Part 13

She lowered her eyes and made no reply; but did I need any other avowal than that? She defended herself very feebly; and I was such an expert lady's-maid that in an instant she was in her night costume, if it may be called a costume. To be sure, I tore and broke whatever came in my way: strings, laces, and pins. Those were very trifling obstacles; luckily, fashion does not decree that our ladies must be clad in corselets of steel! but even so, love would find the defect in them. There was one pleasanter obstacle which I desired to find; but I am bound to confess that it did not exist. Ah! Mademoiselle Caroline, I might have suspected as much! But what does it matter, after all? Was she any less pretty on that account? No, to be sure; perhaps, indeed, it was that that gave to her face that expression of coquettish malice which fascinated me. But I could not help thinking that another man had obtained much more than I without providing her with an apartment; however, for my encouragement, I recalled the ballad:

"The first step's taken unreflecting."

Not until the second does reflection take a hand; therefore, there is much more glory in inducing the second step than the first; I tried to persuade myself that that was so.

At all events, I had no choice but to make the best of it, as there was no remedy. If I had been her husband--why, then I should have done just the same; for it is quite enough to be persuaded yourself that you are a Georges Dandin; I see no need of proclaiming it from the housetops.

So I kept all these reflections to myself; I bestowed upon Caroline caresses which she returned with a vivacity and a force of sentiment of which I should not have deemed her capable, and which I certainly should not have found in an innocent; that was one source of consolation. She swore that she would continue to love me, that she would be happy with no one but me, that she did not want to see anybody else, that she would always be faithful to me and had no desire to win the love of any other man. I said about the same to her, and we fell asleep with these touching oaths of love on our lips.

When I awoke, it was broad daylight. Caroline was still asleep. It was only six o'clock, so I did not wake her; she must have been fatigued. I softly imprinted a kiss on lips which seemed to invite it even when asleep, and I left that bed where I had found in my inamorata's arms all the delights of sensual pleasure, save only--but why think of that?

I dressed without making any noise, for I wanted to go away without waking her. I knew that very close companionship soon gives birth to satiety; therefore, I proposed not to see her too often, so that when we did meet we should enjoy ourselves more. Oh! I had had experience! When it is not used with care, there is nothing that becomes exhausted so quickly as love. And then, although Mademoiselle Caroline pleased me immensely, I had no idea of living with her altogether. When I was fully dressed, I glanced once more at my new friend, then crept from the room and closed the door very softly.

What a difference between Paris at six in the morning and the same Paris at six in the evening. What perfect tranquillity reigned in that quarter, which, a few hours later, would resound with the rumbling of calèches and tilburys, with the trampling of brilliantly attired equestrians, with the shouts of coachmen and footmen, with the uproar of tradesmen and foot passengers! A few milkwomen alone gave life to the picture. I walked toward the boulevards. How cool it was! what a delicious hour for walking! I could not resist the desire to walk the length of the boulevards before the dust and tumult of the day had transformed them into the rendezvous of dandies and _petite-maîtresses_. I felt, too, that the air I was breathing did me good, that it tranquillized my mind; and I understood how one may at six in the morning repent of what one did at six in the evening.

But the shops began to open, the tradesmen took down their shutters, the concierges were sweeping down their steps, blinds were being raised, lazy folk were beginning to yawn and stretch their arms, working girls came out to buy their ounce of coffee, old bachelors their roll, maid-servants their beef stew, and old women their little pitcher of cream. The messenger went to the wine shop for his glass of wine, and the cabman for his glass of brandy, in order to begin the day aright! The peasant women, who had already done half their day's work, remounted their donkeys and returned to the fields; and I left the boulevards and went home.

Three-fourths of the tenants were still asleep. It was only half-past seven, and I met nobody but a few maid-servants. My neighbor was not awake as yet, I sincerely hoped. Poor Raymond! after his adventure of the preceding evening, I presumed that we must have a grand explanation. He must inevitably be in a rage with me; for I credited him with sufficient common sense to understand that the young women in the milliner's shop had deliberately made sport of him.

On reaching my door, I found something attached to the knob. It was a bouquet from Nicette, already a little withered; it had been there since the evening before, no doubt. The little flower girl did not forget me; and I, who might have gone to say good-morning to her at six o'clock, had not even thought of her. I very seldom passed her shop. And yet, Nicette was well worth going out of one's way to see; but for the last few days I had been so engrossed that I had had no time to think of my protégée; indeed, I had vowed not to think too much of her, and I believed that I should do well to keep my vow--for her sake especially. I wanted her to forget me, for I believed her to be very susceptible and quite capable of becoming deeply attached to the man she should chance to love.--"No," I thought, "I will not go to see her; that is the wiser course. She will end by forgetting me."--But I had a feeling that I should be very sorry if she did.

I detached the bouquet and entered my rooms; they too reminded me of Nicette and of the night we had passed together there. That night in no wise resembled the night which had just gone, and which had been marked by nothing that was abnormal in my experience. I had spent and expected to spend many nights as pleasurable as the last. But those nights are very rare when a girl of sixteen, emotional and attractive, succeeds, while she beguiles us by her charms, in forcing us to respect her innocence.

I was not so happy as I should have been. Having become the possessor of an adorable woman,--for Caroline was truly adorable, and she lost nothing by being seen in a simple négligé,--what more could I desire? Ah! I had been deceived so often, that I was justified in being fearful. My new mistress was at least as coquettish as my previous ones had been, and that fact was not very reassuring. But why torment myself in anticipation? Moreover, I had promised myself to be impassive and to take things philosophically. Yes, I had made myself that promise, but I had not succeeded in keeping it; perhaps with time and a little more experience I might succeed. They say that one becomes wonted to everything, but in my opinion it is very hard to become wonted to anything that wounds our self-esteem.

Someone knocked; it was Madame Dupont with a letter.

"Give it to me, Madame Dupont."

My concierge had a most amusing way of doing even the simplest things with an air of great importance and mystery. She handed me the paper, accompanying it with a reverence which meant a great number of things. Noticing that the letter was folded simply, not sealed, I concluded that she knew its contents; and judging from her manner, they must be of serious import.

"Who gave you this, Madame Dupont?"

"Monsieur Raymond."

"My neighbor?"

"Yes, monsieur; and he told me to bring him your answer."

"Let us see what he has to say."

"MONSIEUR DORSAN:

"We must have a serious explanation with regard to the dinner of the day before yesterday. The matter cannot be settled elsewhere than in the Bois de Boulogne, where I shall expect you to-day between noon and one o'clock. I shall be alone; do you come alone. I believe you to be too honorable a man to fail to be on hand. I shall be near Porte Maillot.

"RAYMOND."

I laughed like a madman when I read this epistle. Madame Dupont, whom Raymond doubtless had told that we were going to fight, seemed amazed at my hilarity, and asked me what answer she should give him.

"Go," I said, "and assure my neighbor that I will be on hand promptly."

My concierge, proud of her ambassadorship in a matter of such moment, made me the inevitable reverence and returned with my answer to Raymond, who was probably waiting in her lodge, swaggering gallantly before the gossips and housemaids, so that the whole household might know that he had an affair of honor on hand. I confess that I did not expect such a challenge from my neighbor. What weapons should I take? He did not mention the subject, and I had an idea that none would be needed; however, I concluded to put my pistols in my pocket. Who could say? perhaps I had judged Raymond ill. Moreover, madmen have their lucid moments, misers are sometimes extravagant, tyrants have paroxysms of kindliness, coquettes moments of sincerity, rascals gleams of honesty; and cowards, too, may have their days of valor.

XVII

MY DUEL WITH MY NEIGHBOR

I went to the rendezvous at the appointed hour. The weather was fine, delightful for walking, and everybody was out of doors. I could not avoid the reflection that my neighbor had selected for our duel an hour when it was very hard not to be seen; I knew that he was very fond of putting himself in evidence, but it seemed to me that that was not an opportune occasion for so doing; he was evidently quite capable of choosing his ground in front of a guardhouse. However, I concluded to be patient and to await events before judging him.

When I arrived at Porte Maillot I did not see Raymond. It was not yet one o'clock, so I strolled about in the neighborhood. Little did I think that morning that I should go to the Bois de Boulogne before night, and alone. Caroline, I thought, must be surprised at my non-appearance. In truth, it did imply rather a lack of warmth; and if she were exacting, she would be justified in scolding me. But I knew a sure way to make peace with her; it is easy enough to find a way when love still exists; only in old liaisons, or between those who have been long married, do quarrels destroy love, because in such cases the methods of reconciliation are no longer the same.

At half-past one, no one had appeared. Could it be that my neighbor had deliberately sent me on a fool's errand; I realized that he was likely to require a vast deal of preparation before fighting a duel; but it seemed to me that he had had plenty of time since eight o'clock in the morning to make his little arrangements, and to go about to tell all his acquaintances that he had an affair of honor on hand. Could he have gone to warn the police? Such things had been done; but, no, it was he who had sent the challenge; I was doing him an injustice. Poor Raymond! the dinner episode was terrific, beyond question, and he must have been terribly incensed at me, especially if he believed me to be the author also of the ingenious trick of pasting his picture on the wall on Rue Vivienne. But why that rhodomontade of sending me a challenge by the concierge? if he had no intention of fighting, he should have come to see me at my rooms; I would have confessed my faults, while laughing at the affair, for I am not one of those men who refuse to atone for the foolish pranks they have committed except by cutting the throats of the persons they have offended. I consider that there is more glory in avowing one's fault frankly, and fighting afterward if the avowal does not give satisfaction.

Almost two o'clock! I lost my patience; I was tired of walking; moreover, the weather had changed, and the sky was overcast; a storm seemed impending, and I had no desire to await it in the woods. The idlers had become fewer, the riders were digging their spurs into their horses' sides, the coachmen cracking their whips; everybody was hurrying back to the city. I determined to go with the rest. But who were the three men walking so fast toward the woods? I soon recognized the one who marched so proudly at their head: it was Raymond. He had brought two seconds, after telling me that he would come alone. But, no matter; doubtless he would be obliging enough to let me have one of them. I began to think that he had urged me not to bring one because he preferred to choose one for me.

As the three drew near, I recognized Raymond's seconds: one was Vauvert the melomaniac, the other Monsieur le Baron de Witcheritche. Parbleu! thought I, there is sport ahead! I had a strong suspicion that my neighbor was preparing some trick he had conceived. What in the devil had induced him to choose such seconds? Friquet only was lacking; I should not have been surprised to find him standing guard a short distance away, ready to summon the police at the first signal from his uncle.

All three were drenched with perspiration; and yet, they had had time enough to make the trip. Apparently, they had postponed their decision long enough to be sure of warming themselves up on the road. Raymond was as red as a turkey cock, Vauvert pale as a bride, and the baron made such fiendish grimaces that I could not tell just the color of his face. They seemed more at ease when they saw that I was alone. I very much regretted that I had not brought a second; I had an idea that by doing so I should have disarranged Raymond's plan.

They saluted me as soon as they caught sight of me; I returned their salutation, then went back into the woods I had just left.

"Where are you going? Wait, wait!" cried Vauvert, stammering and hardly able to speak at all, he was so excited. I pretended not to hear, and went farther into the woods.

Vauvert started to run after me; he overtook me and seized my hand, and I felt that he was trembling like a rabbit.

"Where on earth are you going, my dear fellow? why do you go so far into the woods? Don't you see that we're going to have a storm?"

"It seems to me that the affair that brings us here can hardly be adjusted on the highroad; it would be as sensible to choose Boulevard Saint-Denis for the battlefield."

"My friend, I hope that--at all events----"

"As for the storm, that needn't disturb us; on the contrary, it will keep bystanders away."

While I was talking with Vauvert, I heard my neighbor shouting in the distance:

"No adjustment, Monsieur Vauvert, no adjustment! I don't propose to consent to any compromise; I am determined to fight!"

"You hear him!" said Vauvert; "he's crazy. Oh! he's a terrible fellow when he gets started. He has said everywhere that he proposed to have your life, or that you should have his."

I could not help laughing at Raymond's bluster; and I ventured to reassure poor Vauvert, who did not know which way to turn, having never been present at such a function. At last we were joined by my adversary and the Baron de Witcheritche, the latter of whom wore a three-cornered hat, eight inches high, cocked over his left ear, which gave him the aspect of a bully from the Rue Coquenard.

"Monsieur!" said Raymond, striding toward me with a warlike air, "I wrote you that I should come alone, and that was my intention; but, as I passed through the Palais-Royal, I met my friend Vauvert, who had come out to buy a roll for his second breakfast, and who, when he learned that I had an affair of honor with you, dropped everything to come with me, and----"

"That is to say," interrupted Vauvert, "that you didn't tell me that that was what was up, and that I didn't find it out till we got to the barrier; for, when you saw me, you grabbed my arm and didn't give me time to pay for my newspaper."

Raymond pretended not to hear what Vauvert said, and continued:

"So I yielded to his urgent entreaties. Besides, he is as much your friend as mine, and his presence cannot be disagreeable to you. As for Monsieur le Baron de Witcheritche, we met him at the barrier, going out to dine in the country with his good wife. I thought it better to have two seconds than one, because then I could let you have one of them. Monsieur de Witcheritche consented to leave madame la baronne, who is waiting for him under the trees not far away. He will be my second then, and Monsieur Vauvert yours, if agreeable to you."

Monsieur le baron, who had bowed every time that his name was mentioned, took his place beside Raymond, and Vauvert stood behind me.

"Monsieur Raymond," said I, "it seems to me that we might very well settle this affair between ourselves, without troubling these gentlemen. I am afraid that madame la baronne may get wet during our engagement, and Vauvert would be better off at his desk than here."

"That is true enough," said Vauvert, who asked nothing better than to go away; "I have a great deal of work to do to-day, and I'm afraid I shall be reproved by my deputy chief clerk."

"Matame la paronne, she haf ov te shtorm no fear; she loaf mooch to see te lidening flashes," said Monsieur de Witcheritche, smiling so expansively that his mouth seemed to reach from ear to ear.

"Well, since these gentlemen have been good enough to come," said I, with a smile, "it must not be for nothing; so I accept Monsieur Vauvert for my second."

Vauvert fell back with an air of dismay.

"Don't be alarmed," I said to him; "seconds rarely fight; if, however, I should fall, and you should choose to avenge me, it will be in your power."

"I, my dear friend! I do not need to tell you how fond I am of you; and certainly--I wish the affair might be settled amicably. Friends ought not to fall out!--Monsieur de Witcheritche, we ought not to allow these gentlemen to fight."

The baron seemed much more deeply interested in something that he had in his pocket than in our combat, and to no purpose did Vauvert, with tears in his eyes, strive frantically to make him understand that it was their duty to reconcile Raymond and myself. But my neighbor was obstinate.

"I intend to fight," he said; "nobody shall insult me with impunity! I have seen Monsieur Gerville, and I know that he did not dine with you and Agathe; I need say no more! And my silhouette on the wall--that was a betrayal of confidence! You must give me satisfaction, Monsieur Dorsan; this affair will make a sensation."

"Oh! bless my soul, neighbor, I am at your service! Let us get through with it, for it is going to rain, and I shall be distressed to have these gentlemen get wet, and especially madame la baronne, who is under the trees."

"I am the insulted party; I have the choice of weapons."

"That is true."

"I am very skilful with the sword; I have taken lessons from the most expert teacher in Paris; but I will not fight with anything but pistols, because I don't wish to make an unfair use of my advantages."

"That is very generous on your part; I divined your purpose and brought some pistols along."

As I spoke, I took mine from my pocket; I saw that Raymond was disturbed and changed color; then he produced a pair of great holster pistols and showed them to me.

"That's all right," said I; "each of us will have his own pistols."

"No, no! put yours back in your pocket; we must use mine. You understand what an advantage I should have in using one of my pistols against one of yours, which are two inches shorter."

"Your behavior is truly noble. Very well, since you insist upon it."

"I do, monsieur; besides, I have the choice of weapons, and I fight with none but my own."

"Very well; let us call our friends to load them."

I turned to look for Vauvert, who, as soon as we produced our pistols, had walked away in the direction of the highroad and could with difficulty be induced to come near us.

"The pistols are loaded," said Raymond; "I always look after that in advance."

"Ordinarily, my dear neighbor, that is the duty of the seconds."

"Oh! but I don't trust anybody but myself with that. Besides, my friend Witcheritche has examined them;--isn't that so, monsieur le baron?"

The baron was busily engaged in wrapping in two thicknesses of paper some small Neufchâtel cheeses, which he seemed to fear would be dissolved in his pocket by the rain; so he replied to my adversary's question only by a smile of assent. Everything that I saw tended to confirm my suspicions: Raymond's valor was unnatural; his insistence upon using his own pistols, the pains he had taken to load them at home, certainly implied some trickery on his part, which I was determined. He handed me his pistols and asked me to choose one.

"How many paces apart shall we stand?" I asked.

"Why--about twenty-five."

"Great God!" cried Vauvert; "why, that's point-blank range. Forty paces, messieurs! that's quite near enough when you're hit!"

"No; let's call it thirty; that's the most I can consent to.--Monsieur de Witcheritche, come and measure the ground."

Monsieur le baron regretfully parted from his cheeses, which he laid on the grass, taking care to put his hat over them, for the rain was beginning to fall violently. He came toward us; I took my place, and he measured thirty gigantic paces, so that I could hardly see Raymond. As for my second, he was so afraid of being hit that he did not know where to go. He urged us to be very careful not to aim at the wrong man, and I reassured him. Monsieur de Witcheritche gave the signal by beating time, as if we were to play a Haydn quartette.

Raymond fired, and either the noise or downright terror felled Vauvert to the ground, where he lay with his face buried in the grass. I was not touched; I did not even hear the bullet whistle by my ears.

I suggested to my neighbor that we let it go at that.

"No, no, fire!" he cried.

"He is ein Zazar!" exclaimed the baron, in his admiration of Raymond's courage.

I was desirous to ascertain the truth. My second still lay at full length on the ground; Monsieur de Witcheritche had thought it better to retire to a considerable distance, behind a clump of trees; my adversary turned his head aside, waiting for me to take aim, which I had no purpose of doing, although convinced that his weapons were not dangerous; but the baron's cheeses were within two yards of me, and I discharged my pistol at them. The explosion blew the three-cornered hat away, and a multitude of scraps of paper adhered to the little Neufchâtels. While I was laughing over the end of my duel, Raymond came toward me with outstretched hand, shouting at a distance:

"It's all settled, my friend; I am satisfied, embrace me!"

"What!" said I; "you don't want another shot? I have pistols, too."

"No, my dear fellow, let's forget it all; embrace me, I beg you."

"So be it; I will do whatever is agreeable to you."

While my neighbor threw himself into my arms, the baron ran to his cheeses, and was like one turned to stone when he saw that they were all speckled with bits of paper.

"Mein jheese, tay shmell ov te bowder lige te teffel!" he said, putting his nose to them.

"A thousand pardons, monsieur le baron; but as I did not wish to fire at my friend Raymond, I aimed in this direction; the bullet must have gone through them."