Part 14

As for Dupont himself, he was neither handsome nor ugly, neither short nor tall, neither clever nor stupid; he was one of those men of whom nothing is said. He had rather a good figure, however, with a shapely foot and a small white hand. He was very proud of these advantages, considered himself a little Apollo, and was absolutely determined not to take on flesh; the fear of that catastrophe was mainly responsible for his decision to go to Paris; and since the doctor had recommended that he should go without his wife, it was evident that he wished him to lead the life of a bachelor there. Now, what is the life of a bachelor, if not to be constantly on the look-out for intrigues, amourettes, _bonnes fortunes;_ in a word, to pass one's time running after women--society women when opportunity offers, and grisettes when one can do no better?

Speaking of grisettes, there are some writers who try to make us believe that there are none now; that they have gone out of fashion, like pug dogs; that the mould is broken. With due deference to those gentlemen, we maintain that the grisette still exists and always will exist in Paris. For, if you please, what are all the flowermakers, seamstresses, burnishers, illuminators, laundresses, waistcoatmakers, shirtmakers, trousermakers, etc., etc.?--They are neither coquettes, nor those exceedingly free and easy beauties who are always in evidence in the proscenium boxes of the smaller theatres, and are called, I do not just know why, lorettes; nor are they kept women, for it very often happens that their lovers can give them nothing but love; lastly, they are not virtuous bourgeois women, who never go out except on the arm of a father or brother. They are grisettes, genuine grisettes! Pray let us not demonetize them, they are such pretty coins! Why insist that they shall cease to be current?

I wish that you gentlemen, who will have it that there are none left in Paris, would go now and then, during the summer, to the Closerie des Lilas, the favorite ball of the students who love dancing and love; you will see there grisettes of all categories, you will see them laughing, capering, fooling, dancing a cancan as graceful and much less indecent than the Spanish dances which are allowed at the theatres; you will hear them talk, making fun of one another, envying this one her lover, ridiculing that one's lover; and amid the brief sentences and bursts of laughter that fill the air on all sides, you will catch some piquant, clever remarks, original expressions, which you hear nowhere else, and which make it impossible for you to keep a serious face--unless, that is to say, you belong to that school which insists that no one shall laugh, and which dares to say that "laughter is a grimace"! What a pitiful school, good Lord! Take my advice and never send your children to it! You must surely see that the results are not desirable.

Dupont, arriving in Paris during the carnival, began his bachelor life by betaking himself to the Opéra ball.

"The doctor ordered me to enjoy myself, and I can't fail of it in the midst of that crowd, largely composed of pretty women who are not absolute Lucretias, who ask nothing better than to make acquaintances, who, in fact, go to the ball for that sole purpose. I will take my choice, I will try to find a woman shaped like a Venus--yes, a Bacchante even, for all the Bacchantes I ever saw in pictures were of perfect shape; I will play the agreeable, the gallant; I have wit enough when I am started; to be sure, I have some difficulty in getting started, but with perseverance and punch I shall succeed; and I won't go to bed at ten o'clock, for I won't go to the ball till midnight."

Dupont carried his plan into execution; he had some trouble to avoid falling asleep in his chair when the clock struck ten. Several times he was on the point of getting into bed instead of putting on his dress coat; but, luckily, just as he was about to yield to his old habit, he glanced at his stomach and remembered that he could no longer button the last button of his waistcoat; whereupon he sprang to his feet and dressed in haste, muttering:

"You poor devil, do you want to turn into a Punchinello? I shan't have a hump behind, to be sure, but one in front is just as laughable and much more inconvenient. I'll go to the ball, cut capers, and have a jolly time! Sapristi! this isn't a joking matter, it's a matter of remaining young!"

Behold, therefore, our friend at the ball, gliding amid the throng that walked back and forth around the dancing enclosure, because from there one can look at the women at close quarters; one can even speak to them, joke with them, and offer them an arm when they are without an escort; all that is permissible at a masquerade ball. Indeed, what is not permissible there?--Dupont saw divers pretty creatures dressed as boatmen, sailors, jockeys, and postilions. As a general rule, ladies who dress in masculine costume wear no masks and are very glad to show their faces. They also disclose their shoulders and breasts; sometimes, indeed, there is too much abandon in their attire; they do not understand that the eye likes to have something to divine, and that a man is especially enamored of what he does not see.

Dupont selected a very attractive little blonde dressed as a Columbine. To become better acquainted, he invited her to polk; but our worthy friend from Brives-la-Gaillarde did not know what a risk he was taking; he fancied that the polka was danced at the Opéra ball as it was danced in his province; above all, he was unaware that it always ended in a galop--and such a galop! it must be seen to be appreciated. It is a whirlwind; it is as if a sort of insane frenzy had taken possession of all the dancers, under the inspiration of the lively, rapid, deafening music that electrifies you and takes you off your feet; you no longer galop, you fly, you whirl madly about, you push and jostle everyone you meet! Be fearless and do not lose your head, or you will infallibly be thrown down.

That is what happened to Dupont; he was not agile enough to hold his own in that bacchanalian dance; he fell and dragged his partner to the floor with him; she sprang quickly to her feet, and said in an angry tone:

"When you don't know how to galop, my boy, you shouldn't ask a lady to dance."

And the Columbine seized the arm of a Harlequin, and began to dance with him; while poor Dupont, who had not risen quickly enough, was struck by the feet of several dancers, and finally got up covered with bruises.

As he was very lame in the knees, shoulders, and back, he left the ball and went home to bed, saying:

"That's enough amusement for to-night!"

But Dupont would not admit that he was beaten, although he really had been. A few days later, he tried his luck again at a ball; but this time he went to the Casino, which he had been told was the rendezvous of the women most in vogue. In truth, our provincial was agreeably impressed by the fine costumes and by the elegance of those ladies, most of whom were in party dresses instead of masks.

"It is impossible," he said to himself, "that they dance such a dangerous galop here as they do at the Opéra. However, I will be prudent and not galop; I will confine myself to taking a partner for a contra-dance; that's the wiser way, because the figures are always the same; I know them all, and it isn't possible that I can be thrown down doing the English chain or the _pastourelle_."

And Dupont, after walking about the hall for some time in search of a particularly shapely partner, invited at last a rather attractive person whose languorous eyes gazed into his with infinite good humor.

They stood up to dance; but Dupont had for vis-à-vis a _gaillarde_ who had been a pupil of the famous Rigolboche, and whose bold and eccentric dancing was so renowned that people fought for places to watch her.

When Dupont executed his _avant-deux_ before that lady, he suddenly received a superb kick full in the face, amid the applause and roars of laughter of the spectators.

Dupont alone did not laugh; his nose was crushed, and he attempted to complain; but the tall _gaillarde_ said to him:

"It's your own fault! You're a donkey, my dear friend; you ought to have known that that was the time when I lift my leg! If you don't know my steps, you shouldn't dance opposite me! Bribri would never have let my foot hit him!"

As Dupont's nose was bleeding and pained him severely, he left the ball and went home to bed, saying to himself:

"I've amused myself enough for to-day."

Several days passed, and, Dupont's nose having healed, he said to himself:

"I'll go to the ball again; I'll stick to it; but this time I won't dance."

Attracted by the length of a poster which almost covered a whole pillar on the boulevards, he went to the ball in the Salle Barthélemy. There the crowd was almost as great as at the Opéra, but the company was infinitely less refined, and the tobacco smoke and the dust raised by the dancing, blended with the odor of the refreshments which were being served, gave to that ball a distinction peculiarly its own.

Dupont discovered a pretty little brunette, whose dress resembled that of a grisette. She was alone; he offered his arm and a glass of punch. The girl hesitated, then replied:

"You are very kind! I am very fond of punch, and I'd like to take a glass; but I'm afraid of Ronfland."

"Who's Ronfland?"

"He's--he's my friend, a cabinetmaker, a good fellow--but he gets drunk too often. I came to the ball with him, and he was to dance with me; but he didn't, and he left me here. That ain't a nice way to treat me!"

"As Monsieur Ronfland left you, it seems to me that you're at liberty to do what you choose, and to accept my arm and a glass of punch; you can't stay alone in this crowd, you need an escort."

"It ain't very good fun to be alone, that's true. I don't understand Ronfland; he left me near the orchestra, and he says: 'Stay here, and I'll come right back.'--That was more than an hour ago, and he hasn't come back."

"He's forgotten you."

"Oh! I'm sure he's gone to get a drink."

"Without you? That isn't polite. Of course, you have the right to do the same."

"Faith! yes, so I have. So much the worse for Ronfland! After all, it's his own fault!"

Dupont put the little brunette's arm through his and took her to the café; he ordered punch and filled a glass for his new acquaintance, who drank it readily, but kept repeating:

"After this you'll dance with me, won't you, monsieur? For one don't come to a ball to go without dancing."

And Dupont, who was not at all anxious to dance, continued to pour out the punch, as he replied:

"Yes, by and by; we have time enough. There are too many people here now; we should be too warm; it's better to drink punch."

But suddenly a young man, with a cap cocked over one ear, rushed up like a bomb, brought his fist down on the table, upset the punch bowl and glasses, and boxed the little brunette's ears, crying:

"Ah! that's how you behave, Joséphine! I've caught you at it! I bring you to the ball, and you play tricks on me with other men! I'll bring you to the right-about, you vile street walker!"

Mademoiselle Joséphine began to weep.

"You're still drunk, Ronfland," she cried. "I don't play tricks on you; you ought not to leave me; you're a drunkard; I don't love you any more!"

But Dupont was not of a temper to allow a woman who was in his company to be maltreated; he rose, picked up the empty bowl, which was rolling about the table, and with it struck Ronfland on the nose.

"Parbleu!" he said; "my nose was smashed the other day, and I'm not sorry to have my revenge."

But the young man in the cap, infuriated by the blow, leaped upon Dupont, who lost his balance, and they rolled together on the floor, still striking each other.

The police appeared and separated them. Ronfland and his companion were turned out of doors, and Dupont was obliged to pay for what was broken. As he had cut himself severely in the face while rolling about on the broken glass, he lost no time in taking a cab and returning to his hotel.

"I've got what I deserve!" he said to himself; "I have gone about it the wrong way. I certainly shall not go to any more balls in search of amusement!"

III

MADEMOISELLE GEORGETTE

Dupont was obliged to keep his room a week. He had taken rooms in an unpretentious hotel on Rue de Seine. To pass the time, which seemed very long, our provincial spent most of the day at his window. As his rooms were on the third floor, and as the opposite house was not high, Dupont was able to look into the chamber of a neighbor who lived opposite, under the eaves.

"I haven't had any luck in Paris yet," thought Dupont, as he paced the floor slowly, with his head swathed in bandages. "I have done what I could to amuse myself, but I have had poor success; however, I must admit that I sleep less--especially since I received this wound in the face. I won't go to balls any more in search of _bonnes fortunes_. But sometimes one goes far afield in search of what one has close at hand. In one of those attic chambers opposite, I have noticed a young woman--very pretty she is, on my word! and, above all, well built. I am the better able to judge, because I see her in négligé costume--a morning jacket, and a short fustian skirt, as well as I can see from here. But how alluring that simple négligé is! It enables one to admire a shapely, flexible figure, and hips! oh! such well-rounded hips! She has a fine shape! It is impossible not to fall in love with such a shape!"

And Dupont, opening his window, although it was quite cold, leaned bravely out, and fastened his eyes on his neighbor's window. It was closed, but the curtains were not drawn, and he could easily see the young woman who lived there, and who was at that moment engaged in arranging her hair before a mirror fastened to the window shutter.

"Her face is captivating," said Dupont to himself; "wide-awake brown eyes, a turned-up nose--_à la_ Roxelane, as they say--and a mouth--hum! the mouth isn't small, but it's well furnished; and then, she has a very pleasant smile. But, on the whole, there's nothing extraordinary about the face, and I prefer the figure. Ah! good! now she's walking about the room--still in that charming costume, tight-fitting white jacket, and the little striped skirt that hangs so well over her rounded hips. I can't see her foot or leg, but they must be beautiful; a tall, graceful figure almost always means a good leg. I certainly am dead in love with that figure; I must make that girl's acquaintance. She must have noticed my assiduity in watching her. It doesn't seem to displease her; there's nothing savage in her manner; on the contrary, there's a merry, aye, a mischievous look about her face, which seems to be intended to encourage one to make her acquaintance. She is probably a seamstress. As soon as I can go out, I'll ask the concierge opposite; I know how to make those fellows talk."

Meanwhile, being engrossed by his neighbor, Dupont slept much less, and sometimes even passed the night without sleep. That was good progress, and he said to himself:

"What a change my wife will see in me when I go back to Brives-la-Gaillarde! All I'm afraid of is that there the desire to sleep will return."

His wound being healed, Dupont was able to get rid of all the bandages in which his head was swathed. He made haste to leave the house, crossed the street to the house in which the girl with the striped skirt lived, and entered the concierge's lodge. In Paris, the porters have all become concierges; just as the shops have become _magasins_; the wine shops, _maisons de commerce_; the hair dressers' establishments, salons where one is rejuvenated; the groceries, dépôts for colonial produce; the bakers, pastry cooks; the _marchands de confection_, tailors; the book shops, _cabinets de lecture_; the cafés, restaurants; soup houses, _traiteurs_; indeed, even those gentry who haul refuse at night have assumed the title of _employés à la poudrette_.

Dupont accosted the concierge most affably, and slipped his irresistible argument into the hand of that functionary, who, happening to be a woman, asked nothing better than to talk, and instantly laid aside her one-sou illustrated paper, and answered without stopping for breath:

"The girl who lives on the third, second door at the left, is named Georgette; she embroiders for a living, and she has lots of talent; she embroiders like a fairy, so they say! She's twenty years old, I believe, and she hasn't been in Paris long. She's a Lorrainer, and she's full of fun, always ready to talk; and yet I think she's straight. Still, I wouldn't put my hand in the fire to prove it! it's never safe to put your hand in the fire about such things; you'd get burned too often! But I don't see any men go up to Mademoiselle Georgette's. Does she meet any of 'em outside? That's something I can't tell you. You see, when that girl goes out, I don't follow her. But she leads a regular life all the same, and never goes to balls, although I don't think it's the wish to go that's lacking, for I've heard her say more'n once: 'How lucky people are who can afford to enjoy themselves! When shall I have twenty thousand francs a year?'--But, although she hasn't got it, that don't seem to make her sad; for she sings all the time. That's all I can tell you about her, seeing that it's all I know."

"Twenty thousand francs a year!" muttered Dupont, scratching his head. "The devil! it's not I who'll give it to her!--So she embroiders, you say?" he continued.

"Yes, monsieur."

"What?"

"What do you mean by _what_?"

"I mean, what does she embroider?"

"Oh! collars, handkerchiefs, caps, whatever anyone wants her to embroider."

"Then I might ask her to do something for me?"

"That's your right."

"Very good. I'll go up to Mademoiselle Georgette's."

"Third floor, monsieur."

"Oh! I know."

"Yes, but there's two or three doors; it's the one where you see a toothbrush instead of a tassel on the bell cord."

"I'll remember."

As he mounted the stairs, Dupont said to himself:

"What in the devil can I have her embroider? Ah! a cravat! I believe they're not in fashion, men don't wear embroidered cravats now; but, no matter, I'll tell her it's the fashion at Brives-la-Gaillarde; and, after all, what does she care, so long as I give her work?"

He reached the third landing, where there were several doors; but he discovered the little toothbrush hanging at the end of a bell cord, and he boldly pulled it.

The door was opened by Mademoiselle Georgette herself, who smiled mischievously when she saw who her visitor was. She was still dressed in the white jacket and short fustian skirt; that costume was very becoming to her, it showed off all her good points. If we dared, we would say that that costume is becoming to all women--but we should add: provided they are well built.

"Mademoiselle Georgette--embroiderer?" inquired Dupont, assuming rather a patronizing air.

"Yes, monsieur."

"Mademoiselle, I came--I should like--I was told----"

"Pray come in, monsieur; I don't receive my visitors on the landing."

Dupont asked nothing better than to accept the invitation. He entered a room of which he had only caught a glimpse from his window. It was simply furnished, but extremely neat and clean; the floor was scrubbed and waxed; there was not a speck of dust on the furniture; the bed was very white and smooth; all of which spoke loudly in favor of the occupant. Demosthenes, being asked what constituted an orator, replied: "Elocution, elocution, elocution!" A philosophical king, being asked what occasioned the fall of the ramparts of a city, replied: "Money, money, money!" And Ninon, being asked what was the most beautiful ornament of womankind, replied: "Cleanliness, cleanliness, cleanliness!"

The girl offered Dupont a chair; she did the honors of her domicile with infinite ease, and seemed in no wise intimidated by her visitor. He, on the other hand, while he tried to assume an imposing manner, became exceedingly awkward, and had much difficulty in finding words, especially as Mademoiselle Georgette waited for him to speak, with an expression which seemed to indicate a powerful desire to laugh.

"I came, mademoiselle, for----"

"For something, I presume, monsieur."

"Yes, mademoiselle; I have been told--that you embroider."

"You were told the truth. Have you something you wish to have embroidered?"

"Yes--that is to say--I don't know whether embroidered cravats are worn in Paris?"

"No, monsieur; they are not in style now."

"Indeed! and cuffs?"

"Nor cuffs either."

"And--handkerchiefs?"

"For ladies; oh! yes, monsieur, some beautiful embroidery is done on handkerchiefs."

"Ah! very good! You do embroider handkerchiefs!"

While they conversed, Dupont cast frequent glances at the young woman's feet, which were small and well arched; the lower part of the leg was very shapely; so that his thoughts were diverted, and he murmured again and again:

"Ah! you embroider handkerchiefs!"

In a moment Mademoiselle Georgette laughed heartily, and thereby completely disconcerted her visitor, who gazed at her in amazement, saying:

"You are very merry, I see, mademoiselle."

"It is true, monsieur, that I do not engender melancholy."

"And might I ask what has aroused your merriment at this moment?"

"Why, you, monsieur!"

"I! Ah! it is I who make you laugh! Do you find me so very amusing, pray, mademoiselle?"

"Amusing is not the word, monsieur; but, to speak frankly, you are far from clever in inventing a pretext."

"A pretext! What do you mean? I don't understand."

"Still, it's easy enough to understand. You wanted to have an excuse, a reason, for coming to my room--for you have nothing to be embroidered."

"What makes you think that, mademoiselle?"

"Do you suppose that I do not recognize you, monsieur?"

"Ah! you recognize me, do you?"

"To be sure; you live at the small hotel opposite, where you pass your time staring at me, making eyes at me----"

"Ah! you have noticed that?"

And Dupont puffed himself out like a turkey-cock; he was gratified to have been observed, and drew a favorable augury from that fact.

"Yes, monsieur, I have noticed that," the young embroiderer continued. "How could I have helped seeing it, unless I was blind? Why, the other day, when you came to the window, it was horribly cold, and your nose was all blue! I was strongly tempted to make faces at you."

At this point, Dupont bit his lips and did not puff himself out.

"I didn't do it, because I presumed, seeing your head all bandaged, that you were either sick or hurt; and one should always take pity on those who suffer; but you are cured now, it seems."

"Yes, mademoiselle; I fought a duel, and was wounded in the head."

"Ah! you fought a duel, did you, monsieur? May a body, without being too inquisitive, ask what was the cause of your duel?"

"It was a lady, of great distinction, with whom I happened to be, and at whom an insolent knave presumed to look too closely."

"You fought for a lady! That was very well done, and leads me to forget your glances at me; but tell me, monsieur, why you have come here to-day?"

"Since you are so good at divination, mademoiselle, you ought to have no difficulty in guessing. I saw you from my window, I found you charming, and I desired to make your acquaintance."

"Good! that is plain speaking! And with what purpose do you wish to make my acquaintance? Perhaps you hope to make me your mistress?"

"I do not say that, mademoiselle."

"No, but you think it! As if that wasn't always what men aim at, when they fall in with a poor girl who is weak and foolish enough to believe them! But I am generous enough to warn you that you will waste your time with me."

"In any case, mademoiselle, it would be difficult to waste it more agreeably than in your company."