mean? What duel?"
"What! you don't know? Hasn't your uncle told you about it?"
"I told you that I only arrived last night; my uncle talked about nothing but matters of business, which are of much more importance in his eyes than anything else. Tell me what duel you are talking about?"
"Do you remember the man who dined with you on the day of my sister's wedding?"
"Yes, a curious creature whom I happened to meet—and who took pity on the state of frenzy I was in at that time."
"Was he a friend of yours?"
"As I tell you, I had known him only a few hours; but I had lost my head that day; you know that better than anybody, dear Adolphine, for you found time, even on that day, to come to me and say a few comforting words.—But what about that man?"
"Well, at night, when my sister went away from the ball with her husband, he was standing near, just as they were entering their carriage. That man—he was drunk, no doubt, but still he insulted my sister."
"The villain! He dared——"
"Yes, he said: 'There goes the faithless Fanny!'—My sister, who heard the words plainly, told me herself. Was that an insult? Tell me frankly, Monsieur Gustave, hadn't you yourself applied that name to my sister more than once that day?"
"It is quite possible; but I was out of my head, I didn't know what I was saying. That did not give that fellow, whose very name I don't remember, the right to repeat my words."
"Auguste heard him, and the next day he fought a duel with the man."
"And what was the result?"
"A sword-thrust in my brother-in-law's forearm, which forced him to carry his arm in a sling at least six weeks."
"Mon Dieu! that incident may well have occasioned unfortunate scenes between the husband and wife; it may have disturbed the domestic happiness of—your sister. She probably accused me of being the original cause of the duel! This is maddening!"
"Don't be alarmed, Monsieur Gustave! you don't know Fanny! The affair affected her very little, her happiness wasn't disturbed by it for a single minute. She goes to some festivity, amuses herself in some way, every day! Oh! she is happy."
"So much the better! And her husband—he adores her still, I fancy?"
"As to that, I can't answer. If they adore each other, it hardly appears on the surface!"
"What! Fanny doesn't love her husband?"
"I don't say that she doesn't love him! but my sister isn't capable of loving like us—like you, I mean. She has so much to take up her time in the way of gowns,head-dresses, new styles, and so forth! How do you suppose she can find time to love her husband?"
"However, I am entirely innocent in this matter of the duel."
"Oh! that is what I have always told father, who has only known it a few days, by the way. For, as you can imagine, they didn't publish it. Monsieur Monléard's injury was supposed to have been caused by a fall on the stairs."
"But why doesn't your father want me to come here? It wasn't a crime to love his elder daughter and to aspire to her hand! It is true, I was very poor, then; to-day, I could offer her more; my uncle, who is very well satisfied with the way I attend to business now, said to me at breakfast this morning: 'From to-day, I give you an interest in my business, and I guarantee you not less than ten thousand francs a year, whether there are any profits or not.'"
"Ah! that is very nice, Monsieur Gustave; I am very glad for you."
"Dear little sister! If you knew how indifferently I received the news of this increase in my income! Ah! that isn't what I look to for happiness!"
"Nor I, either! But, as so many people think differently, probably we are wrong."
"I am thinking about your father, who doesn't want me to come here any more."
"In the first place, he was convinced that there would be no need to say anything to you about it; that you would never have any desire to come to our house again."
"Why so, pray?"
"I don't know why; for my part, I didn't think as he did. Something told me that you would come—to hearabout Fanny—to talk about her. I guessed right, did I not?"
"Yes, yes! you read my heart."
"For I know very well that that was the only reason it occurred to you to come here."
"Do you think that I am not fond of you—of you and your father?"
"Oh! I don't say that; but my father fears—suppose you should meet my sister here?"
"I should be able to act with her as with a person who was a total stranger to me. Does she come to see you often?"
"No, not often. She has so many other calls to make! She knows so many people now!"
At that moment the bell rang.
"Mon Dieu!" said Adolphine; "if it should be my father!"
"Why, I will go and offer him my hand, and I am sure that he won't refuse it."
"But if it should be——"
Adolphine had not time to finish her sentence. The door of her chamber was hastily thrown open, and her sister entered.