Part 2

Poor Dumouton! I was sorry that I had been the means of showing him up; but how could I suspect that he had sold me Rouffignard's umbrella? It was very wrong; but, perhaps, he needed the money to pay his baker. I felt that I must try to arrange the matter.

"You agree with me!" cried the stout man; "you call this a shameful trick, don't you?"

"No, Monsieur Rouffignard. I think that there is some misunderstanding simply, some mistake; that Dumouton is not guilty----"

"Not guilty! and he sold you my umbrella?"

"Allow me. When I met Dumouton this morning, he had two umbrellas under his arm. He offered to sell me one. 'And what about the other?' I asked him.--'The other isn't mine,' he said; 'it was lent to me, and I am going at once to return it.'--He certainly was speaking of yours, then. I made a bargain with him for his umbrella. But we talked some little time, and, when he left me, he must have made a mistake and given me the wrong one; that's the whole of it."

"Do you think so?"

"I am so sure of it that I will give you your umbrella, and go to Dumouton's to get the other."

"Infinitely obliged, Monsieur Rochebrune. But, as Dumouton proposed to bring mine back, I may find the other one at my house; in that case, I will send it to you at once."

"Do so, pray; au revoir, Monsieur Rouffignard!"

"Your servant, Monsieur Rochebrune!"

The stout man went off with his umbrella; I was quite sure that he would find none to send to me. Unfortunate Dumouton! See whither _petits verres_ lead, and idling in cafés, and risky collaborations!

My thoughts recurred to the ticket for the box at the Gymnase. Suppose that should be claimed at the door, like the umbrella! Suppose my ladies should be denied admission, humiliated! That would prove to have been a precious gift of mine! And the name that was written on it! Suppose that that should mislead Mademoiselle Rosette! Faith! that would be amusing. In case of an emergency, as I had given the damsel my address, and had forgotten to tell her my name, I determined to instruct my concierge as to what he must say if anyone should call and ask for the person whose name was on the ticket.

I waited impatiently for the hour at which the play would begin. I was convinced that they would be admitted on the ticket I had sent. Dumouton had undoubtedly asked for the box under some other name than his own, with the intention of selling it; that was very pleasant for the person whose name was written out in full on the ticket!

I could not afford to appear at the very beginning of the play; I should look like an opéra-comique lover. I waited until eight o'clock, before I went to the Gymnase. I had been careful to observe the number of the box, which was the best in the second tier. The play had begun; I walked along the corridor, found the number in question, and satisfied myself by a glance through the glass door that the box was full. That was satisfactory; she had come. My next move was to take up a position on the opposite side; at a distance, it would be easy for me to keep my eyes on the box without attracting attention.

I entered the opposite balcony, where nothing would intercept my view of the person on whose account I had come.

But to no purpose did I fix my opera glass on the box in question; to no purpose did I rub it with my handkerchief so that I could see more distinctly: among all the faces that filled the box I had given my pretty grisette, there was not one that resembled or even suggested hers. I looked again and again. It was impossible; I thought that my eyes deceived me. There were four women in the box, and I examined them one after another. It did not take long. In front, there was a rather attractive person of thirty or thereabouts; but she did not in the least resemble Mademoiselle Rosette: as for the other three, they were all between fifty and seventy, and vied with one another in ugliness.

What had they done with my pretty Rosette? where was she? I wanted her, I must have her! Deuce take it! It was not for that quartette of women that I had bought the box of Monsieur Dumouton, who had seized the opportunity to entangle me in the folds of an umbrella! Who were those people I was examining? Madame Ratapond? some of my inamorata's aunts? I had no idea, but I was horribly annoyed. So she had not come! although the ticket was meant for her; although she knew that I would go there solely in the hope of seeing her and speaking to her! So she did not choose to make my acquaintance, but simply to make sport of me!

I left the balcony and returned to the corridor; I asked the box opener if the ladies in such a number had said that they expected anyone.

"No, monsieur; they didn't say anything about it. Anyway, the box is full; there's four of 'em."

"I know that. By the way, please show me their ticket."

The box opener showed me the coupon: it was the one I had sent. I was completely _done!_ I returned, in an execrable humor, to the balcony, but this time nearer the box. From time to time, I glanced at that assemblage of the fair sex, every member of which, with one exception, was exceedingly ugly. But it seemed to me that they had noticed me. Perhaps they fancied that they had made a conquest of me. In any event, there was but one of them who could reasonably imagine that. Soon I began to think that they whispered and laughed together as they looked at me. Perhaps it was my imagination. But, no matter! I had had enough. She for whom I had come was not there; why should I remain?

I left the theatre. I was weak enough to pace back and forth on the boulevard, in front of the door, hoping that she might come. But the clock struck ten. I decided to go away. I went into a café and read the papers, and about half-past eleven I went home, depressed and shame-faced. Really, that girl was most seductive, and I had fancied that there would be no obstacle to our liaison.

My concierge stopped me.

"A young woman has been here asking for you, monsieur. That is to say, she didn't ask for you, but for that queer name monsieur told me."

My heart expanded; I became as cheerful as I was melancholy a moment before.

"Ah! so the young woman came, did she? A tall, dark girl, with a wide-awake look?"

"Yes, monsieur; that describes her."

"What time did she come?"

"About half-past eight."

"And she asked if Monsieur--the author whose name I gave you--lived here?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"And you answered?"

"I answered _yes_, as you told me to. I told her that you lived on the second floor, but that you had gone out."

"And then?"

"Then she said she'd come about noon to-morrow, and told me to tell you."

"She will come to-morrow?"

"Yes, monsieur, about noon."

"Very good! very good!"

I was beside myself with joy. I rewarded my concierge, then ran lightly up my two flights. Pomponne opened the door. I went in singing, and said to him:

"To-morrow, Pomponne, about noon, a young grisette will come here."

"Ah! a grisette--a new one?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean one who has not called on monsieur before."

"Why, yes, of course, you idiot! She will ask for----"

"_Pardi!_ she will ask for monsieur."

"Well, no; that is just what she won't do."

"Will she ask for me, then? But I don't expect anybody, monsieur!"

"Oh! how you annoy me with your reflections, Pomponne! She will ask for---- But, no, you would make some infernal blunder; I prefer not to have you here. I will send you on some errand, and let her in myself when she comes."

"What, monsieur! do you distrust me to that extent?"

"Hush! you bore me."

"But if you want her to ask for me, monsieur, I'm willing, I don't refuse."

"Leave me in peace, and go to bed!"

Pomponne went to bed, weeping because I would not allow him to be there on the morrow to admit my young grisette. I fell asleep thinking of Mademoiselle Rosette. Her visit indicated a very earnest wish to make my acquaintance; or was it not due to her having read that name on the ticket? Was it not because she believed me to be a famous author that she had come to my lodgings? All women love renown; grisettes are as susceptible to it as other women. And in that case, when she learned----

"Faith!" said I to myself; "we shall see to-morrow; let's go to sleep."

At noon, I was becomingly dressed; I had sent Pomponne away, with orders not to return before two o'clock, and I impatiently counted the minutes.

I did not count long. The bell rang; I opened the door instantly: it was my grisette, in the same costume as on the day of our first meeting, and with a no less affable expression. She entered without ceremony. I ushered her into my little salon, and invited her to sit on the divan, saying:

"How good of you to come!"

"I came last evening."

"I know it. But why weren't you at the theatre? I was so anxious to meet you there! In fact, it was for you that I sent the box, and not for those others."

"Yes, but I couldn't go; there was work that had to be done, and at such times there's no fun to be had. You saw my employer, Madame Ratapond, and a specimen of my aunts."

"Ah! so those were your aunts; the elderly ladies, I presume?"

"Yes. And my mistress, what did you think of her?"

"She is very good-looking. But it was you that I wanted to see! You are so pretty, and I love you so dearly!"

At this point, I tried to add action to speech; but Mademoiselle Rosette pushed me away and arose, saying:

"In the first place, I want you to let me alone. Stop! stop! you think you can go on like that, right away---- Oh, no! Later, I won't say! We'll see!"

Good! At all events, she gave me ground for hope. I liked her frankness exceedingly.

"In the second place, I must go; yes, I'm in a great hurry. I came here on my way to do an errand; but it wasn't far that I had to go, and my mistress will say: 'There's that Rosette idling again!'"

"Ah! so it seems that you do that sometimes?"

"Yes, sometimes; I don't deny it. I like to stroll along and look in the shop windows."

"Sit down a moment."

She did so, and said, after looking about the room:

"Monsieur--is it really true that it's you?"

"That it's I?--why---- What do you mean?"

"Why, you know, yesterday, when I saw your name on the ticket, I shouted for joy, and I said: 'What! that gentleman who spoke to me is the one who writes the plays I like so much and go to see so often!'--Oh! I tell you, I was pleased then, and that's why I came right here last night: I remembered your address, and I asked if it was really you that lived in this house; and the concierge said _yes_, and I told him I'd come again to-morrow, at noon. Well! does that make you angry? you don't say anything."

"No; it doesn't make me angry. But I was thinking."

"I say, monsieur, do you know I'm mad over your plays? If I should go mad over you too----"

"There's no danger of that."

"What's that? there's no danger? What makes you say: 'There's no danger'? Perhaps you don't know that I take fire very quickly, I do!"

That young woman was decidedly original. She said whatever came into her head, without beating about the bush. I liked that frankness, in which there was something like artlessness. Mademoiselle Rosette was neither stupid, nor pretentious, nor prudish. She was a perfect little phoenix, was that grisette. I began by kissing her; she defended herself feebly, or, rather, she allowed herself to be kissed without too much fuss; but when I attempted to go further, she defended herself very stoutly, crying:

"I said: 'Not to-day!'--So, no nonsense; it's a waste of time!"

"Well, when, then?"

"Oh! we'll see; we've got time enough. Do you like me?"

"What a question! Many other men must like you, for you know well enough that you're as pretty as a peach."

"Oh, yes! I know that; people tell me so every day."

"Lovers?"

"Lovers and flatterers and chance acquaintances--what do I know? I can't go out without being followed, and it's sickening!"

"Come, Mademoiselle Rosette, tell me frankly: have you had many--lovers?"

"Lovers! I should think not! No, I've never had but one."

"That's very modest! And you loved him dearly, I suppose?"

"Why, yes."

"Why did you separate?"

She looked down at the floor, heaved a profound sigh, and murmured:

"Alas! he died, my poor Léon!"

"Oh! forgive me for reminding you of so sad a loss."

"Yes; he died--a little more than a year ago."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty. They've wanted to marry me off seventeen times already; but I won't have it; I haven't any taste for marriage. I am right, ain't I?"

"If you have no inclination for marriage, you will certainly do quite as well to remain free."

"Free, that's it! What fun it is to do just what one wants to do! In the first place, I should make a husband very unhappy! And in the second place, how can I marry, now? I don't choose to deceive anyone, and I certainly wouldn't hold myself out for something that I'm not any more."

"You are right, mademoiselle; you shouldn't have any secrets from the man you bind yourself to; but all young ladies aren't like you."

"They're wrong, then. I must go now; I shall get a scolding."

"Just another minute. Tell me; if you hadn't seen that name on the theatre ticket, wouldn't you have come to see me?"

"Oh, no!"

"Then it was on account of the name alone that you came, not on my account?"

"But it was on your account, as the name's yours."

"But suppose it were not mine? suppose it were a mere accident that that name was on the ticket?"

The girl gazed earnestly at me, then exclaimed impatiently:

"Come, go on! what do you mean? I don't like to have anyone hold my nose under water."

"I mean, mademoiselle, that, like yourself, I do not choose to deceive anyone, or to hold myself out for what I am not. The author of whose works you are so fond--I am not he. My name is Charles Rochebrune; and I haven't the least little bit of renown to serve as a halo to my name. If my concierge lied to you yesterday, it was because I thought that you would not come here for poor me; and, as I ardently desired to see you again, I ventured upon that little fraud, to obtain the pleasure of receiving you here. But I never intended to carry it any further.--That is what I wanted to tell you."

Mademoiselle Rosette was silent for a few moments; I heard her mutter in a disappointed tone: "It's a pity!" But the next minute she smiled and held out her hand, saying:

"I don't care--it was good of you to tell me the truth!"

"Then you are no longer angry with me?"

"What good would that do?"

"And you will love me a little?"

"We shall see. Ah! a piano! Who plays the piano? I love music!"

I sat down at the piano, and played quadrilles, waltzes, and polkas. When I reached the last-named dance, she began to polk about the salon with fascinating grace.

"Do you like the polka?"

"I adore it! Do you polk?"

"A little."

"Let's try it."

She took my arm, and in a moment we were polking all over the salon to a tune which I was obliged to sing while we danced. It was very fatiguing; but Mademoiselle Rosette did not weary; she was an intrepid dancer. We were making our fifteenth circuit, at least, when the door was suddenly thrown open and Frédérique appeared. She stood, speechless with amazement, in the doorway; she had not eyes enough to look at us. I attempted to stop and go to her; but Mademoiselle Rosette dragged me on and compelled me to continue:

"Come on, come on!" she cried. "Do you think of stopping now? My word! Why, I can polk two hours without stopping!"

XXXV

A HIGH LIVER

Mademoiselle Rosette danced on with undiminished ardor, but I felt that mine was rapidly giving out; my voice was dying away, and there were moments when I did not make a sound. After watching us for some time, Frédérique took her place at the piano and began to play a polka for us.

Then there was no longer any reason why we should stop; I did not need to sing, it is true, but I did need the leg of a Hercules to keep pace with my partner, who exclaimed when she heard the music:

"Oh! that's fine! How much better we go with the piano!--Not quite so fast, madame, please! The polka isn't like the waltz."

But I could do no more; I stopped and threw myself into a chair. Mademoiselle Rosette thereupon concluded to sit down; and as she took out her handkerchief to wipe her face, she dropped a thimble, two skeins of cotton, a piece of cake, two sous, a spool of thread, a card, a lump of sugar, a skein of silk, and three plums.

She got down on all fours to pick them up, then glanced at the clock and cried:

"Mon Dieu! half-past one! To think that I've been here an hour and a half, and I didn't mean to stay five minutes! Oh! what a trouncing I shall get! luckily, I don't care a hang! Adieu, Monsieur What's-your-name! I'm going."

She had already left the salon; I hurried after her and overtook her in the reception room, and, seizing her around the waist, said:

"When shall I see you again?"

"_Dame!_ I don't know; whenever you say."

"Will you dine with me to-morrow?"

"Dine with you? Yes, I'd like to."

"Will you be on Passage Vendôme at five o'clock?"

"No, no! not on Passage Vendôme; that's too near my employer's; someone might see me. Better go where we met first, on Boulevard Bonne-Nouvelle, in front of the Gymnase."

"Very good; at five o'clock?"

"That's too early; half-past five."

"Half-past five it is. Until to-morrow, then!"

"Yes; adieu!"

I kissed her, and she ran down the stairs four at a time. I returned to the salon. Frédérique's face wore a singular expression. She pretended to laugh, but her merriment seemed forced to me.

"Will you forgive me for leaving you alone a moment while I said a word to that young woman?" I said, as I sat down beside her.

"Why, of course! Do friends stand on ceremony with one another?"

"You see, I have taken advantage of the permission you gave me."

"You have done well.--Ha! ha! ha!"

"Why do you laugh?"

"Because you looked so comical, polking with that grisette just now. I had so little expectation of finding a ball in progress here!--Ha! ha! ha! I was speechless."

"By the way, how did you come in?"

"Through the door, naturally; I rang, and your servant admitted me. But you were so hard at work with your dancing that you didn't hear me--apparently.--Ha! ha! ha!"

"Oho! my servant admitted you, did he? I sent him on an errand and forbade him to return before two o'clock. The rascal! he couldn't restrain his curiosity, and he came back before the time."

"I disturbed you--I am very sorry. But it seemed to me that you had had enough; you were on your last legs. _Fichtre!_ what a dancer that damsel is! You and I dance very well together--they took us for artists from the Opéra, you know; but if you had polked with your friend at Monsieur Bocal's ball, they would have carried you both in triumph, like _Musard_.--Ha! ha! ha!"

"You are in a satirical mood, Frédérique."

"Satirical with you? Bless my soul! it seems to me that that would be very unbecoming of me. You amuse yourself, you enjoy life, you know how to make the most of your best days--and you are quite right! I may envy your happiness, but certainly not laugh at it, I who can no longer do anything but bore myself and other people too."

She said these last words in a most melancholy tone, and her eyes were wet with tears.

"What's that you say about boring other people, Frédérique?" I said, taking her hand. "You didn't make that wicked remark for my benefit, I trust; if you did, it is absolutely false."

She hastily withdrew her hand.

"No, no!" she cried; "I don't know what I am saying, or what I am thinking about! Come, let us talk, my dear friend; who is this girl that I found with you?"

"She--why, she's a grisette; and a very pretty one, too, is she not?"

"Yes, that may be. She lisps when she talks."

"Oh! really now! Once in a while, there's something that makes her voice tremble, it is true, but it isn't at all disagreeable; quite the contrary."

"That's a matter of taste. Some men like women who lisp, just as some like red hair. I have known some who even went so far as to adore women with a limp."

"Oh! how caustic you are to-day, Frédérique!"

"And this beauty, with the quivering voice--how long have you known her?"

"Since day before yesterday."

"Peste! she's quite new! And the acquaintance is already--complete; you have nothing else to wish for?"

"Oh! I beg your pardon. We don't go so fast."

"But I should say that you go at quite a good pace. If the young lady should prove cruel, I should be much surprised."

"I trust that she won't be to-morrow."

"Ah! you are to see her again to-morrow?"

"Yes, we dine together; we have made the appointment, it's all arranged."

Frédérique abruptly sprang to her feet and walked to the window. She remained there some time. When she came back to me, I was surprised at her pallor.

"Do you feel ill?" I asked, hastening to meet her.

"No; I--I--was looking at the weather. Well! so you really have ceased entirely to think of Armantine?"

"What has induced you to mention that lady to me? What idea have you in your head?"

"A perfectly natural one. I am still surprised to find that you have forgotten her. Do you know that she has left Passy?"

"How should I know that? Do you suppose that I have been to Passy?"

"Oh, no! that is true. Well, Armantine has left the neighborhood of the Bois. She hasn't told me where she has gone; apparently, she isn't anxious to see me again. That's as she pleases: one should never force one's self upon anybody. But I see that you are not listening to me! I forgive you: you are so engrossed by your new conquest and your blissful meeting to-morrow!--But I am forgetting that I have some business to attend to."

As she spoke, she put on her bonnet, which she had tossed on a table when she took her seat at the piano.

"What! you are going to leave me already?"

"Yes--I, too--somebody's waiting for me--I too have an appointment. Did you think that that was impossible?"

"In what a tone you say that! I thought simply that, in that case, you would have taken me into your confidence."

"Perhaps so. I can't tell all my sentiments so easily as you can."

"Then you have less confidence in me than I have in you."

"That is possible."

"But that is very unkind!"

"Tell me, how long will this new love of yours last?"

"My relations with Mademoiselle Rosette?--for you mustn't call it love."

"What is it, then?"

"It is a little liaison of no consequence--for amusement."

"Give it whatever name you choose. Well, how long will this little liaison of no consequence, for amusement, be likely to last?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I want to know."

"It's rather hard for me to answer. How is it possible to say? You see, I know nothing of the girl's temperament. Such liaisons sometimes end in a week; sometimes they last three months."

"All right. Then I will come again three months hence."

"What does this mean? Why do you leave me so?"

"Because it seems to me that I always arrive most inopportunely and disturb you in the midst of your pleasures; and I shall do well not to intrude again, so long as you are--infatuated with this grisette."

"Really, Frédérique, I can't understand you! What connection can there possibly be between my follies, my amourettes, my momentary pleasures, and our delightful friendship?"

"Oh! you are quite right! Of course, there is not the slightest connection between me and your pleasures. Ah, me! I certainly do not know what I am saying to-day; my wits are all topsy-turvy. But, adieu! I repeat, I have an appointment; I must leave you. Adieu!"

"But I shall see you again soon?"

"Yes, soon."

She left the room. There were days when I was utterly at a loss to understand that woman's changing moods.

"Ah! here's Monsieur Pomponne! Just come this way, O faithful and, above all, obedient servitor!"

Pomponne hung his head and stood in front of me, like a Cossack awaiting the knout.

"What did I tell you when I sent you out this morning?"