Part 12

"How does it happen, monsieur, that, having received a good education, knowing your classics as you do, in short, being a well-informed man, you do not make use of your knowledge, to----"

"To do what? To buy a coat? Is that what you mean?"

"Faith! something like it."

"I love independence, liberty, monsieur."

"Those words have been sadly abused of late, monsieur. And if your love of liberty compels you to go abroad in shabby clothes, it seems to me that you would do well to prefer love of work to it."

"Look you, my dear monsieur, I believe that you are undertaking to preach to me--and I have never stood that from anybody!"

"Perhaps that is the great mistake you have made."

"Corbleu! you are lucky to be the uncle of a young man for whom I felt at once a sincere affection.--Let us say no more. Gustave is in Spain?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"For a long time?"

"I cannot tell exactly."

"That's as good a way as any of not telling me. But when he is in Paris, I promise you that I shall not fail to find him."

"Have you anything important to say to him, monsieur? if so, tell it to me, and I will transmit it."

Cherami reflected a moment, then pulled his hat over his eyes, and said:

"No, I simply wanted to shake hands with him, to inquire for his health, and to find out whether he is finally cured of his love for the faithless Fanny."

"His letters tell me that his health is good. As for his foolish passion for a woman who never loved him, I like to believe that it has succumbed to absence."

"Say rather to the glances of the Andalusians; for they have terrible eyes, those Spanish women! I know something of them. I have known three, who----"

"Pardon me, monsieur; but I am very busy, and, if you have nothing else to say to me----"

"Ah! you dismiss me?--Very good; that's very polite. I have my cue!"

"You have your cue? What do you mean by that?"

"Oh! it's of no consequence. It's a little phrase which I often use; it's as if I said: 'I see where I stand.'"

"That makes a difference, monsieur. I wish you good-morning!"

"And I wish you nothing at all!"

Thereupon Cherami left the banker's office, saying to himself:

"There's a tough old uncle for you! I think I won't borrow money of him--I won't do him that honor. No, never! especially as he wouldn't lend me any."

XXVI

A CAFE ACQUAINTANCE

Cherami strolled about at random for some time, seeking some person of his acquaintance with whom he could negotiate a small loan. But he saw few save unfamiliar faces, and if by chance he did espy some former friend, that friend turned away to avoid meeting him.

"The devil!" said Cherami to himself; "the day opens badly! I counted on Gustave for breakfast, and now it's after twelve o'clock, and I'm as hungry as a cannibal. However, if I must, I will dispose of my new cane. I shall be sorry to do it, for it's a pretty one--a genuine rattan. But I should be still more sorry to go without breakfast. It must have cost at least thirty francs. A dealer will give me six for it,--they have all the cheek they need, those fellows,--and he'll act as if he were doing me a favor! I prefer to leave it in pawn for a beefsteak and its accessories. Come, let us look for a cafe where we can get a good breakfast."

Cherami was then on the boulevard, where there is no lack of cafes; for one cannot walk thirty feet without passing one. The ex-Beau Arthur entered the establishment which had the most modern show-front, seated himself at a table, hung up his hat, laid his cane on the seat, and summoned the waiter with that resounding voice and in that arrogant tone which never fail to produce their effect on the waiters in a cafe.

"What does monsieur wish?"

"Radishes, sardines, and butter; then a beefsteak-chateaubriand, rare, with roquefort and a bottle of bordeaux. After that, we will see. Go!--That cane is certainly worth all that I have ordered," he said to himself; "yes, and I can safely add a cup of coffee and a _petit verre._ At all events, if they are not satisfied, I will do like Bilboquet in _Les Saltimbanques_, I will pledge my signature.--I am annoyed, all the same, to find that my young friend Gustave is in Spain. But is he really in Spain? That is what I must find out."

Cherami had eaten his hors-d'oeuvre, and was about to attack his beefsteak-chateaubriand, when a short man, dressed with some pretension, with a stupid face and a bald head which seemed to beg for a wig, took his place at the table next to his, and sat down on the cane which Cherami had laid on the bench.

The new-comer jumped to his feet, putting his hand to his posterior, and exclaiming:

"Great heaven! what am I sitting on?"

Cherami picked up his cane and stood it on the floor, between himself and his neighbor.

"It's lucky for you that you didn't break it," he said; "for it would have cost you a pretty penny!"

"I didn't do it purposely, monsieur."

"No matter! if you had broken it, you'd have paid for it!"

"And I hurt myself, too."

"If it had been a blackthorn stick, it would have hurt you much more."

The gentleman did not seem to be consoled by that reflection; he paid no attention to the cane, but was intent only upon rubbing the wounded part of his anatomy. Then he ordered a glass of grog, picked up a newspaper, and began to read, in evident ill-humor. But Cherami, who loved to converse, kept on talking while he ate.

"I went into a public house one day," he said; "I had ridden horseback six leagues without dismounting, and was naturally very tired. I walked into the common-room, and threw myself into an easy-chair near the fireplace. But as I sat down, a piercing shriek escaped me. Everybody crowded around me: 'What is it, monsieur? what's the matter? what has happened to you?'--But I could only point to my posterior, saying: 'I don't know what I sat down on, but I am wounded--badly wounded!'--The hostess wanted to look and see what it was--she wanted to dress the wound. She was a bright-eyed hussy, with a buxom figure. I would gladly have done as much for her, if she had been wounded. But the husband interposed, considering the location of the wound. He declared that he was the only one of the family who ought to meddle with it. Well, they investigated.--I had sat down on a nail, a huge carpenter's nail. How did it happen to be there--with the point up? That is something nobody could explain. But the important thing was to remove it. The landlord couldn't do it. He sent for a locksmith with his pincers, and he had such hard work pulling the infernal spike out of my rump, that, when he did get it out, it looked more like a corkscrew than a nail!"

The bald party made no other comment on this story than a low grunt, and continued to read his newspaper.

Cherami scrutinized him for some minutes, saying to himself: "Where in the devil have I seen that phiz? I can't remember, but this certainly isn't the first time that I have had the misfortune to meet this bald-headed boor.--It seems that the story of my nail didn't affect you, monsieur?" he said aloud to his neighbor, who was stirring his grog.

"I paid very little attention to it, monsieur. When I am reading the paper, I am engrossed by my reading."

"And you believe everything you find in it, I suppose?"

"Why not, monsieur?"

"Ah! I should judge that you were quite capable of it!--But you don't know how to fix your grog, monsieur."

"What! I don't know how to fix my grog?"

"No, not at all. You keep stirring and stirring; but you don't crush the piece of lemon-peel with your spoon and squeeze out the juice."

"How does it concern you, monsieur, whether I crush my lemon-peel or not? If it suits me to drink my grog like this, am I not at liberty to do it?"

"Oh! to be sure! I give you good advice--you don't want it. As you please! I'll bet that you're looking through the advertisements in the paper to find something to make the hair grow?"

"No, monsieur. Let me tell you that if I wanted hair, I could have as much as anybody."

"I don't doubt it, with your money; you could wear three wigs, one on top of another; that would give you a superb head of hair!"

"But I don't like artificial things, monsieur; I detest what is false! The truth before everything!"

"Ah! I understand, then, why you parade your skull. But if you propose always to show us the truth, that may carry you rather far! That goddess's costume is a little scanty, or rather she has none at all. She appears to the world quite naked! I would like to see you go out in the street in that condition, for love of the truth. I fancy that a police officer wouldn't listen to that excuse. Look you, monsieur, it has often been said that it isn't always well to tell the truth; we might add that it isn't always well to see it. In general, a man is wise to conceal his infirmities, his deformities, and whatever he may have that is unpleasant to look at; he does well to make himself as attractive, or as little unattractive, as possible. To embellish, to seek to please, such seems to be the purpose of nature, everywhere and in everything. Look at a mother with her child: her first care is to dress it up, to try to embellish it. Women are born with the instinct of coquetry; men have it, too, although the rush and hurry of business compels them to pay less heed to their persons. When you take lodgings, your first care is to make them attractive; if you have a garden, you embellish it by planting flowers in it; if you give a dinner party, you want it to be stylish, sumptuous, enriched by handsome plate.--For instance, see this thin glass from which I am drinking my claret: it improves the wine, monsieur; it makes it taste better--for the wine would seem much less delicious to me if it were served in a preserve-jar. And take your own case--would you have liked it if they had brought you your grog in a wash-basin, eh?--Deuce take me! I believe the little fellow isn't listening!" exclaimed Cherami, suddenly interrupting his dissertation. "Where in the world have I seen that face?--Waiter! my coffee!"

As he threw himself back on the bench, Cherami knocked his cane against his neighbor. Whereupon the latter turned, and pushed the cane away, muttering:

"Have you made a wager to annoy me?"

"What's that! a wager--just because my cane slipped against you? I say, my dear monsieur, who are so attached to the truth, you're very touchy, aren't you?"

The bald man made no reply; as he pushed the cane away, he had glanced at it, and from that moment he kept his eyes fixed upon it.

"Ah! you are admiring my cane now?" said Arthur; "you begin to understand that it would have been a pity to break it!--It's very neat."

Still the bald man made no reply, but raised his eyes and examined the hat which its owner had hung on a hook. He scrutinized it so carefully that Cherami lost patience, and said to himself:

"Well, well! what's the matter with this creature! How much longer is he going to stare at my hat and cane? He's beginning to make me very weary."

XXVII

THE CANE AND THE HAT

At last, the little man made up his mind to speak:

"That cane, monsieur--with that agate head; it's very singular!"

"You find that my cane has a singular look? Distinguished, you mean, I doubt not?"

"Why, monsieur, the fact is, that that cane--the more I look at it--a rattan--exactly!--and the hat, too--the same kind of a band--very broad----"

"Tell me, monsieur--when you have finished, will you very kindly explain yourself?" said Cherami. He began to suspect who his companion was, but he did not choose to let it appear.

"This is how it is, monsieur: I had a cane exactly like this one--so much like it that I could swear it was the same one."

"We see canes that look just alike, every day, monsieur; there's nothing extraordinary in that; there are many men who are mistaken for one another, and yet there is an expression, an animation, on a man's face which you would seek in vain on the head of a cane."

"Excuse me, monsieur; but all canes haven't an agate head cut like this one."

"If they had, they would be too common, and I wouldn't want one."

"Well, monsieur, I lost my cane and my hat at a wedding party which I attended about two months ago; that is to say, I didn't positively lose them, but they were exchanged--and I didn't gain by the change! In place of my hat, which had a band exactly like this--very broad--and the same shape--they left a pitiful, disgraceful thing; and I was obliged to buy a new one the next day; and in place of my cane I found a sort of switch, of the kind they beat clothes with--not worth six sous!"

"Corbleu! monsieur, what do you mean to imply by all this? This cane that you lost, with an agate head--and your hat with a band like this--do you know that I am beginning to lose my temper? Do you mean to say that I stole your cane?"

"No, monsieur--but----"

"Then you insult me, and I will not brook an insult!--When we leave this cafe, we will go and cut each other's throats, like a couple of young dandies!"

"Never, monsieur; not by any means! I am mistaken, monsieur; I am wrong. No, no, it isn't my cane--let it be as if I had said nothing; I beg your pardon."

The little bald man, trembling like a leaf, seemed inclined to disappear under the table at which he was seated. Cherami, having reflected two or three minutes, looked at him with an affable expression, and said:

"Didn't you lose something else at the party you mentioned just now."

"Something else? yes, I did, monsieur; I was in bad luck that night! When I arrived at the ball, I had lost one of my gloves--a yellow glove. To be sure, it was returned to me later--but in such a state!"

"Ah! now I understand! I recognize you now!"

"You recognize me?"

"To be sure--you are Monsieur Courbichon."

"That's my name, sure enough! But how----?"

"Pardieu! we met at our friend Blanquette's little party. Dear Monsieur Courbichon! I have been looking for you a long while!"

"You have been looking for me, monsieur? For what, pray?"

"For what? Why, to return your cane."

"But, monsieur, I don't know whether----"

"And your hat too, if you insist upon it; but, as the one you have now is newer, you would lose again by the change. But the cane is certainly yours; do you consider me capable of keeping something that doesn't belong to me,--that is in my possession only as the result of a mistake?"

"Ah! monsieur, I am sensible----"

"You understand, of course, that before returning this cane, which I carried away by mistake from my friend Blanquette's party, I wished to be sure of returning it to its owner and no one else. Have you my switch?"

"No, monsieur; I haven't it--I don't even know what has become of it."

"Bigre! I am very sorry for that. You thought, I suppose, that it was just a common switch; you didn't see that it was a _nerf de boeuf_, which came from China, where they make a great many canes of that material, because it bends and never breaks. You value it at six sous, but it was worth forty francs."

"Oh! if I had known that----"

"You'd have taken more care of it. However, that's a trifling mishap. You pay for what I have eaten, and we will dine together; then we shall be quits."

"What, monsieur, you propose----"

"Pray take your cane; it's a fascinating thing! Everybody stared at it. Dear Courbichon! I am delighted to have returned it to you; but I greatly regret my Chinese switch! Such is very rare in Paris. Very few like it come here from China.--I say, waiter, how much do I owe?"

"Seven francs fifty, monsieur."

"Very good. Monsieur here will attend to it."

Monsieur Courbichon did not seem overjoyed to pay for his neighbor's breakfast; however, he did it. They left the cafe together, and, when they were on the boulevard, Cherami passed his arm through that of the owner of the cane, saying:

"Where shall we go now?"

"Faith! monsieur, I had intended to go for a stroll on the Champs-Elysees. It's a fine day, and near the end of September; we must make the most of these last good days. And then, I am very fond of watching them play bowls."

"Very good! that suits me--that suits me to the very tick: let us go to the Champs-Elysees, and see them play bowls. Walking helps the digestion; it gives one an appetite. We will dine there; I know all the good restaurants on the Champs-Elysees. Oh! never fear, Papa Courbichon, you are with a buck who knows what good living is!"

"I don't doubt it, monsieur, but----"

"Sapristi! what a pretty cane! everybody admires it as they pass. It must have cost a lot?"

"I cannot tell you, monsieur; it's a present from my nephew."

"Ah, indeed! I was just saying to myself, that it's a surprising thing that Monsieur Courbichon should have bought a cane like that. Your nephew's a man of taste. What does he do?"

"He's in business. He has gone to America. This was his cane; he gave it to me, because, as he said, he was going to a country where there are plenty of canes, and it was useless for him to carry this one."

"Do you mean that he carries a piece of sugar-cane in his hand when he goes out to walk?"

"I can't tell you, I don't know. The cane suited me, because at need I could use it to defend myself."

"My Chinese switch was a famous weapon of defence, too."

"What! a switch?"

"Remember that it was a _nerf de boeuf._ I could have killed a calf with it."

"What a curious idea of those Chinese to make canes with _nerfs de boeuf!_"

"An additional proof, my dear Monsieur Courbichon, that the Chinese are much more advanced than we are--much more progressive! They build houses of india-rubber."

"Hard rubber, of course?"

"I don't know whether it's hard or not--it makes no difference. Pardieu! Monsieur Courbichon, you must agree that there are lucky chances, and that we were both happily inspired when we went to that cafe to-day!"

"It is certain, monsieur, that otherwise----"

"You would never have seen your charming cane again. Are you married, Monsieur Courbichon?"

"I have been married, monsieur, but I am a widower."

"A superb position for a man still young and made to please the ladies."

"Oh! monsieur, I am fifty-five."

"That is the very prime of life, the age at which a man makes most conquests, because he knows better how to go about it. Ah! I would like to be fifty-five! I hope to get there, but I haven't yet. You have some means?"

"Five or six thousand francs a year, which I made in dried fruit."

"A very pretty business!--That isn't a magnificent fortune, but it is that pleasant mediocrity so highly praised by Horace. Do you know Horace?"

"Yes, I have seen it played at the Theatre-Francais."

"Ah! I guess we will stop there! Have you children, excellent Courbichon?"

"I have a daughter, monsieur,--a married daughter; I have set her up in business."

"In dried fruit?"

"No, monsieur; she is in olive oil."

"Oh! the deuce! that's very different! But it will preserve her longer. You have no other daughter?"

"No, monsieur."

"What a pity!"

"Why so, monsieur?"

"Because I feel so strongly attracted to you that I would have asked her hand in marriage. Faith! yes, I would have renounced my liberty, which I have never done yet--but there's an end to everything. Does your son-in-law enjoy good health?"

"Yes, monsieur, excellent!"

"So much the worse!"

"Why so much the worse?"

"Because, if he should die soon, I might marry his widow."

"Oh! what an idea, monsieur!"

"He is in good health, so there's an end of that; let us say no more about it. Don't be alarmed; I have no idea of killing him. If he had insulted me, I don't say----"

"A thousand pardons, monsieur; but I should be very glad to know your name."

"My name? So you have forgotten it, have you? But I was called by name often enough at young Blanquette's wedding party--while I was dancing with Aunt Merlin."

"I don't remember it."

"My name is Arthur Cherami."

Courbichon, thinking that his companion was addressing him as his dear friend (_cher ami_), replied:

"Oh! yes, your name is Arthur---- Nothing more?"

"What do you say? nothing more? Why, I have just told you--Arthur Cherami."

"Yes, I understand--Arthur; that's a very pretty name. Are you in business?"

"I don't do anything; I live on my income, like you."

"Oh! that's different! When one has enough to live on, one certainly has the right to loaf as much as he pleases."

"That's so, isn't it, my dear Courbichon? Ah! I am delighted to see that we agree. We were destined to become close friends; it was written, as the Arabs say."

While conversing thus,--that is to say, while Cherami conversed and his companion listened, with difficulty finding a chance to put in a word or two from time to time,--they had reached the Champs-Elysees. They sauntered toward a spot where a game of bowls was in progress, and looked on for a while. According to his habit, Cherami made his reflections aloud and gave his opinion on the strokes. He did not hesitate to say: "That was wretchedly played!" to the face of the player. The latter, a youngster of sixteen years, came up to him with an irritated air, crying:

"What business is it of yours? Perhaps you wouldn't do as well!"

"No, I flatter myself that I wouldn't do as well, for I would do much better. And if you don't like what I say, my boy, just come with me. There's a shooting-gallery yonder. I will take you for my target, and you take me; we'll see which of us will bring the other down."

The bowler retired without making any reply.

"You are too quick, my dear Monsieur Arthur," said Courbichon, putting his hand on Cherami's shoulder; "you take fire like saltpetre."

"Ah! that's the way I was made, my dear Courbichon. What would you have--a man can't make himself over!--But just let anyone presume to insult you, when you're with me! Bigre! a dwarf, a giant, a colossus--it's all one to me; I would grind him to powder on the spot, and it wouldn't take long!"

Meanwhile, the young bowler, who had returned to his game boiling with rage, had formed a plan to revenge himself upon the person who had said that he bowled badly; and when it was his turn to bowl, he threw the ball with all his force in Cherami's direction, hoping that it would strike his legs. But a small stone caused it to deviate slightly, and, instead of striking Beau Arthur, it came in contact with Monsieur Courbichon's legs. That gentleman staggered, and uttered a piercing shriek. Cherami saw plainly whence the ball came, and saw the bowler laughing uproariously. Instantly, snatching the cane from his companion's hand, he ran toward the author of the assault, shouting:

"Never fear, my poor Courbichon; I will avenge you, and I'll do it thoroughly, too. He'll have his rabbit, the villain!"

The youngster who had thrown the ball fled when he saw Cherami running toward him. But Cherami pursued him; while Monsieur Courbichon rubbed his legs, saying:

"This is the first time such a thing ever happened to me while I was watching the game; and it's the more surprising, because I wasn't in line with the pins. So it must have been done on purpose; but why should the fellow aim at my legs? I didn't make any comment on his play--I didn't have any dispute with him.--This will certainly leave a mark on my legs.--Where in the deuce has Monsieur Arthur gone? That man is too quick-tempered."

In a few minutes, Cherami returned, flushed and triumphant, crying:

"You are avenged, my dear Courbichon! yes, what anyone would call thoroughly avenged; the rascal has had what he deserved; and here's the proof."

As he spoke, he handed his new friend his beautiful cane broken in two.

Monsieur Courbichon was dumfounded, and gazed with an air of consternation at the pieces of the cane.

"Ah! mon Dieu!" he faltered; "it is broken!"

"True--it is broken; but I broke it on the back of the ragamuffin who threw his ball at your skittles--I mean, your legs."

"What a pity! You struck him too hard."

"One cannot strike an enemy too hard."

"Such a pretty cane!"