Part 16

"As if I could live apart from my dear friend!" replied Agathe with a smile. "As if I could ever leave her! Where she is, I shall always be. And then, I do not care for Paris, and I look forward with delight to living in the country."

Edmond's face darkened; he already regretted that he had shown so much zeal in facilitating their speedy departure. There is always more or less selfishness in the zeal we display in serving other people. In Paris he thought that it would be easy for him to see Agathe again, to meet her, even if he were obliged to pass a large part of the day on the street where she lived. But he must needs abandon that hope, if she ceased to live in Paris.

"Are you not afraid, mesdames, of suffering from ennui in the winter, in a village?" murmured Edmond at last, looking at Agathe with a melancholy expression.

"One does not suffer from ennui, monsieur," replied Honorine, "with plenty of occupation for one's time. Women always have something to overlook, some work to do in a house. In the country, there are a thousand additional duties to be attended to--a garden, a poultry-yard--And then, for diversion, we have reading and music."

"Ah! are you ladies musical?"

"A little, monsieur. I expect to sell part of my furniture before moving, as the house I am buying is furnished; but I certainly shall not dispose of my piano, our faithful friend; isn't it, Agathe?"

"Oh! if we hadn't the piano, then we should be bored, and no mistake. My dear friend plays very well indeed, monsieur; and she has taught me what I know."

"Do not listen to her, monsieur; I can play accompaniments fairly well, that's all."

"I too am fond of music; I sing a little; and if you ladies had remained in Paris, I should have been very happy if--if--if I----"

Edmond dared not finish the sentence, but it was easy to guess the rest of it.

Honorine could not restrain a smile as she said:

"Since this morning, monsieur, you have placed us under great obligations; you have attended to our business with more zeal than--Dear me! is Monsieur Chamoureau asleep?"

"No, madame, do not mind him; he has something on his mind which engrosses him completely; you must excuse him."

"In fact, monsieur, but for you, nothing would have yet been done toward purchasing Monsieur Courtivaux's house; you will not think it surprising, I trust, that I am anxious to know to whom I am so obliged."

"That is quite natural, madame, and I should have told you before this. My name is Edmond Didier; my father was formerly a clerk in the Treasury and has now retired on his pension, and with my mother is living at his native place, Nancy in Lorraine. They have sufficient means to live modestly, and they are happy. I remained in Paris and had entered a banking house, when an uncle on my mother's side was good enough to leave me sixty thousand francs."

"With your salary, then, you are very comfortably situated."

"I have to confess, madame, that when I found myself in possession of that unexpected wealth, I began by leaving my place; I have invested part of my funds, and I do a little business--not like Chamoureau, I have no office--but I trade a little on the Bourse, and try to speculate on the rise or fall of stocks.--That, madame, is my whole biography, and Monsieur Chamoureau here will bear witness to its accuracy."

"What? what's that? accuracy of what?" exclaimed Chamoureau, who was thinking what he could do to make himself agreeable to Madame Sainte-Suzanne, and who suddenly discovered that he was at Madame Dalmont's.

"Nothing, my dear fellow, except that I was telling these ladies who I am, so that they may not look upon me as a schemer or a nobody."

"We should never have thought that of you, monsieur, but you cannot blame two ladies, who live alone, for desiring to know something concerning the persons whom they receive. Now, monsieur, if the desire for country air should ever lead you in the direction of Chelles, come to our modest abode and rest a moment; we shall be delighted to make you welcome to the house which you have assisted us to purchase."

"Oh, yes! monsieur," cried Agathe, "it will give us great pleasure to----"

Honorine pulled her young friend's dress, whereupon she corrected herself and continued:

"And then you will see the house, which is very pretty, and the garden, of which I mean to take excellent care."

"Your invitation is too kind for me to forget it, madame; and since you give me your permission, I shall have the honor of paying my respects to you at Chelles.--Now, my dear Chamoureau, let us not take any more of the time of these ladies, whom, you remember, you are to meet at three o'clock to-morrow at Monsieur Courtivaux's notary's."

"Three o'clock to-morrow. The devil! I wanted to go to Rue de Ponthieu to-morrow; she won't always be out."

Edmond trod on Chamoureau's foot and whispered to him:

"Hold your tongue! don't mention the name of a Thélénie before these ladies!" Then he added, turning to Honorine: "I will call for Chamoureau myself, madame, and take him to the notary's. In that way I can answer for his punctuality."

"That, monsieur, will put the finishing touch to your kindness, for Monsieur Chamoureau seems to us very absent-minded."

"Pray excuse me, madame; I am in fact very busy concerning--er--it's all Freluchon's fault!"

"Come, Chamoureau, let us be off."

And Edmond took the agent away.

The next day, thanks to the young man's activity, all the parties met at the appointed time at the notary's office, and Madame Dalmont became the owner of the little house at Chelles.

A glance from Agathe amply rewarded Edmond for all the trouble he had taken to bring the affair to a speedy conclusion. And Honorine added to his happiness by saying again:

"You will be welcome, monsieur, at that house of which I am now the owner, thanks to your efforts and your kindness."

XVII

ONE OF THE DREGS

The fair Thélénie returned to her apartment, accompanied by her friend Héloïse, about an hour after Chamoureau had taken his leave under Monsieur Beauregard's escort. As she entered the room she tossed aside shawl, hat, gloves and the rest, with the angry gesture characteristic of her. Then she threw herself on a couch, while her friend Héloïse picked up the hat and gloves from the floor, saying:

"You must admit that you take very little care of your things. Such a pretty hat, almost new! and that's the way you treat it! Why, I would make this hat last till June. Bless me! I haven't the means to buy them as often as you do! How much did this one cost? At least fifty-five francs, I'll bet; milliners are getting to be out of reach. Did I guess right?"

"For heaven's sake! Héloïse, let me alone; you must see that I'm out of humor."

"Oh! you're always out of humor now; you make a great mistake to torment yourself all the time;--it will change your whole appearance, it will make your complexion yellow. If you want to remain pretty, you must never lose your temper. A medical student told me that. He ought to know a lot, for he attended lectures ten years. He also told me that if I wanted to be well, I must be gay; for there's nothing that's so healthy as gayety."

"Every ten years' student ought to know that gayety can't be administered at pleasure, like a syrup or a drug. To tell a person to be gay is as foolish as to tell him not to have a headache! However, I know perfectly well that I am not sensible; but when I saw Edmond drive by in a cab with his new passion, I could not restrain a spasm of anger."

"Yes, and you nearly caused us to be run over by a coupé."

"But that little flower-maker is a horrid-looking creature; it makes one ashamed to be deserted for such a fright."

"Horrid-looking! oh! that's nonsense. She has a cunning little way with her, and a saucy face such as men like."

"She is as common as one can imagine. If Edmond had left me for a very pretty woman, I would forgive him."

"That is not true; you would be even more put out. Oh! I know all about that; it's always some little compensation to be able to say to yourself: 'I am certainly prettier than she is, and his new love won't last long.'"

Thélénie rang for her maid and Mademoiselle Mélie appeared.

"Has anybody been here while I have been out?"

"Yes, madame, that gentleman who came a few days ago, and who was so amusing when he went away; who had torn his coat, and--another part of his clothes."

"Ah! Monsieur Chamoureau?"

"That's the name, madame: Monsieur Chamoureau."

"What did he want?"

"Why, to see madame; he seemed very much disappointed not to find her and asked me if madame would be out long; he wanted to wait."

"The idiot! does he propose to wear me out with his calls; however, as soon as he bores me too much, I shall have no hesitation in forbidding him my door. Very well; leave me."

"He is the Spaniard of the Opéra ball who kept pulling up his boots, isn't he?" said Mademoiselle Héloïse, when the maid had left the room.

"Yes, and the great clown, whom I instructed to tell me everything that happened at a certain supper after the ball,--I knew that he was to sup with Edmond and his friends and their ladies. What do you suppose Monsieur Chamoureau did? he went to sleep in the middle of supper, and when he woke, everybody had gone!"

"He was drunk, probably!"

"And then he comes to see me, and makes me an impassioned declaration of love!"

"Accompanied by diamonds or a cashmere shawl?"

"By nothing whatever! What do you suppose he proposed to me? Oh! it's enough to make one die of laughter!"

"To mend his linen?"

"To marry him--to become Madame Chamoureau!"

"Well! you want a position in society."

"A pretty position that would be! My gentleman makes four thousand francs with his office; and as I have ten thousand francs a year, I should be the one to enrich him. Fancy me making Monsieur Chamoureau's fortune!"

"But in that case the fellow isn't as stupid as he looks."

"Oh! he has no selfish designs. He is really very much in love with me--according to what he says, at least.--Madame Chamoureau! what an absurd name!"

"Well, I am not so particular as you are; if he wants to marry me, I'll take him. I am not such a bad writer, I'll be a clerk in his office."

"I had an idea that you weren't very strong in spelling. One day you wrote me, being short of money: 'Are you in funds? can I go to your cash-box?' And you spelt _cash_ with a _q_."

"Well! what difference does it make whether it's a _c_ or a _q_ so long as the pronunciation's the same? Besides, I've heard it said that nowadays people write as they choose, and that it's much more _comme il faut_ not to bother about spelling, because in old times the great nobles didn't know anything about it."

"For my part, I don't consider it good form to make blunders in speaking."

"Why, did you have such a very fine education, Thélénie? I thought you'd never been to school; I had an idea that your mother sold cooked sausages in a shop where there was always a long line of people waiting; there was a stove----"

The lovely brunette flashed a savage glance at Héloïse and replied, smiling bitterly:

"Ah! so you propose to be nasty too, do you? Be careful, my poor Héloïse, you won't have much chance with me."

"I have no intention of saying anything nasty! Between ourselves, you can't make me believe that you're a duchess's daughter. I have been told that your mother sold sausages fried on a stove, but I don't see any harm in it. It's as good a trade as another."

"And you threw that at me because I told you that you spelt _cash_ with a _q_."

"Oh! nonsense! what do you suppose I care for a _q_ more or less! what a fuss about nothing! I assure you, Thélénie, that I hadn't the slightest intention of making you angry; that would be very stupid on my part. You take me to the theatre and to drive with you, and sometimes you lend me money when I haven't any; so why should I try to get up a quarrel with you?"

"Then try to curb your tongue, Héloïse, for you may happen to say before witnesses something that I would never forgive. Between ourselves, I certainly do not undertake to make myself any better than I am; my birth was very humble, I don't deny it; but as I grew up, and especially when I began to know well-bred men, with gentlemanly manners, I realized that if I wanted to _arrive_, I must first of all put myself in a position to hold my own with them. So I hired teachers and studied; I was determined to know my own language. I also learned a little English and Italian, and I assure you that then I felt much more at my ease in the society of men of the world, who are very glad to take a pretty, fashionably-dressed woman to drive in a calèche, but who blush for her when she uses bad grammar before their friends and acquaintances.--What is it, Mélie? what do you want of us now?"

"I beg pardon, madame," replied the maid, who had just entered. "I forgot to tell madame that another gentleman came almost at the same time as Monsieur Chamoureau."

"Who was it?"

"Monsieur Beauregard."

At the name of Beauregard, Thélénie's brow grew dark and she made an impatient gesture, muttering:

"Aha! Monsieur Beauregard! Well, what did he want of me? what did he say to you?"

"The gentleman seemed doubtful at first whether madame had really gone out; he was about to come in without listening to me; but when I told him that he could look into the salon and madame's bedroom, he didn't come in, but went away, leaving word that he would come again."

"That person seems to be very unceremonious!" exclaimed Héloïse; "the idea of his having the face to enter your apartment to see if you were really there!"

"Oh! he's a very old acquaintance--an eccentric fellow; but he would do well to spare me his visits; I confess that I hardly enjoy them. I had not seen him for several years; I don't know what has possessed him lately, and why he has taken to coming again.--Didn't he say anything else, Mélie?"

"No, madame; he went away at the same time that Monsieur Chamoureau did, and I saw them from the window walking away together and talking."

"Beauregard talking with Chamoureau?"

"Yes, madame."

"That is very strange; but after all, it makes no difference to me!--Ah! someone is ringing, I believe."

"Perhaps one of those gentlemen has come back. Shall I say that madame is in and admit him?"

"Yes, if it's Monsieur Beauregard."

"And if it is Monsieur Chamoureau?"

Thélénie had not decided what reply to make when the bell rang again, with great violence.

"The devil! this one's in a big hurry!" said Héloïse.

"I am quite sure that it is not Monsieur Chamoureau who rings like that," said Thélénie. "Go and look, Mélie, and tell me who it is."

The maid opened the door; she was amazed, almost terrified at the aspect of the personage who stood there.

It was a man perhaps forty years old; but his repulsive appearance and dilapidated costume made it difficult to judge of his age. He was of medium height, thin of body and fleshless of face. His small, sunken eyes, rimmed with red, had a very bold and cynical expression, mingled at times with a threatening ferocity. His nose was long and thin and slightly curved like a bird's beak; his mouth, almost without teeth, was pinched and retreating, and the lips were hardly visible; thick eyebrows, red like his hair, bristled over his eyes. His forehead was low and sloping. He had a great abundance of badly combed, or rather uncombed, hair, which fell at random over his shoulders and his forehead; and although he wore a full beard and moustaches, a large scar was visible at the base of his left cheek.

This villainous-looking person was dressed in a long coat which had once been nut-brown, but of which it was now very difficult to distinguish the color. The coat lacked several buttons; it was worn through at the elbows, covered with spots and torn in several places; olive-green trousers, horribly soiled and ragged at the bottom, were in perfect harmony with the coat. A red handkerchief, twisted rope-fashion, served as a cravat; his footgear consisted of immense shoes, covered with mud, one of which was tied with twine and the other not at all. Lastly, on his head he wore one of those shocking low-crowned hats to which one may give any conceivable shape, because they have no shape.

"_Cré nom d'un bouffarde!_ my beauty! you take your time about opening the door! Are your stumps asleep?"

As he spoke thus to the lady's maid, the visitor twirled in his hand a stout blackthorn stick, which he handled with the dexterity of a drum-major.

"What do you want, monsieur? You have probably made a mistake; I am very sure that it wasn't our door that the concierge pointed out to you."

While speaking, the maid held the door only half open, as if to prevent the man from entering. But he replied with a smile peculiar to himself, which made his face even more repulsive:

"No, no! I ain't mistaken in the door, _larbine_! otherwise called servant! This is the place where Madame Sainte-Suzanne lives, isn't it?"

"Yes, this is the place."

"Well, then! don't make so much fuss and feathers! Madame Sainte-Suzanne is the one I want to speak to."

"You, monsieur?"

"Yes, me! What in the devil's the matter with the girl that she makes eyes at me like a cat that's been taking physic!"

"What can you have to say to my mistress?"

"What have I to say to her? Look you, my love, that don't concern anybody but her and me, and I won't let my words fly till we are together in the closest possible confinement, as the president of the criminal court says."

"My mistress only receives people she knows, monsieur; and as she certainly doesn't know you, she won't receive you."

"You're crazy, my girl! You stand there chattering like a magpie and you don't know what you're saying. Your mistress knows me and knows me well, too, I flatter myself; consequently she will receive me; and I don't advise her to refuse to see me, for then there'd be a row at papa's!"

As he spoke, the man pushed the lady's maid before him little by little; and she, being afraid of him, had allowed him to reach the middle of the reception room. There he stopped and glanced about, saying:

"_Bigre!_ it's rather neat here! it's bang up! They didn't deceive me when they said there was fat times at Madame Sainte-Suzanne's. So much the better! this suits me! I love luxury and style, I do!"

"One would hardly think so to look at you," said the maid.

"That proves, my beauty, that you mustn't judge by appearances.--Just go and tell your mistress that I want to talk with her a bit; and to make sure that she won't refuse to see me, you may tell her it's Croque who has looked in on her to bid her good-day as he passed."

"What name did you say, monsieur?"

"I said Croque."

"Is that your name?"

"It seems to be!"

"I am very sure that madame won't receive you. Whom do you come from?"

"Whom do I come from? why from myself, and that's enough. Come, come! do what I tell you, girl; and if we are satisfied with you, we'll give you a kiss."

The maid hastily left the room to tell her mistress.

Thélénie was beginning to be impatient because she had not learned who had ventured to ring her bell with such violence as to break the cord; the alarmed expression of her servant redoubled her curiosity.

"Well! who was it? why were you so long about coming to tell me?"

"Oh! madame, it is--if you knew! I am all upset."

"Explain yourself, I say."

"There's a man there, who looks just like a thief; I believe he is one; he has every appearance of it. Oh! what a horrid man! he frightens me to death! He has on a long coat with holes in the elbows, and a face--an expression----"

"Well! what does this man want?"

"He wants to speak to madame--in private; and if you knew how insolently he talks; one would say that he thought he was in his own house."

"Send the man away; it must be some beggar who has come to ask alms; I don't see such people; send him away."

"And quickly, too," suggested Mademoiselle Héloïse, "for he is capable of stealing something in your reception room. I shouldn't suppose your concierge would let poor people come upstairs. Is the man a dumb idiot?"

"I don't know if the man will go away," said Mélie. "'You will tell your mistress,' he says, 'that it's Croque who wants to speak to her.'"

When she heard that name, Thélénie turned ghastly pale; she was evidently deeply agitated; her features contracted; she seemed completely crushed, and muttered between her teeth:

"Oh! mon Dieu! he is still alive! I hoped that he was dead!"

"Croque! what a name!" exclaimed Héloïse; "why not Croque-Mitaine and be done with it? Then we should know at all events that he doesn't mean to scare anyone but children!"

"I will go and tell the horrid man to go away, that madame refuses to receive him," said Mélie.

But Thélénie hurriedly arrested the maid, crying:

"No, no; don't do that, Mélie; on the contrary, go to this--this gentleman, and show him in. I am curious to know what he has to say to me.--Do you, Héloïse, step into the salon a moment."

"What! you propose to receive this man? You are not afraid to be left alone with him?"

"No, I am not afraid; do what I tell you; and you, Mélie, go and bring this stranger to me."

The maid obeyed, not trying to conceal her amazement at her mistress's sudden change of front; and Mademoiselle Héloïse walked toward the salon, remarking as she went:

"Keep your eye on the mantel all the time, and look out that your friend don't pinch something."

When the wretchedly-dressed personage was ushered into Thélénie's bedroom, he bowed to her most respectfully; she motioned to her maid and to Héloïse to leave them, then carefully closed and locked all the doors. Thereupon Monsieur Croque dropped carelessly upon a couch and tossed his hat on the floor, saying:

"Damn my eyes! my dear love, it takes a lot of trouble to reach you! it's worse than it is at a minister's office! What a get-up! what style! what a dust!"

The beautiful brunette gazed loweringly at the person before her, and said at last in a faltering tone:

"What! is it you? I thought----"

"You thought I'd kicked the bucket, didn't you? and I'll bet you didn't weep very much over me. But no, the little man's still alive; and he hasn't the slightest inclination to die. What a pity it would be! at forty years! just the prime of life for a man!"

"But what has become of you these five years past? for it is fully five years since I last saw or heard of you.--Mon Dieu! what do you look like!--how can you possibly show yourself dressed like this?"

"Why, I have to do it when I haven't anything else to put on my back, and not a sign of anything to buy duds with."

"How did you ever allow yourself to fall to such a low condition?"

"How did I allow myself to fall! ah! that's a good one, little sister! the dear sister, who don't throw her arms round her dear brother's neck. Look you, that isn't pretty of you; for, after all, I'm your brother, my dear love, and what's more, your senior, which gives me something very like the rights of a father or an uncle over you!"

"You have rights over me! I don't advise you to repeat that."

"Come, come, let's not get waxy, Titine--for your name used to be Titine, you know; you twisted that into Thélénie, and you did well, for Thélénie's more melodious, it sounds better to the ear. You see that if I had a swell apartment, like you, and a bully lot of togs, instead of calling myself just Croque, I'd take the name of Croquinosky or Croquignolle; but unluckily I haven't got so far as that. You ask me what I've been doing these five years. Bless my soul! my dear love, I couldn't come out, I was in the background."

"Ah! you have been in prison?"

"Something very like it."

"For debt?"

"A little for debt, and for something else too--an unfortunate affair--a theft of shirts in which I was mixed up, although I was most innocent."

"Innocent! you! that is hardly probable."