Part 15

The day came when I was to go to Madame de Marsan's. I had told Caroline that she would not see me that evening, and she had seemed greatly disappointed, although we had had a little dispute the night before concerning a certain cashmere shawl, which I saw that she ardently coveted, and which I did not propose to give her. I had given her to understand, in fact, that she did not need a cashmere shawl to be charming; that she was more attractive to me in a simple and refined costume; and we had parted on the most friendly terms.

The clock struck seven; my toilet was completed. The concierge came to inform me that the cabriolet had arrived and was waiting in the courtyard. When it suited Raymond's convenience, we might start; but what in the deuce was he still doing in his room? I concluded to investigate.

I found my neighbor just putting on his breeches.

"What, Monsieur Raymond! haven't you got any further than that?"

"Oh! I'll be ready in a moment, I assure you."

"I'll bet that you won't be ready in half an hour."

"Pshaw! you'll see how quick I am! While you are waiting, amuse yourself by looking over my little water colors--my sketches; there are some very good little things there, as you'll see. If I had more time to myself, I'd go into oils and exhibit at the Salon, but I am never at liberty."

"I advise you to stick to water colors; yours are quite remarkable."

"Aren't they? There's true burlesque, originality for you; the Calot sort of thing. Do you notice that _Suzanna at the Bath_?"

"I thought it was a _Temptation of Saint Anthony_."

"Oh! that's because it isn't finished. And that little _Hop-o'-my-Thumb_--what do you say to that?"

"I thought it was _Bluebeard_."

"That's because he has on his seven-league boots."

"Come, come, neighbor! You haven't got into your breeches yet!"

"Ah! they're a delicate part of the costume, you know."

"But nothing but long trousers are worn now, even at balls."

"When a fellow has, as I have, a fine leg and a calf fit for a model, he isn't sorry to show them.--Would you like to read my last verses, on the Marquise Désormeaux's favorite dog?"

"No, thanks, much obliged!"

"They have made quite a sensation. All the ladies are saying, in a joking way, that they must have me to write their husbands' epitaphs. The beginning is rather fine:

"'O dog of nature, faithful animal!'"

"I've heard of a man of nature; but I confess that this is the first time I ever knew the epithet to be applied to a beast. So you think, my dear Raymond, that animals may be moral perverts, do you?"

"What's that! why, don't you see it every day? Look at the poor creatures that have to dance and bow and caper and jump through rings to the notes of the flageolet! They have received an education. The marchioness's dog did everything she wanted him to; he snapped at everybody who went near his mistress, and he jumped on the table during dinner to eat out of the plates and dishes. That's the natural instinct, and I maintain that 'dog of nature' is a very happy expression."

"Come, come, Monsieur Raymond; drop your _dog_ and finish dressing. If you spend so much time over every part of your costume, we shall not arrive before midnight."

"I am at your service. I have got on my boots and breeches; but it seems to me there's a crease on the left-hand side behind."

"When you have your coat on, nobody will see it."

"True; but in walking or dancing, the coat tails spread."

"Well! what does this crease amount to? do you think that the company is going to keep its eye on your rump?"

"I tell you, a crease may make a great difference in a man's looks; women notice everything."

"The woman who takes any notice of such things must have her hands full at a large party!"

"It sets better now. Ah! my cravat."

"That will be a long job."

"Oh, no! I have made a study of that article of dress, and it goes all alone now. There! that's it. Ought I to turn the ends up or down?"

"Turn them either way you choose; but try to make up your mind."

"Well, I'll pull 'em out straight. What do you think of that knot?"

"Beautiful! you are stunning!"

"_Stunning_ is too strong a word; but I think that I look rather well; I've just got three pins to put in."

"Great God! we shan't get started at eight o'clock!"

"The devil! this is terribly embarrassing; I ought to have thought about it sooner."

"What's the matter? have you another engagement?"

"I don't know whether I ought to put this turquoise above or below my emerald."

"Morbleu! Monsieur Raymond, my patience is exhausted; I am going to start without you."

"Here I am! here I am, neighbor! Faith! I have put the turquoise above, no matter what happens."

"That's very fortunate."

"Now, the coat--the hat--the gloves--and I'm all ready, you see."

"Amazing! Let's be off."

"All right. Oh! I beg your pardon: I forgot a scented handkerchief."

We left the room at last. When Raymond had closed his door, he discovered that he had not put his diamond ring on his little finger, so he went back to repair that omission. We went downstairs; but on the second landing, he failed to find his opera in his pocket, and went back for that. When we arrived in the courtyard, he remembered that he had not brought his favorite songs; and as he might be asked to sing, I must wait while he went to fetch them. I registered a vow never to travel again with Monsieur Raymond. At last, about a quarter past eight, we entered the cabriolet; then he discovered that he had not his eyeglass; but I was inexorable: I lashed the horse and we started. It was dark, so that Raymond could not read me his opera; but to make up to me for the deprivation, he proposed to tell me the plot. For more than an hour he prosed away about a Spanish princess and an Arabian prince, her lover, while I thought of Madame de Marsan, whom I was not at all sorry to see again, and whom I was surprised that I had neglected so long. When we reached Saint-Denis it was half-past nine; and I swore at Raymond, whose dilatoriness and absurd affectations would make us arrive at Madame de Marsan's unconscionably late.

"Have we much farther to go?" I asked my neighbor, as we left Saint-Denis behind.

"Why, no; about three-fourths of a league only.--I was saying that my princess, having been rescued from the burning palace, swoons at the end of the second act.----"

"You know the way, don't you?"

"Yes, yes; drive on, I'll show you.--When the curtain rises for the third act, the princess is in her lover's camp, lying on a cannon.----"

"Have you been to this country house before?"

"Once; but that's enough for me; I have such an accurate memory!--The soldiers are resting on their pikes--or their muskets, for I am not quite sure whether pikes were in use under King Ferdinand; but it makes no difference. The prince, having no desire to sleep----"

"I should say that we were told to go to the left."

"No, no! straight ahead!--The prince, I say, is on his knees before the princess, who is still unconscious; and he sings her a superb air, _adagio_ in _D_ minor, to restore her.--I wrote the music, too. Can't you see the tableau in your mind's eye?"

"I see that if you don't drop your _prince_ and _princess_ soon, we shall be in Montmorency, and that certainly isn't on our road. I'm too good-natured, to sit here and listen to your nonsense. Here--as you are so certain we're on the right road, just take the reins and drive."

"Oh! I ask nothing better; I'll stake my head that we're not two hundred yards from Madame de Marsan's."

"But I don't see any light."

"Because it's too dark a night.--This infernal horse has a mouth like iron."

"You worry him too much."

"Ah! I see something.--Where are we, my man?"

"Montmorency, monsieur," replied our groom.

"Well! Monsieur Raymond, you want to see everything; you're a very clever man!"

"Don't be angry, my dear Dorsan; we'll take this road to the left; I remember now that it leads straight to Madame de Marsan's."

"I think we should do as well to return to Paris; it looks like a storm."

"What's the odds? then they'll have the party in the house."

"The party! Parbleu! we may be there by eleven o'clock!"

"We shall be there at ten; I must whip this infernal beast."

"Oh! I am beginning to be resigned; I am going to make the best of it."

"They are longing for us to come, I am sure!--Go on, you villain, go on!"

"Say rather that they have forgotten all about us."

"Oh! men like us aren't so easily forgotten.--Go on, you wretched nag!"

"Look out! you're whipping him too hard; he's running away now."

"Mon Dieu! that's so; he's got the bit in his teeth!"

"Hold him in! jerk the reins!"

"I can't hold him, my friend; I am pulling as hard as I can. Mon Dieu! he's turning into the fields; we are lost!"

"Oh! don't be frightened; he'll stop.--Get down, boy, and see if you can stop him."

Our groom had already alighted, but he did not follow us, which made me think that he was hurt. Our steed galloped on, across fields and plowed lands and lanes. I took the reins from my companion, who was no longer in a condition to see anything, but trembled in every limb and shouted for help at the top of his voice. To put the finishing touch to our misfortunes, the storm broke with great violence: the clouds burst, the rain fell in torrents, and the wind blew with hurricane force in our faces. Our horse did not stop; I began to apprehend some serious accident; we were on a very steep hillside, and I expected every moment to be overturned with the carriage. Luckily, our frantic animal's path was blocked by a mass of vines; he stopped short, but in struggling to extricate himself from the labyrinth of branches in which he was entangled he plunged about with such violence that he finally threw us out and fell with us.

"I am dead!" cried Raymond, as he fell. Before making sure of that fact, I tried to cut my way out of my prison, for the front of the cabriolet was blocked by vine poles. I succeeded at last in getting out. I was not hurt, not even a bruise. I thought myself very lucky to escape with nothing worse than a fright. Since it was written that I should not attend Madame de Marsan's entertainment, I made the best of it and decided to endure as philosophically as possible the further misadventures into which Raymond was sure to lead me. I went to inquire into my companion's condition. He was groaning pitifully; was he really hurt? If so, that would make our plight decidedly serious. I walked up to Raymond, who had fallen half out of the cabriolet, with his face against the ground. I shook his arm, and succeeded, not without difficulty, in making him raise his head. The rain had already formed pools, and the plowed earth had stuck to Raymond's face. He told me in a feeble voice that he could hardly see.

"That's nothing; turn your face toward the sky, and I'll answer for it that the rain will very soon wash off the mud that covers your eyes."

"You are right, my dear friend; I am well washed now, and I begin to see more distinctly. Ah! I breathe again!"

"Are you really hurt?"

"Wait till I feel myself; I'm sore all over, but I believe that I haven't any serious wound."

"That's very fortunate!"

"Ah! my friend! what a terrible accident!"

"Whose fault is it?"

"Look you--I lashed the horse, because you were in a hurry to get there."

"I advise you to put your crazy performances on my back!"

"Here we are in a pretty plight! and the rain coming down in sheets! It seems as if everything was in a conspiracy against us. Look! I even smashed my hat when I fell."

"Parbleu! what do I care for your hat!"

"Look you, perhaps you care for my head, which is entirely unprotected. I am wet through, covered with mud, battered and crushed. What a cold I shall have! And my clothes! It was well worth while to dress! Open-work stockings; and see, there's my shirt frill on that pole. Mon Dieu! it wouldn't take much to knock me over!"

"Come, come, Raymond! damnation! be a man! You're worse than a baby. We must get out of this somehow."

"Where's our groom?"

"I'm afraid the poor devil hurt himself when he jumped down, and I should be very much at a loss to know where to look for him."

"If we could raise the carriage!"

"But one wheel came off when it went over."

"The devil himself took a hand in the job."

"I'm afraid the horse has hurt himself on these poles.--This pleasure party is like to cost us dear, neighbor."

"Oh! you're very lucky to be able to take it so calmly! For my part, I am crushed and furious at the same time!"

"Come with me; let's try to find a house, some place of shelter at least; but let us notice carefully what direction we take. Are you coming?"

"Wait a minute, till I make a cap of my handkerchief, to protect me a little."

We left the vineyard. I was obliged to take Raymond by the arm to get him to move along; he was trembling so that he was afraid of falling at every step. We walked for some ten minutes, constantly floundering in holes filled with water, which it was too dark for us to see. I swore and Raymond whined, anticipating an attack of pneumonia. At last we discovered a little cottage, and the light that shone through the windows indicated that the occupants were not in bed; for peasants are not in the habit of keeping candles lighted while they are asleep.

"We are saved!" cried Raymond; and he recovered the use of his legs to run toward the house. But I held him back, fearing that he would announce our presence in such a way as to prevent our being admitted. I myself knocked at the door of the cottage.

Peasants are rarely distrustful; the occupants of the cottage, being very poor, had no fear of thieves. They opened the door, and I saw a peasant woman in a large living room, surrounded by half a dozen children. I explained our mishap, while Raymond, who had already entered the room, peered into a great kettle to see what the peasants had for supper, then came back to me and informed me that we shouldn't find much of anything in that house.

"What can I do for you, messieurs?" said the peasant, as she watched Raymond prying into every corner.

"Are we far from Montmorency?"

"No; a fourth of a league at most."

"We don't know the roads about here; be good enough to let us have your biggest boy for a guide; we will pay you."

As I spoke, I gave the woman three francs, which instantly disposed her to make herself useful to us.

"That's easy enough," she said; "Julien, go with these gentlemen.--If you're tired, I can let you have some donkeys."

"We shall be very glad of them, for, first of all, we must find our groom, who must be somewhere in the neighborhood; and then we will try to rescue our horse, for he ought not to pass the night in the fields."

"Come, Julien, get the donkeys out of the stable.--I ought to tell you that there's no saddles for 'em."

"No matter; they will be very useful to us all the same."

The donkeys were produced, and I paid on the spot for their hire; I took a third one, for our groom, whom I hoped to find. Raymond hesitated a long while before mounting his beast; he wanted saddle, stirrups, and pads; he claimed to be able to ride like Franconi, but he could not sit on a donkey. Tired to death by all his lamentations, I started off with the young peasant, who rode the third donkey, and set out to find the groom. Raymond, seeing that I had ceased to listen to him, decided to follow me, clinging with one hand to the tail and with the other to the mane of his steed. He urged the poor beast along in my wake, and we were in the fields once more.

I let my donkey take his own course. I called the groom at the top of my lungs, and my companions did the same. At last someone answered us; we rode in the direction of the voice and found our young man lying on the ground, under a tree. The poor devil had sprained his foot and could not walk. I put him on the peasant's donkey. It only remained for us to unharness our horse, whom we found on the ground beside the cabriolet. The rain had allayed the poor beast's ardor, and he finally allowed us to raise him to his feet. Our guide assured us that he was uninjured; he mounted him, took his place at our head, and the cavalcade set out for Montmorency.

All these details had taken time. It was after half-past eleven when we left our little carriage, which I commended to the young peasant's care; he promised to fetch a blacksmith to mend it at daybreak. We could have gone much faster but for Raymond; he compelled us to stop every few yards; his donkey refused to go, or else insisted on turning into another road; and he uttered heartrending cries when we did not wait for him. Luckily, the rain had ceased and it was a little less dark, so that we could see where we were going.

At midnight we caught sight of the first houses in Montmorency. Raymond gave a joyful cry, whereat his donkey was frightened and jumped, throwing its rider off into a muddy path, where he lost his shoes. As we were a little ahead, Raymond was obliged to pick himself up unassisted; the fear of losing us lent him strength, but his steed did not wait for him, and he ended his journey running after the beast, which he caught on the square just as we were dismounting. All the people of the inn had gone to bed, but we knocked until they answered. They were surprised that travellers should arrive so late; they would be far more surprised, I thought, when they saw the condition we were in, especially Raymond, whose last fall had plastered him with mud from head to foot. They admitted us, however, but, as I had foreseen, they were taken aback by our appearance. But I soon succeeded in telling my story. The landlord, seeing that he had to do with people of standing, apologized to us and hastened to show us to our rooms. They gave a room to our groom; the horse was taken to the stable, and the peasant went home with his donkeys.

I ordered a brisk fire made, to dry our clothes, and requested the host to serve whatever he had ready, for our misadventures had not taken away our appetites. We were served with a chicken, ham, salad, and fruit. While I took my place at the table, Raymond went into his bedroom, where he ordered another fire lighted, and asked the girl who waited on us to come to rub his back, so that he might avoid an illness. She was a robust peasant of some twenty years, not of the type to be afraid of a man. Still, Raymond's proposition struck her as rather peculiar; she looked at him with a smile and seemed to hesitate.

"Go with him," I said to her, "and don't be afraid; monsieur is thinking of nothing but his health, and I'll answer for his behavior."

While my companion was being rubbed, I did justice to the supper, and dried myself thoroughly in front of the fire. The bedroom door was not closed, and I could hear Raymond urging the servant on and complimenting her on her skill. The buxom damsel must have been tired, she had rubbed him so long, but Raymond seemed to enjoy it. Soon I concluded that the fire and the servant's ministrations had entirely restored my friend's animation, for he began to be enterprising, and I heard the girl exclaim that she would not stand it. And I had answered for his behavior! How can you trust anyone?

But the noise continued in the adjoining room; and at last the girl fled into the room where I was, roaring with laughter, and pursued by Monsieur Raymond in shirt and drawers and a pair of the innkeeper's slippers.

"Won't you keep quiet the rest of the night, Monsieur Raymond? Am I to have no peace with you?" said I.

"Oh! what eyes, my friend! Ah! the hussy, if she would!"

"Yes, but the trouble is I won't, Monsieur Insolent!"

"Come, Raymond, let the girl go to bed; it's late and this is no time to rouse the whole inn. I've no desire to get into any more trouble for your lovely eyes.--Leave us, my girl! we don't want anything more."

"I say, my dear, where's your room; do tell me where it is?"

"What business is it of yours?"

"Tell me, all the same, you sly minx, and you won't be sorry."

"Well, I sleep upstairs, at the end of the hall."

"Good; I understand."

The servant left us, and Raymond sat down at the table.

"I trust," said I, "that you don't propose to run after that girl? She's fooling you."

"No, no! I was joking, that's all. She's as solid as a rock!"

"She ought to know whether you are or not, for she rubbed you long enough."

"Yes, indeed; the hussy knows!"

"It doesn't seem to have disposed her in your favor."

"Bah! didn't she tell me where her room was?"

"Don't you trust her."

"Oh! I've no desire to go after her, as you can imagine; but, one thing is sure, and that is, that if I chose, I should have everything my own way."

"I don't believe it."

"Do you want to bet?"

"No; because you would indulge in some pleasant little performance which would make my night as agreeable as my evening has been; and I confess that I've had enough of that sort of thing for to-day. Good-night, Monsieur Raymond! I am going to bed, and I advise you to do the same."

"Yes, neighbor, yes, I'll do the same. Sleep well. Your servant!"

Raymond took his candle with an offended air and went to his room, locking the door behind him. I laughed at the crazy fellow's pretensions and folly, and got into bed, where I soon fell asleep. A noise, the nature of which I could not determine, soon woke me. I listened, and called to Raymond, to find out if he were ill; he did not answer, and I heard nothing more, so I went to sleep again. I did not wake until eight o'clock; the sun was shining brightly into my room, indicating a lovely day. As I was at Montmorency, although against my will, I would at all events enjoy the delightful walks in the neighborhood and have a taste of the pleasures of the country before returning to Paris. Our cabriolet could not be repaired as yet, and we should have to wait for it.

While I was dressing, I called to Raymond and asked him if he wanted to take a walk before breakfast. He did not answer; apparently he was still asleep. But his door was ajar, and I seemed to remember that he had closed it the night before. I entered, and called him again:

"Come, come, lazybones! it's late; wake up!"

No answer. I looked at his bed: he was not there. So he had risen earlier than I and gone out before me. I was turning away, when I saw Raymond's coat, waistcoat, and breeches spread out on chairs, where he had put them to dry. What! he had gone out without coat or breeches? that was very strange! Thereupon, I remembered my neighbor's schemes, his dallying with the servant, and the wager he proposed when he was eating his supper. My uncertainty was at an end: Monsieur Raymond had set out to prove to me that he was not to be resisted; he had gone to lie with the stout damsel who had wiped him and rubbed him so thoroughly. But inn servants do not stay in bed until eight o'clock; the girl must have been up long before. Why had Raymond not returned to his bed? Did he want the whole household to know where he had passed the night? I did not see the point of that very clearly; however, I determined to ascertain the fact. I called and rang; the same servant appeared; her aspect was unchanged; she had a smile on her lips, her big eyes were wide open, and her manner alert and determined. She had anything but a bashful air; I supposed that she was probably accustomed to nocturnal visits. I looked at her and laughed.

"Did you call, monsieur?"

"Yes, my child."

"What can I do for you?"

"How is our groom?"

"Oh! he's all right, monsieur; they've put a compress on his foot."

"And the carriage?"

"That don't amount to much--only a matter of a couple of hours. But the man who owns the vineyard where you upset followed after the blacksmith; he wants his pay for the damage you did on his land; he says you pulled up more'n a dozen vines."