Part 16

"It seems to me, madame, that no intelligence was required to see what I saw."

"Why, what did you see, monsieur? May not a woman dine with a man at a restaurant without having the slightest preference for him? And you yourself, monsieur--what were you doing with that creature who had the impertinence to hold a mustard pot under my nose?"

"Oh! I am more honest than you, madame: I admit that I deceived you."

"Ah! what an unhappy creature I am!"

And Léonie had recourse to her usual expedient--she fainted; but she was careful to fall toward Auguste, who found himself with his neighbor in his arms. At that moment little Tony came upstairs and said that it was impossible to understand what Schtrack said, as he was drunk. Auguste gently laid Léonie on the stairs and told Tony to look after her; then he went down to interview his concierge, who was half asleep and could hardly speak.

"Has Bertrand come in?" demanded Auguste, shaking the old German's arm; whereupon he raised his head and sent a puff of wine-laden breath into the young man's face as he hiccoughed:

"Pertrand! sacretié! Pertrand!"

"Come, Schtrack, speak out; you were with him, weren't you?"

"Ya."

"Where is he?"

"Haf you not found him?"

"If I had found him, should I be questioning you? Where is he? where did you leave him? why didn't he come home with you?"

"Sacretié! I vas not strong enough to carry Pertrand; he could not valk no more; but ve haf ein pig lot trunken."

"So I see; but where shall I find Bertrand?"

"Ach! you vill see him quite vell; dere is no tanger! He is in a safe blace--up the street. Go up und up--near the Parrière Montmartre."

"Is he in a wine-shop?"

"No; don't I tell you that you vill see him quite vell?"

Unable to extract any further information from Schtrack, Auguste decided to go in search of Bertrand; he succeeded in getting the door opened, and went out in the middle of the night to try to find his faithful comrade, with no other guide than the very vague information given him by Schtrack. From Rue Saint-Georges where he lived, he went by way of Rue Saint-Lazare to Rue des Martyrs, knowing that Montmartre was Bertrand's usual promenade.

Desiring to avail himself of the permission Auguste had given him, Bertrand had invited Schtrack to go for a walk with him. The old German did not think of refusing; and, leaving his wife in his place, he polished his boots, took his cane and accompanied friend Bertrand, who had no sooner passed the porte cochère than he began on the battle of Wagram, which was certain to take them a very long way. In fact, the battle of Wagram was still in progress when they arrived at the Buttes de Montmartre, without once stopping for a drink. Schtrack, who had thus far ventured upon nothing beyond a _sacretié!_ proposed that they should go into a wine-shop, which proposition was instantly acted upon. They found the wine very poor because they were accustomed to Dalville's cellar, and they left that wine-shop to look for a better one. They went into another, drank another bottle, decided again that it was poor stuff and went in search of a third. After four hours of prospecting they had visited six wine-shops and drunk six bottles. When they reached the seventh, they began to think that the wine was better, or rather they were no longer in condition to pass judgment on it. Bertrand began again on his campaigns; Schtrack smoked four cigars, and it was nearly midnight when our friends were informed that it was closing time.

Bertrand paid without looking at the bill, and they left the shop; but the fresh air put the finishing touch to their intoxication. Bertrand especially, who was not accustomed to poor wine, soon felt his legs begin to wobble, and at the corner of Rue des Martyrs and Rue du Faubourg-Montmartre, he fell, reviling himself as a coward and sluggard and a wretched drinker.

Schtrack, who had kept his head better because he was used to wine-shop wine, emitted a _sacretié!_ when he saw Bertrand fall, and tried to raise him. He could not succeed. After several minutes, during which Schtrack exclaimed from time to time: "Come, come, comrade Pertrand, off we go!" the old German discovered that his companion was already snoring as if he were in his bed.

"So, so! he's asleep!" thought Schtrack; "I must not vake him; he pe vell comfort there to sleep. Put, suppose some carriage might pass und not see mein comrade!"

This reflection disturbed Schtrack, who was quite ready to go to sleep himself; but, looking about, he saw a grocer's shop still open. Thither he went post haste and asked for a lamp. They gave it to him, after lighting it at his request. Beacon in hand, Schtrack returned to Bertrand, who was still sleeping peacefully, stretched out by the wall. The old concierge took the sleeper's hat, placed it beside his head with the lamp upon it, and went away, saying to himself:

"Now, there is no tanger, he can sleep in beace."

Auguste spied the lamp, but for which he would have passed Bertrand without seeing him. The young man could not help smiling at Schtrack's ingenious device. He shook the ex-corporal, who opened his eyes, half rose, pushed the guardian lamp away with his elbow, and could not imagine why he was in the street. Auguste explained matters to him. Bertrand, whom his nap had sobered, was distressed that he had forgotten himself to the point of falling drunk in the street, and insisted on throwing himself into the river, to punish himself for drinking so much wine. Auguste succeeded in pacifying him, and they returned home, the young man thinking of Léonie's treachery, Athalie's coquetry, Denise's dissembling, and promising himself to be more prudent in future; Bertrand recalling the wretched wine at the wine-shops, and swearing that he would drink no more.

XIII

DENISE AND COCO IN PARIS

Not more than ten days had passed after Dalville's visit to Montfermeil, when, on returning from the wine-shop one evening, Père Calleux, who probably saw double, or else did not see at all, fell into a ditch newly dug beside the road; in that ditch was a pile of stones intended for repairing the road, and the peasant broke his head upon them. The next day little Coco was an orphan.

But he still had Denise, who loved him dearly, Mère Fourcy, who had become attached to him, and lastly, the friendly interest of Auguste. Among friends who give us proofs of affection, we cease to feel quite alone on earth. How many unhappy creatures there are, who might well believe themselves to be orphans although their parents are not dead!

Denise paid a few small debts which Père Calleux had left, amounting to less than a hundred francs; for a poor man can get but little credit. The cabin remained--the child's only patrimony; but it was in such a tumbledown condition that it was dangerous to live in it. The thatched roof was half gone, the cracked walls threatened to fall, and the materials of which it was built were so poor that no use could be made of them. So that there was really nothing but the land; but with Dalville's contribution it would be possible to build a little cottage, surround it with a garden and cultivate it. That is what Denise said to her aunt, who replied:

"Don't be in a hurry, my child. You'd better wait till the gentleman comes again, and ask him what he thinks."

But at sixteen one does not like to wait; Denise reflected that it might be a very long time before the handsome gentleman came to the village again, and one morning, as she looked at the address which Auguste had left with her, and to which her eyes very often turned, she exclaimed:

"Suppose we write to that gentleman, aunt! He gave us his address, you know, so that we could send word to him if we needed him."

"You're right, my child," said Mère Fourcy; "your ideas are always good. You know how to write, so you must write to him, my girl."

Denise was lost in thought and did not reply.

"Have you forgotten how to write, my child?" continued Mère Fourcy.

"Oh! no, aunt; but I can't write well enough to write to a gentleman from Paris."

"In that case, my dear, get that old man to write to him, who's just come here to live, and who writes all the nurses' letters. He handles his pen fine, I tell you! He'll write a sentence two pages long to tell you your child's had the colic, or needs a new cap. Or else ask neighbor Mauflard to do you the favor; he's an old schoolmaster, and he ought to write like a Barême's grammar!"

Denise was still silent; but after a moment she said, lowering her eyes:

"Don't you think, aunt, that it would be better to go to Paris and speak to the gentleman? Wouldn't it be more polite than writing?"

"You're right again, my child; and there's a little stage that starts for Paris at eight o'clock every morning and brings you back at four."

"And then, aunt, I've been to Paris twice, you know, and nothing ever happened to me."

"All right, my child, go ahead; nothing ever happens to anybody unless they want it to."

"And I'll take Coco with me, shan't I, aunt?"

"Yes, my dear; that will please the gentleman. It will be polite to him; and if I wasn't so busy here, I'd go with you and ask him to give me some dinner, because I know what's the right thing to do, you see."

Denise was quite as well pleased that her aunt should not go with her; but she was overjoyed that she herself was allowed to go, and she ran off to engage seats for herself and Coco for the next day. The rest of that day she spent in preparing her dress. Coco jumped for joy when he learned that he was going in a stage to see his kind friend, and Mère Fourcy packed two pairs of chickens, two dozen eggs, some fruit and cake, in a basket, as a present for the young gentleman in Paris.

Denise was up before dawn. It was early in October; but it was a lovely day, and reminded the girl of that on which she first met Auguste. Her toilet was soon made; she wore a new dress and her daintiest cap--the one in which, on Sundays, she turned the heads of all the young men in the village, and drove the girls to despair. But would that pretty cap have the same power in Paris? Denise had no desire to make conquests; there was but one person whom she wished to please, although she said to herself a hundred times a day:

"No, no! I am not in love with him."

Coco was dressed very neatly. Mère Fourcy gave them the basket, saying:

"Give him my compliments, and tell him to think of me when he eats the chickens, and to tell me how he likes that cake!"

Denise and Coco ran, for fear of missing the stage; at last they were safely inside, the basket between Denise's legs, and they started for Paris.

It was not a long journey; but it seemed endless to Denise; whereas the child, delighted to be in the stage, wished that they might never arrive. However, they reached the stage office on Rue Saint-Martin in due course, and Denise, taking the basket on her arm, took Coco by the hand, and having inquired the way to Rue Saint-Georges, started in the direction of the Chaussée-d'Antin.

Denise's beauty and her peasant costume attracted more than one compliment on the way; but the girl quickened her pace without replying, although the basket was very heavy and Coco began to be fatigued by walking on the pavements.

When one is unfamiliar with a place, one is likely to walk farther than is necessary. Denise many times mistook one street for another; she disliked to inquire, because they to whom she applied seemed inclined to offer her their arms. She was warm and perspiring, and Coco was cross and kept saying:

"Where's my kind friend, I'd like to know?"

They had been walking more than an hour when they found themselves at last on Rue Saint-Georges.

"Here we are, Coco," said Denise, joyously; "here's Monsieur Auguste's house, and you'll soon have a chance to embrace your kind friend! He'll be glad to see you. Oh, yes! I'm sure he'll give us a warm welcome."

The child forgot his fatigue. They passed under the porte cochère, and Denise looked about in embarrassment. She could not control her emotion, and she halted with the child and her basket between two handsome stairways, uncertain which way to turn; while Coco began to cry at the top of his voice:

"My kind friend, we've brought you some cake and some fruit!"

"Vat's all this how-d'ye-do?" said Schtrack, opening his door and glaring at the young woman and the child, who were standing in the middle of the courtyard. "I say, my girl, haf you come here to sell geese?"

Denise blushed, and stammered as she looked at Schtrack:

"Which way shall I go up, monsieur?"

"You mustn't go up at all, sacretié! This is not ein boultry market. Go outside und yell mit te leedle broder."

Schtrack was about to come forth to turn Denise and the child into the street, when Bertrand came downstairs, and was thunderstruck to see the girl.

"What! is it you, my child?--and little Coco too?"

"Yes, Monsieur Bertrand, it's us. Oh! I'm so glad to see you! he was just going to turn us out of the house."

"What's that? you were going to turn this girl out, Schtrack?"

"Sacretié! why haf she not told me what she want? Te leedle poy, he bray like a tonkey in the courtyard: 'Kind freund! kind freund! see the cakes!'--Did I know his kind freund?"

"It's my fault, Monsieur Bertrand; I didn't think--I was so confused. Can't we see Monsieur Auguste?"

"Yes, indeed," Bertrand replied with some embarrassment. "Oh, yes! you shall see him. Come upstairs with me, Mamzelle Denise."

The girl and the child followed Bertrand, who admitted them with some precaution into Auguste's apartment and took them at once to the small salon, saying:

"Stay here and rest, and wait a little while."

"Has Monsieur Auguste gone out?"

"No, but he--he has company; he's busy just at this minute."

"Tell him we're here, Monsieur Bertrand, and I'll bet he'll come right away. We won't keep him long."

"Yes, I'll tell him that. But wait; I'll be back in a minute."

Bertrand left the salon, being careful to close the door behind him. Denise examined the fine furniture and pictures with which the room was embellished, and Coco lay on a couch. But the moments passed and nobody came. The girl's heart sank; she had secretly hoped that Auguste would be glad to see her, and the lack of haste which he displayed in coming to her, made her fear that she had flattered herself too much.

She dared not leave the room, or even open a door. Coco had fallen asleep; the girl seated herself in a corner, refrained from making the slightest noise, in order not to wake the child, and gazed ruefully at the basket containing the gifts she had brought to the fine city gentleman.

At last Bertrand returned with a dissatisfied air, and said in an undertone:

"You are tired of waiting, aren't you? Thunder and guns! I can understand that; but it ain't my fault, mamzelle, because my orders before everything! I don't know anything but my orders."

"Isn't Monsieur Auguste at home?"

"Oh, yes! he's at home, but he can't see you yet, because his orders--"

"But, Monsieur Bertrand, it isn't polite not to come and speak to people; with us, we don't leave our friends all alone like this."

"Oh! it's different in Paris, mamzelle. I know what my lieutenant promised to do to me if I disturbed him when he's--busy; and I can't disobey orders."

"Then we'll go away."

"Wait a little longer; perhaps it won't be very long."

At that moment they heard sounds in the reception-room, and Mademoiselle Virginie entered the salon.

"Here I am!" she cried; "I snapped my fingers at your orders, I did! That old villain of a Schtrack didn't want to let me come up. 'Monsir isn't in,' he says. But I came on all the same.--I say! who's this little farmer's wench? She's not so bad-looking! Is it on her account that Monsieur Auguste closes his door to his friends?"

Denise stared at Virginie in amazement, while Bertrand motioned to the latter to be quiet, saying in an irritated tone:

"It seems to me, mademoiselle, that when a concierge says that you can't come up, you should respect his orders."

"Go to the deuce with your orders! He told me there wasn't anyone here, and he lied, you see. Bertrand, who on earth is this rustic beauty?"

"She's a young girl from the country."

"Pardi! I can see for myself that she don't live on Rue Vivienne. What a sly fox he is!--What is she here for? Is it her young one asleep on the couch? The devil! he's quite a big boy already!"

"This is a most respectable young woman, mademoiselle; she came to bid Monsieur Dalville good-day, and brought this child, that he thinks a great deal of. There isn't the slightest harm in that."

"All right! so much the better, if there's no harm. I say! what an amusing fellow you are, Bertrand, when you put on that severe expression! It's a fact that the girl has a very innocent look. I'm sure that her cap would be mighty becoming to me."

During this conversation, which was carried on in undertones, Denise kept her eyes on the floor; she saw that Mademoiselle Virginie looked at her a great deal, and that redoubled her embarrassment.

"Why on earth does Monsieur Dalville keep this sweet child waiting?" said Virginie, assuming an affable air and approaching Denise.

"Because monsieur is busy and told me not to disturb him."

"Ah, yes! I understand, I comprehend! _Ask me no more!_"

Bertrand motioned to her to be silent; but she sat down beside Denise, paying no attention to the ex-corporal.

"Have you come far, mademoiselle?"

"From Montfermeil, madame," replied Denise timidly. The word madame seemed to flatter Virginie, who threw her head back and tried to assume a dignified bearing, as she rejoined:

"Montfermeil? that's in the direction of Sceaux, I believe?"

"No, madame, it's near Raincy."

"Ah, yes! to be sure; I was mixed up. Is the little fellow asleep yonder your brother?"

"No, madame, he's a poor little orphan, that Monsieur Auguste is taking care of."

"The deuce! does Auguste do that kind of thing? That's very fine of him, and I am glad to hear it; it gives him a higher place in my esteem.--And you want to see Auguste, do you?"

"Yes, madame; Coco's father has just died, and I wanted to consult Monsieur Dalville."

"What have you got in that basket?"

"Some little presents from our place--eggs and chickens, and some cake that my aunt made herself."

"Oh! I'm awfully fond of village-made cake! Will you let me taste it, my young village maid?"

Denise would have preferred to present the cake untouched to Auguste; but she dared not refuse Mademoiselle Virginie, who instantly opened the basket and broke off a big piece, which she proceeded to eat, continuing the conversation meanwhile.

"I'm very much afraid, my dear, that you've come here for nothing."

"Why so, madame?"

"Oh! that ne'er-do-well will let you cool your heels here till to-morrow morning."

"Who, madame?"

"Why, Auguste, to be sure! The cake is fine, and the butter delicious. It reminds me of my childhood; I used to eat cake like this every night; I bought it for four sous at the little shop on Boulevard Saint-Denis, where there's always a line waiting; it's famous for this cake.--To go back, I was saying, my dear, that Dalville is undoubtedly with some hussy or other, and that's why we can't speak to him."

"What! do you think so, madame?"

"Oh! I'm sure of it! Do you suppose I don't know all about it? Bertrand's embarrassment, and the concierge's orders. In fact, it's a most surprising thing that he let you come up."

"It was Monsieur Bertrand who made him let me in; if it hadn't been for him, I should have been sent away."

"For my part, it's all a matter of indifference to me; I look on Auguste as my brother now. But you are pale, my child! Don't you feel well?"

"Yes, madame, I'm all right."

"How lucky you are, my child, to be virtuous, and not to know anything about the passions! Always retain this innocence.--Bertrand, can't you see that this cake is choking me? For heaven's sake, give me something to drink, and this child will take something too."

"No, thank you, madame."

"Ah! the little fellow's waking up!"

Coco opened his eyes and looked about in amazement; then ran to Denise, saying:

"Where's my kind friend?"

"Oh! I guess we shan't see him," said the girl, in a tremulous voice, looking at the clock, which marked the quarter-past three, then turning her eyes on Bertrand with an imploring expression, as if to urge him to call Auguste.

"He's a pretty little fellow," said Virginie, passing her hand over Coco's head. "I'd like to have a child like him, because a child gives one a respectable look."

A bell rang in the next room.

"Monsieur is calling me," said Bertrand; and he hurried from the salon. At the same moment little Tony ran rapidly downstairs to put the horse in the cabriolet.

Denise expected every minute to see Auguste come in. Virginie was playing with Coco. At last Denise recognized Dalville's voice, speaking earnestly to Bertrand, and in a moment the young man entered the salon. But he had his hat on his head, his gloves in his hand, and seemed in a great hurry. The girl ran to meet him, with the child, taking her basket in her hand.

"Good-afternoon, Denise! good-afternoon, my boy!" said Auguste, kissing the child and taking no notice of Virginie. "Have you been waiting for me? I am very sorry that I can't stay with you now."

"Monsieur, my aunt sends you her respects," said Denise, "and these chickens, eggs, pears, and----"

"Thanks, Denise, thanks! I----"

"Pray, come, monsieur; I am waiting!" said a woman's voice impatiently in the reception-room--a voice which strongly resembled Madame de la Thomassinière's.

"Adieu, adieu! I will see you again," said Auguste to Denise.

And, giving her no time to reply, he hastily left the room, closing the door behind him, and went out of the house with a young woman enveloped in a great shawl and covered with a thick veil, who shrank out of sight on the back seat of the cabriolet.

Denise stood perfectly still, basket in hand; but great tears rolled from her eyes, and the basket would have dropped, had not Virginie, who had drawn near, saved it as she caught the girl in her arms.

"Well, well! what on earth's the matter with you, my dear? On my word! she's really crying! Mon Dieu! is she going to faint?--Bring me something, Bertrand!--The idea of being unhappy just for a man, my dear girl! God bless me! they ain't worth the trouble! If you knew 'em as well as I do! I admit that Monsieur Auguste wasn't very polite, to hardly answer you and not even thank you!--Ah! her color's coming back a little.--It really scared me to see you like that!"

Denise took out her handkerchief, wiped her eyes, and called Coco.

"Come, my dear, let's go," she said; "we must go back to the village."

"Ain't my kind friend coming with us?" said Coco, as he took Denise's hand.

"Oh, no! he hasn't even time to speak to us. Come, Coco, let's go. We must be at the stage office at four."

"I'll show you the way, my dear," said Virginie; "you might lose yourself in Paris."

"I was going to offer you my arm, mamzelle," said Bertrand.

"No, thanks, Monsieur Bertrand, don't put yourself out; it isn't necessary."

"Why not, Mamzelle Denise?"

"We'll find the way all right. As for Monsieur Auguste, tell him we won't trouble him any more."

"You're wrong to be put out with him, Mamzelle Denise; if somebody hadn't been waiting for him----"

"Yes, to be sure," said Virginie, "it was very polite of him: to not so much as thank this pretty child for her present! magnificent chickens, fine pears, and fresh eggs! Fresh eggs are so good! Will you allow me to put three in my bag for my breakfast to-morrow?"

"As many as you please, madame," said Denise; "for I see very clearly that Monsieur Auguste cares very little indeed for what we took so much pleasure in bringing him."