Part 14

"Is it possible that I could dream of criticising you, who have been and still are so kind to me?"

"Really! you think that I am kind?--Ah! here is what I sent for."

The servant drew a small table near the supper table, and placed on it a large assortment of pipes, cigars, and several kinds of tobacco. Each of us chose what he liked best. I supposed that Frédérique would confine herself to cigarettes, but she took a very fine Turkish pipe and filled it with tobacco from the same country. Then she threw herself back in her chair, emptied a glass of malvoisie, and smoked with the abandon of a Mohammedan.

The baron clapped his hands, murmuring:

"Sehr gut! sehr gut! you haf all te qualidies to bleeze."

"Because I smoke? Why, my dear Brunzbrack, many people would call that a vice."

"Ach, ja! I say tat to you id pe most pecoming; you pe a she-pear----"

"A she-bear! Ha! ha! that can't be what you mean."

"Bardon--how do tey say?--an animal of te desert--te female of te king of animals."

"A _lionne_ [lioness]; that is what you mean."

"Ja! you be te _lionne à la mode_; id is all te same."

I took a cigar, and the baron an ordinary pipe, and in a moment we were all smoking for dear life. Herr von Brunzbrack, whom the pipe seemed to make thirsty, emptied his glass very frequently and belauded the champagne; for my part, the malvoisie suited my taste exactly; and I had such an exquisite sense of well-being, seated at that table beside that original creature, who acted just like a man!

"Messieurs," she said, blowing a cloud of smoke at the ceiling, "life has some very pleasant moments."

"It is delicious to me just now."

"Id runs ein leedle; but id is gut."

"What's that, baron? your life runs a little?"

"I did not untershtand; I said id of mein bibe."

"Oh, indeed!--It's a pity that we have bad days, that melancholy thoughts sometimes take possession of us!"

"Melancholy thoughts come only as a result of disappointments of the heart."

"True, you are right, Rochebrune; that is why your thoughts are so sad to-night, isn't it? The handsome Mondival distanced you; he had the pole to-night. Ha! ha! what a way to talk about love! What will you think of me? that I am a very _mauvais sujet_, eh?"

"We should be too fortunate if that were so!"

"Ach, ja! as mein frent Rochebrune say--if id vas so---- _Sapremann_, id is running again!"

"Pray take another pipe, baron; there are enough to choose from."

A thought that had come to my mind several times during supper still absorbed me. I do not know whether Frédérique could read it in my eyes, but, after looking at me a moment, she said:

"What are you thinking about? Come, tell me! It has come to your lips several times, and you keep it back. Is it something very unkind, pray, that you are afraid to say it?"

"No; it's a very natural reflection, but one that I have no right to make, perhaps."

"But you seem to have taken the liberty to make it. I don't like the things one keeps back; they are more dangerous."

"Your gut healt', montame, and te bleazure id gif me to schmoke tis bibe in your company."

"Thanks, baron, thanks!"

"Vill you trink mit me?"

"Certainly I will."

While she honored Brunzbrack's toast, Frédérique kept her eyes on me, and they peremptorily bade me to speak.

"Well, madame," I began, hesitatingly.

"Why do you continue to call me _madame_? I call you Rochebrune."

"But, if not that, what may I presume to call you?"

"I have told you to look upon me as your friend, your comrade. If I were a man, you would call me Frédérique, as I call you Rochebrune; so, call me Frédérique."

"I shall never dare!"

"Why not, when I give you leave?"

"Because you don't seem to me in the least like a man."

She smiled queerly, passed her hand over her head, took off her little cap and tossed it on the floor, ran her fingers through her curls, rumpled up the _bandeau_, and made curls of that, saying, as she thus rearranged her coiffure:

"Does Monsieur Charles Rochebrune refuse to tell me what he has had on the tip of his tongue several times?"

"I beg your pardon, madame--I was thinking--I was surprised--not to find--another person here."

Frédérique curled her lip and frowned slightly.

"Do you refer to Monsieur Saint-Bergame?" she said.

"Yes."

"It is true that--three days ago--I should not have taken supper without him. But we have quarrelled."

"Ah! you are on bad terms now?"

"Yes."

"Not for long, I presume?"

"Perhaps so. When one has been able to pass two days without trying to see a certain person, one can pass a week; when one has passed a week, there is no reason why one should not pass a month, and so on. He did something that--displeased me, and I told him so. Instead of apologizing, he thought it became him to make a scene, and he made a miserable failure of it. He should have come the next day--that same night, indeed--to beg my pardon; he didn't do it, and now I think it would be too late. Look you, my friend--I want to call you my friend, and you give me leave, do you not, monsieur?--I believe that I can do without Saint-Bergame much better than I thought."

As she spoke, she offered me her hand so prettily that I was tempted to throw my arms about her and kiss her. But I confined myself to taking her hand and putting it to my lips; whereupon she hastily withdrew it, crying:

"Well, well! what in heaven's name is he doing? Are men in the habit of kissing their male friends' hands? that is a new idea, on my word!"

XX

BETWEEN THE PIPE AND THE CHAMPAGNE

The baron, who was beginning to be drowsy with the combined effects of the wine and tobacco, and whose eyes were not nearly so wide open as at the beginning of the supper, saw me, none the less, when I kissed Madame Dauberny's hand. He immediately snatched his pipe from his mouth and glared at me, crying:

"Mein gut frent, is id drue tat you pe not ein leedle pit in loafe mit montame? not ein leedle pit, I say?"

"What has stirred you up now, baron?" laughed Frédérique; "are you going to begin again?"

"Nein, but for vat do mein gut frent Rocheverte, he kiss your hand? I haf seen him kiss your hand."

"I did it without concealment, baron, and I ask nothing better than to do it again."

"So! in tat case, so vill ich do id again; but I haf not yet done id at all."

"Fill your pipe, baron, and let my hand alone. We were saying that Armantine's concert this evening was a bit _mouche_, to use a slang term--eh, monsieur?"

"Yes, madame."

"I haf not seen if tere vas _mouches_ [flies] at Monsir Sordeville's; but he pe ein sehr bleazant man, sehr--how you say?--he make me much talk; he loafe ven I talk; he say tat I shpeak vell te language."

Frédérique's face suddenly changed; her brow grew dark, and her expression was no longer the same. She looked keenly at the baron, saying:

"What did you talk about with Monsieur Sordeville?"

"Ve talk of pizness. As I haf come to France mit der ambassador, he haf question me of bolitics, of te gufernment, of many serious subjects. He pe a brovound man, he haf alvays agree mit me."

Frédérique seemed to be lost in thought.

"And this was only the second time that you had been to Monsieur Sordeville's?" she asked, after a moment.

"Ja! id vas te second time. I haf met te monsir at te house of Montame de Granvallon, vere I haf had te bleazure to meet mit you."

"And you did not know Monsieur Sordeville before?"

"Not at all; but he make agwaindance so easy, he vas sehr amiable; his vife, as he tell me, she haf peen much frent mit you."

"Yes, Armantine and I were at the same boarding school; we were friends. I left the school long before she did; I refused to learn to do anything except fence and ride, and those things were just what they didn't teach there. I would have liked to go to the Polytechnic, and then to Saint-Cyr; to be a soldier, in fact. I held up to my parents the precedent of the Chevalier d'Éon, who, although a woman, was cunning enough to lead a man's life for years. But they declared that it would be too great a risk. Parents constantly thwart their children's inclinations like that.--When I met Armantine again, she was married, and we renewed our old friendship. She is good-humored, merry, a little inclined to be capricious, a great flirt, but good at heart. As for her husband--in my opinion, he pays too little attention to his wife; he gives her too much liberty. I don't say that she abuses it, but, you see, you gentlemen are sometimes very gallant, very adventurous! And when the husband is never on the spot, why, it's his own fault if anything happens to him."

"What is this Monsieur Sordeville's business?" I asked Frédérique. She did not answer for some time, but at last she said:

"I thought that you knew him?"

"From having met him two or three times at a house where they give balls and play cards. He talked with me, more or less; he doesn't lack intelligence, he talks well, and possesses the much rarer gift of making others talk. We see so many people in society whose conversational powers consist in interrupting one at every instant, and who do not understand that one may have something better to do than listen to them. I had some talk with Monsieur Sordeville, as I say; and then I met him again at that wedding party, where you were so kind to me, and where he invited me to his house. But I did not dream of asking him what his profession was. Indeed, if he is rich, he is justified in having none."

"It seems that he has some property; but I have an idea that he speculates on the Bourse. Were you better pleased with him this evening than with--did he make himself agreeable? He received you cordially, I have no doubt; but what did you talk about with him? not his wife, I presume?"

"No; he was discussing serious subjects with an old gentleman who kept blinking, or rather closed his eyes altogether, when he spoke. They got onto politics, and talked thereon a long while."

Frédérique was not at all the same woman as our hostess of a few moments earlier. After quite a long silence, during which our lovelorn Prussian continued to drown his heartache in champagne, I touched my neighbor's arm softly, saying:

"You seem to be a long way off. Are you tired? do you wish us to go?"

Frédérique raised her head, passed her hand across her forehead, and resumed her jovial air.

"Ah! you are right!" she exclaimed; "scold me, my friend. I have fits of musing, sometimes; I fall into a train of thought that is utterly void of sense! It is very wrong in me, for when you are with me is no time for me to have such thoughts. But I don't want you to leave me yet; we get along so well together! Are you inclined to sleep?"

"Oh! no, madame!"

"_Madame_ again! You irritate me! Beware! if you go on in this way, I am no longer your comrade."

"Pray don't say that--Frédérique."

"He called me Frédérique! that's very lucky for him! What a lot of trouble I had, to bring him to that! Ah! I am very glad I succeeded."

She sprang to her feet and began to waltz about the table; then stopped in front of a mirror over the mantel, and changed the arrangement of her hair once more, this time twisting a red silk handkerchief about her head, _à la_ Creole. Then she went to the baron, took him by the shoulders, and shook him, crying:

"Well! my friend Brunzbrack, you don't open your mouth! Have you gone to sleep?"

The baron raised his head, rubbed his eyes, and tried to open them, as he replied:

"Ach! _zaperlotte!_ gone to shleep, me! ven ich bin mit ein so bretty voman! mit ein voman who turns mein head und mein heart!"

"I don't know whether I have turned your head, but it seemed to me that you were hardly following the conversation."

"Id vas te bibe vich haf make mein head heafy ein leedle pit. But I haf not seen! Mein Gott! how you pe bretty mit tis oder way to do your hair! I know not vy you like to blay all tese leedle dricks mit your head, als if id haf not peen bretty enough pevore!"

"Herr von Brunzbrack is right," said I, looking at Frédérique, to whom the red silk handkerchief gave a saucy, wanton look that changed her completely. "Do you know, my friend, that it is ungenerous to keep changing your coiffure, and to invent such alluring ones? Do you want the poor baron here to die of love?"

"Ha! ha! I'm not afraid of that. I have put on my nightcap; isn't a body at liberty to put on her nightcap? But I don't want you to go to sleep, baron! Come, let's sing and drink and laugh! Oh! I am in a laughing mood to-night!"

"Ja! ja! let's trink und sing!"

"Do you begin, baron; but no love songs, and, above all things, no languorous lamentations. What we want is something lively, a little décolleté even. Do men stand on ceremony with one another?"

She filled our glasses, then threw herself back in her chair, laughing till the tears came, because the baron gazed at her with such a tender expression, that his eyes were invisible and his face resembled an egg-plant.

"Come, baron; we're waiting for you."

"Ach! I must sing te first; und so vill I. Vait, till I remember me some bretty song; I know many--vait. Trum, trum, trum, trideri, tram, tram, tram. _Sapremann!_ So many I know! Vait! Troum, troum, troum, tradera, tradera. Id is sehr--how you say?--astonish! Ich kann nicht te peginning remember. Vait--trim, trim, turlulu, traderi----"

"I'm afraid you are stuck fast, my poor Brunzbrack. While we are waiting for your memory to come back, Rochebrune will sing us something."

"I?"

"To be sure. Well! has this one lost his memory, too? Why, what sort of men are these two, that a glass of champagne puts their wits to flight?"

"I am perfectly willing to sing; but I know nothing but nonsensical things."

"Sing us a nonsensical thing! I will allow anything that isn't downright bad. Moreover, I am sure that my friend will not sing me anything unseemly."

"On the contrary, I am very unseemly, sometimes."

"In that case, monsieur, keep quiet."

She assumed a pouting expression, and I hastened to hum a tune, saying:

"This is only a little free."

"Go on, then; I'll let it pass. Vadé, Gallet, Favart. Clever things are never indecent, because if they were they would not be clever."

"I am trying to remember the tune."

"Mon Dieu! how insufferable they are with their tunes! Here, how is this: Tra la la la--tra la la; you can sing any song to that."

"You are right; it's from the _Famille de l'Apothicaire_."

"I don't know what family it's from, but if it's all right---- Begin, monsieur."

"Here I go! I am going to sing _Le Vent_. Have I your permission?"

"_Le Vent_ it is!"

"I beg you to believe that it is not the _Vent_ which is the key to the riddle in _Le Mercure Galant_."

"I trust not; it's the _vent_ [wind] that _blows through the mountains_; the _vent de Gastibelza_."

"Just so. I am going to begin:

"'Quand on te propose----'

Ah! that won't go to the tune of the _Famille de l'Apothicaire_."

"That's strange; it ought to. Try some other tune."

"I think the _Baiser au Porteur_ will do the business."

"Oh! how long it takes you to get started, my dear fellow!"

"I begin:

"'Quand on t'offre une promenade----'"

"Trum, trum, trum, traderi dera, troum, troum, troum."

"Oh! please be kind enough to hold your tongue, baron, with your troum troum!"

"I dry yet to find mein tune."

"You can find it later; listen now to Rochebrune, who is going to sing us a _risqué_ little chansonnette."

"Ach! gut, gut! _risqué!_ tat must pe sehr amusing! _Risqué!_ Vat is a _risqué_ chanson?"

"That means lively; but we may as well speak out, as we are all men: it means naughty."

"Ach! id vill pe sehr bretty so! I loafe tat kind! Ve vill much laugh. Let us hear te naughty song. Ha! ha! How id vill pe amusing! Ho! ho!"

The baron laughed so heartily in anticipation of the pleasure in store for him, that Frédérique had much difficulty in silencing him; he ceased at last, and contented himself with muttering between his teeth: "Naughty, _risqué!_--_risqué_, naughty!" while I sang to the tune of the _Baiser au Porteur_:

"'Quand on t'offre une promenade, Lisa, prends garde au temps qu'il fait! S'il fait du vent, dis-toi malade, Ou bien, l'on en profiterait Pour te faire ce qu'on voudrait. Va, je ne ris pas, sur mon âme! Par ce temps-la je fus prise souvent! Ma chère, il n'est pour une femme Rien de plus traître que le vent.'"[B]

I paused after the first verse and glanced at Frédérique. She smiled; that was a good sign. As for the baron, he repeated each line after me, sometimes with variations, and with an accompaniment of loud guffaws. We heard him mumbling:

"Noding so slyer als der vind! Ho! ho! ho! Gut, gut! Naughty!"

"Go on," said Frédérique.

I cleared my throat, drank a glass of wine, and cried like Ravel in the _Tourlourou_:

"Second verse, same tune:

"'Et puis, comment veux-tu qu'on fasse? On s'habille quand il fait beau: Le vent arrive, on s'embarrasse, On ne peut tenir de niveau, Le bas d'sa robe et son chapeau; On a les yeux pleins de poussière Lorsque ça souffle par devant, Mais c'est plus perfide, ma chère, Quand on n'voit pas venir le vent.'"[C]

"My loafe! Ven she don't feel te vind plowing! Ho! ho! gut! gut! gut! Troum! troum! troum!"

Frédérique laughed outright.

"Oh! how insufferable he is with his repetitions! Next verse."

"'Si la pluie est désagréable Et sur nous mouille nos jupons, Le vent est libertin en diable! Il dessin' ce que nous avons. Il nous fait comm' des petits cal'cons; Un homme, alors, garde moins de mesure, Car ça le monte au ton du sentiment! Et ce n'est pas notre figure Qu'il regarde tant qu'il fait du vent.'"[D]

"Ho! ho! ho! gut! gut! Id is not te face. Ich nicht untershtand."

"So much the worse for you, baron; for I don't propose to have it explained to you. It seems to me that it's plain enough. It's a little free, but it's amusing. Is that all?"

"Yes."

"Only three verses! That's a pity!" And Frédérique put her glass to her lips, adding: "After all, where's the harm? In the old days, men sang more and they weren't so ill-tempered as they are to-day. Poor French gayety! what has become of thee? O merry meetings of the _Caveau_! In truth, it was only to sing that men sought admission to thy meetings."

"Troum, troum, traderi dera. Ach! I remember me mein song now."

"Let's have it, baron; we are listening."

The baron opened his enormous mouth, and we supposed that a stentorian voice would issue therefrom; but we were agreeably surprised. When he sang, Herr von Brunzbrack had a shrill voice resembling that of a child of two; it reminded me strongly of the voice of the _Man with the Doll_.

"'Moi, qui jadis ch'affre eu le gloire, De chansonner bour Montemoiselle Iris, Che vais avec votre bermission fous dire l'histoire Du jeune perger Paris; Sur le mirlidon.'"[E]

"Enough! enough!" cried Frédérique; interrupting him without ceremony; "we know that, my dear Brunzbrack. You needn't have taken so much pains to remember that song."

"Vat! you know id?"

"Who doesn't know the _Judgment of Paris_; to the air of _mirliton_, _mirlitaine_? I think Collé wrote it. Perhaps I ought not to have admitted that I know it; but as I have told you that I am a man, that shouldn't astonish you."

"Id is sehr bretty! Id ended alvays mit: Mirlidon, mirlidaine, mirlidon, don, don."

"Yes. I advise you to think of something else, baron."

Frédérique threw her red handkerchief on the table, then ran again to the mirror, took a little comb from the pocket of her gown, and in an instant entirely rearranged her coiffure. She selected a beautiful white rose, put it in her hair, made curls much longer than before, and gave herself the aspect of one of those charming English faces of Lawrence, which have been freely reproduced in engravings, and which one cannot look at without the reflection that one would be very fortunate to possess the model.

A most extraordinary woman, this Madame Dauberny! How far I had been from imagining her as she then was! What a captivating succession of moods! First, a very madcap, laughing uproariously; then, of a sudden, serious, almost melancholy, stern even; free in her actions, reserved in her speech; one moment assuming the tone and manners of a man; then abruptly recurring to the graces and dainty ways of a woman! I was still uncertain what opinion to form of her; but the one thing of which I could entertain no doubt was her perfect frankness; I was perfectly certain that she never had any hesitation about saying exactly what she thought.

"Mirlidon, don, don, mirlidaine!" hummed the baron, between his teeth.

Frédérique resumed her place at the table, looked me squarely in the eye, and said:

"Well, comrade, what do you think of this arrangement of the hair? But, first of all, my dear fellow, be assured that there isn't the slightest coquetry in all this! It amuses me to vary my headdress, to give myself a serious, saucy, romantic, harum-scarum look, turn and turn about. I would have liked to be an actress, so that I might have changed my rôle constantly. Sometimes I am as much of a child as when I was twelve years old; but, I repeat, I don't do all this to make myself attractive; it is only to amuse myself."

"Suppose you were coquettish, where would be the harm? You are entitled to be."

"I know it, and that's just why I am not. Still, perhaps I am, unconsciously. They say one doesn't know one's self. Why don't you tell me how I look?"

"Because I am at a loss what to say. You were more alluring a moment ago. Now, your aspect inclines one more to reverie, which, I think, is more dangerous."

"And you, baron--what do you think of my new coiffure?"

By dint of humming _Mirlidon, don, don, mirlidaine_, Herr von Brunzbrack had fallen asleep; his only reply was a mumbled repetition of the refrain.

"He is in some imaginary country," said Frédérique, turning again to me. "Let's let him sleep. For a German, he's a very poor drinker; I mean, he drinks too much. But you are different; you don't show it. It's great fun to get merry, but it's stupid to get tipsy and go to sleep. For my part, I can drink all the champagne I choose, and it only makes me talkative, expansive, don't you know, my friend, don't you know? Ah! I have a strange fancy; if I don't yield to it, I shall stifle!"

"What is it, in heaven's name? Pray yield to it at once!"

"Well, I have a fancy to _tutoyer_[F] you; are you willing?"

I cannot describe the effect produced upon me by that: "Are you willing?"--A sort of shiver passed through my body. I was moved to the very depths of my being. For a man cannot, unmoved, hear a young and attractive woman address him thus familiarly. It was of no use for me to say to myself that with Frédérique that meant nothing, that it was simply one effect of her originality; I was perturbed, and I did not know what to reply.

She saved me the trouble by going on:

"It's agreed; we will _tutoyer_ each other. I will be your confidant, and you shall be mine. Like the intimate friends we are, we will have no secrets from each other. Give me your hand. Your name is Charles, I believe? Well, I will call you Charles; it's less ceremonious than Rochebrune. Come, shake hands. Aren't you willing to address me as _thou_?"

"Oh, yes, indeed! I am delighted! I will gladly address you--address thee--_thou_."

"One would say that it came rather hard! For my part, I feel as if you were my brother, and I had _thou'd_ thee all my life."

"Ah! you feel as if I were your brother, do you?"

I was not at all pleased to have her look upon me as her brother. Ah! what conceited fools men are! I fancied that I had turned Frédérique's head! Her last words dispelled my illusion. I was silent for a moment, but I soon recovered myself and shook her hand, saying: