Part 18

"Ta! ta! ta! now it's papa's turn. Deuce take it! where did I ever get fathers and uncles of this breed?--No, monsieur; I didn't kill your son-in-law; he killed himself; and, to speak frankly, it would have been much better for him to have met his death in the duel we fought; for it would have been a more honorable end. However, I will show you the proofs of what I state; for you are quite capable of not believing me: I expected as much; but you will have to surrender to the evidence."

Cherami handed Monsieur Gerbault the letter Auguste had written him, then told him all that we know already: what had happened in the Bois de Boulogne, and his visit to Fanny. During his narrative, Adolphine wept profusely, murmuring:

"Poor Auguste! Oh, dear! how my sister must suffer!"

The news of the suicide affected Monsieur Gerbault deeply, although officious friends had already told him that Monleard was speculating heavily, and in such wise as to risk his fortune. He attempted, thereupon, to apologize to Cherami for the suspicions he had conceived; but Cherami offered his hand, saying:

"Put it there, and let's say no more about it. You are quick, so am I; besides, when one learns of such an entirely unforeseen catastrophe, one has the right to get a little bewildered. Now that I have performed all the commissions that were intrusted to me, you have no further need of me, and I will go. Adieu, Papa Gerbault! Mademoiselle, your servant!"

As Adolphine accompanied him to the door, he seized the opportunity to ask her in an undertone:

"Do you know where Gustave is?"

"No, monsieur; but, I think, in Germany."

"I will unearth him, never fear; I have my cue!"

XXXVIII

THE TWO SISTERS

A fortnight after her husband's death, Fanny was installed in small and unpretentious apartments in the upper part of Faubourg Poissonniere. With her dowry of twenty thousand francs, the proceeds of the sale of her furniture, horses, and carriages, and the sum which she had made by speculating in railway and other shares, the young widow had an income of about twenty-five hundred francs. That was very little, when compared with the handsome fortune she had enjoyed for a moment, but it was enough to enable a woman who was a skilful manager to live comfortably. Monsieur Gerbault had suggested to the young widow that she should come to live with him and her sister, as she had done before her marriage, but Fanny had refused; she preferred to remain free; and then, too, in all probability, she cherished some hopes for the future, and as she looked at her reflection in her mirror,--for she had retained enough of her furniture to furnish her new abode handsomely,--the pretty creature said to herself that plenty of aspirants to the honor of putting an end to her widowhood would surely come forward; and that, by living alone, she would be more at liberty and better able to choose.

As for the deceased, his suicide had been the sensation of the Bourse and of society for a week; a fortnight later, it was rarely mentioned, and at the end of a month everybody had forgotten it.

But, no: there was one person who often thought of him, to deplore his melancholy end, to regret that fortune had been so cruel to that young man, who, for his part, had treated fortune too cavalierly when she smiled on him. That person was not his widow, but her sister Adolphine. The poor child had at first felt terribly ashamed because she had betrayed the deep interest she felt in Gustave; but she was unable to control the emotion which had seized her when she thought that Cherami had come to inform her of his death. Later, when she knew the truth, she had wept a long while over Auguste's death; then she had hurried to her sister, to comfort her, to mingle her own tears with hers; but she had found Fanny much more engrossed by her pecuniary affairs than by the loss of her husband. Finally, as the young widow found that her sister came to see her every day, and that she persisted in talking about Auguste and shedding abundant tears to his memory, she said to her one day:

"My dear girl, if your purpose in coming here is to divert my thoughts, you go about it very awkwardly. Monsieur Monleard is dead, because he preferred it so; he left me, because he chose to, without troubling himself overmuch as to what was to become of me; frankly, it was hardly worth while to marry me, just to act like this after only six months. He was responsible for my refusing a young man who, as it turns out, would have made me much happier--that poor Gustave, who loved me so dearly! For he really did love me, did Gustave, and, according to what you told me the other day, he is doing very well indeed now. Ten thousand francs a year, he earns, I believe?"

Adolphine wiped her eyes and swallowed her tears, as she replied in a faltering voice:

"Yes--I think so."

"What! you think so? So you're not sure of it now?"

"Why, yes; he told me so himself."

"Very good! with ten thousand francs one can live comfortably enough. One can't have such a stable as I had with Monsieur Monleard; but it's better never to have a carriage than to have to give it up. In fact, I don't see why I should cry my eyes out for the dead man. In the first place, I despise men who kill themselves; everyone is entitled to his own opinion, but that's mine. A man should be able to endure the blows of destiny. Do you know where Gustave is now?"

"No, I don't; he intended to leave Paris again."

"That's strange. Formerly, he always told you where he was going; and now that I ask you, you don't know anything about him."

"He said something about Germany, that's all I know."

"On his uncle's business, I suppose?"

"I think so."

"Well, people don't travel forever; he'll return some time, poor Gustave! and we shall meet again. Ah! he had changed tremendously for the better when he came back from Spain; he had acquired ease of manner and refinement, hadn't he?"

"I didn't notice."

"Oh! how angry you make me!--It seems to me, however, that it's more interesting to talk about the living than the dead."

"Everybody isn't consoled as quickly as you."

"Do you propose to give me a lecture?"

"No, sister; I meant simply that anyone was very fortunate to have such a temperament as yours."

"My dear Adolphine, I have been a widow two months now, and I know a little something of the world. When you have had as much experience as I have, you will realize that you should be able to find consolation for anything."

"I don't think I shall ever be as philosophical as you."

Whenever the two sisters met, Fanny did not fail to lead the conversation to the subject of Gustave. That subject, although intensely interesting to Adolphine, was very painful to her when Fanny introduced it; but, being accustomed by long practice to conceal the secrets of her heart, to confine therein a sentiment which she dared not avow to anyone, Fanny's younger sister contrived to listen with apparent indifference to the project which Auguste's widow already had in contemplation.

One day, while talking with Adolphine, Fanny suddenly asked:

"By the way, do you know who that man was whom Monsieur Monleard employed to inform me of his death? I never saw him at the house, and yet Auguste must have been intimately acquainted with him to intrust him with such a commission."

"That was Monsieur Cherami."

"Yes, that's the name he gave me when he left his address and offered me his services. He has a most original aspect, that individual. But who is Monsieur Cherami, anyway? When I asked him to go to tell you, he seemed to know father's name."

"Indeed! he probably learned it from Gustave."

"Does the man know Gustave too? For heaven's sake, does he know everybody? Was it through Gustave that he knew my husband, also?"

"Why, yes, in a certain sense; for----"

"For what? Do go on, Adolphine; I don't know what's the matter with you nowadays, but I have to tear the words out of your mouth."

"I thought you knew about it at the time. Your husband fought a duel the day after your wedding."

"I know all about that; with a fellow who called out, when I left the ball that night: 'There goes the faithless Fanny!'--Mon Dieu! I remember it as well as if it were yesterday. But what connection----"

"The man who made that remark when he saw you leaving the ball was Monsieur Cherami."

"That man? nonsense! Do you mean to say that it was he whom my husband fought with?"

"Yes, it really was."

"Ha! ha! ha! that is too funny!"

"What! you laugh?"

"Why shouldn't I laugh, pray? Ah! how little idea men have of what they want, and how richly they deserve, as a general rule, that we should make sport of their mighty wrath! Think of it! Monsieur Monleard fights a duel with Monsieur Cherami, and, a few weeks later, selects him as the confidant of his last wishes! You see that men don't know what they are doing, and that these lords of creation, who assume to deem themselves much more reasonable than we, are infinitely less so."

"There may have been other reasons that we don't know about."

"Oh! you will always take sides with the men!"

"Why accuse those who are no longer able to defend themselves?"

"Oh! that is a superb retort; but, I may ask, why give the dead credit for qualities which they had not when they were alive? I have heard that done a hundred times in society. There was some artist or author, of whom they said things much too bad for hanging: he was ill-natured, envious; he decried his fellows, he had neither talent, nor style, nor imagination. But, let him die--the same people all sang the palinode: the deceased was a most delightful man, kind-hearted, obliging to his fellow artists, full of talent, gifted with a marvellous imagination. How many times I have heard all that! and I used to shrug my shoulders in pitying contempt, thinking: 'For heaven's sake, messieurs, do at least try to remember to-day what you said yesterday!'--But I would like right well to know why this Monsieur Cherami called me 'the faithless Fanny.' Do you know, Adolphine, you, who know so many things without seeming to?"

Adolphine blushed, as she replied:

"That gentleman dined with Gustave at the restaurant where you gave your wedding supper and ball. Gustave, in all probability, told him of his love and his disappointment; and then Monsieur Grandcourt, Gustave's uncle, came there after his nephew and took him away. Monsieur Cherami stayed at the restaurant, and it seems that he was a little tipsy."

"And in his devotion to his friend, he reproached me for my perfidy! Ah! that was very well done! To fight to avenge one's friend is a deed worthy of the knights of old. When I see Monsieur Cherami again, I will offer him my compliments."

"Do you mean that you bear him no ill-will for calling you faithless?"

"Oh! not the least in the world! If women lost their tempers every time they were called faithless, they would spend most of their time in anger."

While interviews of this sort were constantly taking place between the two sisters, both of whom were engrossed by the same thought, although one was compelled to stifle her sighs, while the other made no secret of her hopes, a certain person was taking much pains to bring back to them the subject which interested them so deeply. The reader will have guessed that we refer to Cherami.

XXXIX

THE HUNT FOR THE FEATHER-MAKERS

After Auguste's death, the ex-Beau Arthur had reflected thus:

"I must wait until a few weeks have passed; it wouldn't be decent for my lovelorn Gustave to return at once and throw himself at the pretty widow's feet; _non est hic locus_; it isn't always best to take active steps; in order that they may succeed, they must be taken at the opportune moment. I still have some debris of the five hundred francs my dear friend loaned me, and I have the change of the hundred-franc note which poor Monleard left me to pay for the breakfast, which cost only seventeen francs fifty. With that, and with a passably pretty switch, and a passably decent costume, one can enjoy this paltry life of ours to some slight extent. Gad! at this moment I should be very glad to meet those two grisettes whom I saw one day at an omnibus office at Porte Saint-Martin. Parbleu! the same day I made the acquaintance of Gustave. They were both pretty--one was a brunette, the other a blonde--one plump and one thin--a morsel for an attorney; and, judging from appearances, one bright and one stupid. Their names were Laurette and Lucie, and they were feather-girls on Rue Saint-Denis. I have never met them since. Par la sambleu! it's my fault, I'm a jackass! I had only to go into all the feather-shops on Rue Saint-Denis--to tell the truth, I haven't always been in a position to play the gallant with young ladies--to invite them to the play and to supper, and I can't do anything less than that by way of renewing the acquaintance. But, now that I'm in funds, what prevents me from looking them up? That idea smiles upon me. It reminds me of happy days.--My mind is made up: before I begin my search for Gustave, I will go in quest of Laurette and Lucie; this very evening, after dinner, I will try my hand at hunting the feather-girls."

Cherami dined, and acquitted himself of the task like one who had not breakfasted twice. Then, his head being a little heated by the fumes of a bottle of old Pommard, he betook himself to Rue Saint-Denis, looking to right and left in quest of feather-shops. He did not go far without discovering one. He opened the door and entered with a haughty air, scrutinizing all the young women in the establishment.

The forewoman eyed the individual who had struck an attitude _a la_ Spartacus in the centre of the shop, where he stared at one after another without speaking, and said to him:

"Will monsieur kindly tell us what he would like?"

Cherami, having taken time enough to examine all the shopgirls, of whom there were ten or twelve, replied in a drawling tone:

"A thousand pardons, madame; I did come in here in search of something; there is no doubt of that; but I don't see what I want; no, I don't see it."

"If monsieur will tell me what he desires, I can tell him at once whether he will find it here."

"Very good, madame; I am looking for children's caps--for a little boy of five."

All the girls in the shop laughed aloud; but the forewoman assumed a sour expression as she rejoined:

"Did monsieur take this for a hat-shop?"

"Have I made a mistake? Oh! I beg your pardon; I am distressed; it was all these feathers that misled me; they put so many feathers on hats nowadays. Accept my apologies, madame; your humble servant."

Having executed a graceful bow, Cherami left the shop, saying to himself:

"That's one; I did that very well; it wasn't a bit bad. My two young friends are not there. Let's try another."

A little farther on, he saw another establishment for the sale of flowers and feathers. He entered as before, and struck the same attitude.

"We are waiting for monsieur to say what he wants," said an old woman.

"Mon Dieu! madame," said Cherami, examining the girls, of whom there were not so many as in the first shop, "I would like--I wanted a coat, either blue or black, but made in the latest style, and, above all things, becoming to me. I don't care for the price, but I am particular about being well dressed."

"You are not in a tailor's shop, monsieur!" retorted the old woman superciliously, while the workgirls exchanged glances and laughed till they cried.

But the old woman bade them be silent, and added:

"Apparently you didn't look to see what we keep here, monsieur?"

"What! am I not in a shop of outfitters for both sexes?"

"No, monsieur; we sell only flowers and feathers."

"Oh! a thousand pardons, madame; but your shop has a sort of resemblance to the Magasin du Prophete. It isn't so brightly lighted, I agree; but these flowers, these wreaths--it's all so pretty! and, in Paris, outfitters' shops look like stage decorations.--Accept my apologies, madame."

"Two!" said Cherami, when he was in the street once more. "My pretty grisettes are not there either. Patience! we shall find them at last. Ah! I see another feather-shop; they fairly swarm in this street. Forward!"

In the third shop, Cherami asked for shirts, while passing in review the workgirls and apprentices, without finding those whom he sought. He succeeded, as before, in making the young women laugh and in obtaining a tart response from the mistress of the place.

In the fourth shop, after staring about for some time, Cherami exclaimed:

"I don't see any; this is very strange; I don't see any, and yet I was certain that I saw several in the window."

"Will monsieur kindly tell us what he desires?" said the forewoman.

"I want to buy a Bayonne ham, madame; the best you have."

This time the laughter was general, and the mistress shared the merriment of her workgirls; so that Cherami had an opportunity to examine them at his leisure. At last, when the hilarity had subsided somewhat, the forewoman, still smiling, said to him:

"We don't sell hams here, monsieur; pray, what sort of a place did you take this for?"

"Oh! a thousand pardons, madame; isn't this a provision shop?"

"No, monsieur; it's a flower and feather shop."

"Ah! I am a miserable wretch! But let me tell you what misled me: it was the birds that I saw in the window. I said to myself: 'That's game; therefore, they sell provisions.'"

"Those are birds-of-paradise that you saw, monsieur; they're used to put on ladies' hats, but not to eat."

"Birds-of-paradise! Pardon me, but they are in paradise, in very truth, since they live under the same roof with such charming ladies! I renew my apologies, and beg you to accept my respects."

Cherami left the fourth shop, saying to himself:

"They are not there either; I shan't have my cue this evening. This is enough for to-day; but I am well pleased with the effect I produced in that last place: they all laughed, even the mistress herself laughed like a madwoman! It was very amusing to see the gayety on all those female faces--and all because I asked for a ham! After all, a ham was more absurd than a coat, shirts, or children's caps! Well, to-morrow I must ask for something even more absurd. Oh! I shall think up something; I'm never at a loss. Meanwhile, let's go and have a game of pool at the usual place. When my pocket is well lined, I play superbly, I handle my cue magnificently. I am sure of winning, according to the proverb: 'Water keeps flowing to the river.'"

The next day, after dinner, Cherami returned to Rue Saint-Denis, saying to himself:

"I know how far I went yesterday, and where I must begin to-day. I have something very amusing to ask for. How I'll make them laugh! Oh! I propose that not even the forewomen shall succeed in keeping a serious face. They will fancy they're at the Palais-Royal when Grassot plays _La Garde-Malade_, or _Le Vieux Loup de Mer_."

But, since the preceding night, certain things had happened in Rue Saint-Denis which our grisette-hunter could not divine.

In a quarter so wholly given over to business, there are brokers and under-clerks who go about almost every morning inquiring as to the course of prices, articles most in demand, etc.; this is commonly called _faire la place_. Now, when one of these brokers entered a certain feather-shop, the girls asked him laughingly:

"Have you brought us some children's caps? we had a call for some last night."

"Caps? you are joking!"

"No, indeed!"

And thereupon they told him about their customer of the night before. The story made the broker laugh, and that was the end of it. But at another shop they told him about a man who had wanted to buy a coat.

"This is a strange thing!" he exclaimed; "over yonder, somebody asked for a child's cap. Can it be the same man?"

At that, the proprietor's interest was aroused.

"I must go to see my confreres, and find out whether they also saw this person."

"That is right," said the broker; "we must go to the bottom of this; for it seems to me as if someone had made up his mind to play a practical joke on you. I'll go with you."

They soon learned that Cherami had visited four shops; but they also satisfied themselves that he had been to no more. The dealers in feathers took counsel together, and those who had not received a call from the jocose gentleman said to one another:

"Perhaps the fellow will begin again to-morrow night; we must prepare to give him a warm reception."

The tradesmen, at whose establishments he had asked for caps, a coat, shirts, and a ham, said to their confreres:

"Allow us to come to your shops to-night and wait for this man, so that we can have our share in the reception you propose to give him."

Everything being agreed upon, in the evening they divided up into groups and waited impatiently for the party of the night before to appear.

Our hunter of feather-makers entered Rue Saint-Denis, far from suspecting all that had been plotted against him; he waved his switch about, looked to right and left, then said to himself:

"I went in there--and there. I recognize the shops perfectly. Ah! there's my number three. There's only one more--the fourth--there it is; yes, I recognize the forewoman, who had a very amiable expression, laughing as she did with all the rest of them. Now, I will go into the next one I see, and we'll have a little laugh. Oh! the question I am going to ask will be so laughable! the girls will fairly howl. I won't even answer for it that I can keep a serious face myself.--Ah! there's a feather-shop. A fine place--forward!"

Cherami made but one bound to the shop he had discovered; he entered, struck a graceful attitude, and ogled the workgirls, not noticing several young men who had stepped behind the doors when he entered.

The forewoman looked at him in a strange way, but asked him, none the less, in a polite tone, what he wanted.

Cherami replied, with a winning smile:

"What do I want? Mon Dieu! fair lady, a very simple thing. I would like--I like to think that you keep them--I would like a broomstick."

"Certainly we keep them, monsieur," the forewoman instantly answered. "How lucky! we have just laid in a stock. You couldn't go to a better place."

While Cherami listened in utter amazement to this reply, which he was very far from expecting, the young men, who had, as it happened, provided themselves with broomsticks, came forth from their hiding-place and fell upon him at close quarters, crying:

"Ah! you want broomsticks, do you? well! you shall have 'em!--to teach you to go into shops as you did last night, to make sport of honest tradesmen! Take that, and that! how do you like broomsticks?"

Cherami, who was unprepared for this attack, tried to parry the blows with his switch, but the switch was no match for the weapons of his opponents; so he thought of nothing but making his escape.

"I will wait for you in the street, messieurs," he cried; "I challenge you all, one at a time."

But they made no reply; they simply pushed him into the street and closed the door on him. Somewhat ashamed of the result of his jest, our friend, who had received a too well-aimed blow from a broomstick over his left eye, walked away, holding his handkerchief to the wound, and saying to himself:

"What a damnable idea that was of mine, to ask for a broomstick! This time, I have my cue!"

XL

THE BANKER

Cherami's left eye was so badly damaged, and retained so long the marks of the blow it had received, that the ex-beau was obliged to keep his room six weeks, because he did not choose to go out with a bandage across his face.

Madame Louchard, who was frequently intrusted with the duty of dressing the wounded organ, said one day to her tenant:

"How in the world did you get that _trump_?"

"You call that a _trump_, my amiable hostess! It would be a deuced fine hand which was full of such trumps!"

"You fought another duel, did you, hot-head?"