Title: The Flower Girl of The Château d'Eau, v.2 (Novels of Paul de Kock Volume XVI)
Author: Kock, Charles Paul de, 1794-1871
Language: English
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[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
Brévanne's arms._



NOVELS

BY

Paul de Kock

VOLUME XVI

THE FLOWER GIRL OF THE CHÂTEAU 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 CHÂTEAU 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 habitués 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
cochère 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 Brévanne'--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 Brévanne'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 Brévanne, 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 Brévanne--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 Brévanne, 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 Brévanne,
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 Brévanne, 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 Brévanne 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 Mère 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
Brévanne, 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 Brévanne 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 Brévanne, 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 Brévanne, 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 Brévanne 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 Brévanne, 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'Angoulême, 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 Château 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'Angoulême. 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 Château 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 Jéricourt, 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 Jéricourt! 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 Jéricourt,
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 Jéricourt, the dramatic author, had in fact fallen in with one
of his confrères, 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 café! 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 café too and take a _petit
verre?_"

"No, Monsieur Jéricourt 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."

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

"At last!" cried Georget, as they walked along Boulevard Beaumarchais,
which Jéricourt 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 Jéricourt, 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'Angoulême 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 Brévanne 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'Angoulême, and there he looked about for Georget, who, intent
upon following Monsieur Jéricourt, 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 Brévanne. "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 Brévanne 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
Château 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 Brévanne 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 Jéricourt, 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 Maréchal 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 _à 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 café,
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."

"Cré 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, Jéricourt'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 Bréda, 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,
Joséphine, 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 châteaux; 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 Joséphine 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 risqué 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 Jéricourt; 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 Jéricourt to come, and he promised."

"Bah! I don't care a hang for your Jéricourt, who always keeps us
waiting. Why did you have to invite him? I've had my fill of your
Jéricourt 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 Jéricourt 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 Jéricourt 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, Jéricourt 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
Jéricourt, 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."

Jéricourt 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; Jéricourt 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!"

Jéricourt, 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, Jéricourt? 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 Jéricourt, helping
himself to soup.

"Hum! this begins well," said Roncherolle to himself, filling the
actress's glass with madeira, while she glared savagely at Jéricourt.
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 Jéricourt, unable to contain himself, said to his vis-à-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 Château 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 Jéricourt 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 Jéricourt'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 Jéricourt to
himself.



XXX

MANY WAYS OF DRINKING CHAMPAGNE

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


"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.--Jéricourt, 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 Jéricourt, "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, Jéricourt."

"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 Jéricourt'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 Jéricourt, 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 Jéricourt; "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, Jéricourt, 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 coupé 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 Jéricourt muttered as
he tipped back in his chair:

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

Roncherolle glared at Jéricourt 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."

Jéricourt 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.

Jéricourt, 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 Jéricourt, 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 Jéricourt 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 Jéricourt, 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, Jéricourt 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 Jéricourt 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! ça 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 Jéricourt 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 Café 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 Brévanne, 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."

Brévanne 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 Brévanne!"

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 Brévanne, 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, Brévanne, 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 Brévanne; 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 Mère Lamort, and I will go up in a second."

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

"Mère 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 Barrière 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 Brévanne 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 Jéricourt 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 Château 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 Jéricourt a whole day, to make him speak; I
begged him to tell me the truth about you."

"Monsieur Jéricourt--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 Brévanne 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 Barrière 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 Brévanne 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 Brévanne 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 Brévanne 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 Brévanne 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 Brévanne, 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.
Mère 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 Brévanne 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 Brévanne'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 Brévanne, 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 Brévanne'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 Brévanne, 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
Barrière 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 Barrière 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 Père 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'Angoulême, 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 Mère 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 Brévanne, 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 separation, then or never was the time to throw himself at
her feet, to be reconciled, and to come together again!"

"Yes, it is certain that many husbands would have done that."

"And madame is so kind, I am sure that she would have forgiven him."

"That is very possible; but, however, that didn't happen. All the same,
I am delighted that that man saw me with the dress I wore yesterday; he
could not have suspected that I am short of money."

"Madame's costume was certainly magnificent."

"Just look in my bureau, Lizida, in the top drawer, and see how much
money I still have."

Mademoiselle Lizida looked into the drawer and answered:

"Madame, I find twenty francs."

"What! only twenty francs! and you changed a note for five hundred only
a few days ago! It isn't possible; you haven't looked thoroughly."

"I assure you, madame, that there is no more. But if madame will
remember all that she has spent, she will understand that there can
hardly be any more.--In the first place, we paid the dressmaker one
hundred and twenty-three francs, then the grocer ten francs, and after
that fifty more, because he came and made a row."

"That is true; it is hateful to have to give so much money to those
people."

"And then, madame bought that lovely hat that she wore yesterday--sixty
francs, I believe."

"Yes, and that was none too much."

"And then madame bought that superb silk dress with the figured
flounces--one hundred and twenty francs, I believe----"

"Yes, it was as cheap as dirt!"

"All these make nearly four hundred francs; and then there were
purchases at the perfumer's, gloves, and so forth; and then, we have had
to live. So madame sees that she can hardly have more than twenty francs
left."

"That is true. Mon Dieu! how the money goes! somebody ought to invent
something else, of which one could have more. Well, I must not hesitate
any longer; whatever the course of the market, I must sell my Mouzaias!"

Madame de Grangeville ordered her last resources sold; the securities
that had cost her two thousand francs produced barely nine hundred. With
that sum the baroness's household went on for some time; but as she
still had many debts and the creditors became threatening, it was
necessary to give them something on account; and with her mania for
gratifying all her fancies, Madame de Grangeville was incapable of
economizing. The result was that the end soon came of the proceeds of
the Mouzaias, and then she was obliged to forego gratifying her
caprices; then she was compelled, in spite of herself, to reflect, to
think of the future; and that was appalling for that woman, who had
never known how to occupy her time, even in those kinds of work which
well-born women do not disdain, and which become a resource when
adversity succeeds cloudless days.

Madame de Grangeville was obliged constantly to send to the
Mont-de-Piété some article of clothing or some jewel, in order to obtain
money. She was surprised at the very small amounts which they advanced
on these objects, but Mademoiselle Lizida, who became much less amiable
as the resources diminished, did not scruple to say to her mistress:

"Perhaps madame thinks that they will lend her what these cost! madame
imagines that the frippery for which she has paid so much has some
value. Not much! for example, a bonnet or a hat that madame paid forty
francs for at the Temple, they will advance fifteen sous on. And the
trouble is that madame bought such things so often; that is what ruined
us."

"But that silk dress that you carried to-day to pawn, Lizida, is not
frippery; it is one I bought to go to the Glumeaus' at Nogent--about two
months ago; it isn't worn at all, and it cost me one hundred and twenty
francs."

"True, but it's faded, and there's spots on it; madame spots her clothes
terribly; the design isn't fashionable any longer, nor is the color; in
fact, I shall have difficulty in getting twenty-two francs for it, and
that won't carry us far!"

Madame de Grangeville heaved a profound sigh and said to herself:

"What will happen when I have nothing more to pledge?"

"Oh! you see, madame," rejoined the lady's maid, becoming more and more
familiar, "you didn't have any tact! when you met your husband in the
woods at Nogent, you ought to have made some advances, have smiled
graciously on him. A husband who is so rich, dear me! is worth a glance;
if you had made eyes at him, it would have flattered him, and he would
have come back to you."

"I don't think so," replied Madame de Grangeville coldly.

"Bless me!" rejoined the lady's maid; "unless that gentleman has some
reasons--well, I don't know the explanation!"

Meanwhile the summer had given place to the autumn, and already new
necessities made themselves felt. Madame was cold in the morning and
wanted a fire in her room; but they often lacked wood, and instead of
trying to obtain some by playing the amiable with some new dealer,
Mademoiselle Lizida thought of nothing but looking for a new place,
having no desire to remain at a house where there were no more profits
to be had. Anxiety and annoyance aged Madame de Grangeville rapidly. In
six weeks she changed more than in six years. The deprivation of a
fashionable bonnet or hat was to that woman a sharper grief than all the
other events of her life. The wrinkles became more numerous and more
visible on her face, and she was forced to go without any of those
fashionable gewgaws with which a woman often conceals them. For a
coquette, that was the most cruel torture; she had not the courage to
endure her ill-fortune, and by worrying over it she made its ravages
more rapid.

One morning, when the wind was blowing from the north and the baroness
absolutely insisted upon having a fire, Mademoiselle Lizida, having no
firewood, had already broken up a chair from the reception room, and
several mushroom boxes, with which she was preparing to make a brisk
blaze, when the concierge rang, and delivered a letter on which there
was nothing to pay.

"A letter for madame," said Lizida, as she handed the missive to her
mistress. "Open it, madame; perhaps it's some good news. If somebody
should send you some money, how handily it would work in just now!"

"I don't expect any," said the baroness.

"An additional reason, madame; when one expects things, they don't come;
when one doesn't expect them, they come; and then, see what a lovely
square letter, with three wax seals."

"That is true."

"And the lovely handwriting; it is like copper-plate."

"Yes, it is probably some circular from a scrivener. However, let us see
what it is."

Madame de Grangeville had no sooner torn the envelope than several bank
notes fell out; she uttered a cry of surprise, while Mademoiselle Lizida
began to dance about the room, crying:

"What did I tell you, madame? Bank notes! fortune is smiling on us
again! oh joy!"

"One thousand, two thousand, five hundred--somebody has sent me two
thousand five hundred francs!"

"Good! we can go on for some time with that."

"By the way, Lizida, don't burn the mushroom boxes."

"That's so; we may use them again."

"Ah! here's a short letter with the notes; let me see who sends me this
money--'Madame, one of your old acquaintances, knowing that fortune is
not propitious at this moment, begs you to deign to accept this sum.
Every six months the same person will take the liberty of sending you
the same amount.'--And no signature."

"Every six months as much! that is rather nice; that makes five thousand
francs a year for madame.--Ah! there's an agreeable acquaintance. But
still, it doesn't surprise me; for madame is so kind, so noble, so
generous when she has money, that it's no more than fair that somebody
should treat her in the same way. I will bet that this comes from
someone whom you have previously benefited. Does madame know the
writing?"

"Dear me, no! the letter is written in the same hand as the address. It
is perfect writing--too good to be the writing of anyone who does not
make a business of it."

"So madame does not know, does not guess, from whom this money comes?"

"Oh! I guessed instantly. It's from the same man who obliged me once
before: dear De Merval! what a delicate creature! he does not want to
name himself now, he is afraid that I would refuse his help. Ah! how
that man loved me, Lizida! why didn't I marry him?"

"Oh! it's a gentleman who was once in love with madame, is it?"

"Yes, indeed, much in love!"

"In that case, madame, this means that he is still. He must be a fine
man! to send bank notes, and not even be willing to be thanked! there
are not many friends so unselfish."

Thanks to this gift, which Madame de Grangeville attributed to Monsieur
de Merval, that lady recovered her peace of mind. She had no more
anxiety for the future, and she could once more give all her attention
to her toilet, while Mademoiselle Lizida became as flattering as before.

It was a few days after this event that Madame de Grangeville received
the bouquet which Roncherolle sent her by Chicotin.

The name of Roncherolle could not fail to quicken the beating of the
woman's heart, who for that man's sake had lost the place in society
which she had occupied. For many years she had not heard her former
lover's name; she did not know whether he was still alive; and on
learning that he was in Paris, on receiving the bouquet which proved to
her that Roncherolle was still gallant, she fancied herself once more in
the days of her love-affairs; she persuaded herself that she had not
grown old, and she expected to find her lover still as deeply in love as
before.

But the gout had prevented the gallant from following the bouquet; and
in order not to allow the lady to think that he had forgotten her, we
have seen that he ordered Chicotin to call upon Madame de Grangeville
again and to present to her this time a bunch of violets.

"I am deeply touched by Monsieur de Roncherolle's souvenirs," the
baroness said to the young messenger. "But although I love bouquets,
say to him who sends you that I should much prefer to see him than these
flowers. Why does he not come himself?"

Chicotin did not reply: "Because he has the gout;" for Roncherolle had
forbidden him to mention that. He said whatever came into his head, and
returned to make a report of his errand.

But a few days later, Roncherolle, feeling able to walk, bent his steps
toward Madame de Grangeville's abode.



XXXVI

TWO FORMER LOVERS


"Madame, there is a gentleman here who wishes to see you," said Lizida
to her mistress one day.

"Did he give his name?"

"He would not; he says that he prefers to afford madame the pleasure of
recognizing him."

"It is Monsieur de Merval, no doubt--the same gentleman who came last
summer?"

"Oh, no! it's not that gentleman, madame; I should have recognized him.
It's one whom I never saw before."

"What sort of looking man? Has he a distinguished appearance? is he
stylishly dressed?"

"So far as being distinguished goes--yes, madame. He acts as if he was
in the habit of being waited on. As for his dress, why, his clothes
don't look as if they'd just come from the tailor's!"

"Arrange my cap, Lizida; does my hair look well?"

"Madame is pretty enough to paint."

"Well then, show the gentleman in; if by any chance it's the unknown
friend who sends me bank notes!"

"Oh! he doesn't look like it, madame; or else he's well disguised."

The maid left the room, and in a moment Roncherolle was ushered into his
old friend's presence.

Madame de Grangeville was seated on a _causeuse_, dressed in a pretty
morning gown, with a charming cap on her head, beneath which great
clusters of hair, curled _à la neige_, served as a frame to a face which
unfortunately could not be arranged like the hair. The days of privation
had left accursed traces which refused to disappear, despite cosmetics
and inventions of the perfumer. Wrinkles are most persistent
acquaintances; when they once visit us, they never go away.

Roncherolle had made himself as fine as possible; his linen was
extremely white, his whole costume scrupulously neat. Unluckily that
immaculate neatness could not prevent his coat's being threadbare, his
overcoat shabby and of an old-fashioned cut, his trousers of a color
that was no longer worn, his waistcoat very ragged on the edges, and his
hat much too glossy from overmuch brushing.

Despite all this, however, the former king of fashion presented himself
with his distinguished manners of long ago; but he dragged his left leg
a little, leaned heavily on his cane, and on removing his hat disclosed
a grizzled and almost bald head.

"Here I am, _belle dame_! It is I! Better late than never, eh?"

As he spoke, Roncherolle halted in front of Madame de Grangeville and
scrutinized her with a peculiar expression; on her side, that lady
examined closely and with an air of amazement the man before her, and
tried to think where she had seen him before.

"Well! can it be that you don't recognize me?" continued Roncherolle,
walking still nearer, the better to see the baroness; and he added, like
a person who fears that he has made a mistake:

"Surely it is Madame de Grangeville to whom I have the honor of
speaking?"

"Yes, monsieur; and you are----"

"De Roncherolle, at your service, if you will permit."

"Roncherolle; is it possible? is it really you?"

"Why, yes, it is really I, my dear Lucienne."

"Dear fellow! What a pleasure to see you again! Come and sit here,
beside me."

Roncherolle limped to the _causeuse_, saying to himself:

"_Bigre!_ how old she is! what a ruin!"

While the baroness thought:

"How he has changed! how ugly he has grown! I should never have known
him!"

"Tell me, my dear friend," said Roncherolle, making himself comfortable
on the _causeuse_, "didn't you expect a visit from me? Didn't you
receive my bouquets?"

"I beg pardon; indeed I expected you, and most impatiently, I assure
you; but the fact is----"

"That I am devilishly changed, eh? What can you expect? time spares no
one; and then the gout--that makes one suffer, it wears one out!"

"Have you had the gout?"

"Yes; indeed I have it now."

"That accounts for it then; I noticed in your gait something--that you
used not to have."

"I should say so; I limp like an old horse!"

"You have lost your hair too."

"I have lost a lot of things."

"You are no longer as slender as you used to be."

Roncherolle, beginning to be weary of these remarks, replied with his
ironical air, pretending to laugh:

"Ha! ha! what do you expect, my dear friend? We aren't either of us what
we were twenty years ago! You yourself haven't that wasp-like waist that
called forth universal admiration, and those irreproachable teeth that
drove all women to despair."

Madame de Grangeville flushed and bit her lips in anger. She tried,
however, to maintain an affable manner as she said:

"Ah! so you find me changed? That is strange; there are people who
declare that I am just the same."

"That is because those people haven't passed twelve years without seeing
you. But we two old friends, old acquaintances, have not met to flatter
each other. Bless me! we know each other too intimately and of too long
date not to be frank between ourselves. Poor Lucienne! ha! ha!"

"Well, monsieur! what makes you laugh like that, pray?"

"Because I am thinking; I remember that you used to ride like an angel
in the old days; and I myself was a very good horseman. We sat in our
saddles, I like Baucher, you like a bareback rider at the Hippodrome.
Well, just imagine us now if we should have to mount a horse!--Ha! ha!
ha!"

Madame de Grangeville made an impatient gesture and turned her head
away, saying to herself:

"Mon Dieu! what wretched _ton_ he has now!"

"But let us drop that, my dear, and talk of our affairs a little. We
parted twelve years ago--on rather bad terms, as I remember; but we were
still lovers then, and lovers often quarrel; at all events, two people
can't love each other forever--it grows monotonous. To-day there's no
question of all that; we are old friends, and you cannot doubt the
interest that I take in whatever concerns you."

"Interest! it seems to me, however, that you have displayed very little
interest in me. I have passed twelve years without a word from monsieur;
at that time my fortune was already much impaired, and since then I have
had time to become ruined altogether, to be reduced to a very
straitened, very embarrassing position; but have you troubled yourself
about it? Not the least in the world! And yet it seems to me, monsieur,
that if you had had any affection for me, if you had taken any interest
in me, you would have had an opportunity to prove it."

"Come, come, _belle dame_, let us not lose our tempers, and above all
let us not condemn without a hearing. You accuse me wrongfully. In the
first place, I supposed that you were still in comfortable circumstances
at least; and in the second place, I myself have not been for a long
time in a position to assist my friends. I did it often
formerly,--without reciprocity; but that would not have prevented me
from continuing to do it if fortune had permitted. But she turned her
back on me, she deserted me utterly; I treated her too cavalierly and
she bore me ill-will. I was unlucky in everything--cards, bets, races,
investments; it was impossible for me to retrieve myself in any
direction! And what remains now of a handsome property?--some claims on
which I can collect nothing, and a few wretched industrial stocks, which
I am obliged to sell in order to live, and which will soon be all gone;
that is where I am now; so that I can't think of others, being always
compelled to think of myself; that is reasonable."

"Ah! so you are reduced to that!" rejoined Madame de Grangeville coldly,
casting from time to time an inquisitive glance at the different parts
of her former lover's attire. "That is very sad. I understand now. I
said to myself: 'Why, Monsieur de Roncherolle, who was always so
elegant, so coquettish in his dress--why does he neglect himself so?'
But of course, if you can't do otherwise!"

Roncherolle bit his lips, swaying back and forth on the _causeuse_, and
replied:

"Oh! that is the least of my troubles! I attach little importance to
those trifles now. At our age, you see, my dear friend, coquetry serves
no purpose, unless it be to make us ridiculous! When the time has come,
it's no use to paint and bedeck ourselves--it doesn't take away either a
wrinkle or a year!"

"He has become painfully tiresome, has this man," thought Madame de
Grangeville, as she put a phial of salts to her nose. After a moment,
she rejoined with a nonchalant air:

"Thank heaven! everybody hasn't deserted me; I have some friends who
remember doubtless that I obliged them formerly, and one of them is
giving me an allowance of five thousand francs at this moment."

"The devil! that is handsome, that is very handsome! Is it a male or a
female friend who treats you in such magnificent fashion?"

"Mon Dieu! I have no idea! the person doesn't divulge his name; he
prefers to remain anonymous, in order not to be thanked even. Isn't that
a noble act?"

"Superb! and I regret exceedingly my inability to be the author of it.
But you must certainly be able to guess, despite the mystery with which
this person surrounds himself."

"No--that is to say, I have some suspicions, which I believe to be well
founded."

"Indeed! but it seems that you did not suspect me?"

"Oh, no! not for one moment!"

"That is very amiable on your part."

"You see that I was right."

"But you were not aware of my unfortunate plight."

"What does that matter? as if you would ever have thought of me!"

"That is an extraordinary reproach! It seems to me that I proved to you
abundantly that I thought of you in the old days."

"Yes, yes,--unfortunately.--Ah! if one could foresee what is going to
happen, if one could read the future!"

"True! there are lots of things that one would not do--that one bitterly
regrets having done!"

A long silence ensued. Madame de Grangeville broke it by exclaiming
suddenly:

"You could never guess whom I met in the country last summer--Monsieur
le Comte de Brévanne!"

"Really?"

"Yes, at a party, in a wood, where there were a great many people. I saw
him at a distance in the crowd; I saw that he was looking at me and that
he recognized me."

"Do you think so?"

"Do I think so! It was evident enough, for his manner was very agitated.
I too recognized him instantly; he has changed hardly at all, except
that his hair is turning gray; the face is still the same; he is
good-looking--yes, he is a very handsome man!"

"Had you never discovered that before?"

"What an unkind thing to say to me!"

"Well! did you speak?"

"No; I am inclined to think that he was strongly tempted to speak to me;
he hovered about me in the wood, and he was on the point of speaking to
me, I believe, when some people came up; they surrounded me, took me
away, and I lost sight of him. He must have gone away, for I didn't see
him again during the evening."

"And that is all?"

"Yes, all."

"Well, madame, I too have seen Brévanne, and not very long ago."

"Is it possible? Did you meet him?"

"No, he came to the house in which I was living, expressly to see me; he
had learned my address by chance."

"He came to see you--for what purpose?"

"Why, for the same purpose that led him to seek me everywhere twenty
years ago--to fight me."

"To fight you! nonsense! it's impossible!"

"Why impossible, I pray to know?"

"Because men don't fight after so long a time for things--which have no
present existence."

"Ah! very prettily put; I am sorry that your husband didn't hear it! But
although in fact the motive for fighting is lacking now--the present
existence--De Brévanne is still bent upon it--oh! obstinately bent upon
it. Probably he has been looking for me constantly, for twenty years;
and he had no sooner learned where I was--was perched, than he rushed to
the spot, the same as ever, waving his sword, to demand satisfaction.
But as I was suffering then from a violent attack of the gout, the sight
of my agony convinced him that I was not in condition to stand up to
him; so he granted me a respite."

"Then it is only postponed; you will end by fighting, I see."

"I admire the stoicism of your nature; you say that as if you were
talking about your husband and myself going to the Opéra ball!"

"Mon Dieu! you have become very censorious, very severe! Should I weep
when I say it?"

"No; indeed that is not your nature; you were never very tearful. To
make you shed tears it would be necessary that your hair should be
unbecomingly dressed at a large party; and that is an accident to which
you were never likely to be exposed."

"You are still satirical, caustic, as always, Monsieur de Roncherolle!"

"If you find anything about me that has not changed, I am delighted
beyond measure."

"A truce to jesting, monsieur; when is this duel to take place? I beg
you to believe that I am deeply interested."

"Don't be alarmed, madame, the duel will not take place. I am as
obstinate as De Brévanne. I have sworn not to afford him the chagrin of
killing me, and I shall keep my oath."

"The chagrin! so you think that the count would regret it if he should
kill you?"

"I am sure of it; and it would be even worse now than if he had killed
me long ago."

"You are a surprising creature, on my word! A man who has been seeking
you for so many years so persistently! You must see that he is as
furious as ever against you; consequently, I fancy that he would not
grieve very bitterly over your death!"

"You are wrong, madame; the count is no longer furious with me; rage
doesn't last twenty years; it dies long before that time. It is nothing
but the sentiment of honor that impels your husband now; and that
sentiment would not stifle the regret that he would feel if he should
kill a man whom he once loved with the most sincere affection."

"But whom he now holds in the greatest possible detestation!"

"No, madame, I assure you that he no longer detests me. When a man grows
old, he remembers the happy days of his youth much more vividly than the
troubles of his maturer years; the latter are effaced in the jolting and
hurly-burly of life; the first remain and rise to the surface, to divert
our thoughts, to charm our memories--and that is why I believe that De
Brévanne no longer detests me.--What I say surprises you--you do not
agree with me; but women do not understand friendship!"

"You have an amusing way of practising it! However, how do you propose
to prevent this duel?"

"As I have prevented it for twenty years; I propose to elude the count's
search. I have moved already; I no longer live in furnished lodgings,
and I should be very much astonished if he should find me where I am
now."

Madame de Grangeville said nothing more; Roncherolle seemed to reflect;
and the ex-lovers were silent for a considerable time. At last the gouty
gentleman put out his hand toward his hat, and seemed about to go, when
his former friend detained him, saying with some hesitation:

"Monsieur de Roncherolle, I have something to say to you on another
subject of--of deep interest to us both."

"A subject of interest to us both?" repeated Roncherolle, replacing his
hat on the table; "you surprise me; I thought that we no longer had
anything of interest to say to each other. What is it all about?"

"You must have a very short memory, monsieur, since it is necessary for
me to remind you of that--that result of our liaison--of our
wrong-doing, alas!"

"Ah, yes! thrice alas!"

"Well, monsieur, that child, that little girl--for it was a girl--tell
me, monsieur, what became of her? Formerly, when I questioned you on
that subject, you always answered: 'Don't be disturbed, I know where she
is, we shall find her again.'--But that was more than twelve years ago,
monsieur, and it seems to me that it is high time that I should know
what became of that child!"

Roncherolle moved about on the _causeuse_ as he replied:

"Yes, yes, that is very true; there is the subject of the little girl; I
had forgotten about her entirely, and you will understand in a moment
why I had forgotten her; it was because it would have done no good to
think of her, for I have no idea what became of her after I put her out
to nurse."

"You don't know what became of her! why, that is abominable, monsieur,
it is frightful; you break my heart!"

"No fine words, my dear friend. I beg you; with me, as you must know,
they will miss their effect; I break nothing at all of yours; for if you
had chosen to be a mother, to know and to enjoy the happiness which that
title affords, you would not have begun by begging me to rid you of your
child as soon as possible the instant that it came into the world."

"Monsieur, that is not true; you insult me, you slander me!"

"You are beginning again. Come, Lucienne, stop acting and listen to me.
When you were in an interesting condition and on the point of emerging
from it, we were journeying through the fertile pastures of Normandie;
suddenly the fancy seized you to visit Ermenonville, the village that
became so famous because a so-called philosopher--for I consider that
that Monsieur Jean-Jacques had little claim as such, and that a man can
hardly call himself the friend of mankind when he constantly inflicts
injury on those who have conferred benefits on him--but no matter, he
made the village of Ermenonville famous by living there, and especially
by being buried there. I remarked to you that it was imprudent to
approach Paris, where your husband might be, especially in your
condition; but you were always obstinate in your whims, and I have never
been able to thwart a lady. We reached Ermenonville in horrible weather;
very good. The next day you felt ill and insisted on returning to Paris,
to be sure of having all the necessary assistance in your condition;
that was another imprudence. But no matter--I yielded. We reached Paris;
we had hardly arrived, when whom should we see on the street but your
husband! Very good; he didn't see us; you wanted to go away again, but
it was too late; you brought a daughter into the world.--- In the
confusion and embarrassment into which that event, anticipated though it
was, cast us, you began by saying to me: 'Take the child away at once!
find a nurse instantly, and let her go back to her home in the country
this very day,'--I continued to do your will; I carried the little
one--who was a sweet little thing, on my word!--to a room above yours,
which I was occupying temporarily; and I said to my servant--I had
Comtois then, a most intelligent fellow, whom I could never replace--I
told him to find me a stout, healthy nurse. Comtois went away and very
soon returned with the desired object: she was a peasant woman of
excellent appearance--a Picard. I remember distinctly that she was a
Picard. I gave her the child, and she raved over her; then she asked me
for the _layette_; I confess that that embarrassed me sadly; you ought
to have thought of that, madame, but you never considered it. I gave her
all that I found at my hand: trousers, dressing-gown, shirts, cravats;
I remember too that I gave her a handkerchief that belonged to you, and
that I happened to have in my pocket. The nurse laughed heartily when I
gave her all those things. I handed her a hundred francs in addition.
She made a price for nursing the child, and it wasn't exorbitant. She
asked me the little girl's names, but you and I had not fixed upon any.
I said to the Picard: 'You may call the child Evelina de
Paulausky'--yes, those are the names I gave her; I had just read a novel
the heroine of which bore that name.--I then asked the nurse for her
name and address, so that I might send her money and have news of the
child. She gave them to me, and then she started off with her nursling.
It was all arranged very quickly, as you see."

"Certainly, monsieur, I have nothing to reproach you for, up to that
point--except the _layette_, which you might have bought."

"That is to say, which you should have bought beforehand."

"Oh! monsieur, when one is travelling all the time, has one any
opportunity to make purchases?"

"In that case, madame, when could I have bought it, as I was travelling
with you?--Besides, is that sort of thing a man's business?"

"Well, monsieur, let us drop that and return to the nurse. You heard
from the child through her? you sent her money?"

"I never heard from the nurse, madame, for the very simple reason that I
did not give her my address; I refrained, from prudential motives; and
then too we were always in flying camp at that time, and I really don't
know what address I could have given her."

"Then, monsieur, you must have written to her?"

"Mon Dieu! that is what I expected to do, and to send her some money;
and then I would have given her an address, _poste restante_, so that
she might answer me. But at that point difficulties arose. Imagine, if
you please, that, when that woman gave me her name and address, I did
not take the precaution to write them down at once; we were in such a
hurry, so completely upset! What with giving my clothes for the
_layette_, and the child's crying, and your sending to ask what was
going on--in short, I didn't write down the confounded address at the
time, feeling sure that I should remember it. The nurse went away. We
had a thousand things to do: I had to obtain money to resume our
travels, and we were constantly beset by the fear of being discovered by
your husband.--As you will remember, we started for the Pyrenees as soon
as you were in a condition to endure the journey."

"I know all that--well?"

"At last, one fine day, you asked me about the child. I answered: 'She
is well; she must be all right.' But that reminded me that I had
neglected to send the nurse any money since the little one came into the
world, six months before. I said to myself: 'Pardieu! I must repair that
neglect.'--I instantly wrote a few lines in haste, but when it came to
writing the woman's name and address, I could not possibly remember
them! She was from Picardie, and her first name was Marguerite; but
Marguerite what? there are Marguerites everywhere! And the name of that
wretched village--I could not remember that either!--I said to myself:
'A little patience and it will come back to me.'--Six more months passed
and I thought again of the child; I tried once more to remember the
nurse's address; but I could not recall it!"

"And you kept telling me that the child was well!"

"What would you have had me tell you? I couldn't say that she was ill,
because I didn't know.--In short, for nineteen years I have tried very
often to think of that address, but it hasn't come back to me yet."

"And so, monsieur, by your fault, I am deprived of my daughter forever,
and the poor child is without a family! It is shocking!"

"Pardon me, madame, pardon me; on mature reflection--in the little one's
behalf first of all--I am not sure that it is a great calamity that she
has never known the secret of her birth; she would still have been in a
false position; and then life in Paris wouldn't have been as good for
her health as the fresh country air--especially in Picardie. That's an
excellent region; they drink cider there, which is very healthy. If she
is still alive, I am sure that she must be in good health. She lives in
the fields and woods--bless my soul! she is happier, no doubt, than she
would be here; especially as I could never give her an establishment
with the remains of my fortune."

"But what of me, monsieur?--do you make no account of my regrets? I am
deprived of my daughter's caresses!"

"I beg pardon, madame, but the longing for those caresses takes you
rather tardily."

"Why, monsieur, it is twelve years since I last saw you."

"But for seven years we were almost never apart, and you were perfectly
willing to leave the child at nurse; you asked me about her
sometimes--at long intervals; but you never said: 'Do send for
her.'--You thought that the attention you would have to give the child
would disturb your pleasures; and for my part, I believe that her
presence would embarrass you even more now; for the girl is nineteen
years old; and a daughter of nineteen would be terribly repugnant to
you; she might rob you of conquests!"

"Monsieur, you do not mean to insult me, I trust?"

"By no means, my dear friend! We have had an explanation, and I have
confessed the truth. 'I had to do it!' as Bilboquet says; and now I will
take my cane and my hat and return to my Marais."

"Do you live in the Marais? What a horrible neighborhood!"

"Oh, no! however, one lives where one can! I have not, as you have,
anonymous admirers who make me an allowance; but I congratulate you; you
can still gratify your taste for pleasure, for fine clothes. I consider
you very rich now--compared with myself."

"No, indeed! no, indeed!" Madame de Grangeville replied eagerly, with an
embarrassed air. "I have only what I need to live; a woman requires so
many things, you know; it would be impossible for me to accommodate
anybody."

Roncherolle put on his hat, leaned on his cane and exclaimed with a
savage glance at the baroness:

"Did you suppose by any chance, madame, that I intended to ask you for
anything, or to borrow anything of you? I hoped that you had lived with
me long enough to know me. I have spent a devilish lot of money on
women; they have led me into all sorts of folly, but nothing base. I
have ruined myself for them, and I had a right to do it. I have made
love to them much, loved them sometimes, deceived them often; but thank
God! I have never accepted anything from them; I am entitled to say to
them just what I think, and I avail myself of that right on
occasion.--My respects, my affectionate friend!"

With these words, Roncherolle bowed to Madame de Grangeville with a
mocking expression, and left her apartment, saying to himself:

"Ah! these women whose lives have been nothing but coquetry--when you
search their hearts, what a barren soil you find! Sow benefactions there
and you never reap anything but ingratitude."

As for Madame de Grangeville, as soon as her former lover had left her,
she called her maid and said:

"If by any chance that gentleman should come again to see me, Lizida, I
shall not be at home to him! The idea! a ruined man, who dresses
shabbily, who drags one leg, and who has nothing but disagreeable things
to say!"

"Madame is quite right. That is a good sort of man to keep out."



XXXVII

THE CONCIERGE-NURSE


In a hasty, violent, nervous disposition, wrath is quick to come; it
bursts out violently, but it does not last long; the heart that feels
the most profoundly the wounds that it receives, is also the most
sensitive to the tears that it sees shed, and it very speedily repents
of the pain it has inflicted.

The Comte de Brévanne, who had only a few hours before acquired the
certainty that his wife had had a child by Roncherolle, had been unable
to control his wrath and his jealousy when their child appeared before
him; at the first blush, he had imagined that it was a fresh insult, an
additional affront purposely put upon him. All his sufferings, all his
anguish had returned to his mind and to his heart, and we have seen how,
as a result of all these circumstances, he had received poor Violette.

But when a half hour had passed after the young girl's departure, the
count, who had remained alone in his study, had had time to grow calm;
moreover, the storm that was in the air had broken, the rain was falling
in torrents; at such times nervous people always feel relieved, they
breathe more freely, their brain becomes clearer and their irritation
falls with the rain.

Brévanne looked about him, passed his hand over his forehead, and said
to himself:

"So that girl has gone. How I treated her! why, I must have lost my
reason. She came here to ask me for help, for protection, and I brutally
sent her away, drove her out of doors. Poor child! is it her fault that
she is the fruit of adultery? She does not know who her mother is, as
she came to ask me for information concerning her parents. They
shamelessly abandoned her, and I turn her out of doors! Can it be that I
propose to be as shameless as they? Ah! I behaved very badly. And this
storm--great heavens! the rain is falling in sheets. Can she have gone
away in such weather?"

The count rang violently and Pongo quickly answered.

"Master, he ring?"

"Yes; that young girl from Paris who came just now to speak to me--where
is she? Go and find her, and bring her back; I don't want her to go
away."

"Yes, master."

And the mulatto, who had seen no girl, ran all over the house, the
courtyard and the garden, shouting at the top of his voice:

"Young girl from Paris! come right back. Master ask for you; master want
to see you. She no answer.--Oh! me find you!"

Georget spied Pongo just at the moment that he was applying to a great
chestnut tree, saying to it:

"You see young lady who come to speak to master?"

"What are you doing there, Pongo?"

"Monsieur Georget, me look for someone master want, and me no find."

"And you are applying to that tree to learn where she is?"

"Oh! he understand all right; he no speak, but he understand."

"Whom are you looking for?"

"A young girl from Paris, who come to speak to master; he no longer want
her to go away."

"A young girl from Paris has been here to see Monsieur Malberg?"

"Yes."

"What was she like, Pongo? Describe her to me."

"Me no see her. It was master, him tell me."

"Who let her in then? Ah! there's the gardener."

Georget ran to the gardener, and Pongo ran about the garden, talking to
the trees and the flowers.

"Did you see this girl who came from Paris to speak to monsieur?"

"Yes, to be sure; it was me who let her in and took her to the master."

"What was she like?"

"Pretty as a picture, on my word; she's a fine slip of a girl."

"Did she tell you her name before you let her in?"

"No, she said it wasn't worth while."

"Did she stay long with monsieur?"

"Why, yes, quite a while."

"And she has gone?"

"Yes, as much as half an hour ago; the storm was just beginning, and
when I saw that, I asked her to wait in my house; I told her she'd get
wet; but she wouldn't stop; she made me feel bad because she was
crying."

"She was crying? What! she was crying when she left Monsieur Malberg?"

"I should say so! big tears too! she looked as if she was in very great
trouble, but she started off all the same."

Georget waited to hear no more; he ran to the count, and could hardly
say what he wished to, he was so excited.

"Monsieur, the girl who came--a young girl came from Paris,--and talked
with you, monsieur?"

"To be sure; well?"

"Why, she went away again, monsieur; and the gardener noticed that when
she went away, she was crying, she was very unhappy."

"Ah! she was crying?"

"Yes, monsieur. I ask your pardon, monsieur, for questioning you; but
this girl--was it she, monsieur?"

"She--who?"

"Violette, monsieur, the little flower girl; the one that--you know,
monsieur."

"No, no, it wasn't she;" replied the count, trying to calm Georget's
excitement. "Why do you suppose that that girl would come to see me?"

"Mon Dieu! I don't know, monsieur; but as you spoke to her one day, in
Paris, I thought that perhaps she might have something to say to you.
But it wasn't she who came here and of course that makes a difference;
excuse me, monsieur."

At that moment Pongo appeared in the count's apartment, all out of
breath, crying:

"Master! master! girl from Paris--I no bring her back, her gone."

"All right, I know it."

"Oh yes; but me know from Thomas,--he meet her in the country, and her
out in all the storm! he call to her: 'stop, mamzelle; come, get under
cover.' But her run all the time just like her not hear, and her all
soaked with water. Poor girl, her get sick for sure!"

The count turned pale, but he concealed his emotion and requested to be
left alone. Pongo went back to Carabi, saying:

"He want to go out too; but me no want him to get wet like the young
girl; poor girl, in the fields when it storm; that not right!"

Georget said no more; but although Monsieur de Brévanne had assured him
that the girl was not Violette, although he dared not doubt his
protector's words, yet he felt sad and oppressed, and he deeply
regretted that he had not seen the poor girl who had gone away weeping.

Early the next morning, without a word to anybody, the count started for
Paris; and he had no sooner arrived than he betook himself to Boulevard
du Château d'Eau. The weather was cold but fine; it was one of those
beautiful autumn mornings when the sun shines on the yellow leaves and
promises a fine day.

It was not a flower market day; but some of the flower girls were in
their places, none the less. As the count approached, he looked about
for Violette, but in vain. The girl, who was ordinarily so faithful to
her occupation, had not opened her booth, had not appeared in her place.

Monsieur de Brévanne waited for a long time, walking back and forth on
the boulevard; he entered a café nearby, breakfasted, read the
newspapers, and then returned to the place where the flower girl always
stood; but Violette did not come.

"She is probably kept away to-day by the necessity of buying flowers for
her trade," said the count to himself; "I will go back to Nogent and I
will see her to-morrow."

But on the next day, the young flower girl was not in her place, and the
count was again obliged to go away without seeing her.

The girl's health had been seriously impaired by the events and the
agitation resulting from her journey to Nogent. One does not experience
a violent disappointment with impunity; one does not defy the storm and
wind without feeling the effects of it. On leaving the coal barge,
Violette shivered on her companion's arm, and he noticed it; on reaching
her room, the girl had gone to bed at once, and on the next day, despite
her earnest desire to attend to her business, it had been impossible for
her to rise.

Luckily, Mère Lamort was always at the service of her tenants. The
concierge passed her time going up and down the six flights of stairs in
her house. Her dog kept her lodge, and barked when anyone entered and
attempted to ascend the staircase. At that signal from her substitute,
Mère Lamort instantly went to the window of the floor where she happened
to be, and conversed from there with the persons who came to see some of
the tenants.

Chicotin, who was now deeply interested in Violette's health, finding
that she did not come to the boulevard on the day following the evening
when he had prevented her from accomplishing her fatal design, did not
fail to go and enquire of the concierge, who replied:

"The girl's sick and in bed; I am making her some herb tea, because that
breaks up a fever."

The young messenger, whom Mère Lamort's information failed to reassure,
climbed the six flights rapidly and entered Violette's room; he found
her in bed, with the flushed face and hollow, burning eyes which
indicate a violent attack of fever. But the girl smiled at Chicotin and
offered him her hand, saying in a weak voice:

"Thanks, Chicotin, for coming to see me; what you said last night was
true; that shower has made me sick; but it won't amount to anything."

"Don't you want me to fetch a doctor, mamzelle?"

"No, it's not necessary; it won't amount to anything. Besides, the
concierge is very kind, she takes good care of me."

"She is going to bring you up some herb tea; but I will come every day
to find out how you are getting on,--twice a day rather than once."

"I don't want to interfere with your work, my friend."

"Oh! that won't interfere with me. In fact, I have a customer in your
house, just below you,--a gentleman who isn't always steady on his legs;
but just at present he seems to walk very well. Would you like me to
tell him to come up to see you? You see, he is no fool; he talks better
than I do."

"Thanks, Chicotin, I don't need any company; I am never bored when I'm
alone, for I know how to read, I like to read; and besides that, I have
plenty to think about."

"But not about such miserable things as you thought about yesterday?"

"No, no; that's all over."

"Good. I spoke to you about your neighbor because he ain't a young man
and it wouldn't make any gossip; but if you don't want him to come--Ah!
here's Mère Lamort with a pitcher in each hand. You will have something
nice.--Good-by, mamzelle, I'll come again soon."

On leaving Violette, Chicotin met Monsieur de Roncherolle on the stairs,
going up to his room.

"Ah! are you coming from my room, my boy?" said the gouty gentleman when
he recognized his usual messenger.

"No, bourgeois, no; I am coming from the room over yours."

"Over mine? What, are there people perched higher than I am? I thought
that I acted as lightning rod for the house."

"Oh, no, monsieur, there's a very pretty young girl, who lives all alone
above you."

"Ah! you rascal! I see,--this girl is your mistress!"

"No, monsieur, you don't see at all. The poor girl is adored by one of
my friends, and I should never think of such a thing as making love to
her, because, you see, I ain't capable of being false to a friend,
although I'm only a messenger."

"You are right, my boy, you are right," murmured Roncherolle, hanging
his head, "for that doesn't bring good luck."

"But if you knew all that has happened to the poor girl! Just imagine,
monsieur, that if it hadn't been for me, she would have jumped into the
canal last night."

"Indeed! for what reason? Desperate with love--her lover has abandoned
her, I suppose?"

"No, he still loves her, he thinks of nothing but her; he thinks that
she was unfaithful to him; he is convinced that she has listened to a
fine young dandy who makes eyes at her, and who has boasted of having
been her lover."

"And why do you think that it isn't true?"

"Why, bourgeois? Because, last night, when she went aboard the coal
barge, with the intention of carrying out her fatal plan, she couldn't
have suspected that I was there, hidden behind the coal; and before she
jumped into the water, she knelt down, to make a last prayer to the good
Lord. She asked Him to forgive her for putting an end to her life, but
she said that she didn't feel strong enough to live, despised and
humiliated by everybody, abandoned by everybody she loved, when she had
done nothing to reproach herself for. When she said that, she couldn't
guess that anyone was listening to her, and she was getting ready to
die. Well, I say that at such a time she couldn't lie; ain't that right,
monsieur?"

Roncherolle tapped Chicotin on the shoulder and smiled.

"He doesn't reason badly, the rascal.--But what does your little
protégée do?"

"She is a flower girl, monsieur. Now I think of it, you know her; she is
the one you bought a bouquet of the first time I had the honor of
meeting you,--when you told me to come with you."

"The deuce! is it possible that it is that pretty, attractive girl? for
she is remarkably lovely, this friend of yours."

"Yes, monsieur, yes; she's the one; Violette, they call her."

"But wait a moment--if it's she, why the young dandy who claims to be
her lover must be a certain Monsieur Jéricourt."

"Just so, master; Jéricourt's his name--a man who writes plays; do you
know him?"

"I dined with him a short time ago."

"Do you know him well?"

"No, thank God! Why do you ask me that?"

"Oh! not for any reason; that is to say, I was thinking that if he was a
friend of yours, he might not lie so much to you, that's all."

"No, he isn't a friend of mine by any means.--By the way, you say that
this girl is sick; has she enough money to be well taken care of?"

"Oh! yes, bourgeois; she ain't hard up, she sells all she wants to; and
then, she has money put by."

"So much the better; who is taking care of her?"

"Your concierge, Mère Lamort."

"I don't know that one can have much confidence in her as a doctor. I
will go myself to see this girl, for what you have told me has aroused
my interest in her."

"I am sorry, bourgeois, but that can't be."

"What is it that can't be?"

"You can't go to see Mamzelle Violette, because she forbids it."

"How can she have forbidden it? I have never been there."

"Excuse me, but this is how it is: you see, when I was talking with her
this morning, I took the liberty to mention you; I told her that she
had a very pleasant neighbor."

"Ah! you say such things about me, do you?"

"That you were my customer.--By the way, bourgeois, shall I take a
bouquet to Madame de Grangeville from you to-day?"

"No, no, that's all over; you won't take her any more bouquets--from me
at least.--But let us return to the flower girl; you said to her----"

"I said to her: 'you have a very distinguished neighbor, who is--who is
no fool.'"

"Really, you don't think me a fool?"

"No, monsieur."

"I am very much flattered that you have such a good opinion of me."

"You are joking; but I know what I'm talking about, I tell you!"

"And this girl doesn't choose to receive me because you told her that I
was no fool?"

"Oh! it isn't that. I said: 'If you wish, mamzelle, Monsieur de
Roncherolle won't refuse to come now and then to sit with you, and he'll
be splendid company for you;' and then I added: 'you can receive him
without compromising yourself, because in the first place, he ain't
young, in the second place, he's gouty, and in the third place---- '"

"Go on, while you are about it!"

"In short, I meant to say that you didn't look like a rake."

"It is certain that I should find it rather difficult to play that part
now.--But this extravagant eulogy of my person did not make your friend
disposed to see me?"

"No; she said that she didn't need company, that she preferred to think
all by herself."

"In that case, my boy, we will let her alone; we must never annoy
anybody, especially the sick."

Monsieur de Roncherolle entered his room, and Chicotin returned to the
boulevard, saying to himself:

"Shall I go to Nogent and tell Georget all that has happened? If I do,
he won't be able to think badly of Violette any more. On the other hand,
if I tell him that she's sick, he'll worry and torment himself; he'll
want to come back to Paris and perhaps that will displease his employer.
I think that I'd better wait until Violette is well before I go to see
Georget."

But the next day, the young flower girl, very far from being well, had a
higher fever and was slightly delirious; she hardly recognized Chicotin
when he came to see her. He said to the concierge, when she approached
with several jugs in her hand:

"It seems to me that your patient ain't doing very well, Mère Lamort?"

"Oh, yes! oh, yes!"

"What's that? oh, yes? Why she hardly recognized me, and then she says
things that don't mean anything."

"It's the delirium going away; but I've got three kinds of herb tea for
her and--ah! there's Mirontaine barking; somebody's coming."

And the concierge put her head out of the round window on the sixth
floor overlooking the courtyard.

"Who's there? Who do you want?" she cried.

An old man who had entered the house, looked up and answered in a
quavering voice which only reached the fourth floor:

"Have you a Monsieur Dupuis in the house?"

"What? What's that? is there a well--_puits_--in the house?"

"He used to be an advocate."

"You say it's your trade?"

"He has several children."

"Are you looking for lodgings?"

"Aren't you coming down?"

"You say that you stuff mattresses? What a miserable voice! I wonder if
the man has got a cold in his head!--Ah! there's Mirontaine barking
again; I must go down.--Coming!--What a nuisance!"

The concierge went downstairs, and Chicotin, after examining Violette
again, shook his head and said to himself:

"I don't know whether it's wise to trust to Madame Lamort's three kinds
of tea; I don't know much about such things myself, but I see well
enough that this poor girl has a devil of a fever. No matter what
happens, I shall go down and fetch the old fellow from the floor below."

Chicotin went down to Roncherolle's room, and found him all ready to go
out.

"Have you come again to see if you are to carry a bouquet to the
baroness?" he asked with a smile; "I told you that that was all gone by;
I shan't have any more bouquets to send to anybody."

"No, bourgeois, no, I ain't come for that, but because of your little
neighbor upstairs, Mamzelle Violette."

"Well, how is she to-day?"

"Not well; she's as wild as a hawk; the concierge says that that's a
good sign, but I don't agree with her; I came to ask you if you would
have the kindness to go to see her, because you're better able than I am
to judge of her condition."

"So you think that she will be willing to receive me to-day, do you?"

"Pardi! yes, as she don't know whether there's anyone near her, and as
just now she thought she was in the country, under the trees."

"I am not a doctor, but no matter, I will go to see this girl, and if I
can be of any use to her, I ask nothing better; show me the way."

"Come, bourgeois, we haven't got far to go."

"I can believe that."

Roncherolle followed the young messenger, who ushered him into
Violette's room. The attic chamber was not elegant, but it was neat and
clean; the furniture was decent and in good condition; in short, nothing
in the room indicated poverty, or made the heart ache; on the contrary,
there were two large bouquets in two pretty vases.

Roncherolle approached the spotless white bed on which the sick girl
lay; she seemed to be in a very agitated sleep. He took one hand which
was moist and burning, he felt her pulse, then shook his head, saying:

"The fever is very high, but the skin is not dry; I am glad of that, it
is less dangerous."

"You don't like dry skins?"

"I say that I don't think that this fever is dangerous. But what do I
see on the mantel?"

"Those are flowers, some of Mamzelle Violette's stock."

"Such enormous bunches of flowers in a sick room! why, there's enough
there to kill her, and I'm not surprised that she is out of her head;
take them all away at once, throw the flowers out of the window."

"You see, Mamzelle Violette adores flowers, and Mère Lamort, instead of
leaving them in a corner of the courtyard, by the pump, where Violette
always keeps them, she said yesterday: 'I'll just take two big bunches,
and she'll enjoy looking at them as long as she is lying in her bed.'"

"Mère Lamort seems to me too well named; if that's the way that she
takes care of sick people, I must congratulate her.--Take all these
flowers away, my boy, and give the girl nothing to drink except a very
weak infusion of linden, with a few orange leaves: I am no doctor, but I
have an idea that that will be enough, and that she will be better
to-morrow. But take all these flowers away, don't leave a single one
here!"

While Chicotin hastily removed all the flowers from the vases,
Roncherolle gazed at the sleeping girl and murmured:

"It would be a pity; she is very pretty, is this child. Where the devil
have I seen that face?--Come, my boy, we'll let her sleep; I am going
down to give Mère Lamort a talking to."



XXXVIII

THE NEIGHBOR'S VISIT


The next morning Chicotin appeared in Monsieur de Roncherolle's
apartment with a radiant face, exclaiming:

"I've come to tell you, monsieur, that you fixed Mamzelle Violette up in
fine shape; she ain't out of her head to-day, her fever is much less; in
fact, she feels a great deal better; she told me to come and thank you
and tell you that she'd come herself as soon as she gets up."

"Thank me! for what? Because I advised giving her linden tea to drink,
and because I had the flowers taken out of her room? why, anybody would
have said as much as that. Don't let the girl put herself out for such a
trifle. However, as she is better, I will go up soon to see her, to bid
her good-morning. I fancy that that is not forbidden now?"

"Oh, no! you're a friend of hers now, bourgeois."

"Very good; in that case, announce a visit from her friend of the fifth
floor."

During the day, Roncherolle ascended the single flight of stairs which
separated him from the flower girl. He found the door open, and entered
the room of the sick girl, who was then alone, the concierge having just
gone down because she had heard Mirontaine bark.

Roncherolle approached the bed softly; Violette was not asleep and the
return of health could already be read in her eyes. At nineteen,
sickness often disappears as rapidly as it comes; it is simply the storm
which disturbs the tranquillity of a beautiful day, but leaves no traces
behind.

When she saw in her room a gentleman whom she did not know, the girl
opened her eyes in surprise and started to speak, but Roncherolle very
soon reassured her, saying:

"Mademoiselle, I am your neighbor from below--indeed, I could not very
well be from above; excuse me for intruding upon you thus, but Chicotin
asked me to come up yesterday to see you, because he was anxious about
your condition; to-day he came to tell me that the draught I ordered had
done marvels, that you were almost well. As I did not deem myself
capable of executing so rapid a cure, I wished to satisfy myself with my
own eyes as to whether he had told me the truth; but if I disturb you,
if my presence annoys you, tell me so frankly, and I will go away at
once."

Roncherolle's courteous and amiable tone instantly banished the girl's
embarrassment, and she replied with a smile:

"Oh, no! it doesn't annoy me, monsieur. It was you who were kind enough
to come up to see me yesterday; Chicotin told me, and I should have come
to thank you--excuse me--pray take a chair."

"Then it's understood that I don't disturb you? In that case, I will
take a seat and talk with you a moment; shall I?"

"Yes, monsieur, you are very kind."

"Let us not stand on ceremony any longer, now that we know each other.
All the necessary courtesies have been performed, and I am a neighbor
come to chat with a neighbor; and when his neighbor has had chatting
enough, she will show her neighbor the door."

"Oh! monsieur----"

"No, never fear, I shall know enough to show myself the door. First of
all, I am glad to see that you are really much better; I will wager that
two days hence you will not have a sign of your illness."

"Oh! I hope not, monsieur; then I shall be able to go back to my flower
stand."

"Yes, but you must not be imprudent, and go out too soon. I am well
aware that to keep one's room is not amusing, when one is all alone. Oh!
I know all about that, I have had too much experience; but at my age
reverie is melancholy, whereas at yours it should be rose-colored."

"Not always, monsieur."

"Have you no parents?"

"No, monsieur, I have none."

"Poor girl! and despair had taken possession of your pretty head, and
you proposed to die?"

"What! you know, monsieur?"

"Yes, yes. Chicotin told me that whole story; he is very fond of
talking, is that fellow; he told me that your lover, no, I mean the
young man who is in love with you, had ceased to speak to you because he
thought that you had listened to a young dandy; you see that I am well
posted."

"Georget believes me guilty, monsieur. I know that appearances are
against me, but I assure you that Monsieur Jéricourt lies; it was he who
prepared the trap into which I fell."

"A trap! come, while we are alone, suppose you tell me all about it; I
should not be sorry to know the whole story--that is, unless it tires
you to talk."

"No, monsieur; besides it will not take long."

Roncherolle drew his chair nearer to the sick girl's bed, so that she
might not raise her voice, and Violette began:

"Some time ago, monsieur, I was at my flower booth on Boulevard du
Château d'Eau."

"Yes, I know where it is."

"A servant came to order a handsome bouquet, and gave me one hundred
sous in advance, saying to me: 'You must carry this bouquet to Madame de
Belleval's, Boulevard Beaumarchais, number 88; be sure to take it up to
the lady yourself, because she wants to order others for a wedding.'--I
accepted the order, monsieur; for you see, a bouquet for a hundred sous
is worth the trouble; we don't sell many at that price on the
boulevard.--The servant went away. When I had made a magnificent
bouquet, I asked a neighbor to look after my booth, and I hurried to the
address that was given me. I arrived there and asked the concierge for
Madame de Belleval. He hesitated for a moment, then said: 'Go up to the
fifth floor, the door to the right.'--Ought I not to have gone up,
monsieur?"

"Why thus far I see no reason why you should have hesitated."

"I reached the fifth floor, and rang at the right hand door. A woman
answered the bell. I asked for Madame de Belleval.--'Come in,' she
said.--'But I simply have a bouquet to deliver.'--'Come in all the
same,'she said; 'madame wants to speak to you;' and she opened the door
of a small salon where I saw nobody, and left me there, saying: 'Wait,
she will come.'--Should I not have gone in, monsieur?"

"Why not, my child? There was nothing to arouse your suspicion so far."

"I waited for a few moments, then a door opened; but instead of a lady,
I saw Monsieur Jéricourt come in; a man whom I detest, and who had been
pestering me for a long while with his love and his insulting
propositions; he is a swell who thinks that a woman, especially a flower
girl, cannot resist him."

"I know him; go on, go on."

"When I recognized that man, I guessed that I had fallen into a trap; I
tried to go away, but he held me and began to talk to me of his love; he
laughed when I reproached him with his treachery, and dared to tell me
that I had no choice, because we were in his rooms and no one would come
to my help. Ah! if you knew, monsieur, what strength despair and
indignation gave me then; I began to shriek. Monsieur Jéricourt tried to
kiss me, but I clawed his face so that he had no inclination to try
again! He was furious with rage, but he let me go, and as you can
imagine, monsieur, I left the room instantly. But it seems that there
was somebody on his landing when I went out: that little squint-eyed
young man, who lives in the same house, saw me come out all excited and
upset. It is quite possible that I was; but I was so happy to escape, so
terrified by the risk I had run, that I saw nobody; I was no longer in
that man's power, that was my only thought; and I am sure that I went
downstairs very quickly.--That is the whole truth; that is how I
happened to go to Monsieur Jéricourt's, without a suspicion that that
was where I was going; but that is exactly what took place there--I
swear it to you, monsieur; and may the good Lord prevent me from ever
leaving this bed if I have lied in any one detail!"

Roncherolle gazed attentively at the young girl while she was speaking,
and for the first time in his life, perhaps, he felt deeply moved. He
pressed Violette's hand, and said:

"I believe you, my child, I believe you. In fact, there is nothing
improbable in your story; it isn't the first time that a pretty girl has
been lured into a trap in this way. It is very wrong, but still I could
forgive this Jéricourt, if, having failed in his attempt, he had
admitted his defeat; but when you were virtuous, when you resisted his
attack, to go about proclaiming that he had triumphed over you, that you
had yielded to him--why that is going too far, deuce take it! Men ruin
enough women who are willing to be ruined; they should not ruin those
who object!"

"Oh! how glad I am that you believe me, monsieur!"

"But do you mean to say that when you told all this to your sweetheart,
he refused to believe you?"

"He has never given me a chance to justify myself; he ran away from me
without deigning to listen to me."

"Be calm, and get well; before long, he will do you justice, and will
himself ask your pardon for having suspected you."

"Do you think so, monsieur?"

"I am sure of it."

"You make me very happy, monsieur."

"I no longer believed myself capable of making a young girl happy, and I
am exceedingly proud. I am very glad that you have told me this whole
story, my little neighbor; and on your side, I hope that you will not
regret it."

"How kind you are to take an interest in me, monsieur."

"Now we have talked enough and I must leave you; rest, sleep, and
everything will go well; but above all, no more flowers in your
bedroom!"

"Oh, no! you see that there are none here now, monsieur."

"There is still one--but that one will never do any harm."

Roncherolle went away, and the girl fell asleep.



XXXIX

PURE LOVE


For several days the Comte de Brévanne walked upon the boulevard where
the pretty flower girl ordinarily stood, to no purpose. At last, after
allowing three days to elapse without going to Paris, he went thither
again, and as he drew near the Château d'Eau, he saw that Violette was
once more in her place.

Violette did not notice the gentleman who approached her and halted in
front of her flowers. But on raising her eyes and recognizing Georget's
protector, the man who had treated her so harshly and turned her out of
his house, the poor child shuddered and had not courage to utter a word.

"Yes, it is I, mademoiselle," said the count, imparting to his voice its
mildest intonation; "I frighten you, I see; you lower your eyes in
order not to meet mine. Oh! do not be afraid; you would not read in them
any trace of anger, but rather an expression of sorrow; for I behaved
very badly toward you, poor girl! But at that time cruel memories led my
reason astray; since then I have realized how unjust, how cruel I was to
you, when you came to ask for aid and protection; and so, on the day
after that scene, I came here to ask your pardon."

"Pardon! pardon!" murmured Violette, not daring as yet to believe what
she had heard, and timidly raising her eyes to Monsieur de Brévanne's
face. "Ah! is it possible, monsieur? Then you no longer despise me?"

"I have never despised you, my child; I simply vented upon you a fit of
anger which never should have touched you; for you are not the guilty
one.--Once more, are you willing to forget my injustice? Are you willing
to forgive me?"

"Oh! with all my heart, monsieur; I have never been angry with you, but
it made me very unhappy."

"Have you been sick, that you have not been here selling your flowers?"

"Yes, monsieur, I have been sick; but only for a week; it is all over
now, and I have forgotten about it."

"But you are still pale and changed."

"It is the result of the fever; but I feel better, and now, monsieur,
that you have told me that you are not angry with me any more, why, I
feel perfectly well; it seems to me that my strength has come back to
me, and that my health is as it was."

"I am glad to hear that, for your absence from this place worried me a
great deal; and if I had known where you lived, I should have gone to
inquire for you."

"And--and--is he still with you, monsieur?"

"He? You mean Georget, do you not?"

"Yes, monsieur, Georget."

"To be sure; but he didn't come with me; I left him at Nogent. I must
also confess to you, my child, that I didn't tell him that you had been
to Nogent; after what happened, I knew that I should simply make him
unhappy; and before telling him anything, I wished to see you again."

"You did well, monsieur."

"However, as the winter is approaching, we shall return to Paris in a
few days."

"Will he come back with you?"

"Yes, I shall bring him with me; I shall find work for him here; he is
an intelligent fellow and he writes well--it would be a pity to have him
continue as a messenger."

"And you will return soon, monsieur?"

"Yes, and then I expect to see you again; you will not be afraid to come
to my house? you won't bear me a grudge?"

"No, no, monsieur, I shall be at your service."

"I still have a--a certain handkerchief of yours; I am keeping it as a
sacred trust; but do not fear, I will return it whenever it is likely to
be of any use to you."

"Oh! I don't want it, monsieur. You know better than I if I can--if I
ought to hope to find my parents some day. But no, I probably shall
never find them, and I had better give up thinking about them, hadn't I,
monsieur?"

"You must come to see me in Paris; I shall probably return next week.
Georget will let you know."

"Georget! do you think he will speak to me?"

"I think that he will ask nothing better; for he has been very unhappy
about not coming to Paris these last few days, the poor boy!"

"Oh! how kind you are to tell me that, monsieur!"

And tears of joy glistened in the pretty flower girl's eyes. The count,
with a friendly nod, walked away, bidding her au revoir, and leaving in
the girl's heart so much joy and happiness that there was no room there
for the memory of her past sorrow.

While these things were taking place in Paris, Chicotin, seeing that
Violette had recovered her health, had started early in the morning, on
foot, for Nogent, in order to tell Georget all that had happened to the
young flower girl.

Chicotin had found his former comrade walking sadly back and forth on
the lawn in front of the count's house, gazing with a melancholy air at
the Paris road, by which Monsieur de Brévanne had departed, without
bidding him accompany him, and wondering why he went to Paris so often.

At sight of his friend, Georget uttered a joyful exclamation and threw
himself into Chicotin's arms; whereupon the latter, without stopping to
rest or to take breath, proceeded to tell his comrade all that had
happened to Violette,--her journey to Nogent, her despair, her illness,
and finally her recovery.

It would be difficult to describe Georget's state during this narrative;
listening intently, choking with grief, weeping and uttering cries of
joy in turn, he exclaimed:

"She is not guilty! what joy! poor girl, turned away, determined to die!
Oh! mon Dieu! I should have died too!"

He hardly gave his friend time to finish his story; he leaped on his
neck, embraced him, kissed him again and again, stammering in a voice
broken by sobs:

"It was you who saved her; it was due to you that she did not throw
herself into the canal, where she would have died; for so late at night
no one would have seen her, no one would have taken her out of the
water! Ah! I love you almost as much as I do her; I pray for only one
thing, and that is, that I may be able to prove my gratitude some day!"

"Well, well! what a silly fellow! here's a lot of talk for the simplest
kind of an action: a man sees a girl trying to kill herself, and
prevents her--I should like to know if that thing isn't done every day;
any boy in the street would do as much."

"So it was really she who came here! My heart guessed it, but that cruel
man deceived me; he told me that it wasn't she, because he had made her
cry and had turned her out of the house with harsh words! Oh! that was
shameful, and I will not stay any longer in a house where Violette
received such an affront. Wait here for me, Chicotin."

"What are you going to do?"

"Pack up my things, and I'll go away with you; my mother will come after
us."

"Bah! more nonsense! what does this mean? You mean to leave a man who
has never been anything but kind to you, in such a way as this, without
even saying good-bye to him? A man who, when your mother was sick and
you hadn't a sou, gave you all that you needed to take care of her; a
man who has taken you into his family, with your mother, and quartered
you in this little château, where you are living like pigs in
clover--you yourself said so? Well! that would be pretty! and you talk
of gratitude, and this is the way you propose to treat your protector!"

"What difference does it make what he has done for me? He made Violette
so unhappy by turning her out of this house that she wanted to die, and
that she would have died without you!"

"As if he could have guessed that! You must see that this gentleman must
know Violette's parents, and that they have played some vile trick on
him, and that there's some deviltry in all this that we don't know
about."

"I don't care; I propose to go to Paris and ask her to forgive me for
suspecting her."

"So far as that goes, you will do well; but that ain't any reason for
leaving your protector, for behaving mean to him, and I don't
propose----"

"Hush! here he is!'"

Monsieur de Brévanne had returned from Paris. He saw the two young men.
He observed Georget's excitement and agitation, and, divining a part of
the truth, he went at once to his protégé, and asked him, pointing to
Chicotin:

"Who is this young man?"

"He is a friend of mine, monsieur, an old comrade; he is Chicotin, whom
I've mentioned to you once or twice."

"Ah! yes, I remember. What does he want?"

"He came, monsieur, to tell me that Violette tried to throw herself into
the water, when she left this house after you had driven her away; for
it was she, monsieur, it was really she who came here, and you told me
that it wasn't.--Poor Violette! but for him she would not be alive, and
I--my mother would not have any son!"

Georget burst into sobs. Chicotin twisted his face and mouth, and did
his utmost not to weep with his friend. Monsieur de Brévanne, who was
deeply moved himself, tapped Chicotin on the shoulder, saying to him:

"You are a fine fellow; I shall not forget it."

Chicotin took off his hat and passed the back of his hand over his nose
and eyes.

"And you, Georget," continued the count, "you are very angry with me,
aren't you? But your young friend Violette has made her peace with me;
won't you do as she has done?"

"Violette! monsieur has seen Violette? Is it possible?"

"Yes, my dear boy, and to-day isn't the first time that I have tried to
express to her my regret for what had taken place. On the very next day
after her unfortunate journey, I went to Paris expressly to see her; but
she was not in her place; you must have noticed that I went to Paris
several days in succession."

"That is true, monsieur."

"It was always in the hope of meeting Violette; but I did not find her."

"Because she was sick, monsieur," cried Chicotin; "because she was
confined to her bed with fever."

"I know it, my boy; she told me all that just now; but she is in her
place to-day; and now she is not angry with me any more, and she hopes
that you will not be angry with her, Georget; for I told her that you
would go to see her; did I do right?"

Georget, who passed as quickly from wrath to affection as from sadness
to joy, seized Monsieur de Brévanne's hand and squeezed it violently,
crying:

"I was wrong to think that you were unkind, I ought to have known that
it was impossible. Oh! let me go at once to see her, monsieur, to ask
her pardon for thinking her guilty, to tell her that I have never ceased
to love her."

"To-day? Why, it is quite late."

"It is only four o'clock, monsieur, and at six I shall be in Paris; at
ten o'clock I will be back again. You will let me go, won't you,
monsieur?"

"As I made you unhappy, I must make up for it."

"Ah, monsieur!"

"Go; I will tell your mother that I sent you to Paris on an errand; do
not come back until to-morrow morning in order not to run the risk of
being on the road so late."

"Oh! thanks, monsieur, thanks a thousand times!--Come, Chicotin, let us
go."

"But I haven't had a chance to rest or to eat anything!" muttered the
young messenger, making a wry face.

"Come, come; I'll treat you to supper."

"_Fichtre!_ the bill of fare will have to be long then."

"Here, my boy," said the count, putting a twenty-franc piece into
Chicotin's hand; "here is something for your supper; I propose to treat
you, for Georget is quite capable of starting off without any money."

"Thanks, monsieur, we will have a little spree, eh, Georget?--Why, where
is he? Out on the road already! Bless my soul! he is capable of making
me run all the way to Paris."

Georget was going at the speed of a Basque; Chicotin succeeded in
overtaking him, however, and said as he trotted along beside him:

"We'll take a carriage at Vincennes. I have some money, for Monsieur
Malberg gave me twenty francs; there's a fine man for you!"

"Why take a carriage? we can go faster on foot."

"Oh, no! not much! and even if we could, is it worth while to use
ourselves up and arrive in Paris sick, or to be sick to-morrow? And
besides, what hurry is there now? You are sure to find her,--she won't
fly away."

"Ah! you are not in love, Chicotin! you don't know what it is to go back
to the girl you love; and it seems to me that I have been away from her
for years."

"Ah! there's a coucou.--I say, driver, two seats for Paris!"

"On the box, if that suits you?"

"I should say so; we adore the box."

The two friends mounted to the driver's seat. Each moment Georget was
tempted to seize the whip and lash the horse, which did not go fast
enough to suit him. The driver defended his horse and his whip, and
Chicotin's hands were full in trying to keep peace on their seat. At
last they arrived in Paris, and Georget said to his friend:

"Go to the wine-shop on the corner of Faubourg du Temple, and wait there
for me; then we'll have supper. Au revoir."

And he disappeared like a flash from the eyes of his friend, who said to
himself:

"Oh! run as much as you please now; I have no desire to follow you, for
I don't propose to ruin my liver."

Georget was not at all anxious that his comrade should go with him to
find Violette; when one has been parted for a long while from the girl
he loves, when one has been at odds with her, one desires to see her
again without witnesses; secrecy, aye, and silence, must preside at
that interview, for one speaks with the eyes as much as with the voice,
and any witness is a nuisance at such a blissful moment.

Georget drew near the Château d'Eau. It was flower market day, and
although the weather was already a little cold, there were still enough
people on the boulevard for the young man to approach without being seen
by Violette. He spied her at last, but there were two ladies in front of
her, selecting bouquets. So that he was fain to be content to look at
her, to devour her with his eyes. He drew nearer and nearer, keeping
behind her customers. Suddenly, as she raised her eyes, the young flower
girl saw Georget standing like a statue and gazing at her as a repentant
sinner gazes at a Madonna. Violette blushed and turned pale in quick
succession. But her young friend's eyes were so expressive, they
implored her forgiveness so eloquently, that the flower girl bestowed
her sweetest glance upon him, and being unable as yet to speak to him,
began to cover with kisses a small bunch of violets, which she then
proceeded to drop on the ground, and which was almost instantly pressed
against Georget's lips.

At last the customers went away, and Georget was able to approach.

"How happy I am to see you again, Violette! oh, how long the time has
seemed to me while away from you!"

"And to me too, Georget."

"Ah! I suspected you, Violette, I accused you! I know that I was wrong;
will you forgive me for thinking you guilty?"

"Yes, I forgive you, for appearances were against me; and even now you
have only my word for a proof of my innocence."

"That is enough, and hereafter I want nothing else."

"But I should like right well to force the man who slandered me to tell
the truth."

"Let us not talk of that now; I am so happy! I was dying of ennui away
from you, dear Violette. If you knew how I love you!"

"Mon Dieu! Georget, I realized that I loved you too, since your
desertion caused me so much pain and unhappiness."

"Dear Violette! what joy! you love me, you tell me so! there is no one
on earth happier than I am."

"And I am very happy too."

"I am eighteen years old now, Violette, and I can marry you."

"We have time enough, my dear, now that we are sure that we love each
other; can we want anything more?"

"We will be married, all the same; you will be my wife, won't you,
Violette?"

"What a question! when I refuse to be anybody else's!"

"Ah! it is nice of you to say that!"

"But it is growing dark; it is late, Georget; will you help me to close
my booth and carry my flowers away? As I have been sick and am not very
strong yet, I must not stay out late."

"You are right, you mustn't endanger your health. Give me all the
flowers, all the bunches you have left; I will carry them, and this tray
and the chair."

"Oh, no! I can carry something myself, Georget."

"Give them all to me, I beg."

"No, monsieur, for then I shall look as if I were lazy."

The two young lovers soon had the booth closed. Then they walked toward
Rue de Crussol, Georget never weary of gazing at Violette, and she
always smiling at Georget.

"So you have changed your lodging, have you?"

"Yes, I live here now, right up at the top; but it is very pleasant; and
then it is a very decent house. I have a little corner of the courtyard
where I keep my flowers, near a pump; it is always cool
there.--Good-night, Georget."

"What! are we going to part already?"

"You know very well that you can't come up to my room, Georget, you who
are my sweetheart; that wouldn't be proper."

"Oh! I have no idea of asking you to let me do that, Violette; but
suppose, after you have put your flowers in the yard, you would take a
little walk with me on the boulevard; we have been together such a short
time."

"All right, I will do it; but we mustn't walk long."

"A few minutes, that's all."

Violette went in to arrange her tray and her flowers; then she returned
to Georget, passed her arm through his, and they walked away, talking
together, looking at each other, pressing against each other, happier
than the great ones of the earth, happier than the millionaires, happier
than all those whom people envy; for true love and youth!--you would
seek in vain to find anything superior to these.

Meanwhile the evening advanced, and the two lovers, who had not begun to
weary of looking at each other, of squeezing each other's hands and of
repeating that they would love each other forever, could not make up
their minds to part. When Violette said: "I must go in," Georget
replied: "Just a minute more." When he expressed a fear that she was
cold, she reassured him by saying that the walk would do her good.

But Chicotin, who was not in love and who was dying of hunger, waited in
vain for his friend to join him at the place he had appointed. Weary of
waiting, Chicotin went to the flower market, but found no one there.
Then he went to Violette's abode, and asked the concierge if the young
flower girl had come home; and Madame Lamort informed him that, after
putting her flowers in their place, she had gone out on the arm of a
very young and comely man, saying that she would soon return.

Chicotin sat down on a carriage stone, muttering:

"For a convalescent, Mamzelle Violette is very imprudent, to walk about
so long after dark."

"That's what I told them!" cried the concierge. "But as Mirontaine
barked at that moment, I guess they didn't hear me."

Chicotin had been on sentry duty for half an hour, when Monsieur de
Roncherolle, on his way to his room, spied him and said:

"What are you doing here, my boy?"

"I am waiting for my friend Georget, who is walking with Mamzelle
Violette, bourgeois."

"Ah! so this Georget is----"

"The fellow who loves her so dearly, who suspected her of having gone
wrong, and who came to-day to beg her pardon, because I went to Monsieur
Malberg, your friend's, at Nogent, where he lives----"

"To Monsieur Malberg's; you mean the friend who came to see me on Rue de
Bretagne?"

"Yes, bourgeois."

"And who was the cause of my moving!--Look you, Chicotin, if you take it
into your head to mention me to your friend again, and to tell him that
I live in this house, I warn you that I will pull your ears so that you
can cover your nose with them!"

"Never fear, bourgeois; I won't mention you; I have no desire to force
you to move again."

"You will do well."

"Ah! here are the lovers coming back at last!"

"Then I will go up to my room."

"And I am going to supper! I am not sorry for that."



XL

MORE BOUQUETS


Six days after that evening, Monsieur de Brévanne returned to his rooms
in Paris, bringing Georget and Pongo. Worthy Mère Brunoy, who enjoyed
the country immensely and who was beginning to understand that her son
was becoming reasonable enough to be able to do without her, had asked
permission to remain at Nogent, where Georget had promised to go to see
her twice a week.

On the day following his return to Paris, Monsieur de Brévanne went to
see Violette and said to her:

"My dear child, I am going to give you an errand to do; it is not a
dangerous one, for it is a bona fide lady to whom I am sending you."

"Oh! monsieur, when it's you who send me, I will go wherever you
please."

"Well, it is another bouquet for you to carry; you will make a very fine
one, and go to Madame de Grangeville's, Rue Fontaine-Saint-Georges,
number 19."

"Very well, monsieur."

"That is not all; you will take the bouquet up yourself, and ask to be
allowed to hand it to the lady in person--in person, you understand; I
shall be very glad to have her see you. It is probable that she will
ask you from whom you come, and you will tell her that you do not know,
that it was a gentleman who sent you on the errand, with many
compliments from him. If she asks you to describe him, be very careful
not to draw my portrait--wait a moment,"--and the count, trying to
recall the features of Monsieur de Merval, continued: "You will tell her
that it was a gentleman, stylishly dressed, of distinguished bearing,
and medium height; who is no longer young, but who has almost the look
of a young man; of light complexion, with rather a red face.--Can you
remember all that, Violette?"

"I have not lost a word, monsieur."

"I am teaching you to lie, but under these circumstances I assure you
that it is excusable. Try to talk a little with the lady, but be very
careful never to mention my name in the conversation, and not to say
that you have been at Nogent."

"Very good, monsieur."

"If this lady should ask you any questions about yourself, about your
family, say simply that you are an abandoned child, that you have never
known your parents."

"When I say that, I shall not lie, monsieur."

"No; but say nothing more, do not mention the embroidered handkerchief,
and above all things, do not mention the name of Evelina de Paulausky.
Be sure, my poor girl, that I give you all these instructions in your
own interest."

"Oh! I have no doubt of that, monsieur; but,--forgive me for this
question--did this lady ever know my mother?"

"It may be that through her we may succeed in finding her; but to obtain
that result, it is necessary that she should know nothing at first of
any of the peculiar facts concerning you; that will seem to you most
extraordinary, no doubt, my child; but have confidence in me, and if you
still have a mother, I will restore her to you, yes, I will restore her
to you."

"Then you are not sure that she is still alive, monsieur?"

The count was silent for a moment, then replied:

"No, no; but go and deliver this bouquet, Violette, and forget nothing
of what I have enjoined upon you. On your way back from Madame de
Grangeville, come to my rooms, and tell me the result of your errand."

The count walked away. The young flower girl hastily made a bouquet of
the freshest and prettiest flowers in her stock. Then she set out for
Rue Fontaine-Saint-Georges, greatly surprised at the emotion which she
felt at having so simple an errand to do. But the injunctions of
Georget's protector led her to think that the person to whom she was
going knew the secret of her birth, and she said to herself that it was
that idea that made her heart beat so fast.

"Madame," said Mademoiselle Lizida, opening the door of the small salon
where her mistress was sitting, "there is someone here with a bouquet
for you."

"A bouquet! somebody has sent me a bouquet?"

"Yes, madame."

"Well, if it's that Savoyard again, from Monsieur de Roncherolle, I
don't propose to receive him; send him away, him and his bouquet; I
don't propose to have any further relations with his master. Bah! that
man disgusts me!"

"Oh! it isn't the messenger this time, madame; it's a very pretty young
girl, really very pretty, and the bouquet is magnificent. I am very sure
that it comes from someone else."

"Do you think so? that makes a difference; show the girl in."

Violette was ushered into Madame de Grangeville's presence; the flower
girl was agitated, trembling, and her cheeks were a brilliant scarlet;
but that emotion simply added to her beauty, and the baroness at sight
of her, exclaimed:

"Why, the girl is very pretty, really! very pretty, indeed!"

Violette made a curtsy and offered her bouquet.

"You have brought me a bouquet, mademoiselle?"

"Yes, madame."

"It is very handsome, very tasteful.--But from whom do you come? for I
must know to whom I am indebted for this attention."

"I do not know, madame."

"You don't know? Ah! you mean that you were told to keep it secret. But,
you know, between women such secrets should be transparent. Come, my
girl--why, she is really very pretty indeed!--who sends you? For of
course you did not come here of your own motion."

"Madame, it was a gentleman who came to me at my place, at my booth."

"Ah! so you are----"

"A flower girl, madame."

"And where is your booth? on Rue de la Paix?"

"No, madame, on Boulevard Saint-Martin, near the Château d'Eau; I sell
out of doors."

"Poor girl! an open air flower girl! what a pity, with that pretty
face!--But to return to our subject: a gentleman came to you and told
you to bring this bouquet?"

"Yes, madame."

"And he gave you no other message for me?"

"No, madame--that is to say, he said: 'You will also offer the lady many
compliments from me!'"

"From him? What sort of looking man was he? Did he walk with difficulty,
leaning on a cane?"

"No, madame, this gentleman had no cane, and he walked very well."

"So much the better! so much the better! you set my mind at rest.--About
how old was this stranger?"

"Why, he is no longer young, madame; and still he has the appearance and
manners of a young man."

"Ah! very good; I am on the track; he is a very stylish, well-dressed
man, is he not?"

"Yes, madame, he was very well-dressed; and his manner was very
distinguished."

"What is the color of his hair?"

"He is light-haired, with a rather red face."

"Enough! enough! I know perfectly now who it is."

And Madame de Grangeville, leaning toward her maid, who was behind her
chair, said in an undertone:

"It is he again, I was sure of it; it is Monsieur de Merval.--Well, what
are you looking at so attentively, Lizida?"

"I was looking at this girl, madame, and the more I look at her--why, it
is perfectly amazing! is it possible that you haven't noticed it,
madame?"

"Noticed what, pray?"

"This pretty flower girl--for she is pretty, is she not, madame?"

"Yes, very pretty indeed; well?"

"Why, madame, she looks like you, yes, she looks very much like you!"

"Do you think so?--Yes, there is in fact something in her features, in
her mouth--but I used to be prettier than she is!"

Violette blushed, and was sorely embarrassed when she saw that the
mistress and the maid were staring at her. As they said nothing more to
her, she curtsied again and murmured:

"Has madame any further orders for me?"

"No, mademoiselle.--By the way, I will ask you, if you see this
gentleman again, to thank him a thousand times for me, and to tell him,
that, in spite of the mystery in which he envelops himself, I recognize
him none the less, and I should be very glad to see him, in order to
express in person all my gratitude; can you remember all that, my girl?"

"Oh! yes, madame, I have a good memory; I shan't forget anything, I
promise you."

"Very good.--It is certain that there is a something about you--how old
are you?"

"Nineteen, madame."

"Nineteen!"

Madame de Grangeville seemed struck by that answer; she reflected a
moment, then answered:

"What! you are nineteen years old? You don't look it. Have you many
brothers and sisters?"

"No, madame, I am alone."

"Aha! and your mother sells flowers as you do, no doubt?"

"My mother--I don't know her, madame; I am a--an abandoned child."

Madame de Grangeville could not control an impulsive movement; but she
soon recovered herself, saying:

"How foolish I am! There are very many things in the world which
resemble one another in some details. The most amusing part of this is
that this girl looks so much like me; it is a mere freak of chance, for
the other, if she's alive, must be in the depths of Picardie."

Then, turning toward the girl, the baroness continued, aloud:

"Well, my child, you may go.--But, perhaps you have not been paid, and
you are waiting----"

"Yes, I am paid, madame; I was not waiting for anything but to be
dismissed."

"She talks very well.--Go then, and do not forget what I told you to say
to Monsieur de Merval."

"Monsieur de----?"

"How thoughtless I am, to mention his name! I meant to say, the
gentleman who sent you to bring this bouquet to me."

"I shall not forget anything, madame."

Violette took her leave, deeply moved by the interview she had had with
the lady, and wondering what there was in that commonplace conversation
to cause her such emotion. She went at once to the count's and found him
impatiently awaiting her; he made her repeat the conversation she had
had with Madame de Grangeville, to the slightest detail.

"What do you think of that lady?" enquired Monsieur de Brévanne, when
Violette had told him everything.

"I think that she is very good-looking, that is to say, she must have
been good-looking; her features are worn now--she is not young, is she,
monsieur?"

"No, certainly not. Was she pleasant and affable with you?"

"Yes, monsieur, she was very polite; but her manner was rather haughty."

"Very well, my child, go back to your flowers; next week you shall carry
another bouquet to Madame de Grangeville."

"Very good, monsieur; and must I let her think that that one too comes
from a Monsieur de Merval? For she is fully persuaded that it was a
gentleman of that name who sent me to her."

"You must be very careful not to undeceive her."

On leaving the count, the young flower girl met Georget, whom she told
what she had been doing, and who walked with her to her booth, saying:

"We have come back to Paris. Monsieur Malberg gives me writing and
figuring to do and sends me on errands; but that won't prevent me from
seeing you every day. I am so happy! every morning I will come to the
boulevard to bid you good-morning, and in the evening I will come to
help you carry home your flowers."

"I agree to that, Georget, but only on condition that it doesn't
interfere with your work. I haven't told you, but I believe that
Monsieur Malberg will help me find my family."

"Your family! what need of them have you now? Don't I fill the place of
your family?"

"But, Georget, a person is always very glad to have a family, and if I
still had a mother----"

"Your mother! as she abandoned you, it must have been that she didn't
love you."

"Who can tell? Perhaps she was compelled to."

"And if your family should prove to be rich, they wouldn't be willing
that I should be your husband perhaps. Look you, Violette, I prefer that
you shouldn't find anybody."

"What a child you are, Georget!"

"There is someone that I would like to find, myself! But I would treat
him as he deserves to be treated!"

"Whom are you talking about, Georget?"

"That Monsieur Jéricourt, who laid that trap for you, and then went
about saying----"

"I beg you, Georget, let us say no more about that. You are convinced
that I am not guilty, aren't you?"

"Oh! can you ask me that, Violette?"

"Well, my dear, don't think any more about that man; I don't want you to
find him, do you understand? And if anything should happen to you, think
of your mother, and of me. Would you like to kill us with grief?
Besides, I never see him now, he never passes my booth."

"And he does well! for if I should see him pass--But I don't know where
he keeps himself now; no one ever sees him anywhere; Chicotin isn't any
luckier than I am. I went to his lodgings, but he had moved; no one
knows where he lives now; he must have left the quarter."

"I beg of you, Georget, do not look for that man any more; if you do,
you will make me very unhappy. Do you think that I haven't had sorrow
enough?"

"I am done, mamzelle; I will obey you. But you see, I am past eighteen
now, I am no longer a child, and I don't propose that anyone shall say
anything about you!"

A month passed, during which Violette went every week to take a bouquet
to Madame de Grangeville, who was still persuaded that it was Monsieur
de Merval to whom she owed that attention. When the young flower girl
returned from Rue Fontaine-Saint-Georges, Monsieur de Brévanne inquired
particularly what had taken place between her and Madame de Grangeville;
he insisted that the young girl should repeat the most trivial words of
their conversation. He did not understand how the baroness could fail to
show more interest in Violette, more curiosity to know something about
her; that indifference surprised him, for it seemed to him that a secret
voice must have spoken to the baroness's heart, and led her to think
that the girl was her child.

One morning, Monsieur de Brévanne betook himself to Boulevard du Château
d'Eau, with the purpose of sending Violette to Madame de Grangeville
again; but the flower girl was not in her place. Fearing that she might
be sick, the count was about to return home, in order to send Georget to
inquire for Violette, when, as he turned, he saw her approaching with
her flowers.

"You thought that I was lazy, did you not, monsieur?" said Violette as
she curtsied to the count, "but don't scold me, it isn't that."

"In the first place, my child, I never think anything bad of you; but I
was afraid that you might not be feeling well."

"Oh, no! monsieur, it isn't I who am sick; it's a poor gentleman--if you
only knew how he suffers! it makes one's heart ache!"

"Is it some one whom you know?"

"It is a neighbor of mine, a gentleman who lives in the same house, just
below me, and who, when I was sick some time ago, was kind enough to
come up to see me, to take an interest in me, and to order a medicine
which cured me; and then he came sometimes to sit with me; so that it is
quite natural now that I should try to be of some use to him, is it not,
monsieur?"

"Certainly, and no one could blame you for it, my child."

"Besides that, I have an idea that this gentleman--oh! he won't admit
it, but I am inclined to think that he is short of money, and that he
can't supply himself with all that he needs to cure himself."

"Do you think so? But, if he is a worthy man, if he deserves, as you
say, to be aided, we will come to his assistance."

"Oh! that won't be easy, I tell you, monsieur; for, you see, he is very,
very proud, and won't allow anyone to lend him money. I was unfortunate
enough last night to propose to go and order a prescription which the
doctor had left for him. He said to me: 'How are you going to pay for
it? I haven't given you any money.' I answered: 'Dear me! that doesn't
make any difference; I have some money, and you can pay me back.'--At
that, he shouted at me almost angrily: 'I don't propose to have anyone
lend me money! I haven't asked you for it, I don't need any medicine,
and I won't have it, I won't have anything!'--And it isn't possible to
make him listen to reason. Aside from that, he is very good-natured, and
whenever his pain grows a little less, he always has something amusing
to say. The fact is, that he has a very _comme il faut_ manner, like
you, monsieur; and perhaps he was once rich like you."

"What is the matter with him?"

"Gout, so he says."

"Gout?--and his name--do you know his name?"

"Yes, his name is Monsieur de Roncherolle."

"Roncherolle!"

The count repeated the name with such evident surprise and agitation
that the girl was terrified.

"What is the matter, monsieur?" she stammered; "does that name also
recall painful memories? Do you know my unfortunate neighbor?"

"Yes, yes, my child, I do know him; but be very careful not to speak to
him of me, not to mention my name before him, for you would simply
aggravate his trouble."

"Very well, monsieur, I will be careful.--But, monsieur, does it make
you angry that I go to take care of my neighbor when I have time?"

"No, Violette, no, no! on the contrary, devote yourself to this Monsieur
de Roncherolle; far from blaming you for it, I urge you to do it; it is
your duty, for it is always a duty to help one's neighbor. But listen to
me: if, while talking, this gentleman should question you about your
family,--I mean, concerning what you know as to the manner in which you
were given in charge to your nurse,--don't tell him any more than you
have told Madame de Grangeville."

"I will remember, monsieur."

"All this must seem very strange to you; but pray believe that it is for
your own welfare that I advise you to act thus."

"Oh! you tell me to do it, monsieur, and that is enough for me; have I
not placed all my confidence in you?"

"I will reward you for it, my child. Au revoir."

"Are you going, monsieur? have you no orders for me? don't you want me
to carry a bouquet to Madame de Grangeville to-day?"

"No, no; it is better that you should make haste to sell your flowers
and return to do what you can for Monsieur de Roncherolle. Madame de
Grangeville can do without flowers, but the man who is suffering cannot
do without help."

The count left the young flower girl and returned home deep in thought,
saying to himself:

"I see the finger of Providence in all this. Now this girl passes a part
of each day with her father--and her mother, and she does not know them!
Ought I to make them known to her? Are they worthy of her affection, of
her love?--Guide me, oh God, and show me where my duty lies."



XLI

A NEW WAY OF OBTAINING REVENGE


The weather was cold and dull, and a fall of snow ending in rain added
to the discomfort of a penetrating dampness. But the fireplace of the
small room in which Roncherolle lay contained only two small sticks,
which had been laid near together, but which imparted no heat to the
room.

Roncherolle was suffering horribly with his gout, and as he was alone,
he did not hesitate to complain in very energetic fashion; despite his
resolutions to be philosophical, pain sometimes won the victory over his
courage; but when Violette was with him he did his utmost to conceal his
suffering.

The young girl came in; she held in one hand a tea-pot, in the other a
cup and a sugar-bowl full of sugar; she approached the invalid and
placed all those objects on the table beside his bed.

"Here I am, monsieur; I'm a little late this morning, perhaps, but I
wanted to make this tea that was ordered for you, before I came down; I
have brought it with me; it's scalding hot, and you must drink it."

Roncherolle dissembled his agony and tried to smile at Violette, as he
said to her:

"How good you are, my child! how kind to a person whom you hardly know,
and who has no claim upon your interest!"

"No claim! well, upon my word! when I was sick, didn't you come to see
me? And you didn't know me at all! I should be very ungrateful if I did
not do for you what you did for me."

"But such a difference; in the first place, you were hardly sick at all;
and then it is always a pleasure to make oneself useful to a young lady;
whereas a sick old man is not an agreeable object."

"Oh, yes! you are very agreeable, when you are not in too much pain; you
always have stories and adventures to tell us.--But how are you feeling
this morning?"

"Still about the same; a little better, perhaps."

"No, I see by your face that you suffered terribly during the night,
that you are suffering still!"

"No; when you are here, I suffer less."

"Very well; then you should let me pass the night with you, as I wanted
to."

"God forbid that you should go without sleep on my account, and be sick
again perhaps. I won't have it; and besides, my dear neighbor, there's
nothing to be done for the disease that I have--one simply must know how
to suffer."

"I don't believe that myself; there must be remedies for everything.
Drink this now. Here, sweeten it to suit yourself."

"This is strange; this sugar-bowl is full, and yet I remember that there
were only a few pieces in it yesterday."

Violette turned her face away as she replied:

"Oh! you were--you had some more--in a paper, and I put it with the
other."

Roncherolle looked at the girl, but she was busily engaged in putting
the room in order.--Chicotin arrived at that moment, with a red nose,
and beating his hands together.

"Good-morning, bourgeois and the company," he cried. "How does it go
this morning, bourgeois?"

"Not very well, my boy."

"Mère Lamort told me to tell you that she couldn't come up this morning;
Mirontaine has swallowed a bone that stuck in his throat, so that he
ain't able to bark and watch the door."

"Oh! bless my soul! we don't need the concierge," said Violette; "am I
not here?"

"But you have your business that demands your attention, my child," said
Roncherolle, "and I don't propose that you shall neglect your business
for me; in fact, it's already late, I think, and you should be at your
stand."

"No, monsieur, it isn't late; and anyway this isn't a market day, and in
such weather as this, I am in no hurry; I shouldn't sell anything, for
there won't be anyone out of doors."

"It's beastly weather, that's true enough!" cried Chicotin; "and cold!
why, my nose and fingers are frozen stiff. But it ain't very warm in
your room either, bourgeois; _bigre!_ it's just the same as being on
the boulevard."

"Well, stir up the fire, put on some wood."

"I ask nothing better."

Chicotin looked in all directions, then went into the outer room, and
returned in a moment, saying:

"There's one little difficulty, bourgeois, and that is that I don't find
any wood; the wood pile seems to have gone up in smoke."

"Already! the devil! the wood seems to go faster than the sugar!"

"Oh! that's easy to understand--it's dearer, because--look you,
bourgeois, here's a comparison: for fifteen sous, you get three or four
sticks of wood; they're bigger than a pound of sugar, to be sure, but
they're very soon burned up; in one day they're all gone; whereas, with
a pound of sugar, you've got something to lap and sip for a long while!"

"I'll do without fire," said Roncherolle. "Lying in bed, I don't need
it, and my little neighbor is going away."

"What a bungling fellow you are, Chicotin!" said Violette to the young
messenger, in an undertone; "you shouldn't have said anything, but when
you saw that there wasn't any wood in the other room, you should have
gone up to my room; you would have found some there. You know that
Monsieur de Roncherolle isn't willing that anybody should lend him
anything, so we must help him without letting him suspect it; and I
don't propose that he shall stay without a fire."

"That is true, I am an idiot!" muttered Chicotin, shaking his head; "but
bless my soul! I couldn't guess all that. Never mind, don't worry, I'll
fix it all right; I'll find some way to make a fire."

"Monsieur," said the girl, returning to the invalid, "if I remember
right, the doctor who came to see you yesterday prescribed medicine for
your gout."

"Doctors don't know of any remedy for this disease, my neighbor; several
of them have told me this themselves when talking with me."

"Nonsense! I have been told of several people who were entirely cured;
and I remember now--it was syrup of _Boubée_ that he told you to take."

"That is quite possible."

"I beg you, monsieur, take some of it; even if it should do nothing but
lessen the pain, would that not be a great gain?"

"As you insist upon it, I will take some."

"If you are willing, monsieur, I won't stay long in my booth to-day, and
I will bring you some in a little while when I come home."

"No, no, my little neighbor, I won't have it; for you never tell me the
price of things; you manage so that they cost me almost nothing. But I
don't propose to have that, and I shall be angry if you go on acting in
that way; I shall be obliged to deprive myself of the pleasure of seeing
you."

"Oh! it wouldn't do any good for you to forbid me to come, monsieur; I
should come all the same!"

Violette said this with such heartfelt earnestness that Roncherolle felt
the tears gather in his eyes. He pressed the girl's hand and replied in
a cheerful tone:

"I will obey you, neighbor; come, Chicotin, my groom, come here."

"Here I am, bourgeois."

"Go to the druggist's on the corner of the boulevard, and ask for some
syrup of Boubée. Will you remember that name?"

"I should say so; it isn't hard to remember. Syrup of Poupée."

"Boubée, you idiot! not Poupée."

"Oh! very good."

"Wait; I prefer to write it for you."

"On the whole, that will be better; my tongue might slip again."

"Here you are; and take that two-franc piece there--upon my table; I am
inclined to believe that that will be enough."

"Let us hope so! a paltry syrup--that can't cost so much as that; for
two francs you could get a lot of molasses.--I will go right away,
bourgeois."

"Aren't you going to your stand, my little neighbor?" Roncherolle asked
Violette, who was stooping in front of the fire, trying to make the two
sticks burn by putting under them all the old papers that were lying
about the room.

"In a minute, neighbor; I will wait until Chicotin comes back."

"And your love-affairs, my child, how do they come on? You are fully
reconciled with your young lover now, I hope?"

"Yes, monsieur. Oh! Georget loves me dearly; he comes to see me every
day at my booth, and I am very happy, except when he frightens me."

"What's that? your lover frightens you?"

"You will understand, monsieur; Georget has never forgotten the
abominable remarks that that Monsieur Jéricourt made about me, and the
trap he led me into; but, monsieur, you don't know--Georget says that he
will kill Monsieur Jéricourt."

"He is right; he is a fine fellow; in his place, I would do the same."

"But I don't want him to fight; for, after all, monsieur, the man who is
in the right doesn't always win; and if Georget were killed, I should be
very unhappy."

"You are right; that boy must not take the risk; he is so
young--eighteen, did you tell me?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Then he probably doesn't know anything about the sword or the pistol?"

"Nothing at all; he would be killed instantly."

"Patience, my little neighbor. Corbleu! if only I could get well!--But I
hear Chicotin, I believe."

The young messenger returned with a sheepish expression, holding the
two-franc piece in his hand.

"Well, where is the syrup, Chicotin?" asked Roncherolle.

"The syrup is at the druggist's, monsieur."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that it's an outrage! Just fancy that a little bottle no bigger
than my wrist costs twelve francs!"

"Twelve francs?"

"Yes, monsieur, syrup of Poupée twelve francs, no less; it wasn't any
use for me to say: 'Put me up forty sous' worth in a little pomade box';
he laughed in my face and told me they didn't sell it at retail; he
showed me a bottle, all sealed, with the price on it. Then I said: 'If
the gout can only be cured at that price, only rich people can be
cured!'--'Only rich people have the gout,' said the clerk. I say,
bourgeois, that's nonsense, ain't it? For it seems to me that you're
none too well fixed."

Violette nudged Chicotin, saying in an undertone:

"You ought to have said that the syrup wasn't ready, and I would have
gone out and bought it and paid for it without letting Monsieur de
Roncherolle know the price."

"He would have found it out all the same, mamzelle, for the price is
pasted on the bottle; it wouldn't have been possible to deceive him, and
how he would have sworn then!"

Roncherolle had dropped his head on the pillow, and said nothing more.
Chicotin handed him the two-franc piece, saying:

"Shall I buy anything else with this, bourgeois?"

"You may buy some wood, my boy, and make a fire; but not until evening;
for my little neighbor comes to sit with me in the evening, and I don't
want her to freeze in my room.--Now leave me, my children; I don't want
anything more, and I am going to try to sleep."

Violette pressed the invalid's hand and went out, with a feeling of
oppression at her heart; Chicotin followed her, muttering:

"Poor dear man, not to be able to buy what might cure him; it ain't very
gay here; but never mind, I will come back soon and see if he wants
something else that don't cost so much."

"And you won't spend his two francs, will you, Chicotin? you must get
some wood in my room."

"Yes, mamzelle, but what shall I do with his money? I can't give it back
to him."

"Keep it; it will serve to buy something else which may be dearer still;
and you mustn't tell him, as you did to-day. To think of his being
without a fire, in such cold weather, and when he is suffering so! for
to-day I could see on his face the efforts he made to conceal his
suffering; why, it makes me want to cry!"

"After all, Mamzelle Violette, you mustn't feel so bad for somebody who
ain't anything to you."

"Oh! he is so wretched, without relations, or friends, sick and poor;
and then there are people for whom you feel affection right away; and
Georget won't be jealous of him; I feel that I have a sincere affection
for him."

"I am going to see if Mirontaine is cured, and if Madame Lamort can go
up."

Violette had been at her stand for some time, when Monsieur de Brévanne
came there and inquired about her neighbor. The girl gave him an exact
description of his plight; she concealed nothing from him, neither his
suffering, nor the privations which he was obliged to undergo, nor the
pride which made him refuse any assistance in the form of money.

"He has no fire now," said Violette, her eyes wet with tear; "and he
isn't willing that we should make him one before evening, because I go
to sit with him in the evening, poor man! and he did not have the money
to buy something that might perhaps have cured him.--Ah! he is very
unfortunate!"

The count listened attentively to the girl's story; Roncherolle's
position touched him more than he chose to show. He stood for some time
buried in thought, then he said to Violette:

"I would like to judge for myself of this gentleman's plight, of his
situation, but I should not want him to see me."

"That is very easy, monsieur; in the first place, Monsieur de
Roncherolle never leaves his bed, and a person can stand in the outer
room and look into the other without his seeing him; in the second
place, he often sleeps, and I am always careful not to wake him."

"Well, I will go this evening, I will go to see you, with Georget."

"Oh! how kind it is of you, monsieur! I am very sure that you will have
compassion on my poor neighbor."

"On your account--it is possible.--But not a word concerning me, my
child!"

"Oh! I am dumb, monsieur; but I am very glad that you are coming to see
my neighbor."

About eight o'clock in the evening, Violette was installed in
Roncherolle's room; he had been dozing for some time, and when he woke,
his eyes met those of the young girl, who, as she mended her neighbor's
linen, glanced at him often to see if he were asleep.

"Really, my dear child," said Roncherolle, "your kindness to me fills me
with gratitude, and reconciles me to your sex; for, if I must admit it,
I had but a very slight esteem for women."

"Why so, monsieur? have they injured you?"

"Not exactly; but they are responsible for my having injured others, and
that amounts to the same thing."

"Why no, monsieur, if they didn't advise you to do it."

"They do not need to advise us to make fools of ourselves; they lead us
into it easily enough without that."

"I don't understand, monsieur."

"So much the better for you, my child.--But what are you doing there?
God forgive me, I believe that you are patching my rags!"

"Well! I had nothing to do, and I like to be busy; I thought that it
wouldn't offend you if I should take a few stitches in your linen."

"Offend me! ah! my dear girl, you are too kind to me; one does not take
offence with those who are so kind to them. Ah me! when I think----"

Here Roncherolle paused and heaved a profound sigh. Violette looked up
at him and said:

"What are you thinking about, monsieur, that makes you sigh so? You
mustn't think of melancholy things when you are sick."

"I am thinking, my dear child, that I might have with me--my own
daughter,--who, however, I am sure, would take no better care of me than
you do."

"Your daughter! what, monsieur, you have a daughter, and she is not with
you when you are ill and suffering!"

"If she is not with me, it is not her fault,--it is mine."

"Ah! then it is you who have sent her away, and she is not in Paris, of
course?"

"No, she is not in Paris."

"Why don't you write for her to come, to join you?"

"I don't want to disturb her."

"How old is your daughter?"

"Nineteen."

"Why, that is just my age!"

"Ah! you are nineteen? And what about your parents? I never see them
with you. But I remember now, that you told me that you had lost them."

"I never knew my parents, monsieur; I am an abandoned child!"

"Abandoned! is it possible? what a strange coincidence!--Were you
abandoned in Paris?"

Violette, remembering the count's injunction, replied hesitatingly:

"Why--I don't know, monsieur; I--I think so."

"Poor child, what a pity! her parents do not realize what a treasure
they cast away."

Roncherolle buried his face in his pillow, murmuring:

"But my child--I do not know her; perhaps she too is lovely and good!
ah! if I could only find her! But no! why should I wish to? to force her
to share my destitution?--No, it is better as it is."

The invalid dropped asleep. Violette was anxiously awaiting that moment,
for she had heard noises in the outer room for several moments, and she
guessed who it might be. As soon as she was certain that Roncherolle was
asleep, she arose and softly opened the door of the other room, where
she found Monsieur de Brévanne and Georget.

"My neighbor is asleep; you may come in, monsieur," said Violette to the
count.

"You are quite sure that he is asleep, my child?"

"Yes, monsieur. You can tell by listening to him, his breathing is so
difficult. Poor man! it seems that he has suffered terribly all day, and
he is taking advantage of a little respite from pain, to rest."

"But you were talking just now."

"Yes, monsieur.--Oh! if you knew--he has a daughter, the poor man, and
he said that he bitterly regretted not having her with him."

"Oho! he spoke to you of his daughter, did he?"

"Yes, monsieur; can you imagine that she does not come to take care of
him, her father, when he is sick?"

"Did he tell you why she was not with him?"

"No, monsieur; he simply said that it was his fault.--But come in,
monsieur; he is sound asleep."

"Yes, I will come in. Stay here, my child, and talk with Georget; but
don't talk too loud."

"No, there's no danger of that, monsieur," said Georget; "we understand
each other perfectly well simply by looking at each other."

The count entered the room occupied by Roncherolle. A single tallow
candle, which was badly in need of snuffing, lighted that room with a
dim, uncertain light; it enabled the visitor, however, to distinguish a
cheap wall paper, torn or lacking altogether in several places; a window
with large cracks, and without curtains, in which one pane was broken,
its place being ill supplied by paper; two or three pieces of cheap
black walnut furniture; a painted cot, on which was a coarse flock bed
and a very thin mattress; on the mantel, a small mirror in a wooden
frame, and on the hearth two tiny bits of wood, which were hardly
burning.

Everything in that abode indicated poverty and privation; and the cold
that one felt there, the wind that one could hear whistling in all
directions, heightened the melancholy impression which one was certain
to feel at finding an invalid in such a place.

Monsieur de Brévanne noticed and scrutinized everything; then he walked
to the bed and gazed at Roncherolle, whose features were more than ever
changed by suffering and want, and who, even in his sleep, seemed to be
struggling with pain.

"The wretched man!" said the count to himself; "is this what the future
seemed to promise him? Endowed with every advantage, possessor of a
handsome fortune, this is what his passions have brought him to!--It is
all over; I can think no more of the vengeance which I was determined to
wreak upon him; heaven has undertaken that duty; and besides, I should
not have the courage to deprive Violette of her father; I do not know
whether men will blame me, but something tells me that the time has come
to forgive."

Roncherolle moved in his sleep, and the count instantly left the room
and joined the two young sweet-hearts, who had not found the time long.

"Well, monsieur, you have seen him," said Violette; "is he really the
man whom you used to know?"

"Yes, my child; but not a word about my visit!"

"Oh! have no fear, monsieur."

"Come, Georget, let us go."

Georget considered that he had had very little time to talk to Violette;
but he dared not make any remark, and took his leave with the count,
after exchanging a loving pressure of the hand with his sweetheart.

The next morning, about nine o'clock, Violette was in her neighbor's
room once more; he was feeling a little better, and was telling her
about a strange dream he had had, when Chicotin arrived, bringing with
him a letter, which he handed to Roncherolle.

"For you, bourgeois; it just came, so your concierge told me."

"Who can have written me? I don't know this writing," said Roncherolle,
as he broke the seal. But in an instant, he uttered a cry of surprise.

"My children, you could never guess what this letter contains; listen.

     "'Monsieur:

     "'One of your debtors, Monsieur de Juvigny, has instructed me to
     send you a thousand francs on account of what he owes you.'

"Signed--the devil take me if I can read it--Dubois or Dubosc.--But the
thousand-franc note is inside all right; here it is!"

"Ah! what good luck, monsieur! how happy it makes me for you!" said
Violette.

"Name of an--excuse me, bourgeois, but I am so glad that I brought that
letter for you!"

"Thanks, my friends, thanks, I am trying to remember--Yes, Juvigny did
owe me money--I can't remember just how much; but when I inquired about
him a few months ago, I was told that he was travelling."

"He must have sent word to this person to send you this sum, monsieur."

"Faith! I hardly expected this restitution. The money arrives most
opportunely, but I can't get over my surprise!"

"You see, monsieur, that I told you that your dream meant good luck."

"You can buy all the syrup of Poupée that you want now, bourgeois."

"Yes, my boy, and my little neighbor will be kind enough to do that for
me, and change this note. Here, my dear, is the note, here's the
thousand francs which seems to have fallen from heaven!"

"Ah! I have a strong suspicion where it fell from, myself!" thought
Violette as she left the room.



XLII

THE PIE


Ten days after the receipt of the letter containing the thousand francs,
Roncherolle was walking on the boulevard, alert and active, feeling not
a trace of his gout, and wrapped in a warm, stylish overcoat, with a new
hat on his head, patent leather shoes on his feet, in a word, dressed
with a care and elegance which changed him completely and made him look
almost like a young man.

In front of the Gymnase Theatre, Roncherolle felt a hand on his arm, and
he turned and recognized his former neighbor, young Alfred de
Saint-Arthur.

"Ah! good-morning, my dear monsieur, delighted to meet you!"

"Good-morning, my dear Monsieur de Roncherolle. I can no longer say my
neighbor, for you are not my neighbor now. You went off like a bomb
without telling me, without leaving me your address; that was very
unkind. That idiot of a Beauvinet,--you know, the young man at the
hotel,--insisted upon it that you lived at Passage I-don't-know-where.
Ah! that was a good one! that was very good!"

"You didn't try to find me at that place?"

"Oh, no! I wasn't taken in by that blockhead of a Beauvinet. I said to
myself: 'My neighbor must have had reasons for moving and not leaving
his address; such things happen every day, and indeed I think that it
may happen to me very soon.'--But I regretted you all the same; on my
word of honor I regretted you."

"That is too kind of you."

"But there was someone who regretted you much more than I did. Can't you
guess?"

"Faith, no."

"It was Zizi--you know--Zizi Dutaillis."

"Oh, yes! I remember perfectly--a very agreeable little woman."

"Well, you made a conquest of her. Every day she said to me: 'Do find
Monsieur de Roncherolle; invite me to dine again with Monsieur de
Roncherolle; I want him to teach me other ways of--you know what.'--In
fact, I never see her that she doesn't talk about you, and if you were
younger and--and--and fresher, I should be jealous of you."

"Thanks, thanks, a thousand times!"

"By the way, allow me to congratulate you; you walk very well; have you
got rid of your gout?"

"For the time; it has held me pretty tight this fall."

"And you have a bearing, a style--that coat you have on is very
well-made, very well-cut, and of handsome cloth; is it wadded?"

"As you say."

"On my word of honor! I don't say it to flatter you, but in that
overcoat you look ten years younger!"

"In that case I am very sorry that I have only one."

"By the way, let me tell you that I have profited by your lessons--you
know, the way to drink champagne,--two glasses, one on top of the other,
in a plate."

"Yes; well?"

"I have succeeded, I can do it; to be sure, I broke a dozen glasses, but
I succeeded; your pupil does you credit."

"I never doubted your ability--to drink champagne."

"And that isn't all: you know my parrot, that I was teaching--the one
that led to our becoming acquainted?"

"Yes, I remember him; is he dead?"

"No indeed; he is as well as you or I. But the delightful part of it is
that I have succeeded again."

"Really, you have made great progress since we last met."

"My parrot says now what I wanted him to."

"That was 'Good-morning, Monsieur Brillant,' I believe?"

"No, deuce take it! he said that too much! He says--and only since
yesterday, so you see that it isn't an old story--he says: 'Dutaillis is
lovely! applaud, clap Zizi!'"

"Ah! if he says all that, it's very fine; your friend must be
enchanted."

"I haven't given him to her yet, because it was only yesterday that he
said the whole sentence; and you understand that, before giving him to
Zizi, I wanted to be certain that he wouldn't make a mistake, that he
wouldn't make a slip of the tongue."

"That was decidedly prudent on your part."

"By the way, an idea, a splendid idea has just occurred to me!"

"The deuce! try to hold on to it."

"You must be kind enough to dine with Zizi and me. In the first place,
you owe us more lessons in champagne drinking."

"Really, you are very tempting, but----"

"Listen: during the dinner, I will have my parrot brought in, in--no
matter what, I will find something--and he will deliver his compliment
to my wife; you know we say 'my wife' now in speaking of a mistress, and
she says 'my husband.'"

"I didn't know that, and I confess that I should prefer anything else."

"And what do you say to my idea about the bird? Fancy Zizi's surprise
when she hears a compliment, and doesn't know where it comes from!"

"Why yes, that may well be amusing."

"Then it is agreed; we will dine together the day after to-morrow. Yes,
two days more, and then I shall be very sure that my parrot won't make a
mistake. Just we three will dine together, to laugh as loud as we
please, and talk nonsense; and at Bonvalet's as before. You agree, do
you not, my dear neighbor? I say 'my dear neighbor' from habit."

"Excuse me, my dear Saint-Arthur, your invitation is certainly very
kind, but----"

"Oh! no buts! Zizi will be so pleased to dine with you again! you can't
refuse."

"I accept, but on one condition."

"Well, what is it? Speak; I agree to it in advance."

"Well, it is that your friend, Monsieur Jéricourt, shall also be of the
party as before."

"The deuce! you surprise me! you want Jéricourt to be one of us? Why, I
thought that you didn't like him."

"I say again, if you wish to have me, have that gentleman too; I have a
special reason for wishing to meet him."

"That makes a difference; in that case, I will invite him; he shall be
one of us. I have not seen so much of him lately. He lives in the
Chaussée d'Antin. He puts on a lot of airs because he has had a play
accepted at the Odéon.--But no matter, he will come."

"Don't mention me to him; I fancy that that would make him disinclined
to come."

"I will mention nothing but the bird to him."

"What I ask you will not annoy mademoiselle, I hope?"

"Annoy her? why, pray? She will worry Jéricourt, and we will laugh at
him.--I may rely upon you now, may I not?"

"Absolutely."

"Until the day after to-morrow then, at half-past five, at Bonvalet's."

"I shall not fail you."

Saint-Arthur shook Roncherolle's hand and left him; Roncherolle
continued his walk, but more slowly, like a person too much engrossed to
notice what is going on about him.

On the second day thereafter, about five o'clock in the afternoon,
Roncherolle, who had taken much pains with his toilet, walked toward the
booth of the pretty flower girl of the Château d'Eau.

Violette greeted her neighbor with a pleasant smile, saying:

"Ah! what a pleasure it is to see you like this, monsieur! how well you
look! no one would ever suspect that you had been so sick."

"If I have recovered my health, it is due to you, my dear child, due to
your nursing, to your pleasant company."

"Oh! monsieur, you forget that syrup which did you so much good, which
cured you."

"Perhaps the syrup may have had something to do with it, but you had
much more."

"Are you going to walk, monsieur? It is cold, but fine."

"I am going to dine out, my little neighbor; a feast at Monsieur
Bonvalet's, nothing less."

"Oh! do be prudent then, monsieur; they say, you know, that with gout
you mustn't drink champagne."

"But I no longer have the gout."

"True, but suppose that should bring it back again?"

"We mustn't anticipate misfortunes so far ahead. However, I will be
prudent, and in order that I may not forget your advice, I will ask you
for a small bunch of violets."

"With pleasure, monsieur.--See, is this one big enough?"

"Quite big enough; be kind enough to fasten it tight into my
buttonhole."

"Gladly; there, now it is done, and I promise you that it won't come
out.--That is very nice! you look as if you were my true knight now."

"And so I am, my child," replied Roncherolle, emphasizing his words,
"and I hope to perform the duties of the post."

"Why, how solemnly you say that!"

"Au revoir, my dear neighbor, au revoir!"

The young flower girl looked after Roncherolle, overcome by an emotion
which she could not understand, and still murmuring:

"How he said that! I will bet that he has some purpose in wearing that
bouquet in his buttonhole."

Meanwhile, Roncherolle, who did not propose to keep the others waiting,
soon arrived at Bonvalet's, where he found the young actress and
Saint-Arthur. Mademoiselle Zizi expressed all the pleasure that she felt
at renewing her acquaintance with the professor of champagne, and said
to him, scrutinizing him from head to foot:

"Why, how fine we are! how coquettish we are! we walk almost without
limping, and we have such a _chicarde_ air!--you look after yourself,
you do, whereas Alfred takes no care of himself at all."

"What's that? I take no care of myself?"

"No, monsieur; your cravats have been wretchedly tied lately, and your
trousers don't fit as tight as they used to."

"They are not worn tight now."

"If I want you to wear tight ones, why it seems to me that you ought to
adopt my taste.--Ah! what a pretty bunch of violets you have there, old
fellow! where did you get that, you old Cupid? From some charmer, I will
wager!"

"It is true that I got them from a charming young girl."

"Aha! give us the story; tell us all about it."

"I will tell you about it, but not now; at dessert, with your
permission; it will have all the more charm."

"All right, at dessert it is. By the way, so you wanted to dine with
Jéricourt, did you? When Alfred told me that, I confess that I was
mightily surprised, you agreed so badly the other time. I said to
myself: 'There's something underneath this; Monsieur de Roncherolle has
invented some practical joke, some farce that he proposes to play on
him;' am I right?"

"I don't say no; but don't ask any more questions; I am keeping that
also in reserve for the dessert."

"Well, well! it seems that we shall laugh at dessert."

"Yes, yes," said Saint-Arthur with a meaning glance at Roncherolle. "Oh
yes! our dinner will be most amusing, and we shall laugh, I trust, at
dessert. We shall have some surprises, some unexpected incidents."

"What on earth is that idiot talking about? He assumes a mysterious air.
Frefred, I have an idea that you have some gallant attention in store
for me--is it true, my adored one?"

"I can't tell you anything; you will see!"

This conversation was interrupted by Jéricourt's arrival. That gentleman
seemed surprised at sight of Roncherolle; however, he manifested no
annoyance, and saluted the party with a smile.

"Aha! Jéricourt doesn't keep us waiting to-day; that is magnificent!"
cried Zizi; "but something extraordinary must have happened to him."

"Nothing has happened to me but the desire to be in your company as soon
as possible, fair lady."

"Well! what did I say? that is extraordinary enough!"

While the literary man addressed a few words to the young actress,
Saint-Arthur approached Roncherolle and whispered in his ear:

"I have thought of a delightful way to have my bird come in and speak,
without being seen."

"Indeed! what is it?"

"A pie--you know, like those they have on the stage; it will be brought
in and put on the table, and the parrot will be inside."

"That may be amusing, in truth; but on the stage pasteboard pies may
create an illusion; here, on the contrary, seen at such close quarters,
I am afraid that it will miss its effect."

"Oh! I anticipated that, and so it will have a genuine pie crust. I gave
my orders to Beauvinet, and he is to take the bird to an excellent
pastry cook, who is to cover it with the crust; then Beauvinet will
bring us the pie."

"That makes a difference; in that case, the illusion will be perfect."

"Isn't it an ingenious plan?"

"But aren't you afraid that your parrot will stifle in the pie?"

"Why so? They are shut up in cages."

"True, but I should say that they have more air there."

"Bah! just for a short time. Besides, I told Beauvinet to tell them to
make some little holes on top, so that he may have light, and that we
may hear him plainly."

"In that case, everything will be all right."

They took their places at the table. Jéricourt treated Roncherolle with
the utmost ceremony; but from time to time, he cast his eyes upon the
bunch of violets which the latter wore in his buttonhole, and then a
mocking smile played about his lips; but Roncherolle apparently did not
notice it.

"The champagne lessons will come with the dessert," said Saint-Arthur,
"because they always disarrange the table a bit. We spill the champagne
over ourselves, so it is better to wait."

"It is all one to me," said Zizi; "I am quite willing to wait now, for I
have fallen violently in love with madeira."

"And monsieur is arranging some lessons even more unique than the last,
no doubt?" said Jéricourt, addressing Roncherolle.

"Yes, monsieur; in fact, I am preparing a lesson for you, which, I
fancy, you hardly expect."

Meanwhile, after the first course, Saint-Arthur betrayed the liveliest
impatience, and kept ringing for the waiter and asking him:

"Has no one come to see me? Isn't there any messenger outside for me?"

"No, monsieur, no one has come."

"The deuce! he is very late!"

"What! are you expecting other guests?" said Jéricourt.

"Yes,--that is to say, I am expecting something for the dinner."

"A surprise he has arranged for me," said Zizi; "I haven't any idea what
it is, but I like to think that it will be superb!"

At last the waiter announced:

"Monsieur, there's a man here with a pie."

"Ah! very good! bravo! show him in."

"What! is your surprise a pie?" cried the young woman; "why, that is
perfectly ridiculous. I don't like pie at dinner!"

"This one, my dear love, is not like most pies.--Come, Beauvinet, come
in!"

The old young man from the lodging house appeared, bringing a very
handsome pie, which he held as if it were the keys of a conquered town;
he placed it on the table, looked about at everybody with a
self-satisfied expression; then pulled his wig over his left ear.

Everybody looked at the pie, which had an inviting aspect. Saint-Arthur
seemed overjoyed; he jumped up and down on his chair, exclaiming:

"Ah! I should say that that is the thing!"

"It is a very handsome pie," said Jéricourt. "Where did it come from?
Strasbourg?"

"Oh, no! not from so far away."

"Come, Frefred," said Zizi, "if the pie is so delicious, cut into it and
let us taste it."

"One moment, my dear love, one moment; it isn't to be cut into like
that; I request silence for a moment, and attention."

And the young host, putting his face down to the pie, said in an
undertone:

"Dutaillis is lovely.--Come, Coco, come, come!"

"What's this? Alfred is talking to the pie now!" cried Zizi, opening her
eyes to their fullest extent.

"Hush, my dear love! hush I say!--Come, Coco--Dutaillis is--go on."

But in vain did they listen and wait; the pie maintained the most
profound silence.

"Are you playing proverbs with the pie, my Bibi?"

"Yes, I am playing--that is to say, the pie is going to speak."

"The pie going to speak! ah! I would like right well to hear it, on my
word!"

"Just a little patience. I can't understand what the matter is with him;
he must have gone to sleep in there.--Coco, Coco--Dutaillis is
lovely.--Ah! you won't speak, won't you? I will wake you up."

And Saint-Arthur, taking the huge pie in both hands, began to shake it
with all his strength; then he replaced it on the table, saying:

"Will you speak now, you beast?"

While they waited again in silence, Monsieur Beauvinet ventured to blow
his nose, which drew down upon his head a stern reprimand from his
tenant.

"But whom are you calling a beast, and what is it that's in the pie?"
asked Mademoiselle Zizi, beginning to get tired of keeping still for
nothing.

"Well, my dear love, it is a parrot, a magnificent parrot, which I have
taught to say: 'Dutaillis is lovely! applaud, clap Zizi!'"

"Ah! the poor creature! is it possible? Why, he must be stifled in
there; that's why he doesn't speak.--Monsieur de Roncherolle, take the
crust off at once."

"Are all the windows closed?" asked Saint-Arthur; "we must look out that
he doesn't fly away.--See to it, Beauvinet."

Beauvinet made a strange grimace, but did not stir.

"I have a shrewd idea that he won't fly away;" said Roncherolle, as he
ran his knife around the crust of the pie.

"Look out, be careful, don't stick the knife in, or you will cut the
bird."

"There's no danger."

At last the upper crust was taken off, and nothing came out of the pie.
They all put their heads forward to look inside; but instead of a living
bird, they saw only what is always found in a chicken pie: jelly, and
the stuffing around the principal piece, on top of which there was a
slice of pork.

Saint-Arthur was stupefied; his guests with difficulty restrained their
desire to laugh.

"What does this mean, Beauvinet? where is my bird, my parrot? what have
you done with him?"

"Your bird is there, monsieur; I did what you told me to: I carried him
to the pastry cook, and told him to put him into the pie."

"Ah! you villain! you miserable wretch! how could you fail to understand
me? I told you that I only wanted the crust put around him."

"Well, there is nothing but crust around him."

"And I added: 'You must have holes made in the top to give him air, so
that we may hear him plainly.'"

"I understood: 'So that we may smell him plainly;'[B] and the pastry
cook said: 'I never make holes in my pies; your parrot will be a little
tough, but I'll just lard him and stuff him, so that no one will ever
know what it is.'"

[B]

    I said: 'pour qu'on l'entende bien.'
    I understood: 'pour qu'on le sente bien.'


At that point, roars of laughter from Zizi, Roncherolle and Jéricourt
made it impossible to hear the groans and lamentations of Alfred, who,
in a fit of desperation, attempted to throw the pie at Beauvinet's head;
but he was prevented, and Roncherolle said to him:

"As the harm is done, we must make the best of it; as I presume that no
one here has ever eaten parrot pie, I suggest that we taste it."

"Yes, let us taste it," said Zizi. "I will tell this story at the
theatre, and my comrades will have a good laugh at it."

"It doesn't make me laugh! the result of such long-continued toil; and
just at the moment when I had finished his education, and when he began
to talk so famously!"

"Will you have a little piece, Saint-Arthur?"

"I? never! but yes--just a taste.--That rascally pastry cook! he was
quite right to say that no one would know what it was; but he will have
to give me back the feathers, at least."

"Pouah! how nasty it is," said Zizi, pushing her plate away. "So tough
that you can't chew it."

"And a certain flavor which is not exactly agreeable," said Jéricourt.
"The pastry cook did not disguise it quite enough."

"Here, take all this away," said Roncherolle, handing the plate with the
pie to Beauvinet; "and for your punishment, eat it!"

"Yes, clear out with it, you stupid beast!" cried Saint-Arthur. "Off
with you, and if I wasn't holding myself back--What an ass he is! I am
sure that if one should tell him to take a dog to the pastry-cook he
would have it made into a pie."

Beauvinet took the pie under his arm, and angrily pulled his wig over
his right ear, grumbling: "They don't know what they want; I do what
they tell me to, and they ain't satisfied! Let them make their pies
themselves after this."



XLIII

A DUEL


The adventure of the pie amused the guests mightily; Saint-Arthur alone
did not share his friends' gayety; at every mouthful that he swallowed,
he muttered:

"My poor parrot! my poor Coco! how prettily he said: 'Dutaillis is
lovely!'--What a misfortune!--'Applaud, clap Zizi!'--I shall never be
consoled."

"You are going to begin by being consoled right away," said the young
actress; "and don't bore us any longer with your complaints. Don't you
see that the story of your pie is a hundred times better and funnier
than your bird would have been? But here comes the dessert. I want some
champagne now, and I want my good friend Roncherolle to keep his promise
to us."

"Monsieur is going to begin his exercises!" said Jéricourt ironically.
"Let us see if it is the same thing as at Nicolet's: worse and worse and
more of it."

"We will do our utmost to satisfy monsieur," replied Roncherolle,
emptying a glass of champagne.

"But first of all," said Zizi, "as I am rather inquisitive, I want to
hear the story of that little bunch of violets that you promised me."

"Ah! so he has stories too!" muttered the literary man; "sapristi! we
are going to have a deal of entertainment!"

"Perhaps you will have much more than you expect, monsieur," replied
Roncherolle, with a meaning glance at Jéricourt. "But I begin--this
little bunch of violets I got from a flower girl,--nothing more
commonplace than that, eh? But what is less commonplace is that this
young flower girl, who is remarkably pretty, is as virtuous and
respectable as she is pretty. Now, this is what happened to her last
summer: a young man of the world, a dandy, who, I believe, claims to be
a literary man, saw the charming flower girl and found her to his
liking; he made such speeches to her as all young men make to pretty
girls--thus far there was nothing that was not perfectly natural."

"I say!" cried Saint-Arthur; "why, that's like Jéricourt and----"

"Pray let monsieur finish!" said Jéricourt, who had become very
attentive within a few seconds.

"But, as I was saying, the pretty flower girl, who is virtuous and who,
moreover, is in love with a handsome young fellow, did not listen to our
dandy's suggestions, but received them very coldly. What does he do to
triumph over the girl? He sends a man to order and pay for a very
handsome bouquet, with a request to the flower girl to carry it herself
to a lady whose address he gives her, informing her that that lady will
have other orders for her. The girl falls into the snare--for you will
guess that she was sent to the gallant himself, who had told his
concierge to allow the flower girl to go up to his room."

"Why, this is strange, it resembles----"

"Hold your tongue, Frefred! this story interests me immensely."

Jéricourt did not utter a word, but he had become very pale. Roncherolle
continued his narrative, with his eyes still fastened upon him.

"Behold then our flower girl in the young man's room, which she had
entered without suspicion, for a woman had opened the door. But soon he
who has been persecuting her with his addresses appears; he is alone
with her, he no longer conceals his purpose to triumph over her
resistance; the girl sees her danger, summons all her courage, and
resists so effectively that the enterprising gentleman receives upon his
face the marks of that stout defence--indeed, they have not altogether
disappeared yet; he is obliged to let a woman who defends herself so
well go her way. You will assume that that was the end of it all; and
indeed, it should have been; but no, because that girl was virtuous,
because she did not choose to cease to be virtuous, because she had
given her heart to another, the gentleman in question deemed it becoming
to proclaim everywhere that the pretty flower girl had been his
mistress, that she had come to his room of her own free will,--in short,
that she was an abandoned girl; he dishonored her in the eyes of all
those who loved her. I say that that is dastardly, infamous! and do not
you think that so much lying and slander deserve to be punished?"

Zizi said nothing because she had guessed the truth; Jéricourt bit his
lips and also held his peace; but Frefred exclaimed:

"This is strange--your story--one would say--where does your pretty
flower girl stand?"

"Near here, on Boulevard du Château d'Eau; you know her perfectly well."

"What! is it Violette?"

"It is Violette."

"Why, in that case, the young man who pretends to have had her
favors--is----"

"Just so; it is monsieur."

Thereupon Jéricourt felt called upon to draw himself up and assume an
impertinent tone.

"Monsieur," said he to Roncherolle, "I do not understand all the absurd
stories and fairy-tales which you have been telling us, and which have
neither head nor tail; but what seems even more inconceivable is that a
man of your age should pose as the knight of flower girls!"

"A man of my age, monsieur, knows the world well enough to distinguish
the false from the true; and when one can avenge a woman who has been
shamelessly defamed by a conceited coxcomb, age makes no difference,
monsieur, as I hope to prove to your satisfaction."

"Really, I am very condescending to answer you!" retorted Jéricourt,
throwing himself back and swinging his legs. "Be off with you, monsieur;
leave me in peace."

"I will be off, monsieur, but with you, I hope."

"Oh! that would be amusing! Faith, my dear monsieur, lose your temper if
you choose, but I will not fight for a flower girl."

"Well! will you fight for this, monsieur?"

As he spoke, Roncherolle, who had left his seat and walked toward
Jéricourt, struck him across the face with his glove.

The young man leaped from his chair, his face became livid, and he
seemed to contemplate rushing upon Roncherolle; but the latter
maintained such a calm and impassive attitude, while holding the prongs
of a fork toward his adversary to keep him at a respectful distance,
that Jéricourt contented himself with saying in a voice choked with
wrath:

"That insult will cost you dear, monsieur!"

"I shall be enchanted to find out whether that is so, monsieur; and I
propose that we finish this matter not later than to-morrow morning."

"Yes, monsieur; to-morrow, at nine o'clock in the morning, I will be in
the woods, near Porte Saint-Mandé."

"I will be there at that time."

"Saint-Arthur, you witnessed the insult, you must be my second."

"I, your second; why, I don't know if----"

"Be kind enough to have two seconds," said Roncherolle, "for I shall
bring two."

"Until to-morrow, monsieur; Saint-Arthur, be at my rooms before eight
o'clock."

Jéricourt seized his hat and rushed from the room like a madman, without
saluting anybody.

The young actress did not think of laughing, she was deeply impressed by
all that had happened. As for Alfred, he turned white, red and yellow by
turns, and seemed to be inclined to weep.

"My dear friends," said Roncherolle, resuming his seat at the table, "I
am truly sorry to have disturbed the end of your dinner thus. But what
would you have? I have been waiting for a long time for an opportunity
to settle affairs with this fellow Jéricourt."

"Then you are certain that the pretty flower girl has been slandered?"
said Zizi.

"Perfectly sure. However, this duel will be the judgment of God. Let us
drink to the triumph of the truth."

"I am not thirsty any more," faltered Saint-Arthur. "Here I am forced to
be a second in a duel! I don't like that at all, for--are your seconds
quick-tempered?"

"Not the least in the world; I shall bring two mere boys; you have
nothing to fear; your part will be absolutely passive; you will be there
only to look on, for there is no possible adjustment of the affair with
my adversary."

"Ah! if it's only a matter of looking on, that's different; rely on me."

"Oh! how I wish it were to-morrow noon," said Zizi. "But now good-night,
let us separate; I am no longer in the mood for talking nonsense. I am
only a good-for-nothing, Monsieur de Roncherolle, but all the same I
will pray to God for you; and who knows? perhaps He will listen to me."

On leaving the restaurant, Roncherolle walked back and forth in front of
the theatres on Boulevard du Temple; he knew that Chicotin was
particularly devoted to that place, where he often succeeded in
obtaining an admission ticket, which he did not sell, but with which he
went into the theatre. And in fact Roncherolle had not been walking
there ten minutes when he spied the person for whom he was looking.

"Hello! is that you, bourgeois?" cried the young messenger. "Have you
been to the play? If you are not going back, make me a present of your
check."

"No, my boy, I haven't been to the play; but listen carefully to what I
am going to say to you, for it is very serious, very important; I need
you to-morrow, you must be at my room at eight o'clock at the latest."

"That is easy enough, I will be there. Is that all?"

"No, I also want your friend Georget, Violette's young sweetheart, to
come with you; I need him too."

"Is that so? What for, bourgeois?"

"I will tell you both to-morrow, not before; meanwhile, let your friend
understand that his future happiness and Violette's are concerned."

"Oh! in that case, never fear; he won't fail to come!"

"But don't mention this to anybody, not even to Violette; it is a
secret."

"We won't say a word."

"Are you sure of seeing Georget this evening?"

"Pardi! when he doesn't go to walk with Violette, he is at home; at any
rate, he must go home, and I will wait for him."

"Very well, is he still with Monsieur Malberg?"

"Yes, but he sleeps in his own lodgings."

"Don't let him say a word of this to--to Monsieur Malberg."

"Never you fear; indeed, he probably won't see him until after he sees
you."

"Until to-morrow then, and both of you."

"We will be there, monsieur."

"By the way, bring a cab with you; don't forget."

"A cab, all right, monsieur."

The next morning at half-past seven, Roncherolle was up and dressed and
was cleaning a pair of pistols, which, despite his destitution, he had
always kept. At a few minutes before eight, the door was opened softly
and Chicotin appeared, accompanied by Georget. The latter, instead of a
blouse, wore a short coat buttoned to his chin, and on his head a blue
cloth cap of stylish shape; he held himself very erect, and his new
costume heightened the attractiveness of his face and the grace of his
figure.

Roncherolle could not help admiring the fine appearance of the young
man, and he offered him his hand, which Georget took with an air of
respect.

"Here we are, bourgeois," said Chicotin; "I hope we haven't kept you
waiting; I bring Georget, as you see, and the cab is downstairs."

"That is very good, my boy. Monsieur Georget, I thank you for coming
here at my invitation; when you know what is on foot, I am sure that you
will not be sorry."

"I am very happy, monsieur, if I can be of use to you in any way; I know
you already through Violette, whom you were kind enough to visit when
she was sick; and Chicotin told me----"

"I told him that this morning's business had something to do with her;
but monsieur will explain the whole thing to us, and tell us why----"

"You are in a great hurry; the most important thing now is to start; and
especially to avoid meeting my little neighbor on the stairs, for she
would ask questions which we could not very well answer at this moment."

"Oh! it's only eight o'clock; it's cold too, and Violette doesn't go out
so early in such weather."

"Very well, let us start, young men."

Roncherolle took his box of pistols, which seemed to puzzle Chicotin
greatly. Georget went out first, walked to the stairs cautiously, then
motioned to them that they might go down. All three were soon at the
door, which was kept by Mirontaine only; he barked when anybody came in,
but never when they went out.

Monsieur de Roncherolle entered the cab, told Georget and Chicotin to
enter with him, although the latter declared that he would be quite as
comfortable behind, and bade the coachman take them to the Porte
Saint-Mandé, by the Vincennes road.

"Oho! we are going to the country," cried Chicotin; "we shan't find much
shade there!"

"I can tell you now, messieurs, why I have brought you with me," said
Roncherolle. "It is for the purpose of being my seconds; for I have a
duel on hand, I am going to fight a duel with pistols this morning."

"You are going to fight?" cried Georget, deeply moved.

"Yes, my friend; if I had told you that beforehand, would you have
refused to come with me?"

"Oh, no! on the contrary, I would have begged you to take me."

"I was sure of it beforehand, young man."

"And I too, bourgeois; I like fights! they just suit me! But what are we
two going to fight with? We haven't any weapons; are we to fight with
fists? I like that too."

"No, not with fists or anything else; you are my seconds, and you will
not be called upon to fight at all."

"So much the worse! of what use shall we be then?"

"To affirm the innocence of a young girl whom I hope to avenge. I am
going to fight with Monsieur Jéricourt."

"With Monsieur Jéricourt?" cried Georget; "with that man who laid the
trap for Violette and then slandered her so abominably?"

"Just so; do you consider that I am doing wrong?"

"Oh, monsieur! what good fortune! that Jéricourt! I have been looking
for him everywhere, and haven't found him. But you are not the one who's
going to fight with him, monsieur; I am; for I am the man whom he
insulted most cruelly; I am the man whom he injured most; I am to be the
husband of the woman whom he tried to dishonor. You must see, monsieur,
that I am the one who must fight with him."

"My dear Georget, I was very sure that you would say all that; I
expected it; but be calm and listen to me. I was in this gentleman's
company yesterday; I have long been looking for an opportunity. I told
him what I thought of his conduct toward Violette. I demanded
satisfaction for his slanders, but he refused; then I struck him in the
face. The duel was instantly arranged for this morning. Now, this
gentleman has the right to demand satisfaction for the outrage
inflicted upon his face; if I did not fight, if I allowed you to fight
in my place, I should act like a coward; and as I have never had that
reputation, you will permit me not to earn it now. All that I can do, my
dear Monsieur Georget, is, if I fall, to allow you to take my place and
to renew the combat with this gentleman. Now it is all understood and
arranged. Not a word more on that subject, for it would be useless.--But
we have arrived."

The carriage stopped on the outskirts of the wood; Roncherolle alighted
with the two young men, Chicotin carrying the box of pistols. They
looked about in all directions but saw nobody.

"Is it possible that he will not come?" murmured Georget, stamping the
ground impatiently.

"Is he going to squeal?" said Chicotin.

"There is no time wasted yet, messieurs, and his seconds may have kept
him waiting.--But look, I see a carriage in the distance.--I'll wager
that they're the people we expect."

The carriage reached the wood and they saw Jéricourt, Saint-Arthur and
little Astianax at once alight from it.

"_Saperlotte!_ the seconds are not big fellows," cried Chicotin; "I know
'em; both of 'em together wouldn't make one decent man. I could eat half
a dozen of them without difficulty!"

Roncherolle imposed silence upon Chicotin with a glance. Jéricourt came
forward with his two friends; Saint-Arthur acted as if he had a pain in
his stomach, and little Astianax looked in both directions at once.

"What does this mean?" cried Jéricourt, as he scrutinized Chicotin,
while Georget glared at him with flaming eyes; "what! Monsieur de
Roncherolle chooses a messenger for his second? Really, I should have
supposed that he could find some one better than that.--You see,
messieurs, the honor that he does you, and with whom you are brought
into relations!"

"What's that? what's that?" cried Chicotin, turning up his sleeves; "do
I hear anybody sneering at me? Ah! as I live! I'll smash the principal
and his seconds in a second."

"Be quiet," said Roncherolle sternly. Then, walking toward his
adversary's two seconds, he said to them:

"I have brought this young man, messieurs, Monsieur Georget, because he
is the fiancé, the future husband of the young girl whom monsieur
attempted to ruin. No one has a better right to be here than he, for the
honor of the woman whom he is to marry is the motive of this duel. As
for my other second, this honest fellow here, he is only a messenger, it
is true, but it was he who saved the young flower girl when, driven to
desperation by contemptuous treatment and humiliation, and by the
thought of passing for what she was not, she was on the point of jumping
into the canal and seeking an end to her suffering there. Do you not
think, messieurs, that this honest fellow who brought back hope to
Violette's heart, also has a right to be present at a battle which is
to rehabilitate her honor? Come, messieurs, which of you will undertake
to maintain the contrary, and will blush to have to deal with such
seconds? Neither of you, I am sure!"

Saint-Arthur and Astianax contented themselves with bowing low to
Roncherolle, who continued:

"Very good, everything is arranged; now, my adversary has the choice of
weapons."

"He chooses pistols," said Astianax.

"Pistols it is; I have brought some."

"So have we."

"We will take yours, if you choose; it makes no difference to me. My
adversary has the right to fire first also, I recognize that; you see
that we shall have no difficulty. Let us go a little way into the woods,
and have done with it."

The whole party walked into the woods and stopped in a solitary place,
where there was a clearing suitable for the duel. Astianax, having
spoken to Jéricourt, returned to Roncherolle and said:

"Is fifteen paces satisfactory to you, monsieur?"

"Ordinarily, the seconds would decide such matters among themselves; but
no matter, that is satisfactory to me; mark off the distance and I will
take my place."

Astianax counted the paces, while Saint-Arthur leaned against a tree at
a distance; as for Georget and Chicotin, Roncherolle was obliged to hold
them back by his glance.

Young Astianax, having finished measuring the distance, handed to each
combatant a pistol, which he took from the box he had brought; then he
stood aside, saying:

"They are loaded; I believe there is nothing more for me to do now."

"It is for you to begin, monsieur," said Roncherolle, bowing to
Jéricourt.

Jéricourt took a long aim, then fired; the ball from his pistol grazed
his adversary's right side and made him turn slightly; Georget started
to run to him, but Roncherolle motioned to him not to stir and speedily
resumed his position, saying:

"That was not bad, but it was not quite the thing."

He fired almost instantly, and Jéricourt, wounded in the breast, fell to
the ground.

The four seconds rushed at once to the assistance of the wounded man,
who was already discharging blood through his mouth; and when he saw
Georget, he said to him in a faint voice:

"I lied--she is innocent--tell her that I confess, that----"

The unhappy wretch closed his eyes and could say no more; Chicotin took
him in his arms and carried him to the carriage which had brought him,
which Astianax also entered. As for Saint-Arthur, he had disappeared and
they were unable to find him.

Georget ran back to Roncherolle, crying:

"He confessed, monsieur; he confessed; he admitted that he had slandered
Violette! all those gentlemen heard him as well as I!"

"That is well, my young friend; that is what I wanted. Now you must give
me your arm to help me to walk back to the carriage."

"Oh! are you wounded too, monsieur?"

"A scratch, a mere scratch, but it troubles me when walking. I will lean
on you."

"Oh! as hard as you please, monsieur. What a debt of gratitude I owe
you! And Violette, when she knows it----"

"I knew perfectly well that she deserved to be defended; but I am very
glad to have spared you that trouble; and then, you see, I have done a
lot of foolish things in my life, and I am not sorry to do some good now
and then."

Chicotin reached the carriage just as Monsieur de Roncherolle and
Georget entered it. The young messenger's face was all awry, and he
faltered:

"All the same, it gives a man a shock--a young man, who was so well a
minute ago----"

"Well? Monsieur Jéricourt, how is he?" asked Roncherolle.

"He is stone dead!"



XLIV

THE EMBROIDERED HANDKERCHIEF


While the duel which concerned the pretty flower girl was in progress,
the girl herself was greatly surprised to see Pongo appear at her door
about nine o'clock.

"Master," he said, "he want mamzelle to come and see him after her dress
herself all fine; yes, dress herself all fine, and bring a big bouquet."

Violette hastened to answer that she would obey Monsieur Malberg's
orders; but as she donned her best dress and her prettiest cap, she said
to herself:

"Probably Monsieur Malberg wants to send me somewhere, for he would not
tell me to dress in my best just to go to his house. Besides, the
bouquet that he wants--no doubt I shall have to go to Madame de
Grangeville's.--So much the better! I like that lady very much, and it's
a long time since I carried her a bouquet."

When he saw Violette enter his room, so fresh and pretty and graceful,
and wearing a dress, which, although appropriate to her rank in life,
gave an added charm to her person, none the less, the count could not
help sighing, as he said to himself:

"I should have been very happy if I could have called her my daughter."

"Here I am, monsieur, I have obeyed your orders," said Violette; "I have
done what your servant told me to do; do I look well, monsieur?"

"Yes, my child, yes, very well; and I have no doubt that Madame de
Grangeville will find you charming thus."

"Am I going to that lady's house? I suspected it, monsieur."

"So much the better!--Listen to me, Violette; I must tell you now that
this lady to whom I am sending you knew your mother and the secret of
your birth; if your mother is still alive, if she is disposed to
recognize you as her daughter, this lady will tell you so."

"Is it possible, monsieur?"

"Yes, and for that purpose, you are going to-day to tell her all that
you know about your birth, giving her to understand that you have known
it only a short time; and then you will finish your story by showing her
this handkerchief, which I give back to you to-day, so that it may help
you to find your parents."

"Ah! I am all of a tremble, monsieur; the thought that perhaps I am
going to find my mother--why haven't you let me say all this to that
lady before?"

"Because, my child, before confiding such an important matter to her, I
wanted her to have time to appreciate you, so that you might not be a
stranger to her."

"And suppose this lady, after listening to me, after seeing this
handkerchief, should not mention my mother to me?"

"In that case, my poor girl, it would mean that you no longer have a
mother, that all hope of finding her is vanished. But such a supposition
does not seem possible to me; no, she cannot spurn you again; and those
who brought you into this world will be only too happy to lavish their
caresses upon you."

"Shall I tell this lady it's you who send me this time?"

"Not by any means; let her still think that it is Monsieur de
Merval.--Go, Violette; and if it is possible, come back here and tell me
the result of your visit to--to Madame de Grangeville."

"If it is possible! who could prevent me from coming back to you,
monsieur?--I will go at once, and you will see me again soon."

The young girl took her bouquet and started for the abode of the lady
who, as she had been told, might restore her mother to her; a thousand
confused thoughts, a thousand hopes surged through Violette's mind, and
she reached the house intensely excited and trembling from head to foot,
and asked Mademoiselle Lizida if she could see her mistress.

"I think so," said the lady's maid; "madame was at a ball last night,
but she did not return very late; it is twelve o'clock, and she has just
risen; I will announce you and your bouquet."

After a few moments, Violette was ushered into the presence of Madame de
Grangeville, who was seated before her mirror, completing her morning
toilet, and who smiled at the young girl, saying to her:

"Ah! here is my pretty little flower girl. It is a long while since you
came last, little one; I am neglected nowadays; Monsieur de Merval is
less attentive to me."

"I don't know, madame----"

"Let me see your bouquet; it is very pretty, but I saw finer ones at the
ball last night. Sit down, my girl, and let us talk a bit. Why! how you
are dressed up to-day! where are you going this morning, pray?"

"I am going nowhere but here, madame."

"Oho! then it was for me that you made this toilet. You look very well;
and I--this cap--do you think that it is becoming to me? I look a little
tired, do I not? They absolutely insisted upon making me dance last
night.--But what ails you, my child? One would say that you were not
listening to me; you seem distraught."

"Ah! madame, it is because----"

"Because what? finish your sentence."

"Since I had the honor to see you last, I have learned something
about----"

"About what?"

"About my birth, about my family."

"Your family; you told me that you were an abandoned child."

"True, madame; but someone who knew my nurse has told me several things
which may help me, they say, to find my parents."

"Really--I think I will put on a blue ribbon instead of a pink one, it
will look better.--Were you not left at the Foundling Hospital in
Paris?"

"No, madame, I was born in Paris, but I was given in charge of a nurse,
who came from Picardie, and who went back to her province at once."

Madame de Grangeville ceased to toy with her cap and said to
Mademoiselle Lizida, who was putting the room in order:

"Leave us, go.--You were saying that your nurse lived in Picardie?"

"Yes, madame."

"What was her name?"

"Marguerite Thomasseau."

"Marguerite--are you sure that her name was Marguerite?"

"Yes, madame."

"And--and you--what name did your parents give you?"

"The gentleman who placed me in my nurse's hands--she did not know
whether he was my father, but she presumed that he was--told her that my
name was Evelina de Paulausky."

Madame de Grangeville moved suddenly on her chair; but instead of
approaching Violette, she drew away from her; one would have thought
that she was afraid of the girl. The latter waited anxiously to hear
what the lady was going to say to her; but several moments, which seemed
very long, passed, and not a word fell from the lips of Madame de
Grangeville, whose head had fallen on her breast, and who seemed to be
absorbed in her reflections.

Violette decided to continue.

"That is not all, madame," she said; "it seems that when he placed me in
charge of my nurse, instead of giving her a _layette_, he gave her some
men's clothes, among which there was a handkerchief belonging to my
mother.

"Aha! did he say that?"

"Yes, the gentleman said so when he gave it to my nurse; and she always
kept it, hoping that it might enable me some day to make myself known to
her who brought me into the world."

"Well! and that handkerchief----"

"It was given to me to-day; here it is--would you like to look at it,
madame?"

With a trembling hand Violette held out the handkerchief to the woman
whom a secret voice told her was her mother. Madame de Grangeville took
it without turning her head, and examined it a moment; only a glance was
necessary for her to recognize it; but she had already ceased to doubt
that Violette was her daughter, and although she had been reflecting in
silence for some moments, it was only to consider whether she should
confess to the young flower girl that she was her mother. After some
moments' reflection, she said to herself that there was no reason why
she should recognize as her daughter a little flower girl, whose
presence in her house would constantly embarrass her and incommode her,
and would necessarily let everyone know that she was over thirty-five
years old.

Violette, who was waiting, hoping, hardly breathing while Madame de
Grangeville held the handkerchief in her hands, said to her at last:

"Well, madame--that handkerchief----"

"It is very handsome, mademoiselle, and beautifully embroidered."

As she spoke, the lady handed the handkerchief back to her; the girl
could not make up her mind to take it, but said in a faltering tone:

"Has madame--nothing else--to say to me?"

"Why, mademoiselle, what do you suppose that I can have to say to you?"

"I beg pardon; but I was led to hope--that madame--that madame knew--my
mother, and that----"

"Somebody has been telling you things that are utterly absurd,
mademoiselle," replied Madame de Grangeville, in a very cold tone; "and
you may say to those who told you that, that they have been dreaming,
nothing more.--Here, take your handkerchief, I have no use for
it.--Lizida! Lizida! come and dress me; I am going out."

Violette understood that she had her dismissal; she rose with a heavy
heart, carefully replaced the handkerchief in her breast; and as she
bowed to Madame de Grangeville, she said to her in a voice choked by
sobs:

"Adieu, madame; forgive me for weeping before you, but I hoped to find
my mother here."

"Adieu, mademoiselle; take my advice, and think no more about that;
don't foster any such fancies in your head; and when you see Monsieur
de Merval, tell him that he is mistaken, completely mistaken."

Violette went away, weeping bitterly; and in that condition she returned
to Monsieur de Brévanne and told him of her interview with Madame de
Grangeville.

The count pressed the young girl to his heart, saying:

"Poor child! the woman who gave you life is unworthy of your love, of
your caresses; but if you have not found your mother, be comforted; I
will take the place of your family, and I will never abandon you."

The count had been trying to comfort Violette but a few moments, when
the door of his apartment was violently thrown open, and Georget
appeared, out of breath, drenched with perspiration, and with joy
gleaming in his eyes.

"She is here, isn't she, monsieur?" he cried; "yes, here she is!
Rejoice, Violette! rejoice! No one now can have any doubt of your
innocence; you are avenged! Monsieur de Roncherolle has fought a duel
with Jéricourt. I wanted to fight in his place, but he wouldn't let me;
we were his seconds. Oh! I ran at the top of my speed to your stand; I
was in such a hurry to tell you about it."

Monsieur de Brévanne forced Georget to sit down, as he could say no
more; when he had recovered his breath, he gave them an exact account of
all that had taken place during the morning; of the duel and of its
results. Violette listened with emotion; Monsieur de Roncherolle's
devotion to her brought tears to her eyes. The count, who had also
listened to Georget with the deepest interest, said to the girl:

"You see, my child, Heaven sends you a great consolation already: your
innocence is fully established; no doubt it is lamentable that a man
should have had to pay with his life for the slanders that he had
circulated, but while you may regret that calamity, you certainly cannot
accuse yourself of it. As for Monsieur de Roncherolle, his behavior in
this matter deserves nothing but praise; he is entitled to all your
gratitude; and before long he will be well repaid for what he has
done.--But didn't you say, Georget, that he was wounded also?"

"Yes, monsieur, on the right side; the bullet made a hole there; he says
that it's nothing, but we put him to bed, Chicotin and I, and my friend
has gone to fetch the doctor."

"I am going to take my place by his side, and be his nurse," said
Violette.

"Go, my child; devote yourself to Monsieur de Roncherolle; that is your
duty, and I am quite certain that it is also a pleasure to your heart."

When he saw the young flower girl enter his room, Roncherolle sat up in
bed, held out his hand with a smile, and said to her:

"I was sure that my two chatterboxes would go at once to tell you all
about it. Well, yes, I fought for you, my child; ten thousand devils!
you are well worth the trouble. The little fellow didn't want to let me
do it; he wanted to fight in my place. Ah! he has a stout heart, he is
a fine fellow; but he is too young as yet; and then it was much better
to have it happen as it did."

"Oh! how can I express my gratitude, monsieur?"

"No gratitude; affection,--that is much better."

"Will you allow me to kiss you?"

"Will I allow you! I shouldn't have dared to suggest it, my child, but I
accept with all my heart!"

And Roncherolle embraced Violette, whose eyes were moist with tears; but
this time it was a pleasant emotion which caused them to flow.

Chicotin brought a doctor, who examined the wound, and ordered perfect
rest. But in the evening the gout reappeared, and the wounded man said
with a sigh:

"The doctor need have no fear, I fancy I shan't move for some time yet."

"I will stay with you faithfully," said Violette; "I will not leave you
until you are cured."

"I don't propose to have that, my little neighbor; you will go to sell
your flowers as usual, and come here in the evening; even that will be
very kind of you."

Georget also asked Monsieur de Roncherolle's permission to come to see
him, and he replied, pressing his hand:

"As often as you can, my young friend; a little bit for me, and a great
deal for this child,--for whom you will be a pleasant companion, and who
will not be sorry to have you."

The next morning the count called early to inquire for the wounded man's
health, and told the concierge to tell Violette that someone wished to
speak to her.

The girl ran downstairs and said to the count:

"You might have come up to my poor patient's room, monsieur, for he is
asleep just now; and as he slept almost none during the night, I hope
that he will not wake for some time."

"I thought that his wound amounted to nothing?"

"We thought so at first, monsieur; but he has had an attack of gout
which has made him very feverish, and increased his pain."

"Well, my child, to give him some relief in his suffering, take this
letter to him, and when he is calm, and you two are alone, give it to
him."

"Very good, monsieur; and shall I say that it is from you?"

"Yes, yes, you may act without secrecy now. Au revoir, my child; I hope
that the contents of this letter, bringing him good news, will restore
your--your neighbor's health."

The count took his leave; Violette carefully bestowed in her bosom the
letter which he had handed her, and returned to the sick man.

About noon, Roncherolle, his pain having subsided, felt more calm, and
tried to smile at the girl who was nursing him, saying to her:

"You are alone, dear child; have our young men left you?"

"Yes, monsieur, they are at their work; but I am not sorry, for you are
comfortable now and I have something to tell you--that is to say,
something to give you."

"Something to give me? without their knowledge?"

"Yes, monsieur, this letter; and as I was told that it would give you
pleasure, that it might perhaps contribute to restoring your health, I
was in a hurry to be alone with you so that I might give it to you."

"A letter that will give me pleasure! From whom did you get it, my
girl?"

"From--from Monsieur Malberg."

"From Monsieur Malberg? Georget's protector?"

"Himself, monsieur."

Roncherolle manifested such emotion, his face became so deathly pale,
that the girl was terrified.

"What is the matter, monsieur? do you feel worse?"

"No, but what you've just told me surprised me so.--Do you know Monsieur
Malberg, pray?"

"Yes, monsieur. Oh! he is very kind, I tell you! he took Georget and his
mother into his house, he is interested in me, and he has tried to help
me to find my parents."

"Your parents--but give me the letter, my child."

"Here it is, monsieur."

Roncherolle took the letter with a trembling hand and broke the seal. He
instantly recognized the writing of the man who had been his friend, and
his eyes, with feverish eagerness, read these lines:

     "You were very guilty toward me. But God forgives the penitent man,
     and I should not be more inexorable than He. I give you your
     daughter; you have fought for her honor, and that act may well
     have earned pardon for your desertion of the child.

     "Comte de Brévanne."

As he read, Roncherolle became more excited; then he looked at Violette;
and when he had finished the letter, his eyes rested upon the girl with
an expression of such pure affection, that she was greatly moved, and
faltered:

"What is it, monsieur? That letter was supposed to give you pleasure."

"Ah! it makes me very, very happy, my dear child; so happy that I dare
not as yet believe in my happiness. It speaks to me of my daughter, whom
I had lost, abandoned, and of whose fate I knew nothing!"

"You abandoned your daughter?"

"Yes.--Ah! I dared not confess that to you; one does not like to blush
before those who show affection for one; but you, Violette, tell me, in
pity's name, do you know nothing about your parents? Have you nothing of
theirs, no token which might identify you?"

"Excuse me, monsieur; if I have not spoken to you about it before, it is
because Monsieur Malberg forbade me to do so; but to-day he said to me:
'Have no more secrets from Monsieur de Roncherolle;' so I can tell you
everything."

"Speak, speak!"

"In the first place, they gave me the name of Evelina de Paulausky; and
then they kept this handkerchief for me, which belonged to my
mother--see."

"Enough! enough!" murmured Roncherolle, holding out his arms to
Violette. "Dear child, if you can forgive me for deserting you, come to
your father's arms!"

"You, my father! my heart had divined it!" cried Violette, throwing
herself into Roncherolle's arms, where he held her for a long time,
against his heart.

But such violent emotion brought on a fresh attack, and the invalid, who
longed to say a thousand things to his daughter, had not the strength to
do it; she was obliged to entreat him to be calm and to rest.

After some time, Roncherolle, feeling more at ease, motioned to Violette
to approach his bed, and bade her tell him all that he whom she still
called Monsieur Malberg had done for her. The girl concealed nothing
from her father, neither the bouquets which she had carried to Madame de
Grangeville, nor the last interview she had had with that lady. And
Roncherolle raised his eyes to heaven, murmuring:

"She told her that she did not know her mother!"

Then Violette informed her father that Georget's patron had come to see
him during his last illness, when he was destitute; and she added:

"It was the very next day that you received that letter with money; I am
very sure myself that it was he who sent it."

"Ah! this is too much! this is too much!" muttered Roncherolle, putting
his hand to his eyes. "He has avenged himself more thoroughly than if he
had killed me, for he has made me realize what a friend I have lost,
and how often serious is a fault which men are accustomed to treat so
slightingly!"

Georget came very soon to inquire for the invalid's health. On learning
that the girl he loved was Monsieur de Roncherolle's daughter, the poor
boy was struck dumb; he feared at once that that discovery would
interpose obstacles to his union with Violette; but Roncherolle, reading
his thought in his eyes, held out his hand to him and said:

"My friend, I have no right to cherish prejudices; besides, I have
allowed my daughter to sell flowers, so I may consistently allow her to
marry an ex-messenger.--You love each other, my children, and I shall
never oppose your happiness."

Chicotin appeared at that moment, and when he was told of all that had
happened, he danced about the room, and attempted to make the furniture
dance. To keep him quiet, they were obliged to remind him that he was in
a sick room, whereupon he went out and skipped upon the boulevard.

Georget informed his patron of all that had happened at Roncherolle's
room, and of the blessings which the father and the daughter had
showered upon him; the count smiled as he said:

"Yes, I believe after all that one is happier in avenging himself as I
have done."

Six days passed, during which Roncherolle was better and worse
alternately. On the seventh day, he woke with a violent fever; his wound
pained him terribly, and it seemed from his general prostration and the
faintness of his voice, that his strength was leaving him. But, still
trying to conceal his suffering, especially from his daughter's eyes, he
called her to his bedside about mid-day, and said, trying to smile:

"My dear love, do you want to make me very happy?"

"Tell me what I must do, father?"

"You must go to the Comte de Brévanne--for that is the real name of
Georget's patron--and tell him yourself how grateful I am to him for
giving me back my daughter, although I had inflicted such injury upon
him. You must assure him again of my repentance, and beg him to repeat
that he forgives me."

"But I should rather not leave you to-day, father; you seem very much
depressed, and you are in greater pain."

"No, no, you are mistaken; I am in no more pain than usual; so do my
errand; it seems to me that that will afford me great relief."

"Oh! then I will do what you say, father; I hear Chicotin now, and I
will tell him not to leave you until I return."

The girl hastily put on what she needed to go out, then embraced her
father. Roncherolle held her to his heart for a long time. She started
toward the door, but he called her back, that he might kiss her once
more; he strove to smile at her, and followed her with his eyes until
she had left the room; then he let his head fall back on the pillow,
saying:

"Dear love! I think that I have done well to send her away."

On leaving the house Violette met Georget, who was coming to inquire for
her father, and who proposed to accompany his sweetheart to his patron's
house. But the girl begged him to let her go alone, and to go up to her
father; she was afraid that Chicotin might make a mistake about giving
him what he asked for. Georget complied with Violette's request, and
instead of accompanying her, he went up to Monsieur de Roncherolle.

When Violette arrived at Monsieur de Brévanne's, he was at home, but
engaged with contractors, architects and men who were working upon some
property of his in Paris; the girl waited until he was at liberty, for
she was unwilling to return to her father without complying with his
wishes and seeing the count. At last he was alone, and Violette was able
to express to him all her gratitude for what she owed him, and to
deliver her father's message.

Monsieur de Brévanne listened attentively to what Roncherolle had
instructed his daughter to say to him. He took Violette's hands in his,
and said to her:

"Yes, my dear love, I have forgiven your father, and he must know that I
never speak except from the dictates of my heart."

"I will repeat your very words to him, monsieur," said Violette, "and I
hope that it will do him good; for I saw plainly enough to-day that he
was suffering more, although he tried to hide it from me; but this
morning, when he looked at his wound, the doctor did not seem at all
satisfied."

"I thought that his wound was a slight one?"

"So it was, monsieur, but a constant fever has prevented it from
healing."

"If that is so, I will go with you, my child; I will take you back to
your father, and see for myself how he is. Perhaps he should have
another doctor."

"Oh! you are so kind, monsieur, and I am so grateful to you! Would you
be willing to see my father, and to tell him what you have just told me?
I have an idea that that would cure him at once."

The count at once led Violette away, saying:

"Come, my child; let us first find out how he is."

It was but a short distance from the count's house to Roncherolle's
lodgings. Violette and Monsieur de Brévanne soon arrived. The concierge
was not in her lodge, and Mirontaine received them, barking in most
lugubrious fashion.

"That is strange!" murmured Violette; "this dog knows me perfectly well,
so why does she make that noise? why does she howl like that? Mon Dieu!
they say that that announces some calamity!"

And the girl ran rapidly up the stairs, while the count tried to
reassure her. But when they reached the fifth floor, they saw Georget
and Chicotin standing outside Roncherolle's door. Violette would have
passed into the room, but Georget put his arms about her and detained
her, and she saw that his eyes were filled with tears.

"O my God! my father is dead!" cried the girl.

Georget and his friend sadly hung their heads; thereupon Violette fell
into Monsieur de Brévanne's arms, faltering:

"Oh! I have lost my father, monsieur! and it was so short a time since
Heaven gave him back to me!"

"Courage, my poor child," said the count; "hereafter I will take his
place!"



XLV

CONCLUSION


After Roncherolle's death, Monsieur de Brévanne took Violette into his
family and treated her as his daughter. He provided different masters
for both Violette and Georget, who completed their education.

Study, Georget's love, and the count's affection, gradually changed
Violette's grief into a melancholy souvenir. Sometimes she said to
Monsieur de Brévanne:

"So you don't want me to sell flowers any more, monsieur?"

"No, my child," the count said with a smile. "You shall have flowers,
you shall raise them, and pick as many as you please; but you no longer
need to sell them, for I am wealthy, and when your mourning is at an
end, I propose to marry you to Georget and share my fortune with you."

A few weeks after Roncherolle's death, of which the count informed
Monsieur de Merval, the latter met Madame de Grangeville on the street,
and she eagerly accosted him.

"At last I meet you, my sincere, my generous friend, and I am able to
express my gratitude for what you are doing for me. No more mystery, my
dear Merval, I know all; I recognized your handwriting; indeed, what
other than yourself would have acted so delicately toward me? But I
assure you that as to the little flower girl, you are mistaken, you are
entirely wrong; it was simply some resemblance of feature which led you
to think that."

Monsieur de Merval listened without interrupting, and when she had
finished, he said to her in a very grave tone:

"Madame, it is time that you should be disabused concerning the error
under which you are laboring. I am not entitled to your thanks, the
money which you receive from an unknown hand is not sent to you by me, I
tell you again; but I have a shrewd suspicion from whom it does come."

"Who is it, pray? For heaven's sake, give me the name of that generous
friend."

"The Comte de Brévanne, madame."

Madame de Grangeville made a slight grimace and shut her lips together
in annoyance, muttering:

"My husband! what an idea! how on earth could he have learned that I was
in straitened circumstances?"

"It was I who told him, madame, after I had the honor to pay you a
visit; I did not think that I did wrong in informing Monsieur de
Brévanne that your situation was not--was not prosperous."

"I did not give you that commission, monsieur.--But in that case--the
flower girl----"

"It was he who sent her also, madame."

"Really, monsieur, I utterly failed to understand the romance that that
girl told me. Someone has believed, or imagined, things which are
utterly absurd."

"It seems, madame, that Monsieur de Roncherolle understood better than
you did, for he did not fail to acknowledge that young flower girl as
his daughter."

"His daughter! Monsieur de Roncherolle acknowledged her as his
daughter?"

"Yes, madame, before he died."

"What! Roncherolle is dead?"

"He is dead, madame, and he died asking forgiveness of the friend whom
he had so deeply injured."

"Ah! poor Roncherolle! So he is dead! Well, after all, he was wise, for
he was in a pitiable plight. And--and--the little flower girl?"

"She is living with the Comte de Brévanne, madame. He has adopted her,
and _he_ will never abandon her! Ah! there are few men like the count,
and you should be very proud, madame, that you once bore his name!"

Madame de Grangeville could not repress a gesture of annoyance; but she
restrained herself, bowed coldly to Monsieur de Merval and hurriedly
left him.

Toward the close of the Carnival, which came shortly after, Madame de
Grangeville, as the result of wearing a much too décolleté costume at a
ball, was seized with inflammation of the lungs; and a week after taking
to her bed, she realized that she would never leave it again.

Thereupon a maternal sentiment sprang up in that woman's heart for the
first time; for thus far she had lived solely for herself. Hastily
writing a few words in a trembling hand, she begged the count to be kind
enough to send her daughter to her, as she would like to embrace her
before she breathed her last.

But the count said to his wife's messenger:

"When a person has twice spurned her child, she must not hope that that
child will close her eyes. It is too late now for Violette to know her
mother."

A few days after Madame de Grangeville's death, the Comte de Brévanne
resumed his name and his title, and there was an end of Monsieur
Malberg.

The Glumeau family continues to give private theatricals in its little
wood, but Chambourdin is not allowed to seat ladies on the branches of
trees.

Little Saint-Arthur, having squandered his last sou with Mademoiselle
Zizi Dutaillis, considered himself too fortunate to have found another
place as clerk in a dry-goods shop, where he has resumed his own name
and has become Benoît Canard as before. But the young actress is a
good-hearted girl; she still allows her former friend to come to see her
sometimes, and on those occasions it is she who invites him to
breakfast.

As for Chicotin, he insists upon remaining a messenger. Witnessing the
happiness of Georget and Violette, he says to himself:

"They owe it partly to me; but I am perfectly sure that if I were in
hard luck they would give me a share of their good fortune."

       *       *       *       *       *

Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:

as he re-replied=> as he replied {pg 17}

The concierge went dowstairs=> The concierge went downstairs {pg 188}

       *       *       *       *       *





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