Part 10

"What! he's gone to Rouen? that's a good one! But didn't the concierge tell him that I had been there to get my clothes?"

"The concierge didn't think to tell Monsieur Freluchon till just as he came downstairs. But he was in a great hurry then; a lady was waiting for him in his cab and he drove right off. All he said was: 'That's all right! Chamoureau won't need his coat; he's got plenty of others.'"

"On my soul! this is too much! Freluchon is a villain! If I only had him here! Of course I have other clothes, but as one rarely has occasion to wear a frock coat, I have only one; that's quite enough; and now, thanks to Freluchon, I haven't that! I can't go to Rouen to ask him for his key, especially as I shouldn't know where to look for him in Rouen. Didn't he leave his key with the concierge?"

"No, monsieur, he didn't leave anything."

"A tailor will never have time to make me another coat for to-morrow; he might promise it, but he wouldn't give it to me. What am I to do? To call on that lady in a sack coat or an overcoat would be much too unceremonious, especially for a first call! it would give her a very poor opinion of my breeding. Well, there's only one thing for me to do--go to a ready-made clothing house and buy a frock coat there. I trust that I may find one that fits! It's an absolutely unnecessary expense especially as I am still in mourning and shall have to get another black one. Two black frock coats! how stupid! But a glance from my charmer's eyes will recompense me; still, it's an infernally mean trick for Freluchon to play me all the same."

And Chamoureau went out to buy a new coat.

XI

DRAWBACKS OF NEW CLOTHES

In a handsome apartment on Rue de Ponthieu a lady was putting the finishing touches to one of those coquettish morning toilets which are called _négligé_, but which are the object of quite as much art and painstaking as full evening dress. Why should not ladies be as assiduous to please in their own homes as in society? For my part, I believe that that is their aim at all times, even when they expect no visitors; for even then they seek to please themselves by looking into their mirrors.

In their own homes, you will say, they are not subjected to the fire of a hundred glances, they receive only a few privileged friends; but these latter, seeing their hostess at closer quarters, are able to examine her in detail and at their leisure. So I say that much more care, much greater attention to every detail of the toilet is necessary to produce as much effect in the boudoir in the morning, as at a ball or the theatre.

Thélénie, however, for it is the lovely brunette's apartment to which we now introduce the reader, seemed absorbed by thoughts altogether distinct from her toilet; and, after a careless glance at her mirror, she dismissed her maid.

"That is all right, Mélie, I don't need you any more."

"Will not madame put something in her hair--not a single flower?"

"No, it's not necessary; I am well enough as I am, for the person I expect."

"Oh! madame certainly does not need flowers to make her beautiful. When one has such lovely hair as madame's, it is the loveliest of head-dresses; but as madame sometimes wears a pomegranate flower or a poppy----"

"I tell you that I want nothing more; leave me."

The maid left the room, and the fair Thélénie paced the floor a few moments, then paused in front of a mirror, talking to herself all the while.

"It was to please him that I wore a pomegranate flower in my hair; he liked it; he said that the deep color of the flower blended beautifully with my glossy hair. He called me his lovely Andalusian then; and now he no longer loves me. Have I changed? Why, no, no; I am just as I was three months ago, when I captivated him. As if one had changed in three months, when one has not been sick! Oh, no!--But if this goes on, I shall have changed in three months more: anger, jealousy and ennui will have made ravages on my face. I shall have grown old and he will be the cause of it.--False Edmond! Oh! what a fool I am to think of him still! conceited little fop, who never loved me! And I, I who had never before known a deep-rooted sentiment, who laughed in my sleeve at all the men who sighed at my feet--by what fatality did I allow myself to be bewitched by that little fellow?--After all, that love could never have led to anything; on the contrary, it was a disadvantage to me; it kept men away from me who might have made my fortune; and I want to be rich!--I have no desire to imitate those women who, after dazzling Paris by their magnificence and their follies, die at the hospital or become box-openers at a second-class theatre.--I am in a position now to be at ease in my mind concerning the future; I have got together about ten thousand francs a year. That is something, but it isn't enough; I can't have a carriage and a handsome place in the country on ten thousand francs, and I want those things. Edmond isn't rich; he never gave me anything; indeed, I believe it was that that made me love him! Mon Dieu! what a fool I am! Of course I no longer love him, but that is an additional reason for wanting to be revenged on him. He left me first; that is one of those affronts which I never forgive."

The door-bell rang; a moment later the maid appeared.

"A gentleman wishes to see madame."

"Did he give his name?"

"Monsieur Cha--Chamoureau."

"Very well; show him in."

Chamoureau was in full dress; he had bought a new coat and trousers. The coat was much too small in the armholes; the trousers were uncomfortably tight around the waist and had straps under the feet; but our widower was not sorry to have a genteel figure and to conceal a part of his embonpoint. Anyhow, he could find nothing better at the ready-made clothes shop the day before. A snow-white cravat and waistcoat completed the agent's resemblance to a bridegroom; he lacked only the white gloves, which were replaced by a pair of light yellow ones.

In this costume he had driven to Rue de Ponthieu in a cab, for he did not propose that his clothes should be marred by the slightest speck of mud.

"Madame de Sainte-Suzanne?" he said to the concierge with a self-assured air; and as he went up to the second floor by a handsome staircase, he said to himself:

"I must present myself with ease of manner; I must not be timid; women like men with plenty of self-possession. Now, as this lady herself invited me to call on her, it must be that she was pleased with me; consequently, that being so, I can afford to be enterprising; she will certainly forgive me. Damnation! this coat is infernally tight under the arms; the dealer assured me that it would be all right, and it fits me perfectly everywhere else. The waistband of the trousers rather takes my breath away, and when I sit down, they're too tight; but I am much thinner; the straps suit me better; I have almost no stomach at all. How stupid it is to have a stomach at thirty-eight! I shall have to take white mustard seed; they tell me that that makes you thin or fat, just as you choose. Ah! this must be the door! My tie isn't rumpled; good!"

Although he did his utmost to be self-possessed, Chamoureau was intensely agitated when he entered Madame de Sainte-Suzanne's apartment. Seeing an immense room, elegantly furnished, contributed not a little to increase his confusion, and as his feet sank into the soft carpet, he said to himself:

"I made no mistake; she's a great lady--a person of the highest station. The devil! I mustn't be enterprising at the start; this is no grisette; I must proceed in due form."

Thélénie wore a sort of blouse of lilac plush, with a girdle about her shapely waist. With that négligé costume, she wore no hoops, and the soft, yielding fabric of the blouse seemed at times to be glued to her beautiful hips, as if to disclose their perfect symmetry. Thus it was easy to see that nature had favored her in every way, and she was a hundred times more seductive than in one of those gowns which, being worn over extravagantly large skirts, make a woman resemble a balloon. The hoopskirt must surely have been invented by women with bad figures, for those who have shapely forms lose far more than they gain by them.

Chamoureau stood speechless with admiration before Thélénie; she seemed to him even lovelier than at the ball, and in his enthusiasm he bowed so low that he caused his coat to split in the back.

He drew himself up in haste, sorely perturbed by the sound, but afraid to put his hand behind him to ascertain what had happened to his coat. Besides, he was obliged to answer the lady, who said to him:

"You are very good, monsieur, to remember my invitation. I was thinking that you had forgotten it."

"Oh! madame! forget to come to you! to seize an opportunity to see you once more! That would be like forgetting to be happy."

And Chamoureau, well pleased with his reply, ventured to explore the back of his coat with his right hand; but he had to cut short his exploration, for Thélénie seated herself on a couch and motioned to him to sit by her side.

"Won't you sit here, monsieur?"

"With the greatest pleasure, madame, if it will not incommode you."

"But I ask you to."

Chamoureau placed his hat on a table, taking care not to turn his back, so that Thélénie might not see the accident which must, he knew, have happened to the back of his coat. Then he took his seat beside her on the couch, thinking what gallant speech he should make to her. Now, when a man tries to think what he shall say, he usually says nothing. But the beautiful brunette came to the assistance of the visitor who was at such a loss for language.

"Well, monsieur, how did you wind up the night before last? did you stay much longer at the ball?"

"At the Opéra? Oh, no! madame, I didn't stay long; what pleasure could I have had there when I could no longer see you? And as you forbade me to follow you, I didn't follow you, despite my longing to do so; for I did long to, terribly!"

"But you joined your friends, I suppose."

"My friends--yes; first I found Freluchon, who was looking for me; I confess that I was not looking for him; I had no thought for anything but the delightful conversation I had just had with you, and the remembrance of your face."

"Well, you went to supper with those gentlemen. Was there a large party?"

"There were five men--Freluchon, Edmond Didier, and two friends of theirs; but there were only four ladies, for I didn't take one; you had refused to sup with me, and what other woman could have taken your place? There were not two like you at the ball--I would lay my life on it! And when one has had the happiness of seeing you----"

"So each of those gentlemen took his mistress?"

"His mistress, if you choose. As for me, I don't call that a mistress; if I had a mistress, I would devote all my thoughts to her, every moment of leisure that I could spare from my toilet-room--I mean my office; I am so confused, so happy with you, that I cannot think of even the most common words."

"Pull yourself together, monsieur; really, I don't see what there is to confuse you."

"You do not see! Ah! madame, if you would but condescend to read in the depths of my heart you would see there the flame which----"

"But the supper! was it very lively? And that flower-maker, that young Amélia, Monsieur Edmond's inamorata--is she as pretty as the portrait he drew of her?"

Chamoureau began to be conscious that the lovely brunette cut him short whenever he attempted to speak of his love for her. These interruptions annoyed him, and he put his left hand behind his back, saying to himself:

"Where in the devil did that split?"

"Well, monsieur, you don't answer. I asked you if that little Amélia seemed to you as piquant as Monsieur Edmond described her?"

"Little Amélia? who is she, madame?"

"Why, Monsieur Edmond's mistress; you know perfectly well, you told me it yourself at the ball. You are very absent-minded, aren't you, monsieur?"

"Absent-minded!--why, that is natural enough when you talk of any other person than yourself; for I think of you, of you alone."

Thélénie made an impatient gesture and moved to the extreme end of the couch. But Chamoureau interpreted that pantomime as a proof of intense agitation on the part of the lovely brunette, who evidently feared to yield too quickly to the man who attracted her. Thereupon, determined to take advantage of that agitation, our amorous swain threw himself at the lady's feet, crying:

"Ah! madame, I can no longer restrain----"

But a cracking sound infinitely more prolonged than the former one interrupted the declaration which the agent was on the point of making. This time there was no possible doubt as to the locality of the tear; his trousers had followed the example of his coat, and a cool breeze blowing upon a spot ordinarily covered informed him that there was danger in store.

Our widower was stricken with consternation. Thélénie roared with laughter as she looked at him on his knees; and he, fearing that the noise occasioned by the accident might be interpreted in a way even more humiliating to him than the reality, made haste to say:

"My trousers have split, madame, that's all."

"Mon Dieu! I had no doubt of that, monsieur."

"It's the first time I ever wore them; they have straps under the feet, and they're a little tight; that is why, when I stooped--you understand."

"Perfectly, monsieur; pray rise."

"I believe that the same thing has happened to the back of my coat; it's the first time I have worn that, too. It is all Freluchon's fault; he has a black coat and trousers of mine in his room, and he has gone off to Rouen without sending them back to me."

"These are trivial annoyances not worth a thought, monsieur. Rise, I beg; what on earth induced you to throw yourself at my feet like that? Rise, monsieur, I insist."

Chamoureau decided to rise, putting one hand over the place where his trousers had torn. But he was covered with confusion by what had happened, and he did not know how to resume his declaration.

"Well, monsieur," said Thélénie, who could hardly resist the desire to laugh anew at her visitor's embarrassment, "you seem to be unwilling to tell me whether this little Amélia is pretty."

"The girl in a _débardeur's_ costume? she is rather attractive--one of those roguish grisette faces. There are some better-looking ones among young women of her class, but there are many inferior to her."

"Tell me what happened at your supper. Did you laugh much? did you have much sport? Was Monsieur Edmond very devoted to his little flower-maker?"

"The supper, madame; you persist in wanting to talk about the supper--after the ball!"

"Well, yes, monsieur, I do. Sometimes I am very curious; where's the harm?"

"I see none, madame; but I must admit that I am hardly able to satisfy your curiosity."

"Why so, monsieur, as you were with your friends?"

"I was there, madame, it is true, but it was almost as if I were not there. I don't know how it happened, but after the oysters I felt very dizzy; I suppose the wine was not pure! In fact, while my friends were chatting with the ladies, I, who did not take the slightest interest in what they said, as I could think of nothing but you--I fell asleep, yes, sound asleep."

"Indeed! you fell asleep thinking of me; that is very flattering!"

"That proves, _belle dame_, that your image transports me from the earth, that I dream, and----"

"And that you fall asleep. But still, you didn't sleep all the time, of course; and when you woke----?"

"When I woke, they had all gone; which was the more unkind of Freluchon, because he had my clothes at his rooms! You cannot imagine all the annoyance that has caused me--to say nothing of the embarrassing plight in which I find myself at this moment."

For several seconds Thélénie had not been listening to Chamoureau. Her brow had become grave, her features expressed dissatisfaction. She rose and paced the floor, apparently quite oblivious of her guest's presence. For his part, Chamoureau was no better pleased with his tête-à-tête. She seemed unwilling that he should talk to her of love; she questioned him concerning things which did not interest him in the least, and now she left him alone on the couch and strode about the room regardless of him. He said to himself that if he had torn his coat and trousers simply to obtain that result, it was not worth while to go to so much expense. He was strongly tempted to rise in his turn and walk beside his hostess, who seemed to have the fidgets in her legs; but he feared that if he did so he might add to the rents that he had already made in his garments, and that fear cast him into the most painful perplexity.

At last Thélénie seemed suddenly to remember that she was not alone. She halted in front of him, then resumed her seat on the couch, saying:

"Excuse me, monsieur; you must consider me most impolite, but I am sometimes extremely absent-minded; ideas come into my head which absorb me completely. It is a part of my temperament."

"You are forgiven, _belle dame_; indeed, I myself have moments when I am downright stupid! Really, I don't know how to explain it."

"And then I will admit that I am angry with you for falling asleep at that supper after the ball. I had asked you to report to me all that you heard. If that is the way you perform commissions that are entrusted to you----"

"Forgive me, madame; in future I will keep awake, if that will give you pleasure; and it will be all the easier for me, because I feel that you have robbed me of repose forever!"

Thélénie looked at him severely, and said:

"So you absolutely persist in talking to me about love, do you, monsieur?"

"Insist upon it! Why, madame, I came here for no other purpose."

"Ah! that is true frankness! I am going to be as frank with you, monsieur: perhaps you hope to make me your mistress?"

"Oh! madame, I dare not say that I hope it, but I may at least confess that it would be to me the height of felicity! And if the purest love, the most immovable constancy will avail me anything, put me to the test."

"I had an idea that you were in mourning, monsieur. Yes, there is a band on your hat. You are in mourning for your wife, are you not?"

"Yes, madame, for my wife, whom I regret; that is to say, I did regret her profoundly and weep bitterly for her; but it was for the very purpose of putting an end to my grief that I welcomed with joy this new love which has taken possession of my heart, my senses, my----"

"What do you take me for, monsieur?"

Chamoureau was embarrassed; that seemed to him an artful question.

"Why, madame," he stammered, looking down at his trousers, "I take you for a lady of the best society--ex--exceedingly well-bred--er--with much wit--in short--er--created to attract the homage of all mankind."

"You don't say all you think; you met me at the Opéra ball, and you said to yourself: 'A woman who comes to the masquerade is sure to be an easy victim. She began to talk to me, consequently she won't make a long resistance.'"

"Oh! madame, I beg your pardon----"

"Monsieur Chamoureau, it is my duty to inform you that you are entirely mistaken in your conjectures. I will not be your mistress, monsieur. In fact, I do not propose to be anyone's mistress. Oh! I won't pretend that I am of the most rigid virtue. I have had a very stormy youth, I don't deny it; but now I am growing old, I must be prudent----"

"You, growing old, madame! what a mockery!"

"I am past thirty, monsieur; at that age one must think of the future; one must think about obtaining a name, a position in society. Do you understand, monsieur?"

"I think that I understand you, charming creature; but if you will deign to accept my name, my hand, my office, I will place them all at your feet by becoming your husband."

"Your offer touches me, monsieur, but between ourselves, marriage is a business matter, and a matter of the greatest importance! What is your fortune, monsieur? How much is this office worth that you lay at my feet?"

Chamoureau drew himself up, did a little mental reckoning, then replied:

"With what I already have and my office, I do not exaggerate when I place my income at four to four thousand five hundred francs."

The fair Sainte-Suzanne threw herself back on the couch with a mocking laugh. Our widower, disquieted by that laugh, waited until it subsided before he said timidly:

"Don't you think that a neat income?"

"Oh, no! frankly, it isn't neat enough for me. I have ten thousand francs a year, and I would not accept any man for a husband who did not bring me at least twice that. I am fully decided as to that. Let us forget this nonsense, my dear Monsieur Chamoureau; let us think no more about your love, which is not old enough to have taken very deep root yet; but come to see me sometimes as a friend. In that capacity, I shall be glad to receive you, but, you understand, only as a friend."

"Forget my love! Ah! fascinating woman! Why, you do not know that you have bewitched me, that you have turned my head, that I fairly dote on you! You do not know----"

"I beg pardon, Monsieur Chamoureau, but I do know that I have visits to pay to-day, and that it is time for me to think about dressing. Permit me therefore to bid you adieu."

Sorely vexed to be thus summarily dismissed, Chamoureau rose, grasped the seat of his trousers with his left hand, took his hat in his right hand, bowed very slightly, so that his coat might not split more, and walked out backwards.

But once outside, he pulled his hat over his ears, muttering:

"Much satisfaction there is in spending money for this! Oh! these women!--And I have got to take a cab again!"

XII

AGATHE'S PARENTS

Honorine Dalmont, with her young friend Agathe, occupied a modest apartment on Rue des Martyrs. Their only servant was a woman who came in to do their housework, and went away again after preparing their dinner.

Madame Dalmont's slender fortune would not allow her to live more expensively in Paris, where living is so dear, and it was in the hope of being less straitened and of being able to obtain more of the comforts of life, that she had formed the plan of going into the country--a plan which had keenly delighted her friend Agathe.

For women who go into society, who follow the fashions, who pass their evenings at theatres or concerts or balls, or at fashionable receptions, it seems a terrible penance to go to the country to live. To them it is equivalent to ceasing to exist, it means the renunciation of all the pleasures of life, it means, in short, condemning themselves to die of ennui.

But it is not so with those who, although they dwell in Paris, pass their lives in their own homes, seldom go out, and know nothing of that splendid capital save the uproar, the crowd, the vehicles which constantly threaten them with destruction out of doors, and the tumultuous throng that blocks the popular promenades on Sundays and holidays. To them there is nothing painful about leaving the great city. On the contrary, when they turn their backs on the tumult, the confusion, the incessant whirl of business and pleasure in which they have no part, they breathe more freely; they feel more at liberty to raise their heads, they find in nature something that they had lost; they have their places there, whereas in Paris they were nothing at all!

Honorine's past life had been uneventful. The daughter of respectable people who had not succeeded in business--there are many respectable people who do not make a fortune--she had nevertheless received a careful education. She had learned music and drawing; she was blessed by nature with that fortunate temperament which enables one to learn quickly and without much difficulty that which others often spend long years in studying.