Part 21

There was something that surprised and troubled me much more: for a long time I had received no bouquets from Nicette. At first, I thought that her mother's death might have kept her busy for some days; but that had taken place more than six weeks before, and still I found nothing at my door! I had become so accustomed to those tokens of remembrance, that every evening, when I went home, I hastily put my hand to the doorknob; but I found nothing, and I said to myself sadly:

"She too has forgotten me! I might reproach her, but I do not want her to do from a sense of duty what I had thought was a pleasure to her."

It was a long time since I had seen her; I woke too late in the morning; in the evening, I was either with Madame de Marsan, or some friend would drag me away to one of the parties which began to be more numerous with the approach of winter. Besides, I knew how dangerous it was to go to see her in the evening!--Meanwhile, my meetings with Madame de Marsan were daily becoming less frequent and more depressing; she was simply waiting for an excuse to break with me altogether; and I, from a spirit of contradiction, refused to furnish her with one.

For several days we had not met; but we had arranged to dine together on a certain day; it was almost like granting me a favor. We dined at the Cadran-Bleu; the sight of the Méridien, just opposite, reminded me of the much livelier repast of which I had partaken with Mademoiselle Agathe; and I said to myself that the grisette, who deceives one openly, is a hundred times preferable to the _petite-maîtresse_ who clings to us when she does not love us. The dinner was a gloomy affair, despite my efforts to prolong it; at seven o'clock we had nothing more to say to each other. I suggested the theatre, but there was no play that attracted her; it was not the season for walking, and I did not know what to suggest, or how to amuse her. At last she began to complain of pain in the stomach and head, of the vapors, in short. She decided to go home and to bed early, and I applauded the idea, which was a great relief to us both. We left the restaurant; I was going to take her home in a cab, as usual, but she preferred to go on foot, thinking that the walk in the fresh air would do her good. It was dark, and we had no fear of unpleasant meetings. We walked along like a husband and wife of twenty years' standing, exchanging a word every five minutes. We reached Rue Saint-Honoré and should soon pass Nicette's little shop; but it would surely be closed, and I was very glad of it. As we drew near I saw that the shop was still open; the shrubs had not been taken inside. It was too late to turn back. Indeed, why should I turn back? Was I not at liberty to give my arm to whomever I chose? Yes; but still I hoped that she would not see me.

We reached the shop; Nicette was at her door; she saw me, and by some inexplicable whim Madame de Marsan chose to stop to examine her flowers.

"Here's a lovely orange tree," she said; "for a long time I have wanted one in my boudoir; I like this one very much; don't you think it pretty?"

"Yes, madame, very pretty."

I was embarrassed; I kept my eyes on the ground, avoiding Nicette's.

"I am afraid it's too large, though," continued Madame de Marsan. "Have you any others, my girl?--Well! why don't you answer?"

Nicette did not hear her; she had her eyes fixed on me, and doubtless her expression was very eloquent, for Madame de Marsan, greatly surprised, scrutinized her closely; her pretty face, her confusion, my emotion, my embarrassed manner, aroused in Madame de Marsan's mind suspicions, which undoubtedly went beyond the truth. Women divine very swiftly, and their imagination travels fast. Madame de Marsan no longer loved me, but she had the curiosity which no woman ever loses on that subject, and, in pure deviltry, she pretended to be very fond of me.

She entered the shop, leaning nonchalantly on my arm; she bestowed an amorous glance on me and addressed me in the familiar second person, which she had not done twenty times at the very outset of our liaison.

"What do you think of these trees, my dear fellow? tell me which you like, my dear Dorsan; I want to choose the one you like best."

Vexation and anger were suffocating me; I was hardly able to stammer a few disjointed words. I glanced at Nicette; I saw her turn pale and stagger; her eyes filled with tears; they seemed to say to me:

"She loves you! do you love her?"

Madame de Marsan saw it all; she smiled maliciously and watched Nicette closely.

"What's the matter with you, child?" she asked, in a contemptuous tone; "you seem very much excited."

"Nothing, madame, nothing's the matter," the poor girl replied, in a trembling voice, looking at Madame de Marsan and at me in turn.

"What's the price of this orange tree?"

"It's--it's--whatever you choose to give, madame; I don't care."

"What's that? you don't care? That's a strange answer!--What do you think, my dear Dorsan? Come, answer; I don't know what's the matter with you to-night, really!"

"When you are ready, madame, we will go."

"Ah! I see, monsieur; you have reasons for not wanting to stay in this place with me; my presence embarrasses you--and seems to grieve mademoiselle! Ha! ha! this is too good! to grieve this poor child!--that would be cruel beyond words! Come, monsieur, when you choose. But, I beg you, don't leave her in despair.--Adieu, my girl!"

She left the shop at last, and I followed her after glancing at Nicette. But she was crying and did not look at me.

When we were in the street, Madame de Marsan laughed as if she would die, and joked me about my amours and about the innocent flower girl. I made no reply, although I might have made some very mortifying remarks; we must be indulgent to the woman who has been weak for our sake. I left her at her door. I was in great haste to see Nicette again; I was determined now to tell her all my thoughts, all my sentiments; I proposed to conceal from her no longer the genuine passion which she had inspired, and which I had fought against to no purpose. She shared it; I could not doubt that. We would be happy together; yes, I would abandon myself thenceforth to the dictates of my heart, which told me that I must possess Nicette. The friendship between us was simply a pretext to conceal our love; we could not misunderstand each other! Why those fruitless efforts to overcome the sentiment that drew us toward each other? Why should cold prudence deprive us of happiness? Is love a crime, pray? and can that which makes us so happy make us guilty?

I ran, I flew--at last I stood before her shop; it was closed, and I could see no light within. I knocked: there was no reply. Was she asleep? No, no; I was sure that she would not be able to sleep. I knocked again--no reply! Where could she be? I passed an hour in front of her shop. I knocked again, but to no purpose. I was convinced that she was inside, but that she was determined not to admit me, that she was weeping and did not wish me to see her tears. Perhaps she feared that I would reproach her for her conduct before Madame de Marsan. Dear Nicette! Far be it from me to reprove your love.

"I will see her to-morrow," I thought; "I will console her, and I shall easily triumph over the resolutions of the night! Since it must be, I will wait till to-morrow."

XXVII

MY STAR PURSUES ME

I did not sleep; my mind was too disturbed, my heart too agitated for me to obtain any rest. All night long I formed plans, prudent, extravagant, and delicious. Nicette was always included in those charming visions of the future, which my imagination conceived so readily; I transformed her into a shepherdess, a great lady, a _demoiselle_; she and I were together in a palace, in a village, in a desert; but, wherever we were, we were happy. Ah! how sweet it is to dream waking dreams when one loves and believes one's self to be loved in return!

I rose at daybreak; I had twenty schemes in my head, and, as usual, I could not decide upon any one. First of all, I must see Nicette; that was the most important thing. My toilet was soon completed; I was sure that I always looked well to her.

I left my room; everybody was still asleep in the house, unless there was somebody who was very much in love. Madame Dupont, who had ceased to be amorous, kept me waiting a century before she pulled the cord of the porte cochère; at last she heard me knocking and shouting at her window, and I was free.

In less than five minutes I was in front of the shop; it was still closed. I was surprised; Nicette was usually such an early bird.

Should I wait? should I knock? I stood hesitating in the street, when a messenger passed. It was the same one I had questioned some time before; he recognized me, touched his hat as he passed, and took his seat some twenty yards away. I walked toward him, with no definite idea what I was going to do. The messenger, who was pleased with my conduct on the former occasion, hastened to offer me his services.

"I have nothing for you to do, my friend," I said, in a decidedly dismal tone, mechanically putting a five-franc piece in his hand.

He stared at me in amazement, and waited for me to speak before he ventured to put the coin in his pocket. I looked toward Nicette's shop and pointed at it.

"That flower girl is rather late about opening, it seems to me," I said.

"Oh! it's early yet; but still, she's been a bit lazylike for some time. Well, well! it isn't surprising!"

"Why so?"

"When a woman gets love into her head!"

"How do you know? Who told you she was in love?"

"Oh! a man don't have to be very sharp to see that kind of thing! you see, I've been on this square twenty year, so I ought to know pretty well what's going on in the quarter."

"What do you know about this girl? What have you seen? Answer, and keep nothing back. Here, take this."

I felt in my pocket again and put more silver in the messenger's hand, whereat his amazement redoubled and he looked into my face for symptoms of insanity.

"You told me that this girl was virtuous and honest, and that she did not speak to anybody, because she preferred not to."

"That's true, monsieur, that's true. She's honest enough still; but when a girl's young, she may take a liking for someone, and----"

"Explain yourself more clearly! What makes you think that?"

"Pardi, monsieur! because I see the fellow come to see her."

So Nicette had deceived me! Nicette did not love me! No, I could not believe it. I determined to question the man further. I leaned against the post that adjoined his stone bench; I needed support, for I trembled at the thought of finding my misery confirmed.

"You say that you see someone come to her shop?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Since when?"

"Why, it was about three weeks ago that the man came prowling around here; at first he came in the morning, to buy flowers; then he came at night, just at dusk, and talked a little; then he stayed longer; and it's got so now that he comes almost every night and talks an hour or two with the pretty little flower girl. But I think everything's all straight as yet; the shop door's always open, and unless they meet somewhere else, which is possible enough, for women are sly, and it ain't safe to trust to virtuous airs!----"

"What does he look like?"

"Well, he ain't exactly a young man, perhaps about forty years old; nor he ain't very handsome, either; but as to his get-up, he's one of your sort, a man who looks as if he was somebody! And you can see that the little flower girl, who put on airs with us poor folks, might have been flattered to make the conquest of a swell; that's probably what caught her!"

"And he comes every night?"

"Yes, monsieur, pretty near; he don't hardly ever miss a night now."

"That's enough."

I strode away from the messenger; the poor fellow had unsuspectingly torn my heart; at the very moment that I proposed to abandon myself without reserve to my love for Nicette; to turn my back on society of which I was weary, so that I might live with her and for her--at that moment, I lost her thus! She loved another, and I believed myself to be sure of her love! With that sweet delusion vanished the blissful future of my waking dreams that morning.

I was still in the street; I could not go away. At last the shop opened; Nicette appeared; she was pale and downcast; but I had never seen her when she was so pretty, I had never been so deeply in love with her.

The little traitor--with that innocent air! Alas! had I the right to complain? had she given me her troth? had I told her that I loved her?--But was it necessary to tell her so? It seemed to me that we understood each other so perfectly. We had both been deceived!

Should I speak to her? Of what use was it now? what could I say to her that would interest her? No; I would not see her or speak to her again; I would forget her!

I do not know how it happened; but, with the firm intention to avoid her, I had walked toward her; and I found myself in front of her shop, where I stopped, in spite of myself.

She came to meet me with an air of constraint; her eyes were red, as if she had wept much; what could be the cause of her distress? I did not know what to say, and I stood mute in front of her; she too was thoughtful.--And this was the interview in which the confidence and unreserve of love were to reign supreme!--Poor mortals! our plans are drawn on the sand.

"I came last night," I said at last, in a tone which I strove to render cold.

"Last night--yes, I saw you, with--with that lady."

"No, I mean a few minutes later--I came back and knocked."

"I was not here."

"I thought you never went out."

"I went out last night."

"You might have been at home, and have preferred not to let me in."

"Why so, monsieur?"

"Sometimes a person doesn't like to be disturbed when she has company."

"Company!"

"Yes, you understand me perfectly well; will you tell me again that you have no visitors? For the last three weeks, hasn't a gentleman come to see you--almost every evening?"

She was embarrassed, she blushed. The messenger had not deceived me.

"Well, mademoiselle, you don't answer. Is it the truth?"

"Yes, monsieur, it's the truth."

She admitted it! ah! I would have liked to have her deny it, I should have been so happy to believe her!--Further doubt was impossible! there was no more hope for me! I must go. I cast a last glance at her and left the shop abruptly, for I did not choose to let her see the suffering she caused me. She made a movement to detain me, then paused in her doorway, contenting herself with looking after me.

I resolved to think no more of her; she was no better than the rest!--In truth, I was unlucky in love! I had never yet fallen in with a faithful woman; they had all deceived me, betrayed me, played fast and loose with me; but all their perfidies had caused me less pain than I suffered because of Nicette's inconstancy! She saw that I loved her; all women see that at a glance! She did everything to attract me! To think that one so young should be so skilled in feigning love and sensibility and gratitude! I could never again believe in anything or anybody.

But, before forgetting her entirely, I proposed to see the man who had replaced me in her heart, the man who had beguiled her, whom she loved! What a lucky dog he was! At that moment I would have given all that I possessed to be loved by Nicette.

I had been told that he went to see her every evening; I would see him that very day. There was a café almost opposite the shop, where I could wait unobserved, for I did not choose that the ungrateful girl should witness all the torments of my feeble heart.

I passed the day as best I could, and at five o'clock I betook myself to Rue Saint-Honoré. When I came in sight of her shop, I looked to see if she was in the doorway. She was not there, and I slipped into the café unseen by her. I took my seat at a table that touched the window, and ordered a half-bowl of punch, because it would naturally take me some time to drink it. The waiter made me repeat my order; no doubt he took me for an Englishman or a Fleming; but I cared little. I took up a newspaper to keep myself in countenance, and kept my eyes fixed on the flower shop.

The time seems very long when one anticipates a pleasure, and still longer when one is suffering and in dread. Would the darkness never come! It was October, and should have been dark at six o'clock. Could it be that it was not yet six? I looked at the clock; it marked only half-past five; it was probably slow. I looked at my watch; twenty-five minutes past five! It was cruel! I tried to drink the punch that was before me, but it was impossible for me to swallow; I had not dined, but I had been suffocating since the morning.

At last the daylight faded. How was I to see what happened inside the shop? how was I to distinguish that man's features? I hoped that she would have a light. Sure enough, she came out with a light and began to carry in her flowers. What sadness, what depression in her whole aspect! She seated herself in the shop, beside the table, but she did not write! She sighed and glanced often into the street. She was expecting someone--and it was not I!

It was almost seven o'clock, and no one had appeared. Suppose he should not come? Should I be any happier then? Had she not agreed that morning that I knew the truth? And had her blush, her embarrassment, told me nothing?

A man appeared and entered the shop; he sat down beside her. Great God! did not my eyes deceive me? It was Raymond! Raymond with Nicette! Raymond her lover! No, no; that was impossible!

I rushed out of the café to make sure of the truth. Someone ran after me and stopped me. It was the waiter; I had forgotten to pay. I did not understand very well what he said, but I put three francs in his hand and he left me. The darkness allowed me to remain in the street unseen by Nicette, while I could see her plainly. It was in very truth Raymond whom I had seen, whom I saw. He was talking to her very earnestly, and she listened with attention. I read in her eyes the interest she took in what he was saying; she seemed more distressed than ever, she wept. He took her hand and squeezed it tenderly! She did not withdraw it! That lovely hand abandoned to Raymond! Ah! it was all over, I could no longer doubt my misfortune. I felt that I must fly while I still had strength to do so, and must never see her again! If only I could at the same time banish her image from my thoughts! But the idea that she loved Raymond crushed me, haunted me incessantly! So it was for Raymond's benefit that I had preserved intact that flower which it would have been so sweet to me to pluck! I respected her innocence, and this was my reward!

If some respectable young man, of obscure station like herself, had won her heart while seeking her hand, I might perhaps have consoled myself; at all events, I should have been proud of having kept her pure and worthy of his vows. But that such a fellow as Raymond should triumph over Nicette! By what spell could he have fascinated her? He was neither young nor handsome; he was a stupid, vain, chattering bore! If there was anything lovable about him, I had never discovered it! And that was the man she preferred to me! Oh! these women!

I was no longer surprised at the embarrassment I had observed in Raymond's manner when we last met. The traitor! so that was why he avoided me. The fellow was my evil genius, in very truth! He knew that I knew Nicette; he knew, perhaps, that I loved her. If I had listened to nothing but my rage, I should have gone to him and insulted him. But how can one obtain satisfaction from a dastard? and would his death make Nicette what I formerly believed her to be? I would despise one and forget the other; that was the only course for me to pursue.

Once more I sought in repose oblivion of my suffering. What a different night from the last! Last night, forming delightful plans based upon love and constancy; to-night, cursing that sentiment and the woman who had inspired it! If the weariness caused by such tempests of emotion made me doze for a moment, my first thought, on reopening my eyes, was of all my blasted hopes.

When I was dressed, I could not resist the longing to talk with Raymond. I promised myself to retain my self-control, to hold myself in check, and to conceal the state of my heart. I hastened across the landing and knocked and rang at his door. The concierge knew that he was at home; he was not in the habit of rising early; still he did not open the door. I rang again, and that time the bellrope remained in my hand. I heard sounds at last; I recognized his heavy tread, and soon his nasal tones greeted my ears.

"Who is it making such a row at my door before seven o'clock? It's outrageous to wake a man up like this!"

"It's I, neighbor; it's I, Dorsan; I want to talk with you."

For some seconds he did not reply, and when he did I knew by his voice that he was not gratified by my call.

"What! is it you, my dear neighbor?"

"Yes, it's I."

"What brings you here so early?"

"You shall learn; but first let me in; I don't like to talk through a door."

"I beg your pardon--you see, I'm in my nightshirt."

"Bah! what difference does it make to me, whether you're in your nightshirt, or naked, or fully dressed? I have no desire to examine your person. Open the door! then you can go back to bed; that won't interfere with my talking to you."

"You see, I passed most of the night writing birthday rhymes; and I am still sleepy."

"Oh! morbleu! Monsieur Raymond, open the door, or I'll break it down!"

The tone in which I uttered the last words indicated a purpose to carry out my threat. He did not wait for me to repeat it, but opened the door, and, running back through his little reception room, jumped into bed, where he wrapped himself up in the bedclothes, leaving nothing exposed but his nose and his great eyes, which he turned from side to side with an air of uneasiness, not venturing to look at me. I followed; the first thing I saw on entering his bedroom was a dozen or more bunches of orange blossoms, like those Nicette used to leave at my door; they were symmetrically arranged on my neighbor's dressing table. That sight tore my heart, but I had promised myself to be philosophical, so I sat down beside Raymond's bed and tried to speak very calmly.

"How are you this morning, Monsieur Raymond?"

He gazed at me in amazement.

"Was it to inquire about my health that you broke my bellrope and threatened to break down my door?"

"Oh! you must know that that was a joke! I had a question I wanted to ask you.--You have some very pretty bouquets there; it seems that you too are fond of orange blossoms?"

"Yes, yes; I like their odor very much; it's good for the nerves, and I am very nervous, you know."

"There's a bond of sympathy between us, for these bouquets bear a surprising resemblance to those that adorn my bedroom--and for which you once expressed your admiration."

"Yes, that's true; indeed, I remember now that that was what gave me the idea of having some myself."

"And are your flower dealer and mine the same?"

He did not know what to say, and his head disappeared for a moment under the bedclothes.

"Well, neighbor?"

"Oh! I haven't any regular flower dealer; I go sometimes to one, sometimes to another."

"Come, come, Monsieur Raymond, why fence with me; is this the confidence of which you claim to set me an example? Are you afraid of making me angry? Don't be afraid; I ceased to think about little Nicette a long while ago."

At that, he took his whole head out from beneath the bedclothes, and looked at me with a surprised and pleased expression.

"What! do you mean it? you have ceased to think about the little flower girl?"

"I never thought about her!"