Part 7

"But you should get out of the way, monsieur! The idea of standing in front of people who are waltzing!"

"Ah! monsieur, you have torn my dress, and you trod on my foot!"

"But who is this shabbily dressed individual, who scratches his nose with a bright yellow glove, and runs into everybody? Do you know him?"

"No."

"Nor I."

"Nor I."

"Wait; Minoret must know him; he bet on Minoret's hand."

And a young man went up to Minoret, who had also entered the ballroom, and said to him:

"My dear Minoret, tell me who that extraordinary person in the Scotch trousers is, who bet twenty francs on you just now?"

"Who? that tall man with the red face, holding his left hand in the air?"

"Yes."

"I don't know him at all."

"But he called you by name when he bet."

"I don't know whether he knows me, or not, but I don't know him."

"That's strange. He acts as if he were a little tipsy. We must find out who he is. Ah! there's Armand, one of the groomsmen. I say, Armand, come here a moment; tell us who that man is, whose costume is so unconventional for a wedding party?"

"The gentleman in a frock-coat, who runs into everybody?"

"The same."

"I have just asked the bride, and she doesn't know him either."

"And the groom?"

"He is dancing. But there's his uncle, Monsieur Blanquette; I'll go and ask him about the fellow; and if nobody knows him, we'll soon show him the door, I promise you."

But before the groomsman could reach the bridegroom's uncle, Cherami, who had spied the linen-draper, hastened to meet him, and said, tapping him on the stomach:

"Here I am, my dear friend! You didn't ask me to your party, but I said to myself: 'I'll go all the same, because, with old acquaintances, one shouldn't take offence at trifles.'--Then what did I do?--I dined here, in a private room on the first floor, and dined magnificently, too, I flatter myself! and then I came up to say bonsoir to you, and to salute the bride--and to dance with anybody, I don't care who! I'm an obliging person, you see.--So there you are, my dear Papa Blanquette. Old friends are always on hand, as the song says."

Monsieur Blanquette was surprised beyond words to find himself confronted by the gentleman whom he had met in the afternoon, when he alighted from his carriage. He did not seem overjoyed to see him at the ball; but as he did not desire his nephew's wedding party to be disturbed by any unpleasant scene, he strove to conceal his annoyance, and rejoined:

"Faith, Monsieur Cherami, I didn't expect to see you again! So you dined at this restaurant, did you?"

"Yes, my estimable friend; and dined deliciously, too, I beg you to believe."

"So I perceive!"

"What! so you perceive! and by what do you perceive it, I pray to know?"

"Why, because you seem to be much inclined--to laugh."

"I am always cheerful when I am among my friends. That's my nature, you know. Pray present me to the bride."

"But, excuse me--it seems to me that you are hardly in ball dress--and the ladies are rather particular about that."

"If you'd invited me, I'd have come in full dress; you didn't invite me, so I came as a neighbor. All is for the best, as Doctor Pangloss says. Present me to your niece."

"Later; they are going to dance now; you see they are forming a quadrille. Let us go into another room."

"They are going to dance, eh? Then I'll not go, deuce take me! for I can dance, you know. I used to be one of the best of La Chaumiere's pupils, and she was a pupil of Chicard. People fought for places to see me dance the _Tulipe Orageuse._ I propose to show you that I haven't forgotten it all."

Thereupon the ex-beau, leaving Monsieur Blanquette, walked toward the benches on which the ladies were seated, and offered his gloved hand to one of the younger ones, saying:

"Will you do me the honor, lovely coryphee, to accept my hand for this contra-dance?"

"I am engaged, monsieur."

Cherami thereupon addressed the same request to one after another, varying his phrase slightly; but there was no variation in the replies; it was always the same formula:

"I am engaged."

For no young woman, married or unmarried, cared to dance with a person so red of face, so shabbily dressed, smelling so strongly of rum, and with his right hand always behind his back.

"Sapristi! it seems that all the ladies have been engaged beforehand!" cried Cherami, glaring at the benches in turn; "I am refused all along the line!"

But at every ball there is sure to be some elderly woman, ugly, dowdily dressed, who still has the assurance to take her place among the dancers. Our Arthur finally espied a lady of that type, sitting in a corner; on her head was a sort of turban, laden with an appalling mass of flowers, feathers, and lace.

"I shall be unlucky indeed, if this creature is engaged!" said Cherami to himself, boldly directing his steps toward the turbaned dame.

He had not delivered half of his invitation, when she rose as if impelled by a spring, and seized his gloved hand, saying:

"With pleasure; yes, monsieur; I accept. Oh! I will dance as long as you please."

"In that case, fair lady, let us take our places."

Almost all the sets were full. But Cherami was not to be denied; he planted himself in front of a short youth and his partner; and when the youth remonstrated: "But, monsieur, this place is taken, we were here before you," he replied, in a supercilious tone: "I don't know whether you were before us, my good man; but I do know that I have the honor to be here now with madame, and that I will not stir except at the point of the bayonet!"

The young man dared not make any further resistance; moreover, the guests were whispering to one another on all sides:

"That original is dancing with Aunt Merlin!"

"What! Aunt Merlin dancing?"

"Yes, with the man in Scotch trousers. This is going to be great fun!"

And all those who were not dancing ran to watch the set in which Cherami and Aunt Merlin were to figure.

"Sapristi! I have lost one of my gloves!" cried Arthur, making a pretence of feeling in his pocket, and looking on the floor. "Will you pardon me, fair lady, for dancing with a single glove?"

"Oh! certainly, monsieur," replied the lady with the turban, in a simpering tone; "you are forgiven; indeed, the same thing happened to Monsieur Courbichon; when he arrived here for the ball, he discovered that he had lost one of his gloves--only it was the left one, in his case."

"Ah! that's very amusing! Then we have the pair between us! I shall laugh a long while over that. It's our turn, fair lady."

The first figure passed off quietly enough, as the English chain and the cat's tail gave Cherami no chance to display his talent; but in the second, in the _avant-deux_, he began to take steps and attitudes of the cancan in its purest and most unblushing form. The men laughed till they cried, and the women as well, murmuring:

"Why, this is frightful! where does that fellow think he is, for heaven's sake?"

The most amusing feature of the episode was that Cherami's partner, spurred on by the strange evolutions and the eccentric steps of her cavalier, thought that she ought to do as he did, and began to twist and turn, and throw her legs to right and left, with an ardor which kept all the flowers on her turban in commotion.

The laughter became more uproarious.

"I venture to believe that we are producing some effect," said Cherami to his partner; "but I am not surprised; whenever I dance, the people crowd to watch me."

Meanwhile, from one end of the room to the other, the guests were saying:

"The man in the plaid trousers is dancing the cancan with Aunt Merlin; it's most amusing!"

Some of the couples ceased dancing, in order to watch the performance of Aunt Merlin and her partner. The uproar soon reached the ears of Monsieur Blanquette, the uncle; the bride's mother, a most respectable woman, said to him:

"I beg you, Monsieur Blanquette, go and tell my sister not to dance the cancan. Everybody here is laughing at her, and she doesn't notice it. Oh! what a mistake you made in inviting that tall man with the red face!"

"Mon Dieu! madame, I assure you that I didn't invite him. He's a man who owes me money--whom I knew when he was rich and well-dressed.--He has ruined himself completely. He caught sight of me this morning, when we were getting out of the carriages; and to-night he takes the liberty of coming to our ball. I didn't dare tell him to leave--because, you understand, that's an embarrassing thing to do. But if he presumes to dance indecently--why, then I shan't hesitate."

Monsieur Blanquette walked toward the quadrille which caused such a prodigious sensation. Cherami was in the act of executing the _chaloupe_ with his partner, who continued to second him as best she could. The bridegroom's uncle sidled up behind her, and said in an undertone:

"Don't dance like that, Madame Merlin, I beg you; that's the way they dance at low dance-halls. Decent people don't make such exhibitions of themselves in a salon."

"It seems to me that I am dancing very well, monsieur," replied Aunt Merlin, sourly; "and the way the people crowd to watch us proves it."

"I assure you, Madame Merlin, that it isn't proper, and your sister is much annoyed."

"My sister's annoyed because she's got beyond dancing. Let her leave me alone! I propose to dance, I tell you!"

"What is it, my nymph, eh?" cried Cherami; "what did old Pere Blanquette say to you?"

"He declares that our dance isn't proper."

"Ah! that's very fine! What box has he just come out of, to be shocked at our dance? Doesn't he go to the play, I wonder? Hasn't he ever seen the Spanish dancers? They've been at almost all the theatres. Ah! bigre! if he'd seen those females do their _fandangos_, their _iotas_, and their _boleros_, and indulge in all sorts of antics, showing their legs, yes, and their garters too! that's much worse than the cancan. But that doesn't prevent those Spaniards from drawing the crowd, wherever they are. And you don't like it, because I dance the cancan, and yet you rush to see licentious dances performed by women whose costumes add to the effect of their dancing! Sapristi! for God's sake, try to make up your mind what you want!--Our turn, my Terpsichore; attention! this is the _pastourelle_, and I am saving a little surprise for you in the _cavalier seul._"

Aunt Merlin darted off like an arrow, paying no heed to the remonstrances of Pere Blanquette, who heaved sigh upon sigh when he saw how easy it is to lead a woman on to make a fool of herself, even when her age should make her sensible. But the time came for Cherami to perform the _cavalier seul_; excited by all that he had drunk, and recalling the feats of his younger days, he performed the evolution called the _araignee_, which consists in throwing yourself flat on your stomach in front of the opposite couple. This bit of gymnastics was greeted with frantic laughter; and Aunt Merlin, turning to Papa Blanquette, cried:

"What do you say to that? Could you do as much?"

"No, certainly not, madame; and I wouldn't try," retorted the uncle; "but I consider it very presumptuous. Your partner must have the devil in him, to do such crazy things!"

Aunt Merlin had ceased to listen; the last figure had arrived, that in which the galop is the leading feature; and said Cherami, as he put his arm about her waist:

"We'll just show the others how to galop. Fichtre! they'd better look out for themselves. They ran into me when they were waltzing, but we'll pay them back in their own coin."

With that, he started off with his partner, whirling her about as they danced. Beau Arthur had been one of the most notable performers in the formidable galops which are a feature of the masked balls at the Opera. The punch renewed the vigor of his youth. Throwing himself headlong into the midst of the assemblage, dancers and onlookers, he rushed through the room like a whirlwind or an avalanche, hurling this one aside, colliding with that one, and sowing confusion everywhere. In vain did they shout to him:

"Stop, monsieur; stop at once! you're throwing the ladies down!"

Cherami kept on; not until Aunt Merlin's turban fell, would he consent to deposit her upon a bench, with her eyes starting from her head. But at that moment several gentlemen, boiling over with wrath, surrounded the terrible galoper.

"Monsieur, you threw my partner down!"

"Monsieur, you have crushed my daughter's nose!"

"Monsieur, you upset my wife; when she fell, her elastic skirt sprang up over her head, so that everybody could see--what I alone have the right to see!"

"Monsieur, you must give me satisfaction!"

"Monsieur, you haven't seen the end of this!"

While he was thus apostrophized on all sides, Cherami calmly wiped the perspiration from his face, and said:

"Sapristi! what's the matter with them all? They are delightful!--I consider that you're a delightful lot! You ought to have got out of the way; that's what I did, when you ran into me while you were waltzing just now. Is it my fault, if you don't know how to keep on your legs? What a terrible thing, if your estimable daughter's nose is a little bruised; and if your wife, monsieur, did show some admirable things! It seems to me that you ought to be flattered by the accident, for everybody must envy your good fortune."

These retorts were far from appeasing the wrath of the husbands, brothers, and fathers who had been maltreated in the persons of the objects of their affections. But Uncle Blanquette forced his way through the crowd, and said to him who had caused all the confusion, assuming a tone which he strove to make dignified:

"Monsieur, you have caused a grave perturbation at my nephew's wedding party----"

"Ha! ha! _perturbation_ is a pretty word; I must remember it. Never mind; proceed, Papa Blanquette."

"People in our society do not indulge in such improper dances as those you have performed, monsieur."

"But, if I remember right, Aunt Merlin seemed to enjoy that dance pretty well."

"I didn't invite you to our ball, monsieur; so I consider it much too--much too----"

"Presumptuous!--you can't find the word, but that's it, I fancy; eh?"

"Yes, monsieur; too presumptuous, to appear where you're not invited, and especially in a costume so negligee as yours. You have thrown down enough persons; we don't care to have any more of it, and I beg you to go."

"Ah! that's your idea of politeness, is it? Very good! bonsoir! I will go! Your party isn't so very fine, after all; I haven't seen a single glass of punch. And you fancy that you do things in style, do you? No, no! you're a long way behind the times!"

"Be good enough to remember also, monsieur, that you owe me four hundred and ninety-five francs; and, if you don't quit, I will take harsh measures----"

"Bravo! I expected that--that's the bouquet! The idea of talking about your account at a ball! Look you, old Blanquette: you make me sick! _Adieu, Rome, I go!_--Mesdames, I lay my homage at your feet. I am sorry to have jostled you a little; but, on my word of honor, it was the fault of your partners; they didn't know how to hold you."

This fresh insult to the male portion of the guests renewed their wrath, and they threatened to attack Cherami. He removed his yellow glove and threw it at their feet, saying:

"Here, this is all I can do for you! I expect you all to-morrow morning. My friend Blanquette[C] of veal will give you my address. Bring pistols, sabres, swords, what you please. I shall have nothing but a rabbit's tail, understand, and with that rabbit's tail I defy you all!"

This heroic challenge seemed to calm the wrath of his adversaries to some extent. But, while they were staring at one another, a little, bald man darted forward and picked up the glove.

"That's my glove," he cried; "I recognize it; it's the left-hand glove that I lost; it has been mended on the thumb; this is the very one!"

Cherami did not hear Monsieur Courbichon. He left the ballroom, passed rapidly through the cardroom, and, taking a hat from a nail and a cane from a corner, left the last of the rooms and descended the stairs, saying to himself:

"I snap my fingers at them. I'm not sorry I went to that party. I have my cue!"

And Cherami patted the pocket in which were the gold pieces he had won at ecarte.

At the foot of the staircase, he saw several ladies standing, waiting for their carriages; they were guests of the party on the first floor, just leaving the ball. In a moment, another young couple appeared, and one of the ladies said to another:

"What does this mean? the bride going away already?"

"Yes, I believe she doesn't feel very well."

"Aha! that's the bride, who goes so early!" cried Cherami, putting his head forward. "Yes! it's she! it's the faithless Fanny! I recognize her."

These words were hardly out of his mouth, when the husband, who had his wife on his arm, left her abruptly, looked about, and rushed up to Cherami, to whom he said in a voice that trembled with emotion:

"Was it you who just spoke, monsieur?"

"What's that! Suppose it was? Well, yes, I did speak. Do you mean to say that it isn't my right?"

"Was it you who said: 'It's the faithless Fanny'?"

"Yes, pardieu! it was. Oh! I never deny my words."

"This is neither the time nor the place for an explanation, monsieur; but I will call on you to-morrow, and, if you're not a coward, you will give me satisfaction."

"I, a coward! Arthur Cherami, a coward! Well, well! that's a good one! And I have just challenged the whole Blanquette wedding party! I am always ready to fight with whatever anyone chooses--from a pin to a cannon, I'm your man!"

"We will see about that to-morrow. Your address?"

"There it is. I always carry a card about me with a view to affairs of this sort."

Monleard took the soiled yellow card which Cherami drew from his pocket, and hastened after his wife, who was already in the carriage. This little scene had taken place so rapidly that the persons who were standing had been able to catch only a few words.

The carriage which contained the newly married pair drove away. Cherami looked about for a cab, and having finally found one, jumped in, and called out to the driver:

"Rue de l'Orillon, Barriere de Belleville. I will tell you when we reach my hotel."--Then he stretched himself out comfortably on the back seat, with his feet on the other, murmuring: "The day has been complete. An excellent dinner, punch, cards, a ball, and a duel! And this morning I hadn't the wherewithal to buy a small loaf! In my place, a fool would have jumped into the water. But, with clever people, there is always some resource."

XVII

FURNISHED LODGINGS ON RUE DE L'ORILLON

Rue de l'Orillon, which is outside the barrier, near the Belleville theatre, bears not the slightest resemblance to Rue de Rivoli, or to Rue de la Paix. There is much mud there at almost all seasons, and there are very few shops of the Magasin du Prophete variety; indeed, I think that I can safely say that there are none.

It was in a wretched furnished lodging on this street outside the walls that the ci-devant Beau Arthur, who had once dwelt in the fashionable precincts of the Champs-Elysees and the Chaussee d'Antin, had been compelled to take up his abode. He did not often pay his rent; however, on the day when he received his quarterly stipend, he sometimes persuaded himself to give two or three five-franc pieces to his landlady, and she waited patiently for her arrears, because she was proud to furnish lodgings to a man who had once had thirty-five thousand francs a year, and who still retained a trace of his former social position in his manners and his language.

The room occupied by Cherami was not furnished like the apartments of the Hotel du Louvre. A blue wallpaper, at thirteen sous a roll, took the place of hangings; but this paper, already old, was torn in several places, and the breaches were concealed by scraps of paper of a different design, and, in many instances, of a different color, which gave to the room a sort of Harlequin aspect which was not altogether disagreeable--especially to those persons who like that costume. Now, Harlequins are very popular in Rue de l'Orillon.

A miserable cot-bed, surmounted by a rod which had never been gilded, and over which was thrown a curtain of yellow cloth much too narrow to surround the bed, stood opposite the window. At the foot of the bed was a screen four feet high, which was supposed to be a protection against the wind that came in under the ill-fitted door. A Louis XVI commode, an old Louis XV armchair, and a desk which claimed to be Louis XIII, with a few common chairs, were all the furniture that the apartment contained. On the mantel were two kitchen candlesticks, a small box of matches, and several cigar-butts, but not a single pipe: Arthur would have deemed himself a dishonored man if he had put a pipe to his lips.

It was noon, and Cherami lay on his bed, having just waked up. He stretched his arms, rubbed his eyes, and, glancing at the window, said to himself:

"On my word, I believe I've had quite a nap! Yes, if I can judge by the sun, which is shining in at my window, the morning must be well advanced. It is often unpleasant not to have a watch; but, at all events, in a furnished lodging-house there should be a clock on each mantel. That villainous Madame Louchard, my landlady, promises me every month that indispensable complement of my furniture, and I am like Sister Anne, I see nothing coming. _Par la sambleu!_ as they say in Marivaux's plays, the rest has done me good, for yesterday was a tiresome day! But it seems to me that I had at least a dozen duels on hand for this morning; the deuce! and I don't know what time it is."

Thereupon Cherami began to knock loudly on the thin partition beside his bed, shouting at the top of his voice:

"Madame Louchard! I say there! Goddess of Cythera! Landlady of the Loves! Venus of La Courtille! hasten hither, I beseech thee.--Come, lady fair; I await thee! I await thee!--Damnation! start your boots, will you!"

After some five minutes, heavy footsteps were heard in the corridor, and a tall woman, thin as a lath, whose flat hips indicated a most profound contempt for every sort of hoop-skirt, entered the room occupied by Cherami. This woman had a huge nose, huge mouth, huge teeth, huge ears, and feet and hands to correspond. A child who had heard the tale of Little Red Riding Hood would inevitably have been afraid of her, mistaking her for the wolf disguised as the grandmother.

To complete the portrait, we may add that Madame Louchard had a yellow complexion, bleared eyes, and a nose always smeared with snuff; that her costume consisted of a long dressing-gown, shaped like an umbrella case (a reminder of the style in vogue under the Directory); and, finally, that her head-dress was a white cap, around which was tied a colored cotton handkerchief.

"Well! what's the matter? What are you shouting and hammering for? Couldn't you get up, Monsieur Lazy-bones? I should think it had been light long enough."

Such was this lady's way of bidding her tenant good-morning.

"You are right as to that point, Queen of Cythera," replied Cherami, half rising.

"God forgive me! I believe he intends to get up before me! Was that why you called me--to let me see that sight? That strikes me as a strange kind of joke!"

"Nay, nay, virtuous Louchard; I will not rise in your presence. I know the rigidity of your morals, and I respect them! I know that with you Richelieu and Buckingham would have wasted their time."

"I don't know those gentlemen, but it would be just the same with them as with others! I have told you a hundred times that, since my husband's death, the late Louchard, men are nothing to me!"

"It would seem that the late Louchard was a phoenix, a jewel, the very pearl of husbands?"