CHAPTER III

Who Mother Galop was--Why M. Dupont-Delporte was absent--How I quarrelled with Viardot--Rabelais's quarter of an hour--Providence No. 1.--The punishment of Tantalus--A waiter who had not read Socrates--Providence No. 2--A breakfast for four--Return to Paris

Mother Galop was M. Dupont-Delporte's kitchen-maid; she was specially employed to go errands between the château and the village, and they called her Mother Galop because of the proverbial rapidity with which she accomplished this kind of commission. I never knew her other name, and never had the curiosity to inquire what it was. Mother Galop had seen a column of smoke coming out of the chimney in comparison with which the column that led the children of Israel in the desert was but as a vapour, and she had come at a run, never doubting that her master's château was invaded by a band of incendiaries. Great was her astonishment when she saw a cook and two or three kitchen-lads spitting and plucking chickens. She naturally asked us who we were and what we were doing in _her kitchen._ We replied that M. Dupont-Delporte's son, being on the eve of marrying, and intending to celebrate his nuptials at the château, had sent us on in advance to take possession of the culinary departments. She could believe what she liked of the story; my opinion is that she did not believe very much of it; but what did that matter to us? She was not able to prevent us; we could, indeed, have shown her Dupont-Delporte's letter, but two reasons prevented us from doing so. In the first place, because Bixio had it in his pocket and had carried it off to the market; secondly, because Mother Galop did not know how to read! We in our turn interrogated Mother Galop, with all the tact of which we were capable, concerning the absence of all the family, and the desertion of the château.

M. Dupont-Delporte, senior, had been appointed préfet of Seine-Inférieure, and he had moved house rapidly a week ago, leaving his château and what remained therein under the surveillance of Mother Galop. As has been seen, Mother Galop fulfilled her orders scrupulously. The arrival of Mother Galop had its good side as well as its bad: it was a censorship; but, at the same time, it meant a housekeeper for us. The upshot of it was that, in consideration of a five-franc piece which was generously granted her by myself, we had both plates and serviettes at our dejeuner. Bixio and Boulanger arrived as the fowls were accomplishing their final turn on the spit, and as Mother Galop was serving up the stewed duck. An omelette of twenty-four eggs completed the meal. Then, admirably fortified, we set off on our shooting expedition. We had not fired four shots before we saw the gamekeeper running up in hot haste. This was just what we hoped would happen; he could read: he accepted our sub-lieutenant's letter as bona-fide, undertook to take us all over the estate, and to reassure Mother Galop, whom our metamorphoses from cooks to sportsmen had inspired with various fresh fears in addition to those which had troubled her at first, and which had never been entirely allayed. A sportsman minus a dog (it will be recollected that this was my social position) is a very disagreeable being, seeing that, if he wants to kill anything, he must be a Pollux or a Pylades or a Pythias to some shooter who has a dog. I began by giving the dubious advantage of my proximity to Bessas-Lamégie, the shooting companion with whom I was the most intimately connected. Unluckily, Bessas had a new dog which was making its first début, and which was in its first season. Generally, dogs--ordinary ones at least--hunt with their noses down and their tails in the air. Bessas's dog had adopted the opposite system. The result was that he looked as though he had come from between the legs of a riding-master, and not from the hands of a keeper; to such an extent that, at the end of an hour's time, I advised Bessas to saddle his dog or harness him, but not to shoot with him any more. Viardot, on the other hand, had a delightful little bitch who pointed under the muzzle of the gun, standing like a stock and returning at the first call of the whistle. I abandoned Bessas and began to play with Viardot, whom I knew least, the scene between Don Juan and M. Dimanche! In the very middle of the scene a covey of partridges started up. Viardot fired two shots after them and killed one. I did the same; only, I killed two. We continued to shoot and to kill in this proportion. But soon I made a mistake. A hare started in front of Viardot's dog. I ought to have given him time to fire his two shots, and not to have fired until he had missed. I drew first and the hare rolled over before Viardot had had time to put his gun to his shoulder. Viardot looked askance at me; and with good reason. We entered a field of clover. I fired my two shots at a couple of partridges, both of which fell disabled. The services of a dog were absolutely necessary. I called Viardot's; but Viardot also called her, and Diane, like a well-trained animal, followed her master and took no notice of me and my two partridges. No one is so ready to risk his soul being sent to perdition as a sportsman who loses a head of game: with still greater reason when he loses two. I called the dog belonging to Bessas-Lamégie, and Romeo came; that was his name, and no doubt it was given him because he held his head up, searching for his Juliet on every balcony. Romeo then came, pawed, pranced about and jumped, but did not deign for an instant to trouble himself about my two partridges. I swore by all the saints of Paradise,--my two partridges were lost, and I had fallen out with Viardot! Viardot, indeed, left us next day, pretending he had an appointment to keep in Paris which he had forgotten. I have never had the chance of making it up with him since that day, and twenty years have now passed by. Therefore, as he is a charming person with whom I do not wish any longer to remain estranged, I here tender him my very humble apologies and my very sincere regards. Next day it was Bessas who left us. He had no need to search for an excuse; his dog provided him with a most plausible one. I again advised him to have Romeo trained for the next steeple-chase, and to bet on him at Croix-de-Berny, but to renounce working him as a shooting dog. I do not know if he took my advice. I remained the only shooter, and consequently the only purveyor to the party, which did me the justice to say that, if they ran any risk of dying of hunger, it would not be at the château d'Esgligny. But it was at Montereau that this misfortune nearly happened to us all. We had settled up our accounts with Mother Galop; we had liquidated our debt with the gamekeeper; we had paid the peasants the thousand and one contributions which they levy on the innocent sportsman, for a dog having crossed a potato field, or for a hare which has spoiled a patch of beetroot; we had returned to Montereau: here we had supped abundantly; finally, we had slept soundly in excellent beds, when, next day, in making up our accounts, we perceived that we were fifteen francs short, even if the waiter was not tipped, to be even with our host. Great was our consternation when this deficit was realised. Not one of us had a watch, or possessed the smallest pin, or could lay hands on the most ordinary bit of jewellery. We gazed at one another dumbfounded; each of us knew well that he had come to the end of his own resources, but he had reckoned upon his neighbour. The waiter came to bring us the bill, and wandered about the room expecting his money. We withdrew to the balcony as though to take the air. We were stopping at the _Grand Monarque!_--a magnificent sign-board represented a huge red head surmounted by a turban. We had not even the chance, seized by Gérard, at Montmorency, of proposing to our host to paint a sign for him! I was on the point of frankly confessing our embarrassment to the hotel-keeper, and of offering him my rifle as a deposit, when Bixio, whose eyes were mechanically scanning the opposite house, uttered a cry. He had just read these words, above three hoops from which dangled wooden candles--

CARRÉ, DEALER IN GROCERIES

In desperate situations everything may be of importance. We crowded round Bixio, asking him what was the matter with him.

"Listen," he said, "I do not wish to raise false hopes; but I was at school with a Carré who came from Montereau. If, by good fortune, the Carré of that sign happens to be the same as my Carré, I shall not hesitate to ask him to lend me the fifteen francs we need."

"Whilst you are about it," I said to Bixio, "ask him for thirty."

"Why thirty?"

"I presume--you have not reckoned that we must go on foot?"

"Ah! good gracious! that is true! Here goes for thirty, then! Gentlemen, pray that he may be my Carré; I will go and see."

Bixio went downstairs, and we stayed behind upon the balcony, full of anxiety; the waiter still hanging round. Bixio went out of the hotel, passed two or three times up and down in front of the shop unostentatiously; then, suddenly, he rushed into it! And, through the transparent window-panes, we saw him clasp a fat youth in his arms, who wore a round jacket and an otter-skin cap. The sight was so touching that tears came into our eyes. Then we saw no more; the two old school-fellows disappeared into the back of the shop. Ten minutes later both came out of the shop, crossed the street and entered the hotel. It was evident that Bixio had succeeded in his borrowing; otherwise, had he been refused, we presumed that the Rothschild of Montereau would not have had the face to show himself. We were not mistaken.

"Gentlemen," said Bixio, entering, "let me introduce to you M. Carré, my school friend, who not only is so kind as to get us out of our difficulty by lending us thirty francs, but also invites us to take a glass of cognac or of curaçao at his house, according to your several tastes."

The school friend was greeted enthusiastically. Boulanger, whom we had elected our banker, who for half an hour enjoyed a sinecure, settled accounts with the waiter, generously giving him fifty centimes for himself, and put fourteen francs ten sous into his pocket in reserve for the boat. Then we hurried down the steps, extremely happy at having extricated ourselves even more cleverly than M. Alexandre Duval's _Henri V._ The service which we had just received from our friend Carré--he had asked for our friendship, and we had hastened to respond--did not prevent us from doing justice to his cognac, his black-currant cordial and his curaçao; they were excellent. In fact, we took two glasses of each liqueur to make sure that it was of good quality. Then, as time was pressing, we said to our new friend, in the phrase made famous by King Dagobert: "The best of friends must part," and we expressed our desire to go to the boat. Carré wished to do us the honours of his natal town to the last, and offered to accompany us. We accepted. It was a good thing we did. We had been misinformed about the fares of places in the boat: we wanted nine francs more to complete the necessary sum for going by water. Carré drew ten francs from his pocket with a lordly air, and gave them to Bixio. Our debt had attained the maximum of forty francs. There remained then twenty sous for our meals on board the boat. It was a modest sum; but still, with twenty sous between four people, we should not die of hunger. Besides, was not Providence still over us? Might not one of us also come across his Carré? Expectant of this fresh manifestation of Providence, we each pressed Bixio's friend in our arms, and we passed from the quay to the boat. It was just time; the bell was ringing for departure, and the boat was beginning to move. Our adieux lasted as long as we could see each other. Carré flourished his otter-skin cap, while we waved our handkerchiefs. There is nothing like a new friendship for tenderness! At length the moment came when, prominent objects though Carré and his cap had been, both disappeared on the horizon.

We then began our examination of the boat; but after taking stock of each passenger we were obliged to recognise, for the time being at any rate, that Providence had failed us. That certainty led to all the greater sadness among us, as each stomach, roused by the exhilarating morning air, began to clamour for food. We heard all round us, as though in mockery of our wretchedness, a score of voices shouting--

"Waiter! two cutlets!... Waiter! a beefsteak!... Waiter! _un thé complet!_"

The waiters ran about bringing the desired comestibles, and calling out in their turn as they passed by us--

"Do not you gentlemen require anything? No lunch? You are the only gentlemen who have not asked for something!"

At last I replied impatiently: "No; we are waiting for some one who should join us at the landing-stage of Fontainebleau." Then, turning to my companions in hunger, I said to them--

"Upon my word, gentlemen, he who sleeps dines; now, the greater includes the less, so I am going to take my lunch sleeping."

I settled myself in a corner. I had even then the faculty which I have since largely perfected, I can sleep pretty nearly when I like. Hardly was I resting on my elbow before I was asleep. I do not know how long I had been given up to the deceptive illusion of sleep before a waiter came up to me and repeated three times in an ascending scale--

"Monsieur! monsieur!! monsieur!!!"

I woke up.

"What is it?" I said to him.

"Monsieur said that he and his friends would breakfast with a person he expected at the landing-place at Fontainebleau."

"Did I say that?"

"Monsieur said so."

"You are sure?"

"Yes."

"Well?"

"Well then, it; is time monsieur ordered his lunch, seeing that we are approaching Fontainebleau."

"Already?"

"Ah! monsieur has slept a long time!"

"You might have left me to sleep still longer."

"But monsieur's friend ..."

"Monsieur's friend would have found him if he came."

"But is not monsieur sure, then, of meeting his friend?"

"Waiter, when you have read Socrates you will know how rare a friend is, and, consequently, how little certainty there is of meeting one!"

"But monsieur can still order lunch for three; if monsieur's friend comes, another cover can be added."

"You say we are nearing Fontainebleau?" I replied, eluding the question.

"In five minutes we shall be opposite the landing-stage."

"Then I will go and see if my friend is coming."

I went up on the deck, and mechanically glanced towards the landing-stage. We were still too far off to distinguish anything; but, assisted by tide and steam, the boat rapidly advanced. Gradually individuals grouped on the bank could be separately distinguished. Then outlines could be more clearly seen, then the colour of their clothes, and, finally, their features. My gaze was fastened, almost in spite of myself, upon an individual who was waiting in the middle of ten other persons, and whom I believed I recognised. But it was most unlikely!... However, it was very like him, ... if it were he, what luck.... No, it seemed impossible.... Nevertheless, it was, indeed, his shape and figure and physiognomy. The boat approached nearer still. The individual who was the object of my attention got into the boat to come on board the steamer, which stopped to take up passengers. When half-way to the steamer the individual recognised me and waved his hand to me.

"Is that you?" I shouted.

"Yes, it is I," he replied.

I had found my Carré, only his name was Félix Deviolaine; and, instead of being just an ordinary school-fellow, he was my cousin. I ran to the ladder and flung myself into his arms with as much effusion as Bixio had into Carré's.

"Are you alone?" he asked me.

"No; I am with Bixio and Boulanger."

"Have you lunched?"

"No."

"Well, shall I have lunch with you?"

"Say, rather, may we have lunch with you?"

"It is the same thing."

"Nothing of the kind."

I explained the difference between his lunching with us and we with him. He understood perfectly. The waiter stood by, serviette in hand; the amusing fellow had followed me as a shark follows a starving ship.

"Lunch for four!" I said, and, provided that it includes two bottles of burgundy, eight cutlets, a fowl and a salad, you can then add what you like in the way of hors-d'œuvre and entremets. Lunch lasted until we reached Melun. At four that afternoon we landed at the quay of the Hôtel de Ville, and next day I resumed my rehearsals of _Charles VII._