Part 20

"So this fellow has come back at last!" he cried. "_Tandem!--denique!_--Do you know, Freluchon, that your treatment of me has been rather too unceremonious?"

"Good-morning, Chamoureau; embrace me!"

"To go away without returning my new black coat and trousers! You have no idea what that cost me!"

"Embrace your friend!"

"Let me alone.--The trousers were new, too."

"Do you suppose that I have worn your clothes, I should like to know? do you think that I put on your coat and trousers to go to Rouen?"

"Faith! I don't know."

"I should look very nice in them, as I'm five inches shorter than you! See, there are your clothes, on that chair; I give you my word that they haven't been to Rouen."

The agent carefully examined his coat and trousers, muttering:

"To think that I have two of each now! it was hardly worth while!"

"What! have you bought another black coat?"

"I had to."

"Have you had occasion to take part in some grand function--a wedding, or a funeral?"

"I had occasion--I had occasion to be dressed handsomely."

"Chamoureau, you have secrets from your best friend; that is not right. I've brought you a stick of sugar-candy from Rouen."

"Don't talk to me about candy, Freluchon, I beg you. You remind me of Mi-Carême night, which I would like to efface from my memory!"

"Why, I was under the impression that you made a magnificent conquest that night; you told us so, at all events."

"Yes, that's so; I did meet a fascinating woman, and she gave me permission to call on her; but I've been no more fortunate for that. Four times now within five days I have been to see her, in the hope of finding her less cruel; but I am always told that she isn't in. I begin to think that she doesn't propose to receive me again."

"The trouble is that you didn't go about it right, my poor fellow. You were probably too prudent, too timid. There are women who prefer to have the appearance of yielding only to violence."

"You see, my trousers split; that embarrassed me the first time I called on her."

"You ought to have worn an apron; then it wouldn't have made any difference about your trousers."

"Freluchon, your constant jesting with a man so miserable as I am is barbarous; for my love for that woman gives me neither truce nor rest."

"The deuce! and the memory of the adored Eléonore? have we left that under the shed?"

Chamoureau took his coat and trousers and was about to depart without a word; but Freluchon stopped him.

"Where are you going?"

"I am going away."

"You run off because I speak of Eléonore! _Quantum mutatus ab illo!_--Come, stay; I won't mention her again; and if, instead of that, I should make you the fortunate vanquisher of the superb Sainte-Suzanne----"

"What! Sainte-Suzanne? You know--he knows--Monsieur Edmond, did you tell him?"

"No, no! Edmond hasn't told me anything; I learned of your intrigue at Rouen; news of that sort is despatched at once by the railroads."

"I don't understand."

"That makes no difference; it's enough for you to know that your friend is at work for you, and that, knowing that you sighed for a cruel beauty, he said to himself:

"'Chamoureau must be made happy!'

"And I have manoeuvred so well and pulled the wires so skilfully with the fair Thélénie, that I have changed her views completely with respect to you! The result is that she gives you an assignation for nine o'clock this evening, on the Champs-Elysées. She will be in a coupé opposite the Jardin d'Hiver."

"It can't be possible! No, I know you, Freluchon--you're playing a joke on me!"

"I give you my word of honor--and you know that I don't give it lightly--that the charming person with whom you are in love will be in a coupé, opposite the Jardin d'Hiver, at nine o'clock this evening; and that the coachman will open the carriage door, if you open your left hand twice in front of him.--Do you believe me, now?"

"Dear Freluchon! embrace me!"

"I knew it would be so: he is the one who wants to embrace me now. Oh! these men! Someone has said: 'Woman changes oft, and foolish is the man,' et cetera; one might as fitly say: 'Man changes oft, and an ass is the man who trusts him!'--I am rewriting François I; but there have been those who have ventured to rewrite Racine; and frankly I think that he was a greater poet than François."

"In heaven's name, Freluchon, repeat what you just told me! This evening, at nine o'clock, I shall find Thélénie in a coupé on the Champs-Elysées?"

"Yes, in front of the Jardin d'Hiver, on the other side of the avenue."

"And, to induce the coachman to open the door, I am to shake my fist at him?"

"Sapristi! if that's the way you hear! you are to open your left hand twice, before his face."

"Ah! very good! I will open my left hand twice. But, what the devil!----"

"Well, what difficulty is there about that?"

"When I have opened my left hand once, how am I to open it again?"

"Why, you idiot, you must close it again, of course!"

"Ah, yes! to be sure; I won't open it again till I have closed it. It is love that unsettles my mind. And I shall find Thélénie, she will be waiting for me, and she will not spurn my homage!"

"Damnation! my dear fellow, when a lady gives you an assignation at night, in a carriage, that doesn't indicate an intention to be very severe; and if you don't come out of the affair the victor, it will be your own fault."

"You are right. This time I will be a Don Juan, a Richelieu! I will hurl myself into the coupé like a bomb! The rest will take care of itself."

"Bravo! I recognize you now."

"My dearest wish is gratified."

"You must tell us to-morrow how it goes off. That is all I ask for my reward."

"I'll tell you everything; I will conceal nothing from my friends henceforth. Dear Freluchon! dear Edmond!--But what's the matter with Monsieur Edmond? he doesn't say anything."

"Don't you know that he is in love, like you?"

"Oho! with whom, pray?"

"A young person--who lives with a lady who bought a country house at Chelles."

"The deuce! Mademoiselle Agathe!"

Edmond emerged from his reverie, crying:

"Agathe! who mentioned her name?--Have you seen those ladies again, Chamoureau? have you been to their house?"

"I? not once. What would you have me go there for, now? Madame Dalmont insisted on paying me my fee on the spot, and the transaction is concluded."

"She's a widow, isn't she, Chamoureau?"

"Yes, she's a widow."

"And she hasn't a large fortune?"

"No; she told me herself that her means were small, and that she was going into the country to live as a matter of taste and for economy's sake."

"And Agathe--that lovely girl?"

"Mademoiselle Agathe is an orphan, and has no other friend or protector than the lady with whom she lives. That's all I know about them.--But, pardon me, my friends, it's three o'clock already; allow me to take my leave. I will take my clothes away; I'll wear them to-night; these trousers, anyhow, are not too tight for me."

"What! you are going to carry that bundle?"

"I shall take a cab. Your hand, Freluchon. Now I am yours, in life and in death!--Au revoir, messieurs, until to-morrow."

Chamoureau returned home. The day, although far advanced, seemed mortally long to him. He set about curling his hair, perfuming himself, in short, trying to make himself most seductive.

He went out at five o'clock, to dine; but joy took away his appetite. When caused by love, joy sometimes produces that effect.

While he toyed aimlessly with a beefsteak, he said to himself:

"How strange women are in their whims! This one refuses to receive me at her house, and waits for me at night, in a carriage, on the Champs-Elysées! Still, she may have reasons for being afraid to receive me at home. Who knows that she isn't afraid of that Monsieur Beauregard, who used to be her lover, as he says? perhaps it isn't true; there are so many men who brag of triumphs they never obtained! It matters little to me, after all! if she shares my flame, am I not too fortunate?"

Chamoureau left the restaurant and entered a café, called for all the newspapers, did not read one, looked at his watch every instant, and finally exclaimed:

"At last, it is dark! Ah! how impatiently I have been waiting for this!"

But it was early in April, and it grew dark rather early. It was only seven o'clock. However, our widower left the café, saying to himself:

"I'll walk slowly to the Champs-Elysées; that will take up time. It's a little cold, but it's fine. Besides, I don't propose to be late; a gallant man should always arrive first at the rendezvous."

Although he walked very slowly from Boulevard Montmartre, it was not yet eight o'clock when he reached the rond-point on the Champs-Elysées. But it was absolutely dark. Our lover consulted his watch, heaved a deep sigh, and paced to and fro in front of the entrance to the Jardin d'Hiver.

He had been walking there for three-quarters of an hour, passing many carriages; but not one of them was standing at the place designated. At last, about a quarter to nine, a cab coming from the Barrière de l'Etoile stopped in front of the entrance. Chamoureau instantly drew near and walked around it; the curtains were lowered, which fact convinced him that his inamorata was inside.

He hastened toward the driver, who had remained on his box, and putting his left hand close to the lantern, opened it twice.

The man stared at him in amazement, but said finally:

"I am engaged; I have a fare."

"I know that you have a fare; but it's that fare who expects me; don't you see this sign?"

And he opened his left hand again.

"You offer me ten francs, I can see that plain enough," said the cabman; "that's all right, and if I wasn't taken, I'd say at once: 'Get in, bourgeois'; but I can't do it."

"Bless me! how stupid the man is! Can she have forgotten to tell him what signs I was to make?"

And again Chamoureau opened his left hand for the benefit of the driver, who shook his head, saying:

"You might offer me twenty francs--I tell you I've got somebody in my carriage!"

"And I tell you again that I am well aware of it; and I repeat that that somebody expects me."

"If you're expected, get in; it's all one to me."

Chamoureau asked nothing better; he threw the door open violently, entered the vehicle, and found himself in the presence of a lady and gentleman, to whom his advent was evidently most unwelcome, for the gentleman took him by the shoulders and threw him out of the cab, giving him no time to put his foot on the step, and crying:

"Who is this insolent villain who dares to enter a carriage that is occupied? Did anyone ever hear of such audacity! Driver, why did you let this man enter? Were you asleep?"

"Mon Dieu! he made a lot of signs and told me he was the one you were waiting for."

"I beg pardon, a thousand pardons, monsieur! I made a mistake, an error, I see it now; I am waiting for a carriage with a lady, and I thought----"

"You're an idiot, nothing less; and if I were not with a lady, I would treat you as you deserve."

Chamoureau bowed to the gentleman and walked hastily away in order not to hear any more.

"I made a mistake," he said to himself; "I saw well enough that I had made a mistake. I can understand that man's indignation; I was entirely in the wrong. It was my impatience that caused it; for it isn't nine o'clock yet, and the appointment is for nine. I ought to have known that I was mistaken: it wasn't even a coupé, but a cab, and an old one at that! The superb Sainte-Suzanne would not ride in such a miserable vehicle! I am too effervescent! I must be calm and watch.--Poor man! how I did disturb him!"

The agent walked some distance toward the barrier; but at last he heard the clocks strike nine, and he at once retraced his steps. As he drew near the place appointed, he saw that the cab was no longer in front of the Jardin d'Hiver; but on the other side of the avenue a coupé had drawn up.

Chamoureau walked toward the coupé in a state of agitation that caused him to stumble at every step. When he was within a few feet, he stopped, in order to examine the carriage closely. It was a very stylish equipage; the driver was not on his box, but was standing by his horses and seemed to be scrutinizing the people who passed.

"This time I am on the right track," thought Chamoureau. And he walked resolutely toward the coachman, and made the signal agreed upon.

The coachman replied by a slight nod and lost no time in opening the carriage door. Our lover instantly jumped in, head first, and the door closed behind him.

It was in fact Thélénie, awaiting Edmond at the place she had designated; but as he had long since ceased to come to the rendezvous she appointed, now, having heard the clock strike nine without bringing her unfaithful lover, she had given up all hope of seeing him, when the door opened and a man rushed in like a bomb.

Thélénie did not doubt for an instant that it was Edmond, for her coachman had received his orders; he was to open the door only at the preconcerted signal. The darkness inside the carriage made it impossible for her to distinguish the man's features. She threw herself into Chamoureau's arms and kissed him tenderly, exclaiming:

"Here you are at last! You have come! You have listened to my voice! You are restored to me! Ah! this time it is forever, isn't it? you won't leave me any more?"

And Chamoureau, transported by the kisses that were lavished upon him, had the ill luck to answer:

"Why, fascinating creature, I have never intended to leave you, I have always offered you the most tender love, the most passionate, the most----"

He had not time to finish his sentence; a cry of rage issued from Thélénie, she roughly pushed him away, and in an instant had raised the curtains and opened the door.

"It isn't Edmond!" she shrieked; "oh! the villain!--Who are you, monsieur? who are you? who gave you permission to enter my carriage?"

Our widower, who had no idea of the meaning of that sudden change in the lady's mood, faltered:

"I am--but you know perfectly well--Chamoureau--whom you expected--at least, that is what Freluchon told me.--I am that adorer----"

But Thélénie had already had time to identify the business agent, and she pointed to the open door, saying in a voice that trembled with wrath:

"Get out, monsieur, get out at once, and say to those who sent you here that this jest will cost them dear. As for you, never let me see your face again."

"But, madame, I don't understand; I swear to you that I really believed----"

"Go!--or I will call my coachman!"

Thélénie's eyes flashed fire and their expression at that moment was so menacing that Chamoureau backed out of the carriage in deadly terror. He was no sooner on the ground than the coachman drove away.

"My hat! my hat! I have left my hat in your carriage!" cried Chamoureau, running after the coupé.

A window was lowered and the hat thrown out into the avenue. At that moment a calèche passed at a rapid pace; our widower was obliged to jump aside in a hurry, and one wheel of the calèche passed over the ill-fated hat. Chamoureau stooped and picked up the shapeless mass, swearing in very emphatic fashion. Then he returned to the sidewalk, trying to restore some shape to his hat, and not noticing two young men, arm-in-arm, a few steps away, who were nearly convulsed with laughter.

XXII

AN INHERITANCE

That same evening, after he had been home to get another hat, because the first one was entirely ruined, Chamoureau bent his steps toward Freluchon's. He was beside himself with rage and could hardly speak.

"I am going to Fre--Fre--Freluchon's," he stuttered to the concierge.

But Freluchon was not at home; he had gone with Edmond to the Champs-Elysées, at the time appointed by Thélénie, and there the two young men, concealed in the shadow, had witnessed part of the adventure, and had divined the rest when they saw Chamoureau tumbling out of the coupé very soon after he had entered. They laughed like maniacs when they saw the unlucky agent running after his hat. Then they returned to the centre of Paris.

"You say Freluchon isn't in?" stammered Chamoureau, when the concierge stopped him on his way upstairs. "Well, then I will come again to-morrow morning; tell him to wait for me! tell him that I forbid him to go out until he has seen me! and that he hasn't heard the last of this! You understand: he hasn't heard the last of this!"

The concierge heard doubtless; but he did not seem at all impressed by the way in which Chamoureau emphasized his words, and the latter went away, muttering:

"I have been victimized by Freluchon's jests too long; this thing has got to come to an end!"

The next morning, at seven o'clock, Chamoureau entered Freluchon's bedroom; his friend was still in bed and shouted when he saw him:

"May the devil take you for coming to wake me at this hour; I was sleeping like one of the blessed,--the blessed, you know, sleep splendidly;--you come too early!"

"I am glad to see, Freluchon, that you have followed the orders I gave your concierge--and waited for me."

"You! give orders to my concierge! that is delightful, on my word!"

"No joking; I didn't come here to joke. I am perfectly serious.--What! you are lying down again?"

"Yes, I am still sleepy; but that makes no difference, say on."

"Freluchon, your conduct is shameful! You laid a trap for me; you made a fool of me--of me, your intimate friend, formerly the husband of that Eléonore in whom you were so deeply interested! You send me to an assignation which was not for me. Alas! it was not I who was expected; I found that out only too soon!--If you had caused me to play that scene with a woman who was perfectly indifferent to me, I would be the first to laugh at it; but you know that I love Madame Sainte-Suzanne, that I adore her, that I would give the whole world to be on good terms with her, and you expose me to her wrath--what do I say?--to her fury!--When she saw that I was not the person she was waiting for, she was a tigress, a lioness; she drove me from her presence, and forbade me ever to show my face before her again!--Ah! it is that that distresses me above everything! forbidden to see her again! and this is your work. What have you to say in answer?--Come, what can you say to justify yourself?--He doesn't answer! May God forgive me if he isn't snoring! he's gone to sleep again!"

Chamoureau seized Freluchon's arm and shook it violently; whereupon the little man opened his eyes and cried:

"Go on! I am listening!"

"No, you were asleep; but I propose that you shall listen to me. I am going to begin over again what I have just said, and I shall keep on that way till night if you don't listen."

"In that case, I prefer to have done with it at once."

Freluchon rubbed his eyes and Chamoureau began his speech anew; when he had finished, the little man sat up in bed.

"And you have the audacity," he cried, "to come here and complain! Imbecile! I do what I can to make you happy, and you are not content! So much for obliging ungrateful curs! this is how they reward you!"

"What do you say? to make me happy by----"

"By sending you to the arms of the woman you adore, yes, monsieur; you weren't the man she expected; no, of course you weren't, since Edmond was. But I didn't tell you, because I knew that timid as you are, you wouldn't dare to go to that rendezvous if you had known that you were to take another man's place."

"No, most certainly I wouldn't have gone."

"Well! wasn't it very hard on you to go to meet a lovely woman, at night, in a carriage? A woman whom you adore, who is cruel to you--I arrange for you to have a nocturnal tête-à-tête with her, and you complain! But tell me, my poor fellow, how you behaved during that tête-à-tête, that you were sent about your business in such a hurry?"

"Why, I was no sooner inside the carriage, and the door closed--it was too dark to see anything--when the lady threw herself into my arms, calling me the most loving names and giving me the most burning kisses."

"My word! and still he complains!"

"I was enchanted, transported! but when she said: 'You won't leave me any more; this time it is forever!' I replied: 'Why, I never had any intention of leaving you, for I adore you.'"

"Ah! there spoke my blockhead! instead of keeping quiet, of making the most of the mistake--in short, of being happy! My chatterbox spoils everything by jabbering like a magpie! Why, you wretch, if you hadn't breathed a word, you would be at this moment the conqueror of the haughty Thélénie!"

"You should say, that if it had gone any further, she'd have killed me when she found that she'd been deceived, as she was so enraged by the few kisses she gave me!"

"She wouldn't have killed you; women don't kill men for that sort of offence."

"What about Lucretia?"

"What in the devil has Lucretia to do with it; what connection is there between Thélénie and Tarquin's wife?--I say, on the contrary, that she wouldn't have driven you away, because, when a thing is done, why, it's done! She'd have scolded you at first, but then she'd have forgiven you because she couldn't do anything else."

"Is it possible? Do you really think she would have forgiven me, Freluchon?--Oh! unlucky wretch that I am! why did I speak? why did I let her hear my voice? He is right; it began so well! _Nox erat! Ardebat Alexim!_ Oh! I am in despair to think that I spoke!"

"And when one has done one's utmost to make one's friend happy, to gratify his most ardent desires, monsieur appears in a rage, he complains, he almost threatens one with his wrath!"

"I was wrong, Freluchon; forgive me, my dear fellow. I realize now that I was wrong. But what can you expect? all these things upset me--these alternations of joy and sorrow; I no longer know where I am; I can't seem to see.--Come, my dear fellow; you have forgiven me--what do you advise now?"

"What do I advise? Oh! now, my poor friend, your case is ruined, totally ruined, the best thing that you can do is not to think of this woman any more, to forget her entirely!"

Chamoureau rushed about the room, crying:

"But I can't do it! it's impossible! every time that she maltreats me and spurns me, I am more in love than ever! Forget that magnificent woman!--for she is magnificent; and in her anger, when she glared at me like a panther that contemplates devouring you, she was superb! I have never seen anything so fine as those eyes when she said to me: 'I will be revenged; say to your friends that this jest will cost them dear!'"

"Ah! she said that, did she?"

"Yes; so you and Monsieur Edmond are duly warned."

"Oh! we have no fear of that woman's vengeance!"

"If I were in your place, I should dread it; she's one of the women who don't look as if they weren't up to snuff, as the plebeians say!"

"Forget her, Chamoureau; that's all I have to say to you."

"Forget her! why, it's more impossible than ever, now that I have tasted her kisses! now that I know her way of kissing!--Ah! my friend! I had never been kissed like that, even by Eléonore!"

"I can believe that! Your wife knew that it was you she was kissing, while this woman took you for another."

"That isn't it at all! it's because Eléonore wasn't passionate, loving, maddening, like the lovely Thélénie."

"Aha! you propose to cry down your wife now, do you? That's very pretty! We are becoming ungrateful! Chamoureau, you make me blush! I shall not be surprised to hear you say in a day or two: 'How glad I am that I'm a widower!'"

"That isn't what I meant."

"No, but that is your thought!--Look you, I am speaking seriously now, so be reasonable; your love for this woman is absolutely devoid of sense."

"Adieu, Freluchon!"

"Come some day and dine with me; we'll go to the _Folies-Nouvelles_, a charming little theatre, where one always sees some very light-hearted females; you will very soon find someone to divert your thoughts."

"Adieu, Freluchon!"

Chamoureau would not hear of any distractions.