Part 19

"I am forced to confess that I was beaten this time; I wasn't strong enough; there was a whole regiment against me."

"That wasn't done by a sword, was it?"

"No, unluckily! A sword puts your eye out, but doesn't force it out of your head. But I got it for the sake of two girls!"

"Aha! so you must have two at once! God! what good reason I have to hate men!"

"However, this forced retirement has compelled me to be economical; I have given you a superb payment on account."

"Twenty-five francs! Do you call that superb?"

"Everything is comparative; I usually give you only a hundred sous. My eye is getting well, thank God! I shall soon resume my activity."

"And run after your girls again, I suppose?"

"No, on my word as a gentleman, I shan't begin that again; I've had enough of it! I have my cue. I am going to try to find my friend Gustave; he may have been in Paris since I have kept my room. My first visit will be to his uncle, a by no means amiable party, who presumes to look askance at me; but, so long as he tells me where his nephew is, I will allow him to make faces at me, if it affords him any pleasure."

A few days later, Cherami was, in fact, able to go out, and without a bandage; his eye had resumed its normal appearance. Our man had taken great pains with his toilet: his boots were polished, his hat and coat carefully brushed; he took his switch, entered the omnibus from Belleville, took an exchange check, and, in due time, arrived at the banker's establishment in Faubourg Montmartre.

On this occasion, Cherami did not stop to talk with the concierge; he went straight to the office and found the same clerk still at work on his figures. It is a fact that there are some clerks in banking-houses who pass almost the whole day at that work. When they go to sleep, it would seem that they must always see figures dancing and fluttering about them; what a pleasant life! and what delightful dreams!

Cherami stopped in front of the old clerk, who kept his eyes fixed on his ledger as before, making the same dull sound that some machines make: "Six--eight--fourteen--twenty-seven--thirty."

"I say, my good man, haven't you stopped that since the last time I came?" cried Cherami, tapping on the clerk's desk with his switch. "Sapristi! you're no common clerk; you're a living logarithm, a ciphering-machine on which somebody ought to take out a patent! You ought to fetch a big price."

The old clerk replied simply, without raising his head:

"Don't hit my ledger like that; don't you see that you raise the dust?"

"Yes, to be sure, I see that I raise lots of dust; your office-boys don't dust here every day, it seems?"

"Thirty-five--forty-four--fifty-three."

"Ah! the machine's starting up again. Look you: I would be glad to avoid applying to your employer, Monsieur Grandcourt, as we're not on the best of terms. Come, Papa Double-Naught, tell me if the banker's nephew, Gustave, has returned from Germany. I have something to say to him--something important, very important; I am anxious to assure his happiness! Well?"

"Eighty from a hundred and sixty leaves----"

"Ah! this is too much! it passes conception! He ought to be sent to the Exposition!"

Having brought his switch down on the desk once more, with such violence that the sand and ink flew up into the clerk's face, Cherami strode toward the banker's private office, and found that gentleman reading the newspaper.

At sight of Cherami, whom he recognized at once, although his apparel was greatly improved, Monsieur Grandcourt frowned. His visitor, on the contrary, tried to smile, and said, bowing gracefully:

"Monsieur, I have the honor to be your servant."

"Good-morning, monsieur!"

"Do you remember me, by any chance?"

"Perfectly, monsieur. Indeed, you are not at all changed, except in respect to your dress, which I congratulate you upon having renewed."

"Ah! you notice that? You look at a man's dress, I see?"

"Why, I should say that it was impossible not to notice it."

"I mean to say that you attach importance to it, that you judge the man by his coat."

"Was it to ascertain my opinion on that subject that you called on me, monsieur?"

"No; oh, no! I snap my fingers at other people's opinions. I know my own value, and that's enough for me."

"I congratulate you, monsieur, on knowing your own value; it is quite possible that the world at large doesn't suspect it."

Cherami bit his lips and twisted his whiskers, muttering:

"This devil of a fellow hasn't changed, either--still sarcastic, mocking. I don't despise intellects of that type; they prick and stir one up. You retort, and the conversation is all the more highly spiced."

Monsieur Grandcourt repressed a faint smile and leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs, as if waiting to hear what his caller had to say.

"I would be willing to bet that you guess why I have come?" said Cherami at last.

"It is quite possible, monsieur; still, I may be mistaken."

"I have come to ask where your dear nephew is--my friend Gustave."

"He is travelling, monsieur."

"Still travelling? But, he must be somewhere."

"He was at Berlin not long ago."

"Not long ago--that's rather vague. However, he writes to you, and you answer him, I presume?"

"There is no doubt about that."

"Consequently, he tells you where to send your letters. Very good! be kind enough to give me his address, so that I may write to Gustave forthwith. I desire to tell him a piece of news which will make him very happy, and will probably hasten his return to Paris. When one can give a friend pleasure, it would seem that one cannot do it too quickly! Don't you agree with me in that?"

"Perhaps, monsieur; that depends on the possible results of the pleasure which you wish to afford your friend. What is this joyous news which you are in such haste to transmit to my nephew, so as to make him hurry back? Couldn't you tell me?"

"I might say that you are very inquisitive; but you are my friend's uncle, and, for that reason, I excuse you. The little woman whom Gustave adored, whom he still adores--at least, he told me so before he went away--that charming Fanny!--and she really is very pretty! I had a chance to examine her at my ease when I called on her--a refined, intellectual face, a coaxing voice, a foot just large enough to say that she has one----"

"Well, monsieur, this Fanny?"

"Well, dear uncle, she is a widow!"

"Oh! monsieur, I have known that a long while. She's a widow because her husband blew his brains out, which doesn't indicate that he was very happy at home."

"I beg your pardon; he killed himself because he was ruined--by unlucky speculations on the Bourse. Still, I am not talking about the dead man, but about his widow. Since the woman Gustave adored is free, what is there to prevent him, later--I don't say now, at once, but when her year of mourning has passed----"

"So, monsieur, it is with the purpose of reviving that idiotic passion of my nephew for a woman who laughed at him, that you insist upon knowing where he is? You hope that on receipt of your letter he will drop everything and return to Paris?"

"I am even capable of going where he is, myself, to fetch him home, if it isn't too far--and doesn't cost too much! I will travel third class; I don't mind. One must make some sacrifice to friendship."

"You will not have that trouble, monsieur; and as I consider that my nephew will certainly return soon enough, so far as seeing your Fanny is concerned, and as I flatter myself that he will then have ceased to think of that young woman, I shall not give you his address."

"Ah! indeed! so you are still as hard-hearted and tyrannical as ever?"

"A man is not necessarily a tyrant, monsieur, because he prevents silly boys from making fools of themselves. I am well aware that, nowadays, it is customary to give that name to those who insist that laws and customs and individual rights shall be respected; that old age shall be honored, that children shall revere their parents and celebrate their birthdays, and that there shall be no smoking in a room where there are ladies; if that's what you mean by _tyrant_, why, I am a tyrant, monsieur, and I am proud of it."

Cherami paced up and down the room, muttering:

"You are trying to make me think it's noon at two o'clock! I care nothing for all that! Once, twice, will you give me Gustave's address?"

"A hundred times, no!"

"Good-day, then! I have my cue!"

And Cherami rushed from the room in a rage, saying to himself:

"If I had such an uncle as that, I'd disinherit him!"

XLI

THE YOUNG WIDOW

For several days, Cherami went every morning and inquired of the banker's concierge if the young traveller had returned; but as he always received a negative reply, he soon tired of repeating the same trip to no purpose, and confined himself to going there once a week.

Meanwhile, time passed, and Cherami, reduced once more to the necessity of living on his slender income, found himself anew without enough money in his pocket to buy a cigar.

But winter had given place to spring, fine weather had returned, and the ex-beau strolled about in search of acquaintances more persistently than ever.

One morning, near the Chateau d'Eau, he saw two girls, apparently waiting for an omnibus; he walked toward them, saying to himself:

"Par la sambleu! I believe those are my pretty feather-makers. Yes, they certainly are Mesdemoiselles Laurette and Lucie."

Hearing their names, the young women turned and looked at the stranger, who bowed low to them. Suddenly Laurette, the dark one, cried:

"Ah! I recognize monsieur now; he's the one who talked with us at Porte Saint-Martin last summer."

"Yes, mesdemoiselles; the same. Are you going up to Belleville again?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"And to the restaurant in Parc Saint-Fargeau?"

"No, monsieur; but we have a friend who lives in the village of L'Avenir."

"And where might the village of L'Avenir be, if you please?"

"What! you don't know it?"

"I have never been able to read the future (_l'avenir_), and I was not aware that it had a village."

"It's in Romainville Forest, a little this side, on high land from which you get a fine view. There have been a lot of houses built there, almost all alike; small, but very neat and prettily decorated, each with its little garden. As they don't cost much, and you can pay on very easy terms, why, the village of L'Avenir sprang up all at once, as if by magic."

"Pardieu! I'll go and buy a house there--as soon as I'm in funds. Ah! mesdemoiselles, I have hunted everywhere for you! If you knew all that I have done to find you!"

"Us, monsieur? Why did you want to find us?"

"To ask you to go to the play and to supper."

"Ah! what a fine idea! But perhaps we wouldn't have accepted?"

"That _perhaps_ relieves my mind. There was nothing improper in my suggestion."

"Monsieur certainly has too gentlemanly an air for anybody to distrust him."

"Damnation!" said Cherami to himself; "what a pity that I haven't a sou! I'll bet they would accept now."

"Where did you look for us, monsieur?"

"Why, in all the feather-shops on Rue Saint-Denis."

"Ah! you would have had to look a long while. We're not in the feather business now; we have changed."

"What are you in now?"

"Pearls; we string pearls."

"Ah! that's a very pretty trade. I have never worked in pearls myself, and yet I would have liked----"

"Here's our 'bus, Laurette--come. Adieu, monsieur!"

"In what quarter, please?"

"Rue des Arcis."

The young women climbed into the omnibus, and Cherami watched them ride away. He sighed, muttered a malediction against fate, tapped his trousers with his switch, and continued his promenade. But he had not walked a hundred yards, when he found himself face to face with a young lady dressed in mourning, who stopped and bestowed a gracious salutation upon him. Cherami bowed to the ground, for he had recognized Auguste Monleard's young widow.

"Good-morning, monsieur! do you recognize me?" said Fanny, with a smile.

"Ah! madame, I must be short-sighted to the last degree to have forgotten your enchanting face after I had seen it once!"

"But this mourning changes one a good deal."

"Whether you wear black, or pink, or nothing at all, I will answer for it that you will always be charming. Indeed, I should prefer the last."

"You are very gallant, Monsieur Cherami!"

"I am delighted to find that madame remembers my name."

"I have not forgotten it, monsieur; indeed, I was very anxious to see you."

"Really! If I could have dreamed of such a thing, madame, I would have done myself the honor to call upon you long since."

"I wanted first of all to thank you for your kindness in going to my father's to perform an unpleasant errand."

"Oh! let us say no more of that, I beg! Have you any other commission to intrust to me? I am at your service, I have nothing to do; command me."

"I thank you, Monsieur Cherami. Do you know Monsieur Gustave Darlemont?"

"Do I know him! He is my best friend, my Euryalus, my Orestes, my Pythias.--Yes, indeed, madame; I do know him and appreciate him; he is a charming fellow, who deserves to be loved."

"Tell me frankly, Monsieur Cherami,--surely you have no reason now to conceal the truth from me,--did Gustave ask you to fight with my husband?"

"Ah! so madame knows that it was I who----"

"Who fought a duel with Monsieur Monleard. To be sure; but have no fear; I bear you no ill-will at all for that."

"She's a charming creature," said Cherami to himself; "I fancy that she would bear me no more ill-will if I had killed her husband."

"But, monsieur," rejoined Fanny, "be good enough to tell me why you called me faithless when you saw me pass?"

"Oh! mon Dieu! my dear madame, it's very easy to understand. I had dined with poor Gustave at the restaurant where you gave your wedding party. During the whole meal, the dear fellow was in such utter despair that it was painful to see him. He didn't eat, he didn't drink; I was compelled to dine for two, and to hold on to him every minute to keep him from seeking you out in the midst of your party."

"Really! Poor fellow! was he so broken up as that?"

"In the evening, he spoke to your sister and made her promise that, when you came back for the ball, she would arrange it so that he could have an interview with you."

"My sister never told me a word of all this. That Adolphine's a strange creature!"

"On the contrary, it seems that she sent word to Gustave's uncle, to come to take him away."

"What business was it of hers?"

"The uncle came and compelled his nephew to go with him; I was left alone. I had drunk quite a lot of punch; I had looked in at a wedding party on the floor above yours. As I came from that party, heated by dancing, and still thinking of my disconsolate friend, I caught sight of you, and I let slip that remark; which I retract to-day, and offer a thousand apologies for making it."

"You are freely forgiven. So Gustave had nothing to do with the duel?"

"He knew absolutely nothing about it until he returned from Spain."

"Do you know where he is now?"

"Alas, no! In Prussia, I believe. I have been several times to ask; but he has an uncle who is the most disagreeable man you can imagine! If he weren't so closely connected with my friend, I would have run him through before this. Still, Gustave must return some time; I am on the watch for him."

"When you hear anything about him, it will be very kind of you to let me know. This is my new address."

"Be sure, madame, that I shall be only too happy to prove my zeal."

"Adieu, Monsieur Cherami!"

"Madame, accept my most respectful homage.--I don't know whether she is sincerely fond of Gustave," thought Cherami, as the charming widow left him, "but it is certain that she is burning to see him again."

XLII

ORESTES AND PYLADES

Fanny had been a widow more than six months, when, as Cherami was approaching Monsieur Grandcourt's abode one morning, he saw Gustave come out. He uttered a joyful exclamation, and hastened to throw his arms about the young traveller, crying:

"_Tandem_! _denique_! here he is at last! this is good luck, indeed! Damnation! you've been away a long while, but we will hope that it's the last time."

"Good-day, my dear Arthur!" said Gustave, as they shook hands. "Were you coming to see my uncle?"

"Your uncle! Sapristi! he's a dear creature, is your uncle; let's talk about something else. Why, I have been here a hundred times; I wanted to get your address, so that I could write to you or come after you; but it was impossible to obtain the slightest information from your uncle. When did you return?"

"Last night, at nine o'clock. But why were you so anxious to know where I was? What had you to tell me that was so important?"

"Hasn't your uncle told you anything?"

"We had a talk this morning, on business; that's all."

"Ah! the old fox! there's no danger that he would tell you what interested you most."

"Then do you tell me, quickly, Cherami."

"Your former passion, that little woman you loved so dearly----"

"Fanny! Great God! is she dead?"

"No, no! she's not dead; she's in bewitching health, she's just as pretty as ever, and more than that--she's a widow."

"A widow! Great heaven! can it be possible?"

"It's more than possible, it's so. Her husband speculated in stocks, and ruined himself; then, _crac_! a pistol-shot--you understand."

"Oh! what a calamity! Why, it's perfectly ghastly; how long ago was it?"

"Almost immediately after you went away."

"Poor Fanny! she expected to find her happiness in that marriage; how she must have grieved! how bitterly she must have wept!"

"My dear Gustave, you don't know that young woman at all. She has very great strength of character; she received the news of her husband's death with a stoical courage worthy of the Spartan women who sent their sons to war, bidding them to return as victors or not at all."

"How do you know that, Cherami?"

"Pardieu! because it was I to whom her husband confided his last wishes and the mission of informing his wife of his death."

"To you! you who fought a duel with him?"

"Precisely! that duel made us the best friends in the world. I will tell you all about it in detail another time. Let it suffice for the present, that the young widow, who is already thoroughly consoled, does not cease to talk about you, to ask about you, and to inquire whether you will return soon."

"Is that true? you are not deceiving me? Fanny thinks of me?"

"It is as I have the honor to tell you, and, between ourselves, I believe that she never really loved her husband--which explains why she wasted so little regret on him."

"All that you tell me surprises me so that I can't collect my thoughts. Fanny widowed! Fanny free!"

"Yes, widowed, and more than six months passed already! By the way,--and this is the first question I should have asked you,--do you still love her?"

"Do I still love her! Ah! my dear Arthur, can you doubt it?"

"It seems to me that you have had plenty of time and a perfect right to forget her. I seem to recall that that was your hope when you went away."

"That may be; but I have not been able to do it. I tried to distract my thoughts, to fall in love with other women. One day, I fancied that I was; but the illusion soon vanished; and then, the last time I met Fanny, she was so sweet with me that the memory of that occasion was not well calculated to destroy my love."

"Then you love her? you are sure of it?"

"Nonsense, my dear fellow! why do you ask me that?"

"Oh! because I had thought of something else; and if you were no longer in love with the widow---- But, as you are still daft over her, why, that's at an end; and I believe that things will go on now to suit you."

"I am going to see Adolphine, Fanny's sister, to-day."

"Why shouldn't you go to see Fanny herself? I should say that that would be the shortest way. I can give you her address."

"Oh! you can't mean that, my friend! that I should go to that young widow's house at once--I, who have not been to see her since her marriage! It wouldn't be proper. She must give me permission first."

"But, as she urged you to call on her when she was a married woman, it seems to me that she can afford to receive you now that she's a widow."

"To be sure, but not right away; I must see her first, at her father's. She must go there often, now?"

"I should rather see you go to the little widow's than to her father's."

"Why so?"

"Why, indeed! That's the sequel of the idea I spoke about just now. However, do as you think best; the main point is that you have come in time, and that you should stay in Paris; because I am horribly bored while you are away. On my word, I seem to miss something."

"Dear Arthur! I am really touched by the interest you take in everything that concerns me.--And yourself, my friend--are you happy, are you doing well in business?"

"I can't do badly, because I do no business at all. I am content--because I am a philosopher! I am happy--when I have my cue; but I haven't had it for some time."

"I'll bet that you have no money."

"You would win very often if you made that bet."

"And you didn't say a word about it! Am I no longer your friend?"

"My dear Gustave, you overwhelm me;--but I owe you something now, and----"

"What does that matter? Do friends keep accounts with one another? Isn't he who can oblige the other the happier?"

"Damme! if all my friends of the old days had been of your way of thinking!"

Gustave produced his wallet, took out a banknote, and thrust it into Cherami's hand, saying:

"Here, my good friend, take this; and when it's all gone, tell me so. Now, adieu! I must leave you and go to Monsieur Gerbault's; I dine with my uncle to-day; but if you will dine with me to-morrow, be in front of the Passage de l'Opera at six o'clock."

"If I will! Par la sambleu! why, it will be a regular fete for me."

"In that case, adieu, until to-morrow!"

When Gustave was a long distance away, Cherami continued to look after him, saying to himself:

"There goes the pearl of friends; I don't know the pearls upon which Mesdemoiselles Laurette and Lucie are employed, but a real friend is worth far more than all the treasures of Golconda, and is much rarer too. I was on the point of mentioning a certain idea that I have got into my head relative to little Adolphine, the pretty widow's sister; but I thought, on reflection, that I should do better to say nothing about it. What good would it do to tell him that I think poor Adolphine's in love with him, when he still loves Fanny? It would make him unhappy, and that's all; he wouldn't dare to go to Papa Gerbault's to talk about his dear Fanny. I certainly did well to hold my tongue. Let's see what he slipped into my hand. Generous Gustave! he is quite capable of loaning me five hundred francs more."

Cherami unfolded the banknote which he held in his hand, and was thunderstruck when he saw that it was for a thousand francs.

Having satisfied himself that he was not mistaken, Cherami stuffed the note into his cigar-case, muttering:

"A thousand francs! he gave me a thousand francs, and said: 'When that's gone, let me know!' Sacrebleu! this unexpected wealth bewilders me. That young man's behavior touches me; it makes me blush for my own. Come, Arthur, my good friend, do you propose to continue your dissipation, your foolish courses? And because you have fallen in with a whole-souled fellow who gave you money without counting it, are you going to work, as usual, to waste that money as you wasted your fortune? I say _no_! par la sambleu! I will not do it; I propose to show myself worthy to be Gustave's friend. From this day forth, I turn over a new leaf, I become a reasonable man, I put water in my wine; and, for a beginning, I will go and dine for thirty-two sous."

While Cherami was forming these excellent resolutions, Gustave betook himself, without loss of time, to Monsieur Gerbault's house.