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The Flower Girl of The Château d'Eau, v.2 (Novels of Paul de Kock Volume XVI)

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Title: The Flower Girl of The Château d'Eau, v.2 (Novels of Paul de Kock Volume XVI)

Author: Paul de Kock


        
Release date: September 25, 2012 [eBook #40862]
                Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLOWER GIRL OF THE CHÂTEAU D'EAU, V.2 (NOVELS OF PAUL DE KOCK VOLUME XVI) ***

[Illustration: frontispiece, Copyright 1904 by G. Barrie & Sons]

_DEATH OF RONCHEROLLE_

_"O my God! my father is dead!" cried the girl. Georget and his friend
sadly hung their heads; thereupon Violette fell into Monsieur de
Brevanne's arms._




NOVELS

BY

Paul de Kock

VOLUME XVI

THE FLOWER GIRL OF THE CHATEAU D'EAU

VOL. II

[Illustration: PRINTED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH GEORGE BARRIE'S SONS]

THE JEFFERSON PRESS BOSTON NEW YORK

_Copyrighted, 1903-1904, by G. B. & Sons._




THE FLOWER GIRL OF THE CHATEAU D'EAU




XXIV

HOW IT HAPPENED


"I had fallen madly in love with Mademoiselle Lucienne Courtenay; you
know as well as I that her beauty and her charm attracted every eye. I
paid my addresses to her, she welcomed my homage. In short, I believed
that she loved me as dearly as I loved her, and we were married.

"During the first year of our union, I was happy; but I began at last to
discover that my wife was not, as I thought, a model of affection and
sensibility. Lucienne was coquettish, extremely coquettish; accustomed
very early to being flattered because of her beauty, she must needs
always be surrounded with homage, with compliments, with admirers! Dress
was her principal, I might even say her only, occupation. Amiable and
playful when she had her little court about her, my wife yawned and was
bored when we were alone. If I spoke to her of my love, she would reply
by inquiring about some new fashion. Ah! Monsieur de Merval, if coquetry
amuses and fascinates in a mistress, it becomes very dangerous in a
wife, especially if a man is jealous, and I was.

"The second year of my marriage passed, and I had already ceased to be
happy; my wife desired to pass her life in parties, dissipation, balls;
if I ventured to remonstrate, if I seemed disposed to decline an
invitation, she would make a scene, she would call me a tyrant! You may
imagine that I always ended by giving way; when one is in love, one is
very weak, and I was still in love with my wife; I did everything to
please her; I said to myself: 'Her taste for dissipation will pass! With
time she will become more sensible, and she will give a little more
thought to her husband.'

"My greatest grief at that time was that I was not a father; I prayed
constantly that Lucienne might give me a pledge of her love, but my
prayers were not granted. Ah! many times since then, monsieur, I have
thanked God because He did not listen to me; for it is a great
misfortune to have children when one cannot set them the example of
domestic peace and virtue!"

Here Monsieur de Merval turned his head away, with a singular
expression; but the count, paying no heed, continued:

"Now I must mention a person whom you knew, De Roncherolle, with whom I
was very intimate. We had been close friends at school. Roncherolle was
a very handsome gallant, and his unfailingly high spirits, his
effervescent, although slightly satirical wit, fascinated almost
everybody who knew him. We had lost sight of each other on leaving
school; when I met him again, after nine or ten years, he was a man of
fashion, famous for his gallant adventures, for his success with the
ladies. He was still as jovial and clever as before; his tendency to
mockery often involved him in difficulty, but, being as brave as he was
sarcastic, he had already fought several duels in which he had borne
himself most honorably. He seemed so glad to see me again, and
manifested so much affection for me, that I did not hesitate to give him
mine, and we soon became inseparable. But there was a great difference
in our dispositions, in our characters. Roncherolle made fun of
everything; he often laughed at or turned to ridicule the most venerated
customs, the sentiments most worthy of respect, and we sometimes had
lively altercations on that subject; but Roncherolle always brought them
to a close by some jocose remark, by some repartee so original, that it
was impossible to take anything seriously with him.

"When I married, Roncherolle naturally became one of the habitues of my
house; you will be surprised perhaps to learn that with my jealous
temperament, I introduced into my domestic circle a fascinating man,
especially renowned for his conquests; but I believed Roncherolle to be
my friend, my sincere friend; and despite his easy-going principles, he
was the last man whom I deemed capable of betraying me! Alas! I believed
in friendship, as I had believed in love; it is so pleasant to believe;
but one suffers keenly in proportion when one is undeceived!

"I was destined to pay dear for my confidence ere long. Obliged to take
a journey which would keep me away from Paris for a week, I desired to
take my wife with me; she invented a thousand excuses for not
accompanying me. I went away, urging Roncherolle to take care of
Lucienne. I was blind, as you see; I had no suspicion of what others
perhaps had already guessed.

"But when treachery surrounds us, it seems as if heaven itself
undertakes to open our eyes; it arranges events in such a way as to
reveal the truth to us; for I do not believe in chance, I believe only
in Providence.

"As soon as I arrived at Havre, which was my destination, I found that
the matter which I supposed was in litigation was settled, so that I was
free the next day, and I started to return to Paris. I exulted in the
thought of surprising my wife, whom I had not warned of my return. The
train which took me back to Paris was delayed two hours on the way, and
it was nearly midnight when I reached my house; the weather was bad, the
night was very dark, but I distinguished a carriage which arrived almost
at the same time as myself, and stopped a few steps from the porte
cochere of my house. A secret presentiment or warning instantly took
possession of my mind. Something told me that my wife was in that
carriage, that she was not returning alone, and that I was on the point
of discovering a shocking treachery! I cannot tell you how it was that
that thought came to me so suddenly, or what was the source of the flash
that suddenly gleamed in my eyes; but without hesitating a second, I
quickened my pace and reached the carriage just as the driver opened the
door to let the persons who were within alight. The size of the cab and
the darkness enabled me to hide behind it and, unseen, to hear
everything.

"Roncherolle alighted first, I recognized him instantly; then he helped
my wife to alight; but imagine my feelings, when, instead of entering
the house at once, I saw her walk a few steps away with Roncherolle, to
whom she applied the sweetest and most affectionate names, and then made
an appointment to meet him the next day. I did not need to hear any
more; I could no longer doubt my misfortune. The man whom I had believed
to be my sincere friend was my wife's lover! I rushed like a thunderbolt
between the traitorous pair, and talked to them as they deserved. My
wife uttered a shriek, and ran to the door and rang the bell. I grasped
Roncherolle's arm, when he too tried to fly, and said to him: 'You know
now what I expect of you; the insult you have offered me can only be
wiped out with your blood; if heaven is just, I shall kill you; if not,
after betraying your friend, you will have the added happiness of making
his wife a widow. To-morrow morning, at eight o'clock, I shall expect
you at Porte Maillot; we need no seconds; luckily, I know that you are
no coward; I rely upon you.'

"Roncherolle disappeared without a word. I entered my house; I hesitated
to appear before my wife, for I expected tears, entreaties, a scene of
despair; but although my heart was torn, although it requires much
courage to endure a blow which shatters in a moment the whole charm of
one's life, my course was already fully decided upon, and that is why I
went to my wife's apartment.

"Imagine my surprise, my stupefaction, when I found her occupied in
preparing for the night, almost as tranquilly as if nothing had
happened. However, at my approach, I saw that she trembled a little, she
was afraid of me; that was the only sentiment that I inspired in her,
that was her only remorse.

"'Do not tremble, madame,' I said to Lucienne, 'I am too well-bred to
adopt extreme measures with you, measures which your infamous conduct
would render excusable, perhaps, but which after all would not wipe out
the dishonor with which you have covered my name. That name I propose to
abandon, and I order you also to cease to bear it; this is the last
order that you will receive from me. To-morrow I go away, I leave you
forever. You have your own fortune, I have mine, and thank heaven! our
marriage contract was drawn up in such a way that each of us retains the
enjoyment of his own property. I shall make no noise, no scandal; the
world may interpret my conduct as it pleases; very likely it will put me
in the wrong, that would not surprise me; but I shall get over it; it
will be much harder for me, no doubt, to give up a happiness of which I
had dreamed, of which I was still dreaming, and which I did not think
was destined to last so short a time; but I will try, and heaven will
help me.'

"After saying this, I was silent for a few moments. I confess that I
expected tears and some words of repentance. But I was mistaken again!
My wife uttered a few incoherent sentences, in which, however, I
understood that she was trying to make me think that I was a visionary,
that I had misunderstood her conversation with Roncherolle, and finally
she ended by saying that she was very unhappy with me and that we should
do well to separate. I left her, I went away with death in my heart, but
without a glance at that woman who had not a single tear for the
unhappiness she caused me!

"The next day at seven o'clock, I had finished all my preparations for
departure and had written to my notary; I was preparing to start for the
place where I had appointed to meet Roncherolle, when a messenger
brought me a letter; I recognized the handwriting of the man whom I was
going to meet, and I hastily broke the seal; that letter has remained
engraven in my memory! Roncherolle's missive was thus conceived:

"'My dear De Brevanne'--he had the effrontery still to address me
so!--'I am very sorry for all that has happened. You have taken the
thing too seriously! I believed that you--as everybody else did; and
this is one of those things which happen every day; why in the devil did
you come back when you were not expected? From the days of the famous
Sultan of the Thousand and One Nights, such surprises have always
brought ill luck to those who make them. Now you want to fight with me.
I know perfectly well that you are entitled to, but it would be a
stupendous piece of folly, which you would repent some day. Yes, if you
should kill me, I will wager that later--much later probably, but at
some time or other--the day would come when you would be sorry for it;
for the passions calm down, and when a man reflects coolly, he is often
surprised to find that he has been terribly angry for a trifle. I
propose then to spare you the regret of having killed me; and as for
myself, I need not tell you that I shall never aim a pistol at you. And
so, as our duel cannot take place, it is useless for you to go to a
rendezvous where you will not find me. You know me well enough to be
aware that it is not from cowardice that I decline this duel; I have
proved that. But with you,--no, whatever you may do, I will not fight;
and as you will hope doubtless to meet me somewhere, I give you notice
that when you receive this letter I shall already have left Paris.
Adieu; I tell you again, I am sorry, very sorry for what I have done, as
you are seriously offended, but if you should kill me ten times over,
that would remedy nothing, for what is done is done. Adieu. He who no
longer dares to call himself, but who will always be, your friend.'"

       *       *       *       *       *

At this point in Monsieur de Brevanne's narrative, Monsieur de Merval
could not help uttering an exclamation and interrupting the count.

"Upon my word," he said, "I do not believe that there ever was another
letter like that. To write in such terms, under such circumstances!
However, it depicts the man, and I recognize Monsieur de Roncherolle in
every line; he shows himself in that letter as he was in
society!--Excuse me for interrupting you and pray go on."

"I could not believe that that letter which I had under my eyes meant
what it said; ten times I read it, then I went to Roncherolle's house;
but he had not misled me, he had gone away at six o'clock that morning.
Judging from the preparations that he had made, it was probable that he
had left Paris, but where had he gone? No one could tell me. I sought
him in every direction, to no purpose; for several days I made the most
minute search, I could not discover a trace of the man, who, after
shamefully betraying my friendship, dared appeal to it to excuse himself
for not giving me satisfaction for his outrage. So I was forced to go
away without my revenge. Ah! Monsieur de Merval, I confess that that was
one of the most cruel torments that I suffered! I left France and
travelled for some time; but on receipt of certain intelligence, I
returned suddenly to Paris a year after my departure; I was assured that
De Roncherolle had returned, that he had been seen; but despite all my
efforts, I could not succeed in finding him. I went away again and
travelled a long while; years passed, and time, that great restorer, at
last restored the tranquillity which I had lost, without, however,
restoring my happiness; for, from the sufferings that I had undergone, I
had retained a deep-rooted misanthropy, and almost an aversion to
mankind. I was excusable, was I not, monsieur? Betrayed in my dearest
affections, at the age when the heart abandons itself to them with the
least reserve, I no longer believed in anything that had formerly
contributed to my happiness; and it is melancholy to say to oneself: 'I
have no friend; the man who presses my hand to-day will betray me
to-morrow if any of his passions may be gratified by so doing.'"

"Oh! Monsieur de Brevanne, you must not include all mankind in the same
anathema! Believe me, there are sincere sentiments, and there are men
who understand friendship.--And so you have not seen Monsieur de
Roncherolle since the day that you were to fight?"

"As I tell you, it was impossible for me to find him. Someone told me
once that he had met him in the Pyrenees, travelling with a lady who
called herself the Baronne de Grangeville; from the portrait that was
given me of that lady, I had no doubt that it was my wife, and that
thought prevented me from going to the Pyrenees; for I will admit that,
while I desired earnestly to meet a false friend upon whom I hoped to be
revenged, I had not the slightest desire to meet a woman whom I had
loved so dearly and who had betrayed me so outrageously. Much time has
passed since then. A few years ago, I bought this country house, in
which I am beginning to take some pleasure. Now, Monsieur de Merval, you
know the cause of my separation from Madame de Brevanne--tell me frankly
if the world guessed the truth, and if it judged justly in this
matter?"

"Yes, I tell you again, you were not the one who was blamed; to be sure,
there were, immediately after your rupture, some persons, ladies
especially, who undertook to compassionate the Comtesse de Brevanne, and
when they mentioned her, always referred to her as the unfortunate wife,
the poor woman whose husband had abandoned her; but very soon those same
persons were obliged to admit that they were wrong, for the connection
between Madame de Grangeville and Monsieur de Roncherolle became so
evident that it was impossible to refuse to believe in it. However, as
there are women who are never willing to admit that they were altogether
in the wrong, they undertook to excuse your wife by declaring that her
intimacy with Roncherolle probably dated from the moment that you left
her. But after that, events spoke so loud, the facts were so patent!"

"What's that? what events, what facts?" said the count, gazing at
Monsieur de Merval; the latter paused, seemed embarrassed, and
continued, in the tone of a person who feels that he has said too much:

"Why, I mean Madame de Grangeville's departure from Paris, her
travelling with Monsieur de Roncherolle; however, you know all that as
well as I do, and I fancy that it cannot be very agreeable to you that I
should expatiate farther upon these details in the life of a person who
no longer bears your name."

"My dear Monsieur de Merval, as I told you before I began the story of
my deplorable misadventure, only a short time ago I should not have had
the courage to do it, or to listen calmly while you spoke of that woman
whom I loved so well; but I have seen that woman again, here--I mean in
this neighborhood--only a few days ago."

"What! you have seen----"

"The person who calls herself now the Baronne de Grangeville, yes. It
was at the party given by my neighbors, the people whose house you were
leaving when I met you this morning. They had invited me, and I,
surmounting for once my aversion to society, attended the party. In
fact, I may as well confess that I had not entirely lost the hope of
finding Roncherolle; I have been positively assured that he is in Paris
now, and as most of my neighbor's guests were likely to come from Paris,
I said to myself: 'I will go back into society, and perhaps I shall meet
there the man whom I have sought in vain so long.' So I went to Monsieur
Glumeau's; they were giving theatricals in his woods, and I stood apart
from the others, but where I could see everybody. Imagine my feelings
when my eyes met those of a lady seated beside Madame Glumeau, who very
quickly turned her head aside when her glance and mine met. That glance,
brief as it was, impressed me--it instantly reminded me of Lucienne. I
left my place, and standing farther away under the trees, it was easy
for me to observe at my leisure that person's features. I cannot
describe my sensations; I could not, I did not wish to believe that it
was my wife; I imagined her still young and pretty; in short, still as
fascinating as at the time I parted from her."

"And you found a tremendous change! Remember that twenty years make
great ravages, especially in women who were formerly very pretty; the
ugly ones change much less, and it is that fact that consoles them for
being ugly.--Did Madame de Grangeville recognize you?"

"I have every reason to think so; when a few drops of rain put the
guests to flight, she alone remained in her seat, she seemed afraid to
move; at last, however, she turned her head to see if I were still
there; she saw me and her terror seemed to redouble; apparently I
frightened her! As for myself, she aroused my compassion, nothing more!
I was about to go away, when several young men came in search of her and
escorted her back to Monsieur Glumeau's house, where, as you may
imagine, I was careful not to follow her.--Now, Monsieur de Merval,
explain to me, pray, how it happens that that meeting, which, by
arousing all my memories, should have renewed my former griefs, has
produced an absolutely contrary effect? Yes, since that moment my heart
has been calmer, my thoughts have been much less gloomy; it seems to me
that my mind views things in an entirely different aspect now!"

"The change seems to me very easy to explain, monsieur le comte. Before
this meeting, your wife was still in your eyes the youthful beauty with
whom you were in love and of whom you were jealous; your memories were
the more bitter because they always recalled the treachery of a very
fascinating person! To-day that same person appears before you with
twenty years more upon her, and she is so changed that you have
difficulty in recognizing her. You realized then that you were still in
love with, and unhappy about, a person who no longer exists. For to you,
who have passed nearly twenty years without seeing your wife, her beauty
has entirely vanished; whereas to those who have seen her constantly,
she may still appear beautiful. As a man of much wit once said: 'How do
you expect that one person should notice that another grows old, when
they see each other every day?'--Hence I conclude, Monsieur de Brevanne,
that sentiments of regret are much less poignant when the object
regretted has ceased to be what it once was."

"I believe that there is much truth in what you say. But have you seen
Madame de Grangeville lately, Monsieur de Merval?"

"Yes, I too met her at the Glumeaus', in Paris, some time before the
festivity in question. I had seen Madame de Grangeville more recently
than you had, for I had caught sight of her occasionally at the play or
at concerts; but I never ventured to speak to her; the false position
which she occupied imposed that restraint upon me. At the Glumeaus', it
was she who accosted me and attempted to renew our acquaintance; she
even invited me to call upon her."

"And you accepted that invitation?"

"I should have been afraid of being discourteous if I failed to do so."

"And does she still make the same show, is she still as fashionable as
ever? For she was a coquette in everything; she must have the most
sumptuous furniture; the most trivial object in her apartments must have
the stamp of the most refined elegance!"

Monsieur de Merval shook his head slightly as he replied:

"Oh, no! it's not like that at all now; Madame de Grangeville's
household has undergone the same change as her person!"

"Is it possible that her tastes have changed too?"

"Oh, no! not her tastes! I presume that they are still the same; but it
is her means that have changed; I believe that she is ruined!"

"Ruined!"

"Or practically so!"

"But she had twelve thousand francs a year!"

"Yes, but that was twenty years ago; and in twenty years, a person who
loves luxury and pleasure can consume much more than that. In fact, I
found Madame de Grangeville in a small and very modest apartment, on a
fourth floor; and the furniture of that apartment was very far from
handsome!"

"And how many servants?"

"How many servants? Why, just one; and I fancy that one was sufficient.
I saw a sort of lady's maid, who doubtless does everything."

The count's face darkened. He was silent for some moments, then
muttered:

"So she has spent, squandered her fortune; and at the age when illusions
vanish, she will find herself destitute perhaps!"

Monsieur de Merval made no reply, but took his hat.

"Are you going to leave me already?" said the count; "I hoped to keep
you with me all day."

"You are very kind, but it is impossible to-day; I must return to
Paris."

"But at all events, you will promise to come again to see me?"

"I will come next week, if you care to receive me."

"I shall count upon you, and long for you as for a sunny day."

"Au revoir then, my dear count; we shall meet again soon."

Monsieur de Merval shook hands with Monsieur de Brevanne, then left the
house, saying to himself:

"Poor count! he does not know all even yet! But what would be the use of
telling him a thing the knowledge of which could not be agreeable to
him, and which perhaps he will never know?"




XXV

GEORGET'S TORMENTS


During the first days that he passed in the country, Georget rose at
daybreak and was occupied constantly until the night arrived; he hardly
gave himself time to eat his meals. He ran hither and thither from one
part of the garden to another; he turned up the earth with the gardener,
he felled trees, he gathered wood, wheeled the barrow, cleaned paths,
transplanted shrubs, and did it all with so much zeal and vigor that his
face was constantly streaming with perspiration.

In vain did his mother urge him to take a little rest; he paid no heed
to her; and when Monsieur de Brevanne said to him: "Why do you tire
yourself so, Georget, for heaven's sake? There is no hurry; I don't want
people to kill themselves working, and you will make yourself sick, my
friend;" Georget tried to smile as he replied:

"Oh, no! monsieur; on the contrary, it does me good to keep busy all the
time; it diverts my thoughts and amuses me; it prevents me from thinking
of something else too much."

"Poor boy!" said the count to himself; "I understand; he does all this
to enable him to forget that young woman whom he loved; he is trying to
fly from himself; and he has much difficulty in doing so."

"Friend Georget, him a squirrel!" said Pongo to Mere Brunoy. "Him no
stay a minute in one place. Him no sit down a minute in the shade to
rest and talk! So nice when you hot, to rest in the shade! Friend
Georget, him melt away with sweating. If him work like that in my
country, him die right away in two days!"

However, there were times when the young man stopped, compelled to wipe
away the perspiration which streamed from his face; at such times he
would look about to make sure that he was alone; and when he was certain
that no one could see him, he would let his head fall on his breast, and
sit for some minutes absorbed in thought; and often great tears would
mingle with the perspiration on his cheeks.

One evening, Georget went to his mother and asked:

"Do you still like it here very much, mamma?"

"Do I like it, my boy? Why I should be very hard to suit if I wasn't
happy here; a pretty house, a lovely country, pleasant work, all the
good things of life, and such a kind master, who keeps asking me if
there is anything I want! Aren't you happy and content to be here
yourself?"

"Forgive me, mother, I am perfectly contented. We have been here a long
time already, haven't we?"

"A long time! Only nine days, my dear."

"Only nine days! That is strange! It seems to me as if it was more than
a month!"

"Poor boy! Are you so terribly bored? Do you regret Paris?"

"Oh, no! I don't regret Paris, mother! I don't think of Paris at all!
But, although I have said that I would never step foot in Paris again,
if you should happen to need anything, if you have left anything at our
rooms that you miss, you must tell me so, mother; because it would take
me only a short time to go and get it for you; and I will return at
once, I won't stop an instant. It is such a little way from here to
Paris, that I am sure it wouldn't take me three hours to go and come
back!"

"Thanks, my child, but I have no need to send you to Paris; I haven't
left anything at home that I need; you won't have to take that trip."

Georget said nothing more, but his face betrayed his disappointment;
however, he dared not insist, for he feared that his mother would read
what was going on in his heart. A few days later, Georget accosted
Pongo, who was busily engaged in a dispute with a superb dahlia.

"Whom are you talking with, Pongo?"

"Who me talking with, Monsieur Georget; why, you see, with this fine
flower, this lovely dahlia, with the little pink and white edges; but
him naughty, not willing to stand straight, always hang his head. What a
bad trick to hang his head, like a fox! You hear, flower? Hold up your
head and look at the sun, or me will have something to say to you."

"It seems to me that it's a long time since you went to Paris, Pongo! I
thought that Monsieur Malberg used to send you there now and then?"

"Yes, Monsieur Georget, master he send me to Paris when him have errands
for me.--Oh! see little red flower over there hold his little head
straight! Do you see, great coward, the little one stands better than
you!"

"And you have no errands in Paris just now?"

"No, Monsieur Georget, and me very glad to stay here, where it's cool,
not get tired travelling; though master, him always want me to take the
carriage; but me not like the carriage; too crowded, dirty folks, not
polite, make faces at Pongo! One day me going to fight a nurse who stuck
out her tongue at me! Then driver come and make me get up on top with
all the bundles!"

"But that wasn't right, Pongo! What! you were going to fight with a
nurse,--a woman!"

"Why, she stuck her tongue out at me and call me gingerbread man."

"So, Pongo, you don't like it when you have to go to Paris?"

"No, no! And then when me leave Carabi, him always scratch me when me
come back; for him forget me, and not mind me any more; but me go there
all the same."

"Well, my dear Pongo, if you choose, the first time that Monsieur
Malberg gives you an errand to do in Paris, I will undertake it, I will
go in your place; and you need not be afraid but that I will do exactly
as you tell me."

"Oh! thank you, Monsieur Georget, you very kind; but me can't accept."

"Why not?"

"No, no, me no do that!"

"It would be a favor to me too, because then I could take the
opportunity to buy some things in Paris that I need."

"No, Monsieur Georget, me not send you in my place, because, when
master, him tell me to go there, if me no do it, he says: 'Pongo he no
more my servant, Pongo he make others do his work'; and he turn me away.
No, Pongo always do master's work himself!--Just wait, you flower, me
take a cane to you, fine Zima like master's, and then you have to stand
straight."

Georget walked sadly away from Pongo; the poor boy was burning with
longing to go to Paris, though it were to stay there but a moment; but
he dared not admit it either to his mother or to his patron; for after
swearing so often that he would never go there again, that he held Paris
in horror; after having earnestly begged that he might never be sent
there, how could he now have the face to ask permission to go there?
Would it not be equivalent to an admission that he was still thinking of
Violette, that he could not succeed in forgetting her, that, in short,
he would give ten years of his life to see her for an instant? At
eighteen, years seem such a trifle; if a lover's wishes could always be
gratified, he would often squander in a few days the best part of his
youth.

Monsieur de Merval had kept the promise he had given to the Comte de
Brevanne, and had gone to Nogent to pass a day. That day had been
employed in walking about the country, talking confidentially all the
while. Monsieur de Brevanne had questioned his guest again concerning
Madame de Grangeville's present position, and without making it apparent
that he attached much importance to the matter, he had inquired her
address. He had also asked Monsieur de Merval if he had not met Monsieur
de Roncherolle in Paris; but Monsieur de Merval was unable to give him
any information upon that subject.

During that day, employed in that confidential conversation, that
outpouring of the heart, in which one often reveals one's most secret
thoughts, Monsieur de Merval had been more than once on the point of
disclosing a secret of the greatest interest to him whose confidence he
received. But, always held back by the fear of causing him pain, he had
not spoken, and had left Monsieur de Brevanne, saying to himself, as
after his first visit:

"What is the use of telling him that? Perhaps he will never know it."

On the morrow of the day that he had passed with Monsieur de Merval, the
count in the morning informed his servant that they would go to Paris
about noon.

Pongo began at once to make his preparations, which consisted, first of
all, in stuffing Carabi with cake and bits of meat, in order, he said,
that the cat might not commit larceny during his absence and so call
for punishment.

The mulatto had hardly finished with his friend Carabi, and was about to
beat _flonflon_, which was the name he gave to his master's travelling
coat, when Georget passed him.

"What are you doing there, Pongo?" said the young man, stopping.

"Me beat flonflon, Monsieur Georget, me make _flonflon_ very fine and
clean; him like to be beaten, for him go to Paris!"

"What? are you going to Paris, Pongo?"

"Yes, me go with master, he tell me we go soon, at noon; you hear,
_flonflon_?--There! oh! you be all clean!"

"You say that Monsieur Malberg is going to Paris to-day?"

"Yes, Monsieur Georget, with me; he take me, so me put on Mina, my
pretty new cap."

Georget stayed to hear no more, but set about searching the house for
the count; at last he found him seated under a lilac bush, where as
usual he seemed to be deep in meditation.

"Pray forgive me, monsieur, if I disturb you," said Georget, approaching
the count; "but I have just learned that--that monsieur is going to
Paris to-day."

"Yes, that is true; but what does it matter to you, my boy, so long as I
do not take you, as you begged me not to do? Never fear, I don't need
you; I shall take nobody but Pongo."

"Mon Dieu! monsieur, you see, I have reflected--I have realized that I
was wrong to say that to monsieur, for I ought to be at his service, I
ought to be always ready to do what he wishes; and then--you see--I had
no right to ask monsieur not to take me to Paris when he went there; and
that is why--if monsieur would like me to go with him--why I will be
ready whenever monsieur says, I won't keep him waiting."

The count watched Georget closely while he was speaking, and replied
gently:

"I thank you, Georget, for the effort that you make to please me, but I
tell you again, I will not subject you to such a severe trial; you have
a horror of Paris, I know, and I can understand it; you might meet
someone there whom you wish never to see again, whom, on the contrary,
you wish to forget entirely; I will not expose you to dangers which you
are wise enough to avoid. Besides, I have no need of your service in
Paris; so calm your fears, my friend, you shall remain here."

The poor boy was struck dumb; he did not know what to say; he turned
pale and staggered, and at last, finding that he had not the strength to
conceal longer what he felt, he fell on his knees in front of Monsieur
de Brevanne, stammering in a voice broken by sobs:

"Oh! take me, monsieur! Take me, I beg you! It isn't my fault, but I
can't stand it any longer! I won't speak to her, monsieur; I won't speak
to her, that I swear to you; but if I can see her for a moment, just a
moment; if I can know that she is still there in the place where I used
to see her, then I will come right away, I will come back calmer and
more at peace, and I will work even better than ever, for my head will
not be in a whirl as it is now."

"Rise, my poor boy! At all events, you are honest now, and I prefer
that. What is the use of disguising what you feel? Moreover, my poor
boy, you do not yet possess the art of dissembling; stay as you are; it
is more rare, but it is much better. Well, as you can't live without
seeing her, you may go to Paris with me."

"Oh! how kind you are, monsieur!"

"But be careful! be prudent! remember the past! Ah! if twenty years had
passed since you had seen the object of your love, I should have less
fear for you; but after only a fortnight, it's very dangerous!"

"I won't speak to her, monsieur; I swear to you that I won't!"

"Very good. Go and get ready, and tell Pongo that I am taking you in his
place, that he need not go to Paris."

Georget, drunken with joy, ran like a mad man through the gardens; he
longed to tell everybody that he was going to Paris. He told the
gardener, who was watering his vegetables; he shouted it at his mother,
who was working in front of the house, and who thought that she must
have heard wrong; but when she attempted to ask her son for a word of
explanation, he was already far away. He hastened up to his room to
dress; he finished his toilet in a moment; then he started out to find
Pongo, whom he found still brushing and beating _flonflon_; he tried to
take possession of the coat, which the mulatto refused to give him.

"Let me have it, Pongo! let me have it!" said Georget; "you are not
going to Paris, I am going to take your place. Give me the coat, I am
going to take it to monsieur; it is beaten enough."

"What! what you say, Monsieur Georget,--me no go to Paris? Oh! you
joking! you make fun of me!"

"I tell you, Pongo, that your master himself just told me that he would
take me in your place; you can stay here with Carabi, that ought to
please you."

"Me no believe you! Let _flonflon_ alone."

"But I want to carry the coat to monsieur, as he is ready to go."

"You no touch _flonflon_! Me carry him to master alone, no need you."

"Then take it at once----"

"You won't give orders to Pongo. Let _flonflon_ alone!"

"Ah! you tire me!" and Georget, in his impatience to be gone, leaped
upon the coat which the mulatto held by one sleeve; each insisted upon
the other's letting go, and as neither of them would give way and as
they continued to pull, the subject of the dispute fell upon the gravel,
deprived of both sleeves, which remained in the hands of the two
disputants for the honor of carrying that garment to their master.

At that moment Monsieur de Brevanne arrived upon the scene of conflict;
he saw his coat upon the ground, sleeveless, while Georget and Pongo,
with an equally confused and sheepish expression, gazed piteously at the
portion of the garment which had remained in their hands.

"Well! I am waiting for my coat!" said the count, who found it hard not
to smile at the bearing of the two persons before him.

"Coat--_flonflon_--there, there!" said the mulatto, passing his master
the sleeve that he held.

"What's this you are giving me, Pongo? a sleeve?"

"Oh! me put on the rest afterward, master, me stitch up all what's torn,
me fix it nice. It's Monsieur Georget's fault, him want to take the
coat, him say me no longer monsieur's servant; me no believe him, he try
to take _flonflon_ by force."

"That is true, monsieur," said Georget; "it is my fault that your coat
is torn, I admit; I was in such a hurry to bring it to you, and he
refused to give it to me."

"If he take my place to wait on master, then Pongo discharged, turned
out! Poor Pongo! very unhappy! he go bang his head against the wall."

And the mulatto began to utter noises that would have frightened an ox.
Not without much difficulty did his master convince him that he had
never had any intention of dismissing him, and that if he did take
Georget to Paris that day, it did not mean that Georget had any desire
to take his place.

Georget himself embraced Pongo and begged him to forgive him for the
pain which he had involuntarily caused him; the mulatto became calm, he
picked up the pieces of _flonflon_, and Monsieur de Brevanne, having
donned another coat, started for Paris with Georget.




XXVI

A GOOD FRIEND


On reaching Paris, the count said to Georget:

"I don't need you at this moment, my boy; go about your own business;
but be on the boulevard, opposite Rue d'Angouleme, at five o'clock; I
will take you up there as I pass, I shall have a cab, and we will come
back together."

"Very good, monsieur; but if monsieur needs me, if he wishes me to go
with him----"

"It isn't necessary; be at the place I have mentioned at five o'clock."

The count walked away, and Georget did not hesitate long as to what he
would do. In a few moments he was on the boulevard, and he walked in the
direction of the Chateau d'Eau. It was flower market day in that
quarter, the weather was magnificent, and there was a great concourse of
dealers and promenaders. Georget congratulated himself upon that
circumstance, which would enable him to keep out of sight in the crowd,
and not be seen; for he wished to see Violette, and he wished also to
see her without her suspecting it.

On approaching the place where the pretty girl kept her booth, Georget
felt his legs tremble and give way under him. His heart beat so
violently that he placed his hand against it, trying to suppress its
throbbing. The poor boy had never been so intensely agitated. He longed,
yet dreaded, to turn his eyes toward the place where he used formerly to
stop so often. At last, taking advantage of a moment when many people
were between him and that spot, he raised his eyes and looked; he saw
Violette, and after that his glance remained fastened upon her. At that
moment indeed, the flower girl, being busily engaged in making bouquets,
was looking at her tray and was paying no attention to the passers-by.

Violette was as fascinating as ever; but the rosy tinge of her
complexion had almost entirely disappeared, her brow was careworn, and
all her features bore the stamp of melancholy; far from impairing her
beauty, however, it gave a new charm to her whole person.

Georget instantly observed the change, the pallor which had replaced the
roses that formerly adorned Violette's cheeks; and in a second, twenty
thoughts rushed through his mind.

"Why that sad, downcast expression?--Why this change, this pallor?--Why,
even while arranging her flowers, does her brow remain pensive and
careworn?--Is she sick?--Is she unhappy?--Who can make her so?--What is
she thinking about at this moment?"

Georget asked himself all these questions in less than a minute. But the
last was the one of all others which he would have given everything in
the world to be able to answer! Of what was she thinking at that moment?

Is not that always what a lover asks, when he can observe his mistress
unseen, and when he sees that she is thoughtful? But it is also the
question which most frequently remains unanswered.

Quite a long time passed and Georget was still in the same spot, with
his eyes fixed upon Violette, who did not see him. More than once the
young man was pushed aside and jostled by the passers-by, by people
carrying flowers.

"Look out!" they would shout at him; "stand out of the way! let us pass!
Is the fellow stuck to the concrete?"

But Georget did not stir, he did not even hear, he did not even feel the
jostling; it seemed as if his whole being were concentrated in his eyes,
and as if he only existed through them.

But he had no choice save to emerge from his trance and to reply, when
he suddenly felt a pair of wiry arms thrown about him, and someone began
to dance up and down in front of him and embrace him, exclaiming the
while:

"Ah! so here you are, my poor Georget! You're not dead, or melted! How
glad I am! I thought you must be in the canal or in a well, or caught in
a slide in the Montmartre quarries! Let me embrace you, _saperlotte_!
You villain! you brute! to disappear like this and leave your friends in
despair! Let me embrace you!"

Georget recognized his former comrade, and he felt touched by the joy
Chicotin showed as he gazed at him.

"Yes, it is I, Chicotin; thanks; so you have not forgotten me?"

"Forgotten you! what a stupid you are! What does that mean? why should I
have forgotten you? weren't we friends? I should like to know if friends
part like an old pair of breeches, which you never expect to put on
again? Forgotten! why, I've hunted for you in every corner of Paris!
I've been to your house, after asking Mamzelle Violette for your
address, for I didn't know it!"

"You asked Mamzelle Violette for my address?"

"To be sure; I had to ask her, to find out."

"And what did she say when you mentioned me?"

"Pardi! she told me that you lived on Rue d'Angouleme. I went there, and
I found a tall, thin brute of a concierge who was as drunk as a fool and
fighting with a woman--she must have been his wife, for she called him a
blackguard!"

"Didn't she say anything else?"

"The old woman said: 'They've gone away, and we don't know where they
are.'"

"But Violette--Violette----"

"The flower girl? Oh! I don't know what's the matter with her, poor
girl, but for sometime past she's been as sad as can be; she never
laughs now, she has changed completely! But bless my soul! perhaps she
was unhappy because she didn't see you any more; you, who used to pass
your days with her, all of a sudden you drop her, without even bidding
her good-bye, so it seems! That's a very nice way to act! If I'd behaved
like that, why it would have been all right! Nobody would have been
surprised, but they'd have said: 'Oh! that Patatras! that's just like
his tricks! Appear and disappear! like Rotomago in the marionette
show.'--But you, Georget, a fellow as polite as you, with the manners of
a solicitor's clerk! Really, I shouldn't have expected it of you."

While listening to his old comrade, Georget kept his eyes fixed on the
flower girl, who was still arranging her flowers. But there came a
moment when the girl raised her head and turned her eyes in Georget's
direction. He was convinced that she had seen him, and instantly,
dragging Chicotin away, he forced him to leave the boulevard, saying in
a choking voice:

"Come, come! Let's not stay here; she may have seen me, and I don't want
her to think that I still take pleasure in looking at her, in thinking
about her; she would make sport of me again, and I won't have it. Come,
Chicotin."

"But, for heaven's sake, look out! How you go! You are dragging me in
front of the omnibuses! If you want to get us run over, I beg to be
excused! I prefer something different! I say, haven't we gone far
enough?--But what is it that you have against Mamzelle Violette? You run
away from her, you who used to be so dead in love with her! I don't
understand it at all! What on earth has the girl done to you?"

"What has she done to me? She deceived me, she let me believe that she
was virtuous and honest, that she was worthy of my love, in short; but
it wasn't true; and she listened to one of those fine gentlemen who made
love to her, and she went to his room!"

"She! the pretty flower girl a hussy! Nonsense! It isn't true; I don't
believe it! it's all talk!"

Georget was impressed by the assurance with which his friend
contradicted him, and in the depths of his heart, he was conscious of a
thrill of the keenest pleasure; then it was his turn to embrace Chicotin
for what he had said; but he simply pressed his hand hard, as he
muttered:

"You don't believe that of her. Ah, I was like you, I would not believe
it; but if, in your presence, she had refused to deny such statements,
you would be forced to believe! Listen, listen!"

And Georget gave his friend an exact account of what had happened the
last time that he was on Boulevard du Chateau d'Eau.

Chicotin listened, shaking his head from time to time like a person who
still doubts what he hears, and when his friend had ceased to speak, he
cried:

"What does all that prove? That little squint-eyed villain,--and I'll
smash him one of these days,--says a lot of nasty things about a girl
who won't have anything to do with him! If he blackguards like that all
the women who send him about his business, he will have his hands
full."

"But that Jericourt, that fashionable young man,--alas! he is not ugly,
and you know very well that he made love to Violette!"

"Well, what then? He wasn't there, was he? He didn't say anything,
confirm anything?"

"But Violette! Violette! When the little man told her that he had seen
her go into his neighbor's room and come out rumpled and excited, she
didn't say to him: 'You are a liar!'--If it hadn't been true, do you
think that she wouldn't have contradicted that evil-tongued fellow and
confounded him?"

"Oh, bless my soul! I don't know! You should ask her to explain it all
to you."

"Ask her to explain--so that she could lie some more to me! Oh! I didn't
need any explanation. Besides, she saw my grief, my despair, and she let
me go away, she didn't say a word to justify herself. Come, Chicotin, do
you still believe her innocent now?"

"Bless me! yes."

"Yes? Ah! if I could only think like you! I have been so unhappy since I
have been unable to say everywhere that I love her! She is pale, she is
sad, she is changed, and how can I find out what causes her sadness?"

"Wait! wait! I see someone yonder who can tell us better than anybody
else the truth of the matter. Look, do you see that young man crossing
the boulevard?"

"Monsieur Jericourt! It is he! Let me go, Chicotin, I am going to speak
to him."

"Not much! What will you say to him, I should like to know?"

"I don't know; but I will force him to tell me if he is Violette's
lover."

"Force him! Can one force people to tell the truth? It is necessary that
that should come natural to them. Come, let's follow Monsieur Jericourt,
let's not lose sight of him. When we are in a place where there are
fewer people, I'll go to him and speak to him; he knows me. He don't
suspect, however, that on two occasions it was him that I tried to throw
down in front of the flower girl's booth; but then, that was a joke! As
I have told you, I often used to do errands for him--I haven't done any
for some time, I fancy that the funds are low--to his friend, the young
lion Saint-Arthur. There's a fellow who's allowing himself to be
stripped bare by little Dutaillis! What a number one canary he is!"

"Let us walk along faster, Chicotin; you must speak to him."

"Never fear, we won't lose sight of him. When the time comes, I'll ask
him, as if it was a matter of no consequence, to tell me the truth about
Mamzelle Violette; I'll tell him that I had an idea of marrying her.
Then why shouldn't he tell me the truth? What interest would the man
have in deceiving me?"

"What an excellent idea, Chicotin! Yes, yes, you must speak to him; I
will keep out of the way, so as not to seem interested. Oh, go at once!
go and speak to him!"

"I can't now; he's met someone, he's talking with a gentleman!"

"What a pity!"

"It only means a little delay; we will wait, we have plenty of time."

Monsieur Jericourt, the dramatic author, had in fact fallen in with one
of his confreres, and the gentlemen talked together, sometimes walking a
few steps, then stopping, but continuing their conversation all the
time. This lasted a long while. Georget was in despair, and Chicotin
said:

"It must be that they are writing a play together; there's one of them
who seems to be acting it, he gesticulates when he talks as if he was on
the stage."

"They don't act as if they proposed to say good-bye."

"Well! if it's a play in five acts that they're composing, and if
there's any tableaux in it----"

"Oh! mon Dieu! now they're going into a cafe! That is the last straw!"

"What do you expect? We can't prevent those gentlemen from wanting to
take something. Suppose we go into the cafe too and take a _petit
verre?_"

"No, Monsieur Jericourt might notice us, and then he would see that we
have followed him."

"You are right, and he wouldn't answer my questions; indeed, it's better
that he shouldn't see you. Well, let's do sentry duty; it's a bore, but
after all, in our business we often do it for others, and we can afford
to be bored on our own account once in a way."

Jericourt remained more than an hour in the cafe with the person whom he
had met; then they came out, talked again a long while in front of the
cafe, and finally separated.

"At last!" cried Georget, as they walked along Boulevard Beaumarchais,
which Jericourt had taken. "This time, Chicotin, you mustn't wait before
speaking to this gentleman, until he has met somebody else."

"No, no; but still, I must choose my place. There are some places where
one can talk better than others. Ah! he is turning into Rue
Pas-de-la-Mule. I'll tackle him on Place Royale.--Yes, he's turning to
the left. Wait here for me, Georget."

Chicotin ran after his customer, and Georget remained on the boulevard.
Five minutes passed, which seemed an eternity to the young lover; then,
as his comrade did not return, Georget went down the street to Place
Royale, looked about in all directions, and finally discovered Chicotin
under an arcade, talking to Jericourt, who listened with a most
contemptuous expression. Georget would have liked to hear what was being
said; he walked a few steps toward them, but Chicotin saw him and made a
very energetic sign which meant: "Clear out."

Georget took up a position farther away; he leaned against a pillar, and
waited, putting his head out from time to time to see if his friend was
coming. At last he saw Chicotin walking slowly toward him, his troubled
expression denoting anything but good news. Georget ran to meet his
comrade, crying out:

"Well! what is his answer? Tell me at once; I have been dying of
impatience for an hour!"

"His answer? It wasn't worth while following him so far to listen to
that!"

"Ah! I understand; Violette is guilty!"

"Well! according to what that gentleman says, he triumphed over the
flower girl. When I said to him: 'Be kind enough, monsieur, to tell me
something about Mamzelle Violette's virtue, because I know someone who
desires to marry her,' he began to laugh in a sneering way, saying: 'Her
virtue! the flower girl's virtue! Ah! this is charming! delicious!' and
then a lot of stuff that I couldn't understand at all. However, I think
he saw you, for he added: 'It's for your little friend that you are
asking these questions.'--I replied: 'No, monsieur, it's for
myself.'--At that he began to laugh again! How mad that made me, and how
I would have liked to hit him, but that wouldn't have helped matters at
all! Then he said: 'Only idiots believe in the virtue of these girls who
make such a parade of prudery and cruelty. Violette came to my room of
her own free will, and when a pretty girl comes to my room, everybody
knows what that means; my reputation is established. Say that to the
clown who is in love with her.'--And with that he turned on his heel and
began to sing. Ah! that fellow is a miserable villain all the same, and
I don't advise him to give me any more errands to do, or I'll take pains
to make a mistake! I'll carry his notes to the husbands instead of
giving them to their wives, and we'll see if that will make him
laugh!--Well, Georget, you are unhappy, you long to cry! Come, come!
deuce take it! Everything hasn't come to an end! You must be a man, you
must show that you are no longer a little brat! As if a man should pass
his life whining about a girl who has deceived him! Why, if we should
cry every time a woman plays tricks on us, men would have red noses all
the time, and that wouldn't be pretty. And then, after all, the girl
never made you any promise, you told me so yourself; she was free to
give her heart where she chose!"

Georget wiped his eyes, faltering:

"Yes, you are right, Chicotin. Violette was free, and I have no right to
blame her. I am a great fool to grieve so, for after all you have told
me nothing new; but you see, when I saw this morning how pale and
changed she was, I imagined--oh! a lot more foolish things; and then you
yourself told me that I was wrong to suspect her."

"Why, I would have put my hand in the fire over that girl's virtue! That
was my idea of her!"

"Oh! I don't blame you, Chicotin; on the contrary, I love you for it."

"And where are you living now? You've left Paris."

"Yes, I am at Nogent-sur-Marne, on a beautiful place, belonging to
Monsieur Malberg, a man who has been very kind to my mother and me. We
want nothing there; on the contrary, we are very fortunate."

"Do wipe your eyes; come, don't cry like that!"

"I am done, I won't cry any more; I am going back to Nogent, and I shall
never come to Paris again; it makes me too unhappy to see her, and to
think that I mustn't love her. No, I shall not come here again. I swore
that I wouldn't, when I went away before; but I will keep my oath now."

"And you will do well. I will go to see you at Nogent--that ain't
against the law, is it?"

"Oh, no! do come; but you mustn't mention her to me, you mustn't tell me
anything about her; I don't want to know what she is doing."

"Never fear! _bigre!_ I won't be the one to tell you things again that
make you feel so bad. Come, wipe your nose and don't think any more
about her. Mon Dieu! there's no lack of pretty girls, they're a kind of
seed that grows everywhere, like weeds; you can find them in the suburbs
as well as in Paris; I'm sure that there are plenty at Nogent, but I'll
bet that you haven't looked for them yet?"

"No, I haven't thought of it."

"We'll look for them together, and I will hunt up one able to make you
forget all the flower girls in Paris."

"Yes, I will love another, I will love several others!"

"That's the talk; you must love 'em in bunches! In that way, if there's
one of them who plays tricks on you, you can console yourself right away
with another."

"You will come, won't you, Chicotin? you promise to come? But not to
talk to me about her. What difference does it make to me now whether she
is pale or red, whether she is sad or merry? Mon Dieu! it's a matter of
indifference to me now; I snap my fingers at her, I don't propose to
take any further interest in her. When a girl behaves as she has done,
she doesn't deserve anybody's interest, does she, Chicotin?"

"No, no! blow your nose again. I'll go to see you, that's agreed; you
see, I'm my own master; to be sure, I have my gouty gentleman, who gives
me something to do sometimes, but not every day; I haven't been able to
find the Baronne de Grangeville, but that isn't my fault. By the way,
some time ago weren't you also looking for somebody for your Monsieur
Malberg? It was Violette who told me that one day when----"

"Violette! Violette! Did she mention me to you?"

"Ah! what a stupid turkey I am! Here I am talking about her now! I wish
I'd bitten my tongue out!"

"Mon Dieu! it isn't a crime, after all, Chicotin. Besides, it must have
been long ago, when she loved me a little, when she was fond of me; for
she was, I am perfectly sure of it."

"Well, it's all over now! You were looking for somebody, that's all! and
that was why we never met."

"That is true, but I looked in vain, I could not find that Monsieur de
Roncherolle in Paris."

"Monsieur de--what name did you say?"

"Monsieur de Roncherolle."

"Well, on my word! that is a good one! Is that the man you looked for so
long in vain?"

"Yes, can it be that you know where to find him?"

"Do I know! why, it's my gouty gentleman; he set me to find a lady. Ah!
he looks to me like an old rake! but swell, and generous, though it
seems he's ruined."

"And this gentleman's name is De Roncherolle?"

"Exactly; and I had a bouquet to carry from him--indeed, he bought it of
Violette."

"Of Violette?"

"Confound it! I am getting to be as talkative as a magpie, and as stupid
as a kettle!"

"Does that gentleman know Violette too?"

"Why, no, he knows her just as everybody may know a person who sells
flowers; he bought a bouquet of her and paid for it, that's all."

"And his name is De Roncherolle?"

"Yes, yes; how many times must I tell you that?"

"And he lives----"

"In a small furnished lodging house on Rue de Bretagne, in the Marais; I
don't know the number, but you can find it easily enough."

"Thanks, Chicotin, thanks! At last I am going to be able to be of some
service to Monsieur Malberg; he was so anxious to find that gentleman; I
must go at once and tell him. But mon Dieu! it just occurs to me--what
time is it now?"

"The clock on Saint-Paul's just struck six."

"Six o'clock! and monsieur told me to be at the corner of the Boulevard
and Rue d'Angouleme at five."

"It will hardly be possible for you to be there."

"No matter, we must run; come, Chicotin, quick!"

The desire to please his benefactor had banished from his mind for a
moment the pretty flower girl's image. He ran at the top of his speed to
the place which the count had appointed, and Chicotin followed him,
saying from time to time:

"Sapristi! we are going at a lively pace! If a horse dealer should see
us, he would enter us for the races on the Champs-de-Mars; we would beat
all the ponies!"

The two young men arrived at the place appointed, but Georget could not
see his master.

"Wait here," he said to his friend; "I am going to our house, and I
shall be able to find out there if Monsieur Malberg has gone back;
wait."

Georget went to the house where he used to live. He found Baudoin's
wife, who by an extraordinary chance was sober, and who said to him:

"Monsieur Malberg came here to ask if you were here, but it was
three-quarters of an hour ago; he was in a cab, and he didn't even get
out; he probably started for Nogent right away."

Georget returned to his comrade.

"Monsieur went to the house to look for me, then he went away; of course
it wasn't his place to wait for me. So I must start at once, and I will
soon be there."

"Are you going on foot?"

"Yes, I can go faster than the public carriages."

"I will be your escort as far as Vincennes, but on condition that we
don't run so fast as we did just now. Now that your master has gone
ahead, it won't make any difference whether you arrive half an hour
sooner or later; and if he scolds you, you have something to tell him
that will restore his good humor."

"Oh, he never scolds.--Come, Chicotin, let us start."

"What on earth are you doing? We are on Boulevard du Temple, and you are
starting off toward Porte-Saint-Martin to go to Vincennes!"

"Ah! you are right; I was thinking of something else, and I made a
mistake."

"All right; come, file left, and let's shake out our legs; it's lucky
I'm here to start you on the right road."




XXVII

A RESEMBLANCE


The Comte de Brevanne had a reason for going to Paris, but he did not
wish to confide to anyone the purpose of his journey; having completed
his visit, he was driven, about five o'clock, to Boulevard du Temple,
near Rue d'Angouleme, and there he looked about for Georget, who, intent
upon following Monsieur Jericourt, had forgotten his appointment with
the count. The latter, without alighting from his carriage, drove to his
city home, where the concierge informed him that Georget had not
called.

"I can guess where he probably is, and what has made him forget the
appointment," thought Monsieur de Brevanne. "Driver, take me to the
flower market on Boulevard Saint-Martin."

The driver whipped up his horse and the count said to himself:

"Here is an opportunity to see this girl who is so pretty, and who has
turned my poor Georget's head; I will wager that he is within a few
steps of the flower girl's booth, and that he can't make up his mind to
go away. A boy loves so earnestly at eighteen! and this poor fellow's
heart is too soft; he will be unhappy for a long while if I do not
succeed in curing him. But how? First of all, I must find out whether
this girl is really a bad girl."

The count left his carriage at the corner of the boulevard, and entered
the flower market, saying:

"How shall I know Mademoiselle Violette? Why, of course, from Georget,
whom I shall probably see hovering about her booth."

And Monsieur de Brevanne walked along, examining all the flower dealers.
He saw some who were old and others who were not pretty. Beauty is a
rarer thing than is generally supposed. Go into a theatre, and turn your
opera glass in all directions: sometimes out of six hundred women in the
audience, you will not find a single one who is really beautiful. Let us
not be surprised at the vast number of conquests that pretty women make,
for their number is very, very small.

The count walked on, not surprised at not seeing Georget, as there
seemed to be no fascinating flower girls. But as he drew near the
Chateau d'Eau, a lovely face instantly attracted his eyes. It belonged
to a flower girl, and she was probably the one he sought. Georget was
not there, however; but the girl was so lovely that it was impossible
that there could be another among the dealers in flowers that could be
compared with her.

Monsieur de Brevanne stopped in front of the flower girl, and gazed at
her with an interest which became deeper with every moment; as he
scrutinized her features, he was conscious of an emotion which he could
not comprehend at first; the girl reminded him of someone; he searched
his memory for a moment, but it did not take long to decide whose
portrait he saw in the girl.

"What an extraordinary resemblance!" said the count to himself, his eyes
still fastened upon Violette's face, for it was her booth at which he
had stopped. "This girl has all Lucienne's features, but Lucienne's
features when I was paying court to her, when she was not my wife; only,
Lucienne had a merry expression, a smile always on her lips, and this
girl has a melancholy look, her brow is careworn; but probably she is
not always thus. Is it a delusion of my senses? No, that profile, that
nose, the outlines of the face--it is impossible for two persons to
resemble each other more closely. And is this the Violette with whom
Georget is in love? It must be she; but no matter, I must make
certain."

The count walked to the flower girl's booth, picked up a bunch of roses
and asked the price. Violette replied, and her voice made a profound
impression upon the count, for that too was his wife's. He bent so
piercing a glance upon the girl that she was confused and lowered her
lovely eyes.

"I beg pardon, mademoiselle," said the count, as he paid for his roses;
"but perhaps you can assist me in finding the person for whom I am
looking; it is a young flower girl named Violette."

"Violette--why, I am Violette, monsieur."

"Ah! are you she?"

"There is nobody else of that name in this market."

"Oh! I believe you; indeed, I suspected that you must be the one."

"What do you wish of me, monsieur?"

"It will seem strange to you, mademoiselle, but I was looking for you in
order to find another person."

"I don't understand you, monsieur."

"I will explain myself: I have with me now, at my place in the country,
a young fellow who used to be a messenger, and whose stand was on this
boulevard."

Violette, who instantly flushed crimson, exclaimed:

"You must mean Georget, monsieur."

"Yes, his name is Georget."

"In that case, monsieur, you must be the gentleman of whom he has told
me so much good: that Monsieur Malberg, who was so kind to him when his
mother was ill, who gave him money, and----"

"I am Monsieur Malberg," replied the count, hastening to put an end to
the girl's eulogium; "but it's Georget, not I, of whom we are speaking;
he came to Paris with me to-day, and he made an appointment with me at
five o'clock, to return to Nogent, where my country house is. I am
surprised at his lack of punctuality, and I thought that I might find
him at this market. You have not seen him, mademoiselle?"

"I beg pardon, monsieur, I did see him for a moment, but it was more
than two hours ago. He was over there, opposite me; I don't know whether
he had been there long, but when I looked at him, when he saw that I saw
him, he instantly disappeared, and I haven't seen him since then."

"And he didn't speak to you?"

"Oh, no! he doesn't speak to me now, monsieur."

As she said this, Violette's voice changed, she heaved a deep sigh, and
her eyes filled with tears.

The count was touched; as he listened to the girl, he did not tire of
gazing at her with a close scrutiny which would have alarmed her if she
had not been at that moment engrossed by the thought of Georget.

"Is your mother still living, mademoiselle?" the count suddenly asked;
and Violette, surprised by a question which had no connection with
Georget, faltered:

"No, monsieur, no, I have no mother.--Did Georget tell you that he knew
me, monsieur?"

"Yes, yes, he told me that.--Is it long since you lost her?"

"Why, monsieur, it is several weeks now since I have seen him; so he is
in the country with you, is he, monsieur?"

"Georget? yes, he is with me. But I was talking about your mother; I was
asking you if you lost her when you were young?"

"My mother? why, I never knew her, monsieur; I am a poor girl, deserted
by her parents; and I owe the position that I have to-day to a
kind-hearted woman who sold flowers on this same spot."

"Ah! I understand," replied the count, thinking that the girl had been
brought up at the Foundling Hospital. "I beg your pardon, I am sorry
that I asked you that question; I should be terribly distressed to cause
you pain; I must seem very inquisitive to you, but your features remind
me strongly of someone whom I once knew very well."

"Oh! you haven't offended me, monsieur; I ask nothing better than to
answer you; I was so anxious to know you, since I knew how kind you had
been to Georget."

"How old are you?"

"I am eighteen and a half, monsieur; I shall be nineteen in three
months, I believe."

"That is strange!"

"Is Georget very happy at your place in the country, monsieur? Does he
never come to Paris, he who formerly could not pass a day without
walking on the boulevard? To be sure, in those days he used to speak to
me, he used to talk with me, and I had to scold him very often, to make
him go to work; and now he never looks at me, or else he has such a
contemptuous expression, and all because someone told him something
about me--as if he should have believed it! Ah! if anyone told me that
Georget had stolen, or that he had done anything mean, would I believe
it?--I beg your pardon, monsieur, but does he ever speak to you of me?
Do you think he has forgotten me altogether?"

For several moments the count had not been listening to the flower girl;
he was preoccupied, absorbed by his memories, and he did not hear what
she said to him. At last, abruptly driving away the thoughts that beset
him, he exclaimed:

"I am a madman! just because of a resemblance, such as nature often
produces, I must needs imagine--Adieu, mademoiselle, adieu! once more,
pray excuse my curiosity."

And the count hastened away, without answering the last questions of the
pretty flower girl, who was more depressed than ever, as she looked
after him, saying to herself:

"He wouldn't answer what I asked him about Georget; perhaps he told him
not to. To be despised, when one has nothing to blame oneself for! that
is horrible! and yet, I feel in the bottom of my heart that the main
thing is to have one's conscience clear. I have nothing to reproach
myself for, and some day they will reproach themselves for having made
me so wretchedly unhappy."

The count entered his carriage and started for Nogent. But on the way,
his mind was full of that extraordinary resemblance, and the young
flower girl's face constantly returned to his thoughts.

In vain did Georget make all possible haste, he did not reach Nogent
until fully two hours after the count. Chicotin left his comrade on the
outskirts of Vincennes, panting for breath, exhausted and dying with
thirst, because his friend would not consent to enter a wine-shop for
refreshment, as that would have delayed them. He shook hands with
Georget, saying to him:

"My dear boy, I am very glad I came with you, but I've had enough; if I
went any farther I should have the pip, and I believe I should break in
two. Deuce take it! you have a way of walking that leaves cabs and
omnibuses nowhere. Au revoir; I'll call and say good-day to you at
Nogent, but I shall go all alone, and take my own time walking; I prefer
that way."

Georget presented himself before his master, decidedly shamefaced; he
was afraid of being scolded because he was not on hand punctually at the
place which his patron had appointed; but the count simply said to him:

"As I didn't find you at the place I mentioned, I concluded that you had
forgotten the time at the flower market, with the pretty flower girl,
and I went there to look for you."

"You went there, monsieur? Did you see Violette?"

"Yes, I saw her and talked with her."

"You talked with her? Ah! I didn't speak to her! With one of my old
comrades, named Chicotin, who wouldn't believe that Violette had behaved
badly, I followed that Monsieur Jericourt, the man to whose rooms
she--she went; and as Chicotin knows that man, he begged him to tell us
the truth about the flower girl. As I expected, he confirmed what I had
already heard."

"It's a pity, for that girl is very interesting, and I discovered in her
features a resemblance to a person who was very pretty also--long ago!"

"Oh! isn't Violette lovely, monsieur? I told you so! And--excuse me if I
ask you a question--but what did she have to say to monsieur?"

"She talked about you, my boy."

"About me! about me! why on earth did she speak of me, when she doesn't
love me and has made me so unhappy? Why does she think of me, when
another man has her love, when she did not care for mine, which was so
true, so sincere? Is it to make me unhappy again? is it to make me still
more desperate, that she speaks of me? I don't want her to talk about
me, I will tell her not to!"

"Come, come, be calm, Georget; you are not reasonable, my friend; and I
think that I shall do well not to let you go to Paris again."

"Forgive me, monsieur; you are right to scold me.--Mon Dieu! to think
that I hurried back so fast, because I had good news to tell monsieur,
and here I have forgotten all about it and haven't told him! It is all
Violette's fault, you see, monsieur; she upsets my wits, she makes me
forget everything; it is worse than sickness, monsieur!--And she talked
about me?"

"Well, Georget, as you have thought of it at last, what is the news that
you have to tell me?"

"Monsieur, I haven't forgotten that sometime ago you employed me to find
the residence in Paris of a person whom you wished to find; it was a
Monsieur de Roncherolle, wasn't it, monsieur?"

At the name of Roncherolle, the count's face instantly lighted up, and
he seized Georget's arm, exclaiming:

"Yes, yes, it was he! Well, go on--what do you know?"

"I know that gentleman's address, at last."

"You know it?"

"Yes, monsieur.--Mon Dieu! if I had happened to mention it sooner to
Chicotin, my old comrade, I should have known it a long while ago. He is
that gentleman's messenger, he works for him."

"And his address?"

"Monsieur de Roncherolle lives on Rue de Bretagne, in the Marais, in a
furnished lodging house. He doesn't know the number, but as the street
is short, it will be easy to find."

"Rue de Bretagne, in the Marais,--a furnished lodging house?"

"Yes, monsieur, that is right."

"So I have found him at last!" murmured the count, intensely excited.

"If I should go this evening--but no, it is too late. He would not admit
me perhaps. But to-morrow morning--yes, I will see him to-morrow."

"What could Violette have had to say to you about me, monsieur?"
faltered Georget, walking toward his master; but he simply pointed to
the door and said: "Leave me," in a tone which permitted no reply.

Poor Georget left the room, disconcerted, and saying to himself:

"It is strange! I thought I should make him very happy by giving him
that gentleman's address; but it seems to have produced a contrary
effect."




XXVIII

THE EDUCATION OF A PARROT


Let us return to Monsieur de Roncherolle, whom we left in his little
lodging house in the Marais.

When the gout left him at rest, that gentleman usually left his room
about noon, and did not return until midnight, sometimes later; always
cursing the dimly-lighted staircase, his wretchedly-kept apartment, and
the servants who performed their duties inefficiently; and he ordinarily
finished his complaints by saying:

"But, after all, as I can't hire any better lodgings, I must make the
best of it, I must be a philosopher. I can no longer attract women, I
have squandered my money, and with what little I have left I still
manage to lose at cards. Such infernal luck! Louis XIV was right when he
said to the Marechal de Villeroi: 'At our age, a man has no luck!'--Ah!
ten thousand devils! what would he have said if he had had the gout?"

But one morning, Monsieur de Roncherolle, finding that he was unable to
put his left foot to the floor, was compelled to remain in his room,
reading a great deal to pass the time away, and sleeping when the gout
would allow.

Stretched out in the so-called armchair _a la Voltaire,_ with his
diseased foot on a cushion and wrapped in flannel, Monsieur de
Roncherolle had been sleeping a few moments when a shrill, piercing
shriek and a number of words uttered in a voice like Mr. Punch's, woke
him abruptly. Then an ordinary human voice, much too loud for that of a
neighbor, however, uttered these words:

"Very good, Coco, very good; you have plenty of voice, my friend; I know
perfectly well that you can talk, for I heard you at your owner's cafe,
and that is why I bought you. Now the question is to learn what I want
you to say, and you will learn it, won't you, Coco?"

"Good-day, Monsieur Brillant!"

"Good-day, my friend, good-day! you say that very well; but I am not
Monsieur Brillant, I am Saint-Arthur, De Saint-Arthur."

"Good-day, Monsieur Brillant!"

"Come, come, Coco, that isn't it; now listen: Dutaillis is lovely!
applaud, clap Zizi!--There, that's what you must say; it's a little long
perhaps, but you can learn it half at a time. Attention: Dutaillis is
lovely!"

"Good-day, Monsieur Brillant!"

"_Sapristi!_ you will make me angry, Coco."

"Cre coquin! you make me sick! oh! what a fool!"

"Aha! he swears; you swear! all right; that is quite amusing, but it
isn't enough for me. Dutaillis is lovely."

"Oh! what a fool!"

"Applaud, clap Zizi!"

"Good-day, Monsieur Brillant!"

"Corbleu! morbleu! I will swear, too, if you make me angry."

"You make me sick, Monsieur Brillant!"

"Dutaillis is lovely!"

"You make me sick!"

"Applaud, clap Zizi!"

Roncherolle, who had been obliged to listen to this dialogue, not
without cursing and swearing at his new neighbor, interposed at this
point by striking the partition with his cane, and shouting at the top
of his lungs:

"Ten thousand thunders! ten thousand millions of devils! is this going
to last much longer? Haven't you nearly finished, my dear neighbor and
Master Parrot? Monsieur Coco and Mademoiselle Dutaillis! do you know
that I am the one who will clap you, if you go on braying as you are
doing? and I should have done it long ago if I could have moved!"

These words imposed silence upon the dandified little Saint-Arthur and
his parrot; for it was in fact the young dandy, Jericourt's friend and
the lover of the little actress of Boulevard du Temple, who had become
within a few days Monsieur de Roncherolle's neighbor; the young man's
extravagance had forced him to leave very abruptly a charming little
apartment on Rue de Breda, which he had furnished in the very latest
style. But because he gratified every day the expensive whims of
Mademoiselle Zizi, Saint-Arthur had forgotten to pay his furniture
dealer and his upholsterer; those gentlemen lost patience, demanded
their money, then set the bailiffs to work; whereupon our former
travelling salesman consulted his wallet, and found that he had only
eight thousand francs remaining, whereas he owed eleven thousand. He
said to himself: "If I stay in this apartment, they will take my money
away from me; I prefer to abandon my furniture to my creditors; they can
almost pay themselves with it, and I shall still have what remains to
enjoy myself with. I will tell Zizi that I have moved to the Marais for
family reasons, in order to be nearer an aunt whose heir I am. However,
it makes little difference to her where I live, provided that I still
take her to dinner at a restaurant, and provided that I am generous to
her."

As a result of this reasoning, Beau Saint-Arthur had hired an apartment
in the house on the Rue de Bretagne. It was on the same floor as
Monsieur de Roncherolle's, and it was three times as large; and as the
young dandy retained there, as everywhere, the habit of making a show;
as he dressed three times a day; as he ordered dainty breakfasts, drank
champagne, and carried a cane made of an elephant's tusk, the people of
the house had the highest esteem for him, looked upon him as an
important personage, and would gladly have exchanged a dozen tenants
like the gouty gentleman for a single one like Monsieur de Saint-Arthur.

"He has shut up at last! that's very lucky!" said Roncherolle to
himself, stretching himself out in his reclining chair. "Parbleu! I seem
to have a new neighbor as to whom I must felicitate the master of this
house. If that had gone on, I couldn't possibly have stood it. The man
must be an idiot to try to teach the parrot such stuff.--I shall meet
him soon enough."

And Roncherolle yawned, closed his eyes, and was dozing again when
suddenly the noise began anew beside him.

"Dutaillis is lovely! Come now! Dutaillis is lovely!"

"Good-day, Monsieur Brillant!"

"You beast!--Applaud, clap Zizi!"

"Zi--Zi--Zan--Zan--Monsieur Brillant. You make me sick!"

"And so do you me, you beast!"

"Par la mordieu! and you're a beast yourself!" cried Roncherolle,
sitting up in his chair and grasping his cane again and hammering on the
partition and on the floor. "Ah! you have the effrontery to keep on
with your parrot lessons! Dare to begin again, and I will twist your
pupil's neck, and throw his master out of the window! What a house! What
service they have! Here I've been pounding and ringing for an hour, and
no one comes! I say there! waiter! chambermaid!"

Again Saint-Arthur and his parrot held their peace. But the little dandy
also jerked all the bell-cords that he could find in the three rooms of
which his apartment consisted.

At that jangling of bells, the waiter and the chambermaid hastened up to
their tenants on the third floor. The chambermaid no longer entered
Roncherolle's room, because he had several times told her to go and wash
herself, and then to go to the scrubber's. The waiter, who was called
the "young man," and who had worked in the house for more than twenty
years, was probably quite fifty-five years old. He was a man of medium
height, but endowed with a very coquettish _embonpoint_, and a prominent
abdomen, which, however, did not prevent him from having a wrinkled
face, and a small wig which did not come down to his ears, and which he
was constantly occupied in jerking to the right or to the left. Having
never worn any other costume than a pair of short trousers and a small
round jacket, like the waiters at restaurants, Beauvinet--that was the
"young man's" name--always wore a white apron, one half of which he
turned up to conceal the other half, when it had ceased to be spotlessly
clean. All in all, Beauvinet was more presentable than the chambermaid
and it was he who answered Roncherolle's bell when he rang.

So Beauvinet presented himself before the gouty gentleman, his apron
turned up, and pulling his wig over his right ear, which necessarily
caused the left side to rise; but one ordinarily obeys the most urgent
need, and it was only on extraordinary occasions that Beauvinet pulled
both sides of his wig at once; even then he dared not do it except with
great precaution, because one day when he indulged in that manoeuvre,
he had heard an ominous cracking on the top of his head, as if his wig
were about to be transformed into a crown; and the perquisites of his
position were too small to allow him to purchase a new wig.

"Monsieur rang, monsieur knocked, monsieur called, I believe?" said
Beauvinet, showing his bloated and wrinkled face.

"Sacrebleu! yes, I did ring and I did knock; I would have set the house
on fire if there had been any fire on the hearth."

"Fire! mon Dieu! is monsieur very cold? Why, it is warm----"

"Hold your tongue! and answer."

"Why, monsieur----"

"And try to let that shocking wig of yours alone; it annoys me to see
you always jerking that sorry thing."

"Why, monsieur----"

"Silence! Who is it that lives here, in this apartment next to me? Is it
a new neighbor that I have there?"

"Yes, monsieur, that fine apartment has only been let a week."

"To whom?"

"To a very fashionable, a very distinguished young man, who dresses as
if he went to the opera every day, and who spends money----"

"Ah! I understand why you call him very fashionable; what is the man's
name?"

"Monsieur Alfred de Saint-Arthur."

"_Bigre!_ that's a magnificent stage name! no one ever has such names
except in farces or at the Gymnase."

"Beg pardon, monsieur, I don't understand."

"You are not obliged to. Listen, Beauvinet: your Monsieur Saint-Arthur,
or Saint-Alfred, no matter which, has behaved very well for a week, as I
didn't know that I had a neighbor; but why in the devil has he taken it
into his head to have a parrot to-day, and to teach him to talk?"

"Beg pardon, monsieur, but it isn't a parrot that the gentleman brought
home this morning, it is a caca--a cato--mon Dieu! he told me the
name----"

"A cockatoo, no doubt?"

"Yes, monsieur, that's the name; he is a fine creature, I tell you, with
a thing on his head so that you'd swear he's a turkey with his comb."

"It belongs to the family of parrots. Well, this fellow and his bird
make a frightful racket, which prevents me from sleeping; and when one
has the gout, when one is in pain, one has no comfort except in sleep. I
lost my temper too much just now, perhaps, but do you go from me and
tell my neighbor that I am confined to my room by this infernal disease,
and that I beg him, out of regard for my plight, to be kind enough not
to give lessons to his bird so long as I am obliged to keep my room; he
can be certain that I shall go out as soon as I am able to walk, and
then he may pour out his heart to his bird at his leisure. If this
Monsieur de Saint-Arthur is a decent man and has any breeding, he will
comply with my request; if not--we will see.--You understand, Beauvinet?
Now go, and let your wig alone."

While this was taking place in Monsieur de Roncherolle's room,
Josephine, the chambermaid, had answered Saint-Arthur's bell.

"What does this mean, girl?" he asked her; "isn't a man free to do what
he pleases in his own room, in your house? When I pay cash, and I
believe I do pay cash, can't I amuse myself by teaching sentences, droll
remarks, to my cockatoo?"

"I should say so, monsieur! who would prevent you, pray? Certainly,
monsieur is master in his own room; and he can do whatever comes into
his head, without having anyone else interfere; and we are too flattered
to have monsieur for a tenant, and monsieur must see that we come at
once as soon as he rings."

"In that case, girl, why does a person, who evidently lives on this same
landing, venture to knock on the wall, to yell like a deaf man, to swear
and to threaten, when I am teaching Coco to talk? I bought the bird with
no other purpose; as soon as he can talk well, I expect to present him
to an actress, a friend of mine who adores me; and I do not propose to
stop educating him because of a neighbor."

"What, monsieur! that gouty old fool in the next room had the face to
call and knock? Oh! that don't surprise me, that man ain't afraid to do
anything. Such a wretched tenant! how I wish he would leave us! he
complains of everything in the house. To listen to him, you would think
that he had always lived in chateaux; but you mustn't pay any attention
to him, monsieur; and above all things, don't put yourself out. In the
first place, you hire an apartment three times dearer than his,
consequently you have the right to make three times as much noise."

"That reasoning strikes me as mathematical; but what sort of man is this
neighbor of mine?"

"What sort of man? Bless my soul! he's the kind that has the gout; he
growls and swears and yells; he's mad because he can't go out; and I
have an idea that he'd like to raise the deuce still, although he's too
old for that now; but he can't move, and that makes him angry."

"What! this neighbor of mine is old and helpless, and he dares to
threaten me! Upon my word! that is too funny; it is really amusing! I
believe that the wisest way is to laugh at him."

"Oh, yes! monsieur; but if you want me to go and speak to the old
grumbler----"

"No, no, my dear, it isn't necessary; I don't need any intermediary in
this sort of thing; I know how to handle it myself. Go, go; we will
arrange matters with the neighbor."

And the dandified little Saint-Arthur, overjoyed to learn that his
neighbor was old and ill, drew himself up and dismissed the chambermaid,
pacing the floor of his room with a lordly swagger.

The servant had not been gone two minutes when Beauvinet knocked lightly
at the door, then opened it and entered Saint-Arthur's room, saying:

"May I come in?"

"What is it now? what do you want of me?" asked the young dandy,
scrutinizing Beauvinet's wrinkled face.

"Monsieur, it's me, Beauvinet."

"You! I don't know you."

"No, because Josephine asked the privilege of blacking monsieur's boots;
but I also belong to the house."

"In the first place, my dear fellow, nobody blacks my boots, because I
only wear patent leathers; and they are never blacked; that was a stupid
remark of yours; go on."

"I was saying to monsieur that I belonged in the house."

"What are you in the house?"

"I am the young man, monsieur."

"Ah! you are the young man, are you? how long have you been the young
man?"

"More than twenty years, monsieur."

"You are an old young man then?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Well, what do you want of me?"

"Monsieur, your neighbor in the next room, Monsieur de Roncherolle, sent
me."

"Aha! it was the old fellow in the next room who sent you? Indeed! I am
interested to know what message this gentleman who doesn't like parrots
sends me. He sent you to apologize to me, I suppose?"

"Yes, monsieur, yes; the gentleman told me to tell you that he knew he
lost his temper too much just now, that it was the fault of the
condition he's in."

"Ah! he admits it; that's lucky; it was time!"

"And then, as he has the gout, and as he would like to sleep all the
time, the gentleman told me to ask you not to teach your cockatoo so
long as he's sick; but as soon as he goes out, then you can play with
your bird some more."

"Upon my word, this is too much! I say, is this old fellow a downright
idiot? I mustn't teach Coco to speak during the day, because my
gentleman wants to sleep! Why, when a person wants to sleep all the
time, he should go and live with mountain rats. And he thinks that I am
going to gratify him----"

"You understand, monsieur, I am simply repeating what he told me to tell
you, being the young man of the house. What shall I say to the gentleman
from you?"

"Nothing. I will take my answer myself; yes, this gouty old fellow shall
see me, he shall know whom he is dealing with; for it is time to put an
end to all this nonsense."

"Ah! monsieur means himself to see his neighbor?"

"Yes, young man. I will teach the fellow a thing or two! So I must not
instruct my parrot except when that gentleman has gone out! that is
delicious! it is worth putting on the stage! I will tell it to Zizi, and
she will have a good laugh.--Go, young man; I have no further need of
you."

Saint-Arthur cast a glance at his mirror, to see that nothing was
lacking in his costume, strove to assume a martial air, and when he had
achieved it, took his pretty ivory cane and went to his neighbor's room.
Roncherolle was trying again to sleep; he was on the point of
succeeding, when he heard the door on the landing open and close
violently; he always left it unlocked, so that people could come in
without his having to get up.

"Who's there? Who in the devil is making that racket?" cried the sick
man, jumping up. "Everybody seems bent on preventing me from sleeping
to-day! Is that the way to shut a door?"

"Apparently it is my way of shutting one," said Saint-Arthur, entering
the room with his hat on, and walking toward Roncherolle without even
bowing to him. The invalid opened his eyes and began to scrutinize the
personage who had entered his presence in that unceremonious way.

"You stare at me with an expression of surprise, Monsieur le Dormeur! To
be sure, you don't know me. I will begin by telling you that my name is
Alfred de Saint-Arthur, and that I live here beside you, in a very
pretty apartment, which does not resemble this; in fact, that I am the
master or the owner of the cockatoo which you heard just now."

"I suspected as much; just from looking at you, I could have guessed
that you were the master of the parrot; for master's the word, as you
teach him his tricks."

"Ah! very pretty! monsieur is pleased to jest, I believe. Well, we will
have a laugh; I came for that purpose. I say, Monsieur de la
Marmotte--for a man who wants to sleep all the time may properly be
classed with the marmottes--I say, old fellow, you sent someone to me to
tell me not to teach to talk the rare bird that I possess; the nasal
tones of that creature bore you, fatigue you; he prevents you from going
to by-by. That is most distressing, and I am really distressed by it.
But, instead of ceasing my lessons to Coco, I propose to give them to
him from morning to night, if I please. I have a right to do it! I am in
my own apartment; and if you venture to hammer and knock on the
partition again, to make me stop, I warn you that it will end badly for
you, _sacrebleu_! because, deuce take it! I am not patient, and
_morbleu_! and----"

Here Saint-Arthur paused, because his neighbor was eyeing him in such a
peculiar way that it began to take away his self-possession.

"Have you finished?" asked Roncherolle, rolling his chair nearer to
Saint-Arthur.

"Why, yes, I believe that I have said all that I had to say."

"Then it is my turn. In the first place, where did you think you were
going, when you came in here?"

"Where did I think I was going? that's a funny question! Why, I thought
that I could not have made a mistake; I knew that I was going to my
neighbor's room."

"No, monsieur, when you came in here, you evidently thought that you
were going into a stable, for you didn't bow and you kept your hat on
your head."

"Oh! that is possible, monsieur, and----"

"When anyone comes into my room, monsieur, I propose, I demand that he
shall take off his hat. Come! take yours off at once!"

"What! take my hat off? But suppose I----"

"Suppose you don't choose to? Well, in that case I will just take it off
myself, and it won't take long!"

Roncherolle grasped his cane, raised it quickly, and aimed at his
fashionable neighbor's head; but he, seeing the gesture, very quickly
snatched off his hat, while a shudder of ill augury ran through his
frame.

"Now I am going to answer your nonsense, for you haven't said anything
else since you came in. I didn't send word to you that you mustn't teach
your parrot. In the first place, I am too well-bred, monsieur, I know
too much, to employ such terms to a man whom I suppose to be well-bred
also; I sent to you a request to suspend your lessons while I am
suffering from the gout, because that terrible disease often forces me
to pass whole nights without sleep; so that it is very natural that I
should wish to enjoy a little repose during the day; and instead of
acceding to my request, which a courteous man would have done, monsieur
enters my room as if it were a public square, he calls me his 'old man,'
and a marmotte, and threatens me with his wrath if I venture to complain
again!--Do you know, monsieur, that it is doubly cowardly to insult an
old man who is ill and cannot defend himself?"

Little Saint-Arthur, who felt very ill at ease, and had lost all his
swagger, replied in a faltering voice:

"But, monsieur, I don't know whether--I don't understand--I----"

"Well, monsieur, I will tell you something, and that is that you were
not such a coward as you thought. That surprises you, doesn't it? But
this is how it is: in the first place, I am not so old as I look;
misfortune and disease age a man very rapidly, monsieur; and secondly,
although caught by my one leg, I am in a condition to demand
satisfaction for an insult, and you are going to have a proof of it."

Thereupon, rolling his chair to his desk, Roncherolle opened it and took
out a pair of pistols, which he handed to his neighbor, saying:

"Look you, with these, we will sit, each at one end of the room, and
blow each other's brains out as nicely as possible. Come, monsieur, take
one; they are loaded; I am a far-sighted man, you see!"

Saint-Arthur had turned as pale as a turnip; he leaned against a piece
of furniture to hold himself up, and glanced toward the door. But
Roncherolle continued, raising his voice:

"Come, monsieur, take one and let us have done with it; you came to my
room to laugh, you say; well, it seems to me that we are going to enjoy
ourselves. What makes you look at the door like that? Can it possibly be
that you would like to deprive me of your company? I warn you that that
will not do you much good, for I will have my chair rolled to your room,
I will roll it there myself if necessary, and I won't stir until you
have given me satisfaction."

"Why, this old fellow is evidently an inveterate duelist!" said
Saint-Arthur to himself, supporting himself on whatever came under his
hand. Soon, seeing that retreat was impossible, he formed a heroic
resolution, and going up to Roncherolle, he bowed humbly before him,
saying in a voice which fright rendered almost touching:

"Monsieur, I am really ashamed of what I did; I am confused beyond
words; I behaved like a hare-brained boy, like a poor--I may as well say
it, like a blockhead. I can't imagine what I was thinking of; that is to
say, yes, I do know,--I had wine at my breakfast, which I am not used
to, and it must have gone to my head. I realize how badly I behaved, and
I regret it; I withdraw the absurd remarks which I may have made to you,
I withdraw them; in fact, I offer my apologies for all that has taken
place; pray accept them and do not be offended with one who henceforth
will devote all his efforts to be agreeable to you."

Roncherolle looked at the young man for a moment, then shook his head
and said:

"Is it true that you were a little tipsy?"

"It is true that I was a good deal so; I drank six _petits verres_, and
then I drank champagne."

"And you are not strong at that game, perhaps?"

"Not very strong."

"Ah! I could give you lessons in that."

"You know how to drink champagne?"

"I should say so! I know thirty-three different ways of emptying one's
glass."

"Thirty-three ways! ah! that's the sort of thing I would like to know.
So you are not angry with me any longer, neighbor?"

"I cannot be, as you have apologized."

"I repeat my apology."

"And if you had told me sooner that you were tipsy----"

"True, I should have begun with that when I entered the room. As for my
parrot, never fear, my dear neighbor, you won't hear from him any more.
I have a dressing room beyond my two rooms; that is a long distance from
you, and if I close all the doors, I think that you will not be able to
hear him talk."

"Very good, and on my side, I hope not to be confined to the house long.
Then, as I seldom come home except to go to bed, you can teach your
parrot to talk at your ease."

"My dear neighbor, I am overjoyed that this little discussion has
afforded me the pleasure of making your acquaintance. I see that you are
a man who has lived--when one knows thirty-three ways of drinking
champagne!"

"Yes, it is true, I have lived, and very well--too well apparently, as
they say that that's the cause of my gout."

"As soon as you are cured, I hope to dine with you; will you do me the
honor to accept an invitation?"

"Why not? I have never refused an opportunity to enjoy myself, and I
don't propose to do so now."

"I will take you to dinner with a fascinating woman, an actress on the
boulevard. That will not offend you?"

"Offend me? far from it! in the old days, I would have invited you to
dine with four."

"Bravo! bravissimo! I see that we are made to get along together; you
are very jovial."

"I am much more so when I am not ill."

"Wait--just wait three minutes, if you please; I am going to make an
experiment with Coco."

Saint-Arthur hastily left Roncherolle and went to his room where he was
heard to close several doors. After a few moments he returned and asked:

"Well, did you hear?"

"What?"

"Did you hear my bird talking?"

"Not a sound!"

"Ah! victory! I took him into the little dressing room, beyond the two
rooms, and there he will stay. I made him talk a great deal, in fact."

"Did he say: 'Dutaillis is lovely?'"

"No, he said: 'Good-day, Monsieur Brillant!' but I will teach him, I
will persist, and so long as it doesn't inconvenience you----"

"I can't hear it at all now."

"Then it will go all by itself. Au revoir, my dear neighbor; overjoyed
to make your acquaintance. You will allow me to come and inquire for
your health?"

"Whenever you please."

"I shall please often. Au revoir then; at your service; don't move."

"Oh! there's no danger of that!"

"To be sure; I keep forgetting your gout; what a thoughtless creature I
am!--Your servant."

Saint-Arthur bowed to the ground this time, then left the house, saying
to Beauvinet, whom he passed on the way:

"I have seen the gentleman who rooms beside me, and he is a delightful
man, a man of the greatest merit, a man whom I expect to see a great
deal of; and _sapristi!_ no one had better speak ill of him in my
presence; whoever does so will have me to reckon with!"

The young man of the house was thunderstruck at these words, and in his
effort to recover his wits, he pulled his wig over his left ear.




XXIX

A HIGH FLYER


Thus Saint-Arthur became, as to Monsieur de Roncherolle, a zealous,
courteous, obliging, and above all, a very neighborly neighbor. The
little dandy, seeing the gouty gentleman frequently, was astonished to
find him possessed of much intelligence and joviality, with a piquant,
original way of telling a story, and a memory abundantly supplied with
comical, entertaining and sometimes rather risque anecdotes; but in
Saint-Arthur's eyes this last quality doubled their merit; he tried to
remember some of the tales that Roncherolle had told him, and went off
to repeat them to his mistress, who was greatly amused and said to him:

"My word! why, you know any number of funny stories now! it's amazing,
my dear; do you know that you are really getting to be amusing; can it
be that you have some wit of your own? Oh! how well you have concealed
your capacity!"

"Why, yes, I have concealed it," replied Saint-Arthur, stroking his
chin; "I'm concealing lots of other things, too."

"Oh! you surprise me more and more, my dear."

Roncherolle, being forced to keep his room, was not sorry someone should
come to visit him; the nonsense of his little messenger made him laugh;
the story of his new friend's _bonnes fortunes_ diverted him mightily;
and when Saint-Arthur said to him: "Don't you think that I am a
fortunate mortal with the ladies?" he would reply with a slight shrug:
"It's a fact that the ladies are very fond of men like you."

Saint-Arthur asked his neighbor several times to teach him some of his
methods of drinking champagne; but Roncherolle simply smiled and
replied:

"Those things can't be taught except at the table."

At last the gout entirely disappeared, and one day Saint-Arthur failed
to find Roncherolle in his room; he was sorely disappointed, for his
neighbor's witty conversation had become necessary to him; he retained
some scraps of it now and then. It is always well to frequent people of
intelligence, they allow themselves to be robbed so readily!

The little dandy rose early the next day, in order to find his neighbor
before he went out; he caught him as he was leaving his bed and said to
him:

"You are better, I see, as you go out now?"

"Thank God! did you expect me to remain in that old easy-chair forever?"

"No, of course not; I am delighted that you are better; but I missed you
yesterday, because, when I talk with you, I always remember some of the
funny little stories that you tell so well, and I amuse Zizi with them.
Yesterday, I had nothing at all to tell her, and she called me stupid;
that's just a way of speaking, you know----"

"I understand perfectly.--I am very sorry, but your charmer may find you
stupid again to-day, for I have no inclination to keep my room, in order
to tell you stories."

"And that isn't what I came to ask you to do, but something much better.
Will you do us the honor to dine with us to-day?"

"Where?"

"At Bonvalet's, corner of Rue Chariot."

"Oh! I know Bonvalet's! I have often dined there."

"Well, does it suit you to-day?"

"It suits me very well."

"Ah! you delight me. There will be Zizi Dutaillis, you know."

"Yes, you have already told me that. I shall be enchanted to make her
acquaintance; I have always been very fond of professional ladies."

"There will also be a friend of mine, an author--Monsieur Jericourt; do
you know him?"

"I never heard of him."

"He's a fellow of great talent, who will go a long way."

"Who says so? himself?"

"No, a newspaper that he writes for."

"Oh! that amounts to the same thing. However, I will give your friend
credit for as much talent as you choose; I am of an obliging
disposition."

"We will dine at half-past five; I know that it's bad form to dine so
early, but it's on Zizi's account; she acts in the last play, and there
is no fun in hurrying."

"All right! I promise to be punctual."

"Very good! By the way, you will teach me the thirty-three ways of
drinking champagne, won't you?"

"You won't be able to learn all thirty-three at one sitting. That would
be too great a risk to take. But we will do our best."

"That's right; we will learn as many as possible.--Until to-night."

At precisely half after five, Monsieur de Roncherolle, having donned his
least threadbare coat and the one which fitted him best at the waist, a
tight pair of trousers, a snow-white waistcoat, patent leather shoes, a
black satin cravat tied in a dainty knot, and with his hat a little on
one side, arrived at Bonvalet's, leaning not too heavily on his cane,
and asked for Monsieur de Saint-Arthur's private room. A zealous waiter
escorted him and opened the door of a pleasant room, just large enough
for four people to be neither too crowded nor too much at their ease.

Mademoiselle Zizi Dutaillis was three-fourths reclining on a divan,
toying with a lovely bouquet which her lover had just given her, and
taking a flower from it now and then to put in her fair hair, after
which she glanced at herself in a mirror. The young actress wore a
bewitching pink and black costume, a medley of silk, velvet and lace,
which strikingly resembled those of the famous Spanish dancers who were
kind enough to come to Paris to introduce us to the charms of the
genuine dances of their country. That costume was very becoming to the
young woman, who, with her black eyes, her tiny mouth, her very dark
eyelashes and her very light hair, was the most coquettish and saucy
little minx that it was possible to find in the boulevard theatres.

Saint-Arthur, who was at the window, ran to meet Roncherolle.

"Ah! how good of you!" he cried; "you are a punctual man!"

"I never knew what it was to keep ladies waiting," said the newcomer,
saluting Mademoiselle Zizi; she had not quitted her horizontal position
when she saw the guest enter, and gave him an unceremonious little nod
and said:

"Bonjour, monsieur."

"Mademoiselle Dutaillis," said the little dandy, taking his neighbor's
hand and assuming a solemn expression, "I have the honor of presenting
Monsieur de Roncherolle, my neighbor, who has been pleased to accept the
invitation which--in your name as well as in mine--to have the
pleasure----"

"Bah! that's enough! have you finished? You tire us with your speeches!
Monsieur will present himself all right; we're here to have a spree and
get a little tight. There's no need of making a lot of fuss to say that,
is there, monsieur?"

"Bravo! that's the kind of a speech I like!" said Roncherolle, taking
Zizi's hand and patting it; "and if I were more active, I would say
also: this is the kind of woman I like!"

"Listen to that! you're not shy! You're an old rounder, you are; anyone
can see that right away. You have made a fool of yourself for women,
haven't you?"

"I glory in it; I have but one regret, and that is that I can't do it
any more!"

"Do you hear, Alfred? Take monsieur for your model. Let his cane be your
oriflamme! You will always find him on the path of glory!"

As she spoke, Zizi had taken possession of Roncherolle's cane; she
thrust it into a mustard pot on the table and waved cane and mustard pot
in the air. Roncherolle sank on a chair, laughing till the tears came;
but Saint-Arthur cried out, because she had spattered him with the
mustard, which he had received in the eye and on his waistcoat.

"_Sapristi!_ take care, Zizi; see what you've done; you're spattering
mustard on my waistcoat."

"What a calamity! Waistcoats can be cleaned, my friend."

"But you have also thrown some into my eye!"

"Eyes can be cleaned too."

"It stings me horribly."

"That will make your sight clearer; and perhaps you are going to see
things you don't expect, which will dazzle you! So don't cry, but attend
to the important business that brings us together--the grub! Have you
given your order? I'm very hungry myself; and you, monsieur?"

"I am well disposed to vie with you."

"With a fork only?"

"Ah! be careful; your eyes are the best remedy for the gout, I believe."

"Oho! if I was sure of that, I'd apply for a patent for my eyes.--By the
way, Frefred, what about that rare bird, that miraculous bird, you were
to give me? When will he appear? Are we going to eat him roasted?"

"I should think not! That would be a great shame, for he is magnificent.
But I am perfecting his education; I'll give him to you when he is able
to say pretty things."

"I am sure that you are not teaching him anything at all."

"Oh! ask my neighbor; he'll tell you that it was my cockatoo's education
that led to our acquaintance."

"That is the truth, _belle dame_; oh! you will possess a very knowing
bird."

"That will be a change for me, as I have never had anything but
canaries.--Come, Frefred, is the dinner ordered? I am to act to-night,
you know--in the last piece luckily. I don't go on till half-past ten,
but I must have time to dress first; and when you have just dined and
have to hurry, it swells you out and you can't get into your dresses."

"The dinner is served; I am glad to believe, my diva, that you will be
content."

"I flatter myself that I shall be; besides, it's the first time you have
entertained monsieur, and you ought to make it a point of honor to let
him see that you have some skill in ordering a little Balthazar. Ring
for the waiter, my dear boy."

"But, you see, I--I asked Jericourt to come, and he promised."

"Bah! I don't care a hang for your Jericourt, who always keeps us
waiting. Why did you have to invite him? I've had my fill of your
Jericourt for some time past! He puts on airs and calls everything
detestable that others write. And sweet things his plays are, too!
people stand in line to get tickets."

"Why, Zizi, I thought it would please you; formerly you were never
satisfied if Jericourt didn't dine with us."

"Oh! formerly--that may be! but formerly and to-day--there's half a
century between the two.--Say, monsieur, ought we to wait for his
friend, who's always loafing, but always keeps people waiting, to give
himself importance? Just exactly like the people who are slightly known
in art or literature, and who, the first time a new play is given, never
come till they're sure it's begun, because then everybody has to move to
let them get to their stalls. And they're convinced that everyone says:
'Ah! that's So-and-so; that's the famous author! that's the celebrated
artist! see--he combs his hair in a way that shows his genius!'--But
instead of the exclamations of admiration that they think they call
forth as they pass, if they had sharper ears, they'd hear: 'Oh! what a
nuisance! what a bore! to disturb everybody in the middle of an act! The
devil take the fellow! He must be very anxious to show himself! but he
isn't much to look at! It's just a little bit of self-advertising! And
then!'--isn't that so, monsieur?"

"Why, do you know, fascinating Zizi, that you are a keen observer?"

"I don't know what I am, but I know that I have a tremendous appetite,
and that I want to dine. It's five minutes to six. We have waited a long
while already."

"I agree with you, a lady should never wait for a gentleman."

Saint-Arthur rang and the waiter served the dinner. They attacked the
oysters, which they watered with an excellent chablis. From time to time
the host exclaimed:

"I don't care, I'm surprised that Jericourt doesn't come; I told him
that he would dine with my honorable neighbor."

"You should have announced a neighbor of the other gender," said
Roncherolle; "that would have been more likely to attract the
gentleman."

"Never mind! never mind! let's go on eating! He'll come for dessert and
we'll give him some nuts and raisins," said Zizi.

But just as the soup was served, Jericourt appeared; and he scowled
slightly when he saw that they had not waited dinner for him.

"I say! come on, you miserable slow-coach!" cried Saint-Arthur; "don't
you ever mean to be punctual?"

"What difference does it make--when you don't wait for me?" retorted
Jericourt, with a bare salute to the company.

"Wait for you!" cried Zizi; "on my word! I think not! Catch us having
pains in the stomach for monsieur!"

"My friend," said Alfred, "let me present Monsieur de Roncherolle, my
neighbor."

Jericourt bent his head slightly, with a patronizing glance at
Roncherolle, whose costume probably seemed to him far behind the fashion
of the day. The old gentleman, observing the arrogant air with which the
man of letters saluted him, made haste to say to Saint-Arthur:

"I beg pardon, my dear neighbor, but I did not ask you to present me to
monsieur. Present him to me, if you please--that is all right; but that
I should be presented to him--that I don't like."

Saint-Arthur was dumfounded; Jericourt compressed his lips and the
little actress began to laugh, saying:

"You don't seem to be very strong in the matter of etiquette, Alfred;
you'll never be appointed an ambassador, my boy!"

Jericourt, observing that the strange guest was of a punctilious temper
and familiar with good society, decided to take the thing jocosely; and
he rejoined, bowing to Roncherolle:

"In truth, it was my place to be presented to monsieur, for he has the
advantage of age."

"A melancholy advantage, is it not, monsieur? But one must needs accept
it when it comes."

"Will you have some oysters, Jericourt? I'll ring for the waiter."

"No, thanks, I don't eat oysters; I don't care about them any more."

"The deuce! you don't care about oysters! Why, I've seen the time when
you adored them!"

"What a donkey you are, Alfred," cried Zizi, "to be surprised because
tastes change!"

"Well! my tastes never change so far as food is concerned; I love
oysters, I shall always care for them."

"Perhaps it's the oysters that care for you," said Jericourt, helping
himself to soup.

"Hum! this begins well," said Roncherolle to himself, filling the
actress's glass with madeira, while she glared savagely at Jericourt.
That gentleman, as he ate his soup, glanced at the gentleman opposite
from time to time, and said to himself:

"I know that man; this certainly isn't the first time that I've seen
him; but where in the devil have I met him?"

Roncherolle, for his part, having recognized the man of letters at the
first glance, smiled slyly as he submitted to be stared at, and
continued to be most attentive to his fair neighbor, who said to him,
eating for four all the while:

"You please me, you do! you're a good fellow! you're worth a deal more
than all these youngsters! you're as young as they are, only you've been
so longer!"

At last Jericourt, unable to contain himself, said to his vis-a-vis:

"Mon Dieu! monsieur, it seems to you perhaps that I stare at you rather
persistently."

"That flatters me, monsieur; I assume that you find me pleasant to look
at."

"That is not just the reason, monsieur; the fact is that it seems to me
that this is not the first time we have met."

"True, monsieur; and I recognized you instantly, when you entered the
room."

"Be good enough then to remind me where it was."

"It was near here--at the Chateau d'Eau flower market; you were
bargaining for a bouquet, as was an exceedingly ugly little fellow--a
friend of yours, I think--and you did not make up your mind; whereupon I
arrived and put an end to your hesitation by buying the bouquet;--do you
remember now?"

"Yes, monsieur, I remember very well."

And Jericourt pressed his lips together again and scowled, because that
reminder recalled no agreeable memories.

"Then there was a _gamin_ who threw the ugly little fellow down, and as
he fell he tore his trousers."

"Where?" queried Mademoiselle Zizi.

"Only on the knees."

"Bah! that isn't amusing enough!"

"There was also a young flower girl--a very pretty girl, on my word!"

"I know her," said Saint-Arthur; "she supplies me; it's Violette."

"What does she supply you with, you big monster?" cried Zizi, raising
her fork to her lover, as if to stab him.

"Mon Dieu! it's simple enough, my angel; a flower girl supplies me with
flowers, naturally."

"Hum! you would be quite capable of going to her for other supplies."

"O Zizi! for heaven's sake, don't be jealous like this. Besides, this
flower girl is one of Jericourt's conquests; one of his victims."

"I don't deny it, I committed that sin; and monsieur here will bear me
out in saying that the little one is worth the trouble."

"I will bear you out in saying that the little one is pretty, monsieur,
but that's all; for, on the day that I saw you in her company, you did
not have the air of having made a conquest of her!"

"This old fellow is decidedly antipathetic to me!" said Jericourt to
himself.




XXX

MANY WAYS OF DRINKING CHAMPAGNE

"Come, Alfred! some champagne--right away! I want some champagne--and I
want it frappe."


"Here it is, my siren; it's behind us, cooking in the ice.--Ah! now is
the time when Monsieur de Roncherolle is going to teach us a lot of
pretty things.--Jericourt, monsieur knows thirty-three ways of drinking
a glass of champagne!"

"Monsieur is quite capable of it."

"For my experiments," said Roncherolle, "I must have cups, not goblets."

"Here are some; I ordered two kinds of glasses."

"I fill my glass--this is the first way; attention!"

Roncherolle coolly emptied his glass and said:

"First of all, there's that way--to drink as everybody else does."

"Oh! I know that."

"It's lucky that you know one," said Zizi; "otherwise it might be
thought that you had to be driven to water."

"Let us go on to the second way."

"You will allow me to eat a little sweetbread first?"

"That is only fair."

"Otherwise," sneered Jericourt, "one might think that you invited
monsieur to dinner for the sole purpose of learning to drink."

"And if that were so," rejoined Roncherolle, "I should not bear my
neighbor a grudge; that would prove that I am still good for something,
and one so often entertains people who are good for nothing!"

"The second way, my dear fellow, the second way!" said Zizi, with a
playful tap on Roncherolle's cheek.

"At your service, _belle dame_.--Look--this glass is full; I put it on
this plate, and the point is to drain it without touching it with the
hands or spilling a drop."

"Oh! that must be extremely difficult--I will go farther and say that it
seems to me impossible," said Saint-Arthur.

"Not at all--look."

Roncherolle took the plate on which the glass stood, lifted it, put the
glass to his lips, then tipped it toward his mouth, still holding it
steady with the plate, and swallowed all it contained.

"Ah! charming, delightful!" cried Alfred.

"I have seen that done before, but I had forgotten it," said Zizi;
"wait; I believe that I can do it."

The young actress did exactly as Roncherolle had done, and succeeded
perfectly.

"It's your turn, Jericourt."

"Do that! why that's the ass's bridge!" replied the man of letters, with
a shrug.

"Well, do it then."

"No, I didn't come to dinner to play tricks."

"That's a pity," said Roncherolle, "for I am sure that monsieur must
know some that we do not."

"In that case," said Saint-Arthur, filling a glass to the brim with
champagne and putting it on a plate, "it's my turn; now that I have seen
the thing done twice, I don't see why I shouldn't do it too; I am no
more of a fool than other people."

"That's too bad, my dear; if you were, it would be a way of attracting
attention!"

"Hush, Zizi! don't say nasty things, but watch; I am going to begin."

The pretty youth succeeded in raising the glass to his lips, but just as
he was about to drink, he lifted the plate too high, and all the
contents of the glass fell on his shirt and his cravat. Alfred cried
aloud in dismay, while his three guests roared with laughter, that
incident having restored Jericourt's good humor.

"_Sapristi!_ I am done for. I was on the edge of success, for I
certainly should have drunk it all without spilling a drop."

"But you didn't spill a drop," said Roncherolle; "the whole business
went."

"I am wet through, my shirt is drenched and my cravat; what shall I do?
I can't show myself in this condition."

"Well then, don't show yourself, my friend, keep out of sight. At all
events, it will be dark when you leave here, and you'll only need to
button your coat military fashion; that will give you the air of a hero,
it will change you completely."

"But I am all wet, I am----"

"Nonsense! take a napkin and wipe yourself, and above all things don't
be sulky; we came here to enjoy ourselves, and you still have to learn
thirty-one ways of drinking champagne."

Saint-Arthur made no reply; he stuffed three napkins into his bosom and
began to eat again.

"Deuce take it! my dear man," said Jericourt, drinking his wine slowly,
"that is what comes of trying to learn original things in order to make
yourself agreeable in society; you don't always succeed."

"In fact, there are some people who never succeed," observed
Roncherolle.

"I request a suspension of the lessons in drinking champagne," said
Alfred; "I must dry myself before attempting anything else."

"We consent," said Zizi, "on condition that it is not to interfere with
our drinking."

"It seems to me that you are doing very well," said Jericourt; "you will
be rather gay in your play to-night!"

"So much the better! The play lacks gayety, and I shall do well to
impart a little to it."

"I came near acting once," said the host, still sponging himself. "Do
you remember, Jericourt, that place in the country you took me to some
weeks ago--at Nogent-sur-Marne?"

"Yes, it was very amusing."

"There was one thing that I didn't call amusing, and that was being
obliged to escort that lady back to Paris--an ex-pretty woman."

"Why were you such a fool as to tell her that we had a coupe waiting?
She instantly caught the ball on the bound and asked us to give her a
little room in our carriage."

"Little was hardly the word; that lady may have been thin once, but she
isn't now."

"Ah! I never heard of this lady that you brought home!" cried the young
actress, with an American glance at her lover. "That has rather a
crooked look!"

"Oh! really, my diva, when I tell you that she was on the decline!"

"It seems to me that you too were on the decline--with her."

"However, she was a woman of great distinction, a baroness!"

"Listen to that! monsieur must have baronesses now!"

"The Baronne de--de Grangeville--that's the name."

"De Grangeville?" said Roncherolle, who, on hearing that name, replaced
on the table the glass that he was about to put to his lips. "Did you
say that the lady you brought home was the Baronne de Grangeville?"

"Yes, my dear neighbor; do you know her?"

"No--that is to say, her name recalled a person whom I used to know."

Roncherolle had become thoughtful; Zizi tapped him on the knee, saying:

"Well, well, tell us what you're dreaming about, my Knight of the Round
Table? Is that baroness's name going to spoil your spirits? I don't
propose to have that! Don't let me hear any more of your great ladies; I
call for a third way of drinking champagne."

"Here! present!" said Roncherolle, resuming his playful air. "See, my
dear girl, here is a third way: we put the glass on the plate like this
just now, didn't we? Well, now we are going to stand this second glass
on the first one; that is easy enough; but then we fill the glass that
is on top, and drink the contents by lifting the plate as we did just
now, without touching either glass."

"Oh! that must be terribly hard!"

"Look--here goes."

Roncherolle performed the feat he had described, without spilling a drop
of wine. Saint-Arthur was lost in admiration, but Jericourt muttered as
he tipped back in his chair:

"I have seen clowns on the boulevard do that."

Roncherolle glared at Jericourt with a half-angry, half-bantering
expression, saying: "In truth, monsieur, I was a clown a very long
while! And with the permission of the company, I will undertake to make
you as flat as this knife blade in a very few moments."

Jericourt did not know what reply to make. Zizi, who, with the tact
which all women possess, divined a quarrel on the point of breaking out,
made haste to say to Roncherolle:

"Come, my dear gallant, since you are so obliging and are willing to
instruct us in your science, show me again what you have just done, and
I will try to copy you; I will be your assistant."

"I shan't try this third way of drinking," said Saint-Arthur, "except in
my own room and with unsophisticated water."

"You will do well, my boy, for you would break too many glasses here."

The young actress did what Roncherolle had just shown them, and did it
with equal success.

"Bravo! bravo!" cried the host. "Honor to Zizi! You know three ways
already, dear love!"

"And I don't propose to stop at that."

"These ladies succeed in whatever they choose to undertake," said
Roncherolle.

Jericourt, with a curl of his lip, muttered:

"Madame Saqui could do no better!"

"Oh! you always look as if you were sneering!" said Zizi; "but you would
be hard put to it to do as much. It's easy to criticise, my dear man!"

"This much is certain, that I shall not venture to contend with you."

"Because you realize your inferiority."

"But I am waiting till you come to the thirty-third way. I fancy that
you will do some very extraordinary things then!"

"Oh! my boy, we're not such fools. We mean to have some fun, to get a
little screwed, but we don't propose to get drunk. We will learn one
more way and that will do for to-night; what do you say, my gallant?"

"As you command, _belle dame_."

"Why, do you know that you're a hard-headed party? Champagne doesn't
seem to affect you at all. You drink more than we do, and you don't seem
to notice it."

"That is the result of my long studies--another advantage of age!"

"Look at Alfred; he hasn't drunk half as much as you, I'll bet, and his
eyes are in curl-papers already; anyone would think he was going to
sleep."

"I--oh! I haven't any desire to sleep; I was engaged in thought."

"Of what?"

"Of the baroness whom he escorted home, no doubt!" said Jericourt, with
an ironical glance at the gentleman who aroused his displeasure, and
whose emotion at the mention of the baroness's name he had noticed.

"Are you going to stuff us some more with your titled lady?" cried
Mademoiselle Zizi; "bah! what a tease this Jericourt is!"

"That subject bores you, my sweet angel; forgive me, I won't mention
that lady again. However, I believe that this Madame de Grangeville is
nothing more than a counterfeit baroness."

"What makes you think so, monsieur? By what right do you insult that
lady?" demanded Roncherolle, in a tone in which there was no trace of
jesting, and with a by no means amicable glance at the man of letters.

"What! I insult her? Why do you set yourself up as the lady's champion,
monsieur, if you don't know her?"

"I do know her, monsieur, and I have a right to defend her. The Baronne
de Grangeville is more noble than you are eminent in letters; but
perhaps that is not saying overmuch for her nobility."

"You are attacking me now, monsieur; do you mean to insult me?"

"Come, come, messieurs! upon my word! how is this? do you propose to
quarrel now?" murmured Alfred, whose mouth had become dry and sticky. "I
won't have it; I----"

"Hold your tongue, Bibi!" cried Mademoiselle Zizi. "Don't you see that
it's a joke? It would be pretty, wouldn't it, to come to dinner with a
lady and take to squabbling in her presence!--In the first place, I
believe monsieur is too well bred for that; and as for Jericourt, he
knows well enough that it doesn't pay to make me angry; I have ways of
revenging myself! Come; let's have no more talk about it, and our dear
neighbor will show us the fourth way to drink champagne; and everybody
must try to imitate him this time. What do you say, my dear friend?"

"I told you just now, _belle dame_, that I am always at your service."

"Good! now you are agreeable again."

While Roncherolle filled his glass, Jericourt rose, took his hat, and
said, bowing coldly to the company:

"It is eight o'clock and I have an appointment at that hour; I am
distressed that I cannot stay longer."

"What! leaving us so early?" faltered Alfred.

"Liberty! _libertas!_" said Zizi; "all sorts of good wishes, monsieur!"

When Jericourt had left the room, the young woman sprang to her feet and
began to dance a sort of _cachucha_ in front of the mirror, singing:

    "Il est parti
     Ce cher ami!
     Ah! ca m'enchante!
     J'en suis contente!
     Traderi dera la la
     Traderi deri! Biribi!"

"Faith!" said Roncherolle, "I must tell you frankly, my dear Monsieur
Saint-Arthur, that Monsieur Jericourt doesn't attract me at all, and
that I ask you as a favor not to invite me to dine with him again!"

"Nor me; I won't dine with that ill-licked fellow any more; do you hear,
my dear?"

"I hear.--But let's see the fourth way."

"Attention!--You must sing: 'When the bells of the village ring the hour
of work, _eh bon, bon, bon_!' I have my glass full, I drink after your
three _bons_, and I answer _bon_. You repeat _eh bon bon bon_ three
times; I answer _bon_ every time, after drinking; and when I say _bon_
the last time I must have finished my glass."

"_Fichtre!_ that's rather complicated!"

"Not at all; it's simply a matter of emptying your glass in three
swallows; you mustn't begin till after the _eh bon bon bon_, and you
must finish it before you say the last _bon_.--Sing, fair Zizi."

"Here goes!

    "When the bells of the village
     Ring the hour of work,
     Eh bon bon bon!"

Roncherolle, after drinking:

"_Bon!_"

Zizi:

"_Eh bon bon bon!_"

Roncherolle:

"_Bon!_"

Zizi:

"_Eh bon bon_----"

"_Bon!_ and you see, it's empty!"

"Ah! that's a very pretty way!--It's my turn; fill my glass, old fellow,
and sing; I'm ready."

Roncherolle sang and Mademoiselle Zizi drank, answered _bon,_ and
swallowed her wine at one gulp.

"You went a little fast," said the professor; "but never mind, you'll do
it all right."

"My turn!" cried Alfred, lifting his glass in a hand that was far from
steady. "Sing, and you'll see; I'm sure of succeeding at this method; I
am waiting at the post."

Mademoiselle Zizi sang the ballad. At the first _bon bon!_ Saint-Arthur
spilt his wine on the floor; at the second he struck his nose with his
glass; and at the third he swallowed the wrong way and strangled; they
were obliged to pound him on the back and make him look at the ceiling,
in order to bring him to life.

"My dear boy, I think that you have done enough for to-day," said Zizi;
"you are not adroit to-night, and I don't want you to learn any more
ways.--Great heaven! it's nine o'clock! I must go and dress--I wear a
costume that it takes a long while to put on.--I say, I'm a little
dizzy; but no matter! it will pass off on the stage.--Adieu, monsieur; I
hope to see you again."

"Are you going away alone?"

"I have only to cross the boulevard. Alfred, you will come to my
dressing-room for me at half-past eleven, not a minute earlier; I forbid
you."

"Yes, dear angel.--Isn't she enchanting, neighbor, with that little
demoniacal expression?"

"And he'd like me not to love anybody but him, the idiot!" whispered
Zizi in Roncherolle's ear; "can you imagine such conceit?"

"That certainly would be a great pity."

Mademoiselle Zizi disappeared. Alfred paid the waiter, doing his utmost
to stand erect on his legs.

Roncherolle took his arm, to help him to go downstairs, and before
leaving him on the boulevard, said:

"Do me the favor to give me the address of the lady whom you took
home--the Baronne de Grangeville."

"Ah! the Baronne de--you want to know her address? Villain! monster! you
have criminal designs!"

"Perhaps so--but her address."

"Wait--I know it perfectly."

"Well then, where is it?"

"Ah!--Rue de--what do you call it--you know it well enough!"

"If you should tell me the name, I should know it better."

"Rue--parbleu! Rue Fontaine-Saint-Georges; number 21 or 24--it's in the
twenties."

"Infinitely obliged."

"Au revoir, my dear friend! I'm going to the Cafe Turc for a game of
billiards; I feel in condition to make fifteen cannons in succession."

"Much pleasure to you."

And Roncherolle walked away, saying:

"I know her address at last! To-morrow I will carry her a bouquet
myself."




XXXI

THE EFFECTS OF TIME


But our plans are traced on sand; and then too, sad as it is to admit
it, champagne is not really good for the gout.

On the day following that dinner party, during which Roncherolle had
given instruction in such pleasant matters, instead of going as he hoped
to pay a visit to the Baronne de Grangeville, he was obliged to keep his
bed; his gout had returned, more obstinate and more painful than ever;
the poor invalid lost his temper, complained, swore like one possessed,
because it seemed to him that that relieved him; and finally he said to
himself:

"I won't give any more lessons in drinking champagne."

At the end of three days, all that Roncherolle could do was to lie at
full length in his reclining chair, with his foot on cushions; then, as
he could not hope to leave the house for some time, he sent the young
man of the house, Beauvinet, to bring his usual messenger; and Chicotin
soon appeared before him.

"Look you, my boy," said Roncherolle, "I have been shrewder than you--I
have discovered Madame de Grangeville's address."

"The deuce you have! however did you do it? You can hardly walk!"

"I could walk a few days ago, and if it hadn't been for an infernal
dinner--but faith, I guess I won't curse that dinner, for I enjoyed
myself hugely; and after all, if I suffer, I suffer for something; let
us return to the lady; the Baronne de Grangeville lives on Rue
Fontaine-Saint-Georges, number 21 or 23; I am not quite sure of the
number but it's in the twenties."

"Oh! that's enough, bourgeois; that's all I need; if necessary, I will
try all the houses in the street."

"Very good; now take this five-franc piece; you will go and buy a
bouquet for which you will pay three francs, no less, understand; don't
try to cheat me."

"Oh! never you fear, bourgeois, that's all right; if the flower girl
should ask only forty sous, I would give her three francs."

"But I should prefer that the girl should ask three francs; the bouquet
will be finer."

"It's all right; never you fear, the bouquet will be a good one."

"When you have got it, you will take it to Madame de Grangeville from
me, and you will tell her that Monsieur de Roncherolle sends his
respects and that he will come to see her as soon as he can go out."

"I will say when you get over your gout."

"No, don't mention my gout, that isn't necessary. Say to her that I am
indisposed; that is all, do you understand?"

"Yes, bourgeois, never fear; it will all go as if it was on wheels; and
shall I come back and tell you what answer the lady gives me?"

"Naturally."

"I am off. By the way, bourgeois, perhaps you don't know, but no doubt
you will soon receive a visit from a friend of yours; that happens just
right; you are sick and it will amuse you."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that yesterday, no longer ago than that, I saw my old comrade
Georget, a good fellow, who's in the dumps all the time because he's in
love. But that's another story; it would take too long to tell you."

"I will excuse you from telling it, but come to the point at once."

"Well, while we were talking, I mentioned your name; it happens that his
master at Nogent knows you and would like to see you; he didn't know
your address, so I gave it to Georget."

"What is the name of this gentleman at Nogent?"

"His name is Monsieur Malberg."

"I don't know anybody by that name; your comrade must have made a
mistake and taken one name for another. But go about your errand to
Madame de Grangeville, and above all things buy a pretty bouquet."

"I should say so! if I didn't get a fine one for three francs, it would
be funny."

Chicotin took his leave. Roncherolle stretched out his leg, made a wry
face and uttered a hearty oath, because of the pain; then he laid his
head on the back of his chair and tried to sleep.

Five minutes passed; the hall door opened again, and a gentleman
appeared in the doorway; it was the Comte de Brevanne, who said as he
glanced into the chamber:

"Monsieur de Roncherolle, if you please?"

Receiving no reply, the count decided to enter; he saw a gentleman
dozing, who had not been shaved for several days, whose head was covered
with a huge fur cap, which fell almost over his eyes, and who was
wrapped in an old dressing gown of which it was not easy to tell the
color. He shook his head, saying:

"That boy must have directed me to the wrong door, this can't be the
place. Roncherolle would not live in such a wretchedly furnished room;
besides, this sick old gentleman in the chair must be at home. I must
try elsewhere."

Brevanne was about to go away, when Roncherolle opened his eyes and
seeing a stranger in his room, cried:

"What is it? What do you want of me? Why are you here, monsieur?"

At the sound of that voice, which had not changed so much as the person
to whom it belonged, the count stopped, shuddered slightly and repeated
in a loud voice:

"I want Monsieur de Roncherolle."

"Well, I am De Roncherolle! what do you want of me?"

The count stepped forward; he scrutinized the man before him, and he
wondered if that pale, sick creature, whose face had grown thin and
indicated long suffering, who seemed to be at least sixty years old, and
whose costume was far from denoting prosperous circumstances, could
possibly be Roncherolle, formerly so dandified and magnificent, who was
cited as a model for men of fashion, and whom all the women admired.

As for Roncherolle, for some moments he had been looking attentively at
his visitor; the more he looked at him, the more keenly did his features
betray the emotion which he felt; and at last when the count exclaimed:

"Is it really true that you are De Roncherolle?" he instantly replied:

"To be sure, and you are De Brevanne!"

The count recoiled, exclaiming:

"You dare to use intimate terms to me, monsieur!"

"Oh! I beg your pardon, that's true; I should not address you so; I
forgot, it was the old habit; but hereafter I will be more careful. Pray
sit down, monsieur le comte; I knew you at once, for, except that your
hair is turning gray, you are but little changed; whereas with me it is
very different; you could not believe that it was I. I have grown old
rapidly, I crumbled all at once; add to that all sorts of annoyances,
the change in my position, and people turning their backs upon me
because I can no longer oblige them, and others because I did oblige
them formerly, like Beaumont, De Marcey and De Juvigny! But I am
chattering away and you are still standing; pray take a seat and be good
enough to tell what brings you here."

"You ask me what brings me, monsieur!" retorted De Brevanne, still
standing in front of De Roncherolle. "You ask me that! you mean that you
do not divine?"

"Faith, no!"

"When you see once more the man whom you shamelessly outraged, and whom
you have eluded for so many years, you do not divine that he comes to
demand the satisfaction which you refused him so long ago?"

"Bah! do you really mean it's for that? What! after so long a time,
after twenty years, you still think of that business?"

"There is no limitation in matters relating to honor."

"Ah! that makes a difference; you are obstinate about it. I am sorry for
that; but did not I admit my fault? Didn't I ask your pardon long ago?
Come, Brevanne, come, does not heaven say: 'mercy for all sins?' We were
such good friends once."

"Hush! do not appeal to the memory of that friendship, which makes your
conduct even more odious. But let us not waste time in useless talk; for
twenty years I have been looking for you, to fight with you; I have
found you to-day, and I trust that you will no longer refuse to give me
satisfaction."

"Since you are bent upon it! Mon Dieu! men are supposed to become
reasonable when they grow old; the fact is that they are never
reasonable.--Honor! honor! oh! how right Beaumarchais was!--All this is
infernally stupid, on my word!"

"Well, monsieur?"

"Well, I will do whatever you wish; arrange it for--for--ah! ten
thousand million thunders! how I suffer! how I suffer!"

A violent attack of pain seized the invalid; he turned pale, his voice
died away, great drops of perspiration rolled down his cheeks, the
contraction of his features proved the violence of the pain that he
felt, and the count was deeply moved at sight of his suffering; he
looked all about the room in search of something to help him. He saw on
the mantelpiece a phial filled with a liquid; he took it and offered it
to Roncherolle.

"Here, perhaps this is what you take when you have such attacks. Drink."

"No," replied Roncherolle, pushing away the phial. "Let me suffer; I
have well earned it; you see what I am reduced to; if you kill me,
instead of punishing me you will do me a favor."

"Monsieur," said the count, "the duel cannot take place while you are in
this condition, I appreciate that; I must wait until you are cured, in
order that I may have an adversary worthy of me. I leave you, and I will
come again a fortnight hence to learn how you are."

"Oh! as you please. Are you going?"

And with an involuntary gesture Roncherolle put out his hand to the
count; but he contented himself with a slight inclination of the head,
saying:

"I will send somebody to you, monsieur, to help you."

Then he took his leave, still upset by what he had seen, saying to
himself:

"What a change! he is unrecognizable. Ah! he is in a still worse plight
than she!"

"If he waits until I get over the gout to fight with me," said
Roncherolle to himself, "I fancy that our duel is indefinitely
postponed. What a devil of a man!--Ah! that attack is passing away; that
is lucky.--Poor Brevanne; he has hardly changed at all; and in the
bottom of my heart I was secretly glad to see him, we used to be such
good friends, and I should have been so happy to renew our friendship!
He would not have turned his back on me, like all those others whom I
obliged long ago, and who will have nothing to say to me now, because I
lent them money and they don't want to repay it. But what is done is
done. Oh! these women! they are the cause of all the follies that we
commit."

Beauvinet opened the hall door and put his head in, saying:

"The gentleman who just went out said that monsieur had a bad attack and
needed attention; so I came----"

"Clear out and leave me in peace!" retorted Roncherolle, striking the
floor angrily with his cane.

The young man did not wait for that invitation to be repeated; he
disappeared like a stage shadow-figure, and slammed the door behind his
back.

"But he will come again in a fortnight," reflected the invalid after a
moment. "He is a man of his word, he won't fail to come; and if, as I
must hope, I am in condition to walk, I shall have to meet him.--Fight
with him! well, if he is obstinate about it, I will be equally
obstinate.--Who is coming to disturb me now, ten thousand devils?"

"Why, it's me," said Chicotin, entering the room; "I did your errand,
bourgeois, and I did it well, I flatter myself; in the first place, I
bought a superb bouquet; oh! it was A No. 1; it was worth four francs
rather than three. I didn't buy it of Mamzelle Violette, just to make
her mad; I don't mean to buy anything more of her. But you don't care
anything about that.--I went to Rue Fontaine-Saint-Georges, and I found
Madame la Baronne de Grangeville, not in the twenties, but at 19, but
that don't make any difference. They let me in, and I found the lady
sitting in a great machine. To cut it short, when I said to her:
'Madame, it is Monsieur de Roncherolle who sends you this bouquet, with
all sorts of messages;' if you had seen what a jump that lady gave on
her--her divan, just like a carp in the frying pan; then she said:
'Monsieur de Roncherolle! what, is he in Paris? Tell him to come and see
me right away, as soon as possible; I shall expect him impatiently.'--I
answered: 'Madame, certainly, to be sure--that's what he means to do; he
will come as soon as he can stand on his pins'--oh, no! I didn't say
pins, I said legs; and then I bowed and left, and she didn't give me
anything."

"Well, keep the rest of the money I gave you."

"Thanks, bourgeois, thanks; and did your friend from Nogent come to see
you?"

"Yes, yes, he came, my friend. Do you know, Chicotin, that you're a
wretched chatterbox, and that I ought to pull your ears for giving
anyone my address without finding out whether I wanted you to?"

"Mon Dieu! did I make a fool of myself? Isn't your friend your friend
any longer?"

"Yes, you did make a fool of yourself; but I hope that you won't do it
again; meanwhile, you are responsible for my having to leave this house,
which, however, I hardly regret."

"Are you going to move?"

"Yes, in a few days, as soon as I can walk. But I don't propose to take
furnished lodgings again; he would find me, he would visit them all. I
mean to hire a room in some quiet house, and furnish it myself. That
won't take long; a bed, a table, two chairs and a bureau, that is all
that I need. Listen, Chicotin, while I am unable to go about, you must
find those things for me, so that I shall simply have to move in as soon
as I am cured. Do you understand,--just a small apartment, as neat and
clean as possible; a bedroom and a study, that will be enough for me."

"All right, bourgeois, I understand; I'll look about for you. In what
quarter?"

"I don't care."

"Oh! then I can find something easier. How much do you want to pay for
your lodgings?"

"Hum! as little as possible; the funds are decreasing every day, my
boy!"

"Do you want to go as high as eighty francs?"

"A quarter?"

"Oh, no! What next! I mean for a year."

"You can get nothing better than a garret, a kennel for that price. You
may go as high as two hundred francs,--two hundred and fifty."

"In that case, bourgeois, I'll find you something fine, a little palace;
I propose that you shall be more comfortable than you are now."

"You won't have much difficulty about that; try not to make me go up too
many stairs."

"Pardi! for two hundred and fifty francs you ought to be able to obtain
a magnificent lodging on the first floor."

"I don't think it. However, attend to it at once."

Three days after this conversation, Chicotin entered Roncherolle's room
with a triumphant air; he found him getting better, and walking about
the room.

"Here I am, bourgeois, I've found what you want. I think you'll be
satisfied; but lodgings are dearer than I thought; I couldn't find a
lodging on the first floor for your two hundred and fifty francs."

"Well, what have you found?"

"I have found two pleasant little rooms, for two hundred francs, no
more; fresh paper, not colored, but you can put one on; and a view--oh!
such a view! as good as if you was on the Arc de Triomphe; and all the
conveniences right at your door; and a waxed staircase, not up to the
top, but as far as the third floor."

"What floor is this apartment on?"

"Why, on the fifth, bourgeois!"

"Sacrebleu! I am not surprised that there is a good view; is that what
you call getting me a lodging near the ground?"

"There ain't any to be had, master; but the stairs are as easy as can
be; you can go up without moving your legs; and then there is a
concierge who is willing to do the housework for all the tenants, at a
very moderate price, and even to make the coffee."

"There are many advantages, and no mistake; where is this jewel of an
apartment situated?"

"Not very far from here, monsieur, on Rue de Crussol; it's near the
boulevard, near that handsome round theatre for horses, that's just been
built."

"I don't know Rue de Crussol."

"If monsieur is able to walk, I will show him the way there."

"Go and fetch a carriage, and you may take me to see the lodgings."

"Right away, bourgeois."

Chicotin went out to fetch a cab, and climbed up behind when Roncherolle
was inside. They stopped on Rue de Crussol in front of the house which
Chicotin pointed out. An old concierge, very dirty but very polite, made
repeated reverences to Roncherolle, and bustled upstairs before him,
while Chicotin said to the old gentleman:

"If you don't want to go up, bourgeois, because it tires you, why I will
take you on my back. I am strong and I won't drop you; I would carry you
that way through the streets if you wanted."

"Thanks, my boy, but that new style of locomotion does not attract me,
and I doubt whether I could make it the fashion. Besides, they say that
one must walk about and exercise with the gout. So I will go up on my
feet."

"If you must exercise, you see that it is much better that you should
live on the fifth floor."

Roncherolle inspected the lodgings, heaved a profound sigh in spite of
himself, and reflected:

"After all, what can one expect to get for two hundred francs? It's all
I can afford--in fact, rather more."

He gave the concierge her earnest money, informing her that he relied
upon her to do the housework and to make his coffee; whereupon the old
woman redoubled her reverences and her politeness, crying:

"I hope monsieur will like our house; I shall always be ready to wait on
him; whenever he needs anything, all he has got to do is to put his head
out of the window and call Mere Lamort, and I will go up in a second."

"What did you say that I must call you, madame?"

"Mere Lamort."

"Ah! your name is Lamort, is it?"

"At your service, monsieur."

"You are very good; you have, I won't say a devil of a name, but a
singular name, at least; an almost terrifying name."

"Mon Dieu! monsieur, that don't prevent me from being as well as can be,
or from having had twelve children, who are all as well as you or I."

"For their sakes, I hope they are as well as you."

"And monsieur will see that my name don't prevent me from having a good
foot and a good eye; and he'll be satisfied with my services."

"I don't doubt it; we shall meet again soon, Madame Lamort."

Roncherolle returned to his cab, and Chicotin climbed up behind again,
saying to the driver:

"I am in monsieur's suite, in his suite, I say."[A]

[A] An untranslatable pun: 'Je suis de la suite de monsieur; de sa
suite, j'en suis.'

Two days later, Roncherolle, having purchased just what he absolutely
needed to furnish his new lodgings, paid what he owed at his quarters,
and announced that they might let his room.

"Ah! monsieur is leaving us?" said Beauvinet, pulling at one side of his
wig. "If anyone comes to ask for monsieur, what address shall I give?"

"You may send them to Passage I-don't-know-where, the first door to the
right as you enter Paris by the Barriere de l'Etoile."

When Roncherolle had been gone a long time, the young man was still
pulling at his wig, saying to himself:

"Passage I-don't-know-where! that's funny; I know all the passages in
Paris except that one."




XXXII

A BUNCH OF VIOLETS


Since the Comte de Brevanne had spoken to Violette, and since she had
seen Georget look at her from a distance, and then walk hastily away,
with a glance of contempt at her, the young flower girl felt every day
more depressed and discouraged. So long as Georget had been near her, so
long as she was able to see him morning and evening, and read in his
eyes the love he felt for her, the young girl had looked upon that love
as a mere childish freak, and had refused to admit to herself that she
shared the sentiment which she aroused.

But now that her young lover had left Paris in order to avoid being near
her, now that he had fled from her, and when he met her manifested no
other feeling than that of contempt or hatred, poor Violette realized
how dearly she loved Georget; and, what was even more cruel, how dearly
she still loved him, despite the grief he caused her.

When she learned that the gentleman who had questioned her concerning
Georget was the young messenger's patron, the pretty flower girl had
felt a thrill of joy, and hope had returned to her heart; she flattered
herself that through the medium of Monsieur Malberg, she could convince
her lover that he had done wrong to suspect her. But the abrupt way in
which the count left her dispelled that hope.

However, as hope does not quickly leave a young heart, especially that
of a young woman who knows that she is pretty, Violette flattered
herself for several days that Georget would return to Paris, that he
would pass her booth, and that he would not have the courage not to
stop; then she said to herself also that this Monsieur Malberg, who had
asked her so many questions concerning her age and her mother, would
probably want to see her again. But the days passed and no one came,
neither Georget, nor his patron. A single man passed now and then in
front of the booth of the flower girl, at whom he cast insulting
glances, glances which seemed to enjoy the grief that he could read on
her face. That man was the author of all the girl's trials; and once
even he had dared to approach her and had tried to make love to her; but
thereupon Violette had risen, so indignant and so threatening, and the
flashing eyes which she turned upon Jericourt denoted such a determined
resolution, and her right hand had grasped so quickly several bunches of
thorns which were among her flowers, that he had walked rapidly away,
and had never again attempted to enter into conversation with the flower
girl.

It was ten o'clock in the morning, and Chicotin had just left
Roncherolle, who was living in his new lodgings on Rue de Crussol, and,
feeling that his left foot was not yet in condition to descend the five
flights, had again employed his regular messenger to carry a bouquet to
Madame de Grangeville and to inquire for her health. But as the
unfortunate victim of the gout saw his resources diminish every day, he
had told Chicotin to buy a bouquet for one franc instead of three.

The ci-devant lady-killer was still gallant; but his fortune no longer
permitted him to be gallant in the same measure as of yore.

Chicotin walked along Boulevard du Chateau d'Eau, with his franc in his
hand; and as it was not flower market day, there were very few dealers
in evidence; and the flower girls who were in their places had very few
violets, which doubtless were also scarce at that moment.

The pretty flower girl who bore the name of that flower was the only one
supplied with them; she had some large and fine bunches.

"_Sapristi!_" said Chicotin to himself, as he turned over some miserable
little bunches at two sous which another flower girl offered him; "this
isn't what I want; I can't carry such things as these to the lady on Rue
Fontaine-Saint-Georges; for when one buys only one kind of flower for a
franc, one ought to get a fine bunch."

"You think so, do you, sonny? Perhaps you don't know that violets are
out of season just now. See, I will tie these four little bunches that I
have left all together and they will make a very pretty bouquet."

"Not much! I don't want 'em; your bunches are all withered; they look as
if they had been used before."

"What a stupid little animal!"

Chicotin walked away from her, saying to himself:

"It's no use for me to look, there's only one flower girl who has any
real good bunches of what I am looking for, and that's Violette; but I
have sworn not to buy anything of her since I knew that she deceived
poor Georget. However, I must do my errand, and I don't know whether I
shall find violets anywhere else. After all, you buy of a person and pay
her and that's the end of it; that don't make you friends; and then, she
don't ask so much as the others; I'll go to her."

So Chicotin walked to the girl's booth and examined her bouquets.

"Ah! is it you, Chicotin?" cried Violette, as she recognized Georget's
friend. "It's a long time since I've seen you; it's a strange thing how
all my old acqaintances have gone away, I don't know where. Have you
done like your friend Georget? Have you stopped standing on the
boulevard?"

"How much do you ask for this bunch, mamzelle?"

"I say, Chicotin, do you ever see your friend Georget? for of course he
must come to Paris from time to time."

"This big bunch of violets, mamzelle, I ask you how much it is."

"And I ask you if you ever see Georget? It seems to me you might answer
me."

"Mamzelle, I came here to buy some violets and not for anything else. I
buy them of you, because you're the only one that's got any good ones;
if it wasn't for that----"

"If it wasn't for that--well, what? Come, finish what you were going to
say."

"Well! I was going to say that if it wasn't for that I wouldn't have
spoken to you."

"What, you too, Chicotin? Why, has it gone so far that I must receive
insults from everybody? that everybody is going to insult me? Ah! that's
a shame! what have I done to you, that you should say that to me?"

"To me--you haven't done anything to me personally, but you have to
somebody else, somebody I'm very fond of, who's my friend; you've made
him unhappy, and when anyone treat my friends bad, I always take a hand
in it."

"Ah! Georget has told you too----"

"Yes, mamzelle, he has told me--mon Dieu! you know well enough what he
must have told me,--that he couldn't love you any longer, because
you--but no matter--How much for this big bunch, mamzelle?"

"And you believed all that too; you are convinced that I am a girl
without honor, without shame?"

"Mamzelle, I give you my word that I didn't believe it right away; no,
indeed; and that I didn't want to believe it at all; but when you are
certain of a thing--look you, just consider that Georget and I followed
that dandified Monsieur Jericourt a whole day, to make him speak; I
begged him to tell me the truth about you."

"Monsieur Jericourt--well?"

"Well! he called me a fool; he said that when a girl went--How much for
this bunch, if you please?"

"Ah! the coward! the villain! but he lied, Chicotin, I swear to you that
he lied!"

"Oh! mamzelle, everybody knows that women never admit such things; if
only nobody had seen you; but as someone did see you, nothing you can
say will make me believe--Well, if you're not crying now! I'm sorry for
it, I don't like to make anybody cry; but it ain't my fault; I didn't
say a word about this; it was you who would talk about it; it worries me
to see you cry, and I'll go away, as you won't tell me how much this big
bunch of violets is."

"Whatever you please," faltered the girl, holding her handkerchief to
her eyes.

"Mon Dieu! I can't pay more than twenty sous, mamzelle."

"All right, that's enough; take it."

"Yes, mamzelle, I will take it; here's the twenty sous. Adieu,
mamzelle."

Chicotin took the bouquet and walked away very fast, because he felt
that if he remained longer with the flower girl he would be quite
capable of crying with her.

Violette wiped her eyes and tried to keep back her tears; but this fresh
blow had wounded her heart too deeply; she felt too unhappy, and was
absolutely determined to extricate herself from that position.
Throughout the day she cudgelled her brains trying to think whom she
could apply to for good advice; she felt that she must have a friend, a
protector to defend her, to assist her to justify herself. But in vain
did the poor girl cast her eyes about; fatherless and motherless, she
was also friendless since Georget believed her guilty. At last, an idea,
a last hope presented itself to her mind; despite the haste with which
Monsieur Malberg had left her, it had seemed to her that he had felt
some interest in her; the questions he had asked, the extreme attention
with which he had gazed upon her, everything led her to suppose that
something spoke to him in her favor; moreover, all the good that she had
heard of that strange man, and the benefactions which he had heaped upon
Georget and his mother, finally confirmed her in her determination. She
decided to go to Nogent, and to appeal to Georget's patron for aid and
protection; and she flattered herself that he would not turn her away.
Somewhat tranquillized by this hope, Violette went to sleep less
unhappy, saying to herself:

"To-morrow morning I will go to Nogent."




XXXIII

DISAPPOINTMENT.--CERTAINTY


On the fifteenth day after his visit to Monsieur de Roncherolle, the
Comte de Brevanne did not fail to return to the furnished apartment on
Rue de Bretagne. As he was starting upstairs, Beauvinet stopped him,
saying:

"Whose room is monsieur going to?"

"To Monsieur de Roncherolle's; I know that it is on the third floor!"

"Yes, it was on the third floor, but as the tenant has left, it ain't
worth while for monsieur to go up."

"He has left?--He has gone out, you mean, don't you?"

"No, monsieur, no; he has gone away, he has left our house."

"Left your house! when, pray?"

"About ten days ago."

"And where does he live now? He must have left you his address?"

"His address--yes, monsieur; he lives on Passage I-don't-know-where,
first door to the right when you enter Paris by Barriere de l'Etoile."

The count, who was in a very bad humor already, administered a hasty
kick on the young man's posterior, and left the house in a rage, saying:

"Let that teach you to make such idiotic answers to me!--Gone! gone! he
has escaped me again!" said Monsieur de Brevanne to himself as he went
away; "he has sworn that he will not fight with me! Gone! but he could
not stand on his legs; so he must have been carried, and it is
impossible that he can have left Paris; a man doesn't travel when he is
helpless, and above all when he has no money. Judging from what I saw,
his circumstances were not prosperous. Shall I have him hunted for in
Paris again? No, I will wait until chance once more brings me face to
face with him. But I am sorry not to have seen him again; I would have
tried to find out--but no, I could never have asked him that!"

Monsieur de Brevanne was about to return to his estate in the country,
thoughtful, and dissatisfied with himself, when he suddenly remembered
that Monsieur de Merval had given him his address in Paris; so he took a
cab and was driven there.

"This is a pleasant surprise," said Monsieur de Merval to the count. "I
hardly expected to see you before the bad weather begins; for the autumn
will soon be here, and we are having the last fine days."

"My dear sir, do not be too grateful for my visit; a powerful motive
brought me to Paris to-day."

"Why, it is true, I had not noticed--you seem to have had some keen
disappointment; can I help you in any way?"

"Have you time to listen to me?"

"Always."

Thereupon Monsieur de Brevanne informed Monsieur de Merval that he had
found Roncherolle; he described the visit he had paid him, and told him
of the useless proceeding which had been the result of his first visit.

"You see," said Monsieur de Brevanne as he finished his narrative, "he
has escaped me again; he denies me the satisfaction which I have a right
to expect from him; he runs away without leaving his address; he does
not want me to find him! What do you think of such conduct?"

Monsieur de Merval shook his head, and after a moment replied:

"Do you desire my real opinion?"

"To be sure."

"Well, if you wish me to tell you my thought, I consider that
Roncherolle has done well."

"Done well? to refuse to give satisfaction to the man whom he has
insulted? done well to run away, to act like a coward? Ah! I don't
understand you, Monsieur de Merval!"

"Please listen to me calmly. In the first place, Roncherolle is not a
coward, as we all know; if he runs away from you, it isn't because he's
afraid of death. Mon Dieu! he told you so himself; ruined, suffering
torture in his bed three-fourths of the time, do you think that you
would punish him by depriving him of life? No. You will kill him, for
you know very well that he will never aim his weapon at you; you will
kill him--you have a right to, and no one would consider it a crime on
your part; but when you have accomplished this act of vengeance, will
you be any happier? No, no! on the contrary, you will be much less so. I
could have understood this duel in the days just after the insult,
although it would still have caused you remorse in the future; but after
twenty years, when the heroes of the episode are so different from what
they were, when it seems that Providence has undertaken to punish the
guilty, you would hunt down a miserable wretch, who for twenty years
past must have cursed a misstep which deprived him of a genuine friend,
whom he has never replaced! No, no; do not do it; leave time to act; it
is inexorable; and when we forgive those who have offended us, be sure
that every day time takes it upon itself to make them understand how
heavily they have laden their future with remorse and regret by yielding
in their youth to a guilty passion, a guilty sentiment!"

The count listened to Monsieur de Merval without interrupting him, and
seemed to reflect deeply. After quite a long silence, he raised his eyes
to Monsieur de Merval's face, and gazed fixedly at him, saying:

"But that is not all, you have not told me all that you know; there is
something else."

"What? what do you mean? why do you suppose that I know anything else of
interest to you?"

"Because now I remember your questions. I do not know how you were able
to discover a secret which had remained a secret to me down to this day;
however, I mean this--that of that criminal connection--between
Roncherolle and her who bore my name--there was--there was a child born;
is that true?"

"Yes, that is true."

"Ah! you knew it then, did you?"

"Chance, one of those circumstances which one cannot foresee, led to my
discovering that mystery; this is how it happened: a year after you left
your wife,--observe that date, a year after, and I am certain of what I
tell you,--I had been passing a few days at the country house of a
friend at Ermenonville. Finding myself in the neighborhood of the
lovely spot where Rosseau's tomb is situated, I took it into my head to
stop there; in my childhood I had been taken to visit that village,
which is overflowing with reminiscences of the illustrious author of
_Emile_. But I find that one sees with more pleasure and interest at
thirty years than at fifteen whatever speaks to the mind, the soul and
the heart.--I had taken rooms at the best inn, which was, I believe, the
only one in the village; I intended to pass two days at Ermenonville, to
revisit the park, the desert, the island, in fact all those charming and
poetic spots which one never tires of visiting. On the evening of my
arrival there was a terrible storm. I was, I remember, in the common
room of the inn; the rain was falling in torrents, and although it was
September, it was quite cold, and I was glad to find a huge fire in an
enormous fireplace.

"Suddenly we heard the noise of carriage wheels, which approached and
stopped in front of the inn. Great surprise and great delight was felt
by the inn-keeper and his wife, who did not expect guests so late,
especially in such horrible weather. They ran to the door and I retained
my seat in front of the fire. Soon the inn-keeper's wife returned and
said to me:

"'It's a gentleman and lady, very distinguished folks, it's easy to see.
His wife is in an interesting condition; she's afraid of the storm and
wants to sleep here; but while we're getting a room ready for her, she's
coming to sit in front of this warm fire, with monsieur's permission.'

"'Why, of course!' I said to the hostess; 'I will with very great
pleasure give up this seat to the lady, which is the best one.'

"'She seems to be near her time; continued the hostess; 'it would be
lucky for us for she'd have to stay here for some time.'

"As the woman stopped speaking, the travellers entered the room, and a
voice which was not unknown to me exclaimed:

"'Pardieu; here's a fire that does one good to see!'

"I had retired to the end of the room. Imagine my surprise, when I
recognized De Roncherolle with Madame de Grangeville on his arm, who did
seem, in fact, to be in a very interesting condition. Neither of them
noticed me. Understanding how embarrassing the meeting would be to them,
I made haste to disappear through a small door at the end of the room; I
went up to my bedroom, which I did not leave again, and the next day at
daybreak I left the inn without seeing the other guests again. That,
monsieur le comte, is how I discovered a secret which, I think, has
always been a mystery to everybody else; and my reason for never
mentioning it to you has been that it seemed at least unnecessary to
tell you of something which it could not be agreeable to you to learn,
and which moreover is entirely unconnected with you, you
understand,--entirely unconnected."

"Yes, I understand very well. However, I never had any suspicion of
anything else. Did you return to Ermenonville?"

"Yes, I admit that I was curious enough for that; about three weeks
after leaving so hurriedly at daybreak, I went back to the village and
stopped at the same inn. The mistress of the house recognized me
perfectly, and as we were talking of the guests whom I had left there, I
asked her if the event which she desired had taken place in her
inn.--'No, monsieur, no;' she replied; 'the next day, the lady was
better, and insisted on leaving, and I heard them tell the servant who
was driving, to take the Paris road.'--This, my dear count, is all that
I know concerning a fact which I should never have mentioned to you if
you had not seemed to be informed about it to-day."

"And this child--the fruit of that guilty liaison--did you ever learn
what became of it, what they did with it?"

"No, I assumed that it did not live. Otherwise, would not Madame de
Grangeville have it with her, calling herself its godmother or its
adopted mother? There are a thousand ways of disguising the truth when
one wishes to keep a child with one."

"Well, I know more than you. I know what they did with that child and
what became of it."

"Is it possible?"

"At least, I think I'm on the track of the mystery."

"And if you are not mistaken, what do you expect to do, monsieur le
comte?"

"Oh! I don't know yet; it is all so shocking, so detestable! I cannot
listen coolly when those events are being talked about. Adieu, Monsieur
de Merval; I am going back to the country. I need to breathe the
country air in order to restore my tranquillity, to help me to recover
from the emotions of this day."

Monsieur de Merval did not try to detain Brevanne, whose state of
irritation he appreciated; and the count at once returned to Nogent.

Pongo was waiting for his master, teaching Carabi to pretend to be dead.
Mere Brunoy was sewing, and Georget was going and coming about the
garden, for the poor fellow could not keep still. Since he had been to
Paris, and had seen how sad Violette looked and how she had changed, her
image constantly haunted him; and when he saw his patron start for Paris
that morning, he had been twenty times on the point of asking leave to
accompany him, but he had not dared; after the oath he had lately taken,
it would have been showing too little strength of character. So the
young lover had remained at Nogent, where the day had seemed endless to
him; and he hovered about the gate, in order to see the count when he
returned, hoping that he might have seen Violette again and would speak
of her to him.

Monsieur de Brevanne returned during the afternoon; but his brow was
dark, his expression more thoughtful than usual. Without a word he
passed his household, who bowed before him; and he shut himself up in
his room at once.

"Master no want to talk," said the mulatto to Georget, "him not nod his
head and say good-day; him not in good temper."

"Oh! I saw that too; he didn't say a single word as he passed.--I
suppose he didn't see her--he has other things on his mind. Well, he
won't speak to me about her, and he looks too stern for me to mention
her to him."

And Georget returned sadly to his mother.




XXXIV

THE COAL BARGE


They had all returned to their duties. But hardly an hour had passed
since the count's return, when a young woman appeared at the gate. The
gardener happened to be alone in front of the house at that moment, and
he admitted Violette, for it was she who had arrived at Nogent and had
succeeded in finding the house she had sought.

"Is this Monsieur Malberg's house?" the girl asked timidly.

"Yes, mamzelle, this is the place."

"Is Monsieur Malberg at home?"

"Yes, he came back from Paris about an hour ago."

"And could I--could I speak to him?"

"Oh, yes! I think so. But come in, mamzelle, and I will go and tell
monsieur."

Violette passed through the gate tremblingly; the gardener, who had
taken a step or two toward the house, returned to her and said:

"Who shall I tell monsieur? What is your name?"

"My name, monsieur--but it isn't worth while; Monsieur Malberg won't
remember my name; or else, perhaps then he wouldn't want to,--and in
that case I would rather--oh dear! I don't know!"

"Bless my soul! I don't know either."

"Just be kind enough to tell Monsieur Malberg that it's a girl who has
come from Paris, and who would like to speak to him."

"Very good."

The gardener went into the house; Violette glanced timidly about, hoping
that in those beautiful avenues which she admired, in the fields which
she saw in the distance, she might catch a glimpse of Georget; then she
said to herself with a sigh:

"No, it is much better that he shouldn't see me, for he would think that
I came here after him, and he would be quite capable of running away
from this house too."

"If mamzelle will come this way, monsieur is ready to receive her," said
the gardener, returning.

Violette was greatly agitated, but she followed her guide toward the
house.

The count was in his study on the ground floor; all the curtains at the
windows were drawn, night was coming on, and the room was dark and
silent.

"Here's the young woman," said the gardener, pushing Violette before
him, as she did not dare go in, and saying in her ear:

"Don't be afraid, he won't eat you!"

"Who is it who wishes to see me?" said the count, who was seated at his
desk.

"Excuse me, monsieur, it is I."

Violette had finally made up her mind to enter the room; she was then
close to Monsieur de Brevanne's desk, and he, as he raised his eyes, was
thunderstruck to see the young flower girl before him.

"What! you? you here, in my house?" he cried, almost angrily.

"Yes, monsieur, yes; you recognize me, do you not, monsieur?"

"Recognize you? oh, yes; your features are too deeply engraven in my
memory!--But once more, mademoiselle, why have you come here? Who sent
you?"

"Sent me? No one sent me, monsieur; I have come of my own accord. It is
very bold on my part, no doubt, but when one does not know which way to
turn, when one receives fresh insults every day, which one does not
deserve--for I swear to you, monsieur, that I have no fault to reproach
myself with, that I can walk with my head erect, that I can look my
comrades in the face without blushing; and yet I am suspected, and more
than that, people say that I am a good-for-nothing, and those who ought
to defend me are the first to abandon me, to despise me. Oh! I am very
unhappy, monsieur. Excuse me for coming to tell you this; I know that it
doesn't interest you, and yet, if you would take up my defence,
monsieur, I am very sure that people would believe you; and he--he who
is here at your house, with his mother, if you should tell him that
it's horrible to say unkind things about me--for what he believes he
tells to others, to his friends, and yesterday Chicotin, who is a good
fellow, although he loafs too much, Chicotin, who has always been
friendly to me, why, even he insulted me, he treated me with contempt!
Ah! that was too much; I felt that my courage was giving way; and to get
back a little of it, I thought of you, monsieur, who like so much to do
good; I said to myself that you would take pity on a poor girl without
parents, without friends, without anybody on earth to help her; that you
would defend her; and that is why I came, monsieur."

Violette ceased to speak and waited for the count to answer her; but he
seemed absorbed in his thoughts, his head had fallen upon his breast,
and he said nothing.

After a pause, the girl continued:

"Monsieur seemed the other day to take a little interest in me, and that
is what encouraged me to come here."

"Ah! in my house! you!" cried Brevanne, roused from his meditations by
these words; "why, you know very well, mademoiselle, that my house is no
place for you; that you less than any other ought to come here; that
it's like defying me, like hurling an insult in my face, to come here!"

Violette felt her strength giving way; as she was utterly unable to
understand the indignation of this man who had been described to her as
so kind-hearted, she lowered her eyes and faltered:

"Monsieur, I did not know--I did not think--God knows that I had no such
intention as you suppose. Excuse me, monsieur, I see that I did wrong to
come, as it makes you angry; but I thought that you would have pity on
me, a poor girl, alone on earth, without----"

"Without parents? Who told you that you were without parents? I am
almost certain that you have parents, for I know them."

"Mon Dieu! can it be possible, monsieur, that you know my parents, that
you can tell me whether my mother is still alive? Oh! for heaven's sake,
do not deceive me, do not give me a false hope! See, monsieur, as your
questions the other day led me to think that you might help me to find
my family, to-day, when I came here, I thought I would bring with me the
only object that I have that belonged to my parents."

"Ah! you have something that proves to whom you belong--a paper, a
letter, no doubt? Give it to me, give it to me; I shall recognize their
handwriting."

"No, monsieur, it isn't handwriting, it's nothing but a handkerchief. It
seems that it was among the things they gave my nurse to procure clothes
for me; you see I had a very strange kind of _layette_, monsieur; there
were trousers in it and waistcoats and cravats; probably my parents
thought I was a boy."

"But this handkerchief--"

"The handkerchief my nurse thought was so beautiful, so nicely
embroidered, that she did not cut it up to make me a cap, but she kept
it for me. Mon Dieu! now I can't find it; but I am sure that I brought
it. Ah! here it is, monsieur, here it is."

And Violette handed the count a handkerchief of the finest linen, with
embroidery in each corner. The count walked to a window, examined the
embroidery, and recognized his wife's monogram and his own, as well as
his coat of arms and his coronet.

That proof was convincing; it removed Monsieur de Brevanne's last doubt;
and although he was previously almost certain that Violette was the
daughter of his wife and of Roncherolle, on recognizing the monogram, he
felt a violent wrench at his heart, and a shudder ran through his veins;
for, however suspicious one may be of a fact, there is a vast distance
between that and certainty.

"Does monsieur see on the handkerchief anything that helps him to
identify my parents, and to tell whether they are still alive?" murmured
Violette, while the count kept his eyes fixed on the handkerchief.

"Yes, yes, I have no doubt whatever now, and I had rightly divined who
you were."

"In that case, monsieur will certainly tell me----"

"But whoever entrusted you to a nurse must have given you some name,
have told her the name of your parents, or given her their address. Tell
me, mademoiselle, what name did they give? Answer; I insist that you
conceal nothing from me!"

The count's wrathful expression, and the tone in which he questioned the
girl, made her tremble; poor Violette dared not meet the angry glances
that were bent upon her, and she hardly had the strength to reply:

"Mon Dieu, monsieur, I am not concealing anything; on the contrary, I
came here to find out. I don't remember my nurse, but the kind lady who
took me in, and who brought me up and took me to Paris, was careful to
write down all that the nurse had told her. That is how I know that the
gentleman who placed me in the nurse's charge told her that my name was
Evelina de Paulausky; but he didn't give any address; he said that he
would come to see me, that he would write; but no one came, no one ever
wrote, they forgot me, abandoned me; that is all that I know, monsieur,
absolutely all; for if I knew anything else, why should I not tell it to
you, monsieur, as it might help me to find out who my parents are?"

"Evelina de Paulausky!" exclaimed the count, pacing the floor. "At least
they had the decency to conceal their names! But Roncherolle? Why didn't
he give her his?--Because, after doing the wrong, he did not choose to
take the consequences, and they considered that the simplest way was to
abandon the child. Ah! the wretches!"

Violette waited in fear and trembling for the count to speak to her; for
she saw from his excitement, and from the threatening expression of his
face, that he was still angry, and she dared not question him further;
but, as time passed and the count, absorbed in his reflections,
continued to pace the floor and to pay no attention to the girl, she
mustered all her courage and said to him at last:

"Since you know my parents, monsieur, in pity's name be kind enough to
tell me who they are. Is my mother still alive?"

"Your parents?" cried Brevanne, halting suddenly in front of the girl;
"your parents? Ah! you want to know who they are, do you? Well, learn
that you are the child of crime--treachery! Your mother was false to all
her duties, she was false to the oaths she had taken to an honorable
man, she was obliged to lay aside the name which she had sullied. Your
father! ah! your father betrayed friendship in the most dastardly way;
believing in nothing, respecting nothing, mocking at all that is held
sacred in the world, turning to ridicule the most sacred sentiments, he
betrayed his best friend!"

"Oh! pity, pity for them, monsieur!"

"Pity! why, you see that they had no pity for you;--for they abandoned
you--and now you think that I will take care of you,--of you, their
child, the fruit of their adulterous intercourse!--No, no! I do not want
to see you again; your presence reopens all my wounds.--Leave my house,
mademoiselle, and enter it no more."

"Oh! pardon, pardon, monsieur! if I had known----"

"As for this handkerchief, which belonged to your mother, I will keep
it, for there are monograms on it and a coat of arms which you have no
right to retain. Go, go; I do not want to see you any more; your
presence distresses me."

Violette felt as if she were dying; but the count's wrath terrified her;
utterly crushed by what she had learned, she had not the strength to
say a word; she left the study and the house; two streams of tears
flowed from her eyes, and she did not think of wiping them away. She
crossed the lawn and went toward the gate; the gardener, who was still
there, struck by the girl's suffering, called to her, asked her why she
was weeping, and urged her to stop a moment in the summer-house,
observing that the weather was very threatening and that a storm was
brewing. Violette did not listen, or did not hear, but walked on at a
rapid pace, and soon passed through the gate and left the count's
residence behind.

Despairing, humiliated, distressed beyond measure at having been so
maltreated by the man who had made Georget and his mother welcome,
Violette walked for a long time without any idea where she was going.
But what did it matter to her? She paid no heed to the road that she was
following, but she walked very quickly; not to gain shelter from the
rain which was beginning to fall, for she did not feel it; her head was
on fire, her limbs shook with fever; but she walked on, saying to
herself:

"I am a child of crime! my mother was guilty, my father was false to
friendship! ah! no doubt that is the reason why he drives me from his
house, and forbids me to ask help and protection from him. Well, in that
case, it is not worth while to live; it was not enough to have been
abandoned by my parents; now that people know who I am, I must expect to
be turned away with contempt wherever I go. How he treated me, that
gentleman who is said to be so kind! Oh, no! I cannot live like this, I
am too unhappy. Despised by the whole world,--I had done nothing to
deserve that; and now my birth is thrown in my face! Did I ask to be
born?"

Violette walked on, but darkness came on rapidly and soon she could see
nothing, and kept running against trees. She had gone astray in the wood
of Vincennes, and the rain was falling in torrents. The poor girl leaned
against a small tree, whose foliage was insufficient to protect her from
the storm; but she did not notice the water which drenched her garments,
for she was absorbed by her grief. A little covered wagon, drawn by a
meagre horse, passed along the road by the side of which Violette had
stopped; a peasant, who was inside, saw the girl exposed to the fury of
the storm; he stopped his wagon and called out to her:

"You are not in a very good place there; you are getting the whole of
it; get in with me; if you are going to Paris, I'll put you down at the
Barriere de Belleville."

"Thanks, monsieur, thanks, it isn't worth while;" replied Violette in a
feeble voice. "I am all right here."

"All right! oh, yes! you are all right to catch a sickness; I won't
leave a woman in the woods at this time of night, and in such weather as
this!--Oho! you don't want to get in, don't you?--Well, I am going to
make you! yes, I tell you you've got to get in!"

The peasant jumped down from his wagon, took the girl under the arms,
forced her to the step, put one foot upon it and at last succeeded in
making her get in. Violette submitted like a child. The peasant seated
her upon his cabbages and carrots, saying:

"You will be better in here than under that little tree, catching all
the rain; you're wet through already, and I'm sure that's what made you
numb. Poor girl, she can't talk nor move her legs; but the jolting of
the wagon will warm her up.--Come on, get up, Blanchet!"

Blanchet started; the cart, having no springs, did in fact shake its
occupants in a fashion well calculated to rouse their wits. Violette
submitted to the jolting, and said nothing; she seemed indifferent to
all that went on about her; she understood but one thing, and that was
that she ought not to live any longer, because she would be despised by
everybody; she was unhappy enough when she went to Nogent in the
morning; now she was desperate, and she came away from there with death
in her heart; she had hoped to find consolation and protection there,
but she had found shame and contempt; she had been turned away, and she
did not feel that she had the strength to endure that last affront.

The peasant who had taken the girl into his wagon did not notice her
gloomy despair; as he talked all the time, as he asked questions and
answered them all himself, other persons did not need to open their
mouths with him; his mouth was a word-mill, which was always at work.
Thus they arrived at the Barriere de la Courtille, where the peasant
stopped Blanchet, and said to the girl:

"My child, this is where I stop; I can't take you any further. But here
you are in Paris, and the best part of it is that the rain has stopped;
indeed I believe that the weather is going to be fine again; it wouldn't
surprise me. I will help you down, for you must have limbered up by now,
haven't you? My wagon always produces that effect. Come, lean on
me--that's the way! You see, there's Faubourg du Temple in front of you,
and the boulevard's at the end of it. That's the way you want to go; all
right, good luck; but you'd better dry yourself as soon as you get
home."

The peasant left the young girl and entered a wine shop. Violette had
not even found a word of thanks to say to the good-natured man; she was
in the street, she looked at the barrier, passed her hand over her
forehead as if to collect her thoughts, then entered Paris, saying to
herself:

"I know where I am, the canal is over yonder!"

Violette was no longer weeping, her eyes were dry. She walked rapidly
through the faubourg, and when she reached the canal, instead of
crossing the bridge, she turned to the left and walked for some time
along the bank. It was ten o'clock at night, and there were few people
on the path that she followed. A fatal idea had taken possession of the
girl's mind--she was determined to die; she thought that she was
dishonored because the man whose assistance she had implored had turned
her out of his house. She said to herself that Georget could never love
her again now, and she was resolved to rid herself of an existence which
would henceforth be nothing but torture to her.

Suddenly she stopped and looked about her; no one was passing. She
stepped over the chain which was between her and the edge of the canal.
In front of her there was a large coal barge; she hesitated a moment,
then she reflected that she could throw herself into the water from the
barge without being seen. She crossed a plank and was soon aboard of the
barge; and before jumping into the water, she fell to her knees and
murmured this prayer:

"O my God! forgive me; it is a crime that I am about to commit, but I no
longer feel strong enough to endure life, to be despised by everybody,
although I have not committed the sins of which I am accused. He can no
longer love me, for his protector turns me out of his house; but perhaps
he will regret me, and will learn some day that I was innocent."

She had no sooner finished these words than she rose and rushed forward;
but someone who was hidden within a few steps of her and who had heard
her prayer, stepped out and stopped her, holding her in a powerful
grasp, and exclaiming:

"Upon my word! jump into the water! by all that's good! you shan't do
it. God help me! how glad I am that I happened to be here, and that I
took Pere Chiffon's place as watchman on the barge! Poor Mamzelle
Violette! you--mean to die?"

"Yes, because I am despised by everyone."

"Oh! you won't be any more, mamzelle, you won't be any more! In the
first place, not by me, Chicotin, for I heard you just now talking to
the good Lord, and people don't lie to Him. I heard you, poor girl! you
are innocent, and I understand how you must have suffered; but I will be
one of the first to do you justice."

And Chicotin fell on his knees before the girl, took off his cap, and
said to her in a humble voice:

"Mamzelle, I ask your pardon for suspecting you, for believing ugly
things that were said about you. To-day I would swear before all the
magistrates that you have never ceased to be virtuous. So forgive me,
mamzelle, for suspecting you."

Chicotin's touching act, the words that he had uttered, revolutionized
Violette's whole being; her tears flowed afresh, but this time they were
soothing and relieved her; her heart expanded, she breathed more freely,
it seemed to her that she had returned to life. She held out her hands
to the young messenger, saying:

"Thanks, thanks, my friend; what you have done is well, I feel greatly
relieved; yes, I no longer feel as I did; it seems to me as if you had
relieved me of a heavy load that I was carrying here on my breast. Ah! I
do not want to die now."

"Is that really so, Mamzelle Violette, is it really so? I tell you, that
if I was still uneasy about that, I wouldn't leave you any more than
your shadow."

"No, Chicotin, I no longer want to die, I swear; you have brought me
back to life; and now, I will tell you that I am glad that you prevented
me from carrying out my fatal design."

"Ah! that's what I call talking; but what was the cause of this attack
of despair? Has somebody else been making you unhappy?"

Violette told Chicotin about her trip to Nogent, and of how she had been
treated by Georget's protector.

"Mamzelle," said the young messenger, "that isn't natural; to make that
gentleman, that people tell so much good about, get so angry with you,
there must be something about your birth that isn't clear, and that
worries him tremendously. Ah! if Georget had seen you sent away like
that, I am very sure that he would have taken up your defence!"

"No, for he believes me guilty, he despises me."

"Oh, I will open his eyes, I will!"

"What I regret is that Monsieur Malberg kept that handkerchief, which
was all that I had that belonged to my parents; for he said he wouldn't
give it back to me."

"Oh! never fear, mamzelle, he'll have to give it back to you; I'll see
to that.--But come, mamzelle, let's go away from here; I will take you
home. The coal can look out for itself; besides, you live here in the
faubourg, I believe."

"No, Chicotin; I have taken another room in a quieter house, on Rue de
Crussol, and I've been living there a week."

"Rue de Crussol! I have a customer there. It would be funny if it was
the same house. Come, mamzelle, take my arm; you are trembling and cold;
I'll bet that you've got a fever."

"Perhaps so, a little; I got wet through; I have just come from Nogent,
and I was out in part of the storm."

"You must go to bed at once when you get home, and try to keep very
warm."

Violette took the young messenger's arm. They crossed the bridge at Rue
d'Angouleme, and soon reached Rue de Crussol. The girl stopped in front
of the house where Chicotin had found rooms for Roncherolle.

"This is the place," said Violette.

"Ah! what a coincidence! this is my customer's house. Which floor do you
live on?"

"Oh! way up at the top, under the eaves; I believe it's the sixth floor;
but the room is very pleasant, I assure you."

"That must be right over my gouty man. Is Mere Lamort your concierge?"

"Yes, a very good-hearted woman who always wants to get my breakfast."

"Well, mamzelle, take my advice and tell her to bring you up a mulled
egg to-night; that will prevent you from being sick. Good-night,
mamzelle; when I go to see my old gentleman, I'll ask the concierge
about you. You don't bear me any grudge, mamzelle, do you?"

"Oh! no indeed, Chicotin; on the contrary, you prevented me from
committing a crime, and you have brought hope back to my heart."

"Good-night then, mamzelle; I'll go back to look after the coal."




XXXV

THE VICISSITUDES OF FORTUNE


Let us turn back a little and pay a visit to Madame de Grangeville, whom
we left at the moment when she found herself alone with her husband, in
the little wood belonging to Monsieur Glumeau.

That meeting excited the lady intensely, not with that emotion which
makes the heart beat fast by recalling pleasant memories, for the
baroness had always been too much of a flirt to be sentimental; but the
sight of her husband had caused her anxiety, almost terror; then,
turning back for a moment to the past and comparing it with her present
situation, she had been unable to keep from regretting the position
which she occupied when she was Comtesse de Brevanne, and the fortune
which permitted her to gratify all her whims.

The five hundred francs which Monsieur de Merval had handed her, on the
pretence that he owed them to her, had not lasted long in the hands of a
woman who had always been a consumer of money.

When Madame de Grangeville saw at a milliner's a hat or a bonnet to her
liking, she must have it, no matter at what price. As for the interior
of her establishment, we have seen that she turned over the management
of it to her maid Lizida; the result was that the creditors were
numerous.

On the morning after the little party given by the Glumeaus, at which
the baroness was present, she rang for Lizida the instant she woke.

"Did madame enjoy herself yesterday at Nogent?" asked the maid. "Madame
returned at daybreak, I believe. Was there a carriage there to bring
madame back to Paris?"

"Oh! my dear Lizida, I have many things to tell you. Yes, some young
gentlemen brought me back in their carriage. They were very
good-looking, those same young gentlemen, and dressed in the latest
fashion. But if you knew whom I met at the party! I am still all of a
quiver thinking of it!"

"Some suitor, some lover of madame, who would have liked to abduct her
by force, to carry her off into the country?"

"Oh, no! you are nowhere near it!--At that party I met--my husband!"

"Is it possible?"

"Yes, Lizida, and you must understand how that upset me. Luckily it was
in the woods; he was not very near me, but I recognized him instantly;
he has hardly changed at all; it is surprising, but I really thought
that he was better-looking than he used to be."

"And of course he recognized madame too?"

"Oh! instantly; I saw that by his expression."

"He looked at madame with affection, I warrant?"

"No, there was no affection in his eyes. He is such a proud man, so
absurdly proud! Just imagine that everybody else had left, and we two
were all alone in the woods."

"Did madame try to have an interview with her husband?"

"No, I did not want to. But I don't know what the matter was with me; my
emotion took away all my strength, and I could not move; I was afraid."

"What folly! and monsieur your husband took advantage of that moment to
fall at your knees, to ask your pardon for his base conduct----"

"Oh! yes, of course! He glanced at me askance; he was leaning against a
tree, and I assure you that I didn't feel safe at all. Luckily the
company, disturbed at my non-appearance in the salon, sent three or four
young men to look for me; they found me in the woods, and I assure you
that I was very glad to go back with them."

"And after that--your husband?"

"Oh! he didn't come into the salon, and I was delighted. I didn't see
him again.--Well, Lizida, what do you say to all this?"

"Faith, madame, I say that monsieur le comte certainly is not agreeable;
when he found himself alone with a charming little woman like madame,
after a long sep

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