Chapter 9

"Yes, all; that her daughter is papa's Number Three, and that I didn't want Number One or Two, but that I should like Number Three. Ah, dear boy, how pretty she is--especially her nose, so charmingly turned up. She has just looked at me, and in a certain way; I am sure I don't displease her. Did you mention me, did you tell my name?"

"No."

"You were wrong. At any rate, right after lunch--Do you know what I think? That this affair will go through on wheels. I shall first telegraph papa, and then to-morrow--Oh, heavens! I hope there's a telephone between Paris and Marseilles--"

He interrupted himself and called:

"Porter! Porter!"

"Sir."

"Is there a telephone between Paris and Marseilles?"

"Yes, sir."

"Ah! That's all Thanks. The telephone, Maurice, there's the telephone! Papa can speak for me to-morrow by telephone. It will be charming! Marriage by express. Express, electric, telephonic, and romantic marriage, all at the same time. You understand that between a little phiz like that and a voyage around the world I don't hesitate. But why haven't you thought of marrying her?"

"Oh, too wealthy--too wealthy a match for me; and then she is not the kind of little person to go and bury in a garrison town in Algeria. She is a Parisian, a true Parisian, who wants to amuse herself, and who will amuse herself."

"Just what I want, absolutely just what I want. I too wish to amuse myself. She will amuse herself, I shall amuse myself, we will amuse ourselves."

Young Raoul was in a frenzy, and as soon as he had finished his luncheon he scrawled a new despatch on the restaurant table to his father, and, while writing, talked very excitedly.

"I'll send my despatch from Dijon, and I'll address it to the club; papa will be there about five o'clock, and also the father of this little marvel. They can immediately discuss the affair. Shall I ask for an answer at Lyons? The time-table, pass me the time-table. Lyons, 5.25. No, that would be too short. Answer at Marseilles. They stop at Marseilles? Yes? For twenty-four hours? All right, so do I. At what hotel? Hôtel de Noailles? All right, so do I. So answer Hôtel de Noailles. My despatch is very good. You will see. As good as the other--better, even. I've the knack of telegrams to-day. Yes, it's very good."

He wrote and wrote; he was inspired, he was animated; he made a few more mistakes than usual in spelling, that was all--it was emotion. He reread his despatch with complaisance, he made Maurice read it, who could not help thinking the incident funny. Raoul counted the words of his despatch--there were about a hundred and fifty--and calling the waiter of the dining-car, he said, "Send this telegram off for me at Dijon. Here are ten francs; there will be two or three over for you."

Then turning at once to Maurice he asked, "Is that enough?"

"Why certainly."

"Well, for such a marriage--ah, my dear fellow, you sail to-morrow at what time?"

"At two o'clock."

"Oh, we have plenty of time, then; all will be settled by two o'clock."

"Oh, settled; you're crazy!"

"Not at all; it's already very far advanced, since it's papa's Number Three. I only ask one thing of you: present me to the mother shortly. After that let me alone. I'll manage everything; only, at any cost, we must leave our car and find two arm-chairs in the same car, and near my mother-in-law."

"Your mother-in-law!"

"That's what I said; my mother-in-law. Once the two arm-chairs are procured, I am master of the situation. You don't know me. I already know what I shall say to the mother, what I shall say to my young brother-in-law (he is very nice), and what I shall say to my future bride. I shall have made a conquest of all of them before we reach Lyons. Lyons? No; that's going a little fast--say Valence or Montélimar. Pass me the time-table again. Let us settle everything, and leave nothing to chance. Oh, look at her! She has nibbled nuts for the last fifteen minutes, and how she cracks them--crack! one little bite--and what pretty little teeth! She is very pretty even while eating--an important thing. It's very rare to find women who remain pretty while eating and sleeping, very rare. Little Adelaide, the red-headed one, you remember, ate stupidly. And this one over there eats brightly; she eats--crack! another nut--and she looks at me on the sly. I can see that she looks at me. All goes well, all goes well!"

In truth, all did go well. At Montbard, 12.32, Raoul was presented to Mme. Derame, who, on hearing the name of Chamblard, had a little shiver--the shiver of a mother who has a young daughter to marry, and who says to herself, "Oh, what a splendid match!" Her husband had often spoken to her of young Chamblard.

"Ah," he used to say to her, "what a marriage for Martha! We speak of it sometimes before and after our piquet, Chamblard and I; but the young man is restive--doesn't yet wish to settle down. It would be such a good thing--he is richer than we. Chamblard is once, twice, three times richer! And Martha isn't easy to marry; she has already refused five or six desirable matches on all sorts of pretexts. They didn't please her: they were too old, they had no style, they didn't live in fashionable neighborhoods, she didn't wish to go into sugar, or cotton, or wine--or anything, in short. She would accept none other than a young husband, and not too serious. She must have a very rich man who did nothing and loved pleasure."

How well young Chamblard answered to that description! When there was question of doing nothing, Raoul showed real talent. As soon as one talked horses, dogs, carriages, hats, dresses, jewelry, races, fencing, skating, cooking, etc., he showed signs of the rarest and highest competence.

So, as there was general conversation, Raoul was very brilliant. In the neighborhood of Châlons-sur-Saône (3.10), while relating how he, Chamblard, had invented a marvellous little coupé, he did not say that: that coupé had been offered by him to Mlle. Juliette Lorphelin, of the ballet corps at the Folies-Bergère. This coupé was a marvel; besides, it was very well known; it was called the Chamblard coupé.

"Small," he said, "very small. A coupé ought always to be small." But what a lot of things in such a small space: a drawer for toilet necessaries, a secret box for money and jewelry, a clock, a thermometer, a barometer, a writing-shelf--and that was not all!

He became animated, and grew excited in speaking of his invention. Martha listened to him eagerly.

"When you pull up the four wooden shutters you naturally find yourself in the dark; but the four shutters are mirrors, and as soon as one has placed a finger on a little button hidden under the right-hand cushion, six little crystal balls, ingeniously scattered in the tufting of the blue satin of the coupé, become electric lights. The coupé is turned into a little lighted boudoir; and not only for five minutes--no, but for an hour, two hours, if one wishes it; there is a storage-battery under the seat. When I submitted this idea to my carriage-maker he was smitten with envy and admiration."

Martha, too, was smitten.

"What a charming man!" she said to herself. "Oh, to have such a coupé! But pearl-gray--I should want it pearl-gray."

Then they discussed jewelry, dresses, hats, stuffs. And Raoul proved on all those questions, if possible, more remarkable than ever. He had paid so many bills to great dress-makers, great milliners, and great jewellers! He had been present at so many conferences on the cut of such a dress or the arrangement of such a costume, at so many scenes of trying on and draping! And as he drew easily, he willingly threw his ideas on paper, as he said, neatly. He had even designed the costumes of a little piece--played in I do not know what little theatre--which was revolutionary, anarchistic, symbolistic, decadent, end of the century, end of the world.

He took his little note-book and began to outline with a light hand, in spite of the movement of the train, several of his creations. He had tact, and thought of everything. "It was," he said, "for charades played in society at my friend's, the baron so and so." He invented the baron, and gave him a resonant name.

Martha was delighted. Never had a man, since she had been allowed to chat a little with young men, seemed to her to have such an original and interesting conversation.

"Lately," said Raoul, "one of my cousins--she often applies to me--consulted me about a dress for a ball at Nice, during the carnival. This is what I advised her. See, I draw at the same time--look."

Oh, how she did look!

"I am going to try to make myself well understood. A foundation of smooth white satin, clinging, very clinging--blue, I adore blue."

That pained her; she disliked blue.

"Yes, very clinging; my cousin has a delightful figure, and can stand it."

He took Martha's figure in with a hasty glance, and the glance seemed to say, "You could, too." She understood and blushed, charmed with that delicate flattery. Raoul continued:

"Pale, very pale blue satin. Then on my foundation I threw an over-dress of pompadour lace of very soft tones: greens, pinks, mauves, cream, and azure. Very large sleeves with a double puff of blue velvet, wristlets of Venetian point. Am I clear?"

"Oh, very clear, very clear."

And in an excited voice she repeated:

"A double puff of blue velvet, with wristlets of Venetian point."

All of a sudden the brakes scraped, and the train came sharply to a stop. One heard the cry of "Mâcon! Mâcon!"

"Mâcon already!" said Martha.

That "_already_" rang delightfully in Raoul's ears. There was much in that _already_. Raoul profited by the five minutes' stop to complete and fix his little sketch, which was slightly jolted; and he did not notice that his young brother-in-law had been sent out with a despatch to the telegraph-office. The despatch had been secretly written by Mme. Derame, and had, too, been directed to the Old Club.

The train started--4.11. Raoul had not thought to get down to see if under the railing there was not a despatch addressed to him. There was one, which was to remain eternally at Mâcon. The telegram contained these words: "Return; no longer question of Antwerp marriage."

The train ran on and on, and now there was question of another dress--a silk dress, light pink, with a large jabot of lace down the front. Raoul literally dazzled Martha by his inexhaustible fertility of wise expressions and technical terms.

* * * * *

While the express passed the Romanèche station (4.32) father Chamblard came into the Old Club, went into the card-room, and met father Derame. Piquet? With pleasure. So there they sat, face to face. There were there eight or ten card-tables--piquet, bezique, whist, etc. The works were in full blast. First game, and papa Derame is rubiconed; the second game was going to begin when a footman arrives with a despatch for M. Chamblard.

"Will you excuse me?"

"Certainly."

He reads, he becomes red; he rereads, and he gets scarlet.

It was Raoul's brilliant telegram from Dijon:

"Dear father, I shall not go. Most extraordinary meeting. Your Number Three--yes, your Number Three--in the train with her mother, and I wouldn't see her. Ah! if I had known. Strike while the iron's hot; I'm striking it, strike it too. M. D. must be at the club, speak to him at once; tell him that I left to avoid marrying an ugly woman; that I only wish to make a love-match; that I am head-over-heels in love with his daughter. We shall all be to-night at Marseilles, Hôtel de Noailles. Get M. D. to back me up by telegraph to Mme. D. I will talk with you to-morrow over the telephone. I am writing my telegram in the dining-car. At this moment she is nibbling nuts--charming, she is charming! She fell into my arms on the platform. Till to-morrow at the telephone, nine o'clock."

M. Chamblard's agitation did not escape M. Derame.

"Is it a serious matter?" he asked.

"Yes."

"We can stop if you wish."

"Yes; but first of all, did Mme. and Mlle. Derame leave here this morning on the express for Marseilles?"

"Yes, at 9.55. Why do you ask that? Has there been any accident?"

"No, no accident; it can't be called that; on the contrary. Come, come into the little parlor."

He told him everything, showed him the despatch, gave him certain necessary explanations about the words, such as Number Three. And there they were, choking, delighted--both the father of the young man and the father of the young girl. What luck, what a providential meeting!

"But you told me that your son didn't wish to marry."

"He didn't wish to, but he has seen your daughter, and now he wishes to. Come, hurry up and send a telegram to Marseilles to Mme. Derame."

"But she will be thunderstruck when I present to her a son-in-law by telegraph."

Return of the footman. It was a despatch for M. Derame. He opens it.

"It's from my wife, from Mâcon, 2.15."

"Good," says M. Chamblard; "all goes well, very well."

"Very disturbed. Met in the train the son of M. C., of Rue Rougemont, your club friend. He was presented by Maurice. You often spoke to me of a possible alliance there. Evidently he thinks her charming. Just at present he is talking to her, and looks at her, looks at her. What shall I do? Shall I put a stop to it or allow it to continue? Large fortune, isn't there?"

M. Derame in his turn showed his despatch to M. Chamblard. They continued to talk, in high good-humor and in excellent accord, and went on with their game of piquet only after having sent the following two telegrams to the Hôtel de Noailles:

First despatch to Mme. Derame: "If it pleases you, if it pleases her, yes. Enormous fortune."

Second despatch to Raoul: "Have spoken to D. He is telegraphing to Mme. D. He approves, so do I."

A footman carried the two despatches at the same time to the telegraph-office in the Place de la Bourse, and during the time that, running over the wires along the railroad, they passed the express towards half-past six in the neighborhood of Saint-Rambert, the Derames, Raoul, and Maurice, in the best possible spirits and in most perfect harmony, dined at the same table, and Martha looked at Raoul, and Raoul looked at Martha, and Mme. Derame said to herself: "Martha's falling in love; I know her, she is falling in love. She fell in love just so last year at a ball with a little youth who was very dandified, but without fortune. This time, luckily, yes--Edward told me so--there is plenty of money; so, naturally, if Martha is willing we are."

The train ran on, and on, and on; and Raoul talked, and talked, and talked. He even let slip practical thoughts, raised himself up to general ideas, and developed with force the theory that the first duty of a woman was to be, in all things, refined elegance. He explained, with endless detail, what the life of an absolutely correct fashionable woman was, what it was to be an absolutely fashionable woman. He triumphantly took _his fashionable woman_ from Paris to Trouville, from Trouville to Lake Como, from Lake Como to Monte-Carlo. He drew the trunks of the fashionable woman, marvellous trunks, which were heaped up in the vestibules of first-class hotels. Besides, he had also invented a trunk.

Then, very tactfully, he put Martha through a little examination, which had nothing in common with the examinations of the Sorbonne or the Hôtel de Ville.

"Did she skate?" That's what he wanted to know first! He was himself a very distinguished skater. He needed a sport-loving wife. He had but just pronounced the word skating when suddenly the young brother (how precious little brothers sometimes are) exclaimed: "Ah, it's sister who skates well! She makes figures-of-eight. And who swims well, too--like a fish!"

She skated, she swam, she was sport-loving. Raoul said to the young girl, with deep enthusiasm: "I congratulate you. A woman who can't swim isn't a woman."

And he added, with increasing energy:

"A woman who can't skate isn't a woman."

When he had a strong thought, he willingly used it again in a brief but striking form.

Martha's face beamed with joy. She was really a woman. Never had a sweeter word been said to her.

Night had come; it was necessary, therefore, to tear one's self away from that exquisite conversation, and return to the parlor-car. Young Derame was going to sleep; so they began to prepare for the trip through the train.

Here is the platform, the platform of the morning, the platform of the first meeting. She walks ahead of him, and in a whisper he says to her, "It's here that this morning--"

She turns round, and smiling repeats, "Yes, it's here that this morning--"

Always with that little English accent which never leaves her, even when she is most agitated.

_It is here that this morning_--That was all, and it said all. A delightful evening. No more rain, no more dust. Already there was the soft, balmy air of the South. The moon lit that idyl at full speed. Spring-time everywhere, in the sky and in the hearts.

"She loves me," he said to himself.

"He adores me," she said to herself.

How right they were to give themselves up thus, without a struggle, without resistance, to the inclination which carried them, quite naturally, towards each other. There had been between them, from the first word, so perfect, so complete a community of tastes, ideas, and sentiments. They were so well made, this little puppet and this little doll, to roll off, both together, gloriously in the "Chamblard coupé," so well matched to walk in the world, accomplishing mechanically, automatically, at the right hour, in the prescribed costume, everywhere where it was correct to take pleasure, all the functions of fashionable life, and all the rituals of worldly worship.

They arrive in the parlor-car. The shades are drawn over the lamps; travellers are stiff, drowsy, and asleep in the big red arm-chairs.

"Change places," Raoul whispers to Maurice; "sit beside her. I am going to sit by the mother; I must speak to her."

Maurice lent himself to this manoeuvre with perfect docility, Martha did not understand it. Why did he abandon her? Why was he talking to her mother, and so low, so low that she couldn't hear? What was he saying? What was he saying?

This is what he said between Montélimar, 8.35, and Pierrelatte, 8.55:

"Listen to me, madam, listen to me. I am an honest man; I wish, I ought, to let you know the situation, the entire situation. Let us first settle an important point. My father knows M. Derame."

"Yes, yes, I know."

"Another more important point. Let us mention the essential things first. My father is very rich."

"I know, I know that too."

"Good, then, very good. I continue. I left Paris this morning, and I have here in my pocket a ticket for cabin No. 27 on the _Traonaddy_, which leaves to-morrow at four o'clock from the Bay of Joliette for Suez, Aden, Colombo, and Singapore, and I shall go on board to-morrow at four o'clock if you don't let me hope to become your son-in-law."

"Sir!"

"Don't move, madam, don't move. Mlle. Martha is pretending to sleep, but she isn't sleeping; she is watching us, and I haven't said all yet. I am but just beginning. You are going to answer me--oh, I know it--that you don't know me, that Mlle. Martha doesn't know me. Allow me to tell you that Mlle. Martha and myself know each other better than three-fourths of engaged couples on the day of their marriage. You know how it is usually done. A rapid glance from afar in a theatre--one brings good lorgnettes, one examines. 'How do you like him?' 'Fairly, fairly.' Then, several days later, at a ball, in the midst of the figures of the quadrille, several gasping, breathless phrases are exchanged. Then a meeting in a picture-gallery. There, there is more intimacy, because it takes place in a small room. It happened to me with a young provincial. I had pegged away that morning at the Joanne guide, so as to be able to find something to say about the Raphaels and the Murillos. And at the end of several interviews of that sort it is over, one has made acquaintance, one suits the other, and the marriage is decided. Mlle. Martha and I are already old comrades. In the first place, to begin with, this morning at half-past eleven she fell into my arms."

"My daughter in your arms!"

"Don't jump, madam; Mlle. Martha will see you jump."

Martha had, in fact, closely followed the scene with half-shut eyes, and said to herself, "Good gracious! what is he telling mamma? She is obliged to hold on to the arms of her seat to keep herself from jumping up."

"Yes, madam, in my arms; by the greatest, by the most fortunate of accidents, we stumbled over each other on one of the platforms of the train. And since I have seen her, not in the false light of a theatre or a gallery, but in the full glare of sunlight. I have seen her at lunch, munching nuts with the prettiest teeth there are in the world; I have seen her, just now, in the moonlight; and I know that she skates, and I know that she swims, and I know she would like to have a pearl-gray coupé, and she ought to have it. And now I admire her in the semi-obscurity. Ravishing! isn't she ravishing?"

"Sir, never has a mother found herself--"

"In such a situation? I acknowledge it, madam, and for that very reason you must get out of the situation quickly; it's evident that it can't be prolonged."

"That's true--"

"Here is what I propose to you. You go to the Hôtel de Noailles; I, too, naturally. You have all the morning to-morrow to talk to Mlle. Martha, and the telephone to talk through to M. Derame. You know who I am. You have seen me, too, in the daylight. I have talked--talked a great deal. You could, you and Mlle. Martha, find out what I am, what I think. Well, to-morrow--what time do you expect to breakfast to-morrow?"

"But I don't know. I assure you that I am choking, upset, overcome."

"Let us settle on an hour all the same; eleven o'clock--will you, at eleven?"

"If you wish."

"Well, to-morrow at eleven o'clock I shall be in the dining-room of the hotel. If you say 'Go' I shall go; if you say 'Stay' I shall stay. Don't answer me; take time to reflect; it's worth while. Till to-morrow, madam, till to-morrow at eleven."

* * * * *

In the morning very interesting communications passed between Paris and Marseilles.

When Mme. Derame entered the dining-room of the hotel at eleven o'clock, Raoul went straight to her, and the cavalryman, always adroit in his manoeuvres, had taken possession of Mlle. Martha. A short dialogue ensued between Raoul and Mme. Derame, who was much agitated.

"They tell me there are boats every fortnight between Indo-China and Marseilles--you could put off your departure--merely taking another boat--"

"Ah, thanks, madam, thanks!"

* * * * *

At two o'clock the Derames and young Chamblard accompanied Maurice to the boat for Africa. On the deck of the steamer Raoul said to his friend:

"It's understood that you are to be best man. On arriving, ask your colonel for leave at once. It will take place, I think, in six weeks."

Raoul was mistaken. It was decidedly an express marriage; five weeks were sufficient.

When they were mounting the steps of the Madeleine, Raoul said to Martha:

"Twelve o'clock."

"What are you thinking of?"

"Ah, you too."

"Twelve, the hour of the platform, isn't it?"

"Yes, that's it."

They began to laugh, but quickly became serious, and made an irreproachable entry into church.

They were looked at eagerly, and on all sides the following remarks were exchanged:

"You know it's a love-match." "Yes, it appears it was a meeting on the train." "A lightning-stroke!" "What a charming affair!" "And so rare!" "Oh yes, so rare! A love-match! A true love-match!"

THE END

End of Project Gutenberg's Parisian Points of View, by Ludovic Halévy