[B]Bourrique, an ass;bourriquet, an ass's colt.
[B]Bourrique, an ass;bourriquet, an ass's colt.
"No, no! your horse shall not take a step!"
"Don't worry him with your rein."
"Dismount, Cédrille of Pau; if not, we will forcibly remove you and your companion from Bourriquet's back!"
Some of Master Hugonnet's customers were already preparing to carry out this threat; but at that crisis,the Béarnais peasant, whose face had turned purple and had assumed a menacing expression, quickly raised his right arm, and brandishing in the air the dogwood staff with which his right hand was armed, twirled it about in the faces of those who approached, with such fearless and uncompromising dexterity that in a moment there was a large space cleared in front of the travellers; and yet, some of the jokers did not move back quickly enough to avoid a blow from the redoubtable dogwood staff.
Meanwhile, the pretty girl threw both arms about her companion, and, raising her head, seemed to defy with her glance those who surrounded her, and to say to them:
"Come forward now, if you dare!"
All this had taken place in an instant; but the panic was soon over, and all the young men, who were in the habit of beating the watch, fighting with citizens, and brawling every night in the streets of Paris, were in no humor to fly from a peasant's club. Having retired to a safe distance, they turned about once more and drew their swords; the bachelors, students, pages, and esquires did the same; for at that blessed epoch almost every man wore a sword or a rapier of some sort, in order to be always in a position to fight on the most trivial pretext: a consequence of the gentle manners and pacific customs of the good old times.
At sight of the bare swords, Miretta said to her companion:
"Come, push on, Cédrille! beat your horse! Let us get away from here, or some disaster will happen to us."
The peasant shook Bourriquet's rein with no gentle force; but although the beast no longer felt a hand on his bit, he stood like a statue in his tracks, and, in spite of the urging of his rider, refused to advance a step, terrified doubtless by the noise that he heard and by the crowd that stood in a circle about him.
Meanwhile, the young men again approached, half threateningly, half laughingly; they brandished their swords, and some of the points were already in contact with the dogwood staff which Cédrille continued to handle with much address, while they shouted in his ears:
"Down! down, rustic!"
"Dismount at once, and ask our pardon on your knees!"
"Yes, let him apologize! or else we will carry off the girl!"
"And Bourriquet too!"
"And we will break the staff over Cédrille's back!"
"Break my staff!—Oh! jarnidieu! there's more than one of you who will have a few ribs broken first!"
But when she saw all those gleaming blades directed against her companion, and often, by inadvertence, threatening her own person, pretty Miretta uttered piercing shrieks; she called imploringly for help. To her cries, uttered as they were in a plaintive, grief-stricken tone, the young men replied by a storm of jests and lamentations;they tried to reassure the girl, to make her understand that they would do her no harm; but she, too terrified to hear what they said, continued her outcries.
Thereupon Master Hugonnet, who thus far had continued to shave Monsieur de Monclair, abandoned his customer and ran into the street to find out what was happening. At the same time, Ambroisine left the baths to ascertain the cause of the uproar and the shrieks that she heard.
As the father and the daughter reached the street, two other persons arrived on the scene, one by Rue des Mathurins, the other from Saint-Benoît cemetery; and, having quickened their pace in order to arrive sooner, they made their appearance at almost the same moment—forcing their way through the crowd without ceremony, and distributing blows to right and left among those who did not move aside quickly enough to make way for them.
"Ah! here's our friend Passedix, whom we were so anxious about!" cried several of the reckless youths, when they spied the long, lank, yellow-faced chevalier, who always wore a helmet, which heightened his resemblance to Don Quixote, although his helmet was not of the shape of that worn by the Knight of the Rueful Countenance.
"Ah! here is the Sire de Jarnonville!" exclaimed others of the young men, at sight of the second of the two new-comers, who, by rough handling of the crowd, had arrived in front of the barber's shop.
He was a tall, handsome man, dressed in a rich but very sombre costume; his black doublet, slashed with white satin, had the appearance of a mourning garment; a black velvet cloak, faced with white, covered his shoulders; his full, funnel-shaped top-boots also were black, although most gentlemen wore yellow ones except when they went to war. His broad-brimmed hat, turned up in front, had no other ornament than a long plume of the same color as the cloak. So that the Sire de Jarnonville was sometimes given the sobriquet of theBlack Chevalier.
He was thirty-eight years of age, but seemed much older, because his brown hair was beginning to turn gray; because his noble and regular features were almost always clouded, as if under the burden of painful thoughts; because his eyes also had ordinarily an expression of profound sadness; and lastly, because his brow was furrowed with premature wrinkles, and the clouds which darkened it were rarely dissipated.
And yet this gentleman, whose aspect was so gloomy, and whom one would have taken to be the enemy of all pleasure, had for several years past participated in all the amusements and festivities, and especially in all the brutal tricks which were played on bourgeois, tradesmen, and even attachés of the court. Whenever one of the most dissolute frequenters of the bathing establishments proposed some new escapade—to abduct a woman, to hoodwink a guardian, or to thrash the watch and throw a whole quarter into dismay, he could be certain beforehand that the Sire de Jarnonville would join him; he was one of the first volunteers in all perilous undertakings; he always rushed to the spot where the danger was greatest, fought like four men, and was the last to leave the field.
If anyone had a duel on hand and lacked a second, the Black Chevalier was always ready to render him that service, without even inquiring as to the subject of the dispute or the name of the adversary; but always on condition that he should fight with the opposing seconds.—Did anyone propose to gamble and drink, Jarnonvillegambled and drank, and sometimes drank too much. Amid the companions of his revels, at the banquet table, in a midnight affray, in a duel, he almost always retained that melancholy expression which had aged his features before their time; to one who watched him fight and gamble and drink, it seemed that he did all those things without inclination or pleasure, but solely in the hope of diverting his thoughts; and that he could not succeed in doing it. Such was the personage who had forced his way through the crowd and taken his stand beside the Marquis de Sénange, while the Chevalier de Passedix approached Bourriquet's hind quarters and contemplated with admiration the pretty girl who was seated thereon.
"Ah! here is Jarnonville! Vivat! the victory is ours!"
"Come on our side, O Black Chevalier! you arrive in the nick of time; there's a girl to be kidnapped, and a clown to be beaten!"
"Vrai Dieu! it seems to me that there are a good many of you for such a small matter!" rejoined the Sire de Jarnonville, casting his eye over the crowd assembled before the barber's house.
"Yes; but the task is not so simple as you might think, my master; for we must obtain possession of this pretty wench without doing her the slightest harm; and yonder idiot, with his club, is capable of wounding the little one in trying to defend her."
"Ah! he knows how to handle the staff, does he? So much the better! we will judge of his talent."
"Sandioux! messeigneurs," cried Passedix, "why do you attack this child? and this stout youth whom she presses to her heart, rolling her lovely eyes to beseech our compassion?—I wish, first of all, to know the subject of the quarrel; and I object beforehand to any sort of force being put upon such a charming wench!"
"Come, come, valiant Passedix, just move away from that nag's hind quarters and come over to our side! Do you mean to desert our camp? are you going over to the Greeks?"
"Beware, second Don Quixote; we shall have no mercy for traitors!"
"Cadédis! if you think to frighten me, my boy, you waste your time and your words! With my good Roland, this trusty blade which came to me from my godfather Chaudoreille, I will spit you all like smelts, provided that this lovely child accepts me for her knight. One word from her sweet mouth, and I make mincemeat of you all!"
Bursts of laughter greeted the Gascon chevalier's braggadocio; but he, drawing his long sword, put the point to the ground before Miretta, and bent his knee as he said to her:
"Answer, O marvellous queen of Paphos and Cythera! Will you accept me for your champion in the combat which I beg the privilege of undertaking for you? Give me a pledge—the merest trifle—your glove; you have none? then your pretty hand, that I may kiss it; and I am victor!"
Miretta stared in utter amazement at that tall man, thin as an asparagus stalk, who was almost kneeling at her horse's tail; she seemed not at all inclined to accept him for her knight, for ugliness inspires women with little confidence, and the Chevalier Passedix was perfectly ugly.
But the Béarnais peasant, still twirling his staff, said to the Gascon:
"Thanks for your offer, seigneur cavalier; it isn't to be refused.—Here are I don't know how many of them setting on me, and I am all alone to defend my travelling companion! My opinion is that it's a cowardly trick! But come and take my side, and I'll warrant that with my club and your spit we'll prevent these gentry from carrying off Miretta."
Although he considered the termspitin very bad taste as applied to Roland, the valorous Passedix, whom Miretta's eyes had already taken captive, instantly took his stand in front of the horse, threatening the assailants with his sword.
While these things were taking place about the travellers, Master Hugonnet and his daughter, having learned the subject of the quarrel, were striving to make the reckless youths drawn up in battle array in front of the shop listen to reason. But that which at first was a simple jest had become, in the eyes of those young dandies, a matter of self-esteem, almost of honor. No one of them was willing to give ground before Cédrille's staff. In orderthat the dispute should come to an end without violence, it would have been necessary for the peasant to agree to apologize to those who had jeered at him and insulted him, and he was in no mood to humble himself before them.
"By Notre-Dame! messeigneurs," said Hugonnet, going from one to another of his customers, with his basin of soapsuds in one hand and his shaving brush in the other, "what have this peasant and his companion done to you that you should pick a quarrel with them? What an idea—to throw a whole quarter into commotion and bring the whole neighborhood to the windows, for two travellers who have only one horse between them!"
"Leave us in peace, Hugonnet; attend to your own affairs; this doesn't concern you!"
"Pardieu! yes, it does concern me; for you are blocking the whole street, you are in battle order in front of my house, so that it would be impossible for anyone to come near who might happen to want a bath or a shave! So you see that you injure me with your quarrelling, and that it does concern me."
"For heaven's sake, messieurs," said Ambroisine, in her turn, "do not torment this poor traveller like this! What pleasure can you find in frightening a woman? Let these people go their way. They are not Parisians—anyone can see that! They do not know that you are only threatening them in joke."
"In joke!" repeated young La Valteline, with a frown. "But you are not aware,belle baigneuse, that that peasant's staff has soiled my cloak!—Oh! I must chastise him for that! These knaves must be taught the respect that they owe us."
"And why do you jeer at them and attack them, if you wish them to respect you?"
"Enough, fair Ambroisine! sermons are all right for preachers, but they amount to nothing in a pretty girl's mouth!"
"Come, Jarnonville! forward! have at him! have at him! let us trounce the peasant!"
"Not without my helping to defend him!" ejaculated Master Hugonnet, running to take his stand beside the travellers, still carrying his basin and shaving brush.
"And I will not allow that girl to be insulted, without doing what I can to help her!" cried Ambroisine, following her father and placing herself in front of Miretta.
"That is right! good! good forla baigneuse!" cried all the women, who had been drawn to the scene by the noise of the quarrel. "You are on the girl's side, and we too will defend her!"
"All these ne'er-do-wells are fit for nothing but to insult women!"
"Let us pick up stones and throw them at the villains!"
"No, no! by Notre-Dame!" cried Hugonnet. "No stones, I entreat you! You will break my windows andmy sign, and I shall have to pay for all the damage! We shall be able to settle this business without you!"
The young gentlemen were embarrassed, for, although eager to fight and having little fear of their adversaries, they were afraid that in the scrimmage they might injure the pretty traveller and Ambroisine.
The latter, divining what held them back, took delight in defying all those fine cavaliers, who were in the habit of making love to her, and several of whom called out to her:
"Come away from there,belle baigneuse; that is no place for you!"
"You are in our way. Besides, you ought not to take sides against your customers!"
"I don't care a fig for customers! Let these travellers go their way, and I will agree to shave all of you."
This proposition seemed to make an impression on several of the young men; but the Sire de Jarnonville, irritated by all this discussion, drew his sword and strode toward the horse's head. With a few passes he soon sent the famous Roland flying through the air. Passedix, disarmed, called loudly for another weapon.
The Black Chevalier thereupon turned his attention to the dogwood staff, but he had not so simple a task as with the Gascon's sword.
At that moment, a young page, who had stolen forward to unseat Miretta, was confronted by Master Hugonnet; and he, having no other weapons than his basinand shaving brush, instantly covered the page with a thick coating of lather, filling his nose and mouth and even his eyes with it; whereupon the assailant began to shriek at the top of his voice. All eyes were turned in that direction. At sight of that face completely covered with lather, a roar of laughter burst from all who were present, friends and foes, combatants and lookers-on; it was as if they were trying to see who could laugh the loudest.
This incident suspended the combat for a moment. But the Sire de Jarnonville, who alone had taken no part in the general merriment, immediately renewed his attack on the peasant's staff. Whether because Cédrille's arm was tired, or because the sight of that gleaming weapon, whirling through the air and sometimes striking sparks, dazzled his eyes, he began to defend himself less vigorously. At last, a blow dealt with more force than usual broke the staff.
The peasant was beaten; the Black Chevalier's weapon was already on the point of forcing him to dismount, when Ambroisine, who had left her post a moment before, suddenly reappeared, carrying in her arms a little boy of three or four years; and darting in front of Jarnonville, she held the child out to him, crying:
"Take care, seigneur, you will wound this child!"
Those words and the sight of the little boy produced a magical effect on the Black Chevalier. He paused and dropped his arm, which was raised to strike; the warlikeardor which enlivened his face gave way to an expression of sadness, almost of tenderness. He gazed for some seconds at the little fellow, who, not realizing that he was in the midst of a battle, was not in the least frightened, but smiled up at the chevalier, crying:
"I'd like to fight, too!"
Jarnonville stooped to kiss the child's forehead, and replaced his sword in its sheath. Then, turning to the young noblemen, who were utterly amazed at the change that had taken place in him, he said to them:
"It's all over, messieurs; the treaty of peace is signed!"
"What! all over? How so, if we are not satisfied?"
"I tell you that it is all over! This peasant has been conquered, disarmed; what more do you want?"
"We want him to apologize."
"We want most of all to kiss the pretty girl whom he hasen croupe."
Jarnonville's only reply was to push aside with his arm all those who stood in front of the horse, thus clearing a passage for him. Then he made a sign to the peasant, who understood him and dug his heels into Bourriquet's ribs. This time the poor beast seemed to share his master's desire, and asked nothing better than to leave the field of battle. He trotted off at full speed down Rue Saint-Jacques, and Cédrille and his pretty companion soon disappeared from the eyes of the crowd.
All this had happened so quickly that Miretta hardly had time to grasp Ambroisine's hand and say:
"Thanks! thanks! you have saved us! I shall come to see you, and to tell you how grateful I am!"
"Come; you will ask for Ambroisine, the daughter of Master Hugonnet the bath keeper, on Rue Saint-Jacques."
Ambroisine's first care was to take the child back to its mother, a woman of the people, who was there by the merest chance, having come to find out why such a crowd had collected in front of the bath keeper's establishment, little dreaming that her child would be the means of adjusting that great quarrel.
Hugonnet's daughter kissed the little fellow, put a coin in his hand with which to buy a cake, and returned to her home, curious to learn how the gentlemen had taken the conclusion of the affair.
Sénange, La Valteline, Monclair, and their friends, were dazed for a moment by the sudden departure of Cédrille and his companion. Some of them were inclined to run after the peasant, others wanted to fight Jarnonville, whom they accused of betraying them; they were all displeased, and another battle was imminent perhaps, when generalattention was attracted by shouts and oaths proceeding from the place recently occupied by Bourriquet.
A battle with fists was in progress between Master Hugonnet and one of his neighbors, named Lambourdin, a dealer in ribbons, tags, fringes, and other toilet articles, whose shop was not more than fifty yards from the baths.
The two neighbors were ordinarily very good friends; they met sometimes at the wine shop, which both were fond of frequenting; they laughed and talked and drank together, and no one would ever have supposed that they would one day entertain the inhabitants of the quarter with a genuine pugilistic bout.
But who can foretell the future?
The most trivial cause is sometimes sufficient to embroil ambassadors and to bring about war between two nations that could get along very well without it; and we too often see old friends suddenly become declared enemies.
In our day, politics sometimes produces such revolutions by its gentle and benignant influence. In the good old times, there were sometimes conspiracies of great personages, nobles, and persons in high station, but the people paid little heed to their plots. They went to see them hanged at Montfaucon, but they were not tempted to meddle with matters that led to such results. In those days, the workman thought of nothing but working to support his family, to save a marriage portion for his daughter, and to make sure of a home in his old age.That was the sum total of his politics; it made him neither ill, nor infuriate, nor insane, nor sophistical, nor evil-minded! It made him happy!
In that respect we may well regret the good old times.
Let us return to the two neighbors.
Lambourdin, the dealer in small wares, was by inclination, and, above all, by virtue of his trade, of the faction of the young nobles and the courtiers. When a noble personage entered his shop and made a purchase, Lambourdin puffed himself out like the frog in the fable, and never failed to proclaim from the housetops that he supplied monsieur le comte, or monsieur le marquis, or messieurs the pages attached to the court.
And so, when he learned the cause of the gathering, which he could see from his shop, the dealer in small wares hastened to the scene of the combat, fully disposed to take up the cudgels for the young nobles, to whom he was intensely anxious to display his entire devotion.
But the young men did not require the assistance of Master Lambourdin, and he had had no other opportunity to show his interest in their victory than by addressing an insulting remark or a threat to Cédrille from time to time.
But when Master Hugonnet besmeared a page so successfully with his lather, Lambourdin, far from finding that amusing, flew into a transport of rage, especially as the page who was so thoroughly lathered had bought two beautiful bows of ribbon at his shop that morning.
And so, as soon as the Black Chevalier's sword play had ceased, as soon as Bourriquet had trotted away with his travellers on his back, Lambourdin elbowed his way through the crowd to Master Hugonnet, and said, eying him with a furious expression:
"Do you know, Neighbor Hugonnet, that you have behaved very badly throughout this affair?"
"Ah! do you think so, Neighbor Lambourdin?" rejoined the barber, in a bantering tone; for the wrathful expression blazing in the other's eyes gave him a comical appearance, which inspired merriment rather than alarm.
"Yes, I do think so!—What! you, to whose place the young nobles come by preference, whether to bathe, or to have their hair and beards arranged, and bring customers to your establishment and make it fashionable!—you take sides against them in this quarrel, instead of going to their assistance, as every self-respecting man should do! You take part with strangers—a rustic and a strumpet from no one knows where!"
"I do what I please, what suits me, neighbor! I consult my heart before my pocket. I look to see on which side the right and not the profit is.—But why do you interfere? Is it any of your business?"
"Yes, monsieur le baigneur; yes, it is my business—And that young page whom you smeared with soapsuds so shamefully! He even had it in his eyes! You spoiled a superb bow of ribbon that I sold him this morning!"
"So much the better for you; he'll buy another one of you!"
"No, he will not—I mean, yes, he will buy another one.—But your conduct is none the less indecent!"
"By Notre-Dame de Paris! you are beginning to make my ears burn, Neighbor Lambourdin! Not another word, or I strike you!"
"Do you think to frighten me, you low-lived bath keeper, unworthy to shave noble chins! I am no boy of fifteen; and if you should touch me with your shaving brush, I'd trample you under foot like an old blanket!"
"Ah! so! Well, take that! I won't touch you with my shaving brush!"
As he spoke, Hugonnet buried his fist in Lambourdin's side; the latter had gone too far to retreat; and then, too, there were so many witnesses! So he answered the blow with a kick, but he measured the distance so inaccurately that he kicked into space.
Lambourdin was a little fellow, strong enough, but not of the build to contend with Master Hugonnet. After a struggle that was not of long duration, the two neighbors fell, still clinging to each other. Unluckily, poor Lambourdin was underneath, and had to endure simultaneously the weight of his adversary's body and the numerous blows which he continued to administer. Then it was that the little man's cries attracted the attention of the young gentlemen who had remained in front of the bath keeper's house.
They ran to the scene of conflict; Hugonnet was excited and would not release his neighbor; but when he heard the voice of his daughter, who came up to see who the combatants were, the barber grew calmer, rose, and entered his shop, saying:
"No matter! he got what he deserved! What need had he to meddle in the affair?"
As for Lambourdin, who was completely done up and could hardly walk, he required the assistance of two arms to return to his home, but they were neither pages nor nobles who supplied them, although it was in their behalf that he had fought!—So much for the gratitude of those whose quarrels one embraces!
This incident diverted the young dandies, and made them forget Cédrille and Miretta for a moment; and with a Frenchman, when the first ardor has passed away, it very rarely returns.
Furthermore, a number of fair dames, who had had time to leave the bath and to dress, came from the house, with a wink to one, a slight nod to another; so that in a few moments the whole crowd dispersed, the idlers sauntered away, the neighbors returned to their homes, and there was no one left in the barber's shop save the Chevalier Passedix, who was wiping Roland, which he had picked out of the gutter, and the Sire de Jarnonville, who had thrown himself into a chair and was apparently lost in thought and entirely oblivious to what was going on about him.
"Par la sandioux! mybelle baigneuse," said the Gascon knight to Ambroisine, who had remained in the shop, and who, as if by accident, glanced very frequently in Jarnonville's direction, "I am very glad to tell you that in this affair you comported yourself like a man of heart! First, it was well done of you to take that stranger's part; what a lovely face! sandis! what a fascinating profile! and the full face—it is enough to bring one to one's knees! So that I knelt with ardor!—You will pardon me, I trust,belle baigneuse, for praising another woman in your presence. You too are superb, after a different type."
"Oh! say on, monsieur le chevalier, do not hesitate. Why should I take it ill of you that you praise that girl? In the first place, she deserves it, for she is very pretty. And then, have you not the right to fall in love with her, if you please? does it concern me?"
"True, true! it could not affect you, since you have refused the homage of my heart—for I think that I offered it to you——"
"But you are not quite sure, eh?"
"Why, you see, I have disposed of it so often! But let us return to the stranger, to pretty Miretta—for her name is Miretta, is it not?"
"Yes, that is the name by which her companion, the stout peasant, called her."
"And she is an Italian?"
"No; she told us that she was from Béarn; but it seems that she has lived in Italy a long while."
"O mia cara!—I know a few words of Italian—they may be very useful to me. As I was saying, superb Ambroisine, your conduct was glorious! You showed a courage—a valor—if you had been of my family, you could have done no better. That damned Jarnonville—— He does not hear me; I think that he's asleep."
"Oh, no! he is not asleep; he is thinking, but not of us. Indeed, I would wager that he doesn't even see that we are here!"
"He may hear me or not, I snap my fingers at him! That damned Jarnonville, by a bungler's thrust—for it is never used, everybody scorns to use it—however, he knocked my sword from my hand; and I said to myself just now: 'How in the deuce could I have let Roland go? There must have been some deviltry about it, for it is the first time I was ever disarmed!'—Well, sandioux! I have found the cause, while wiping the hilt of my weapon.—What do you suppose I found on it, just at the spot where one grasps it? I will give you ten thousand guesses."
"I prefer that you should tell me at once."
"Well, my beauty, I found a strip of pork twisted around the hilt of Roland. So you will see that it is not surprising that my sword slipped from my hand. Ah! cadédis! if I knew who played me that vile trick of larding my sword like a partridge!—You laugh, I believe——"
"Bless me! monsieur le chevalier, it seems to me so amusing that your rapier should have been treated like a fowl; it is laughable enough!"
"Do you doubt what I say? Never has a lie soiled my lips!—Look, lovely girl! yonder is that accursed pork which I found on Roland; I threw it into that corner; you can see for yourself."
"I do not doubt what you say, monsieur le chevalier; but as the quarrel attracted many people to this spot, and as there were several housewives among them, returning from market with well-filled baskets on their arms, it is probable that one of them dropped that fine strip of pork on your sword as it lay on the ground; and she is probably looking everywhere for it now."
This explanation did not seem to the liking of Passedix, for he compressed his lips angrily and muttered:
"There are some people who distort the simplest things.—But enough of that. Tell me now, young Hugonnetté, by what miracle you so suddenly appeased the wrath of that miscreant Jarnonville? How did it happen that at sight of a little brat of three or four years that madman, who knows neither God nor the devil, became absolutely calm. I confess that I was so surprised that I feel it yet."
Ambroisine motioned to Passedix to follow her to the rear of the shop, where the Sire de Jarnonville could neither see nor hear them.
The Gascon, who was very curious to know what the girl had to tell him, lost no time in seating himself by her side on a bench; whereupon Ambroisine resumed the conversation, taking care, however, to speak in undertones.
"Have you known the Sire de Jarnonville long?"
"No—about a year; and even so, I know him only from having been with him in several affrays. He fights well, I am bound to admit, but he's a good-for-nothing fellow. He doesn't believe in anything, and I don't like atheists. I am a bad man with the fair, a libertine, a rake, a seducer!—anything you please, I will not saynay. But all that does not prevent my being religious, for without religion there is no true chivalry; and all those stainless knights who fought in Palestine would then be mere braggarts.—But why do you ask me that question?"
"Because, if you had known the Sire de Jarnonville long, you would probably know as much about him as I do, and you would have a very different opinion of him.—I will tell you what I have heard here. About five or six months ago, the Black Chevalier, for he is sometimes so called, had just left our house, where he had been telling the story of one of his exploits—he had broken everything in a tavern, I believe. When he had gone, a gentleman quite advanced in years, but with a face that inspired respect, said to another gentleman who was with him: 'Poor Jarnonville! how he has changed! who would believe, to look at him now, that he was once the mildest, most obliging, most virtuous of men! the man who was held up as a model to young gentlemen who were just entering the world!'—'What can have changed him so?' the other inquired.—'Jarnonville was married, and he lost his wife, whom he loved very dearly; but she had lefthim a child, a little girl, who was, they say, an angel of beauty, sweetness, and docility. Jarnonville adored little Blanche—that was his daughter's name; she had become his only love, his sole joy, his whole hope for the future; constantly intent upon providing some pleasure, some delight for his darling child, his grief for his wife's death gradually faded away. Happy and proud to be all in all to his daughter, who became every day more charming in body and mind, Jarnonville hardly ever left little Blanche. At four years of age—and that is very, very young!—at four years of age, the child understood all that she owed to her father, all the sacrifices to which he submitted for her sake; but she repaid them all by her love. Never did a child of that age manifest such affection for its father! If he left her for an instant, her eyes filled with tears; but as soon as she saw him, an enchanting smile lighted up her lovely face.—Poor child! You will understand how he must have loved her!—Well! that child, already so far beyond her years in her feelings and her intelligence, that pretty Blanche—he lost her after an illness of a few days only! One of those cruel diseases which feed upon childhood, and which the doctors are as yet unable to cure, carried off the poor little darling!—I will not try to describe her father's grief; it would be impossible. But the frightful calamity that had befallen him changed his character absolutely. Jarnonville accused heaven, Providence. Having never been guilty in his whole life of any evil deed, he rebelledagainst the fate that dealt him such a cruel blow, which snatched away that little creature to whom life seemed to offer such a beautiful and peaceful prospect—in short, that man, who had always been so religious, ceased utterly to be so, and blasphemed God. Deaf to all consolation, he lived a long while in retirement. When, by dint of constant solicitation, his friends succeeded in luring him back into society, he was no longer the Jarnonville of other days. To divert his thoughts from his grief, he joins all the parties conceived by the worst scapegraces in the city; not a duel, not a nocturnal affray, in which he does not take part. He drinks, drinks to excess, gambles, passes whole nights in debauchery, serves as second to all the young scatterbrains who sow discord in families. He has become the bugbear of the petits bourgeois, the terror of cabaretiers, tavern keepers, of all decent folk; in a word, he is just the opposite of all that he used to be.—But, for my part, I cannot help pitying him; it is his head which is at fault, not his heart; it is despair that has changed his nature. Nor do I believe that he is altogether lost! He still wears mourning for his daughter. In the midst of his debauchery, he has not chosen to lay aside his sombre garments; and when he seems most excited by gambling, wine, or passion, show him a child of about the age of his little Blanche when she died, and you will see a magical change take place in him instantly; his eyes will fill with tears, and that man, whose glance made you tremble amoment before, will become silent and as gentle as a child.'
"That is what the gentleman told his friend. I listened, at first from curiosity, then with deep interest; and since then, whenever I see the Sire de Jarnonville, despite his harsh or brusque manner, he does not seem to me such a bad man as he used.—To-day, when I saw him interfere in that battle and take sides against us with his long sword, which he uses so skilfully, I said to myself: 'Those poor travellers are lost!' And, in fact, your Roland was already on the ground and the peasant's staff was beginning to give way, when I remembered what I had heard. A little boy was close by, in his mother's arms; I ran and seized him—and you saw how successful my idea was; for the Black Chevalier instantly ceased to fight, and himself looked to the safe departure of the travellers."
Passedix had listened to Ambroisine, making from time to time one of those little grimaces which indicate that one places little credence in what one hears. When she had finished her narrative, he said, shaking his head:
"Between ourselves,belle baigneuse, what you have told me seems most extraordinary, and in my opinion this story of the Sire de Jarnonville is a trifle chimerical!"
"Why so, seigneur?" replied Ambroisine, leaving the bench. "It seems to me no more extraordinary than your story of the pork twisted round your sword hilt; and I should say that the event has proved that the gentleman's story was true."
Passedix did not think it best to reply. He walked toward Jarnonville, who had risen and was standing in the doorway.
"Sire de Jarnonville," said the Gascon, offering him his hand, "we both fought like brave men; you were victorious, but I bear you no ill will! especially as I am able to explain why Roland slipped from my hand. We were not on the same side, but, since peace has been concluded, shake hands, and let bygones be bygones!"
Instead of putting his hand in the hand that was offered him, Jarnonville, who had seemed not to listen to the Gascon, suddenly hurried away, without a word in reply.
"Sandioux! what does that mean?" cried Passedix, still standing with outstretched hand, while Ambroisine turned her face away to laugh. "Damme! is this the way that discourteoussombrinosresponds to my civility! Evidently, this Jarnonville is nothing more than a felon, a boor, whom I will chastise handsomely at our first meeting. And let no one presume to thrust a child in between us, sandis! or I will give him a good kick somewhere!"
At that moment, a young bachelor, who had been in front of Master Hugonnet's house when Cédrille and his companion were blockaded there, and who had disappeared simultaneously with Bourriquet, returned to the shop, shouting:
"Ah! I know where the pretty girl has gone! I know what that charming Milanese came to Paris for!"
"You know that, boy!" cried the Chevalier Passedix, running up to the young man. "Oh! tell me quickly what you know, and I swear to you, by Roland and my godfather Chaudoreille, that I will treat you to a jar of wine at the nextfête carillonnée."
"I had just as lief tell you for nothing!"
"Well, tell me for nothing; I agree, I will consent to whatever you wish; but speak, I am dying with impatience!"
"While everybody else stood here in open-mouthed amazement at the sudden departure of the travellers, I followed the horse at a distance. He went at a fast trot, but I have good legs, and I am not broken-winded."
"Arrive at the point, accursed chatterbox!"
"It was the travellers who arrived; that is to say, they stopped first to inquire the way of a dealer in pottery; then they trotted off again to Rue Saint-Honoré and stopped in front of a fine house."
"On Rue Saint-Honoré! Are you sure of that? Why, sandis! that is my quarter; it could not happen better! But to whom does the house belong?"
"It was the Hôtel de Mongarcin, where Mademoiselle Valentine de Mongarcin is now living with her aunt, Madame de Ravenelle."
"Very good! this boy is no fool; go on."
"All three of the travellers entered the courtyard—I say all three, counting the horse."
"Go on, I say, sandioux!"
"As I was curious to know what they were going to do there, I strolled back and forth in front of the house."
"That was very ingenious."
"And, sure enough, before long came out an old servant who knows my father. I ran up to him and questioned him, and he said: 'That young girl has come here to enter the service of Mademoiselle Valentine de Mongarcin. She has been recommended to her, it seems; so it's all settled. As for the peasant who brought her here, he is going to rest a day or two and then go back to his province, unless he also prefers to find a place in Paris; but it seems that that is not to his taste.'—That is what I have learned."
"Thanks! a thousand thanks, my boy! Hôtel de Mongarcin, Rue Saint-Honoré. I shall be seen frequently in that vicinity.—Sandis! I am sorry that she is only a lady's-maid. But, after all, Dulcinea del Toboso was not a princess; and whatever anyone may say, Don Quixote was a hearty blade, and as good a man as another.—Au revoir, my boy! I will treat you whenever you choose, you know."
And Chevalier Passedix walked away by Rue des Mathurins, and the young bachelor by Place Cambray.
After a day so well employed, it was natural enough that Master Hugonnet should visit his usual wine shop in the evening; and he did not fail to do so. Doubtless there was a large assemblage of patrons, and the events of the morning, as they gave rise to much talk, naturally resulted in a proportionate amount of drinking.
The consequence was that Master Hugonnet returned home very late, completely drunk, and exceedingly susceptible to emotion, as he always was when in that condition.
Ambroisine, who was sitting up for her father, was not at all surprised by his state, and she urged him to go up to bed.
But Hugonnet had tears in his eyes, and he groaned mournfully as he stammered:
"Poor Lambourdin—it breaks my heart! Just imagine, daughter—he was shamefully beaten this morning!"
"I know it, father, and so do you, as it was you who beat him."
"I! do you think so?—Oh! what a calamity!—my dear friend Lambourdin! Just imagine—he was beaten so—it's an outrage! Poor Lambourdin! my heart is heavy!—How could anyone beat such an honorable man?"
"Why, it was you who beat him."
"I! impossible!—When I heard of it, I wept with grief.—Poor Lambourdin! I will avenge him!"
And Master Hugonnet would not consent to go to bed until he had wept freely over the fate of his friend Lambourdin, and had sworn again to avenge him.
The Chevalier Passedix lived on Place aux Chats.
You will not be sorry, reader, to know where that square was situated, for you would seek in vain for the slightest trace of it to-day. We will proceed to enlighten you upon that subject.
In the year 1634, Place aux Chats was near Rue de la Ferronnerie, close by the Impasse des Bourdonnais, where Rue de la Limace had recently been cut through.
The Cemetery of the Innocents was on one side, and had one entrance on the square, another on Rue de la Ferronnerie, and a third on Rue aux Fers. Before it was christened Place aux Chats, it was called Place aux Pourceaux; and in 1575 Rue de la Limace bore the name of Vieille Place aux Pourceaux.
Do not imagine one of those spacious, airy squares, such as you are familiar with in our day. What was called a square [place] in those days was often nothing more than the junction of two streets.
The houses which surrounded Place aux Chats bore no resemblance to one another. One had four stories, its next neighbor only two; but in all alike the heavyframework, the enormous beams, were visible, as it was not then thought worth while to cover them with plaster.
The roof of each of the houses hung over far beyond the gable end, thus diminishing the air and light; the windows were small, irregular, and loosely set, the panes of glass were tiny and dirty; the doors were low and narrow; the halls dark and begrimed with dirt; the staircases, which were gloomy, dirty, and slippery, had huge posts of stone or wood for rails; and there were absolutely no lights.
Let us not regret the disappearance of Place aux Chats.
Over the door of one of the tallest houses on this square, which stood opposite the Cemetery of the Innocents, there was a long, wide board, painted yellow, bearing these words written in red on the yellow background:
HÔTEL DU SANGLIER. FURNISHED LODGINGS FOR MAN, BUT NOT FOR BEAST
The Hôtel du Sanglier had three windows on the square; that was almost luxurious; and it boasted five stories, counting the attics nestled in the roof.
It was one of the largest houses on Place aux Chats; and although the sign stated that horses would not be entertained, it was no infrequent occurrence for a mounted man to stop and take up his quarters there; in such cases, his nag was taken to an ass keeper's, on the same square, who did not entertain horsemen, but was glad to take care of their beasts, and he almost always had tenants.
The Hôtel du Sanglier was kept by a widow, already past middle age, named Dame Cadichard. She was a short, fat woman, who had been rather piquant and alluring in her springtime and even during her summer; her great fault was that she was determined to be piquant and alluring still, and to forget that her hair was no longer black, her waist no longer slender, and her complexion no longer fresh. She still had the flashing glance, the merry laugh, and the sly jest; and from time to time she talked of remarrying, of giving the late Cadichard a successor. But at such times the neighbors of the Hôtel du Sanglier asked one another where the future spouse could be, for, among the guests of the house or the strangers who frequented it, no one ever had been observed to pay court to the Widow Cadichard.
Chaudoreille's godson had lived at the Hôtel du Sanglier for more than a year; he occupied a very modest little chamber under the eaves, above the fourth floor. His room was lighted only by a little round window looking on the square, which, however, he could not see on account of the overhanging roof; the window, moreover, was so small that only one person could possibly have looked out at one time.
The furniture of the apartment was extremely modest; it consisted of a white wooden bedstead, of the simplest construction, the headboard and footboard being so insecure that when, in a moment of forgetfulness, the long, lank chevalier tried to stretch his legs, he instantlystarted all the screws from their holes, the bed fell apart and vanished, and the man who was lying upon it found himself stretched on the floor.
Two straw beds, a mattress as flat as a pancake, and a bolster of hay composed the bed furnishings. Beside that far from luxurious couch were a small oak table, two stools, and an enormous chest without a cover, in which the tenant was entitled to keep his effects; it was probably intended to serve as a commode.
A few boards nailed to the wall served the purpose of a wardrobe, and were embellished by those articles which the tenant found indispensable. This was called a furnished lodging.
It is probable, however, that all the rooms in the Hôtel du Sanglier were not furnished so shabbily; and the Chevalier Passedix knew something about it; for when he first became a tenant of Dame Cadichard, he occupied a room on the first floor; at the next quarter day, the Gascon had gone up to the second floor; three months later, he had been consigned to the third; the following term, he had occupied the fourth; and the fifth term, which was now running, he had been relegated to the eaves. In case the chevalier should prolong his residence at Madame Cadichard's, he could be sure, at all events, that they would send him no higher.
Why these peregrinations of the gallant Passedix on each succeeding quarter day? That we shall probably learn in the sequel.
On leaving Master Hugonnet's house, the Gascon returned with long strides to Place aux Chats, his mind engrossed by the pretty foreigner with whom he had fallen in love so suddenly. He was already meditating the means to which he might resort in order to see her; and from time to time he put his hand to his belt, in which he usually carried his purse; but the little leather bag in which he kept his money contained at that moment only a few copper coins.
"Sandioux! my family is very dilatory about sending me money!" muttered Passedix, shaking his head angrily. "And without money it is very difficult to corrupt servants, to procure the delivery of a billet-doux. I know that my genius will supply the lack, but it would go more quickly with the help of funds.—But, no matter! first of all, I must put on an entirely clean ruff. I must also have those two buttons sewn on my doublet; then I will take my stand as a sentinel in front of the Hôtel de Mongarcin, and I will observe what goes on there, and what persons come from and go to the citadel."
Passedix, arrived at his hotel, entered by the low door, then, turning to the right, passed into a room where the mistress of the house was usually to be found, and where each tenant's keys hung on the wall, with the numbers attached.
Widow Cadichard was seated in a capacious armchair, before a table; she was in the act of eating a vegetable soup so thick that one could eat it with a fork; beside the soup tureen, which exhaled a vapor by no meansdisagreeable to a keen appetite, four very fine eggs lay on a napkin in a plate. An egg glass and a bountiful supply of small squares of toast, which were beside the plate, indicated in what manner the eggs were to be eaten.
When her tenant entered the room, the short, stout dame flashed a glance at him in which there was vexation and anger; but in an instant she resumed her sprightly manner and went on eating her soup.
The chevalier bowed to the widow and walked toward the place where the keys were hanging.
"Well, well!" he cried; "what does this mean, cadédis! my key is not on its nail! Have you it in your possession, Madame Cadichard?"
"I! On my word! Why should I have the key to your room, I should like to know? Do I go to your room? Do I have any occasion to go there?"
"Then it must be Popelinette, the servant, who has it?"
"Apparently!"
"So she is doing my housework, is she? That happens very conveniently, for I will ask her to sew two buttons on my doublet. I suppose that she is supplied with needles and thread, as every good servant should be."
"I don't know whether Popelinette has needles and thread with her; but what I can tell you is this—that she isn't in your room now."
"Then she must be here; do me the favor to call her, Dame Cadichard; I am in haste to go up and make a bit of a toilet."
"I am distressed to be unable to gratify you, monsieur le chevalier, but Popelinette is not in the house; she has gone out; she has gone to do an errand for the new tenant who came a week ago, and who occupies my fine apartment on the first floor."
"Ah! your first floor is let, is it? I am very glad for you, my respected hostess, although I might be justified in complaining of the rather harsh manner in which you have behaved toward me! Capédébious! every quarter day, you make me move—go up one flight—on the pretext that my last lodging is let; whereas only the mice take my place. Do you know, Widow Cadichard, that I should be fully justified in complaining of such treatment?"
"You would be justified also in paying me your rent each quarter, and that is what you haven't done, monsieur le chevalier; for I don't know the color of your money, and you have been living in my house more than a year!"
"It is true, my family is very dilatory; I haven't received my allowance for a long time; but they will send it all to me in a lump!—After all, how have I injured you? You never have a cat in your Hôtel du Sanglier! You ought to thank me for brightening up this old house a bit!"
"Thank you! yes, if you had been agreeable, gallant, attentive to me, I might not have made you go up so high, perhaps; but you never passed an evening herechatting with me! Monsieur always has to go running about the city! Monsieur has so many intrigues!"
Passedix turned his face away, biting his lips, and hastened to change the subject.
"Sandioux! how good that soup smells!" he cried. "I don't know what it's made of, but, judging from the odor, it must be a most delicious compound!"
The stout hostess refused to be melted by this exclamation; she continued to eat and talk:
"But luckily all my tenants do not resemble Monsieur de Passedix! There are some who pay, and who are very amiable with me besides. For instance, this new-comer, this foreigner who has been here a week—he paid a fortnight in advance, he didn't haggle at all over the price, and yet he pays me forty crowns a month for my first floor!"
"Bigre! that's rather good!"
"But I am sure that that man is a grand seigneur—but that doesn't prevent him from often talking with me; he isn't a bit proud!—Yesterday I dined alone—well! he sat down here and kept me company. He's a very good-looking fellow, and quite young still—thirty at most!"
"What do you call this fascinating cavalier?"
"The Comte de Carvajal; he's a Spaniard."
"The deuce! the Comte de Carvajal!—Yes, I believe that is a great Spanish family.—Sandis! but I must confess, lovely hostess, that it seems to me rather strange that this grand seigneur, instead of occupying a handsome mansion in the neighborhood of the Palais-Cardinal orthe Arsenal, comes to Place aux Chats to nest—with the Cemetery of the Innocents opposite! It is not absolutely cheerful—and a hotel where his horses and carriages cannot be accommodated!"
"What does this mean, Monsieur Passedix? you are crying down my hotel now! You call this a bad quarter—then why did you come here to lodge? And why have you lodged more than a year on this Place aux Chats, which you despise?"
"I, despise Place aux Chats! God forbid, dear Madame Cadichard! On the contrary, I consider it most romantic; and then I, being afraid of nothing, not even of ghosts and phantoms, am not at all sorry to live just opposite a cemetery; for if it should happen to occur to some dead man to come to say a word to me at night, I swear to you that I should be overjoyed to have news from the other world."
"Hush—impious man!—He makes me shudder over my soup!—You know perfectly well that the dead don't return!"
"I know that there are a great many things that don't return, unhappily; and you know it, too, plump Cadichard!"
"What do you mean by that, monsieur le chevalier?"
"Mon Dieu! how time flies with us all!—But let us return to your Spanish grandee, who has chosen the Hôtel du Sanglier for his abode; he must have a numerous suite of servants and horses and carriages?"
"Not at all; he has none of those things. He is alone; it seems that he is at Paris incognito!"
"What! not an esquire, not a valet, not even a single little mule to prance along the Fossés Jaunes?"
"Nothing, I tell you; for he doesn't go to court, so that the grands seigneurs of his acquaintance need not know that he is in Paris."
Passedix shook his head and muttered:
"Hum! a Spanish grandee who hasn't one poor lackey in his service—that seems suspicious to me! Where does this noble cavalier pass his time, pray, if he doesn't frequent good society, the agreeable rakes of the court, and dandies like myself."
"Monsieur de Carvajal doesn't often go out during the day. In the first place, he rises very late; but, to tell the truth, he comes home very late, too. As he doesn't want to disturb anyone, he has told Popelinette not to sit up for him; he asked me to give him a duplicate key to the street door, so that he can come in at whatever hour of the night he pleases; and he takes pains not to make any noise, for we never hear him coming and going; it seems that in Spain people are in the habit of walking about at night."
"In Spain, perhaps, because it's warm there and the nights are fine; but here, where it still freezes in the morning—for our spring is devilishly behindhand! I believe that your gallant stranger is a blade who does his work under the rose. There must be some love intrigue on thecarpet—some husband to be deceived.—Sandioux! I don't blame your Spaniard for that. Love is such a delicious thing—and when it attacks us—ah!"
Here Passedix heaved a sigh which lasted so long that his hostess dropped her spoon and stared at him, as if trying to make out whether she had anything to do with that prolonged groan. But the Gascon, instead of responding to the Widow Cadichard's alluring glance, turned away abruptly and began to pace the floor, crying:
"Cadédis! Popelinette does not return! it is insufferable! I want to dress!"
"Dress? I didn't know that you had any other doublet than that."
"Possibly not; but there are different ways of wearing it; besides, I want to put on a clean ruff, and I need to have two buttons sewn on."
"Mon Dieu! have you an assignation for this afternoon?"
"If that were so, it seems to me, Widow Cadichard, that it is my business!—Will you sew on my buttons?"
"I! I should think not! Go to your mistress!"
Passedix stamped the floor in vexation. At that moment the door of the room was suddenly thrown open, and the Gascon uttered an exclamation of satisfaction, for he expected to see the maid-servant of the hotel; but he was speedily undeceived. Instead of Popelinette, it was the foreigner who appeared in the doorway.
The new tenant of the Hôtel du Sanglier paused on the threshold when he saw that there was someone with his hostess; he even took a step backward, as if he did not intend to enter. But in a moment, changing his mind, he walked into the room with a certain gravity of demeanor which was not without distinction.
The Gascon chevalier scrutinized the new arrival with interest, for he suspected that it was the foreigner whom Dame Cadichard was so proud to have under her roof, and he was curious to see whether he deserved the high-flown praise which his hostess had lavished on him.
A single glance was sufficient to satisfy Passedix that the sprightly widow had not exaggerated at all. The gentleman who had just entered the room was still young, tall and well built; his features were handsome and refined, his eyes slightly veiled, but full of fire and expression; he wore no beard on his chin, but only small moustaches curled a little upward at the ends.
He wore with easy grace a rich velvet cloak, over an elegant pale-blue doublet; a beautiful white plume lay along the broad brim of his hat, and the sword at his side was suspended from a belt trimmed with rich lace.
The stranger bowed most courteously as he walked into the room. Passedix made haste to return his salutation, saying to himself:
"He is a good-looking fellow, sandioux! I am too just to deny it. Almost as handsome a man as myself, and that is no small thing to say!"
Widow Cadichard had risen hastily on the entrance of her tenant, to whom she made a low reverence.
"Monsieur de Carvajal, your servant," she exclaimed; "I have the honor to salute you! Pray be kind enough to take a seat, monsieur le comte; do you wish for anything? Perhaps you are looking for Popelinette? She hasn't returned yet, and that annoys you. She is not very quick when she has an errand to do. Would you like me to go to meet her, monseigneur?"
The stranger waited till this torrent of words had ceased, then replied, with a smile:
"What I wish first of all, my dear hostess, is that you will not put yourself out and that you will continue your repast."
"Oh! indeed I will do nothing of the sort, monsieur le comte; I know too well what I owe to you."
"In that case, madame, you will compel me to withdraw, for I do not like ceremony."
"Oh! monsieur le comte, since you insist, since you command me, I will do it to obey you. But allow me first to offer you a chair."
While Madame Cadichard bustled about the room, looking for her best easy-chair and the best place in the room to put it, Passedix approached the new-comer and addressed him, trying all the while to hide with his cloak that part of his doublet from which the buttons were missing.
"I presume that I have the honor to salute one of my neighbors? I sayneighbors, because we both live in the same hotel; only I am at the top and monsieur le comte is at the bottom. But men of honor are always on the same level."
"Ah! does monsieur live in this hotel?" rejoined the stranger, bowing to the Gascon.
"With your kind permission."
"What, monsieur! why, I can only be flattered to have monsieur for my neighbor."
"Castor Pyrrhus de Passedix, godson of the most honorable Chaudoreille, who left me only this sword, his trusty Roland, a finely tempered blade, which I dare to say that I use in an honorable way! My reputation in that regard is made!—And monsieur is the Comte de Carvajal, the noble Spaniard whom Dame Cadichard is so fortunate as to have as her tenant in the Hôtel du Sanglier?"
"Madame Cadichard would do well, then, to be a little more discreet, and to respect the incognito which her guests desire to maintain."
The stout landlady blushed when she heard that; she realized that she deserved the rebuke, and in her despair dropped the spoon which she was about to raise to her mouth, and which remained standing upright in the soup.
But the stranger, as he lay back in the easy-chair she had offered him, continued, with something very like a smile:
"However, I do not feel that I have the courage to bear any ill will to our excellent hostess, since I owe to her the acquaintance of so illustrious a knight as Monsieur de Passedix, who, I am convinced, will not betray the incognito which important considerations compel me to adopt at this moment, in Paris."
The Gascon bowed again, taking care not to relax his hold of the corners of his cloak, and replied:
"You may rely on my discretion, monsieur le comte; the secrets that are intrusted to me will go down with me into the darkness of the grave, unless I am released from my oath."
Thereupon the chevalier seized a chair and placed it at the table, opposite Madame Cadichard, who had taken one of the eggs from the plate and was trying to devise some refined method of breaking the shell and dipping her pieces of toast into the egg, in her illustrious tenant's presence.
"I will not presume to ask monsieur le comte how he passes his time in Paris; that is his business, and I never meddle in other people's affairs! But I venture to say that I should be an invaluable guide for a stranger whowished to become acquainted with the pleasures, the merry gatherings, of the capital. I go about a great deal in the best society. I am a jovial companion, a sturdy toper; all the dandies, all the young noblemen who love to fight and drink and make love to the fair, are my friends. Does anyone need a second for a duel, a fourth for a party of four, Passedix is always there! I do not like to boast, but I could mention exploits of my own which the Amadises and Renauds would not have disavowed!"
"One needs only to see you, chevalier, to entertain no manner of doubt that you would be successful in whatever you might undertake!"
"Monsieur le comte is too kind! But it is quite true that I count only victories, sandioux!"
"If I remember aright," murmured the little widow, carefully placing a bit of toast in her egg, "you were on your back a fortnight as a result of the blows you received the last time that you tried to rob several bourgeois on Rue Mauconseil of their sleep!"
Passedix cast a savage glance at his landlady, as he cried:
"No, no! you are wrong, Dame Cadichard. I covered myself with glory in that affair; and if I did keep my bed for some time after, it was only because, in the heat of the affray, I gave myself a strain which kept me from going to my usual resorts for a few days. Your eggs are too hard,belle dame, you will never be able to dip your toast in them. I advise you to eat them as a salad."
"They are all right, monsieur le chevalier; I like them this way.—Mon Dieu! how sorry I am, monsieur le comte, that my servant keeps you waiting like this!"
"There is no harm done, madame, I am in no hurry."
"If only I had something to offer monsieur le comte; but this breakfast is not worthy of him."
"I should think it very nice, if I had not already eaten mine."
"In any case," observed Passedix, "you wouldn't offer your tenants boiled eggs, I trust; for these are as hard as rocks—like Easter eggs."
"Oh! what a tease you are, monsieur le chevalier! But I think that you know very little about cooking!"
"Sandioux! Dame Cadichard—on the contrary, I know a great deal about it. My godfather Chaudoreille used to give his friends banquets that lasted a whole week; I remember that he used to have delicacies from the four quarters of the globe, and he was not satisfied unless his guests had indigestion.—If Monsieur de Carvajal has no restaurant to which he is attached, I could take him to a cabaret where they serve the most delicious calves' heads, and stewed rabbitsen crapaudine—you would swear they were hares."
"I thank you, chevalier; but I do not take my meals at wine shops."
"I understand—I understand. You prefer darkness and mystery, with some fair lady who awaits you in herpetite maison; for we have ladies who have them, as wellas men; I know something about it, for I have supped in more than one of those enchanting retreats—near Porte Saint-Antoine, on the other side of the Fossés Jaunes. I am not inquisitive, I do not mean to ask you indiscreet questions; but, between us, monsieur le comte, I will take the liberty to give you a piece of advice; it is this: it is not very safe in certain quarters of Paris at night; people are attacked, robbed, and sometimes murdered, without anyone interfering to prevent it. I warn you of this, because our landlady told me that you went out very late, and returned at very advanced hours of the night. That is imprudent! extremely imprudent!"
"Ah! madame told you that, did she?" rejoined the stranger, with a glance at Widow Cadichard that arrested one of the pieces of toast on its way to her mouth.
"I," murmured the little woman—"I said—that is—no, I said nothing. I don't know why monsieur le chevalier brings me into all the fables he invents. He would do better to pay the rent he owes me!"
"What is that, Widow Cadichard? I believe that you dared to say that I invent!—Cadédis! that is too much! I, invent anything!—I suppose that you didn't tell me also just now that monsieur had asked you for a duplicate key to the street door, so that he could go in and out at night without disturbing anyone; and that he had forbidden Popelinette to sit up for him; and that it was the fashion in Spain to walk the streets at night? To which I replied that it was not so warm in France as in thebeautiful land of the Andalusians.—Ah! I invented all that—sandioux! If all that I have just said was not told me by you, I hope that this egg will choke me while I speak!—Look! didn't I tell you that they were all hard? But I am an ignoramus, I don't know anything about cooking. And this one is just the same; as they all are!"
As he spoke, the Gascon took up an egg and dexterously stripped it of its shell; after which, he made but one mouthful of it, and was about to do as much with a second one, when the landlady angrily pounced on the plate in which the others were and put it in her lap, saying:
"Well, monsieur, have you nearly finished swallowing my eggs as if they were little tarts? Really, you don't stand on ceremony! If it wasn't for my respect for monsieur le comte, I would tell you what I think of your conduct."
"What would you tell me, alluring Cadichard?—that I am a libertine, a scatterbrain, and that I owe you for four quarters? Cadédis! that is no crime; every day, gentlemen of good family find themselves short of money; and a few days later they roll in gold and doubloons.—Isn't that so, Monsieur de Carvajal?"
"It is, in truth, a common occurrence, monsieur le chevalier."
"At this moment, I know several noble lords who are in my plight. Among others, the young Comte Léodgard de Marvejols, of whom you have heard, doubtless?"
"Yes, the name is not unknown to me."
"It is one of the oldest families of Languedoc. The old Marquis de Marvejols is very rich, but he is a little strict with his son, although he has no other child. To be sure, Léodgard did run through the fortune he got from his mother rather rapidly. He's a young buck who travels fast—a gallant of my stamp; he loves cards and wine and the ladies.—Yes, sweet Cadichard, we love the ladies; but they must not fly into a passion when we condescend to taste a little egg in their honor.—To return to Léodgard, he has had hard luck of late! He had won a very neat little sum at cards, contrary to his custom, and was returning to his house at night, when he was attacked by Giovanni, that famous brigand, you know, who is at this moment the terror of the capital. You must have heard of him, monsieur le comte?"