"Half-past eight."
"You have time enough."
"None too much; you see, I should like some dessert too."
"Oh! I see that you don't propose to abandon your share of anything."
"When a man has a good stomach, he ought to make use of it. If you play bouillotte this evening, I'll come back and join you."
"If we play!" cried Mouillot; "I rather think so—eh, Albert?"
"Oh, yes! I want my revenge."
"Bouillotte to the death!" said Balivan, absent-mindedly eating asparagus at the wrong end.
"And afterward, messieurs," said Dupétrain, "I will magnetize you all."
"Oh! he'll drive us mad with his nonsense! I say, Dupétrain, do you magnetize your mistresses, when you have any?"
"Certainly; I put myself in communication with them at once."
"He communicates his magnetic fluid to them."
"And as they confess, in the somnambulistic state, that they deceive him, that vexes him, and he goes off and puts others to sleep."
"Laugh as much as you please, messieurs!" rejoined Dupétrain, assuming a solemn expression and resting his elbows on the table; "but if I should tell you all theextraordinary things that have been disclosed to me by the power of magnetism, you would shudder from head to foot."
"Fichtre!" exclaimed Tobie, returning to the lobster. "Faith! they give you a good dinner here.—Is this story of yours very interesting?"
"Well, well!" said Albert; "here's Tobie burning with the desire to shudder from head to foot!"
"I'll tell you a single incident," replied Dupétrain, delighted to find that Tobie paid some attention to what he said.—"A young woman, whose husband was travelling——"
At that moment, the waiter opened the door of the salon and said:
"A messenger is here, asking for Monsieur Célestin de Valnoir."
"Very well," said Célestin, rising; "I'll go and speak to him."
He left the room and found Jean Ficelle waiting on the landing; he beckoned to the messenger, who said in an undertone:
"First of all, my comrade Sans-Cravate went to the same house that I did. I let him go first, as you told me; then I waited till he came out, before I went in."
"Very good. And he didn't see you?"
"It was impossible. The lady wasn't in, but I found the maid, Mamzelle Rosa, who told me where her mistress was—on Rue d'Angoulême, Boulevard du Temple, calling on one of her friends. I went there and found her, and gave her your letter. She read it, and then gave me this answer for monsieur."
With that, Jean Ficelle handed Célestin a letter. He tore it open, hurried to a gas jet to read it, and seemedsatisfied with its contents. Having put it in his pocket, he took out a two-franc piece and handed it to the messenger, saying:
"Here, this is for you."
Jean Ficelle made a wry face as he took the coin, and muttered:
"Only that much for going to Rue Neuve-Vivienne, then to Rue d'Angoulême, and coming back here; it ain't very fat pay."
"You rascal! I'll wager that the lady to whom you gave my letter paid you, and paid you handsomely too; so that I really ought not to give you anything."
"Monsieur is too shrewd," replied Jean Ficelle, with a half-smile; "there's no way of being sharp with him."
"Off with you! keep your mouth shut, and I'll employ you again; when you're paid at both ends, it seems to me that you ought to be satisfied."
"He's a skinflint, all the same!" muttered the messenger, as he went away.
Célestin returned to his friends.
"The reply is evidently satisfactory," said Mouillot, scrutinizing his face. "His eyes have the proud gleam of a victor already. Is your Dulcinea very pretty?"
"Oh! messieurs, it isn't what you imagine. It's important business."
"Are you going to marry?"
"No. It's some business on the Bourse. A little money to invest."
"Oho! if you're going to be a millionaire, then you can afford to lose at bouillotte.—The champagne frappé, waiter. Now is the time!"
"Messieurs," said Dupétrain, with his elbows still on the table, "I was about to tell you a very curiousanecdote.—A young woman, whose husband was travelling, desired to know whether, when he was away from her——"
"Silence! No more stories! here comes the champagne!—Well, Albert, why don't you drink? You are not in good spirits."
"Because my messenger doesn't come," replied the young dandy, with a sigh which he extinguished in a glass of champagne.
"Nor mine, either," said Tobie; "but I don't care! he'll come in time. Meanwhile, let us drink and laugh and sing! Champagne till we drop! They treat you mighty well here."
"Yes, you seem to be getting along very well," said the artist, with a smile.
"Spare yourself, Pigeonnier, my boy; or else you'll make a fiasco, in spite of your letter of recommendation."
"I! why I could drink champagne all day without getting drunk; I am so used to it!"
Again the waiter appeared, and said:
"There's a messenger for Monsieur Albert Vermoncey."
"Ah! it's for me this time!" exclaimed the young man, springing to his feet. "I am coming! I am coming!"
In a second he had left the room and joined Sans-Cravate, who came to meet him, holding three letters in one hand and a single one in the other, and who said, almost without stopping for breath:
"I did just what monsieur told me: first, to the lady's house on Rue Neuve-Vivienne. Not in; I left the letter. Then to monsieur's house, Rue Caumartin. The concierge gave me these three letters. They smell good; you'd think you had your nose on Bastringuette's tray. And then I went back just now to Rue Neuve-Vivienne,and they gave me this letter for monsieur. That smells good, too."
"A letter from her! Oh! give it to me, give it to me!"
"Here's all of them; first, the three the concierge gave me."
And Sans-Cravate handed Albert the letters he held in his left hand. But the young man crumpled them up together and thrust them into his pocket; then, hurriedly breaking the seal of the other one, which the messenger had in his right hand, he stepped aside to read it unobserved, while Sans-Cravate whistled acachuchabetween his teeth.
Albert had no sooner made himself acquainted with the contents of Madame Baldimer's reply to his letter, than his face assumed an expression of the most intense pleasure; he felt in his pocket and took out two five-franc pieces, which he put in Sans-Cravate's hand, saying:
"Here, Sans-Cravate; I am happy, and I want you to be happy, too."
"Ah! thanks, bourgeois.Crédié!it's a pleasure to work for you; you're very free with your cash. I am always at your service—day or night—no matter what time; whenever you need me, I'll be ready. And if you should be short of the needful, I'd work for you all the same; because, you see, when I once get attached to people, it isn't just selfishness that makes me work for them—it's the heart—it's——"
"All right, my good fellow, thanks! Some day, perhaps, I shall put your zeal to the proof. Go and enjoy yourself. I must return to my friends."
"Oh! yes, we are going to have rather a choice little spree!" cried Sans-Cravate, as he went downstairs four at a time. "Bastringuette will have a chance to letherself go; she's so fond of good things to eat! Three cart-wheels to spend: a tricycle! nothing less, by God!"
While Sans-Cravate left the restaurant, singing at the top of his voice, Albert returned to his place at the table.
"Give me something to drink!" he cried; "champagne! let us play cards and get drunk! I am in the mood now to do whatever you choose."
"It seems that all the replies are favorable," said Mouillot.
"Oh! very favorable!" rejoined Albert; "I make no secret of the fact that there was a woman who was inclined to play the prude with me, and with whom, of course, I was more in love than ever. But I have obtained an assignation—a tête-à-tête, at last."
"Oho! it's all settled, then."
"An assignation for this evening?" queried Célestin, with an indifferent air.
"No, not until to-morrow. So I can pass the evening, and the night too, with you. I am entirely at your service."
"So much the better; we will have a hot game."
"I shall win, for I am in a lucky vein."
"That's not certain; lucky in love doesn't mean lucky at cards; the proverb says just the opposite."
"For my part, I believe that luck in one brings luck in the other. So look out for yourselves to-night."
"Messieurs," said Dupétrain, with his elbows on the table, and glaring at each of his companions in turn, in order to attract their attention, "I think that the time has come——"
"To put us to sleep?" cried Balivan.
"No; but to tell you about that extraordinary occurrence that I started to tell you a moment ago."
"I say, messieurs," said Mouillot; "we may as well let him tell his story; if we don't, he won't give us a moment's peace this evening.—Go on, Dupétrain; but if it lasts too long, you won't be allowed to finish it."
"Oh! messieurs, I am sure that the anecdote won't seem long to you; it's too interesting for that.—A young woman had a husband, who was travelling——"
"You have already told us that three times."
"This young woman was very desirous to know whether her husband, while he was away from her——"
"A messenger wants to speak to Monsieur Pigeonnier," said the waiter, at the door.
All the young men roared with laughter at the expression of Dupétrain's face when he was interrupted for the third time at the beginning of his story. But Tobie left the table, saying:
"Excuse me a moment. Don't go on without me. I am coming right back."
Paul was waiting for Tobie; he seemed very tired, and the perspiration was still streaming from his face. But Monsieur Pigeonnier began by saying to him:
"It has taken you a very long time; you are very late; if I was a messenger, I would move quicker than this."
"It's not my fault, monsieur," Paul replied. "I went first to the Marché du Temple, to see Madame Agar Abraham."
"Speak lower, messenger, lower! Come to the foot of the stairs; there are too many people passing here."
They went downstairs, and Tobie led Paul into the farthest corner of the courtyard.
"Now, go on," he said; "I am listening."
"I handed monsieur's letter to Madame Abraham."
"Very good; where's the money she gave you?"
"She gave me no money for monsieur; but after reading the letter, she cried: 'My nephew is trying to make a fool of me! does he suppose that I am going to support him in his extravagance? I won't lend him another sou! not another liard! and if he don't pay what he owes me—— '"
"All right! all right! that's enough! Madame Agar was jesting; in the first place, I am not her nephew, but that's a favorite term of hers that she applies to everybody; she even calls some of her lady customers her nephews. I'll go and give her a lecture, to teach her not to be so familiar.—Then you went to my concierge, Madame Pluchonneau, who made haste to do what I wanted?"
"She didn't make any too much haste, monsieur. In the first place, she cried: 'If monsieur thinks I like doing such errands as this—carrying his coat to the Mont-de-Piété—— '"
"Hush! hush! not so loud! Those concierges are so infernally insolent. It's very warm in my room, the sun shines into it all day; I don't need to keep my winter clothes through the summer, for the moths to eat; and then, I have so many clothes, I really don't know where to keep them. Well?"
"Well, monsieur, your concierge went on with her dinner and didn't show the slightest zeal."
"I'll have my landlord discharge her."
"When she had finished her dinner, she went up to your room.—'If monsieur sends to the Mont-de-Piété so often,' she said, 'I don't know what he'll have left to cover his backside.'"
"Backside! she didn't use that word, I trust?"
"I beg your pardon, monsieur; I have repeated exactly what she said."
"She'll pay dear for that. She shall not do my chamber work any more—I mean, she shan't help my valet with my cooking. But let us skip these details; they are eating the dessert without me."
"At last, monsieur, your concierge did your errand. She was gone a very long time; that's why I could not return any sooner, as you told me to wait."
"True."
"She came back in a very ill humor, and gave me this for monsieur."
And Paul handed Tobie two five-franc pieces and one of two francs.
"Twelve francs!" he cried. "What does this mean? twelve francs for a superb silk-lined paletot, with a velvet collar! Messenger, she must have given you more than this."
Paul repressed with difficulty an angry retort, and handed Tobie a slip of paper, saying:
"No, monsieur; there wasn't any more money, but she gave me this paper with it, which will prove that I have handed you all that I received."
The paper was the Mont-de-Piété ticket. Tobie read it, and muttered:
"The Arabs! twelve francs! only twelve francs for a luxurious garment which cost me a hundred and nineteen! However, I won't let them keep it long, to teach them—— All right, my boy, all right!"
And Monsieur Pigeonnier started to go away without paying the messenger. He thought better of it, however, went back to Paul, and put a ten-sou piece in his hand.
"Here, my boy," he said; "here's your money."
Paul glanced at the ten-sou piece, and could not refrain from saying:
"What, monsieur! this is all you give me for more than three hours?"
"Three hours! three hours! it isn't my fault if you make a job last forever."
"But, monsieur——"
"I never give less than ten sous for an errand, and never more; it's quite enough."
"I did two errands for monsieur; I went first to the Temple, and——"
"Well, well, all right! here—for God's sake, don't whine!"
Tobie reluctantly took four sous more from his pocket and gave them to Paul, then ran quickly up the stairs; while the young messenger, evidently confused and humiliated by the way in which he had been treated, walked slowly away from the Maison-Dorée.
Tobie instantly resumed his seat at the table, and, to make up for lost time, stuffed himself with biscuit, fruit, preserves and confections; but, although he did full honor to the dessert, his face, when he rejoined his friends, was very far from expressing the lively satisfaction depicted on Albert's and Célestin's after their interviews with their respective messengers.
"This time," said Mouillot, "I fancy that the reply was not so agreeable as on the two preceding occasions. Young Tobie does not appear perfectly content. She no longer loves him!"
"I beg your pardon," replied Tobie, filling his glass with champagne; "on the contrary, she loves me too well."
"It's very strange, but one would swear that you were annoyed. Don't lie about it: your charmer has given you your walking ticket."
"Not at all! but she's a horribly jealous creature, with whom I was to dine to-day. I broke my engagement in order to join you, and she writes me that it is plain that I no longer love her, and that she's going to take poison; that alarms me a little, because she's quite capable of doing as she says."
"Nonsense! you must have read it wrong; it's fish [poisson] that she's going to take. Show us her letter."
"Impossible, messieurs! I must respect her reputation."
"I say! you're putting figs and raisins in your pockets now; do you like them pocketed, too?"
"Oh! I was absent-minded; that devil of a woman! Why need she disturb my enjoyment! Basta! I won't think any more about her. Another love awaits me! Give me something to drink!"
Monsieur Dupétrain, who had been coughing persistently for several minutes to attract the others' attention, replaced his elbows on the table, and began:
"Messieurs, as the three messengers you were expecting have all come at last and brought replies to your messages, and as you will not be called away again, I think that this is an opportune time to tell you my somnambulistic anecdote."
The young men prepared to listen; and Mouillot drew his watch, saying:
"I am going to see how long your story lasts; I warn you that I give you only ten minutes. Look, Dupétrain, you see that it's eight twenty-five."
Monsieur Dupétrain did not look at the watch, for he was already off.
"A young woman, the wife of a man who was on a journey——"
But at that moment, Albert, as if he suddenly recalled the plan he had formed, cried:
"Eight twenty-five! Well, Tobie, what about your appointment for half-past eight? You have no time to spare, for the lady is not very patient."
Tobie sprang to his feet, delighted to have an opportunity to leave in a hurry; without losing an instant, he threw down his napkin and seized his hat.
"Mon Dieu!" he cried; "that is true; and I had forgotten it for the moment. I must run. Excuse me, messieurs, but it is an adventure which I should be very sorry to miss.—Pay for me, Albert; I haven't time to wait for the bill."
"Very well! Will you come back this evening, to tell us the result of the interview?"
"To be sure; and to play a game of bouillotte with you. Will you be here?"
"No," said Mouillot; "if we want to make a night of it, we had better go to Balivan's; we shall be more at liberty there."
"My studio is at your service, messieurs; with pipes of all sizes, from all countries."
"All right; then I will join you at Monsieur Balivan's."
"You know my address? Rue Taitbout."
"I know, I know! Au revoir!—By the way, Monsieur Dupétrain, please don't tell your story till I come back."
Dupétrain made no reply; he had taken his head in his hands and was fascinating his plate. The young men laughed heartily, and Tobie disappeared.
Madame Plays was a woman of some twenty-five or thirty years, who looked her full age, because she had a large and powerfully built frame, and features in harmony therewith. But although women of that stamp seem to attain at an early age the summer of their existence, they have the satisfaction of retaining the aspect of that season when they are well advanced in their autumn; that is a compensation which may fairly be considered an advantage.
Madame was a fine figure of a woman; not too tall, but perhaps somewhat overdeveloped in the way of embonpoint; her outlines were still graceful, however, and her broad, well-rounded hips showed that she did not need to resort to artifice to imitate nature. A foot of medium size, with a gracefully arched instep, a stout but well-proportioned leg, a pretty arm, a soft, plump hand, with those taper fingers that seem destined to touch none but pleasant things—so much for the body. A face of a decidedly rustic type, but fresh and attractive; a large nose, a large mouth with pretty teeth, brown eyes which promised many things, and eyebrows which promised still more—so much for the features.
As for her mind, no one ever mentioned it; it was regarded as absent. She was all material and sensual; but she had had the tact to choose a husband well suited to her. A man of forty years, stupid as an owl, but in vigorous health; quite capable, when his wife was nototherwise provided, of fulfilling all the duties imposed upon him by his marital office, and deeming himself very fortunate when madame deigned to permit him to enter upon those duties. In a word, she led him by the nose, deceived him every day, and did not allow him to dine out without her permission.
A single incident will suffice to elucidate Monsieur Plays's character.
One day, one of his intimate friends met him a few steps from his home. When he accosted him, he noticed that Monsieur Plays, who was usually perfectly calm and placid, seemed somewhat excited, and that his eyes were rolling from side to side with an unaccustomed expression.
"I was coming to see you, Plays," said his friend; "but what's the matter with you, pray? you seem rather excited."
Monsieur Plays wiped his forehead with his handkerchief, and replied:
"Faith! I have good reason; just listen. I went home just now, unexpectedly, it is true, for I wanted to tell my wife that I have a box for the Bouffes; I opened her bedroom door, without knocking, and I found her—I found her—with one of my cousins—in a position—there was no mistake about it—you understand, don't you?"
"Oh! yes, I understand perfectly. Well, didn't you do anything?"
"Yes. I went out again and slammed the door with all my might! They must have seen that I didn't like it."
And the adventure had no other consequences, except that when he next appeared before his wife Monsieur Plays had a sheepish look, as if he were ashamed of the way he had ventured to slam the door.
Such was Herminie Plays's husband. He did a large commission business and made a great deal of money; which was very necessary in his household, as madame spent an enormous amount for her dress and her pleasures.
It was half-past eight o'clock. The weather was fair and warm, for it was still summer; but the daylight was beginning to fade, and one had to be very near a person to distinguish his features plainly.
There was a large throng in the neighborhood of the flower market of the Chaussée d'Antin—that is to say, beside the Madeleine. There were not many flowers left; still there were enough to content the modest purchasers who came late in order to pay less.
For ten minutes, a woman dressed in the height of fashion had been walking back and forth in front of the rosebushes, myrtles, and orange-trees; sometimes she walked on the outer edge of the sidewalk, to avoid the people who were examining the shrubs; but her glances ranged over the whole market and its neighborhood; not a man passed without her looking closely at him to make sure that it was not he for whom she was waiting; you have already divined that the woman was Herminie Plays. There was an impatient gleam in her eyes, for a rendezvous of this sort was something to which she was not accustomed; and if Monsieur Albert Vermoncey had not been a very fascinating young man, it is probable that she would already have left the place.
Suddenly a short, stout young man came toward her, walking as rapidly as his little legs would allow. She saw him coming, but she was about to turn her head away, for he was not the young man she was expecting, when he halted in front of her and raised his hat, saying:
"It is surely Madame Plays to whom I have the honor of wishing a good-evening?"
"Yes, monsieur. Ah! it is Monsieur Tobie Pigeonnier! I did not recognize you at first—it is getting quite dark."
"I recognized you at once, madame; but you have one of those figures which it is impossible to mistake, and which attract one's eye instantly."
"You are too gallant, monsieur; but I beg your pardon—I am looking for somebody, and I am afraid——"
"Do not look for him, it is useless; he will not come—at least, not at this moment."
"What! what do you mean?"
"That I come from Albert Vermoncey, my intimate friend, who is prevented by important business from joining you just yet."
"What do you say? he has told you—why, that is very indiscreet on Monsieur Albert's part. Really, men are a hundred times more garrulous than women!"
"That is true! O mon Dieu! how true it is!"
"I trust that you do not believe——"
"I believe only that Albert is very fortunate when he is with you."
"That is too kind of you! but what did he tell you to say to me?"
"To offer a thousand excuses—and then, to escort you to a place where he will join us—a little later."
"Ah! he will join us—and he has sent you to keep me company?"
"If you will be good enough to accept the substitution."
"This seems to me rather inconsiderate on Monsieur Albert's part. I don't know if I ought to believe you."
"Here's a letter which he gave me for you, so that you might have full confidence in me."
Madame Plays took the letter, opened it, recognized Albert's signature, and tried to read it; but it was too dark, so she folded the letter and put it in her bosom, saying:
"I will read it later; but I see that Albert did really send you to me. What a harebrained performance! it is characteristic of him! Well, where are we to wait for him?"
"I will escort you. Will you deign to accept my arm?"
"I must. Oh! this is too absurd; but I can't help laughing at the idea. Ha! ha! what a madman that Albert is!"
Madame Plays took Tobie's arm, and leaned heavily upon it, because it tired her to walk; but her cavalier did not complain; he mistook for a tender pressure what was simply the result of the lady's embonpoint, and, in his turn, he began thus early to press amorously to his side the arm that was passed through his.
Pigeonnier led Madame Plays toward the Champs-Élysées. He knew that he would find in that direction an abundance of restaurants with private dining-rooms. It was so late, that the lady had surely dined; and he was not sorry for that, because he would have to regale her with ices or punch only, which were much less expensive; he had already considered all these little details. He preferred not to spend the twelve francs he had obtained on his coat, for he wanted to keep something with which to play bouillotte, hoping to win enough at that game to pay for his share of the dinner.
"Are you taking me to the Circus?" asked Madame Plays, when she saw that they were going toward the Champs-Élysées.
"No. That isn't where Albert is to meet us, but at a nice little restaurant over yonder."
"A restaurant! but I have dined!"
"Really—you have dined? Ah! that's a pity; however, we can take something all the same."
"You act as if you weren't certain of the place where Albert is to meet us."
"I beg your pardon—look—that is the place."
"What! under that mountebank's tent?"
"No; behind it—that café. Yes, that's the place."
Tobie led his charge into a sort of café, and told the waiter who came forward to meet them to show them to one of the private rooms on the first floor. Madame Plays did not seem at all alarmed when she heard her escort ask for a private room. She was afraid of nothing; indeed, she was strong enough to check any enterprise which did not please her. So she followed with an assured step as the waiter led them upstairs, then through a passageway, and opened the door of a small room looking on the Champs-Élysées.
"What can I offer you?" inquired Tobie of his charming companion; "ices, punch?"
"I will take an ice."
"Very good.—Waiter, some ices."
As the waiter left the room, Madame Plays exclaimed:
"Why don't you tell him that a gentleman will come and ask for us?"
"Ah! yes, to be sure."
And Pigeonnier ran out of the room, overtook the waiter in the hall, and said to him:
"Don't bring any biscuits or macaroons or cakes with the ices; madame doesn't like any of those things; nothing but ices, you understand."
"We always serve them with ices," replied the waiter, with an offended air; "but you're not obliged to eat them."
"Yes; but I tell you it isn't worth while to serve them."
"Very well, monsieur."
The corpulent young man danced back to the room in which he had left his charge, who had removed her hat and shawl.
"Excellent," said Tobie to himself; "she is making herself at home; she made no fuss about coming to a private room, so I conclude that the affair will go of itself."
"What can we see from here, I wonder?" said Madame Plays, walking to the window.
"Oh! nothing attractive," said Tobie, who preferred that the window should remain closed. "We are right above those travelling showmen, who have set up their booth close to the house, and exhibit bears and panthers and other monsters, I believe. If I were the proprietor of this restaurant, it seems to me that I wouldn't have them so near."
"Why not?" said his fair companion, with a smile; "everybody must live, must they not?"
"Everybody, yes, but not monsters. On my word, I detest monsters—but I idolize beauty."
As Tobie concluded this sentence, he took Madame Plays's hand and imprinted a kiss upon it; the charming creature allowed her hand to be kissed without objection.
The waiter brought the ices; as he placed them on the table, he looked with amazement at the lady who did not like biscuits; he spent a long time arranging theices and spoons, and when he had finished he did not leave the room; so that Pigeonnier was obliged to say to him:
"That's all right; when I want anything, I will ring."
The waiter departed at last, and Tobie seated himself beside Madame Plays, placed an ice in front of her, and said:
"I trust that you will not be like this to me."
"What do you mean? flavored with vanilla?"
"No, no; I meant that—if you would not be like ice to me——"
"Indeed! Is that what Albert told you to say to me?"
"Oh! but you know—when one's friends are not by—and one has a burning heart—and one finds one's self beside such a charming woman——"
The waiter suddenly opened the door and said:
"I didn't bring any biscuits or macaroons, because madame doesn't want any."
"What! who told you I didn't want any?" demanded Madame Plays.
"Why, monsieur——"
Tobie's face became purple; he glared savagely at the waiter, and interrupted him with:
"What's that you say? what nonsense is this? I said: 'If your biscuits aren't fresh, I don't want any; if your macaroons are old, keep them.'—I do not wish to offer madame anything that is not—worthy of her."
"But, monsieur—just now, out in the hall, why—that wasn't——"
"If you don't hear straight, it isn't my fault. Go! we have heard enough; leave us."
The waiter made no reply, but glanced at Tobie with a cunning expression, as he left the room.
"That waiter is an idiot," said Tobie, eating his ice; "he made me lose the thread of my discourse."
"So Albert is detained by important business? a rendezvous with some other woman, perhaps? Doubtless you know all about it, as he confides his most profound secrets to you. All men are villains when they are together."
"One thing is certain—that I am very happy; and as for his confidence, I would willingly abuse it."
"Upon my word, that is very pretty!"
"Listen; if I had the good fortune to be in favor with so lovely a woman as you, I wouldn't send a friend to stay with her during my absence."
"It is true that that indicates——"
"Vast self-conceit, or perfect indifference."
"Ha! ha! how you abuse your friend!"
"The absent are always in the wrong; that proverb will be true as long as the world lasts."
"Do you think so? Perhaps I don't agree with you."
"Oh, yes! oh, yes! do agree with me! When one has eyes that——"
Again the waiter opened the door, and entered the room with two dishes, one filled with biscuits, the other with macaroons.
"There! they are perfectly fresh," he said, as he put them on the table. "Taste them. They were baked yesterday."
Madame Plays burst out laughing, for Tobie's eyes were like pistols; however, he dared not say anything, and the waiter was about to leave the room, when Madame Plays, having finished her vanilla ice, called him back.
"Waiter, bring me a fruit ice; what fruits have you?"
"We have strawberry, madame—and vanilla."
"I know you have vanilla, as I have just eaten one. But I ask you what fruit ices you have."
"We have strawberry, madame—and vanilla."
"I understand—you have nothing else."
"I beg pardon, madame; we have mixed ices too."
"What flavors?"
"Strawberry and vanilla."
"Bring me a strawberry, then.—And you, monsieur, won't you take a strawberry ice?"
This question was addressed to Tobie, who did his utmost to look pleased as he replied:
"Oh, no! I never eat more than one ice, myself. I shouldn't dream of doing it. I have noticed that if you eat more than one, they are likely to do you a lot of harm; they give you cramps in the stomach."
"Oh! I could eat a dozen; I could eat them all day, without the least bad effect."
"The devil!" thought Tobie; "it's lucky they haven't anything but strawberry and vanilla."
The waiter went out and soon returned with the strawberry ice. Again he busied himself arranging the plates and glasses and spoons, but he left the room at last. Madame Plays attacked the strawberry ice, tasting also the macaroons and biscuits.
"The cost is climbing up," said Tobie to himself; "this woman eats a great deal. If I don't divert her attention by making love to her, both dishes will soon be empty. I have heard it said that women must always have one sense at work. Let's try to give her something else to think about."
He drew his chair nearer to Madame Plays, looked her in the eyes, and heaved a tremendous sigh. The faircreature, who was of a very jolly disposition, exclaimed, with a smile:
"Mon Dieu! Monsieur Tobie, what's the matter with you? You make eyes at me, and breathe so hard!"
"Ah! madame—I see that Albert did very wrong to send me to you."
"How so? do you repent of having conferred a favor on your friend?"
"But if that favor deprives me of my repose, my happiness, my peace of mind!"
"Ha! ha! you are joking. How is your repose endangered, pray?"
At that moment, the showman, standing directly beneath the window of the room occupied by Tobie and his charge, began to announce the performance by tapping with a stick on a huge picture placed beside the entrance of the booth. His voice was so shrill and penetrating that it was impossible for persons in the private rooms not to hear every word he said, even when they paid no attention; and the following dialogue between the young man and his fair companion was necessarily interrupted by the mountebank's periods:
TOBIE(trying to take Madame Plays's hand).
You ask me how my repose is endangered. Is it possible that you have not divined! Great God!
THESHOWMAN.
The show is about to begin, messieurs and mesdames; it is about to begin.
MADAMEPLAYS.
Let alone my hand! you are sitting very close to me.
THESHOWMAN.
Now is the time! the time has come! the show is about to begin!
TOBIE.
Ah! I would like to be even closer. I would like——
THESHOWMAN.
Come in! come in! buy your tickets! there won't be enough for everybody!
MADAMEPLAYS.
That fellow is insufferable with his yelling!
TOBIE.
Oh! I am not listening to him. I think only of you, whom I adore. Ah! if I could obtain a little corner in your heart!
THESHOWMAN.
There are seats for six sous, four sous, and some for two sous, for the convenience of the public.
MADAMEPLAYS.
But, Monsieur Tobie, really I was very far from expecting this! My heart does not give itself so quickly; and to win it——
THESHOWMAN.
Military men are admitted for half-price, and may keep on their spurs.
TOBIE.
Ah! if it were necessary to love you like Orlando Furioso, I am capable of it. My love is boundless.
THESHOWMAN.
It is a wonderful, astounding, miraculous exhibition.
MADAMEPLAYS.
But how long have you loved me? It seems to have taken you all of a sudden! I can hardly credit it. Pray, what is there about me that attracts you so?
THESHOWMAN.
Curiosities such as were never seen in any part of the world.
TOBIE.
What is there about you, madame! You ask me that? Why, in my eyes, you are a divinity!
THESHOWMAN.
An ostrich with a neck as long as a giraffe, who shows his tongue when you don't ask him to.
MADAMEPLAYS.
Hush! you say as much to many other women, I am sure. Tell me, Monsieur Pigeonnier, how many mistresses have you?
THESHOWMAN.
Three panthers, which perform all sorts of tricks.
TOBIE.
Mistresses! I have none! and if I had the good fortune to please you, you would be to me——
THESHOWMAN.
A real camel, which is absolutely tireless, and stays on its back whole days at a time.
MADAMEPLAYS.
Mon Dieu! how tiresome that man is! hasn't he nearly done? (She nibbles a biscuit.)
THESHOWMAN.
This is the hour for feeding the animals.
TOBIE.
Oh! let me kiss that soft, white hand, let me caress that shapely arm.
THESHOWMAN.
This is the hour when the male camel plays all sorts of tricks on his mate.
MADAMEPLAYS.
That clown sets my nerves on edge. What an idea to bring me here! Albert isn't very considerate in his choice of a rendezvous. Oh! Monsieur Pigeonnier, stop that; I won't allow you to touch my knees in that way.
THESHOWMAN.
Buy your tickets!
TOBIE.(trying to put his arm round Madame Plays's waist).
What a graceful figure; you remind me of Venus.
THESHOWMAN.
There is still room inside; if you are pleased with the show, tell all your friends and acquaintances.
MADAMEPLAYS.
Well, well! what are you doing, Monsieur Tobie? such presumption!
THESHOWMAN.
The curtain will rise in a moment, and you will see what you will see!
At this point, Madame Plays rose with an impatient gesture, crying:
"Oh! I cannot stand it any longer! such things as that clown says! they are too hateful to listen to!"
"He has finished; yes, he certainly has finished his announcement; that noise means that the people are going into the booth."
The booming of a bass-drum and several blasts of a bugle followed the conclusion of the showman's speech. A few greenhorns and idlers entered the booth; but most of the spectators walked away, being well aware that what one sees at the door of such spectacles is always much more amusing than the exhibition inside.
Tobie took Madame Plays by the hand and led her back to her seat, for he was eager to renew the conversation, which was just becoming interesting. The fair dame made no objection, but said, as she resumed her seat:
"Albert doesn't come, and his behavior begins to have a very strange look."
Pigeonnier threw himself at her feet, crying:
"Even so! if he doesn't come, that is an additional reason for you to forget him, to take your revenge, to yield to me."
Madame Plays seemed to hesitate, and somewhat abated her severity toward the young man at her feet; but, as she was arranging her collar, her hand came in contact with the letter she had placed in her bosom. She took it out, saying:
"By the way, I couldn't see to read Albert's letter, on the boulevard. Let us see what he says, and in what terms he recommends you to me. After that, I will decide whether I ought to listen to you."
"Read it! read it!" cried Tobie, thinking that Albert's letter could not fail to have an effect favorable to himself.
Madame Plays read the letter to herself; but as she read on, her cheeks flushed, her eyes shot fire, and her face assumed an expression of the most intense indignation. To understand this change, we must remember that the heedless Albert had written his letter while his friend Mouillot was preparing the menu for their dinner. With no suspicion of what he was doing, but thinking that he was writing only the sentences which came into his mind, he had interspersed some of the dishes which Mouillot mentioned aloud for the behoof of the company; the result was an epistle thus conceived: