Part 4

"Even so, Dame Cadichard, you reckon with marvellous accuracy; my inheritance is six thousand livres a year, without counting the furniture and chattels of the defunct, which also come to me.--When Craquenard--that is my friend's name--had told me all that, I admit that at first blush I refused to believe it.

"'Craquenard, you are making sport of me,' I cried; 'you are telling me lies. If you are, I will run Roland through your belly!'"

"Oh! monsieur le chevalier, how ill-tempered you become all at once!"

"What can you expect? I cannot help it--my blood is always forty degrees above zero.--But Craquenard replied:

"'To prove that I am not telling fables, just come with me; I'll take you to Maître Bourdinard's, the solicitor; he has received a copy of the will, and is instructed to hand you the money you have inherited.'

"You will understand, Dame Cadichard, that I did not have to be asked twice to accompany Craquenard to the solicitor's! There, as soon as my identity was established, they offered to give me something in advance on what will come to me when everything is settled. And that is why, my sweet hostess, I return with such a well-lined purse! To say nothing of another little sack which I have in my belt.--Aha! wealth is very nice, indeed! Sandioux! I never felt so happy in my life.--Make up your account, if you please."

"Here it is, monsieur le chevalier; it has been made a long while," replied Dame Cadichard, taking a paper from a drawer; then she handed it to the Gascon, saying: "Be kind enough to verify the account!"

"Fie! fie! who ever heard of a gentleman like me verifying an account? That is all well enough for the lowborn, for clowns!--We do not always pay, perhaps! but, at all events, we never verify!--Once more, take from this purse what I owe you, so that I may be entirely square with you."

The hostess opened the purse, took out several gold pieces, counted on her fingers, then with a pen, and receipted her account, which she handed to the chevalier, with the purse, which was still well filled.

"That is all settled, Monsieur de Passedix. When you have time, you may make sure that the account is not padded by a single denier."

"Oh! Dame Cadichard! once more, what do you take me for?--I should be very sorry to look at this paper. See--this is how much I care for it!"

And Passedix tossed the account into a tiny fire that burned in a huge fireplace, whose feeble heat hardly changed the temperature, which was very cold outside.

Dame Cadichard, marvelling at the noble indifference with which her tenant paid his debts, said to him, with a respectful inclination of the head:

"Monsieur le chevalier, would you accept a plate of this soup? That will help you to wait for what you propose to send for to the wine shop."

"Oh, no! no, thanks!" cried Passedix, probably recalling the accident that had befallen the soup. "I have no desire to taste it.--May I not have Popelinette's services?"

"I beg pardon, monsieur le chevalier,--at once, instantly."

And Dame Cadichard, leaving her soup, left the room and went into the hall to call her servant in such shrill, imperative tones that old Popelinette soon came running in in dismay, crying:

"What's the matter? who's sick? where's the fire? Something must have happened!"

"The matter is, Popelinette, that Monsieur le Chevalier de Passedix wants to send you on an errand, and he must not be kept waiting."

"What! was it for that thing that madame was yelling as if she wanted to sprain her throat?"

"That thing!--Popelinette, try to express yourself more respectfully when you are talking about Monsieur de Passedix!"

The old servant stood with a dazed expression in the middle of the room, unable to understand how it happened that her mistress spoke so kindly now of a tenant whom she had abused so roundly only that morning.

Passedix put an end to the servant's conjectures by placing a gold piece in her hand, with these words:

"Go to the nearest wine shop, Popelinette, and order a dainty breakfast; let them bring everything for three. I feel capable of multiplying the size of my mouthfuls by three. Order several bottles of the best wine, also.--Go, and what money remains shall be yours!"

The sight of a fine gold doubloon instantly made the servant as polite and zealous as her mistress. What a mighty influence has that metal, which acts in the same way upon almost all temperaments! Physicians have never found its like among all the drugs that they force us to take.

When Popelinette had gone, the chevalier resumed his seat at the table and said to his hostess:

"Now, Dame Cadichard, let us talk a little. You will readily understand, I think, that a man with two thousand crowns a year, to say nothing of the lesser objects, cannot continue to live under the eaves, where he has for fellow lodgers rats of all dimensions."

"Oh! of course, monsieur le chevalier, I realize that this lodging is not worthy of you; and be sure that, if I put you up there, it was because special circumstances forced me to do it.--It was very much against my will."

"Enough! enough! Dame Cadichard, you should never recur to unpleasant subjects.--Do you consider me wealthy enough now to resume my handsome apartment on the first floor, which you let to that noble Spaniard, the so-called Comte de Carvajal?"

"I wish that I had a much handsomer one to offer you, Monsieur de Passedix; but my first floor is at your service."

"Very good.--Speaking of this Comte de Carvajal--have you never seen him, dear hostess, since he left your house so abruptly?"

"Never.--One night, when you were absent, I was very much surprised when Monsieur de Carvajal, who had not given me any notice, came in and said: 'Madame Cadichard, I must leave your house instantly; news just received forces me to return at once to Spain.'--Thereupon he paid me what he owed me, gave Popelinette a handsome _pourboire_, sent for a porter to take his trunks, and disappeared, leaving me amazed at his abrupt departure."

"Oh! the villain! the traitor! He did not start for Spain, for that same night--I remember it only too well, because, when I asked about your tenant the next morning, I was told that he had left the hotel the night before--that same night following his departure, as I was walking with a young lady to whom I was paying court, we met on the street a sort of rustic, or vagabond,--I don't know what to call him,--who threw himself between me and my fair.--As you can imagine, I unsheathed at once----"

"I do not doubt it, monsieur le chevalier."

"But that simpleton, that clown, had under his cloak a short, broad sword, which he used like a hatchet.--That disconcerted me. I am accustomed to fighting with people who know how to stand on guard. I tried to thrust a little too far, and Roland slipped from my hand. While I was looking for him, my knave disappeared with my belle, whom, by the way, I have not seen since."

"But I fail to see what connection there is between that adventure and the Comte de Carvajal."

"This is the connection: the rustic was not a rustic; I had met him before, in the guise of an artisan. And again, the artisan was not an artisan; I had previously had dealings with him, when he was dressed as an old Bohemian. And finally, all these disguises concealed the Comte de Carvajal, your magnificent tenant."

"The Comte de Carvajal! is it possible? But, in that case, he must be a very mysterious personage. Disguise himself like that--what can be his purpose?"

"I have no idea. The man was probably a political spy, sent here by his government to observe, to discover the cardinal's projects; perhaps to organize a conspiracy against him!"

"Oh! mon Dieu! why, if that's so, his stay in my house might have compromised me!"

"Sandis! I should say so! They would have ended by razing your house. It is great good fortune for you, Dame Cadichard, that that fine spark has bade you adieu!"

"You make me shudder, monsieur le chevalier!"

"As he has decamped, you are no longer in any danger. But, by Roland, I do not bid him adieu! If he is still in Paris, I will find him, and then it will be war to the death between us!--But, with your permission, I will at once install myself, or rather reinstall myself, in the first floor lodging. I will take my repast there.--By the way, Dame Cadichard, I expect a very agreeable young man--very small, but very agreeable for his size. He is a clerk in my solicitor's office; and as I happened to mention before him my desire to replenish my wardrobe entirely, and as quickly as possible, he told me that he had a friend who knew a second-hand dealer amply supplied with clothes of the latest cut. He is to bring him to me here."

"Never fear, monsieur le chevalier, I will send him up to you."

"To the first floor, Dame Cadichard. Don't forget that I have come down. I shall go up again some day, perhaps; it is not safe to swear to anything."

"Oh! Monsieur de Passedix!"

"But that worries me very little.--Six thousand livres a year! Sandis! I used to make conquests galore, but now I shall be overwhelmed with them!"

The chevalier resumed possession of the apartment on the first floor; he stretched himself out luxuriously in an enormous easy-chair that was almost suitable for a bed, and glanced about the room, saying to himself:

"Ah! Monsieur de Carvajal, so I am occupying your place now!--Who knows? perhaps you would be very happy now to live in a little room under the eaves; for in this world, when one goes up, we frequently see others come down, and _vice versa_.--Oh! but I will find this mysterious Spaniard! From all I have been able to judge, he knows that little Miretta; I believe him to be my rival with the little brunette. A grandee of Spain, in love with a chambermaid--that is rather extraordinary! But, after all, I sigh for that girl, and I am the equal of the grandest of Spanish grandees."

Popelinette returned with two waiters from the wine shop, bringing dishes and bottles. In a short time, a dinner fit for Gargantua was spread before Passedix; but the newly made heir seemed not at all alarmed when he saw the contents of the dishes that were served him; and from the way in which he attacked them one might fairly presume that he would reach the end of them.

Passedix had already put away half of his repast, and was attacking the second half, when Popelinette, the old servant, who had become as courteous as her mistress, came in with repeated reverences and informed him that Monsieur Bahuchet and his comrade, Monsieur Plumard, had arrived, and wished to speak with him.

"Very good! I know what they are here for!" cried Passedix; "they have brought new clothes, in the latest style.--Usher these young men into my presence; I will choose such things as seem worthy of my person, and it will not prevent my finishing my dinner!"

Before we introduce the solicitor's two clerks, let us see what had happened between them as a result of the delicate commission which one had intrusted to the other.

XXXIII

BAHUCHET'S POMADE

We have seen in what fashion Master Landry treated young Plumard, whom he had taken for a lover of his daughter.

We know, too, that little Bahuchet, having betaken himself to a wine shop with the purpose of regaling himself there, had found means to obtain a thrashing from Master Hugonnet, to whom he had applied for some pomade which would make the hair grow. As in those days hair dressers employed neither bear's grease nor lion's flesh, the bath keeper had taken the young clerk's request in very ill part. Bahuchet had returned home sorely vexed because he had been beaten, but even more dissatisfied because he had obtained no pomade; for he was most solicitous to recover possession of the gold piece that he had given to his comrade Plumard, and which the latter had promised to return to him on receipt of the precious cosmetic that was to restore to the nape of his neck the shade which it had lost.

"After all," said Bahuchet to himself, the next morning, "as that brute of a barber would not give me any pomade, pardieu! I will make some myself! And who knows! perhaps it will be better for the head than all the infernal drugs that the wigmakers rub into our hair."

After having considered some time what he could make it of, the little clerk took some gum, mustard, pitch, starch, and molasses, and with all of these he compounded a solid paste which gave forth a not very sweet odor, but which clung so persistently to the hands that it was extremely difficult to free them from it. He filled a small jar with this substance, wrapped it in a paper, put his seal upon it, and walked proudly to the office, saying to himself:

"Plumard shall have his pomade, and I my gold piece."

The two clerks accosted each other, each with a most amusing expression.

"Well, friend Plumard, did you do my errand? did you deliver the white plume?"

"Yes, to be sure; I put it into Master Landry's own hands."

"How did he take the thing?"

"In very bad part, and at one time I thought he was going to treat me shamefully; luckily, I ran away in time.--But I would not undertake such a commission again! it was too dangerous!"

"And for that reason you shall be handsomely paid!" said Bahuchet, taking from his pocket the little jar in which he had placed his vile mixture.

Plumard's face beamed; his hand was already put forth to grasp the little jar, but Bahuchet pushed it away, saying:

"One minute; how about my gold piece?"

"Oh! of course, I will return it to you; I ask nothing better; I much prefer this jar!"

"I should think so! a wonderful invention like this! I ought to have made you pay me its weight in gold; but between friends, you know. Besides, a promise is a sacred thing! Here, take your stuff!"

And Bahuchet, having received his money, handed his comrade the little jar.

Plumard was in such a hurry to experiment with his pomade, that he instantly tore off the paper and looked at and smelt the contents of the jar.

"It is black," he said.

"I suppose that it has to be black."

"It has a strange smell."

"Probably because the old sibyl uses plants that are unknown to us."

"How hard it is!"

"You must warm it a little before using; then it becomes more ductile."

"No matter; I mean to put some of it on my head at once."

"What! here, in the office? You had better put it on at home."

"No! there are only we two in the office as yet, and I do not want to postpone making use of it."

"You don't imagine, I suppose, that your hair will grow instantly? You must give the stuff time to act on the capillary tissues."

"Very good; but the sooner I put some of it on my head, the sooner the hair will grow.--By the way, is there any particular way of using it?"

Bahuchet reflected a few moments, then replied:

"Yes; wait till I recall the old witch's instructions.--Ah! now I have it: first heat the pomade, then rub your skull with it, put on a good lot; then you must cover it with a small round piece of linen, cotton, or woollen stuff--the material is not important; you must simply be sure that the pomaded part is well covered. Then, in a few days you will see your hair!"

"Very well! I will follow your instructions to the letter; I will warm it on the stove. But what in the devil shall I put on my head to cover the pomade?"

"See--there's an old black woollen stocking that Maître Bourdinard's servant must have left here by mistake; you can cut a cap out of that."

"Faith! you are right; I shall look like a little abbé. Come, let us set to work!"

Bahuchet cut from the stocking a round piece large enough to cover the top of Plumard's head; meanwhile, the latter daubed his head with the mixture, which the heat had melted; he noticed with surprise that he could not free his fingers from the pomade after he had used it; but Bahuchet told him that that was a proof of the virtue of the cosmetic. At last, the clerk's head being sufficiently pomaded, the piece of woollen stocking was applied, and the operation was at an end. The clerk then covered his head with the cap which he hardly ever laid aside.

The next morning, young Plumard put his hand to his head to make sure that his plaster was still firm. As he passed his fingers over it, he felt a sort of crust, but the woollen covering did not stir, and the clerk was convinced that the process of growing was under way.

A week passed.

Plumard had tried, but to no purpose, to remove the piece of woollen stocking that covered his head.

"Let it alone, for heaven's sake!" said Bahuchet; "if it sticks, it must be that the work is going on; when the hair has grown a little, your skullcap will fall off of itself."

Another week elapsed, and Plumard made another attempt to remove the piece of stocking, but obtained no better result.

At last, after a month, he could stand it no longer; he determined to find out what was under the skullcap, and he said to Bahuchet one morning:

"Take off this piece of woollen, which is beginning to be a nuisance; it is high time to see if my hair is growing."

Bahuchet no longer dared to deny his friend's entreaty. He pinched up the edge of the stocking, and tried to pull it off; but Plumard uttered a piercing shriek.

"Stop!" he cried; "you are tearing off my skin!"

Bahuchet's pomade, being composed largely of pitch, had, when it dried, become firmly glued to the scalp, while the piece of stocking was so stuck to the pitch that it was utterly impossible to detach it. To pull off even a small fragment, it would be necessary to pull off a bit of the pitch, and the skin would inevitably come with it. We can understand, therefore, why Plumard screamed aloud when Bahuchet tried to remove his skullcap.

"Don't you want me to try again?" inquired Bahuchet.

"Why, can't you see that you are tearing the skin off my head? I don't want to be trepanned!--What infernal kind of pomade did you give me?"

"Probably you are in too great a hurry; the work is not done yet; you must keep the covering on a while longer."

"Alas! I am beginning to think I shall keep it on forever; I don't want to have my skin torn off!"

"After all, that black cap is not bad-looking; you look as if you had on a wig, or, rather, as if your hair was cut too short. I assure you that it is preferable to your bald head."

Several weeks had passed since this conversation between the two clerks. Plumard was still wearing his woollen skullcap glued to his head; he tried to make the best of it, but there were times when a fit of anger seized him, and then he vented his fury upon Bahuchet, accusing him of having given him a pomade which, instead of accelerating the growth of his hair, must necessarily prevent the growth of anything whatever on his head.

To appease his comrade and restore their friendly relations, Bahuchet lost no time in taking him aside after the Chevalier de Passedix paid his first visit to the solicitor's office.

"There is a chance for a good windfall," he said; "this Gascon has inherited a lot of money; he wants to replenish his wardrobe. You have an uncle in the old clothes trade; let us go to his shop and select an outfit--we can make a hundred per cent on it with the Chevalier de Passedix. And then, I have an idea that he will be a profitable acquaintance for us; the newly made capitalist seems inclined to spend his inheritance merrily, and it is quite as well that he should run through it with us as with somebody else; don't you think so, Plumard?"

Plumard, having scratched his black woollen patch, with a wry face, pulled his other cap over his eyes and left the office with his comrade, saying:

"All right! let us go to see my uncle the old clothes man."

Having made a selection from the second-hand garments, which the uncle had intrusted to his nephew with the greatest hesitation, the two clerks bent their steps toward Place aux Chats, and entered the Hôtel du Sanglier, where they were speedily ushered into the presence of the Gascon chevalier, who was discussing the second part of his repast.

Bahuchet and Plumard bowed low to the newly made heir, like Turks before a pasha. Passedix bestowed a gracious smile upon them and pointed to two chairs.

"Be seated, young men," he said; "with your permission, I will finish my dinner."

"With our permission!--We are at monsieur le chevalier's service; and we are in no hurry--are we, Plumard?"

"Not at all," replied Plumard, who, as courtesy demanded, had removed his cap; and he passed his hand from time to time over the piece of stocking, which he still hoped to detach.

"Are you both employed in Maître Bourdinard's office?"

"Yes, monsieur le chevalier; we are the two chief clerks."

"Is it a good office?"

"Excellent; the result is that we have too much work."

"And you are not handsomely paid?"

"In a solicitor's office! Bah! there is no grease except on the backs of the chairs."[A]

[A] The chevalier asked: "Et l'on n'est _grassement_ payé?"--The adverb literally means _fatly_, hence _greasily_.

"Will you drink a glass with me, young Basochians?"

"It is a very great honor to us, monsieur le chevalier; we will drink as long as you choose."

"That is what I call talking, sandis!--Goblets, Popelinette!--and go to the wine shop again and order some more bottles of different brands; meanwhile, we will finish these. Here, servant; take this other gold piece; and above all, do not haggle; nay, nay! to haggle is bourgeois, it is foolish! Say: 'It is for the noble and gallant Chevalier de Passedix,' and pay without a word."

The old servant went away, and Bahuchet whispered to his comrade:

"You hear--he doesn't haggle. He will pay for these duds whatever we ask."

Passedix filled the goblets; the two clerks respectfully touched the chevalier's with theirs, and he exclaimed as he looked at Plumard:

"Why, my poor boy! you don't seem to be in very good condition!"

"How so, seigneur chevalier?" rejoined the clerk, drawing himself up.

"Because I see that you have a plaster on your head, such as they put on sick dogs."

Plumard turned purple, while Bahuchet made haste to say:

"That's nothing, he has a cold in his head, and it's a blister he's trying.--But while monsieur le chevalier is finishing his repast, we might show him the superb costume we have brought.--Open your bundle, Plumard."

"You are right, little clerks; show me the clothes."

First of all, Plumard took from the bundle a pair of orange silk knee-breeches, slashed with lemon-colored satin.

Passedix was overjoyed with the short-clothes; he took them in his hand, examined them closely, and cried:

"Charming! delicious! they are in the best taste--they are dainty and elegant! The breeches please me exceedingly, and I have an idea that the orange color will be very becoming to me.--Let us see the doublet."

The doublet was of the same material and embellished with slashes of lemon-colored satin, like the short-clothes.

Passedix was enchanted.

"This harmonizes perfectly with the breeches!" he said; "it is perfect.--And the girdle?"

"Here it is," said Plumard, producing one of orange silk with fringe of the same color.

"Oh! how pretty it is, and how well they all go together!" said Passedix. "Now let us see the cloak."

Bahuchet smilingly presented the cloak, which was orange velvet, faced with lemon-colored silk.

"Admirable! magnificent!" cried Passedix. "Still, if the cloak had been of another color, to form a contrast with the rest----"

"Oh! monsieur le chevalier, it is much richer, much more stylish, like this. Look at our king, Louis XIII--does he wear several colors? is he not almost always dressed in black throughout: short-clothes, doublet, and cloak?"

"Sandioux! he is right! and I could not choose a nobler model!--Yes, all of one color--that is more harmonious, it is pleasanter to the eye. On my honor, I am enraptured with this costume! Let us drink, messieurs; I long to try it on."