In an elegant, brilliantly-lighted apartment on Rue Saint-Lazare, a fashionable company, already quite numerous, was engaged in conversation that was rarely of a private nature, but often piquant and satirical. At intervals, some witty person interjected a word or two, while the undaunted chatterers, who never had anything clever to say, persisted in holding the floor.
Madame Célival was just as Monfréville had described her: lovely, amiable, coquettish, glancing at a mirror from time to time, to be sure of the effect of her gown; paying due attention to all her guests, with the talent of a woman accustomed to society, but reserving softer and tenderer smiles for the men who were paying court to her.
Near the couch on which the mistress of the house had just taken her seat sat a young and pretty blonde, dressed in muslin and crêpe, and entangled in veils and scarfs that almost concealed her charming features; it was all pink and white and formed so becoming a frame for this lady that at a distance she resembled one of those engravings of a woman’s face surrounded by clouds.
Madame Célival thanked the pretty blonde for consenting to come to her reception, despite the torture caused by her nerves. A few steps away was a tall gentleman wearing a decoration; he was very thin andvery ugly; his chin was surrounded by a sparse necklace of jet-black beard; moustaches no less glossy, and carefully waxed and twisted at the ends, made his face resemble a cat’s in some measure. He was addressed as colonel.
A young man whose hair was parted and curled with as much care as a woman could possibly take, and whose regular, but somewhat harsh features recalled the faces which our historical painters love to give to the heroes of ancient Rome, was standing by the fireplace; he rarely removed his eyes from the ladies who were talking on the divan, but he seemed not to be observing either of them more particularly than the other.
Near the piano, for there was necessarily a piano in the salon, several young persons were assembled, turning over the leaves of albums, or looking at the music; they were not all good-looking, but they were all dressed with so much taste, there was so much reserved grace in their manners, that even those who were not pretty were not without charm.
In another part of the room the mammas were chatting together; some were dressed with a coquetry which seemed to indicate a purpose to outshine their daughters; others displayed a simple but tasteful elegance, suited to their age, which made them the more attractive when they were still young enough to attract.
Some young men were fluttering about the younger ladies, while others contented themselves with standing very straight and stiff in order to call attention to the finished elegance of their clothes and the good taste with which their hair was arranged. Some had assumed a smile which remained as if stereotyped on their faces throughout the evening. Then there were men of uncertain age standing and talking in the middle of theroom; among them a gentleman, whose gray hair, very scanty over his forehead, curled luxuriantly about his temples. He possessed a distinguished and intellectual face, but there was an over-curious, over-inquisitive expression in his little eyes, which gleamed with the vivacity of youth, although his face indicated that he was in the neighborhood of sixty. This gentleman talked incessantly, with much energy, and while carrying on a conversation in one part of the salon, managed to hear what was said elsewhere, and thus took part in most of the other conversations, sustaining his share of the discussion on several different subjects at the same time, with the same facility with which Caesar dictated several letters at once in different languages.
Another salon, smaller than that where the ladies were sitting, and reached by passing through a lovely little room furnished with the most delicious luxury, was set aside for those of the guests who wished to play cards. Whist and bouillotte tables were prepared, but there were as yet no players.
Monsieur de Monfréville and the Marquis Chérubin de Grandvilain were announced. All eyes were turned toward the door. The names Chérubin and Grandvilain formed such a strange contrast that everybody was curious to see the person who bore them.
“Monsieur de Grandvilain!” said one; “Gad! how ugly he must be! He must be an elderly man.”
“But the footman said Chérubin too; that’s a very pretty name.”
“They can’t belong to the same man.”
“Probably there’s a father and a son.”
While the guests indulged in these reflections, Madame Célival said to those who were nearest her, but speaking loud enough to be overheard by everybody:
“Monsieur de Monfréville did ask my permission to introduce a young man who has never been out at all; and I granted it the more willingly because this young man, who is the last of a noble family, deserves, so it is said, all the interest that Monsieur de Monfréville takes in him.”
“Ah! very well done!” murmured the gray-haired gentleman; “a little announcement preceding the introduction.”
At that moment Chérubin entered the salon with Monfréville. Despite all that his mentor had said to him, he was far from self-possessed, and the deep flush that covered his cheeks sufficiently betrayed his embarrassment. But his eyes were so lovely and soft, his features so refined, his face so interesting, that a flattering murmur greeted his entrance into the salon, and everyone felt prepossessed in his favor at once. The young men who were standing stiffly erect to display their fine points were the only ones who did not seem to share the general feeling.
“He has a very awkward manner,” said one.
“He carries himself badly,” said another.
“He looks like a woman in man’s clothes,” murmured a young dandy, bristling with beard, moustache and side-whiskers.
And Monsieur Trichet, the gray-haired gentleman, smiled maliciously and said:
“Chérubin! a most appropriate name. He is Comte Almaviva’s little page to the life! He still lacks the gallantry and self-assurance of his namesake; but those will soon come. The ladies will ask nothing better than to train him.”
Madame Célival greeted the young man with a charming smile when Monfréville presented him. She madeseveral of those complimentary remarks which captivate instantly the person to whom they are addressed. Chérubin tried to reply to her compliments, but he went astray and tangled himself up in a sentence which he was unable to finish. Luckily Monfréville was at hand and interposed to relieve his embarrassment, and Madame Célival was too well-bred not to do her best to put him at his ease. So that, after a few moments, Chérubin began to venture to look about him.
“What a lot of pretty women there are here!” he whispered to his sponsor. “I say, my friend, do you mean to say that one can love them all?”
“You are perfectly at liberty to love them all, but I cannot promise that they will all love you.”
“The mistress of the house is very beautiful; she has eyes that—I don’t dare to say it.”
“Say on.”
“That dazzle one, intoxicate one—excuse me, but I can’t think of the right word.”
“Intoxicate isn’t at all bad; in fact, you have unwittingly hit upon the most apt expression; for if wine deprives us of our reason, a pretty woman’s eyes produce precisely the same effect. I am tempted to tell Madame Célival what you just said about her eyes; she will be flattered by it, I’ll wager.”
“Oh! my dear fellow, don’t do that—I shouldn’t dare to look at her again. But the lady opposite is very pretty too! That blonde almost hidden by pink and white muslin.”
“That is Madame la Comtesse Emma de Valdieri; she is a fascinating creature, in very truth; she has something of the sylph about her, something of a daughter of the air. She is perfectly proportioned: small feet, small hands, small mouth, small ears; only her eyes are large.She is the perfect type of tiny women. But she is exceedingly nervous and flighty, and, above all, capricious; to-day she will greet you with a tender glance, to-morrow she will act as if she did not know you; adulation has spoiled her. Comtesse Emma is French, but her husband is a Corsican. He is that stout gentleman with whiskers, who is singing at the piano. He has a superb bass voice, so that he is always anxious to sing; and, although he’s a Corsican, he seems to be very little disturbed by the homage paid to his wife.”
Monsieur Trichet, who was at some distance from Monfréville, succeeded none the less in overhearing what he said to Chérubin; and he approached the two friends, saying in a sarcastic tone:
“True, true. Valdieri, the handsome singer, is not at all jealous; but it isn’t safe to trust him! With these Corsicans, there is always the vendetta to guard against. Is your health good, Monsieur de Monfréville?”
“Very good, monsieur, I thank you.”
“It is some time since you have shown yourself in society.”
“I have been obliged to pay a long visit to my estate near Fontainebleau.”
“Oh, yes!—So you are introducing monsieur in society? He could not find a better guide.”
Chérubin bowed and attempted to say a few words in reply; but after a vain effort, he deemed it more prudent to hold his peace. Monsieur Trichet was about to continue the conversation, when he saw, at the other end of the room, three gentlemen talking with great earnestness; he instantly ran toward them, crying:
“That isn’t so—you’re wrong! I know the story better than you do, and I’ll tell it to you.”
Monfréville smiled at Chérubin and said:
“I need not tell you that that gentleman, whose name is Trichet, is the most inquisitive and loquacious mortal whom it is possible to meet. He can’t see two people talking together without joining their conversation, which is not always agreeable. However, as Monsieur Trichet is a very wealthy old bachelor, who gives very handsome fêtes, and as, aside from his curiosity, he doesn’t lack wit and tells a good story, he is made welcome everywhere, in salons and at the theatres.”
Chérubin was still engaged in looking about at the assembled company, when the door opened and the footman announced:
“Monsieur, Madame and Mademoiselle de Noirmont.”
A lady above middle height, but of dignified and refined bearing, entered first, with a girl of some fourteen or fifteen years. The lady, whose dress, although rich, was almost severe in its simplicity, seemed to be rather more than thirty years of age; her features were beautiful, but grave; her large dark eyes, surmounted by heavy eyebrows, wore a vague and thoughtful expression which might lead one to think that her thoughts were often busy with something different from what she was saying; her lips, somewhat too tightly closed, hardly ever parted in a smile. That cold and haughty face was framed by beautiful tresses of black hair, which fell very low.
The young lady had the winning charm of her age; although she was not very pretty, her features attracted one by their fascinating expression of playfulness and mischief, which was often moderated by her mother’s stern glances.
Monsieur de Noirmont, who came after them, was a man of fifty; he was very tall and stooped a little; his temples were shadowed by a few dark hairs, but the top of his head was entirely bald. His appearance was stern,supercilious and far from attractive; his regular features had probably been handsome, but his steely glance, his sharp voice and his shortness of speech inspired neither affection nor confidence.
The arrival of these three persons seemed to cause Monfréville profound emotion; his brow became wrinkled, his eyebrows drew together, and a veil of melancholy covered his eyes. But in a moment, surmounting his sensations, he succeeded in resuming the amiable and unruffled air which he wore on his arrival; indeed one would have said that he made it a point to seem more cheerful than before.
Monsieur Trichet, who had returned to Chérubin’s side, did not fail to comment on the new arrivals:
“That’s the Noirmont family; they have left their estate in Normandie, and they live in Paris now. They must have found it very dull in the country. They are not a very hilarious family. That De Noirmont is stiff and sour and overbearing! Just because he was once in the magistracy, you would think that he was always sitting in judgment on you. However, he’s a man of the strictest probity; he deserves his reputation, but he’s not an agreeable companion. As for his wife, she is a worthy mate to her husband—she talks very little and never smiles. I don’t know whether she has any wit, but at all events she never compromises it. As for her virtue—oh! that is intact, as far beyond reproach as her husband’s probity. And yet Madame de Noirmont, who is very handsome still, although she may be thirty-three or thirty-four years old—yes, she must be quite that—must have been an enchanting creature at eighteen, assuming that she deigned to smile occasionally then. Their daughter, young Ernestine, is a mere child still. She is a nice little thing, merry and playful—which proves thatshe takes after neither father nor mother. But that is often seen.—Stay, colonel, I knew the person you are talking about, and I will explain the matter under discussion.”
At that, Monsieur Trichet joined the tall gentleman with the waxed moustache, who was talking with two ladies; and Chérubin, turning his head, saw that Monfréville was no longer by his side.
Finding himself alone, in the midst of that numerous assemblage, the young man felt sorely perturbed and lost the assurance which he derived from his friend’s neighborhood. As he preferred not to stand there, awkward and embarrassed, by the fireplace, where he was exposed to every eye, he succeeded in extricating himself from the circle by slipping behind an easy-chair, and thence made his way to a window recess, where he was prevented from going farther by several persons who were seated there. He tried to retrace his steps, but Madame de Noirmont and her daughter had seated themselves in front of him and closed the way by which he had come; so that he was blockaded in a very confined space, which he could not leave except by compelling the ladies in front of him to rise. As he was incapable of such an audacious act, he decided to remain in the corner where he was, until it should please chance, or Monfréville, to release him from his prison.
The ladies who were seated in front of the recess in which Chérubin stood had no suspicion that there was anybody behind them. The conversation continued in the salon; the guests walked hither and thither, laughing and chatting. Chérubin alone could not stir, and he was at a loss what to do in his little corner. Several times Madame Célival passed the people who were blockading him, but she did not see him. He congratulated himselfthat she did not, for he would not have known what reply to make, if she had asked him what he was doing there. Monfréville too had reappeared in the salon, but he did not see the suppliant glances which his young friend cast at him, and, instead of approaching him, he seemed to avoid that part of the room in which Madame de Noirmont had seated herself.
Nearly an hour passed thus. Poor Chérubin was terribly fatigued by standing so long, and terribly bored in his little nook. He could hear what Madame de Noirmont said to her daughter; but that lady did not enter into any sustained conversation; she simply replied in few words to Ernestine’s questions.
“Mamma,” said the latter, after a young lady had sung a ballad, “don’t you want me to sing?”
“No, my child, you are too young to put yourself forward; besides, unless your father insists upon it, you will never sing in company.”
“Why not, mamma?”
“Because I prefer in a young lady the modesty which keeps itself concealed, to the vanity which makes itself conspicuous.”
“But in that case, mamma, why did you give me a music teacher?”
“Such accomplishments are more useful in solitude than in society.”
“Oh!—But, mamma——”
“That is enough, my child.”
A glance from Madame de Noirmont imposed silence on the girl; but, after a few moments, she returned to the charge.
“Don’t they dance here, mamma?”
“Of course not. Did I tell you that we were going to a ball?”
“Oh, no! but sometimes they dance at receptions; it’s much better fun then.”
“You think of nothing but pleasure and dancing!”
“Oh! I am so fond of it! Father told me that he would give a great ball next winter.”
“A great ball! Oh! I hope that he will change his mind.”
“Why don’t you want to give one, mamma?”
“No matter; hush!”
The girl held her peace, but indulged in a pretty little pout; whereupon her mother seized her hand and pressed it, and said in a gentler tone and with an expression of the deepest melancholy:
“I distress you, Ernestine; you don’t love your mother.”
The girl replied by putting her mother’s hand to her lips and murmuring:
“Oh! you know that I do!”
Suddenly, happening to turn her head, Mademoiselle de Noirmont caught sight of Chérubin, who did not know which leg to stand on. When she saw that young man standing behind her and cutting such an amusing figure, young Ernestine only half restrained her longing to laugh.
“What is the matter?” her mother asked her; “what has happened to you? You should not laugh so in company—it is not proper.”
The girl replied by nudging her mother gently and whispering:
“Look—behind us—there’s a young gentleman.”
Madame de Noirmont turned and saw Chérubin, who, having no idea which way to turn, bowed low to her. Amazed to see the young man in hiding in a window recess, Madame de Noirmont was about to move so that he might pass; but at that moment, Monfréville, havingjust discovered his young friend, for whom he had been searching the salons in vain, drew near to assist him in escaping from his prison.
When she saw Monfréville coming straight toward her, Madame de Noirmont seemed to experience a nervous convulsion; but her face changed very slightly.
“Pardon me, madame,” said Monfréville, “and permit me to release a young man who, I am sure, has stood here a long while, afraid to stir because he was unwilling to disturb you.”
Madame de Noirmont’s only reply was to motion to her daughter to rise, which she instantly did. Chérubin thereupon took advantage of the path thus opened, apologizing profusely to young Ernestine; then he walked quickly away with Monfréville, not remarking the extreme pallor that covered Madame de Noirmont’s face, and his friend’s forced gayety.
“I have been there for more than an hour,” whispered Chérubin to his mentor. “Oh! I was awfully uncomfortable! such torture!”
“Well, my dear fellow, why do you creep into little nooks like that? Did—did Madame de Noirmont speak to you?”
“That lady in front of me, who looked so stern? No, indeed; she had only just discovered me. Oh! I should never fall in love with her, although she is very handsome! I don’t think she looks at all agreeable. How different from Comtesse Valdieri, and Madame Célival, and that one, and that one.”
While Chérubin turned his amorous glances upon those ladies who attracted him, Monsieur de Noirmont, who was talking with Monsieur Trichet, left that gentleman and walked to meet the young marquis, to whom he made a solemn and ceremonious bow, saying:
“I have just been told that the son of the late Monsieur le Marquis de Grandvilain is here, and I wish to say to him that I am delighted to meet the son of a person whom I esteemed and honored in every respect. Yes, monsieur, I was well acquainted with monsieur your father; he was a most excellent man; I have no doubt that his son resembles him, and I trust that he will do me the honor to call at my house. Here is my card, monsieur; I look forward to the pleasure of a visit from you.”
Chérubin, bewildered by this unexpected invitation, bowed and muttered a few commonplace words; but Monsieur de Noirmont took his hand and led him away, saying:
“Allow me to present you to Madame de Noirmont.”
Chérubin made no resistance; he allowed himself to be led back, shuddering, to the little recess where he had stood so long; but that time he was not compelled to enter it. Monsieur de Noirmont introduced him to his wife, saying:
“Monsieur le Marquis de Grandvilain, son of a man who honored me by calling me his friend.”
Madame de Noirmont, recognizing the young man who had been her prisoner, repressed a gesture of surprise, bowed coldly to Chérubin, and seemed to hesitate to look at him, as if she dreaded to see Monfréville with him again.
Little Ernestine bit her lips to keep from laughing, when she heard her father give the name of Grandvilain to the young man whom he presented.
At last Chérubin found himself at liberty once more, and returned to Monfréville, who said to him:
“You have been introduced to Madame de Noirmont?”
“Yes, my friend.”
“What did she say to you?”
“Nothing; indeed her greeting was decidedly cold.”
“Shall you go to her house?”
“Faith, I have no inclination to do so; it seems to me that it must be a horribly dull place. That Monsieur de Noirmont has a stiff sort of courtesy that turns one cold. After all, I am not obliged to visit all my father’s friends; they are hardly of my age.”
“You must leave your card at his door, that will be enough; I think with you that it will be as well for you not to go to that house. But Madame Célival is looking for you, she was asking just now what had become of you; I think that you have made a conquest of her.”
“Really! Oh! if that were true!”
“Look, there she is yonder. Go and say something to her.”
“What shall I say?”
“Whatever you choose; she will help you to keep up the conversation. Don’t be bashful, my dear fellow; that isn’t the way to get ahead in the world.”
Chérubin made an effort to overcome his diffidence, and resolved to join Madame Célival; she, when she saw him coming toward her, bestowed a charming smile on him and at once motioned him to a seat by her side. Encouraged by this greeting, Chérubin took his place beside the lovely brunette, faltering some words which it was impossible to hear, but to which Madame Célival replied as if she had heard them. A clever woman always finds a way, when she chooses, to impart assurance to the most bashful man, by taking upon herself substantially the whole burden of the conversation. Chérubin gradually felt bolder, better pleased with himself; he had almost reached the point of being entirely at ease with his companion, when the inevitable Trichet planted himself in front of them and exclaimed:
“I don’t know what you are talking about, and yet, I’ll wager that I can guess.”
Madame Célival, who appeared to be not at all pleased that Monsieur Trichet had interposed in her conversation with Chérubin, answered the old bachelor:
“You always try to guess what people are saying, but in this case you are quite likely to be mistaken. Tell me, what was monsieur saying to me?”
“That you are bewitching, adorable; for no man can say anything else to you.”
Madame Célival smiled, with a less irritated air, while Chérubin, blushing to the whites of his eyes, exclaimed:
“Why no, I didn’t tell madame that!”
“At all events, you thought it,” rejoined Monsieur Trichet, “and that amounts to the same thing.”
Chérubin did not know what to say; he lowered his eyes and made such a comical face that Madame Célival, taking pity on his embarrassment, rose and said:
“Nonsense, my dear Trichet; you are an old idiot! That is why we all have to forgive you.”
The old bachelor did not hear these last words; he had run off to join a gentleman who was declaiming at the other end of the salon, and whom it gave him great pleasure to interrupt. Madame Célival left Chérubin, saying, with a glance at once amiable and affectionate:
“I trust, monsieur, that you find my house agreeable; you will prove that you do if you come to see me often.”
“Well,” said Monfréville, as he joined Chérubin once more, “your business seems to be progressing.”
“Ah! my dear fellow, that woman is delightful! In her company, it seemed to me that I actually had some wit. I have never been so well pleased with myself.”
“It is always so!
“‘A great man’s friendship is a boon of the gods;’ but an agreeable woman’s love is the greatest blessing on earth! Come; you don’t play, nor I; it is time to go.”
They left the salon, which the Noirmont family had quitted just before.
It was nine o’clock at night, and two men, who seemed to be waiting and watching for somebody, were walking back and forth on Rue Grenétat. One of them, whose beat was from the centre of the street almost to the fountain at the corner of Rue Saint-Denis, wore a long frockcoat which fitted his figure perfectly and was buttoned to the chin, together with straw-colored gloves and the general outfit of a dandy; but when he passed a lighted shop, one could see that his coat was worn and spotted in many places, and that his gloves were no longer perfectly fresh. This gentleman was smoking a cigar with all the grace of a regular customer at Tortoni’s.
The second individual, who was enveloped in an old nut-colored box-coat, with which we are already familiar, wore a round hat, with so broad a brim and so low a crown, that at a short distance he seemed to be arrayed in the headgear of a coal man. He walked only a few steps from a house with a dark passageway, the gate of which was open, to the second or third house on each side of it; but his eyes never lost sight of the passage.
In these two individuals the reader will already have recognized Daréna and his worthy friend Monsieur Poterne.
Since his agent had been unable to do business with the young Marquis de Grandvilain, Daréna had fallen off lamentably from his former magnificence; as his profits had been squandered in a very short time, he had fallen back into what is callednoble indigence; “completely cleaned out,” was Monsieur Poterne’s way of stating it.
Daréna still had recourse to his young friend’s purse from time to time; but he was afraid of ruining himself entirely in Chérubin’s estimation, if he abused that method; for, despite his ingenuous candor, the young man was possessed of some natural common sense which enabled him to divine what was not in accordance with propriety; and Daréna did not wish the doors of the hôtel de Grandvilain to be closed to him.
“By God! is that beast of a Poterne making a fool of me?” said Daréna, stopping at the street corner to shake the ashes off his cigar. “The idea of doing sentry-go on Rue Grenétat, where it’s always muddy! It’s like the country! I ought to be in the foyer of the Opéra now! But I forget that my costume is a little seedy! What a beastly cigar! Pah! there’s nothing decent in this region!”
Daréna threw away the end of his cigar, retraced his steps, and, halting beside Poterne, who was leaning against a post, with his eyes fixed on the dark passageway facing him, nudged him with his elbow and said:
“Are we going to say here long, old tom-cat? Do you know that I am beginning to be deucedly bored?”
“When you want to carry an undertaking through to a good end, you must be patient,” rejoined Poterne, without turning his head.
“To a good end! I fancy that your end won’t be very good, you old rascal. But why does the damsel keep us waiting? Doesn’t she know that you are here? Come, Poterne, answer your friend.”
Poterne turned quickly and said in an undertone:
“Don’t call me by name, I beg you; there’s no need of the girl’s knowing my real name; she might repeat it by accident, or from stupidity, and my whole plan would be overboard.”
“You ought to be overboard yourself! But come, tell me what scheme you have thought up, and let me see if it has any sense; for I didn’t listen to you very carefully this morning.”
“It is very simple; we propose to try to make young Chérubin fall in love, in order to entangle him in an intrigue which may prove lucrative for us.”
“Alas, yes! for although ‘gold may be a mere chimera,’ all these rascally tailors refuse to make coats for me without some of that same chimera!”
“To make sure that our Adonis becomes deeply enamored, we must first of all find a pretty girl.”
“That is true; it’s the same way with jugged hare—first catch your hare.”
“Well, I have discovered what we need; here, in this house, on the third floor back, there is a rose, a genuine rose!”
“A rose in this vile hovel—and on the back! I am terribly afraid that your rose is only a hip!”
“You will be able to judge for yourself directly. This is the time when the work-girls leave their work; indeed, I am surprised that they haven’t come out yet.”
“And what does this blush rose do?”
“She makes Italian straw hats.”
“Very good; and she is virtuous?”
“Oh! I don’t hold her out as a prize-winner; but she makes a very modest appearance; she is very fond of a littlepays[A]of hers, who was obliged to go into the army as a simpletourlourou,[B]and it would make her perfectly happy to be able to save up enough money to marry her little pays when he comes home. So she won’t listen to any of the young men who run after her every night, because she knows that they’re ne’er-do-wells, who won’t help her to set up housekeeping with her little pays.”
[A]A native of the same province.
[A]A native of the same province.
[B]Infantryman.
[B]Infantryman.
“Bravo! the young woman has excellent principles. How did you make her acquaintance? by treating her to chestnuts?”
“By defending her against a young wig-maker’s apprentice, who, when he pretended to take her arm, always took hold of something else.”
“Those wig-makers are sad villains. This is what the habit of making curls leads to!—What proposition have you made to this rose-bud?”
“In the first place, I represented myself as a Polish noble, the Comte de Globeski.”
“You sinner! to presume to take the title of count!—What next?”
“I told the girl that, if she chose, I would put her in the way of making a very neat little sum. As she thought at first that I was in love with her, she answered that I was too ugly.”
“That’s good, I like that outspokenness.”
“I reassured her by telling her that I wasn’t talking about myself, but about a very comely young man, whom, for family reasons, we desired to become amorous of her.”
“I adore family reasons! Go on.”
“My pretty working-girl did not seem to have a very alert imagination; however, she almost understood. She’s an Alsatian, and her name is Chichette Chichemann. She has a slight accent, but it is not at all disagreeable and will pass for a Polish accent, especially as Polish is very like German. I have an appointment with her for this evening; we will take her to a café, and there we will agree on our movements; you will see that she is extremely pretty, and that she has a little virginlike way about her that is most deceptive. When she is dressed as a Polish countess, the young marquis must inevitably fall madly in love with her.”
“We will hope so, and then we must act in all haste, for Monfréville is taking Chérubin into society now. Our real marchionesses and countesses will find the youngster very attractive; and he, in his turn, will fall in love with one of them; and if his heart is once fairly caught——”
“We should be our expenses out of pocket!”
“Bah! that won’t make any difference, if your damsel is really pretty; there’s always room for a new love in the human heart. At eighteen years and a half, I could have loved all four quarters of the globe.—Attention! I think the flock is coming out.”
As he spoke, several young women in little caps and modest aprons came from the dark passage; some of them were soon joined by young men who were waiting for them; others walked away alone. Daréna and Poterne, stationed on the other side of the street, let them all pass. The last of all leaped the gutter with agility and walked up to Poterne, who tried to impart an amiable tone to his voice as he said:
“Did you recognize me, Mademoiselle Chichette?”
“I should say so; you look like a coal man with your big hat.”
Daréna laughed aloud, and the girl stepped back, saying:
“Ah! there’s someone with you, Messié Globeski?”
“Yes, an intimate friend of mine, who is employed to manage the affair I spoke to you about. We will go somewhere and talk it over.”
“Yes, my dear child,” said Daréna, taking the girl’s arm and passing it through his, “we will go and have a chat and a glass of punch. Do you like punch?”
“Oh, yes! ever so much!” the Alsatian replied, looking at Daréna.
“Very good; I see that we shall be able to come to an understanding! I am not quite so ugly as monsieur; take my arm, I shall frighten you less than he will. Is there a decent café hereabout? Let us go to Rue Saint-Denis. I haven’t looked at you yet, but I am told that you are enchanting; however, I must satisfy myself. Here’s a drug store.”
Daréna led the little hat-maker in front of the drug store, and, placing her under one of those blue globes which cast a sickly light into the street, he scrutinized her, then exclaimed:
“Excellent! Very pretty, on my word! And if we are like this, seen through a colored bottle, what shall we be in a moment? Here’s a café, let’s go in.”
The gentlemen entered the café with Mademoiselle Chichette; they chose a table in the corner, so that they might talk with less constraint, and Daréna said to the waiter:
“A bowl of rum punch—the very best that can be made.”
Poterne made a wry face and whispered to Daréna:
“The little one would be perfectly satisfied with beer; it isn’t worth while to——”
“What’s that? We are growing stingy, are we? Poterne, my friend, you know that I don’t like that sort of thing.”
“Don’t call me Poterne, I tell you.”
“Then be quiet, and don’t annoy me with your foolish reflections.”
Mademoiselle Chichette had taken her place at the table, where she seemed to pay no heed at all to anything that was said by the gentlemen who were with her. The Alsatian seemed about twenty years of age; she was very small, but she had a very becoming measure ofembonpoint; her face was round, with dark eyes, not very large, but well-shaped and surmounted by gracefully arched light eyebrows; a tiny mouth, pretty teeth, a plump little chin adorned by a faint dimple, chubby cheeks, and an extremely fresh complexion combined to form a charming village girl’s face; but there was no character to it, no expression in her eyes; always the same placidity and the same smile.
Daréna scrutinized the Alsatian anew, then said to Poterne under his breath:
“She’s very pretty, and as fresh as a rose. She looks respectable; in fact, she has rather a stupid air; but that will pass for innocence. Do you know, you have made a genuine find; when she is handsomely dressed, Chérubin cannot possibly help falling in love with her.—Ah! here’s the punch—let’s have a drink! Drink, young Chichette. Alsatians generally have a well-developed gullet.”
Mademoiselle Chichette smiled and took a glass, saying:
“Oh, yes! I don’t object.”
“The accent is a little pronounced,” muttered Daréna. “However, it doesn’t matter, it’s Polish—that’s understood.—Some macaroons, waiter! What! you see that we have a lady with us, and you forget the macaroons! Haven’t you any? If not, you should make some.”
“I have sent for some, monsieur.”
“That’s lucky for you. Meanwhile, give us some cakes, or gingersnaps—whatever you have.”
During this dialogue Poterne heaved a succession of stifled sighs. At last a dish was brought and placed by Daréna in front of the young work-girl, and he himself stuffed himself with cakes as if he had not dined. Whereupon Monsieur Poterne also decided to attack the plate, and to devour all the gingersnaps.
“You see, Comte de Globeski,” said Daréna, in a serio-comic tone, “that I did well to order these trifles. But now let us talk business, and come to the point.—Mademoiselle Chichette, you have one of the prettiest faces to be met with in Paris or the suburbs. We desire a young man to fall violently in love with you. That will be easy to bring about; but we wish his passion to encounter obstacles. Why? That does not concern you; the essential thing is that you should do exactly what you are told to do. In the first place, you are Monsieur le Comte de Globeski’s wife—consequently you are the Comtesse de Globeska. That is the usual custom in Poland: the man’s name ends iniand his wife’s ina.”
“Oh, no! I want to be my little pays’s wife! I’ve promised him.”
“Sacrebleu! this is only a joke; it’s part of the comedy we want you to play.”
“Oh, yes, yes! a joke! I’ll do it.”
“You are the Comtesse de Globeska, then, a Polish refugee; and your friend here—this gentleman whois so ugly—is horribly jealous; stuff all that in your head. We will give you a pretty costume; that can’t offend you; and you will live with monsieur for a few days, except at night; but with honorable intentions!”
“Oh, yes, yes!”
“And when the young man is dead in love, you may love him too, if you please; in fact, he is well worth the trouble—he’s a charming fellow. You don’t dislike charming fellows, do you?”
“Oh, yes, yes!”
“And for all this you shall have twenty-five napoleons; in other words, five hundred francs.”
“That’s too much! it’s too much!” whispered Poterne, nudging Daréna, “she would have helped us for two or three louis.”
“Yes, you shall have five hundred francs,” continued Daréna, “six hundred, in fact, if the affair goes off well. I will guarantee you that amount, and monsieur here will pay it.—Isn’t that rather pleasant, eh?”
“Oh, yes, yes!”
“Sapristi!” said Daréna, turning to his companion, “she strikes me as being stupider than a flock of geese! However, it makes no difference; Love is blind, and he is entitled to be deaf too.—Let’s have a drink! Another bowl, waiter.”
“But—but——”
“Be quiet, Comte de Globeski! you are at liberty not to drink any more, but you will still have the privilege of paying.”
The second bowl was brought; the young Alsatian’s color became more brilliant than ever; even her eyes began to show some life and Daréna exclaimed:
“Fichtre!if only Chérubin could see her now! What a conflagration she would kindle! Comte de Globeski,see to it that Chichette has such eyes to-morrow evening; make her a little tipsy.”
“Yes, with brandy!” muttered Poterne, blowing his nose.
“Attention! as it is easier to become acquainted at the theatre than anywhere else, the Comte de Globeski will take his wife to the theatre to-morrow evening—to the Cirque; that is the favorite theatre of foreigners.”
“Very good,” said Poterne, “we will go to the Cirque; we will sit in the second amphitheatre.”
“And why not in paradise, at once? Hum! you make me blush for you, Globeski! You will take seats in the first balcony—in a box.”
“But——”
“No buts!—Madame must be dressed in perfect taste.”
“I will do my best.”
“And you, count, will look to it that you bear no resemblance to a certain hound named Poterne.”
“There’s no danger.”
“We will sit in your box, behind you; the Comtesse de Globeska will assassinate my young friend with her glances.—Do you understand, my girl?”
“Oh, yes, yes!”
“And above all things she must not seem to know me.”
“Yes, yes!”
“Comte de Globeski will go out during the entr’acte without his wife, who will answer the sweet speeches my young friend will make to her. She will not talk much, for fear of making a slip, but she will be loving and passionate.”
“Oh, yes, yes!”
“After the play the count will take his wife away, and we will follow them. He will take a cab, we will do the like. The rest will go of itself. It’s all agreed andunderstood. There’s no more punch; pay the bill, count, and let’s be off.”
Poterne paid with a groan; Daréna even compelled him to give the waiter six sous; then they left the café. Mademoiselle Chichette lived on Rue Saint-Denis; they escorted her home and she promised not to go out on the following day, but to await Monsieur de Globeski’s coming. Then Daréna went to stroll in the Palais-Royal, and Poterne went home to bed.
Daréna had taken his measures in advance; he knew that Monfréville was to attend a large dinner on the following day, so that Chérubin would be free. He had seen him in the morning and had said to him:
“I want to pass the evening with you to-morrow; surely you will sacrifice your great ladies to me for one evening! You are always in the fashionable salons now—they monopolize you. Monfréville is never away from you; but my friendship demands its turn, and as I do not go into society—for the moment! I have such seasons—why, we will go to the theatre.”
Chérubin had agreed. But he was beginning to enjoy large parties; the pleasant welcome that he received everywhere gradually dispelled his shyness. Madame Célival was more amiable with him than with any other man; which fact seemed to annoy several gentlemen, among others, the colonel who resembled a cat, and the young dandy who had the look of a Roman.
Nor was this all: the fascinating Comtesse Valdieri, that fanciful, nervous, ethereal creature, who often received as if by special favor the homage that was addressed to her, had supposed at first that Marquis Chérubin would speedily help to swell the crowd of her adorers; but the young man had contented himself with admiring her at a distance, and in this case his shynesshad served him well. The little countess was deeply offended by behavior which she attributed to indifference; for in these days it is not to be presumed that young men are bashful, and Madame Valdieri, seeing that Chérubin talked a great deal with Madame Célival, did her utmost to steal that new conquest from her. With women anger sometimes leads to love, and any other than Chérubin would already have taken advantage of the rivalry he had caused.
The pretty countess had invited the young marquis to come to her receptions. Monsieur Valdieri, like a complacent husband, had seconded his wife’s invitation; and Chérubin waited upon the flighty Emma, who was most affable to him and seemed to forget her nerves.
And then, in a street near the hôtel de Grandvilain, there was a rather pretentious linen-draper’s shop, and in that shop, among a number of young women who were always at work at the counter, there was one fair-haired damsel, somewhat red about the eyes, with a little turned-up noseà la Roxelane, and an extremely wide-awake air. When Chérubin passed, she always found a way to be at the door and smile at him; or to go out into the street for a moment on the most trivial pretext; and several times, as she passed the young man, she had said:
“I come out at nine o’clock every night; if you would like to speak with me, wait at the end of the street; my name is Célanire.”
And lastly Chérubin had met Mademoiselle Malvina several times, no longer dressed as a Swiss, but very alluring with her little pink tucker, her short skirt, and the black silk scarf, which was wound so lightly about her waist that it caused her hips to stand out in a very pronounced fashion. And Malvina had halted in front of the young man, shot a burning glance at him, and said:
“So you don’t mean to come to see me, Monsieur Chérubin? Do you know that that is very bad of you, and that you are an ungrateful wretch not to cultivate my acquaintance? You know my address—come and breakfast with me. I get up late, but I give you leave to come very early.”
Thus Chérubin was exposed to a rattling fire from a number of fair ones, when Daréna, who had found a way to freshen up his costume, called for him and took him to the Cirque, on Boulevard du Temple.
On the road the young man did not fail to tell Daréna all that had happened to him; and he, having listened attentively, said:
“It seems to me, my dear fellow, that you are a regular Faublas—all women adore you! And how is it with yourself?”
“Oh! I adore them too!”
“So you love Madame Célival, eh?”
“Why, yes, I think so; I find her very fascinating.”
“And the languishing Comtesse Valdieri?”
“Oh! I like her very much too.”
“And the grisette—otherwise called the linen-draper’s apprentice?”
“I think that she’s very nice.”
“And Malvina, who dances so well?”
“She is very much to my taste.”
“Well! if that is so, how do you stand with all these women? Men don’t make any secret of such things among themselves, parbleu!”
“How do I stand? Why, no farther ahead than I was.”
Daréna roared with laughter, to the great annoyance of Chérubin, and rejoined at last:
“Then, my dear fellow, it’s because the will was lacking! and, according to that, I am bound to think thatall these ladies have made very little impression on your heart. However, I understand that: salon conquests—grisettes—lorettes—there’s nothing interesting in any of them! Sometimes chance brings us into contact with something better. But here we are at the Cirque.”
Chérubin purchased the tickets—Daréna always left that duty to him—and they entered the theatre.
“This is a very good place,” said Chérubin, stopping at the entrance to the balcony.
But Daréna, who had caught sight of the persons he was looking for in a box, answered:
“We shall be more comfortable in a box; besides, it’s better form. Come—let us go in here, for instance.”
And Daréna bade the box-opener admit them to the box in which he had recognized Poterne and Mademoiselle Chichette Chichemann.
One must have had Daréna’s keen sight to recognize those two individuals, and must have been certain that they were there, for they were perfectly disguised, especially Poterne, who was absolutely unrecognizable.
Daréna’s intimate friend had sacrificed the bristly hair that covered his head; he had been shaved, and so closely that he resembled a poodle returning from Pont Neuf. He wore on his nose green goggles, the sides of which were screened by silk of the same color; and he had stuffed something in his mouth, which transformed his hollow cheeks into chubby ones. The change was complete. The false Comte de Globeski was suitably attired in a blue frockcoat with frogs, buttoned to the chin, so that it almost made a cravat unnecessary.
Mademoiselle Chichette wore a silk dress of faded pink, a long cloak trimmed with fur, and a sort of little toque of green velvet, with silk tassels and bows of the same color, which fell over her left ear. Her costumewas not new, but her plump face was prettier than ever under the velvet toque, and her astonishment at finding herself in such fine array gave an almost piquant expression to her eyes.
Daréna grasped all this at a glance.
“That miserable Poterne bought everything at the Temple!” he muttered. “However, the little one is very pretty, luckily, and if my young Cupid doesn’t take fire, I shall begin to believe that there’s something wrong in his make-up.”
Poterne nudged Mademoiselle Chichette with his knee, calling her attention with his eyes to the young man who had seated himself behind her. The supposititious Pole turned, and after eying Chérubin, she murmured:
“He’s very pretty—almost as pretty as my little pays!”
Chérubin, on his side, glanced at the lady in front of him, and whispered to Daréna:
“Pray look at that pretty creature, my dear fellow!”
Daréna put his head forward, pretended to be moved to admiration, and replied:
“Upon my word, I never saw anything so perfect! The freshness of the rose and the splendor of the lily! She’s a pearl! At your age I would have stormed the moon to possess that woman.”
Chérubin made no reply, but he paid much more attention to the young lady in the green cap than to the play that was being performed. For her part, Mademoiselle Chichette, faithful to her instructions, turned constantly to look at Chérubin. Her glances lasted so long sometimes that Poterne was compelled to pull her dress, and whisper:
“That’s enough, you’re going too far! Anyone would think that you did nothing else on the boulevards.”
After some time Daréna said to his young friend:
“It seems to me that you are making progress, and that your business with this rose-bud is in a fair way to end in a bargain.”
“Why, it is true, she does look at me rather often. I don’t know whether I ought to hope.”
“You don’t know! What in the devil more do you expect a woman to do at first sight than to return your glances—yes, and with big interest! You have made a conquest of her, that is evident.—Gad! what a lucky fellow you are! I have an idea that she’s a foreigner; that man isn’t a Frenchman; he must be her husband.”
“Do you think so?”
“However, he has a very respectable look.”
“Do you think so?”
“It seems to me that nobody can help seeing it.”
During the entr’acte Monsieur Poterne did not fail to leave the box, alone; Daréna followed him at once, saying to Chérubin:
“Here’s an excellent opportunity to start a conversation. Go at it boldly.”
“Do you think that I might?”
“I promise you that the lady wishes it too. You see it is hard to be more hideous than that man who was with her, and she would not be his wife if she did not deceive him.”
Chérubin, when he was left alone with the charming person with whom he felt that he was very much in love, wondered how he should begin the conversation. Meanwhile she was making eyes at him in a fashion which invited him to speak, with an accompaniment of the most melting smiles. The young man ventured at last.
“Is madame fond of the theatre?”
“Yes,messié.”
“Does madame come often?”
“No,messié. But I used to go ever so much with my cuisine.”[C]