Part 4

"They were shrewd to refuse my dinner. Peste! how should I have got out of it? I'm not sorry to have had a chat with the little dears--one's name is Laurette, and the other's Lucie, or Lucile; they may be desirable acquaintances, on occasion; if I ever want to buy feathers, for instance."

IX

ANOTHER WEDDING PARTY

A young man of some twenty-five years, fashionably dressed, but whose costume was in some disorder, suddenly appeared upon the scene. He was walking very fast, and did not stop until he reached the porte cochere of the Deffieux restaurant. There he halted, and gazed under the porte cochere with every indication of anxiety, not to say distress; then looked all about him and along the boulevard. From the pallor of his cheeks, the distortion of his features, the expression of his eyes, it was easy to see that he was suffering keenly, and that his distress was augmented by the expectation of some impending event. Cherami had no sooner espied the young man, than the latter ran to where he stood and said, in a trembling voice:

"Have you been here some time, monsieur?"

"Why, yes, monsieur; quite a long time."

"I beg your pardon, but in that case you can tell me---- Have you noticed a wedding party arrive at this restaurant?"

"A wedding party? Certainly, I have seen one; it's only a short time since the carriages went away."

"They have arrived already? I thought I should be here before them."

"No; you are late."

"They have gone in?"

"Yes, monsieur; I had a very good view of the bride."

"You saw Fanny?"

"I don't know whether her name's Fanny, I'm sure; but what I do know is that she's very pretty."

"Oh! yes, monsieur; she's charming, isn't she?"

"She's a very pretty bride, without being a beauty."

"Oh! monsieur, there's no lovelier woman on earth."

"That's a matter of taste. I don't propose to contradict you."

"Was she pale, trembling? did she look as if she had been crying?"

"Why, not at all! She was fresh and rosy and affable; she laughed as she jumped out of the carriage; then I saw her figure, which isn't so bad, although she's a little stout."

"Stout! why, no! she's slender and rather small."

"I tell you, she's decidedly plump. But that does no harm in a blonde; a thin blonde is too much like a feather-duster."

"Blonde? Fanny is dark! You made a mistake, monsieur; it wasn't the bride that you saw."

"It wasn't the bride that I saw? Oh! I beg your pardon, monsieur; I can't be mistaken, for I talked with the groom's uncle, whom I know very well, Papa Blanquette, wholesale linen-draper."

"Blanquette! I beg your pardon, monsieur; the party you saw isn't the one I am expecting."

"Faith! it's not my fault. You ask me if a wedding party has arrived at this restaurant, and I tell you what I've seen. It seems that that isn't the one you are looking for; pray be more explicit, then."

"Oh! monsieur, pardon me; it's no wonder that I make mistakes, I am in such agony!"

"Agony? The deuce! In truth, you are very pale. Where's the pain?"

"In my heart!"

"The heart? Why, in that case, you must take something. Come with me to a cafe; I know what you need; I often have a pain in my heart."

"No, no! I won't leave this spot until I have seen her--the perfidious, faithless creature!"

"You are waiting for a faithless creature, eh? That ought not to prevent your taking something to set you up. You are horribly pale; you'll be ill in a moment. When one is waiting for a perfidious female, one needs strength, courage, nerve! Come and take a plate of soup; there's a soup-kitchen close by."

"Ah! here they are! here they are! Yes, I am sure that these are they; I know it by the way I feel. Look, monsieur; do you see those carriages on the boulevard?"

"Yes, this seems to be another wedding party. Peste! this is evidently a swell affair."

"The carriages are coming here--do you see, monsieur?"

"Glass coaches, with footmen in livery!--this goes away ahead of the Blanquette party."

"They are stopping here. Come, let us go nearer."

"Yes, yes. Oh! never fear; I'll not leave you. Is your unfaithful one there?"

"Fanny! She has married another--and I loved her so dearly!"

"Poor boy! I understand your suffering, now."

"Oh! I would like to die before her eyes."

"No nonsense! As if any man ought to die for a woman! Pshaw! there's nothing so easy to replace!"

The first carriage of this second wedding party had stopped at the door; four young men alighted, fashionably dressed all, and of genteel bearing. One of the four was evidently the hero of the ceremony; it was he who gave the orders, sent his groomsmen to the other carriages, or told them to whom they were to offer their arms. He was a little older than the others, apparently about thirty, and his life had evidently been well occupied, for his strongly marked, but jaded, features denoted excess of toil or of dissipation. He was a good-looking fellow, tall and slender, with an air of distinction; but there were dark rings around his great, brown eyes, his lips were thin and compressed, his smile was rather satirical than amiable, his forehead was already furrowed by numerous wrinkles, and he frowned repeatedly when he spoke with the slightest animation; his hair, which was of a glossy black and trimmed close, was already decidedly thin in front, and scarcely plentiful enough elsewhere to protect the top of his head.

"That's he! that's Auguste Monleard!" the young man to whom Cherami had attached himself murmured, with a shudder; and, as he spoke, he gripped his companion's arm in a sort of frenzy. But Cherami, far from complaining of that liberty, passed his arm through his new acquaintance's, saying:

"Ah! that young man is Auguste Monleard, is he? Wait! wait! Monleard; I knew a Monleard, twenty years ago, but this can't be the same man. Is he the groom?"

"Yes; it is for him that she has forgotten me, thrown me aside."

"She is wrong. That young man is good-looking, but you are younger; and then, too, that fellow looks to me as if he had had a devilishly intimate acquaintance with the joys of life!--I don't impute it to him as a crime--but he'll soon have to wear a wig."

"Ah! I am strongly inclined to go and strike him across the face!"

The young man had already started to attack the bridegroom; but Cherami detained him, putting his arm about him.

"What are you going to do? make a fool of yourself? I won't allow it. Well-bred people don't fight with their fists. If you want to fight with the groom, very good; I consent, I will even be your second; but you have plenty of time, and you must agree that this would be an ill-chosen moment."

The poor, lovelorn youth was not listening; another carriage had stopped in front of the restaurant. In that one there were ladies, among them the bride, who was easily recognizable by her head-dress of orange blossoms. She was a young woman of small stature, slender and dainty. Her hair was brown like her eyes, which were large, fringed by long lashes, and surmounted by slight but perfectly arched eyebrows. Her mouth was small and intelligent; she rarely showed her teeth, because they were uneven. She was an attractive woman, nothing more; a man must have been deeply in love with her to declare that there was no lovelier creature on earth. But for a man who is deeply enamored, there is but the one woman on earth; consequently, she must be the fairest. The bride's most remarkable points were her hands and feet, which were extraordinarily small, and worthy to be a sculptor's model.

The groom stepped forward to offer his arm to his wife, to assist her to alight. She barely rested her hand upon it, and, light as a feather, she was already on the ground, where she seemed busily occupied in looking to see if her dress had been rumpled in the carriage.

"There she is! it is she! it is Fanny!" murmured the young man, leaning heavily on Cherami.

"She doesn't look to me at all as if she'd been crying," was the reply.

"Mon Dieu! can it be that she will not look in this direction?"

"What's the use? She would see that you are pale and distressed, with the look of a disinterred corpse; that's no way to appear before a woman, to make her regret you."

"She would see how I suffer; she would realize that I shall die of grief!"

"I promise you that that wouldn't prevent her dancing this evening. I am a good judge of faces, and I divine that that woman has a cold disposition, heart ditto; there's very little feeling under that cover, or I am immeasurably mistaken."

Meanwhile, other ladies had left their carriages, and numerous young women, who flocked about the bride; one fastened a pin; another adjusted the folds of her veil; another remade her bouquet; and while they attended to these trivial details of the toilet, which are so momentous in a woman's eyes, especially a bride's, she glanced here and there, and soon her eyes fell upon the pale, dishevelled, heart-broken young man; for he had thrust aside all those who stood in front of him and who prevented him from gazing at his ease upon her for whom he had come here.

A faint tremor of emotion passed over the bride's features; there was in her eyes a momentary expression of pity, of sympathy; but it did not indicate suffering on her own part; and as her husband, who had noticed her preoccupation, hurried toward her at that moment, she speedily changed her expression, assumed an amiable, joyous manner, and accepted his arm with pretty, caressing little gestures.

Thereupon the young man, whom Cherami held by the arm, could not restrain a paroxysm of rage, crying:

"Oh! this is frightful! not a glance of regret, of farewell, for me! She sees my suffering, my despair, and she smiles at that man! and she walks off on his arm, with joy and happiness in her eyes!"

X

THE YOUNGER SISTER

At that moment, one of the young women who had arrived in the bride's carriage ran hastily to him whom the wedding party made so miserable, and said to him in an undertone, but in a voice overflowing with kindness and sympathy:

"Why are you here, Gustave? Why did you come? You promised me to be brave."

"I am, mademoiselle; you see that I am--for I did not overwhelm the false creature with reproaches, here, before her husband's face, before her new relations!"

"Ah! that would have been very ill done of you; and how would it have helped you? I implore you, Gustave, be reasonable.--Do not leave him, monsieur, will you?"

The last question was addressed to Cherami, who hastened to reply:

"I! leave my dear Gustave in the state he's in now! I should think not! What do you take me for, mademoiselle? I will cling to him as the ivy to the elm. If he should throw himself into the water, I would follow him! But, never fear; he won't do it. Oh! I am here to look out for him; he has no more devoted friend than me."

At that moment, several voices called:

"Adolphine! Adolphine! do come!"

"They are looking for me and calling me," murmured the young woman. "Adieu! Gustave; but if you have the slightest regard for me, you will not abandon yourself to your grief. You won't, will you? I implore you!"

And the amiable young woman, as light of foot as a gazelle, disappeared under the porte cochere, as did all the other persons whom the carriages had brought.

"There's a little woman who pleases me exceedingly!" cried Cherami; "she must be the bride's sister or cousin, at least. For my part, I think that she's prettier than the bride. Perhaps her eyes aren't as big; but they are sweet and tender and kind; and then, they are blue, which always denotes true feeling: I have studied the subject. Her hair's not as dark as the other's, but it's of a light shade of chestnut which does not lack merit. Her mouth isn't so small, but neither are her lips so thin and tightly shut as the bride's. Distrust thin lips; they're a sure sign of malignity and hypocrisy. Lastly, she is less dainty than your faithless Fanny, but she is taller; her figure has more distinction and elegance. All in all, she is an exceedingly attractive person, this Mademoiselle Adolphine; I say _mademoiselle,_ for I suppose that she still is one. Have I guessed right?"

But Gustave was not listening to his new friend. He stood with his eyes fixed on the door through which the wedding party had passed, apparently under the spell of a vague hallucination.

Cherami shook his arm, saying:

"Well, my dear Monsieur Gustave--I know your name now, and I shall never forget it; you probably have another, which you will tell me later. Come, what do you propose to do? Everybody has gone inside; we two alone are left at the door; the carriages have gone away, or are waiting on Rue de Bondy, and you have seen what you wanted to see. I presume that you do not intend to stay here until the wedding guests go home to bed; that might carry you too far. Come, sacrebleu my dear friend--allow me to call you by that name; I merit the privilege by the interest I take in you--you heard what that fascinating young woman said, who came and spoke to you with tears in her voice and her eyes--yes, may I be damned if she hadn't tears in her eyes, too! She begged you, implored you, to be brave, did the charming Adolphine--I remember her name, too. Well! won't you do what she asked? What the devil are you waiting for in front of this door? those people have all gone to dinner, and we must follow their example and ourselves go and dine. I say _we_ must go, because I promised the excellent Adolphine not to leave you, and, vive Dieu! I will keep my promise! I am expected at a certain place, to eat a truffled turkey; but there are truffled turkeys elsewhere, so that doesn't trouble me. Well! what do you mean to do? You can't seduce a woman by starving yourself to death."

"I want to speak to Fanny's sister."

"The bride's sister? Oh! I see, that's Mademoiselle Adolphine."

"Yes, she's the one I mean. I had many things to say to her, to ask her, just now. I was so confused, I couldn't think, I had no time."

"You want to speak to that young lady again; that seems to me rather difficult, for the whole party has gone in--unless--after all, why not? This is a restaurant, and although there are several wedding parties here, that doesn't prevent the restaurateur from entertaining all the other people who come here to dinner. Come, let's dine here; what do you think?"

"Oh! yes, yes! let us go in here and dine. We will ask for a private room near the wedding party, and during the ball--or before--I can see her again. I can speak to Adolphine."

"Pardieu! once there, we are in our castle; we will set up our batteries, and no one has the right to send us away; we can sup there, and breakfast to-morrow morning; so long as we eat, they will be delighted to have us stay."

"Ah! monsieur, how kind you are to take an interest in my troubles, to lend me your support, although you do not know me, do not know even who I am!"

"Oh! I am a physiognomist, my dear friend. At the very outset, you aroused my interest; besides, I love to oblige; I do nothing else! Let's go and dine."

"We will ask where the Monleard party is, monsieur; we will take a room on the same floor."

"Agreed! Let's go and dine."

"Without any apparent motive, I will question the waiter. Indeed, I can speedily enlist him in my interest with a five-franc piece."

"He will be entirely devoted to you. Let's go and dine."

"I will tell him to place us as near as possible to the room where the ladies are talking."

"But, sacrebleu! if we delay much longer, there'll be no vacant room near your wedding party."

"You are right! Come, come!"

"At last!" said Cherami to himself, striding behind young Gustave; "this time, I have my cue!"

XI

A CALCULATING YOUNG WOMAN

The five francs given by young Gustave to a waiter instantly produced a most satisfactory result. He placed the new-comers in a private room on the first floor, at the end of a corridor; and the large hall in which Monsieur Monleard's wedding feast was to be given was at the other end of the same corridor. Gustave would have preferred to be nearer the scene of festivity, but that was impossible; and his companion persuaded him that they were much better off at the end of the corridor, where Mademoiselle Adolphine could, if she chose, come to exchange a few words with him, unobserved by the wedding guests.

"And now, let us dine!" cried Cherami, hanging his hat on a hook; "I will admit that I am hungry. All these events--your distress--your despair--have moved me deeply, and emotion makes one hollow. You also must feel the need of refreshment, for you are very pale."

"I am not at all hungry, monsieur."

"One isn't hungry at first; but afterward one eats very well. Besides, we came here to dine, if I'm not mistaken."

"Look you, monsieur; have the kindness to order--ask for whatever you choose--whatever you would like; but don't compel me to think about it."

"Very good; I agree. In truth, I am inclined to think that's the better way! With your abstraction, your sighs, you would never be able to order a dinner; you would order veal for fish, and radishes for prawns, while I excel in that part of the game. You see, I have lived, and lived well, I flatter myself! Some madeira first of all, waiter--and put some Moet in the ice; meanwhile, I will make out our menu!"

The madeira having been brought, Cherami immediately drank two glasses to restore the tone of his stomach; then he took the bill of fare, and took pains to order the best of everything. The waiter, who scrutinized our friend's costume while he was writing, would probably have displayed less zeal in serving him, had not his companion begun by slipping five francs into his hand. But that spontaneous generosity had given another direction to the waiter's ideas, and he concluded that the gentleman with the check trousers was a Scotchman who had not changed his travelling costume.

While Cherami wrote his order, young Gustave was unable to sit still for a moment; he went constantly to the door and took a few steps in the corridor, then returned to question the waiter, to whose particular attention Cherami commended his menu.

"Waiter, is the wedding party at table yet?"

"They sat down just a moment ago, monsieur."

"Above all things, don't have the fillet cooked too much."

"Never fear, monsieur."

"Where is the bride sitting?"

"At the middle of the table, monsieur."

"And well supplied with truffles."

"By whose side?"

"I think her father's on one side, monsieur."

"And on the other?"

"A salmon-trout."

"A lady, monsieur."

"If it isn't fresh, we won't take it."

"How is the lady's hair dressed?"

"She has lilies of the valley on her head."

"What's that! lilies of the valley on a salmon-trout! I never saw it served so."

"Not the trout, monsieur; I was speaking of a lady--one of the wedding party."

"And the groom, where is he sitting?"

"Opposite his wife, monsieur."

"Next, a capon _au gros sel._"

"Does he look at her often?"

"Done to a turn."

"Faith! monsieur, I didn't have time to notice as to that."

"What's that! Sapristi! you haven't time to tell the chef to cook it to a turn?"

"Pardon, monsieur; monsieur was asking me about the bridegroom.--Now I am at your service."

And the waiter, to escape these questions, which confused him, took the menu and disappeared. Cherami poured out another glass of madeira, saying to his new friend:

"Come, come, my dear Gustave; if you persist in imitating the bear of Berne, by going from this room into the corridor, and returning from the corridor to this room, you won't do yourself any good. You know that the wedding party is at the table. Naturally, they will be there some time. So follow their example. Take a seat opposite me, recover your tranquillity, and let us dine. See, here's our soup, just in time, exhaling a delicious odor. Allow me to help you."

The young man took his seat, and swallowed a few spoonfuls of soup; then pushed his plate away, crying:

"No; it's impossible for me to eat anything."

"Very well! then talk to me. Look you, while I am eating, as you don't choose to do the same, you have an excellent opportunity to tell me the story of your loves--with the ungrateful Fanny."

"Oh! yes, monsieur, gladly. I will tell you all, and you will see if I am wrong to complain of her inconstancy."

"Men are hardly ever wrong. Go on, my dear friend; tell me the whole story; I shall not lose a word of your narrative, because one can listen splendidly while eating."

"My name is Gustave Darlemont, and I am twenty-five years old. My parents lived on their income; but in order to obtain the means to live more expensively, they invested all their capital in an annuity."

"The devil! rather selfish parents, I should say. If everyone did the same, the word _inheritance_ would be superfluous. Here's a fillet that is worth its weight in gold. Just taste it."

"No, thanks, monsieur.--For my part, I find no fault with my parents for doing as they did; they had earned their fortune by their own labor, they had given me a good education: what more could I ask?"

"You are delightful! Pardieu! you could ask for money. Let me give you some of this Chateau-Leoville.--It's cool and sweet--it will refresh your ideas. Go on, I beg."

"My parents died, and from what they left me in furniture, jewels, and plate, I had an income of twelve hundred francs."

"A mere trifle! that's not enough to pay one's tailor. To be sure, there's the alternative of not paying him at all."

"I was then seventeen; I didn't know just what business to embrace."

"And, pending your decision, you embraced all the pretty girls who came to hand. I know all about that."

"Oh! no, monsieur; I was very virtuous; I have never been what is called a lady's man."

"So much the worse, young man; so much the worse! There's nothing like women for training the young. You may say that they overtrain them sometimes. But think of the experience they acquire! I might cite myself as an example; but we haven't come to me yet. Go on, my young friend--for I am your friend. Although Aristotle said: 'O my friends, there are no friends!' I maintain that there are. And that's simply a play upon words by the Greek philosopher, to whom, had I been Philip, I would not have intrusted the education of my son Alexander, because of that one assertion.--But I beg your pardon; I am listening."

"Luckily, I had an uncle, Monsieur Grandcourt, my mother's brother. He took me into his family. He is rather an original, but kind and obliging. He is not an old man: only about forty-eight now."

"So much the worse, so much the worse! You certainly have hard luck in the matter of inheritances. Is this uncle of yours rich?"

"Not rich perhaps, but very comfortably fixed, I fancy."

"What does he do?"

"He's a banker."

"Everybody is, more or less."

"Oh! my uncle is a prudent man, who never risks his money in doubtful speculations; he is noted for the exactitude with which he fulfils his engagements, and for his absolute probity."

"Good! there's a man to whom I will intrust my funds, when I have more than I can handle."

"So I entered my uncle's employ as a clerk. I was very happy there. We often went to the theatre, to concerts, and to the best restaurants; and my uncle always paid."

"Pardieu! it would have been a fine thing if the nephew had had to stand treat! However, I see that your uncle's not a miser; he likes to enjoy himself. That's the kind of an uncle I like. I shall be glad to make his acquaintance."

"I have now arrived, monsieur, at the moment which changed the whole course of my life, which made me acquainted with a sentiment of whose power I had thus far been entirely ignorant. For, while I had had a few amourettes, I had never known a genuine passion. Ah! monsieur! the instant that I saw Fanny, I felt as if my heart were born to a new life; I was no longer the same. No, until then I had not lived!"