Part 16

"Good! we have got to pay him because we nearly killed ourselves on his poles; let him have a hundred sous.--By the way, my lass, tell me now what you've done with my friend?"

"With your friend?"

"Yes; the gentleman who came with me."

"Oh! the man that lost his shoes, and that I had to rub so long!"

"Exactly."

"Pardi! I haven't done anything with him, and I wouldn't have anything to do with him, although he was after me like a thirsty dog! Mon Dieu! what a fellow!"

"It's no use to pretend, my dear; he slept with you; I don't see any harm in that, but where in the devil is he now?"

"What's that you say? he slept with me? Bless my soul! that's a good one! It's a lie, d'ye hear! I don't sleep with anybody that don't suit me, and your big baby didn't suit me at all. Has he got the face to say that? Ah! I'd tear his eyes out if I heard him!"

"It seems to me that when you tell him where your room is, you shouldn't make so much noise because of what I've said to you."

"My room! I told him where my room was! Good Lord! do you mean to tell me---- Ha! ha! ha!"

The servant, who had turned purple with wrath, suddenly began to roar with laughter. I waited a long while for that outburst of merriment to cease; the buxom creature held her sides, and was obliged to sit down before she could speak. She recovered herself at last.

"Let me tell you, monsieur, that the door I mentioned to your friend ain't the door to my room at all, but it leads into a big room like a loft, where there's a lot of sun and it's always dry as a bone; that's why the master picked it out to keep the fruits he's going to preserve, such as pears and apples and grapes; and then provisions, such as bacon and ham and sausages!"

"Whatever you choose; but I suppose he keeps the room locked?"

"Yes, monsieur; but, for all that, he swore that things kept being stolen; and for the last few days, I don't know whether it's to catch the thieves or not, but I've noticed that the door was only latched."

"And that is where you sent my companion?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"I don't see what he can have been doing there all night. But he must be somewhere. Come, my girl, take me to your storeroom."

"I'll go and get the master, because we ain't allowed to go there."

"I don't care for the prohibition; I must find my companion, who can't have gone to visit the Hermitage or to walk in the valley, in his shirt and drawers."

"That's so; it ain't the custom."

Paying no heed to the servant, who went to tell her master, I left my room, ascended the stairs, and walked through a long corridor, at the end of which I saw a door. It was at some distance from the inhabited portion of the house; and I could understand that Raymond might easily have called without making himself heard. But why had he remained there? That is what I was determined to know. I pushed the door, which was not locked, and saw Raymond with one leg in a trap, sitting upon a pile of hams, where he had fallen asleep.

My arrival made him open his eyes. He held out his arms with an expression which I cannot describe.

"Ah! my friend! my savior! set me free, I implore you!"

"What in the devil are you doing here?"

"I am caught like a rat in a trap, as you see; I can't budge. I've been here since one o'clock this morning; I shouted and called, but no one came, and I had to make the best of it. When I found that no one heard me, I sat down on the first thing I could find, and at last I fell asleep; but I ache in every limb. I shan't forget Montmorency!"

I was sorely tempted to laugh, but Raymond's long face aroused my pity. I was trying to release him from the trap, but to no purpose, when our host arrived with the servant. At sight of the latter, my poor companion made a horrible face, while the girl laughed till she cried.

"Aha! morgué! so I have caught my thief!" said the landlord, as soon as he caught sight of Raymond; but when he came nearer, he was greatly surprised to recognize the guest to whom he had lent his slippers. Raymond told a not improbable story of a trifling indisposition which surprised him in the night and compelled him to seek a certain place which he thought was upstairs; and in that way he had fallen into the trap set in the storeroom.

Our host apologized profusely. He alone knew the secret of the trap, and he hastened to release my companion. Raymond went to his room to dress; but he was in a savage humor and did not care to inspect the outskirts of Montmorency. He was afraid that the night he had passed on the hams, in his shirt, would give him the rheumatism, and he longed for the moment when we might start for Paris. I might have joked my neighbor on the hard luck that pursued him in his _bonnes fortunes_, but I was considerate and held my peace. I left him to rub his own shoulders, legs, and posteriors; and, after breakfasting, sallied forth alone to visit those delightful spots which Grétry and Jean-Jacques still adorn; for men of genius never wholly die. I will not describe scenes with which the reader is as familiar as myself; I should teach him nothing, and if I should make any blunders they would be detected; but if some day I visit a distant and desert country, if I see some Gothic château or some chapel tumbling to decay, I promise you a glowing description of it; for then I shall be able to say whatever comes into my head, without fear of contradiction.

Let us return to Raymond. He waited impatiently for my return from my walk. The cabriolet was mended, the horse harnessed, and we were at liberty to start. I helped in my two invalids, for Raymond was little better off than the groom; he could hardly move. I took my seat between them, and, after paying the innkeeper's account, which included the slippers in which my companion returned to Paris, we started for the capital, where we arrived without accident, because I did not allow Monsieur Raymond to take the reins. On reaching our abode, we dismissed the cabriolet and gave the groom something by way of compensation for his sprained foot, which would keep him in the house a few days. I paid everything and presented to my companion a statement of our expenses overnight, as follows:

_F. C._

For the cabriolet, which we kept one day longer than we intended 30 00

For the peasant woman and her son, who acted as our guide and helped us to pick up our horse 6 00

For the hire of three donkeys at midnight 9 00

For repairing the cabriolet 12 00

For injury to vines 5 00

For accommodation at the inn, lodging, supper, and breakfast 28 00

For slippers for Monsieur Raymond 2 50

For the servant who rubbed Monsieur Raymond 3 00

For fire on two hearths, a most unusual thing in inns 2 00

For the groom, who sprained his foot trying to stop our horse 20 00 ______

Total 117 50

On examining the items of expense of our pleasure party, to which he might have added his costume, which was almost completely ruined, from the hat to the shoes, Raymond heaved a profound sigh, and he was rather long about taking from his purse the fifty-eight francs seventy-five centimes that he owed me. Our account being adjusted at last, we betook ourselves to our respective apartments.

XX

SUSPICIONS OF THE MIND.--APPREHENSIONS OF THE HEART

Thanks to my neighbor, I had not availed myself of Madame de Marsan's courteous invitation; but I proposed to go soon to make my excuses to her, and I would be careful to go alone; it seemed to me that that would be preferable in every way.

Doubtless Caroline was awaiting me impatiently; I must make haste to put an end to her anxiety. I had promised to return during the night; but unforeseen events---- It was after two o'clock in the afternoon, when I hastened to Rue Caumartin.

This time she was not at her window; but could I expect her to give herself a twist in the neck in order to see me a moment sooner? No! I was too sensible to demand that. I went upstairs and rang--no answer. She had gone out! She had probably got tired of waiting for me, and had gone out for a walk, perhaps to make some new purchases. There was nothing for me to do but to go away and return; but I concluded to ring once more. I did so, to no purpose. I went downstairs in an ill humor, because I was annoyed; nothing annoys one more than a postponed pleasure. I had no right to be angry because she had gone out; still, it seemed to me that she might have waited for me. I walked away, scratching my ear; indeed, I believe that I scratched my head. Was it a presentiment? Alas! I had never yet found a faithful woman! But I had vowed not to distress myself beforehand; that never does any good. I determined to do my best not to distress myself afterward either! I should be more certain of being happy.

As I turned into the boulevard, I saw her. What a costume for a morning walk! She caught sight of me and seemed embarrassed. She came toward me, however. We both smiled, but I believe that neither of us felt any inclination that way; it is so easy to distinguish a forced smile!

"Ah! here you are at last!"

"Yes: does that surprise you?"

"I didn't expect you so late."

"I quite believe that you didn't expect me."

"Have you just come from my rooms?"

"Yes; and you?"

"I have been for a little walk."

"What a dress!"

"I don't see anything uncommon about it."

"Not in comparison with the one you wore on Rue des Rosiers?"

"You always have something unkind to say!"

"I don't see what there is unkind in what I said."

"I suppose you'd have me go out in cap and apron!"

"They wouldn't be unbecoming to you."

"But I have no desire to wear them."

"Oh! I believe you!"

"To hear you, anyone would think that before you knew me I was a stupid, awkward country girl!"

"I am well aware that you were not an innocent maid."

"Are we going to stay here on the boulevard all night? I am going home; are you coming with me?"

I hesitated; but I went with her. When we were in her apartment, Caroline joked me about my severe air. In truth, what right had I to reproach her? I was far from amiable sometimes, I knew; and a man who scolds and grumbles is seldom loved. True; but a man who is loved never appears to scold; he is always right. I kissed Caroline, and peace was made. We dined together, and I took her to the theatre; but although I did my best to amuse her, she did not seem to enjoy herself very much. She appeared to be distraught, preoccupied; I was almost tempted to find fault with her, but I restrained myself, for she would have said that I was always complaining! But if she had been as she used to be, I should have had no cause to complain. Ah! I say again, when a man ceases to be lovable, it means that he is no longer loved.

It was near midnight when I went home. A secret hope led me to grasp the knob hurriedly. No bouquet! and yet it was the day! Could Nicette have forgotten me? That would have caused me a pang, a very sharp pang. But what childish nonsense! How could I expect her to bring me flowers all the year round, when I did not condescend to go to her to bid her good-morning? In the depths of my heart, however, I was not indifferent to those tokens of her remembrance of me; I was touched by them, much more, perhaps, than I supposed; I realized it from the grief that I felt at her neglect; I had become so accustomed to that homage! It seemed to me that it was my due. Why should I conceal it? I flattered myself that Nicette loved me; I believed her to be capable of constancy; and while I did not choose to abuse her love, I was not at all sorry to inspire it. I determined to investigate her conduct; I determined to see her, to speak to her. I would rise the next morning at six and prowl about the little flower girl's booth. What strange mortals we are! For a whole month I had neglected Nicette; and because I thought that she had forgotten me, I was consumed by a longing to see her again, to know what she was doing and what her sentiments were! Was it love, self-esteem, jealousy, vanity, or simple curiosity on my part? Call it what you please, it was as I have described it.

As for Caroline, I determined not to torment myself any more about her; she was either faithful or unfaithful; in the first case, I was wrong to suspect her; in the second, she deserved neither my love nor my regrets. That is a very fine dilemma which I propose to all jealous lovers, present and future. But they will reply that when a man is able to talk sensibly he is not in love. To that I have nothing to say, for I am inclined to think that it is true.

I was up at six o'clock. At that hour I was quite certain not to meet any acquaintances before whom I should blush to be seen speaking to a street peddler. I soon reached the place where Nicette was accustomed to display her wares. But I saw nothing; could it be that I was too early? had she moved to another quarter? I accosted a messenger whose stand was a few feet away; those fellows know everything.

"My friend, wasn't there a flower girl who used to stand in front of this house?"

"Yes, monsieur; she was here up to a week ago."

"And she no longer stands here?"

"Oh! she isn't very far off. Thirty yards or so farther along you'll see a little shop; that's where she is now."

"A shop, do you say?"

"Yes, monsieur; it isn't very big, but it's well arranged, all the same."

I turned to walk away--but perhaps that man could tell me something. Nicette had a shop; what was I to conclude from that? I trembled to think! Had some other man been more fortunate than I? had she listened to some other man? and did another possess that treasure which I might have obtained and which it had cost me such a struggle to respect?

I returned to the messenger, put some money in his hand, and began to question him.

"Do you know this flower girl?"

"Yes, monsieur, I know her--not very well, though, for she's a bit proud; she don't talk much to anybody but her customers; and even then you mustn't say too much, or she'll send you about your business. Oh! she's a good girl, I tell you! She's virtuous, and the virtuous ones are always noticed."

The man's praise of Nicette caused me the keenest delight; I should have been sorry to learn that I could no longer esteem her.

"You say that she's virtuous, eh?"

"Yes, monsieur; we messengers know what's what; and then, I see everything that goes on. It isn't that Mamzelle Nicette lacks lovers. Oh! pardi! the whole quarter, if she chose! she's so pretty! and she has a fine lot of customers. It's hardly six weeks since she set up on this street; but the young men soon spied her, and there's a whole mob of dandies that come to buy flowers, just to make love to her, you understand. But Mamzelle Nicette don't sell anything but bouquets. I must do her that justice. She won't listen to the swells any more than the footmen; and when some sly fellow orders flowers of her, to have her bring them to him, he gets caught, for she just sends them by the wigmaker's little girl."

I walked away, overjoyed by all that I had learned; in two bounds I was in front of Nicette's shop. She was already arranging her jars of flowers on boards placed outside, in the street. When she saw me, she gave a cry of surprise, dropped the carnations she had in her hand, blushed scarlet, and could hardly stammer:

"What! is it you, monsieur?"

I smiled at her astonishment and entered her shop, where I seated myself on a stool and looked at her.--How pretty she was! Joy made her even prettier, and glistened in the look with which she met mine.

"Is it really you, Monsieur Dorsan, you, in my shop? Ah! I didn't expect such a pleasure! I had stopped hoping for it!"

"Why so, Nicette?"

"Why--it is so long!"

"That is true. But I have things to do which make it impossible----"

"Oh! I believe you, monsieur. Besides, aren't you your own master? and how can you give a thought to a girl who sells flowers?"

There was something so touching in the way she spoke, that I was deeply moved. How could I ever have forgotten such charm, such innocence, such susceptibility? I could not understand it.

She was still standing in front of me; I took her hand, and I believe that I was actually on the point of drawing her down on my knees. She made no resistance; she glanced anxiously about, but had not the strength to go away from me. What imprudence! what was I doing? We were in full sight of passers-by, and someone might come in at any minute. She had nothing but her reputation, and I was about to besmirch it! Poor child! she would sacrifice it to me, in her dread of displeasing me.

I dropped her hand and moved away from her, looking toward the street. She understood me, and thanked me with her eyes.

"So you were able to hire a shop, Nicette?"

"Yes, monsieur; I've made a lot since I've been in this quarter. I am economical and spend very little; I am sure that I can get along all right. I don't think I did wrong, did I?"

"No; I know that you are behaving as well as possible."

"You know it?"

"I have never doubted it. Your bouquets have shown me, moreover, what a grateful heart you have."

"Oh! can I ever forget what you did for me?"

"Haven't you made any acquaintances on this street?"

"No, monsieur; I don't want to make any."

"Aren't you bored, being all alone?"

"How can I be bored? I always have something to think about?"

"What do you do in the evening?"

"I read, and I am learning to write."

"Do you know how to write?"

"A little; before long I shall know how to write well, I hope. There's an old gentleman who gives me lessons sometimes."

"What need is there of your knowing any more than you do?"

"That's true, monsieur; if you don't want me to, I won't learn any more."

"Oh! I don't say that. Study, Nicette, since you enjoy it; you weren't born to sell flowers. But take my advice, and don't try to rise above the condition in which fate has placed you; it rarely succeeds."

"Oh! I'm not trying to do anything of the sort, monsieur; I'd just like to be not quite so stupid as I used to be."

"My dear girl, you may be ignorant, but you can't be stupid; you will always be charming; your natural wit does not need the resources of education to attract esteem, any more than your charms need the help of art to win admiration. Ah! Nicette, be always as you are now, as I first saw you! Do not change!"

She listened to me in silence; her sweet glance approved all that I said; we understood each other so well! But impatient customers were already beginning to look at her flowers; I felt that I must go. I said adieu, but I continued to stand in front of her. It was impossible to take a kiss, I realized that; she divined my thought, and we both sighed. To part so coldly! Ah! if we had been in my room! I was certain that I had but to say the word, and she would come; but I refrained from saying it, for she would have been lost. I pressed her hand and fled. I felt that I must fly from her, in order not to adore her.

XXI

CONFIDENCE

As a fortunate change in our destiny reconciles us to life, as a lucky throw of the dice brings us nearer to wealth, as a noble deed reconciles the misanthrope to mankind, as the acceptance of a play calms the wrath of an author, as a bottle of old wine makes the drunkard forget his pledges, as a sunbeam causes the traces of the storm to disappear, so the sight of a pretty woman makes us forget our virtuous resolutions, her love banishes from our hearts the memory of our last mistress's perfidy, and her virtues reconcile us to women in general, whom we take a vow to shun whenever we are deceived, and whom we do not shun, because it is not in nature to do it.

Thus the sight of Nicette always led me to esteem her more highly. I reproached myself for sometimes speaking ill of a sex which contains models of sensibility, refinement, and sweetness, and which often redeems a weakness by a hundred estimable qualities. The result in this instance was that I thought I had done wrong to suspect Caroline, that nothing in her conduct ought to arouse my jealousy, and that, by reproaches and unfounded distrust, we often embitter a heart that we might have made ours forever.

I even went so far as to say to myself that it was my own fault that I had been deceived so often, and that I had invariably done the opposite of what one should do to retain a woman's love. We go very far with the syllogisms that we propound to ourselves. At the rate at which I was going on, I might have ended by satisfying myself that the infidelities of our female friends are simply the consequences of our behavior toward them, when I happened to pass Tortoni's just as Raymond went in with a man of some sixty years, with an awkward figure, and an inane, disagreeable face, who was obliged to use a cane to support his left leg, but whose costume denoted wealth and his manner a remnant of dandyism.

I was not at all anxious to sit down with them, despite Raymond's entreaties; he exclaimed at once that we must breakfast together. I pretended not to hear him, and took my place in a corner, at some distance from Raymond, of whom I had fought shy since our trip to Montmorency. But, as I drank my chocolate, I noticed that the conversation of the two gentlemen was very animated. I was convinced that the gouty old fellow was telling his friend about some amorous affairs, which he took pains to vaunt in the highest terms so that he might still pose as a gay young rake. Would he not do better, I thought, to attend to his infirmities? He rose at last, and I supposed that Raymond would go with him; but, no: he remained behind and joined me at my table.

"Good-morning, my friend! Well! have we recovered from the fatigue of travel?"

"You are the one to answer that question. Thank heaven! I didn't sleep on a pile of hams, with my leg caught like a plump lark!"

"Ah! the sly hussy! I admit that I looked a good deal like a sparrow; but I don't feel it now, I rubbed myself so hard yesterday! I used up two bottles of cosmetic for the skin, and three phials of Ceylon oil; so that I have recovered all my elasticity this morning. Tell me, do you know that man who was with me just now?"

"No."

"That was Monsieur de Grandmaison."

"I never heard of him."

"He's a very rich man, enormously rich!"

"He's enormously ugly!"

"He's an ex-financier, contractor, promoter."

"Yes, I understand."

"He gives delightful balls."

"Not for himself, surely."

"Oh! he's still quite a rake."

"He doesn't look it."

"Because he drags his leg a little; but that doesn't prevent his making conquests."

"From buying them, you mean."

"That's what I mean; but it all comes to the same thing. Between ourselves, I admit that he didn't invent gunpowder, and that his education is confined to the rules of subtraction and multiplication, which he understands perfectly. But still, for all that, he has the prettiest women in Paris."

"That doesn't speak well for the prettiest women in Paris."

"He was telling me just now of a new intrigue he is on the point of consummating. Ha! ha! it's most amusing! She's a ravishing young beauty, and he is going to steal her from a young man."

"Some kept woman."