Part 8

"On the contrary, he had a lot of hidden drawbacks, and he was always drunk. That's what made me take a dislike to your sex, in the matter of love."

"Very good! I agree with you, on my honor. I think you did well to adopt that course."

"Why?"

"Because it makes you resemble Dido. But let us change the subject; tell me quickly what time it is."

"_Dame!_ it's a good half-hour--yes, at least half an hour--since I heard the clock strike twelve."

"Then say at once that it's half-past twelve. Bigre! I have been lazy, and no mistake; but when I came in last night, it was two o'clock in the morning."

"No earlier; and you woke me up, too; you always make such a noise on the stairs!"

"At all events, I didn't wake your concierge, as you haven't one."

"What's the good of a concierge?--Everybody knows the secret of the passageway, and they can come in when they choose."

"And by feeling their way, which is often very imprudent."

"But I believe you rode home last night. Do the omnibuses run as late as that nowadays?"

"Omnibuses! Understand, Widow Louchard, that when I come home after midnight, I always come in a coupe or a cab."

"Peste! so the funds have gone up, have they? You'd better give me something on account."

"Don't bother me! I gave you ten francs."

"That was two months ago."

"That's not the question. Has anybody called to see me this morning?"

"No, not a cat."

"Not a cat! Oh! the cowards!"

"Why do you say that cats are cowards? Mine would fight a bulldog."

"I'm not talking about your cat, Widow Louchard; but about a lot of braggarts, all of whom challenged me yesterday, and who don't dare to call on me to-day."

"Do you mean that you wanted to fight again, pray? Good God! is it a disease with you? It isn't so very long since you were cured of that bullet in your side."

"Bah! a trifle, a scratch. I am not quarrelsome; but when a man seems to look askance at me, that irritates me. After all, I am not particular about seeing those walking rushlights of the Blanquette wedding party. But there was another man; if he doesn't come, I shall be surprised. However, it's not too late yet; he was only married yesterday, and a man doesn't get up very early on the day after his wedding."

"What! you expect to fight with someone who was married yesterday?"

"Why not? We marry, we fight, we kill--or are killed! Such is life, lovely Artemisia!"

"What makes you call me Artemisia? that isn't my name."

"Because she was a widow who profoundly regretted her husband."

"But I have never regretted mine a single minute."

"That makes no difference.--So you say it's half-past twelve? Sapristi! Madame Louchard, when is that clock coming that you've been promising me so long?"

"I'm waiting for a good chance. I want something to match the rest of the furniture."

"In that case, my dear friend, as I have here a so-called Louis XIII desk, a Louis XV armchair, and a Louis XVI commode, it seems to me that you cannot do otherwise than procure a Louis XIV clock, to fill up the inter-regnum and reestablish the continuity of the dynasty."

"Yes, yes; I've seen lately a little rococo Pompadour one, second-hand."

"Take care! you don't go back far enough; I didn't say Pompadour, which would land you in the middle of Louis XV's reign! I said Louis XIV."

"Fourteenth or fifteenth! so long as it ain't too dear.--But what's all this? when I said you were in funds, I wasn't mistaken, was I? You've bought a new hat! I must say, you did well; for yours wouldn't have lasted out a storm."

"A new hat! What are you talking about, my fair hostess? I have thought of it more than once, but I have not yet carried out my project."

"Why, what's this, then?"

Madame Louchard took a hat from the commode and handed it to Cherami, who stared at it with wide-open eyes; for the hat was quite new and of a stylish shape.

"What the devil! is that my hat? That's a surprising thing; it has changed, much to its advantage; it has grown at least two years younger; and it fits me, pardieu! Yes, it fits me nicely; it's just the shape of my head."

"Of course you bought it yesterday?"

"Oh! no, I didn't buy it, I tell you again. Ah! I see: when I left that wedding ball, I was a little excited--a little angry; I seized the first hat that came under my hand, thinking it was mine."

"Well, there's no denying that you've got a lucky hand; you haven't lost by the change."

"Oh! dear me, such mistakes occur so often at balls and evening parties, that, frankly, I shall not demand mine back."

"You will make no mistake; but the man who found your hat in place of his--he may want his back."

"Very well! let him come; I am ready for him; I'll return his old tile, and give him others to boot."

"Ah! but that isn't all."

"What else is there, Widow Louchard? Can it be that I came home with two hats? I admit that that would astonish me."

"No, it isn't a hat this time; but this cane--this isn't your clothes-beater, which wasn't worth six sous."

Madame Louchard picked up a cane which lay in a corner of the room; it was a genuine rattan, with an agate head surrounded by gold rings, and cut in very peculiar fashion. She showed it to Cherami, who exclaimed in admiration:

"Oho! why, that's a beauty! A charming cane, excellent style--not too heavy; I like this sort of cameo for a head very much."

"So you got your cane the same way you did your hat, eh?"

"Pardieu! that goes without saying. It stood beside the hat. You see, I had placed my switch beside my beaver--so the joke was complete."

"Well, you're mighty lucky in your mistakes; that's sure. This cane must have cost a lot of money."

"Oh! I have seen much finer ones than this, in the old days. What the devil are you looking for on the floor and on the furniture, Madame Louchard?"

"_Dame!_ I'm looking to see if you haven't brought something else home, by mistake."

Cherami instantly sat up in bed, crying:

"Thunder of Jupiter! Widow Louchard, what do you take me for, I'd like to know? Do you think I'm a thief, a pickpocket? I had a hat and a cane, and on leaving a ball I took a hat and a cane. They're not the ones that belong to me; I made a mistake, I was in error, and that may happen to anybody--_errare humanum est_, do you understand? No, you don't understand; never mind. But to carry away anything to which I have no right--fie! for shame!--To prove that I wouldn't do such a thing--I found a glove, and I returned it. Let me tell you, madame, that a man may be without money, have debts, borrow and not pay, and even play cards on his word--for if I had lost last night, I shouldn't have been able to pay on the spot; but all those things don't prevent one's being an honest man."

"Mon Dieu! Monsieur Cherami, I don't say they do; you go off all of a sudden, like a spitfire!"

"Last night, I confess, I had dined very well. I wasn't drunk; I never get drunk; I was simply a little confused, which fully explains all these mistakes; and now, I feel as if I could take something."

"Would you like to have me make you a nice onion soup, while you're getting up? There's nothing that'll set you up better, the day after a spree."

"Onion soup! I do not disdain that dish; but I am tempted to look higher, and I believe that a good chicken---- But what's all that noise? I should say that a carriage was stopping in front of the hotel! Go and look, my dear hostess."

Madame Louchard went to the window.

"Yes, it is," she said; "a handsome private cabriolet, with a fine dapple-gray horse, and a groom in livery! And there's a young dandy getting out; he's looking at the house; he's coming in; it must be for me."

"For you? Oh! no, it's for me, by all the devils! It must be that young husband, and here am I still in bed! I must dress at the double-quick."

Cherami jumped out of his bed, in his nightshirt; whereupon Madame Louchard instantly took flight, crying:

"I don't like this sort of thing, Monsieur Cherami; I told you not to get up before me. And a man who don't wear drawers, too!"

"Aha! my dear hostess, it would seem that you risked a glance! Oh! these women! they are all descended from Lot's wife! It's a pity that they're not changed into salt nowadays at every indiscretion; that would make a handsome reduction in the price of that product!"

XVIII

A DUEL WITHOUT WITNESSES

It was, in fact, Monsieur Monleard who had alighted from the cabriolet, and, having scrutinized the exterior of the furnished lodging-house, had ventured into the rather gloomy hall of that establishment. There he looked in vain for the concierge; but the proprietor often served in that capacity, and it was she herself who hastily descended the stairs.

"Do you know a certain Monsieur Cherami in this house, madame?"

"Yes, monsieur; indeed I know him, as he's my tenant."

"Ah! very good. Would you kindly direct me to his room?"

"Second floor, second door on the right."

"Do you think that I shall find him?"

"Certainly, monsieur; for I just left him, and he was just going to get up."

"Thanks! Pardon me, madame; a word or two more, if you please."

"As many as you want, monsieur; I'm in no hurry."

"I would be glad, madame, to obtain some information about this gentleman: to know who he is, and what he does."

"Mon Dieu! it won't take long to tell you; he don't do anything, he lives on his income; he's a man who used to be very rich, and who did as so many others do--ran through his fortune with fast women; now, he's on his uppers; for I guess the income isn't very heavy!"

"Exceedingly obliged, madame."

Monleard left Madame Louchard, and went up to Cherami's room. That worthy was dressing behind his screen; but as it barely reached his shoulders, he was perfectly able to see anybody who came in, and could converse over the leaves of the article of furniture which encompassed him.

"Monsieur Arthur Cherami?" said the fashionably dressed young man as he entered.

"Present! here I am, monsieur. A thousand pardons for not being dressed; but it will take me only a minute. Pray be kind enough to take a seat while you wait."

"Thanks, I am not tired."

"Then, remain standing. You may do as you please.--Where the devil did I put my false collar?"

"You divine the motive of my visit, monsieur, I fancy?"

"What! do I divine it? Why, I have been waiting for you, with some impatience. But I said to myself: 'That gentleman will not come very early, because, on the day after his wedding---- ' Ha! ha! I don't think I need say any more."

"It has occurred to me, monsieur, that our duel might as well take place without witnesses. The subject of our dispute is such a delicate one! There are some things which one doesn't like to make a noise about; for the world, which is unkind, as a general rule, sometimes makes a mountain out of what was----"

"Only a mouse--_parturiens montes._ I am entirely of your opinion.--Ah! I have my collar."

"Then, monsieur, you consent to fight with no other witness than my servant?"

"Very gladly; I have already fought that way more than once."

"Thinking that you might have no weapons, monsieur, I brought two swords and a pair of pistols with me."

"You did very well; for, as you foresaw, I am without weapons at this moment. Ah! I used to have some beautiful ones in the old days! My pistols were made by Devisme; I could bring down a fly at fifty yards; but I had to let them go. What would you have? _Deus dederat, Deus abstulit._--I will just put on my coat, and I am at your service."

"This is a most extraordinary individual," said Auguste Monleard to himself as he listened.

The Latin with which Cherami sprinkled his discourse, and his air of good-breeding, had modified the opinion he had formed of him; and he was not sorry to learn that he was not about to fight with a man devoid of breeding and education.

At last, Arthur came out from behind his screen, and saluted his adversary with all the ease of a man of the world, saying:

"Now I am at your service."

"Very good, monsieur. Doubtless you are well acquainted with this quarter, this neighborhood. It is entirely unfamiliar to me. Is there any spot hereabout where we can fight comfortably--without having to travel a couple of leagues to Vincennes or the Bois de Boulogne?"

"Wait a moment, while I think. We could go behind the Buttes Saint-Chaumont; there are some quarries there, where no one would see us. But it's rather hard to get there in a carriage; and then, too, the ground's rather uneven, and sometimes there are some low-lived rascals prowling about. But, pardieu! we have just what we want, close at hand. In the next street there's a large vacant lot, on which they're going to build, but the building isn't begun yet. No one ever passes through that street; we shall be as retired as we should be in our own house."

"But can we get into the lot?"

"Yes, indeed. On the street there's nothing but a board fence, and there's a gate in it. If there's anyone there, we'll say we are architects; that will make it all right."

"And it's not far from here?"

"We shall be there in five minutes."

"In that case, monsieur, let us go. We will let my cabriolet follow us."

"That's right; and as we must avoid making a noise and attracting attention, we will fight with swords, if you choose."

"With pleasure, monsieur."

Monleard and Cherami went down the stairs together. Madame Louchard, who was standing at the hall-door, was very much puzzled when she saw her tenant leave the house with the fashionably dressed owner of the cabriolet; but she dared not ask him a question. Instead of turning toward the main street of Belleville, the two men took a street which ran behind the theatre of that suburb.

Walking side by side with the individual with whom he was to fight, Monleard, more and more amazed by his adversary's courteous manners and by his use of language which denoted familiarity with good society, said to him after a while:

"We are going to fight a duel, monsieur; that is a settled thing, which neither you nor I, I am sure, have any intention of avoiding."

"I agree with you, monsieur."

"But, before the duel takes place, will you not do me the favor to tell me where you knew the lady whom I have married, and how long you have known her?"

"It will give me very great pleasure to answer you. I have not the slightest acquaintance with your wife, and I never saw her until yesterday. First, when she alighted from her carriage at Deffieux's restaurant; and again, when you were taking her away last night, and I met you."

"But, in that case, monsieur, how do you explain the words you uttered: 'There's the faithless Fanny'? Was it a bet? Was it an insult?--And, again, how did you know my wife's Christian name, since you did not know her?"

"Mon Dieu! my dear monsieur, I can explain it all to you in a few words, and you will say that events succeeded one another naturally enough. When your young wife alighted from her carriage, a young man--a very pretty fellow, on my word! but a perfect stranger to me--was standing near me, in front of the restaurant. The poor fellow really made my heart ache: he was in the depths of despair, he tore his hair--no, he didn't go so far as that; but, what was worse, he insisted on accosting the bride and making a scene. I remonstrated with him, I prevented his doing it, and made him see that it would be in the worst possible taste to cause such a scandal in the street."

"I thank you, monsieur. But the young man's name--do you know it?"

"He told me while we were dining; for we dined together, and he told me the whole story of his love affair. I must hasten to add that there was nothing in it which casts the slightest reflection on madame's honor. But she allowed that young man to pay court to her, she flattered him with the hope that she would marry him some day. But when you appeared, the scales were very soon turned in your favor, and my poor lover was given the mitten."

"Then the man who told you all this must have been Monsieur Gustave Darlemont?"

"The very same; those are his names."

"Yes, I remember meeting him now and then at Monsieur Gerbault's, in the first days of my intimacy with that family. You will agree, monsieur,--for you seem well acquainted with society and its customs,--that it is indiscreet, to say no more, for a young man who has been kindly received by a respectable family, to go about telling of his love affairs, his disappointed hopes, in short, all his affairs, to someone whom he doesn't know, and whom he meets by chance in the street."

"It was, perhaps, a little foolish, I admit; but we must excuse some foolish performances in a lover. Poor Gustave adored your wife--he adores her still. She flirted a bit with him."

"Monsieur!"

"Oh! bless my soul, all the women do it; I know that well enough; maids, wives, and widows--before, during, and after--they always do it. It's their original sin. Eve set the example by flirting with the serpent. To try to cure them of that failing would be to attempt the impossible: women are made that way. _Quid levius pluma? pulvis! Quid pulvere? ventus! Quid vento? mulier! Quid muliere? nihil!_"

"But, monsieur, how did it happen that it was you, and not this Monsieur Gustave, who indulged in that insulting exclamation?"

"For a very simple reason: Gustave wasn't there. After dining with me, at the same restaurant where you had your wedding banquet, for he was absolutely determined to speak to your wife, to bid her a last farewell----"

"The impertinent wretch! if he had dared!"

"Oh! mon Dieu! you wouldn't have known anything about it. The women do so many things that we don't know! But a certain uncle made his appearance--a gentleman who doesn't joke, and who hasn't an amiable manner every day. He dragged his nephew away, deaf to his prayers and lamentations--and poor Gustave had to go, without a sight of his faithless Fanny.--I beg your pardon, but that's the expression he always used in speaking of madame your wife; and that is why that exclamation escaped me last night, when I saw her on your arm. Now you know the whole story. Faith! here we are; see, this is the board fence about the vacant lot. We can go in here; there's a solution of continuity. Not so much as a cat, inside or out; this is delightful. You can get the swords from your servant."

Monleard, having taken the swords from his groom, ordered him to stay by the cabriolet; then he and Cherami entered the vacant lot, which had been made ready for building, but as yet contained nothing but stone. They soon reached a spot where there was nothing to embarrass them; there they removed their coats and stood at guard. By the way in which Cherami stood, the young dandy saw at once that he had to do with an expert fencer; and, as he was himself well skilled in the use of the sword, he was not sorry to meet an adversary worthy of his steel.

But after one or two passes, one or two deftly parried attacks, Monleard realized that he had before him an antagonist of the first order; and that he must needs exert his utmost talent and strength to gain the advantage. He had expected to have done with his opponent in a few thrusts; his self-esteem was touched by the necessity of defending himself. He attacked with an impetuosity which sometimes made him forget to be prudent; and Cherami, who fought as coolly as if he were playing shuttlecock, said to him from time to time:

"Take care, you are making mistakes, you'll run on my sword, you strike down too much! I give you warning; it won't be my fault. Ah! what did I tell you?"

Monleard, attacking awkwardly, had received a thrust in the arm, and the wound was so painful that he had to drop his sword.

"Enough, I am beaten!" said the young man, struggling to conceal his suffering. "But you are a skilful fencer, monsieur."

"Yes, I am somewhat expert with the foils. Wait a moment; let me take your handkerchief and bind up the wound, to stop the blood. Then we'll make a sling with your black silk cravat."

"I am extremely obliged, monsieur; a thousand pardons for the trouble I am causing you."

"Why, between honorable men, this is the way it should always be: when the fight's over, shake hands. It's a pity the sword went in so far, or we might have breakfasted together."

"Oh! I am forced to admit that that would be quite impossible."

"Yes, I understand. You are in for a fortnight of it, perhaps three weeks. There's a lot of muscles in the arm, that are as obstinate as the devil about getting well. Are you strong enough to walk to your cabriolet, leaning on me? Shall I call your groom?"

"Oh! there's no need; I can walk with your assistance."

"Take my arm, and don't be afraid to lean on it."

Monleard succeeded, although suffering intensely, in reaching his carriage, which Cherami assisted him to enter, after putting the swords inside. Then, saluting his adversary, who thanked him again, Cherami walked away, saying:

"Delighted to have had the pleasure of making your acquaintance!"

XIX

A SALON IN THE CHAUSSEE D'ANTIN

Three weeks after the marriage of Fanny Gerbault and the brilliant Auguste Monleard, the exceedingly handsome salon of a house on Rue Neuve-des-Mathurins contained, about nine o'clock in the evening, a company in which, although small in numbers, we shall find several persons of our acquaintance.

First of all, this young woman seated on a _causeuse_, beside a lovely table of Chinese lacquer, and working carelessly upon a piece of embroidery, is the newly made bride, Fanny, now Madame Monleard, in a charming gown of the sort one wears at home, to receive a few friends; she has no other head-dress than her own hair, which is arranged with much taste, the back hair being braided and wound about the head, like a crown.

Marriage has not impaired the young woman's beauty; her complexion is fresh and rosy, her eyes gleam with greater animation, and about her lips plays a smile of satisfaction, almost of beatitude, except, however, when her eyes happen to fall upon a newspaper which lies on the table, open at the page containing the transactions on the Bourse, and the stock quotations. At such times, her brows contract slightly, and her lips close; but that feeling of vexation soon disappears, the charming Fanny turns her eyes elsewhere, and her face resumes its amiable and contented expression.

A short distance away, another young woman is sitting at the piano, turning over the leaves of a volume of music. It is Adolphine, Fanny's sister. You know already that her hair is not so black as her sister's, and that her eyes are a little smaller, which fact does not prevent Adolphine from being a charming person; above all, there is on her face a sweet and melancholy expression, which always attracts, and arouses interest. A little taller than her sister, Adolphine has a slender, elegant figure; her walk is always graceful. Pretty women have this peculiarity in common with cats, that there is in their slightest movements an indefinable fascination; and this quality is not the attribute of the most coquettish only, but equally of those in whom grace of movement is entirely natural.

For some time past, Adolphine's melancholy had almost become sadness; her eyes were often fixed on the ground, and she would sit for hours buried in thought, which, if one could judge by the expression of her features, was not concerned with pleasant memories. Suddenly, she would emerge from her abstraction, and, as if ashamed of having abandoned herself to her reveries, would glance hastily about, to see if anyone had noticed her; and would strive to smile, in order to conceal the thoughts with which her heart was occupied; but her smile was never very real, and her merriment was like her smile.