Part 15

"That is very prettily said. But, monsieur, I will confess that I have a fancy for knowing the people whom I receive. Now, I don't know you."

"That is true, mademoiselle, that is very true; one must know with whom one is dealing."

And Dupont, who had prepared his little story in advance, straightened himself up in his chair and continued:

"I am an--an American; I was in business, but I have retired; I have money enough to be happy; I am a widower, without children, and therefore at liberty to do exactly as I please."

"Very good, monsieur. And your name?"

"My name is--Dupont."

"Dupont--that is quite a French name; I thought Americans had names more like the English."

"That depends on their origin; my family was French. Now that you know who I am, mademoiselle, will you allow me to pay court to you?"

"I see no objection--provided that you haven't lied to me; for, I give you fair warning, I hate liars!"

Dupont bowed, scratched his head, and rejoined:

"You wished to know who I was, mademoiselle, and I have gratified your wish. In my turn, may I be permitted----"

"To know who I am! Oh! that is soon told: you already know that my name is Georgette, and that I am an embroiderer. I was born at Toul, a pretty village in Lorraine, near Nancy. My parents are not rich, and I have two sisters, both older than I. My two sisters came to Paris in the hope of being better off here and of being able to help our parents, but they didn't succeed. Poor sisters! Then they came back again to us."

"And you have come to Paris in your turn. I am surprised that your parents consented to let you leave them. They might well have been afraid that you would be no more fortunate than your sisters."

"Oh! but I was determined to come to Paris; I had made up my mind to do it; and when I make up my mind to do a thing, it's got to be done."

"That indicates a strong will."

"Yes, monsieur; I have a very strong one."

"And since you have been in Paris, have you found it pleasant?"

"So-so; not too pleasant! Certainly there are plenty of means of enjoyment in Paris, one has such a choice of pleasures! Plays, balls, promenades, concerts--all of them are delightful to those who can afford such diversions. But when you stay in your chamber all day long, and pass your evening working or reading, you hardly enjoy life in Paris."

"That is very true. But what prevents you from enjoying all these amusements that tempt you?"

"Can a woman who is all alone go about to plays and promenades?"

"No, certainly not; but you can have had no lack of cavaliers ready to offer you their arms."

"True; but I don't go with everybody, monsieur; I don't accept the arm of the first comer! Certainly, if I had chosen to listen to all the young men who have followed at my heels and overwhelmed me with their silly declarations of love,--love that seized them all of a sudden when they saw me walk along the street,--I should have had plenty of opportunities! But that isn't what I want!"

Dupont caressed his chin, saying to himself:

"She is exacting; she doesn't choose to go about with every _gamin!_ She wants to make the acquaintance of a _comme il faut_ man. All the chances are in my favor."

Mademoiselle Georgette had resumed her embroidery, looking out of the corner of her eye to see how her visitor bore himself. He looked at her work and exclaimed:

"Mademoiselle, you embroider superbly."

"Do you think so, monsieur? Are you a connoisseur?"

"Yes, my wi--my sister used to embroider."

"Is she in America?"

"Yes, she remained there."

"It's not surprising, monsieur, that I know how to embroider well, for I come from a province renowned for its embroideries. The very best of that sort of work is done at Nancy."

"And you are from Nancy?"

"No; but Toul is quite near. Well! do you really want some handkerchiefs embroidered?"

Dupont began to laugh, and replied:

"Faith! no; and since you have so shrewdly guessed that I came here solely in the hope of making your acquaintance, shall I be so fortunate, mademoiselle, as to have your permission to cultivate it--to come again to see you--and perhaps to offer you my arm sometimes and take you to the play or to walk?"

Mademoiselle Georgette reflected a few moments, gazed earnestly at Dupont, and said at last:

"You have not lied to me in what you have told me about yourself? You are really a widower and free?"

"No, mademoiselle, I have not lied to you," Dupont replied unhesitatingly.

"In that case, monsieur, come to see me; I am willing."

"Ah! mademoiselle, you make me the happiest of men!"

"But you must not make your visits too long; that might compromise me."

Dupont rose, bowed to the young woman, and took his leave, saying to himself:

"She is mine! It may perhaps take longer than I should have liked, but it's only a question of time now. She is mine! and I haven't the slightest desire to sleep."

IV

YOUNG COLINET

A fortnight had passed. Dupont called very frequently on his neighbor, of whom he was more enamored than ever; for to the charms of her person Mademoiselle Georgette added wit, high spirits, and entertaining conversation. Less than these were enough to turn the head of our provincial, who lost his appetite, and slept no more than two hours in succession during the night, because his love was in no degree satisfied, and his desires augmented with the presence of her who gave birth to them. But he was no further advanced in that direction than on the first day. If he took the girl's hand, she laughingly withdrew it; if he tried to kiss her, she pushed him away without ceremony; if he ventured to place his hand on her knee, or tried to put his arm about her waist, she assumed a severe expression and said to him in a very decided tone:

"If you don't stop that, I'll turn you out and never admit you again!"

Thereupon Dupont was fain to cease his audacious experiments, and said to himself again as he went away:

"It will take a long time! it will take much longer than I thought! However, I shall certainly gain my end; for if the girl hadn't found me to her liking, she wouldn't have consented to receive my visits, she wouldn't go out with me and accept presents from me. She plays the cruel, to give greater value to her conquest. That is coquetry, yes, immodesty--but it can't last forever."

Mademoiselle Georgette did, in fact, accept Dupont's escort readily enough to the play, to concerts, and to go out to walk. As for balls, Dupont did not offer to take her to any, nor did she seem to desire it. One thing she had always refused: that was, to dine in a private dining-room at a restaurant.

"I am willing to dine with you at a restaurant," she said; "but we will dine in the main dining-room, with other people."

In vain did Dupont say:

"The service isn't so good in the main dining-room; and then, too, it's bad form--ladies who dine at restaurants never go to the public room."

Georgette was inflexible; she would not give way. As a general rule, she seemed to go with Dupont, not for the pleasure of being with him, but to see the people and to be seen herself.

She dressed very modestly. Dupont had said to himself: "The way to capture a woman is by giving her things to wear, by encouraging her coquetry;" and he had sent the young embroiderer a pretty shawl, a silk dress, and a stylish bonnet. She had accepted his gifts without argument, and had arrayed herself in them that same day to go to the Opéra-Comique with him. But when, after escorting her home at the close of the performance, he had asked permission to go up to her room for a moment, she had shut the door in his face, saying:

"I should think not! it's quite enough to receive you in the daytime."

Mademoiselle Georgette made frequent conquests when she was on Dupont's arm; then our provincial became jealous, for it seemed to him that his companion was distraught at times, and that she paid too much attention to the men who ogled her, and not enough to him.

Then, too, the young woman was very curious; at the play, she would call his attention to a stylishly dressed young dandy and say:

"Do you know the gentleman in that box, just opposite us, with an opera glass in his hand?"

"No; I haven't an idea who he is," Dupont would reply sourly; "I don't know anyone in Paris."

"Ah! to be sure; I forgot that you had just come from America. It's a pity!"

"Why is it a pity?"

"Because you don't know anyone in Paris."

"And even if I did know the young man you refer to, how would that help you?"

"Oh! not at all. I simply wanted to know."

Another time, it was a middle-aged man, but dressed in the height of fashion, and mimicking all the manners of a young dandy, whom Mademoiselle Georgette noticed on one of the public promenades and pointed out to her faithful attendant.

"Do you know who that man is?"

"How in the devil do you suppose that I know who he is?"

"Ah! to be sure! you are just from America--I forgot that."

On returning to his room, Dupont would say to himself:

"Why does she question me about the men we meet walking, or at the theatre? That doesn't amuse me at all! She is a great flirt, is that girl; she doesn't lower her eyes when a man looks at her; she acts as if she was delighted to make conquests. And yet she's virtuous, perfectly virtuous! I know that better than anybody; but all she wants is to go out, to show herself. Ah! she has such a fine figure! When she's on my arm, everybody admires her carriage, her figure above all! and her foot, and her leg! How can a man help falling in love with all that? I can't eat or drink on account of it; and I lost the power to sleep long ago; I'm growing thin; to be sure, I'm not sorry for that, but I'm growing perceptibly thinner. If this goes on, I shall look like a Pierrot instead of a Punchinello."

One day, Dupont had been in his pretty neighbor's room for several minutes; he was watching her work, and was doing his utmost to persuade her that he adored her, while the girl listened with manifest indifference, like one who was thinking of something other than what was being said to her, when there came two light taps at her door.

"Someone is knocking," said Dupont, with an air of surprise.

"Yes, I thought that I heard a knock."

"Are you expecting company?"

"No; but why shouldn't people come to see me? You came, whom I certainly did not expect."

"Listen--they're knocking again. It is certainly at your door."

"Come in!" cried Georgette; "the door isn't locked."

In fact, the young woman was always careful to leave the key in the lock outside when Dupont was with her, in order to give less occasion for gossip.

The door opened and a young man appeared and stopped on the threshold. He may have been about twenty years old, although he looked younger. His fresh, ingenuous face was exceedingly youthful; his great blue eyes, gentle and tender, had almost the charm of a woman's eyes; his chin was covered with an almost imperceptible down; his forehead was without a wrinkle, and his light chestnut hair grew naturally and at will, having never known the hand of a hairdresser. Take him for all in all, he was a very pretty fellow; of medium height, but slender and graceful.

His dress was neither that of a peasant nor that of a Parisian youth. He wore broadcloth trousers, almost skin-tight, with long leather gaiters reaching to the knee, a velvet waistcoat with metal buttons, and a rough, long-haired hunting jacket. Lastly, he held in his hand a felt hat, with a round crown and broad brim, and a stout knotted stick.

"Mamzelle Georgette, if you please?" said the young man, still standing in the doorway.

At the sound of that voice, the young woman sprang to her feet, crying:

"Colinet! it's Colinet!"

And she ran to the new-comer, seized his hands, then his face, and kissed him again and again, with every indication of the keenest delight.

"Dear Colinet!" she said. "Oh! how glad I am to see you!"

"And I am very glad to see you, Mamzelle Georgette!" the young man replied. "For they told me Paris was so big, I was afraid I wouldn't find you!"

Dupont meanwhile looked on with a strange expression on his face, saying to himself:

"It seems that she lets some people kiss her! More than that, she kissed him first! The devil! the devil! I wonder if I'm nothing better than an old fool! That would be humiliating!"

Georgette took the young man's hand, and leading him into the room presented him to Monsieur Dupont, saying:

"This is a friend of my childhood. We used to play together when we were children--didn't we, Colinet?"

"Yes, Mamzelle Georgette."

"Let us pray that they won't continue to play together, now they're grown up!" thought Dupont, who was forced to admit that the young man was very comely.--"Is monsieur from your province?" he asked.

"Yes, to be sure, and he's just come from there.--Isn't that so, Colinet?"

"Yes, mamzelle; I arrived last night at the Plat d'Étain, where I'm staying, on Carré Saint-Martin."

"And my mother and father and sisters--do tell me about them."

"They are all well, thank heaven! and they all told me to be sure and kiss you for them."

"Well! kiss me for each of them."

Young Colinet lost no time in kissing Georgette again; while Dupont's face became a yard long, and he said to himself:

"Are they going to pass all their time kissing? That fellow has obtained more in two minutes than I have in a month. I simply must change my batteries."

When young Colinet had delivered all his kisses, Georgette bade him sit down and said:

"Didn't my sisters give you anything for me?"

"Oh! yes, excuse me; Mamzelle Aimée, the oldest one, gave me a letter, which I've got here in my pocket."

"Oh! give it to me, quick!"

Monsieur Colinet handed a letter to Georgette, who eagerly seized it, broke the seal, and walked to the window to read it, regardless of her visitors. Thereupon Dupont turned to the new-comer and asked:

"Have you been in Paris before?"

"No, monsieur; this is the first time."

"Do you mean to settle here?"

"Oh! no, monsieur. In fact, I promised mother not to stay more than four days. I'm going home Saturday."

This reply caused Dupont most intense satisfaction, for he had begun to fear that he should find the young man at his compatriot's every day. He continued, with a more amiable air:

"Are you in business?"

"I raise sheep, and my father calves."

"That's a very fine trade! Our first parents raised cattle, more or less; we content ourselves nowadays with eating them, and that is all the more reprehensible because it's not the way to multiply the races."

Mademoiselle Georgette finished reading her letter, which seemed to have interested her deeply; as she folded it, she uttered an "at last!" which seemed to say many things.

Dupont, content to know that young Colinet was to remain only a short time in Paris, took his hat and said to his neighbor:

"I leave you with your old friend. You must have many things to say to each other."

"I will not keep you," Georgette replied, with a smile.

"She won't keep me! parbleu! I can see that for myself!" said Dupont, as he took his leave. "She never does keep me! Oh! this is too long a job! I am drying up! That young Colinet kissed her more than ten times! It's high time that my turn should come!"

V

AN INGENUOUS YOUTH

The next afternoon, when Dupont called upon his neighbor, he found Colinet there, apparently no less shy and embarrassed than before, sitting in front of Georgette and watching her work, without a word; but with the air of being perfectly happy simply to look at her.

"Well, Monsieur Colinet," said Dupont, "have you been enjoying yourself? have you got a little acquainted with Paris?"

"I've been to see the animals in the Jardin des Plantes, monsieur; but I like my sheep better than the lions and tigers. I wonder why they give them such fine cages, when my sheep often don't have any house even."

"Tigers are kept in cages, Monsieur Colinet, because they are vicious and people are afraid of 'em. As for your sheep, as they never injure anybody, nobody worries about them, and they're allowed to feed where they will. That's worth something in itself."

"My sheep don't always find enough to eat in the fields; but I saw them give great big chunks of meat to your ugly tigers."

"For the very same reason! They're afraid of 'em, so they must keep 'em well fed."

"You must go to the play while you're in Paris, Colinet."

"With you, Mamzelle Georgette?"

"Yes. Monsieur Dupont here will take us both."

"The devil! it seems that I must amuse Monsieur Colinet too," thought Dupont. "But, after all, I prefer that to having her go alone with him."

"Will you take us to the theatre to-night?" Georgette asked Dupont.

"Why, certainly, mademoiselle, with the greatest pleasure! Am I not always at your service, and too happy if I can do anything to please you?"

"Yes, monsieur; I know that you are extremely obliging; but I should dislike to abuse your good nature."

"You cannot put it to the test too often. You know my sentiments for you, for I make no mystery of them; I am your loyal knight!"

Young Colinet stared first at Dupont, then at Georgette, as if he were trying to fathom their meaning. The pretty embroiderer laughed heartily, as she said:

"Then we'll go to the Cirque-National. They give fairy plays there, with transformation scenes;--you'll like that, Colinet."

"I'll go wherever you say, Mamzelle Georgette."

"It's strange," thought Dupont, "that she addresses this young man _thou_, while he uses _you_. After all, that's better than if it was the other way."

That evening, he escorted Mademoiselle Georgette and young Colinet to the theatre of the Circus on Boulevard du Temple. I do not need to tell you that the numerous theatres that imparted so much animation to that boulevard were not then demolished. The play was a fairy extravaganza, a mixture of dancing and marvellous exploits, with frequent changes of scenery. The rather scant costumes of the female dancers made Colinet lower his eyes; sometimes he even turned his head away just when most of the spectators had their opera glasses fastened on the forms of those ladies.

"Well, well! what are you thinking about?" Dupont would exclaim, nudging the young man; "you look away at the most delicious moment!"

"I'm afraid of offending those ladies, if I look at them when they lift their legs in our direction," Colinet would reply, with a blush.

"Poor fellow! he certainly isn't dangerous!" was Dupont's conclusion. "Still, my pretty embroiderer pays no attention to anyone else. When I speak to her, she hardly answers me, she doesn't seem to listen. I long for the time when her childhood's friend will return to his sheep."

Dupont's wishes were soon gratified. On the Saturday Colinet said farewell to Georgette, who gave him two letters for her sisters and kisses for her parents. The young man took charge of them all, and went away sadly enough.

"Why don't you come back with me?" he asked Georgette. "I should be so happy to take you back to the province! Do you enjoy yourself so very much in Paris, mamzelle?"

"It isn't that I enjoy myself so much, Colinet; but I must stay here--I must!"

"And will you have to stay long?"

"I don't know; we will hope not. But I promise you, Colinet, that the day that takes me back to my parents will be the happiest day in my life."

"And in mine too, mamzelle."

"Really, Colinet? then you have much--friendship for me?"

"I don't know what I have; but I would like never to leave you again."

"We shall meet again, Colinet; don't forget me. I promise not to forget you."

"Ah! Mamzelle Georgette, that promise makes me very happy!"

And to prove his joy the poor boy burst into tears; then he kissed Georgette and ran away as fast as his legs would carry him, because he felt that if he delayed any longer he would not have the courage to go at all.

Dupont called on his neighbor in the afternoon; he found her sad and thoughtful.

"I opine that the young shepherd has gone," he said.

"Yes, monsieur. He is very lucky: he is going to see my father and mother!"

"No doubt. But it must be very monotonous to look at sheep all the time. You see, charming Georgette, there's nothing like Paris! It is the home of all pleasures; it is the place to which all the great talents, all the people of renown, come to be applauded! In a word, one really lives in Paris; elsewhere, one only vegetates!"

"If that were true, monsieur, it would be most unfortunate for a great many people, for Paris isn't big enough to hold the whole world. But I think myself that one can be very happy elsewhere, when one is with those whom one loves and is able to confine one's desires within reasonable limits."

"That is true, charming Georgette; you talk like Virgil, or Delille. It was the latter, I believe, who said:

"'Les vrais plaisirs aux champs ont fixé leur séjour; On y craint plus les dieux, on y fait mieux l'amour!'[C]

But as for making love, with all deference to Delille, that can be done very well in Paris; indeed, the art is carried to perfection here; and if you would only be less cruel to me---- But you are distraught! You don't seem to be listening!"

"What did you say, monsieur?"

"There! I was sure of it; you weren't listening to me! But I forgive you; the departure of your childhood's friend has saddened you. Come, you absolutely must have some diversion! To-morrow will be Sunday, and we must enjoy the day. Will you dine with me?"

"With pleasure."

"I will call for you at five o'clock; be ready then. We will dine at Bonvalet's, on the boulevard."

"Wherever you choose; it's all the same to me."

"Well, then, at Bonvalet's; they treat one very well there. Then we will go to one of the theatres opposite. It's all settled; and until then I leave you with your memories. Au revoir, dear neighbor, until to-morrow!"

Dupont took his leave, rubbing his hands and saying to himself:

"To-morrow will see my triumph! Between now and then, I will go to Bonvalet's, I will speak to one of the waiters, I will suborn him in my interest, and I will engage a private dining-room in advance, even though I have to pay its weight in gold!"

VI

A PRIVATE DINING-ROOM

The next day, punctually at five o'clock, Dupont appeared. He found Georgette dressed in her best clothes, but still pensive and careworn.

"Decidedly, you regret your childhood's friend too much," said Dupont, with a smile. "You were always so light-hearted, singing all the time--I should hardly recognize you now!"

"It isn't Colinet's going away that makes me thoughtful."

"Oho! it isn't that? Then there's something else, is there?"

"Perhaps so."

"Something which you will confide to me?"

"I think not."

"In that case, let us go to dinner."

They went to the restaurant on Boulevard du Temple. As they were about to ascend the flight of stairs leading to the first floor, three gentlemen who seemed to have dined very well came down. One of them, finding himself face to face with Dupont, uttered an exclamation of surprise as he looked at him, and slapped him on the back.

"Well, upon my word!" he cried; "this is an unexpected meeting! It's Dupont, dear old Dupont! What does this mean? You are in Paris, and haven't been to see me?"

Dupont turned scarlet, he hung his head, and stammered:

"Ah! is it you, Jolibois? Bonjour! How are you? Adieu!"

And he tried to pass with Georgette, who had his arm.

But Monsieur Jolibois caught him by the sleeve, and continued:

"Well! do you hurry away like this when you meet a friend? When did you leave Brives-la-Gaillarde? Is your wife with you? Don't run away, I say; I'm very glad to see you. Poor Dupont! Do you still sleep like a marmot? For that's all you did when I was at Brives-la-Gaillarde, and your wife complained of it. Ha! ha! she complained bitterly, did your dear spouse!"