Part 20

Adolphine was alone, trying, by dint of practising diligently on the piano, to forget for a moment the secret pain which was gnawing at her heart. Fanny's sister had changed perceptibly in the last few months; a genuine passion does not leave one unscathed; at nineteen years of age, such a passion occupies one's every moment, obtrudes itself upon one's every thought. The girl's features bore traces of her suffering; her face had grown thin and pale, and constantly wore an expression of sadness, which she strove, but in vain, to hide beneath a smile in the presence of others; and her sister's company was not likely to afford her any distraction, because she talked almost incessantly of the man whom Adolphine would have been glad to forget.

Madeleine, who had recognized Gustave, did not deem it necessary to announce him, but allowed him to enter her mistress's apartment, where he could hear her playing the piano. He went forward softly and stood behind Adolphine, and several moments passed before she happened to glance at the mirror over the piano and saw him standing there. A cry escaped her; she whispered Gustave's name, then a ghastly pallor spread over her face, and she looked down at the floor.

"Mon Dieu! my dear Adolphine! what's the matter?" cried the young man, in dismay; "shall I call somebody?"

But Adolphine motioned to him not to go, and shook hands with him, saying in an uncertain voice:

"It's nothing--the surprise--the excitement; I was so unprepared to see you! But it's all gone.--So you are at home again, Monsieur Gustave?"

"Yes, my good little sister. So you didn't expect me, eh? You had forgotten all about me?"

"Oh! I don't say that; on the contrary, it seemed to me that you were staying away a long while this time."

"I have been away nearly seven months; and during that time, I understand that--many things have happened here."

"Ah! you know?"

"Yes, I know that your sister is a widow."

"Who has told you that, so soon?"

"Cherami; you know, the man who was with me the day of----"

"Oh, yes! I know him; it was he, too, who came to tell us the fatal news of poor Auguste's death; for, I don't know how it happens, but your Monsieur Cherami succeeds in having his finger in everything; everybody takes him for a confidant.--When did you return?"

"Only last evening."

"It was very nice of you to think of coming here. Father is out, but he will be at home soon."

"Good! for I shall be very glad to talk with him. I trust that he won't think it improper for me to come here now, as he did before?"

Adolphine could not restrain a nervous gesture as she replied:

"Ah! so you want to come to see us again? Yes--I understand--you are no longer afraid to meet Fanny."

"Do you think that I ought to avoid her presence still? tell me, dear Adolphine!"

"I? Oh! I don't think anything about it. Why should you suppose that I think that? I can't read your heart, you see, and I have no idea whether it still entertains the same sentiments as before."

"Ah! I can safely tell you, who have always treated me like a brother; indeed, why should I make a mystery of it, anyway? Yes, I love Fanny as dearly as ever, her image has not ceased for a single day to be present in my thoughts. My love, although hopeless, has never changed. Judge, then, whether I can cease to love her, now that I am once more at liberty to anticipate happiness in the future!"

Adolphine passed her hand across her brow and made an effort to retain her self-possession, as she replied:

"Ah! it's a fine thing to love like that, with a constancy which time and absence have failed to shake! It's a fine thing; and a woman could not love you too well to recompense a passion as true and pure as yours!"

"Now, that we are alone, tell me, dear Adolphine, do you think that Fanny will receive me kindly? Do you think that my constancy will touch her? that her heart will be moved by it? Ambition and the wish to cut a figure in the world caused her to prefer Monsieur Monleard to me. I can readily forgive her, young as she was, for listening to vanity rather than love--for I fancy that she never had much love for her husband."

"Oh, no! I don't think that she had, either."

"In that case, his death cannot have caused her a very deep grief?"

"She regretted his fortune, that's all."

"What are her means now?"

"Twenty-five hundred francs a year. My father asked her to come to live with us, but she preferred to have a home of her own."

"Twenty-five hundred francs! That's very little for one who has kept her carriage."

"It's quite enough for one whose happiness doesn't depend on money."

"You think so, Adolphine, because you haven't your sister's tastes; but all women aren't like you. Fanny loves society; she's a bit of a coquette, perhaps--that's a very pardonable fault. Thank heaven! I am so placed now that I can gratify the tastes of the woman whom I marry. I earn ten thousand francs a year; she will not be able to have horses in her stable and carriages in her carriage-house, but she will not be obliged to walk when she doesn't want to.--You don't answer me, Adolphine--do you think Fanny will consent to be my wife?"

"Oh! now that you earn ten thousand francs a year, she will smile on your suit, no doubt."

Gustave sighed, as he rejoined in a lower tone:

"Then, if I couldn't offer her that, she would refuse me again? That's what you mean to imply, isn't it?"

"No, no! Mon Dieu! Monsieur Gustave, I didn't mean to hurt you; I did wrong to say that. Fanny must love you--why shouldn't she love you? It would be awfully ungrateful of her not to--when you have given her abundant proof of so much love and constancy--and have forgiven her for the sorrow she caused you. Certainly she loves you; you will be happy with her; but--you see--I can't bear to talk about it all the time--because it worries me--it makes me uneasy--for you. Mon Dieu! I am all confused."

Gustave scrutinized the girl more closely, then exclaimed:

"Why, I hadn't noticed before! How you have changed; how thin you are! Have you been ill, my little sister?"

"Ah! you notice it now, do you? Why, no, I am not ill; nothing's the matter with me; I don't know why I should change."

"Are you in pain?"

Adolphine raised her lovely eyes, as if appealing to heaven, as she replied:

"No, I have no pain."

"I can't have you sick! I insist upon your recovering your fine, healthy color of the old days; and now that I have returned, I will look after your health."

"Thanks! thanks! you will come to see us often, then?"

"I hope to do so; and your sister--does she come here often?"

"Thursdays, because we receive then; occasionally on other days."

Monsieur Gerbault's arrival put an end to this conversation. He greeted Gustave cordially, and the young man made no secret of the pleasure it would give him to come frequently to the house; he did not mention Fanny, preferring not to begin to talk of his renewed hopes at their very first meeting; but he adroitly found a way to make known his financial position, which would enable him, if he married, to offer an attractive prospect to the woman who should bear his name.

Now that his oldest daughter was a widow, Monsieur Gerbault saw no impropriety in Gustave's meeting her; and he was the first to urge the young man to come to his house at his pleasure, as before. Gustave was enchanted; he pressed Monsieur Gerbault's hand, then Adolphine's, and took his leave without noticing that the latter's depression had become more marked than ever.

XLIII

A COMPLETE REFORMATION

The next evening, at six o'clock, Cherami, dressed with an elegance which made of him once more the stylish beau of former days, was walking near the Passage de l'Opera. Several of his former boon companions, who had ceased to bow to him since he had worn a threadbare coat, had stopped when they caught sight of him and acted as if they would accost him; but Cherami at once turned on his heel, saying to himself:

"Go your way, canaille! I know what you amount to, my fine fellows! You wouldn't look at me when I was strapped. You recognize me because I am well dressed. Avaunt! I have had enough of such people!"

Gustave soon appeared; he could not restrain an exclamation of surprise as he gazed at the man who could once more call himself Beau Arthur.

"Sapristi! my dear fellow! Pray excuse these manifestations of surprise," said Gustave; "but, upon my word, at first glance I didn't recognize you. You are superb--I don't exaggerate; no one could wear handsome clothes more gracefully."

"That's a relic of early habit."

"Why have you gotten yourself up so finely?"

"It was the least I could do to show my respect for such a friend as you."

"Let us go and dine, and we will talk."

"I am at your service."

The gentlemen entered the Cafe Anglais, and Gustave said to his companion:

"Order the dinner; you know how to do it."

"Pardon me, but I think I won't order again," said Cherami; "I went about it like a bull in a china-shop; I don't propose to do it any more; you do the ordering."

"What does this mean? You, a man who understood life so well!"

"On the contrary, I understood it very ill; and I have changed all that--a complete reformation; better late than never."

Gustave finally decided to order the dinner; but at every moment his guest said to him:

"Enough; that's quite enough! and we'll have only one kind of wine."

"Faith! my dear fellow, you may eat and drink what you choose; but I propose to order to suit myself; I haven't turned hermit, you see."

"Go on, you are the master. I will get drunk, if you insist; it's my duty to obey you."

Throughout the first course, Cherami put water in his wine, and was very abstemious.

"I shouldn't know you," said Gustave.

"So much the better! I aim to be unrecognizable; but let us talk of your affairs: have you been to Papa Gerbault's?"

"Yes; I saw Adolphine, Fanny's younger sister; still, as always, kind and affectionate and ready to help me."

"I have an idea that she is very affectionate, in truth."

"But I found her very much changed--she is thin, and she has lost her fresh color. One would say that the girl has some secret sorrow."

"There's nothing impossible in that, poor child! And you told her that you still love her sister?"

"To be sure; I confided to her all the hopes which Fanny's present position justified me in forming. Oh! I made no mystery to her of my love for her sister."

"That must have afforded her a great deal of pleasure!"

"Adolphine takes an interest in my happiness; if she can help me with Fanny, she will do it, I am sure."

"She is quite capable of it. But, look you, if you take my advice, you will go directly to the young widow, and not have the little sister for a constant witness of your love making; it's a dangerous business for a heart of nineteen years! When one sees others making love, it may arouse a longing to make love on one's own account."

"My dear Arthur, I ask nothing better than to go to Madame Monleard's; but I must see her first at her father's, and she must give me permission to call on her."

"Never fear; she'll give you permission. What about your uncle? have you spoken to him about the revival of your hopes?"

"No, indeed! he isn't fond of Fanny. There'll be time enough for that when affairs come to a head."

"By the way, if I want to see you now, where shall I find you? I don't want to apply to your uncle again; he's an old curmudgeon whom I can't get along with. He has a way of looking at me! If he hadn't been your uncle, we should have had it out before this, I promise you."

"My dear fellow, my uncle is a most excellent man, I give you my word; very just and fair at bottom; a little obstinate when he has formed a bad opinion of people; but very willing to revise his judgment when you prove to him that he was wrong."

"A noble trait, that!"

"He has a prejudice against Fanny; he believes her to be incapable of loving; but when she makes me happy, he will be the first to agree that he was wrong. As for myself, I have accepted a very nice suite of rooms in his house, where I shall stay till I marry."

"In your uncle's house! Then no one can see you without his permission?"

"Not so; my apartments are on the second floor, front, entirely separate from his."

"Does the concierge know you now?"

"Yes, never fear; he knows my name. Come, my good fellow, a glass of champagne to my love, to my union with Fanny!"

"You insist on drinking champagne?"

"Most certainly."

"Very good, if you insist on it! We might well have been content with this claret, which is perfect."

"But what is the meaning of this virtuous conduct? what revolution has taken place in you? who has wrought this miracle?"

"Who? Don't you suspect?"

"Faith, no!"

"Well, it was you, my dear Gustave."

"I? Nonsense!"

"It's the truth, none the less. Twice now, you have obliged me; and with such tact, such generosity----"

"Oh! I beg you----"

"Sacrebleu! let me speak; I am not talking _blague_ now, and you must believe me, because I have no reason for lying. I brought myself up with a sharp turn; I said to myself that, although I am no longer young, I am not old enough yet to live at other people's expense. In short, I don't propose to throw money out of window any more.--Better still: I am conscious now of a desire to do something--to work and occupy my mind. I used to laugh at clerks, at the men employed in offices; but find me such a place, my friend, and I promise you that I'll fill it in such a way that they won't turn me away."

Gustave took Cherami's hand and pressed it warmly.

"This is very well done of you," he said; "I certainly can't blame you for such good resolutions. If you keep to them, why, I will look about, and I will find something for you."

"Oh! I shall keep to them; my mind is made up."

"Meanwhile, as one must never carry anything to excess, there's no law against your drinking champagne, provided you don't get drunk on it."

"Very good; let us drink it, then."

"To my love!"

"To your love! But take my advice, and attend to your business yourself; don't put it in the little sister's hands any more."

"Do you think her capable of doing me a bad turn with Fanny?"

"No, indeed! God forbid! she loves you too well to do you a bad turn with anybody. But the result of my experience is that, in love, you should never employ an ambassador. It's a waste of time."

"I will follow your advice. Thursday, I shall see Fanny at her father's, and I will ask her permission to call on her."

"In that way," said Cherami to himself, "that poor girl won't have them making love under her nose, at all events."

XLIV

COQUETRY

Thursday arrived, and on that day a few faithful friends and some less faithful acquaintances were accustomed to meet at Monsieur Gerbault's in the evening and play cards. Among the faithful friends--faithful in their attendance, that is--were Messieurs Clairval and Batonnin; among those who came only occasionally was young Anatole de Raincy, who, like a well-bred youth, had not taken offence at Adolphine's refusal of his hand; and, being still a great lover of music, did not, because of that refusal, renounce the pleasure of singing duets with her.

Since Fanny had been a widow, she had come regularly to her father's to dinner on Thursday; her sparkling conversation and her playful humor, upon which her bereavement had imposed silence for a fortnight at most, contributed not a little to the success of the evening party. The young widow, who knew that Anatole de Raincy had sought Adolphine's hand and had been refused, never failed, when she found herself in that young gentleman's company, to dart glances at him which might well have turned his head, but for the fact that, in order to captivate him, a woman must first of all possess a sweet voice; and Fanny sang very little, and then her singing was not true.

So that Monsieur de Raincy did not respond to the glances of the pretty widow, who soon confided to her sister that that Monsieur Anatole was nothing but a canary; that he ought to be fed on nothing but chickweed.

On the day in question, Adolphine, when she was joined by her sister, whom she had not seen during the week, experienced a feeling of discomfort which she strove to overcome, saying to her hurriedly:

"I imagine that you will see someone here this evening whose presence will not be distasteful to you."

"Ah! whom do you expect this evening, pray?"

"Monsieur Gustave Darlemont."

"Gustave! Is it possible? Gustave has returned, and you haven't told me?"

"You have only just come; I couldn't tell you any sooner."

"But when did he return? When did you see him?"

"He came to see us on Monday; I believe he arrived in Paris the night before."

"What! he has been here since Monday, and I didn't know it! And he's coming to-night--you are quite sure? Did father invite him for to-night?"

"Father didn't actually invite him; but he knows that we receive on Thursdays, and, as he expressed a wish to visit us anew---- And then, he knows that he will meet you."

"Did he talk much about me? Does he act as if he still loved me? Oh! tell me everything he said, little sister; don't forget a single thing. It is very important; I must know what to expect."

Adolphine made an effort, and replied in a voice trembling with emotion:

"Yes, Monsieur Gustave told me that he still loved you, that he had never ceased to think of you."

"Oh! how sweet of him! There's constancy for you! And they say that men can't be faithful!--The poor fellows: how they are slandered! Dear Gustave! then he's well pleased that I am a widow, I suppose?"

"You can understand that he couldn't quite say that."

"No, no, but he thinks it; that's enough. And he's coming? Mon Dieu! how does my hair look? it seems to me that this cap hides my forehead too much."

"You look very well; and, besides, doesn't a woman always look well to her lover?"

"Oh! my dear girl, in order to please, one must always try to look pretty."

And Fanny ran to a mirror; she arranged and rearranged her hair, took off her cap and put it on again; and finally tossed it aside, saying:

"I certainly look better without a cap."

"But, sister, I supposed that your mourning required----"

"My dear girl, I've been a widow more than six months; I have a right to arrange my head as I please, and when one has fine hair it's never a crime to show it."

During dinner, Fanny talked incessantly of Gustave; Adolphine said nothing; Monsieur Gerbault let his elder daughter talk on, but he kept a serious countenance and looked frequently at Adolphine. At the time that she fainted at the idea that Gustave was dead, a sudden light had shone in upon her father's mind; but he had made no sign; he respected his younger daughter's secret, although at the bottom of his heart he was the more deeply touched by her suffering, because he could see no way of putting an end to it.

The dinner seemed horribly long to Fanny; she asked for the coffee before her father had finished his dessert, and kept leaving the table to look at herself in the mirror. This manoeuvre was repeated so often that Monsieur Gerbault could not resist the temptation to say to her, with a smile:

"My dear, it seems to me that, for a widow, you are rather coquettish."

"In my opinion, father," she made haste to reply, "a widow is more excusable for being coquettish than a married woman whose husband is alive; for, you see, a widow is free."

"Yes, no doubt that is true, especially when she has been a widow a long while."

"Well, do you call six months nothing? And I am in my seventh!"

"Yes, indeed! yes, indeed!--Never mind; the story of the _Matron of Ephesus_ no longer seems improbable to me."

"What's that about the _Matron of Ephesus_? I don't know that story."

"It's a fable; but it might very well be history, after all."

"Ah! did someone ring?"

"I didn't hear anything."

"How late your people come!"

"Do you think so? It's only seven o'clock."

"Nonsense! Your clock is slow."

"It keeps excellent time."

"Oh! I don't know what's the matter with me; I can't keep still."

Adolphine followed her sister with her eyes, thinking:

"It's her love for him that makes her so coquettish and so impatient! It's very funny; when he used to come before, I never thought of looking in my mirror; I thought of him, not of myself."

At last, the bell rang; it was Monsieur Clairval, cold, phlegmatic, taciturn. Next came Madame Mirallon, who always wore full dress, even at small parties. Next came a lawyer and a doctor, enthusiastic whist players, who were constantly disputing, one being a hot partisan of the short-suit lead, the other declaring that a good player would never stoop to that.

At every ring, Fanny gazed eagerly at the door; she made a funny little wry face when she saw that the person who appeared was not he whom she expected.

"My gentleman keeps us waiting a long while!" she murmured; then ran to her sister.--"Adolphine, are you sure you told him Thursday? Perhaps you said some other day?"

"No. At all events, he knows that we have always received on Thursday."

"He knows, he knows! When a man travels so much, he can easily forget. It's after eight o'clock, and you see he doesn't come."

"Eight o'clock isn't late. Never fear; he'll come."

"You think so?"

"Oh! I am sure of it."

"You are quite sure that he still loves me?"

"If he doesn't, why should he have told me that he did?"

"Oh! my dear, men say so many things that they don't think!"

"I can't understand how anyone can lie about love."

"Ah! you make me laugh; love's just the thing they lie most about.--There's the bell. This time it must be he."

Fanny's expectation was deceived once more; Monsieur Batonnin appeared, with his inevitable smile, and his measured words.

"What a bore!" muttered the young woman, moving uneasily on her chair; "it's that wretched Batonnin--the doll-faced man, as we used to call him at our parties."

"Don't you like him? Why, he used to go to your house----"

"Well! what does that prove? Do you imagine that, in society, we are fond of everybody we receive? On the contrary, three-quarters of the time the greatest pleasure we have is in passing all our guests in review and picking them to pieces."

"Ah! what a pitiful sort of pleasure! But whom can you share it with? for, if you speak ill of everybody----"

"You take a new-comer, and go and sit down with him in a corner of the salon; and there, on the pretext of telling him who people are, you give everybody a curry-combing. It's awfully amusing!"

"But the new-comer, if he isn't an idiot, must say to himself: 'As soon as I have gone, she'll say as much about me.'"

"Oh! we don't even wait till he's gone to do that."

Monsieur Batonnin, having paid his respects to Monsieur Gerbault and to the card-players, joined the two sisters.

"How are the charming widow and her lovely sister? The rose and the bud--or, rather, two buds--or two roses; for, both being flowers, and the flowers being sisters, and having thorns--why----"

"Come, Monsieur Batonnin, make up your mind. I want to know whether I am a rose or a bud," said Fanny, glancing at the guest with a mocking expression.

"Madame, being no longer unmarried, you are necessarily a rose."

"All right; that fixes my status! And my sister is a bud?"

"Yes, to be sure--but I am pained to observe that this charming bud has drooped a little on its stalk for some time past."

"Do you hear, Adolphine? Monsieur Batonnin thinks that you are drooping on your stalk, which means, I presume, that you are losing your freshness."

"That isn't exactly what I meant to say."

"Don't try to back down, Monsieur Batonnin; besides, you are right; my sister has changed of late. She assures us that she is not ill, that she has no pain; for my part, I am convinced that something is the matter, but she doesn't choose to make me her confidante."