They soon reached the carriage, which the lady entered; then she said to Adhémar:
"It may be that your injured arm will pain you if you walk, monsieur. Will you not allow me to take you home, or wherever you wish to go?"
"You are a thousand times too kind, madame; but I do not desire to cause you so much trouble, and I assure you that my hand doesn't pain me at all."
She did not insist, but pursed her lips as one does when one is annoyed. Then she bowed low to Adhémar, and said to the cabman:
"No. 40, Rue de Paradis-Poissonnière."
The cabman closed the door, mounted his box, and drove away; and Adhémar, standing on the same spot, looked after it, muttering:
"Why on earth did I refuse to let her drive me home? What a fool a man is, sometimes! You long for a thing—for it would have given me great pleasure to spend a longer time with her—and you refuse it! Why? I haven't any good reason to give myself, even. But, yes, I have one! She is good-looking, I feel certain that she would attract me, that I should speedily fall in love with her; and I do not propose to fall in love again! But does that purpose involve a resolution not to form an agreeable intimacy? And then, what right have I to assume that this lady would have listened to me?—Let us see what her name is. As for her address, I remember that; she told the cabman loud enough."
He took the card from his pocket and read:
"Nathalie Dermont—nothing more; and there's nowidowon the card. Why is that omitted? But still, if her husband has been dead some time, she's not bound to go on styling herselfwidow. She's an exceedingly attractive woman! A pretty face and figure, and nothing stupid about her! Ah! that is the principal thing to guard against; for a stupid woman is deadly! However, I haven't wasted my day, at all events."
Dodichet had as his mistress for the moment—or, rather, as his companion in pleasure, for, as he had money only occasionally and by chance, he rarely indulged in the luxury of a mistress—he had, we will say, for an intimate acquaintance a young woman who danced in the ballet at one of the smaller theatres, and who was always ready to accept an invitation to dinner or supper, when he was sufficiently in funds to allow him to extend such an invitation.
Dodichet betook himself to the abode of this stage artist, whose name was Boulotte, and who lived on the fifth floor of a house on Faubourg du Temple. Mademoiselle Boulotte, who was in the act of compounding a new kind of mineral rouge, with bricks pounded up in flour, uttered a cry of joy when Dodichet appeared.
"Have you come to take me to dine at the restaurant?" she said. "My word! but it comes just at the right time; I've had nothing but a sausage to-day, and that's too light."
"No, Boulotte; no, dear angel of my dreams,—when they are golden,—I have not come to invite you to dinner; because the tide is low, and I don't propose to take such a woman as you to any cheap place."
"Oh! that wouldn't make any difference to me! there are cheap places where they give you very good stewed rabbit. But still, if you haven't any money, I'll give youhalf of my black radish and fried potatoes, which I'm just going out to buy."
"You are a dear, good child; you share with a friend all that you possess. That isn't very much, to be sure; but it's all the more creditable of you to give away half of it. Thanks, my dear love, but I cannot accept the feast you offer me. I am on the lookout for a certain person; I saw him two days ago, but at sight of me he ran like a thief; I couldn't catch him, but I shall sooner or later!"
"Is it somebody who owes you money?"
"No; he doesn't owe me any, but he'll give me some, all the same. Oh! I'll worm it out of him, and without remorse too, as he's very rich. Then, I'll give you a regular Belshazzar, with truffles and champagne!"
"Why will this man give you money?"
"Because I know his secret."
"What sort of a secret?"
"If I should tell you, it wouldn't be a secret any longer."
"So you think I am very leaky, do you?"
"My dear little Boulotte, when I know a secret, which may be the goose with the golden eggs to me, I should be a great fool if I gave it away. But let's drop the subject; that wasn't what I came here for. Boulotte, you must do me a favor."
"One, two, three! go on, don't hesitate; for I'm quite sure you don't want to borrow money of me."
"What do you take me for? You probably know some of the women who sell second-hand clothes and such things, don't you?"
"Yes, I know several of 'em; but they have pretty poor stuff. Do you want to buy me a shawl?"
"Nonsense! do you know one named Madame Putiphar?"
"Madame Putiphar? No, I don't know her; do you want to make her acquaintance?"
"Yes, and I counted on you to find her for me."
"Oh! that's easy enough! I'll ask Sara and Clara and Cora—they know so many of those women. In two days I shall be able to give you all the information you want concerning this honest tradeswoman."
"Very well. To assist you in your investigations, you can say that she arranges marriages."
"That's very definite! they all do."
"Really! I fancy that they disarrange a good many too. No matter—do my errand; I leave you to your radish and your fried potatoes; don't eat too much. You will see me again in three days; and if I have found my man, we will have, not stewed rabbit, but a salmi of truffled partridges together."
Three days later, Dodichet called again on Mademoiselle Boulotte, and found her still at work on her mineral rouge, for which she hoped to obtain a patent. Dodichet was radiant; he waltzed into the room, and began by taking thefigurantein his arms and whirling her about without giving her time to put down her brick and her hammer, despite her cries:
"Let go, I say! or, at any rate, let me put down my brick!"
"Do you know the waltz fromL'Auberge des Adrets, Boulotte—the one Frédérick used to dance so well in his picturesque costume as Robert Macaire? I can dance that waltz just a little."
"Let me put down my brick. Pshaw! there it goes, and it's all smashed!"
"Well! as long as you were going to smash it with a hammer anyway, you have so much less to do."
"That's different. I shall lose half of it on the floor! What in the world's the matter with you to-day that makes you so gay?"
"Parbleu! I have found my man—my Sicilian."
"Ah! the man with a secret?"
"Just so."
"And he's a Sicilian?"
"Yes, a Sicilian from Pontoise. Ah! what a fool I am! what did I say that for? Don't repeat that, Boulotte, I beg you. If you ever see me anywhere with a man you don't know, don't let the word Pontoise escape you—or everything's over between us!"
"What silly nonsense is this you are giving me? You act like a crazy man!"
"Let's drop that. Have you done my errand?"
"Yes, monsieur; I have done your errand. I was sure that Rosa, who knows all the second-hand clothes women in Paris, would know her; she sold her not long ago a steel comb, which she owed to the munificence of an Englishman, with two teeth broken——"
"The Englishman?"
"No, the comb!"
"Very good. Rosa's one of your companions at the theatre, isn't she? a brunette with yellow eyes, and complexion to match?"
"Yes, but never mind about her; you promised me a salmi of partridges if you found your man with the secret—you see—I didn't say, your man from Pontoise."
"Hush! imprudent girl! I was coming to the salmi in a minute, when I spoke about Rosa. Our feast will take place at her room—day after to-morrow, at noon, togive her time to tell Putiphar to come there that day about one; I shall be there, you understand, and I shall have told you and Rosa what to say to her so that my plan may succeed."
"Are you going to play a joke on someone?"
"To be sure."
"Never fear, then! we'll tell her all the foolish stuff you want."
"I have never doubted it. It's understood, then—day after to-morrow, at twelve o'clock, at Rosa's.—Does she still live on Rue de Lancry?"
"Yes."
"I promise you a breakfast of swallows' nests, like the Chinese."
"No, no, I don't want that! The idea of eating birds' nests! what a horror!"
"Then we will transform them into charlotte russe."
"All right! Order the breakfast at Lecomte's, corner of Rue de Lancry and the boulevard; that's a nice restaurant."
"Never you fear; I know the good places."
Mademoiselle Rosa, Boulotte's fellowfigurante, occupied a small fourth-floor apartment on Rue de Lancry, very daintily furnished; for, although she had yellow eyes and complexion, she always had richer protectors than several of her companions who were far prettier than she. Why was that? I decline to tell you.
On the appointed day, about half-past twelve, Dodichet was seated at the table, between Boulotte and Rosa, in the tiny dining-room of the latter's apartment. The table was covered with dishes, upon which they had already made savage attacks, and with bottles embellished with divers seals and containing wines of different colors.
They were in very high spirits, laughing while they ate, and drinking while they laughed.
"Mesdemoiselles," said Dodichet, uncorking a bottle of champagne, "I have told you the joke—the jest—the trick, in fact, which I want to play. You have promised to help me."
"We promise again."
"I swear it by my lover's hair!" said Rosa.
"Oho! but I believe your lover's bald, isn't he?—However, never mind—you know what you're to say to Madame Putiphar when she comes?"
"Oh! we know our rôles; you'll be content with us."
"But the woman doesn't come! suppose she should go back on us?"
"No danger! I told her I wanted a brooch."
"For your kitchen?"[Q]
"Why, no; to wear at my neck. Hark—someone is ringing—I'll bet that's she!"
And, in a moment, the maid came in and said to Rosa:
"Madame Putiphar is here."
"Well, show her in; she won't keep us from eating."
Almost on the instant there appeared a short but enormously stout woman, apparently somewhat between forty and fifty years of age; who had been, perhaps, in her prime, a piquant brunette, but was now simply a brunette without the piquancy, or rather a black; for her hair, whose thick plaits almost covered her cheeks, was of such a glossy ebon blackness that, at first sight, taken with her face, which was flushed and pimply, it made her head look as if it had been varnished. She was well supplied with clothes, too well supplied, in fact, for she wore two shawls,—a large one, with a smaller one overit,—a high collarette, with a cravat twisted round it; a cap, and over it a bonnet decorated with a lot of frippery; in addition, she carried a flat box under her arm, which led Dodichet to observe:
"This woman evidently carries a large part of her stock in trade about with her."
"Good-day, Putiphar!"
"Hail, Madame Putiphar!"
"Sit down, Putiphar. When I wrote you to come, I didn't know that Monsieur Dodichet, a commission merchant in sugar, would treat Boulotte and me to this impromptu feast of champagne and truffles mixed, this morning.—But that doesn't make any difference; for you're in no hurry, I take it?"
The corpulent dame replied by repeated courtesies, accompanied by loving glances at the table, mumbling:
"Oh! mesdames, don't let me disturb you at all! It smells good here, and I'm in no hurry; I'll watch you eat."
"Won't you take a glass of champagne with us, madame?"
"Oh! monsieur is very polite——"
"Accept, Putiphar, accept; nobody ever refuses a glass of champagne!"
"I am tempted——"
"With a biscuit in it, eh?"
"I should prefer, if it's all the same to you, the chicken wing I see on that dish."
"That's all right. Draw up to the table.—Manette, a plate for Madame Putiphar.—Will you have some pâté de foie gras too?"
"You tempt me—but, really, I am ashamed of myself. Monsieur will think I'm a great glutton."
"That's not a failing, madame; it's a good quality."
Madame Putiphar took her place at the table, stuffed herself with chicken, pâté, and truffles, partook freely of claret, madeira, and champagne, and never paused for breath until the dessert was being brought on. Then she wiped her mouth, saying:
"A very pretty little feast; monsieur knows how to treat the ladies."
"Oh! Dodichet's very polite," said Boulotte; "he's eaten up a lot of money with women."
"Mon Dieu! mesdames, what is the good of money, if not to give you pleasure?"
"Ah! what a sweet sentiment! Monsieur deserves to be embalmed."
"What's that! embalmed?"
"I meant to say, turned into a statuette."
"Unfortunately, you've become very rare lately, Dodichet," said Rosa; "we hardly ever see you."
"It isn't my fault! I am not my own master since my intimate friend Count Miflorès came to Paris."
"Oh, yes! that Sicilian, who's so rich!"
"He doesn't know the amount of his fortune."
"Is he a relation of yours?"
"No; but I rendered him an important service in Sicily; he was on the point of falling into a volcano; did you know there were volcanoes in Sicily?"
"Yes, mountains that spit fire; I saw one in a play, at La Gaieté."
"My Sicilian, who is very inquisitive and very brave, had ascended Mount Ætna, and was looking into the mouth of the crater; suddenly he dropped his cane, and it fell into the fiery gulf. Count Miflorès thought a great deal of that cane, which he had inherited from his mother;he was going down into the crater to try to recover it, which would have been to go to certain destruction! Luckily, I was there—with my dog, a magnificent Newfoundland. I pointed to the hole, and to the cane, of which we could see one end, and said: 'Go, seek! go, seek!'—My dog understood me; he rushed down into the crater, and soon returned with the cane between his teeth and laid it at my feet. I gave it to the count, who was overjoyed, and who swore everlasting friendship to me from that day."
"Ah! the brave count! no, I mean the brave dog! You ought to have given him a good dinner when you got home!"
"Alas! the poor beast never got home; after a minute or two, he fell dead at my feet; he was roasted, the heat of the crater had cooked him!"
"Oh! what an idea! And still he brought back the cane, roasted as he was?"
"His devotion sustained him.—But it seems to me, mesdames, that it is high time to attack this nougat and water it with a little alicante."
"Yes, yes; let's attack it and water it!—Take some nougat, Putiphar."
"You tempt me. I would make a fool of myself for this alicante!"
"What has your Sicilian come to Paris for?"
"In the first place, to see this wonderful city, which everybody aspires to know, and which no one ever wants to leave when he has once tasted its joys. Secondly, the devil of a fellow has a curious whimsey in his head: he wants to marry."
"You call that a whimsey, monsieur? why, it's a most prevalent idea."
"Look here, you'd better not talk against marriage before Putiphar, Dodichet; she'll never forgive you."
"Oh! I'll forgive monsieur for anything—he treats the ladies so handsomely; but I would like to convert him."
"Mon Dieu! madame, although I am not thinking of marriage for myself, I assure you that I have no wish to disgust others with it; and the proof is that I'm looking for a wife for my rich Sicilian."
"A wife? You're looking for a wife for him, monsieur? Oh! in that case—I beg your pardon, a sip of alicante, if you please—I may have what you want."
"Faith! madame, if you can find me somebody suited to my friend, you would give me great pleasure; for I haven't much time to give to it. I have more orders for sugar than I can handle; I am obliged to neglect my business, and I don't like it."
"I must ask you one important question first of all, monsieur: is your count rich?"
"I think I have already told you that he doesn't know the amount of his fortune."
"Then I suppose he wants his wife to be rich, too?"
"Not at all; he cares nothing at all for money; he has enough for two."
"Really! he won't ask for any dowry?"
"A dowry! why, if the woman's father should be so ill-advised as to mention such a thing, he would be quite capable of knocking him down! He would consider it an insult."
"Phew! what a noble-minded man!—A little more alicante, please."
"And some chartreuse?"
"In a minute, Monsieur Godichet."
"Dodichet."
"That don't make any difference. For heaven's sake, what does your count want in his wife?"
"This: in the first place, he wants her to be young."
"That goes without saying."
"Good figure, pretty——"
"Those are mere trifles."
"And—she must be really unmarried; do you understand?"
"Perfectly. I have what he wants, monsieur; I have it, and everybody can't say as much!"
"Are you sure? will you guarantee it?"
"Yes, monsieur; as I'm an honest woman!—A young lady, brought up in the best way by strict parents, who never goes out alone——"
"This seems to me to fit the case to perfection.—By the way, there's one other condition: my Sicilian is particular that she shall be a Parisian; he insists on that; he thinks that no women but the Parisians can wear hoopskirts gracefully."
"My young lady is a Parisian, monsieur; born, I believe, on Rue du Pont-aux-Choux, the very centre of Paris."
"The centre of the Marais, you mean, Putiphar."
"That's all the same."
"Yes; Miflorès doesn't insist that his future wife must have been born in the Chaussée d'Antin, especially as he never heard of it. Is the family respectable? We are particular about that, you see. A Sicilian count wouldn't want to ally himself with a dealer in rabbit skins—you can understand that."
"Oh! it's a most respectable family, monsieur. Monsieur Mirotaine, the father, is an ex-bailiff."
"You are quite sure?"
"Positive, monsieur. He don't do anything now—he lives on his income. Juliette's mother—mademoiselle's name is Juliette—is dead; Monsieur Mirotaine is married again, to a woman much younger than he is; from which you can conclude that the stepmother is in a hurry to marry off her stepdaughter."
"Very good! things seem to run as smoothly as if they were on wheels."
"Now, will you allow me to take my turn and ask you a few questions, monsieur?"
"I should say so! all the questions you please, Madame Joseph—I should say, Madame Putiphar! Have some chartreuse—to drink with these damsels!"
"Yes, yes, let's take a drink!—Do you like chartreuse, Putiphar?"
"If it's green, I'm afraid of it; it's too strong."
"This is yellow, and that other green."
"In that case, I'll let you tempt me. My word! but Monsieur Godichet can brag of knowing how to do things in good shape!"
Madame Putiphar sipped the yellow chartreuse, but it did not make her forget the great stroke of business of which she had caught a glimpse.
"Will you be good enough to tell me your count's age first of all, monsieur?"
"Thirty-six; he looks forty, but it's his own doing."
"The age is all right; how about his physique?"
"That corresponds with his age: a fine figure, noble carriage, fresh as a rose; his nose is a little large, but he will fix that all right by blowing it!"
"Faith! monsieur, everything seems to harmonize on both sides. Allow me to mention your friend to the Mirotaine family to-day; and as soon as he chooses to call——"
"One moment, my dear woman; we can't go so fast as that with Miflorès. He's a peculiar fellow; he is timid and, furthermore, extremely sensitive."
"Do you want Monsieur Mirotaine to call on him?"
"No, indeed! that would spoil everything."
"What are we to do, then? Look you, I believe I'll risk a little green chartreuse; we must get accustomed to everything."
"You are quite right. I drink to the fair sex, of which you are a part, Madame Putiphar."
"I have always hoped so, monsieur. Here's to yours! Hum! this is strong, and very penetrating! Well, monsieur, how are we to go to work to arrange a match between your count and my young and innocent Juliette?"
"Listen to me carefully: I'll set you the pace. In the first place, Miflorès will never consent to present himself right away in any family, as a marrying man; he wishes to study, to examine the young lady at his ease—to know her, in short—and I shall be very careful not to tell him that she knows that it is his intention to marry her; moreover, as my friend is very timid, he always insists on my going with him. I will invent some pretext for calling on your Mirotaines; I will tell the count that I am negotiating an important transaction with the papa, and that I need a guarantor. Then he will be perfectly willing to go with me."
"All that is simple enough, monsieur; I will tell Monsieur Mirotaine that you have a great deal of influence over his prospective son-in-law."
"And you will tell no falsehood, I beg you to believe. By the way, there's another matter: my friend is in the habit of dining wherever he goes; it's a noble habit, contracted in Sicily. If he isn't asked to dinner, he has theworst possible opinion of the people to whose house I have taken him. Moreover, he's a great gourmand; an excellent dinner, with plenty of good wine and dainty dishes, will dispose him favorably."
"The deuce! that makes the thing rather harder, monsieur; for I must tell you that Monsieur Mirotaine is a little close in the matter of spending money—a little miserly, I may as well say it. He never gives a dinner party. If, by any chance, he does invite anyone, it's always on condition that he brings his own dishes."
"I can assure you that we won't bring anything at all! If that's the case, there's nothing to be done!"
"It seems to me," said Rosa, "that a man can well afford to put out a little money for once, to catch a rich noble for a son-in-law, who takes his daughter without a sou."
"I should think so!" cried Boulotte; "such a husband as that is a treasure!"
"Yes, my dear loves, you are right. We won't give it up, Monsieur Godichet; I'll just speak to the stepmother; she'll back me up, for she'll be delighted to be allied to a count. She will make her husband listen to reason, and he'll give the dinner."
"All right!"
"And if Monsieur Godichet cared to go and see Monsieur Mirotaine in the meantime?"
"There's no sort of need of it; I won't go till the day we're invited to dinner, and if it wasn't for the sake of obliging my friend I wouldn't go at all; but a man must sacrifice himself for his friends."
"I must leave you, mesdames; I can't go about this business too soon."
"Go, Putiphar, go; it's worth your while."
"As soon as I've had a day fixed for the dinner, I'll write to you, Monsieur Godichet."
"Dodichet, I tell you!"
"I beg your pardon—Dodichet. By the way, your address, if you please?"
"I live at the Grand Hôtel; but I'm never to be found there; it's so grand! Come and give these young ladies your message, and they'll send it to me at once."
"Agreed. It may take two or three days, perhaps, to bring Monsieur Mirotaine to the point of giving a dinner party; but we'll succeed. Au revoir, Monsieur—Dodichet!—I got it right that time, eh? By the way, if the marriage comes off, as I hope, I stipulate that I am to furnish the trousseau and all the presents the bridegroom gives his bride."
"You shall furnish everything, Madame Putiphar, everything; even the husband's suspenders, if he wears any that day."
"Ah! Monsieur Dodichet, you're a very agreeable man!"
"Have another little glass of the green before you go?"
"You tempt me.—Mademoiselle Rosa, we'll talk about that brooch some other day."
"Yes, yes, Putiphar; there's no hurry."
Whereupon the wardrobe dealer, whose complexion had changed to purple as a result of all that she had drunk, executed a graceful courtesy, none the less, and withdrew.
Mademoiselle Juliette, Monsieur Mirotaine's daughter, was nearly nineteen years of age, but was such a gentle and timid young woman that one would readily have mistaken her for a schoolgirl of twelve. She trembled before her father, who always treated her harshly; and ever since she had had a stepmother, her life had been passed in doing the will of one or the other. Let us hasten to say, however, that Madame Mirotaine II was no tyrant; indeed, she was not unkind at heart; but she was anxious to get rid of her stepdaughter, because she herself was inclined to be coquettish, and Juliette was exceedingly pretty. Although her timidity made her seem like a child, physically speaking she was a lovely girl of nineteen, with a graceful figure, clear white skin, and brown hair; her mouth was beautiful, her teeth small and even, her almond-shaped eyes were charming in the softness of their expression; but she kept them almost always on the ground, at least before her parents; I like to think that she raised them sometimes when she was talking with Lucien.
Juliette was very easily moved; that could be divined from her eyes and the tones of her voice; she had listened at first with pleasure, then with love, to the declarations of young Lucien, who had long been in the habit of calling at Monsieur Mirotaine's, whose commissions and errands he was always ready to undertake. But hewas not welcomed there so cordially since he had dared to ask Monsieur Mirotaine for his daughter's hand.
"My daughter has no dowry," the father had replied; "you haven't a sou, nor any place, nor any trade; so you can't marry her. Earn some money, work up a flourishing business, and I'll give you my daughter."
"Then, monsieur, promise to keep her for me till I have succeeded."
"No, indeed; that might be altogether too long. I shall marry Juliette as soon as I have found a good match for her; meanwhile I am perfectly willing that you should come to my house and do my errands when I have any, but on condition that you are never to be alone with my daughter, and that you never mention the subject of love to her."
Lucien promised; indeed, he had to promise, in order to be allowed to continue his visits to the house; but, as will be seen, the lovers were in a very melancholy plight, and they could hardly find a minute to exchange a word of love in secret.
Luckily for Juliette, she had a friend upon whose bosom she could pour out her heart, to whom she told all her troubles and her hopes—in short, everything that took place in her heart and in her mind.
She was a boarding-school friend, but was six years older than Juliette; they were in perfect accord, however, in their views, their feelings, and their sentiments. The friend had married immediately upon leaving school; she had not been able to obtain permission for Juliette, who was then only fourteen, to come to her wedding; but Juliette's father had consented to her receiving her friend's visits. Knowing that she was rich, Monsieur Mirotaine thought that she could not be an undesirable acquaintance for his daughter.
It is needless to say that when Juliette fell in love with Lucien her passion was confided to her tender-hearted friend, as well as the disappointments of the lovers, their hopes, and their plans for the future. Meanwhile, the friend had lost her husband; but as she had not married for love, it is probable that she shed very few tears on her young friend's breast.
It was two o'clock in the afternoon; Juliette was alone in her chamber and even more melancholy than usual; we shall soon know the reason. She had at least the satisfaction of having a chamber to herself, where she could weep at her ease; a narrow corridor led to it from the reception-room, so that to reach it one was not obliged to pass the whole suite. Hence, the girl might, in an emergency, have received a secret visit from Lucien; he might have slipped into her room from the dining-room. But Juliette would not allow it; she felt that it would be wrong to receive a young man secretly in her bedroom; she did not wish to expose herself to her stepmother's remonstrances and her father's anger. But Juliette was unhappy; she sighed, and sometimes wept a large part of the day.
It was with a cry of joy, therefore, and a feeling of the utmost satisfaction that she saw that friend enter her room, to whom alone she could pour out her heart.
"Ah! Nathalie, at last!" said Juliette, running to meet the young widow, who began by kissing her. "What a long time since you came to see me! fie, madame! it is wicked of you to neglect me so, when I have no other friend, no other consolation, but you! Come, sit down here with me this minute. Oh! how happy it makes me to see you!"
"Don't scold me, my dear Juliette; the reason that I haven't been to see you for some time is that I haven't been very well."
"Oh, dear! that was all that was wanting—that you should be sick! You ought to have written to me; I would have shown father your letter, and he couldn't have refused to let me go to see you and nurse you."
"It wasn't worth while; it's all over now, as you see."
"Why, no—no, you are a little pale."
"I always am. But you have a pair of red eyes; what does that mean? You have been crying; is there anything new? doesn't Lucien love you any more?"
"Oh, yes! poor boy—I see in his eyes that he still loves me; he can't tell me so except with his eyes, but I can understand what they say."
"What is the matter, then?"
"Oh! mon Dieu! the matter is that they are still bent on marrying me, especially my stepmother, who wants to get rid of me; and this time it seems that they have found a husband for me. It's that infernal second-hand dealer, Madame Putiphar, who has planned it all. She promised my stepmother to bear me in mind. And now they say she's found a superb match for me: a Neapolitan or Sicilian count—or some kind of an Italian nobleman, immensely rich, who doesn't want a dowry!—do you hear? no dowry! That is what captivates father."
"Have you seen this count?"
"No, not yet, thank God! but it appears that I am to see him soon; we're to give a dinner for him and one of his friends, who always accompanies him."
"Your father is going to give a dinner party? it isn't possible!"
"Oh! he didn't want to; but it seems that this count is in the habit of dining in every house he goes to—he and his friend; my stepmother Aldegonde brought my father to the point. 'You must give this dinner,' she said, 'and let it be a handsome one; a rich and noble son-in-law is well worth going to some little expense.'—Father swore, but he yielded—and the day is fixed: the day after to-morrow, my prospective husband is to dine with us. And that is why I am crying! why I am so unhappy! And I saw in Lucien's eyes that he knew all about it; Aldegonde probably told him, just to be nasty."
"Come, come, my poor Juliette, don't get so excited; this marriage hasn't come off yet. You are very pretty, but perhaps your style of beauty won't please this Italian."
"Oh! I'll make faces at him."
"A thousand things may happen to prevent it. Has your father made any inquiries about the man?"
"I don't think so; he relies on Madame Putiphar's word, and she praises him in the highest terms, as well as his friend, who's a commission merchant in something or other."
"A commission merchant in marriages, I should say! However, I prefer to believe that your father wouldn't marry you to a man without knowing something about him. And, do you know, there's one thing in all this that seems so perfectly absurd to me—that is, the idea of this rich nobleman absolutely insisting on being invited out to dinner—he and his friend! That has every appearance of a joke, do you know!"
"That is so. You are right! It doesn't seem altogether natural."
"I don't know why, but I suspect some sort of a scheme in all this. There are so many schemers inParis! Look you, my dear, this marriage isn't made yet, and something tells me that it never will be."
"Bless you, my dear Nathalie! you renew my hopes, you bring back joy to my heart! Ah! how good it was of you to come!"
"Yes, and you have no idea that you came very near never seeing me again; that I have been in great danger."
"Mon Dieu! how you frighten me! what has happened, in heaven's name?"
"My dress caught fire, my love; it was all ablaze, and I never suspected it!"
"Oh! heaven!"
"Don't be alarmed; the danger must have passed, as I am here."
"Was it long ago?"
"Not more than a week.—I was walking on the boulevard; it seems that my dress came in contact with a lighted match, which our gentlemanly friends are in the habit of strewing along their path, presumably to gratify themselves by roasting us alive! My dress was on fire, and I had no idea of it, when suddenly I felt two strong arms surround me—yes, hug me; I started to cry out, I thought that it was an insult—my dear, my life had been saved! A young man, at the risk of burning himself to death, had sacrificed himself in order to extinguish the fire, and he did it very adroitly, but at the cost of quite a bad burn on his wrist."
"Oh! the poor fellow! I wish I could thank him. Was he a workingman?"
"No; a very elegant young man—and very good-looking. We were surrounded in a moment; you know how inquisitive everybody is in Paris. Luckily, there was a druggist's shop within a few steps, and we took refugethere; and while my rescuer's arm was being dressed, we talked a little. You can understand that I was anxious to know who it was to whom I was so deeply indebted; I asked him his name, and he gave me his card; he was Monsieur Adhémar Monbrun—a dramatist who writes delightful plays. You don't know him, poor darling, for they never take you to the theatre!"
"No, but I know the name through Lucien. This Adhémar Monbrun is a friend of his; he has often spoken to me about him, and he speaks very highly of him."
"Really? Monsieur Lucien knows him, and speaks very highly of him?"
"Yes; he says that he is a very generous man, always ready to help his friends. Indeed, he has said to me more than once: 'If I wanted money, I am very sure that Adhémar would lend me some; but, in my opinion, a man ought not to borrow when he doesn't know how he can repay the loan.'—But finish your story."
"Oh! it's almost finished.—When he gave me his card, I thought it best to give him mine; for I didn't want him to think he had rescued a lorette, or a bitch—as they call prostitutes now. Then I sent for a cab, for I couldn't walk home with my dress all burned. The cab came, and Monsieur Adhémar escorted me to it; I offered to drive him home, for he had to carry his arm in a sling. That was natural enough, wasn't it?"
"Surely. Poor fellow! is he badly burned?"
"Yes, on the wrist; it will not be serious; but he will probably retain the mark. He declined my offer, and left me."
"Ah! and was that all?"
"Yes."
"It's a pity!"
"What a child you are! Oh! there was something else, though."
"What was it? what was it? I had a shrewd idea that it wasn't finished."
"I thought that it would be discourteous of me, knowing his address, not to send to inquire how his burn was getting along; for, you see, it was for me, it was in assisting me, that he was injured."
"Why, of course; and it was your duty to inquire."
"Still, I hesitated a long while."
"Why so?"
"Oh! because—I don't know—I was afraid it would seem as if I wanted to force that young man to think about me."
"Really? was that the reason?"
"Dear me! how spiteful you are this morning!—At last, I concluded to do it; and three days ago I sent my servant to inquire about the burn. She saw him, and he told her that it was almost well, that he thanked me very much for the interest I was good enough to take in him, and that he should have the honor of coming himself to thank me."
"Oho! so he has been to see you, has he?"
"No; that was three days ago, and he hasn't been yet. He probably said it to be polite; he won't come."
"I'll bet that he will."
"He may come or not, as he pleases; after all, it makes no difference to me."
"Oh! what a lie!"
"Juliette!"
"Yes, that's a lie; it does make a difference to you! Tell me, Nathalie, am I not to be your confidante, as you are mine? You have often said to me: 'I made amarriage of reason; I have never known what it is to love; but it must be a very pleasant thing. I am bored sometimes when I am alone; if I loved somebody, it seems to me that I should never be bored.'"
"Yes, I have said all that to you; what then?"
"Well—let me look into your eyes. Come, I'll bet that you are never bored now."
"What an idea, Juliette! You will have it that I am in love with a man whom I hardly know, who has never spoken to me but once, and who has no desire to see me again—as you see!"
"Mon Dieu! I don't say that you love him; but I think that he attracted you—that you might have fallen in love with him."
"Well, yes! yes, my dear friend; yes, he did attract me; yes—— I don't know whether it is gratitude for the great service he rendered me, or—— Oh! I won't conceal anything from you! Ever since that day, I don't know what has been the matter with me: I have been nervous and sad; everything irritates me; I keep wanting to cry; I think of him all the time; I tell myself that I am a fool, that I lack common sense. But I am not bored any more—no, no, I am never bored now!"
And Nathalie threw her arms about her friend; her heart had longed for a vent, and it was relieved as of a burden. Then she continued:
"And Lucien knows him? Oh! how I would like to see Lucien! I would ask him a thousand questions. But you say he speaks highly of him?"
"Yes, very.—By the way, I remember——"
"What?"
"No, I won't tell you that."
"Is it something concerning Monsieur Adhémar? I insist upon your telling me, and telling me instantly!"
"Well, Lucien said: 'It's a pity that Adhémar will never believe that anyone loves him; it is true that he has been deceived so often by his mistresses that it may well have made him distrustful; but he carries it too far now; he has sworn never to love any woman again.'"
"That's a drunken man's oath, my dear love," said Nathalie, with a smile; "and that young man isn't old enough to keep it."
"But tell me, my dear, is there anything new? Have you had no news?"
"Of whom?"
"You know to whom I refer."
"Oh! yes, I understand; but, really, my adventure with Monsieur Adhémar has made me entirely forget the person you speak of. No, thank heaven, I haven't seen him again!"
"I am so glad! when I think of him, do you know, I am always afraid for you."
"What a child you are!"
At that moment, Madame Mirotaine II entered the room.
"Your father's asking for you, Juliette," she said.—"Ah! your servant, madame! excuse me for disturbing you."
"Not at all, madame; I was just going when you came in; in any event, I would not keep Juliette from obeying her father's summons.—Au revoir, dear girl!"
As Nathalie kissed her, Juliette whispered in her ear:
"Come to see me after the famous dinner; I will tell you the result."
"Very well; and I will tell you if—I have seen him again."
"Madame, I have the honor to salute you."
"Present my compliments to Monsieur Mirotaine, if you please!"
"I will not fail, madame."
The day of the famous dinner party had arrived, and everything was in confusion at Monsieur Mirotaine's, where the entertainment of strangers was a most extraordinary thing. From ten o'clock in the morning, the master of the house had been parading his apartments, going constantly from the dining-room to the kitchen and back, and heaving profound sighs at sight of the preparations for the repast. Seeing Goth, his young maid-servant, take something from the sideboard, he stopped her, saying:
"What's that you're taking?"
"Pepper, monsieur."
"What for?"
"To put in the sauce piquante I am making."
"What's the use of a sauce piquante?"
"Why, it's to eat with your joint, monsieur,—your rib of beef. A fillet would have been tenderer, but monsieur wouldn't have that."
"Why not ortolans, and have done with it? You people have sworn to ruin me to-day! Mon Dieu! suchprofusion, such waste! Leave the pepper there—you don't need it."
At this point, Madame Mirotaine appeared on the scene.
"What's the matter with you, my dear?" she asked.
"Monsieur won't let me have the pepper," said Goth; "but I must have some for my sauces."
"What are you thinking about, my dear? Don't you want anything to be good?"
"I want—I want you to stop throwing my money out of the window. Every minute this girl has to have something new—salt or pepper. It's enough to break a man's heart!"
"Well, monsieur, I'd like to know why I don't have a supply of such things in my kitchen, like the cooks do in all decent houses?—And, madame, I must have some pickles too, and some capers for the white sauce for the fish."
"We must send out for some."
"Not by any means; it's all unnecessary. What's the good of capers? You have plenty of mustard here."
"But, monsieur, you don't put mustard in a white sauce."
"Make it red, then."
"My dear, if you don't let us have what we need for dinner, everything will be horrid; and then you will certainly have spent money uselessly, instead of doing yourself credit."
Monsieur Mirotaine took an old bandanna handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes, muttering:
"You make me do crazy things, Aldegonde!—What are you going to have for dinner, anyhow?"
"In the first place, we have a julienne soup."
"What doesjuliennemean?"
"Vegetables cut fine."
"Oho! vegetables at the very beginning! What next?"
"There will be butter and radishes on the table."
"That makes two courses."
"No, those are hors-d'Å“uvre; they don't count."
"Don't countis good! they have to be paid for, all the same!"
"The next course to the soup is always fish."
"Are you sure that you couldn't possibly have the soup without it?"
"It's customary. We have a pike; salmon would have been better, but as the very smallest ones are worth from fifteen to twenty francs——"
"What an outrage! And to think that there are people who eat salmon!"
"So I had a pike instead, and for that we must have a caper sauce."
"Why can't it be eaten without sauce?"
"It wouldn't be good.—Flanking the fish we shall have cutlets with peas and atourte aux boulettes."
"The twenty-four-sou kind, I trust?"
"For eleven people! the idea! The two-franc size, and that will be very scant!"
"Well, I hope that that's all."
"I should think not! that's only the first course. Now we come to the second."
"Great God!"
"For your joint, you have ribs of beef; then, for vegetables, on one side string beans, on the other spinach."
"Why need you have more vegetables? You have served them already with your julienne, you told me, so you don't want them again."
"Julienne is a soup, not a meat course. Then——"
"What! is there something more?"
"Macaroni; and as it is always necessary to have sweets——"
"Take my head at once!"
"No, my dear; that wouldn't be good. We shall have acrême à la vanille. You must give me some sugar; I haven't any left."
"Nor I, either!"
"Well, there's plenty at the grocer's."
"No, I still have a few pieces of candied sugar."
"Give them to Goth.—For dessert, such fruit as is in season."
"Prunes?"
"This is summer time, and you don't give your guests dried fruit. Then cheese——"
"Marolles—that's the best."
"Nonsense! your marolles smells up the whole room. Roquefort, and biscuit."
"Enough! enough! you may as well kill me!"
"Oh! you forgot the salad, madame."
Monsieur Mirotaine, in a rage, aimed a kick at Goth, shouting:
"There's salad for you! That will teach you to ask for something else!"
Goth began to cry, and demanded her wages. Madame Mirotaine succeeded in pacifying her, and sent her off to her kitchen; then she berated her husband for giving way so to his temper, and told him that she would leave him if he interfered again in the details of housekeeping. Monsieur Mirotaine, who set great store by his wife for the very reason that she led him by the nose, begged her pardon and added, with a sigh:
"It's this dinner that irritates me, and makes a brute of me!"
"Just remember that you are going to get rid of your daughter—to marry her to a millionaire Italian count, Count Miflorès, who will give us some superb presents, I am sure, when he gives her her wedding gift."
"You think that he'll give us something?"
"Madame Putiphar feels sure of it."
"Then it's all right!"
"It is well worth a dinner.—By the way, monsieur, have you thought about the wine?"
"The wine! why, I have some in the cellar."
"Yes, our regular table wine, which is very bad."
"The more water you put in it, the better it is."
"But we must have claret with the second course, and champagne at dessert; everybody does."
"That's it: everybody does! Luckily, I know a man who makes champagne at one franc twenty-five the bottle."
"It must be perfectly awful stuff!"
"He assured me that it was delicious and foamed like beer."
"As for claret, somebody sent you a basket of twenty-five bottles, either in payment of a debt, or as a present; but I know that it's excellent."
"Yes; but I am keeping it for some time when I may be sick."
"You will give me two bottles of it, monsieur; you must."
"Two bottles! isn't one enough?"
"No; we shall be eleven at table."
"As many as that?"
"When you entertain strangers, you don't give them just a family dinner; that's too informal. I have invited all the Brid'oisons; we have dined there several times, and thiswas a good opportunity to return their courtesy; besides, you have business relations with Monsieur Brid'oison."
"Oh! he finds me a borrower now and then. Will they bring their son?"
"Of course; they are mad over him, as you know. Naturally, we shall have Madame Putiphar; it is she who is arranging the match; and then, she knows the count's intimate friend, a very jovial young man, so it seems. Then I have invited your sister, Madame Trichon; she's an excellent woman."
"Yes, and a widow, without any children, whose heir I should be, if she should happen to die. But she's very hearty—she eats a lot!"
"To offset her, I have invited Monsieur Callé; he's a very distinguished young man, and he eats almost nothing."
"Do you really mean it? But what is the explanation of your inviting him?"
Aldegonde bit her lips for a second, trying to think of a reply. At last she found one:
"He is a very good musician; he sings well, and plays the flageolet. In the evening it will be pleasant to have a little music."
"Does the young man accompany himself on the flageolet when he sings?"
"No, but he can play for the dancing; I have invited several more people to come in in the evening; and if they want to dance——"
"Whom have you invited?"
"The Boulard ladies, your friend Dubotté and his wife——"
"Oh! he never comes!"
"He said that he would try to come this time. Then the brothers Bridoux. There'll be quite a lot of us.But we shall have to pass round refreshments during the evening."
"Very well; you can give them cocoa."
"No, monsieur, no! Cocoa does well enough when we have nobody but your sister and Monsieur Callé, who is very abstemious; but for this Italian count we must have something else."
"Well, lemonade, then. Squeeze a lemon in two or three quarts of water; it's very refreshing."
"That's my affair, monsieur; I will think it over, and find a way to provide what is right. You will dress, monsieur, I trust?"
"Ain't I all right as I am?"
"No, certainly not; your linen is soiled, and your waistcoat all covered with spots. You must put on a black coat."
"I don't own such a thing."
"You don't own a black coat?"
"What's the use, when I never wear one? But I have a black overcoat that I've only had five years; it's the same as new."
"Well, monsieur, dress as well as you can. I have told your daughter to beautify herself, too; she must make a favorable impression on this Monsieur Miflorès!"
"Oh! young girls are always coquettish enough."
"As for myself, I shall try to make myself presentable and to do you credit. I must now see how things are going in the kitchen."
Monsieur Mirotaine, being left alone, heaved a prodigious sigh; then, after reflecting for some time, he went hastily down into his cellar with a pitcher full of water; he took several bottles of wine and drew the corks, then filled some empty bottles with two parts of wine, and oneof water from his pitcher. Having thus manipulated four bottles, he took them upstairs, chuckling over what he had done. Then he took two bottles of the Château-Léoville which had been given him, and was about to doctor them in the same way; but he heard footsteps; it was Aldegonde returning; she took possession of the two bottles which she saw on the table, and the generous wine escaped the baptism which awaited it.
While Monsieur Mirotaine was making up his mind to dress, and madame was devoting all her attention to her toilet, Juliette, who had been dressed for a long time, and who would gladly have disfigured herself in order to create an unfavorable impression on this guest in search of a wife, but who was as pretty as ever, because, even when a woman wants to make herself look ugly, she always dresses so that she does not look so—Juliette was busy setting the table, the cook having too much to do about her saucepans to find time to lay the cloth. The girl sighed as she arranged the plates, and said to herself:
"If this dinner were to celebrate my engagement to Lucien, what a difference it would make! how happy I should be! But they haven't even invited poor Lucien; and yet, only last night, father sent him from the Barrière du Trône to Passy, and didn't even pay for a seat on top of an omnibus!"
Madame Mirotaine came to look at the table; she held in her hand divers small slips of paper, on which the names of the guests were written.
"We must arrange these carefully," said Aldegonde.
"What are you going to do with those slips of paper, madame?"
"They are to show each person the seat he or she is to take at table."
"Why, can't they sit wherever they choose?"
"No; it is good form to put each guest's name at his place beforehand; that makes it more convenient about taking seats."
"Then I beg you, madame, not to put me beside this stranger, this Italian count."
"On the contrary, Juliette, you must sit beside him. As he is coming here for the purpose of meeting you, he must be able to talk with you."
"You know that I never talk, madame; put him beside you, he will be much better pleased."
"But, Juliette, I am not the one whom this gentleman wants to marry."
"That's a great pity!"
"What a child it is! The best I can do is to place the count between us, at my left; at my right, I shall put the man who deals in sugar, who is very agreeable, so Madame Putiphar assures me. Whom shall I put next to him? It's very embarrassing! It's a regular science to arrange your company right."
"Put Monsieur Brid'oison there."
"No, we must have a lady next to a man; the sexes should be mingled as much as possible. Ah! Madame Putiphar; this gentleman knows her, and he will be very glad to talk with her. And then—great heavens! what a puzzle! Ah! Monsieur Callé—that will do; Monsieur Callé, then Madame Brid'oison, Monsieur Mirotaine, Madame Trichon, and Monsieur Brid'oison. There! it's all done."
"But that makes only ten, and there are eleven plates. You have forgotten to write a slip for one guest."
"Pshaw! whom have I forgotten?"
"Artaban—young Brid'oison."
"Oh! to be sure; he's not a pleasant neighbor, that urchin; his father makes him do gymnastic exercises, and he's always thrashing about to show his limberness and strength; he keeps kicking you if you're near him."
"Put him next to me; I don't care."
"No; we'll put him between his father and Madame Trichon; they will make him keep quiet. Now, it's arranged as well as possible. I must run and finish dressing; for it's after four o'clock. And you, Juliette?"
"I am all ready, madame."
"But your hair is done very badly; and not an ornament in it—not a flower!"
"What's the use?"
"What do you say? what's the use? when it's a matter of marrying a millionaire count!"
"You know perfectly well that I love Lucien."
"Oh! bless my soul! love your Lucien all you please, but marry the count; that's all we ask of you."
Aldegonde returned to her room to finish dressing; and Juliette to hers, still cursing the second-hand clothes woman; while Monsieur Mirotaine, who had completed his toilet, appeared in the dining-room and walked around the table, carefully scrutinizing everything that was on it.
"What an array! what a feast! what fuss and feathers! Three glasses at each plate!—why three glasses? Are they supposed to drink three times at once? Ah! these are champagne glasses! How lucky I was to find some champagne for one franc twenty-five! What are all these things? radishes, butter, little onions! What profusion!"
Monsieur Mirotaine began to count the pickles:
"Nine, ten, twelve pickles! and they're big ones, too! That's much too many."
He took away four and put them in his pocket.
"That leaves quite enough. Now for the onions! there are too many of them too."
He took a handful of pickled onions, which he also stuffed into his coat pocket. Then it was the radishes' turn; as there were a great many of them in the dish, he took out two large handfuls, which went to join the onions and pickles. The only thing left for him to reckon with was the butter; he stopped in front of it and reflected as to how much he could safely put aside; but at that moment the bell rang, and Monsieur Mirotaine had barely time to lick his fingers, with which he had seized the butter.