Part 26

Déneterre had been away twelve days, and still he did not return. Madame de Pontchartrain, who knew that I proposed to take my wife to Paris, was more savage than ever; she tried every day to play some fresh trick on me; she watched for her niece as the cat watches for the mouse; and whenever she saw her, she inflamed her against me. All my time was occupied in defeating her little plots; we played _Guerre ouverte_ in the house, and that afforded me a little distraction.

By dint of slandering me, the old lady had come to believe a portion of her slanders; and if by chance I went to some reception, which very rarely happened, I was conscious that a confused, incessant muttering and whispering began as soon as I appeared. Some looked at me, others turned their heads away; the old dowagers and the mothers, who were hot partisans of Madame de Pontchartrain, lost no time in moving away from me; there were some who even made a gesture of alarm at my approach, as if I were plague-stricken.

I laughed at all this with the sensible, reasonable people; but they were not in the majority; besides, it is much easier to speak unkindly than kindly of a person; it would seem that faults are apparent to every eye, and that good qualities keep out of sight.

At last Déneterre returned. My apartment was waiting for me on Boulevard Montmartre; I could occupy it at once; everything was ready for my wife and myself, and our servants were engaged.

I did not propose to delay. I urged Pélagie to hurry with her trunks and boxes and bundles. She seconded me warmly enough; I believe that at heart she was not sorry to escape from her aunt's authority, and to see new places. And such places! Paris! the paradise of womankind! and the hell of---- Great heaven! I forgot that I was one myself!

It was all over; I had bid my sister, her husband, and my nephews adieu. Pélagie went to take leave of her aunt, for I would not have her fail in courtesy toward her. Madame de Pontchartrain refused to allow her niece to go; I was obliged to go after her. She declared that I had no right to take her away, and tried to detain her by force. I was compelled to abduct my wife; the old aunt pursued us to the front door and threatened to come to Paris after us. But I knew that she would not; people do not play boston in the morning there.

We started; and in my delight I kissed my wife! It was just six weeks since my wedding, and five months since I had left Paris.

At last I saw it again, that splendid city, and I exclaimed:

"Hail! city of uproar, and of mud and smoke!"

I prefer thy uproar to the gossip and scandal and petty malignity of the provinces; thy mud to the grass that grows in the untrodden streets of a small provincial town; and thy smoke to those solid pleasures--which I have failed to find elsewhere.

XXXIII

RAYMOND REAPPEARS

The new apartment, in which we installed ourselves at once, was large, convenient, and well arranged. I noticed that there was a room adjoining my study, where I could easily have a bed placed in case my wife should be indisposed and should prefer to sleep alone; for it is well to anticipate everything.

We had two servants, a maid and a cook; those were all that we needed. I had neither horses nor intrigues, consequently I had no occasion for the services of a Frontin or a Lafleur, who, having nothing to do, would be driven to emptying my wine cellar, seducing my maid-servants, and robbing me, to pass the time away.

During the first fortnight after our arrival in Paris, my wife did not give me a moment's rest; I had to take her everywhere: to drive, to the theatre, to concerts, to the monuments and curiosities of every sort. She compelled me to go all over the city with her in the mornings, being determined to become acquainted with every quarter. She was never weary of gazing in admiration at the Palais-Royal, and she would stand by the half-hour in front of milliners' and dry goods shops; she was in ecstasies, in the seventh heaven!--All the people, the noise, the vehicles, the beautiful dresses, the young men who, on the fashionable promenades and at the theatres, ogle women so respectfully and make such pretty grimaces to those who meet their approval--all these fascinated Madame Dorsan, who began to lift her eyes and even to flash some very innocent little glances therefrom. Oh! as for that, I was sure it would come.

I knew Paris by heart; I got a little tired of parading through the streets every day; still, a husband should be obliging. Thank heaven! the time came when there was nothing more to see unless we began over again; which my wife would not have been sorry to do; but I needed rest. Moreover, she discovered that a young wife could without impropriety go out alone in the morning; she knew our quarter very well, and I saw that she would make the most of the liberty I gave her.

At last I could breathe freely. I was tired to death of plays, driving, and questions; I was delighted to be alone. I had as yet had no time to visit my little apartment on Rue Saint-Florentin. If my wife had known that I had a bachelor apartment, if her aunt had learned of it, I should have been adjudged guilty of carrying on secret intrigues. But I had no desire for anything of the sort; never again would I take any woman to my former lodgings. I wished that I had never taken one there.

There was one spot which I longed yet dreaded to pass. While escorting my wife about Paris, I had always managed to avoid taking her there. Why? I had no very clear idea; but I wanted to go there first alone; I should be more at liberty to stop; I should find my friend the messenger there, and perhaps I might---- But, no; I would not question him; what need had I to do it now?

My wife was asleep; it was only eight o'clock, and we did not breakfast until ten; I had time to go out for a moment. I proposed to visit my former lodgings; I walked in that direction, but it was also the direction in which Nicette lived. Passing through Rue Saint-Honoré, I had not the strength to resist the secret longing that impelled me toward the flower shop. I walked very fast at first, but the nearer I approached it, the more I slackened my pace. I did not intend to go in, nor did I intend to speak to her; but I felt that I would like to see her.

I saw the shrubs standing in front of the shop; I crossed the street in order not to be on the same side. If I should pass close to her, she might speak to me, and I knew that at the sound of her voice I should stop in spite of myself.

I made up my mind at last to pass, and I walked very quickly, just glancing across. But I did not see her; I saw a woman with an ordinary face--oh! not in the least like Nicette. Thereupon I crossed over and walked by the shop; she was not there. I turned, walked back, and stopped, pretending to examine the flowers. The woman came to me and asked:

"Does monsieur wish to buy something?"

"No, no!" I said, and walked away toward my messenger's stand; I was impatient to question him. But he was not there; I waited nearly an hour, and at last he came; he recognized me at once.

"Your servant, monsieur; if I'd known you was here---- It's a long time since I saw you, monsieur."

"That is true; and during that time?"

"Bless me! there's been lots of changes; the pretty flower girl ain't there any more."

"She isn't?"

"No, monsieur; she sold her stock to Mère Thomas, who you see yonder in her place."

"She sold her stock?"

"Yes, monsieur, and sold it well, too; for it's a good shop. But they say Mamzelle Nicette didn't need it, because she'd made her fortune--come into money."

"And where is she now?"

"Bless my soul! monsieur, I don't know; she didn't say where she was going, and we don't never see her now."

"And that man who used to come to see her every day?"

"Why! he kep' on coming, but not so often toward the end."

"Did he take her away?"

"I don't know nothing about it, monsieur; but I'm inclined to think she sold her stock of her own accord."

"When was that?"

"Why, near six weeks ago."

"And you don't know where she's gone?"

"No, monsieur."

I paid the messenger and walked away; it was useless to question him any further. Nicette had left her shop; what had become of her? what was she doing? was she living with Raymond? That seemed impossible. Could he have hired an apartment for her? I did not know what to think, but I hastened to Rue Saint-Florentin.

My concierge uttered a cry of surprise when she saw me.

"Ah! there you are, monsieur! We really thought you must be dead! Do you know you've been away almost six months?"

"I know it, Madame Dupont. Give me my keys, please."

"In a minute, monsieur, in a minute. I've taken good care of your rooms, I've had your furniture beaten every month, and I've scrubbed and----"

"Oh! I'm not at all disturbed. By the way, does Monsieur Raymond still live on my landing?"

"No, monsieur, no; he's left, and in his place----"

"Do you know his address?"

"Yes, monsieur; he left it here; he lives now on Rue Pinon, near the Opéra, No.---- Oh, dear! I've forgotten, but it will come to me. Here's your keys, monsieur."

"And that number, Madame Dupont?"

"It's surprising; I knew it just the other day. But it ain't a long street."

"That's very lucky."

"Oh! wait a minute! I forgot, it was so long ago! I've got a letter for you; it's been here six weeks."

"A letter!"

"Yes. A young woman brought it."

"A woman! give it to me, pray."

"Here it is, monsieur."

I took the letter and hastened upstairs to my room, to escape the concierge's chatter. Once more I was in that dear apartment! how glad I was to be there! But the letter! It seemed to me that the writing--ah! I dared not hope--I broke the seal; it was she--Nicette--who had written to me!

"MONSIEUR:

"It's a long time since you came to see me, and I didn't know why you had abandoned me; you seemed to be angry the last time you spoke to me, and I thought you were angry with me, but I couldn't guess why. To-day I have heard that you are married; I know that you can't think of me any more, or speak to a flower girl. I take the liberty of writing to you only to say good-bye. I am going to sell my shop and go away to some place where I can be alone, not see anybody, and cry all I want to; for I am very unhappy, and I can't get over it; it isn't my fault. I have inherited a lot of money from my mother and an aunt who's left me all she had, and I have more than enough to live on. But I don't forget that I owe you everything, that you took pity on me when everybody else abandoned me, and saved me from want. I shall never forget it! Adieu, monsieur! I wish you every happiness in your home; may your wife make you happy! she must love you dearly! Adieu, my dear benefactor!

"NICETTE."

I read the letter several times. I could not help putting my lips to the characters she had traced. Was that the language of a deceitful woman? And yet I saw--saw with my own eyes Raymond sitting beside her, holding her hands. I knew that he saw her every day; he himself told me so; but could I place any faith in what Raymond said? Ah! if I had not seen him with her!

But why torment myself so? Was she not lost to me forever? was I not married? It did not occur to me to be false to my wife, but I longed to know whether Nicette loved me! I resolved to find Raymond and to try to make him talk; that was not difficult, but to make him tell the truth was no easy task.

It was late, and as my wife might be disturbed by my absence I returned to her, but with the firm intention to visit my old lodgings again, and often.

I carefully folded Nicette's letter and took it away with me when I left my bachelor apartment for my home.

Who could have told Nicette that I was married? My concierge did not know it; if she had, she would surely have mentioned it to me. It must have been Raymond. But how did he know? I was considering this question as I approached my house, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned and saw Raymond! Never, I must confess, had the sight of him afforded me so much pleasure.

"Well! here you are, my dear fellow!"

"Good-morning, Monsieur Raymond!"

"So you're in Paris now, eh?"

"As you see."

"Dear Dorsan! it seems a century since I saw you!"

"I assure you that I too am very glad to see you."

"Really? such an excellent friend! By the way, accept my congratulations; I understand that you have made a magnificent marriage, that you have a divine wife!"

"Oho! you know that, do you?"

"Yes; one of my friends, who happened to be at Melun, told me; you must have met him in society--Monsieur Regnier?"

"Yes, I believe I do remember him."

"Well! it was he who told me the whole story. Ah! I was almost angry with you.--'What!' I said to myself; 'my dear Dorsan, my friend, is married, and doesn't let me know! me, who am so interested in his welfare!' Oh! it was very ill done of you!"

"You are too kind, really; but my wife is expecting me, and I cannot stay any longer. And yet, I should be glad to talk with you. Won't you breakfast with me?"

"Won't I!"

"I will introduce you to my wife."

"I shall be enchanted to make her acquaintance."

Raymond accompanied me home; he seemed delighted by the cordiality of my greeting, especially as it was so unusual. He did not suspect that my eager desire to talk with him was due to the fact that he alone could tell me about Nicette, where she was and what she was doing. But I felt that I must be prudent and not question him too abruptly; otherwise, he would divine my sentiments, and it was more necessary than ever that I should force them back into the depths of my heart.

When we reached the house, I found that my wife was not anxious about me, for she was breakfasting without me. I presented Raymond, who confounded himself in compliments and high-flown praise which must have bored Pélagie; but women of little intellect often attach the greatest value to compliments; with such women one can make one's self most agreeable with commonplace remarks, and in that respect Raymond was well endowed.

The conversation, therefore, was confined to the pleasures of Paris, and the sensation that such a woman as my wife must cause in society; for Raymond always came back to that; he could not understand how a woman who had always lived in the provinces could be so pretty and have such distinguished manners; he was inexhaustible, but I breakfasted without listening to him. As for Pélagie, having learned that she might smile at another man than her husband, she smiled at each of Raymond's compliments, which gave her a chance to show her teeth.

I saw that I could not mention Nicette that morning; my wife did not leave the room; so I must needs be patient.

"Where do you live?" I asked Raymond.

"Rue Pinon, No. 2. I have left my old lodgings; you had ceased to be my neighbor, and they had lost all their charm."

"I mean to come to see you."

"Oh! don't put yourself to that trouble; a bachelor is seldom at home; I will come to see you, with your permission, and pay my respects to madame now and then."

"You will gratify us."

"But I must leave you now; I have three appointments for this morning. I have so many acquaintances! and not a moment to myself! Adieu, my dear friend!--Madame, I lay at your feet the homage that your charms deserve."

And Raymond took his leave, well pleased with his last compliment. He was the same as ever.

"That gentleman is very pleasant," said Pélagie, when he had gone.

She thought him charming; I was sure that she would. That my wife should like Raymond did not surprise me; but Nicette!

I dared not call on Raymond the same day; but the next day I could wait no longer, and I went to see him. He was not in; he had already gone out.

"Does he live alone?" I asked the concierge.

"Yes, monsieur; all alone."

I went away; I would have liked to know more, but I was almost sure that Nicette did not live with him. I left my name with the concierge, so that Raymond might know that I had been to see him; that would bring him to my house, and perhaps I might be able to speak with him alone.

He did not fail to come the next day. He was extraordinarily touched by my kindness in calling on him. He promised to show his attachment for me by coming often to see me.

I paid little heed to all the pretty things he said to me; I was vexed because my wife did not leave us. How could I find an opportunity to talk of Nicette? Parbleu! I would ask Raymond to dine; then I would suggest that we go to the theatre in the evening; after dinner my wife would go to dress, and she always spent at least three-quarters of an hour at her toilet; during that time---- Yes, that would do.

I invited Raymond to dine with us informally; he grasped my hand and squeezed it till he made me wince, so pleased was he with my kindness; I read in his eyes that he could not understand it. Certainly he must have found me considerably changed. Doubtless he concluded that it was the effect of marriage.

The dinner was fairly cheerful; Raymond's conversation never flagged. Formerly, I was bored to death by his chatter, but it was a distraction now; for I was not accustomed to hearing conversation, and I began to experience satisfaction when anyone relieved me from a tête-à-tête with my wife.

Everything happened as I had foreseen. I proposed the theatre; my proposition was accepted, my wife went off to dress, and I was alone with Raymond at last.

I led the conversation imperceptibly to his conquests.

"By the way," said I, "what did you do with the little flower girl?"

"Whom do you mean? little Nicette?"

"Yes, little Nicette, whom you used to go to make love to every evening."

"Oh! it's a long while since that was all over, and I have ceased to think of her! I have had so many others since!"

"She was your mistress, then?"

"Yes, for three or four days; and then I dropped her."

"Don't you see her now?"

"Never. I don't even know where she is, for she has left her shop. Oh! somebody keeps her now, I presume. That little creature had the most absurd pretensions! she wanted to play the lady, and that sickened me! When I want a _petite-maîtresse_, I don't apply to a flower girl. Everyone should stay where she belongs.--By the way, speaking of _petites-maîtresses_, let us speak of your wife. She is really beautiful! and so amiable, too! and she fairly sparkles with wit! I saw that at the first glance. Deuce take it! how lucky you are, my dear fellow!"

When he began to talk about my wife, I ceased to listen to him. I thought of what he had told me of Nicette; he declared that she had been his mistress! could it be true? Ah! if I had not seen him in her shop, I would have spurned the idea as a ghastly lie. So it was impossible to find out what had become of her! Perhaps I should never see her again!

That thought saddened me, and I could not banish it from my mind. My wife returned, having completed her toilet. Raymond offered her his arm; I motioned to Pélagie to accept it, as it was not customary for a wife to take her husband's arm when another gentleman offered his. If I had been in love with my wife, I would have snapped my fingers at such a custom; but, on the contrary, I was delighted to be able to go by myself and dream undisturbed.

Raymond was enchanted to have on his arm a pretty woman who thought that everything that he said was charming. He went to the play with us, and carried the whole burden of the conversation. I did what I could to take part in it and to divert my thoughts; but, in spite of myself, I kept falling back upon my memories. Luckily, neither of them perceived it: my wife enjoyed the play and Raymond, and he was in ecstasies over what he said and what Pélagie replied.

When the play was over, we all went home. Ah! how I longed then for a separate room! but I dared not suggest it.

That day gave birth to a depression which I could not overcome. My wife said nothing, but I was very sure that she found Raymond much more attractive than me. What idiocy to bind one's self to a person whose sentiments have nothing in common with one's own! I said that to myself every day, and every day I spent a little less time with my wife. I left her to be amused by Raymond's conversation; and I went off to my little bachelor apartment, to think; often I wrote there, and read, and worked; I was so comfortable there! I let my thoughts stray back to happier days; to the days when I used to find bunches of orange blossoms hung at my door. Ah! how happy I might have been then! but I did not know enough to appreciate my good fortune. Not until those moments were past and gone forever did I realize all their worth! and when I left my little apartment to go back to the other, I regretted them more keenly than ever.

XXXIV

I SHOULD HAVE FORESEEN IT

Whether we are sad or merry, happy or wretched, rich or poor, the Fates spin the web of our days none the less. Mine was no longer of silk and gold; but still the days passed; they seemed longer to me than if I had been happy; that was all the difference, and therein people who are fond of life should find some compensation; for years of sorrow count double.

I had been married only a year, and I had already acquired all the ways of an old married man. I did not go out with my wife in the morning; she knew Paris as well as I did, and no longer needed my company; she went out to pay visits, to make purchases, or to walk; I either worked at home or went my own way. We almost always had someone to dinner, very frequently Raymond, who had become the friend of the family. It was not that I liked him any better than formerly; no, I did not look upon him as a friend in the least degree; but he had become necessary to me, he diverted my thoughts, he went about with my wife; he was always at our service if we needed him to take part in a game or to do an errand; he was really extremely obliging. Lastly, he had known Nicette, he was the only person with whom I could talk of her now and then; that reason alone was sufficient to lead me to seek his society. And yet, it was to him that I owed a part of my sorrow; but he had rendered me a service by showing Nicette to me as she really was. If she had listened to him, she must have listened to many others! In a word, his presence was often painful to me, and yet I constantly sought it--I always hoped that he would contradict what he had told me about her.

As for my wife, she could not do without Raymond; he was with her almost every evening, while I went to my little bachelor apartment. They played together; Raymond played the flute a little, and my wife the piano; they both sang also. Raymond was an inferior musician, and my wife was never in time; together, they considered themselves very fine. And then, Raymond had a supply of compliments and gallant phrases which delighted my wife, who had plenty of self-esteem and coquetry, and loved to be told that she turned all the men's heads and that she was as witty as a demon.

I confess that I had never been able to tell my wife that she had overmuch wit. Indeed, I had long since ceased to tell her that she was pretty; it seemed superfluous to me; I had told her so when I was courting her, and I could not keep saying the same thing forever. Such talk seems to me most futile; a husband and wife ought to prove their love to each other without having to pay each other compliments. But Pélagie, who did not know what to reply when you talked to her on a subject of real interest, knew enough to smile at flattery; and Raymond declared that her smile said many things. If I attempted to talk sensibly with her, she yawned; thereupon I left her, only too glad when Raymond was there to take my place.