Part 2

However, despite my new acquaintance's beauty, I was very reluctant to retain her arm, which she had passed through mine. Surely, with such charming features, she could not deal in fish or meat. I was morally certain that she sold flowers; but I did not choose to take a flower girl for my mistress; at the most, I might, if a favorable opportunity offered, indulge in a whim, a fancy. But I was not in luck that evening, and I did not propose to try any more experiments. I determined to rid myself of the girl.

As gently as possible, I detached the arm that was passed through mine; then I assumed a cold expression and said:

"I am very sorry that I am unable to do what you wish; but I do not know you; the dispute between Monsieur Beauvisage and Cadet Finemouche doesn't concern me. Your sister ran away, and you had better do the same. Your mother may think what she pleases, it is all one to me. It is after twelve o'clock; I have been walking about the streets long enough, and I am going home to bed."

"What, monsieur! you refuse! you are going to leave me! Think of refusing to go a little out of your way to help a poor girl who is in trouble because of an accident that might happen to anybody. I tell you again that my mother is quite capable of not letting me in if I go home without somebody to answer for me who can swear that I am innocent."

"And you expect me to swear to that, do you?"

"Pardine! would that skin your tongue? Besides, you're a fine gentleman, a swell; she won't dare to fly into a temper before you, and she'll listen to me. But if I go home alone--what a row! Oh! mon Dieu! how unlucky I am! I didn't want to go to the Grand Salon at all; I was afraid of something like this."

And thereupon the tears and sobs began afresh, and she stamped with her little feet. Perhaps her mother would tear out her hair; that would be too bad, for it formed a most becoming frame for that frank, artless countenance. My heart is not made of stone; I was touched by the girl's distress, and I said to myself: "If, instead of this jacket, she were dressed in silk or even in merino, if she wore a dainty bonnet instead of this round cap, and a pretty locket instead of a cross _à la_ Jeannette, I would long ago have offered my services with great zeal; I would play the gallant and make myself as agreeable as possible; I would cut myself in two to obtain a hearing, and I would regard it as a favor if she would allow me to offer her my arm. And shall this modest costume make me cruel, unfeeling? Shall I refuse to do a trivial favor, which she implores with tears in her eyes? Ah! that would be bad, very bad!"--I had been following a grisette and a _grande dame_, who perhaps were not worth so much notice as this poor child; I had passed the evening making a fool of myself, and I could certainly devote an hour to a worthy action. I determined to escort my flower girl to her home.

You see, reader, that I sometimes have good impulses; to be sure, the girl pleased me much. "All women seem to please you," perhaps you will say. True, reader; all the pretty ones; and I venture to say that you are like me.

I drew nearer to my pretty fugitive. She was sitting on a stone, holding a corner of her apron to her eyes, and sobbing.

"Mademoiselle."

"Mon--monsieur."

"What is your name?"

"Ni-Ni-i-cette, monsieur."

"Well, my little Nicette, have courage; stop crying, and take my arm. I will take you home to your mother."

"Real--Really?"

She jumped for joy; indeed, I believe that she was on the point of embracing me; but she contented herself with taking my arm, which she pressed very close in hers, saying:

"Ah! I was sure that you wouldn't leave me in such a pickle. I'm a good girl, monsieur; the whole quarter will tell you that Nicette's reputation's as clear as spring water. But my mother is so ugly! and then my sister's jealous because she says I make soft eyes at Finemouche."

"You can tell me all about it on the way. Where are we going?"

"Oh, dear! it's quite a little distance. I have a stand at the Croix-Rouge, and I live on Rue Sainte-Marguerite, where my mother keeps a fruit shop."

From Faubourg Montmartre to the Croix-Rouge! that was enough to kill a man! If only I could find a fiacre! I believe that I would even have taken François's cabriolet, at the risk of having Belotte take the bit in her teeth; but no carriage of any sort passed us. I had no choice but to make the best of it; so I took Nicette by the arm and forced her to quicken her pace.

"You are a peddler, Nicette," I said; "what do you sell?"

"Bouquets, monsieur; and they're always fresh, I flatter myself."

She was a flower girl; I was sure of it. The certainty restored my courage to some extent, and made the journey seem less long. I should not have been flattered to act as escort to a fishwoman; and yet, when it is a matter of rendering a service, should one be influenced by such petty considerations? But what can you do? that infernal self-esteem is forever putting itself forward. Moreover, I am no better than other men; perhaps I am not so good; you may judge for yourselves.

"Ah! you sell bouquets, do you?"

"Yes, monsieur; and when you want a nice one, come and see me; I will always have some ready for you, day or night."

"Thanks.--But how does it happen that, living in Faubourg Saint-Germain, you go to a dance near the Montmartre barrier? I should suppose that you could find balls enough in your own neighborhood."

"I'll tell you how that happens. My sister Fanchon has a lover, Finemouche, a brewer, a fine-looking, dark fellow, that all the girls in the quarter are mad over. My mother says that he's a ne'er-do-well, and don't want Fanchon to listen to him; but Fanchon's crazy over him, and she tries all sorts of ways to be with him, on condition that he won't make love to her except with honest motives. This morning she agreed to come to Montmartre at dusk, sentimentally, to have a drink of milk. But she had to make up her mind to take me; mother wouldn't have let her go alone. We said we were going to see an aunt of ours, who sells oranges on the boulevard; that was a trick of Fanchon's. I went with her against my will, especially as Finemouche sometimes gives me a look, that I don't pay any attention to--on the word of an honest girl!--When we got to Montmartre we found the brewer, who treated us both to a donkey ride. After riding round for two hours, I said it was time to turn our toes toward home; but Finemouche says: 'Let's rest a few minutes at the Grand Salon--long enough to eat a salad and have a waltz.'--I didn't want to accept; but my sister likes waltzing and salad, and I had to let her have her way. So we went to the Grand Salon. Fanchon danced with Finemouche; so far, everything went well enough. But, as luck would have it, in comes Beauvisage, a fellow who works in a pork shop on our street. He's another fellow who makes love to all the girls, and who's taken it into his head to have a passion for me."

"You don't seem to lack adorers, Nicette."

"I have one or two, but it ain't my fault. God knows, I always receive 'em with my fists closed. But these men! the crueler you are, the more they hang on! I have shown Monsieur Beauvisage that I don't like his attentions; I always throw his presents in his face; but it don't make any difference: just as sure as I leave my stand for a minute, when I come back I find a sausage among my roses, or a pig's foot on my footwarmer. Why, the other day, my birthday, he actually came to wish me many happy returns, with a white pudding, and truffled at that! But all that don't touch my heart; I told him that I wouldn't have him, before all the old gossips of the quarter; and I threw his pudding in his face. He went away in a rage, swearing that he'd kidnap me. So you can imagine that I shivered with fright when I saw him come into the Grand Salon, especially as I know what a hot-headed fellow he is.--Would you believe, monsieur, he had the cheek to ask me to dance, just as if nothing had happened! I refused him flat, because I ain't two-faced. He tried to force me to dance; Finemouche came running up and ordered him to let me alone instantly, at which he held me all the tighter. Cadet handled him so rough that they went out to fight. My sister Fanchon blamed me, because it made her mad to have her lover fight for me. But the worst of it all is that Finemouche, who had drunk a good deal with his salad, was beaten by Beauvisage. Fanchon ran off as soon as she saw her lover on the ground; I tried to do the same, but my tormentor ran after me. At last I caught sight of you, monsieur, and that gave me courage; I was sure you'd protect me; I grabbed your arm, and that's all."

Nicette's story interested me; and the thing that pleased me most was that she seemed to be virtuous and had no lover.--"What difference did that make to you?" you will say; "as you were a young man in society, of course you would not make love to a flower girl." True; I had no such purpose; and yet, I became conscious that for some moments I had been pressing the girl's arm more tenderly than before. But it was because I was distraught.

"Do you think my mother will beat me, monsieur?"

"I don't see why she should be angry; you have done nothing wrong."

"Oh! in the first place, we shouldn't have gone to the Grand Salon."

"That was your sister's fault."

"Yes, but she'll say it was mine. And then, I'll tell you something. My mother's inclined to favor Beauvisage, who shuts her eyes with galantine and never comes to the house without a chitterling eight inches long. Mother's crazy over chitterlings, and she'd like to have me marry the pork man, so that she could always have a pig's pudding on hand. But I have always refused to hear with that ear, and since then they all look crosswise at me at home. So they'll lay the quarrel and the whole row on my shoulders. Oh! mon Dieu! I shall be beaten, I am sure!"

"Poor Nicette! I promise you that I will speak to your mother in your behalf."

"Oh! I beg you to! You see, she's quite capable of not letting me in, and making me spend the night in the street! That miserable Beauvisage! he's the cause of it all! I'd rather jump into the river than be his wife!"

"Can you say as much about Finemouche?"

"Yes, monsieur; I want a husband to my taste, and I don't like any of those jokers."

"Then you have no lover?"

"No, monsieur."

"But, at your age, one ought to love."

"Oh! I'm in no hurry. But we're almost there, monsieur, we're almost there. Ah! how my heart thumps!"

I felt that she was really trembling, and, to encourage her, I took one of her hands and pressed it. She made no resistance, she was thinking of nothing but her mother.

At last we reached Rue Sainte-Marguerite; Nicette dared not go any farther.

"There's the place, monsieur," she said; "that house next to the porte cochère."

"Well, let us go there."

"Oh! wait just a minute, till I can breathe!"

"Why are you so frightened? Am I not here?"

"Pardine! perhaps mother won't even let you in!"

"We will make her listen to reason."

"That will be hard."

"Your sister is more to blame than you."

"Yes, but she's fond of my sister, and she don't like me."

"Well, we haven't come all this distance not to try our luck."

"That is true, monsieur. Come on, let's go to the house."

We arrived in front of Madame Jérôme's shop; I had learned from Nicette that that was her mother's name. Everything was tightly closed and perfectly still; no light could be seen inside the house.

"Does your mother sleep in the shop?"

"Yes, monsieur; at the back."

"We must knock."

"Oh! if only my sister hasn't got home!"

"Let's knock, in any event."

I knocked, for Nicette had not the requisite courage; there was no reply.

"She sleeps very soundly," I said to the girl.

"Oh, no, monsieur! that means that she don't intend to let me in."

"Parbleu! she'll have to answer."

I knocked again; we heard a movement inside, then someone approached the door, and a hoarse voice demanded:

"Who's that knocking at this time of night?"

"It's me, mother."

"Ah! it's you, is it, you shameless hussy! and you think I'll let you in after midnight, when you've been setting men to fighting and turning a whole quarter upside down! Off with you this minute, and don't ever let me see you again!"

"Mother! please let me in; my sister has deceived you."

"No, no; I know the whole story. You're a cursed little pig-headed fool! Ah! you don't choose to be a pork man's wife, don't you? All right! go and walk the streets; we'll see if you have pig's pudding to eat every day!"

Nicette wept. I thought that it was time for me to intervene in the quarrel.

"Madame," I called through the door, in a voice which I tried to make imposing, "your daughter has done no wrong; you are scolding her most unjustly; and if you leave her in the street, you will expose her to the risk of doing what you will regret."

I waited for a reply; none was forthcoming, but I heard someone removing the iron bars, as if to open the shop. I went up to Nicette.

"You see," said I, "my voice and my remonstrance have produced some effect. I was certain that I could pacify your mother. Come, dry your tears; she is coming, and I promise you that I will make her listen to reason, and that she won't leave you to sleep in the street."

Nicette listened, but she still doubted my ability to obtain her pardon. Meanwhile, the noise continued, and the door did, in fact, open. Madame Jérôme appeared on the threshold, wearing a dressing jacket and a nightcap. I stepped forward to intercede for the girl, who dared not stir; I was about to begin a sentence which I thought well adapted to touch a mother's heart, but Madame Jérôme did not give me time.

"So you're the man," she cried, "who brings this boldface home, and undertakes to preach to me and to teach me how to manage my daughters! Take that to pay you for your trouble!"

As she spoke, the fruit seller dealt me a buffet that sent me reeling toward the other side of the street; then she drew back into her shop and slammed the door in our faces.

IV

MY NEIGHBOR RAYMOND

For five minutes I did not say a word to Nicette. Madame Jérôme's blow had cooled my zeal in the girl's cause very materially. I could not forbear reflecting upon the various events of the evening, and I seemed to detect therein a fatality which made me pay dearly for all my attempts at seduction.

For following a working girl, the tip of whose finger I had not been allowed to squeeze, I had been spattered with filth on Rue des Rosiers; for playing the gallant and making myself agreeable to a _petite-maîtresse_ who bestowed divers exceedingly soft glances upon me, I had fallen in with an infernal cab driver, who had driven me to a strange quarter of the city, a long way from my own home; and lastly, for consenting to act as the protector of a young flower girl, whom I undertook to reconcile with her mother, I had received a well-aimed blow on the head. This last catastrophe seemed to me rank injustice on the part of Providence; for to take Nicette home to Madame Jérôme was a very kind action. What nonsense it is to talk about a benefaction never being wasted! But my cheek began to burn less hotly, and my ill humor became less pronounced. It was not Nicette's fault that I had received that blow. I determined to make the best of my predicament and to console the poor child, whose distress was much augmented by this last accident.

"You are right, Nicette; your mother is very unkind."

"Oh, yes, monsieur! What did I tell you? I am awful sorry for what happened to you; but if you hadn't been there, I should have been beaten much worse than that."

"In that case, it is clear that all is for the best."

"My mother's very quick!"

"That is true."

"She has a light hand."

"I found it rather heavy!"

"She cuffs me for a _yes_ or a _no_; but it's worse than ever, since I refused Beauvisage. Ah! I am very unhappy! It wouldn't take much to make me jump into the Canal de l'Ourcq."

"Come, come, be calm; the most urgent thing now is to find out where you can go to pass the night, as your mother really refuses to admit you. Have you any relations in this quarter?"

"Mon Dieu! no, not a soul; I have an aunt in Faubourg Saint-Denis; but she wouldn't take me in--she'd be too much afraid of having a row with my mother."

"Madame Jérôme is a general terror, I see."

"Alas! yes."

"Where will you sleep, then?"

"At your house, monsieur, with your permission; or else in the street."

There was in Nicette's suggestion such childlike innocence, or such shameless effrontery, that I could not restrain a start of surprise. It is difficult to believe in the innocence and naïveté of a flower girl. And yet, in her language there was something so sincere, so persuasive; and on the other hand, her eyes, whose expression was so soft and tender when they were not bathed in tears, her little retroussé nose, the way in which she had seized my arm, and, lastly, this barefaced proposal to pass the night in a young man's apartment--all these things threw my mind into a state of uncertainty to which I tried in vain to put an end.

However, I was obliged to make up my mind. Nicette was gazing at me, awaiting my answer; her eyes implored me. My heart was weak.

"Come with me," I said at last.

"Ah! monsieur, how good you are! how I thank you!"

Again she took possession of my arm, and we started for Rue Saint-Florentin. This time we made the journey in silence. I was musing upon the singularity of the adventure that had happened to me. The idea of my taking a street corner huckster home with me, to sleep in my rooms! And remember, reader, that I lived on Rue Saint-Florentin, near the Tuileries; you will divine, from that detail, that I was something of a swell, but a swell who followed grisettes. Oh! it was simply as a pastime. I was not in the least conceited, I beg you to believe; and if an impulse which I could not control drew me constantly toward the fair sex, and led me to overlook rank and social station, I may say with Boileau:

"'Twas destiny's fault!"

But I was not one of those persons, either, who defy all the proprieties; I did not wish to be looked upon, in the house in which I lived, as a man who consorted with the first woman he chanced to meet; and in that house, as everywhere, there were malicious tongues! I had, in particular, a certain neighbor. Ah!----

It was necessary, therefore, to keep Nicette out of sight. I hoped that that would be an easy matter, so far as going in was concerned. It was at least one o'clock in the morning, and my concierge would be in bed; when that was the case, if anyone knocked, she simply inquired, from her bed: "Who's that?" and then pulled the cord, without disturbing herself further. So that Nicette could go up to my room unseen. But as to her going away the next day! Madame Dupont, my concierge, was inquisitive and talkative; she was like all concierges--I need say no more. The whole household would hear of the adventure; I should be unmercifully laughed at; it would be known in society. It was most embarrassing; but I could not leave Nicette in the street. Poor child! the watch would find her and take her to the police station, as a vagrant! And I honestly believed that she was a respectable girl; I almost believed that she was innocent; however, that would appear in due time.

We crossed the bridges, followed the quays, and at last drew near our destination. Nicette did not walk so rapidly as at first; she was tired out by her evening's work; and I--well, I leave it to you to guess!

"Here we are!" I said at last.

"I'm glad of it; for I'm awful tired."

"And I, too, I assure you. I must knock."

"Oh! what a beautiful street! and what a fine house!"

"You mustn't make any noise when we go upstairs, Nicette; you mustn't speak!"

"No, monsieur, never fear; I don't want to wake anybody up."

"Sh! The door is open."

Madame Dupont asked who was there; I replied, and we entered the house; the hall light was out and it was very dark; that was what I wanted.

"Give me your hand," I whispered to Nicette, "and let me lead you; but, above all things, no noise."

"All right, monsieur."

I led her to the staircase, which we ascended as softly as possible. I wished with all my heart that we were safely in my rooms. If anyone should open a door, I could not conceal Nicette; I had not even a cloak to throw over her, for it was summer.

I lived on the fourth floor; to obtain a desirable bachelor's apartment on Rue Saint-Florentin, one had to pay a dear price, even if it were very high. On the same landing with me lived a curious mortal of some thirty-six to forty years, whose face would have been insignificant but for the fact that his absurd airs and pretensions made it comical. He was of medium height, and strove to assume an agile and sprightly gait and bearing, despite an embonpoint which became more pronounced every day. He had four thousand francs a year, which left him free to devote himself to the business of other people. Moreover, he was poet, painter, musician; combining all the talents, as he said and believed, but in reality a butt for the ridicule of both men and women, especially the latter; but he insinuated himself everywhere, none the less, attended every party, every ball, every concert; because in society everybody is popular who arouses laughter, whether it be by his wit or by his absurdities.

We had just arrived at my landing, when Monsieur Raymond suddenly opened his door and appeared before us in his shirt and cotton nightcap, with a candle in one hand, and a key in the other.

I did not know whether to step forward or to turn back. Monsieur Raymond stared with all his eyes, and Nicette laughed aloud.

I was determined that he should not, at all events, have time to scrutinize the girl; I fumbled hastily in my pocket for my key, but it was entangled in my handkerchief; I could not get it out, I could not find the lock; the more I tried to hurry, the less I succeeded; it seemed that the devil was taking a hand!

Monsieur Raymond, observing my embarrassment, walked toward me with a mischievous smile and held his light under my nose, saying:

"Allow me to give you some light, neighbor; you can't see, you are at one side of the lock."

I would gladly have given him the blow that Madame Jérôme had given me! but I realized that I must restrain myself; so I thanked him, unlocked my door, and entered, pushing Nicette before me. I closed the door, paying no heed to Monsieur Raymond's offer to light my candle for me.

But suddenly an idea came into my mind; I took a candle, opened my door again, and ran after Raymond, seizing him by his shirt just as he was entering a certain place. I put my finger to my lips, with a mysterious air.

"What's the matter?" queried Raymond, extricating his shirt from my hand.

"Don't mention the fact that you saw Agathe with me to-night."

"A--Agathe! What do you say? Why, you are joking!"

"We have just come from a masquerade; she disguised herself for it, and----"

"Do you mean to say that there are masquerade balls in July?"

"There are if anyone chooses to give one; this was for somebody's birthday."

"But that girl----"

"She is well disguised, isn't she? I'll bet that you didn't recognize her at the first glance. The costume--the rouge--they change one's whole appearance."

"Faith! I confess that I didn't see even the slightest resemblance."

"I rely on your discretion. To-morrow I will tell you what my motive is; you will laugh with me at the adventure. Au revoir, neighbor; good-night! Allow me to light my candle, now."

"Much pleasure to you, Monsieur Dorsan!"