Part 18

A young poet, who had written some verses for Madame de la Thomassinière, and who was exceedingly annoyed because Mère Thomas's arrival, by causing Athalie to swoon and putting the ladies to flight, had prevented him from reciting his quatrain, which would, so he thought, create a sensation, said to the buxom dame, as he readjusted his collar:

"Madame, it is your fault in some degree that the Graces have fled from us."

"What's that you say, my little dapper?" retorted Mère Thomas, planting both elbows on the table, the better to observe the young man.

"I say, madame," replied the poet, "that the Graces are easily frightened, and that----"

"What's that you're singing about your Graces! Be they birds you're trying to tame?"

"Madame, the Graces are the ladies; the Zephyrs and the Loves fly at their heels; Pleasure and Laughter form their train and strew roses along their path."

"Phew! what sort of a stew is that, my boy, made out of roses and rice."[D]

[D] _Ris_, meaning _laughter_, has the same pronunciation as _riz_ (rice).

"I mean to imply, madame, that there are remarks at which modesty takes offence, and that, when telling stories, you should touch very lightly upon certain subjects, for

"'Le Latin dans les mots brave l'honnêteté, Mais l'auditeur Français veut être respecté! Du moindre sens impur la liberté l'outrage Si la pudeur des mots n'en adoucit l'image.'"[E]

[E] The Latin tongue defies decency, but the French listener insists on being treated with respect. He is offended by the faintest touch of impurity of sense unless the image is softened by the decency of the words.

Mère Thomas roared with laughter, and, turning to her neighbor with the pigeon's wings, who was dipping a macaroon in champagne, his face still wearing a scowl, she said:

"Do you understand that, old fox? That fellow says he's got impure senses; it ain't decent to make a confession like that at dessert."

"Ah! madame!" cried the poet, flushing with wrath, "no one ever dared----"

"What's up, Biribi? Bah! you're losing your temper, my lad, you're red as a turkey-cock; I see that; but I'm a good-natured fool, and I ain't got no more gall 'n a flea. Let's drink together; that's better'n talking about your fat women--grasses, Graces--and your thin women, what I don't know nothing about. Some wine, marquis--that nice little wine as foams. Oh! I know what this is; it's champagne, that's what it is; it ain't no fraud, like your madeira! Your health, my little duckies; yours, Thomas. Whatever's the matter with you, my son? You don't say nothing, and you look as queer as queer; be you going to go off the hooks, like your wife? We must have a song, children; that's always the thing at dessert. Come! who's going to be the one to begin? Thomas, you used to know lots o' songs; I'm going to sing you the one Chahû's wife sung to my wedding:

"'J'entre en train quand il entre en train, J'entre en train quand il entre--'"

You must sing the chorus, children."

"One moment, one moment, madame," said the marquis; "pray wait for the coffee and liqueurs."

"Oh, yes! that's so, my friend; they'll clear my voice."

"This is getting worse and worse!" said the marquis to his host in an undertone.

"Oh! monsieur le marquis, I am in utter despair; I am overwhelmed with confusion; I am afraid to turn my head!"

"Why, my dear fellow, I am not in the least offended; a great many people have mothers who are--who are not precisely noble. That does not prevent your being a man whom I esteem beyond measure, nor does it make your dinner any the less delicious. But there are people in society who are not so sensible as I am, and in whose estimation this may do you an injury. To say nothing of the fact that our dear mamma is getting tipsy, and I don't know what she may not sing us before she is through."

"And to think that I expect more than eighty people to-night for the ball--the most fashionable and most distinguished people in Paris! Save me, monsieur le marquis; I lay my purse, my cash-box, my credit, at your feet!"

"My dear La Thomassinière, my friendship for you is an sufficient motive to--However, I believe that I have a note for six thousand francs to meet to-morrow."

"You will allow me to attend to that, monsieur le marquis."

"We must devise some way to make everybody leave the house."

"Yes, and as soon as possible."

"Wait--I have an idea--Yes, on my word, it's an excellent idea."

"Ah! monsieur le marquis! my gratitude----"

"It may cost you rather dear, but I see no other resource."

"I am ready to make every possible sacrifice."

"Very good; let me set to work. Go back to the table as if nothing were in the wind. Tell your servants to carry out my orders, and await their effect."

"Lafleur, Jasmin, Comtois, obey monsieur le marquis rather than myself."

The marquis left the dining-room, followed by the servants, and La Thomassinière returned to the table. Coffee and liqueurs were served. The marquis soon reappeared and resumed his seat beside Madame Thomas, reassuring his host with a glance.

Mère Thomas hummed as she drank her coffee.

"My children," she said, "we must have a dance to-night; I feel twenty year younger. Thomas, you'll take a turn, I hope? Give me a glass, marquis; but none of that sugary stuff that sticks in your gullet. Give me something stiff and strong, my friend; that's the only kind that makes you feel good."

Madame Thomas had taken two petits verres of brandy, one of rum and one of kirsch; she was declaring that they were very refreshing, and seemed disposed to go on drinking, when a cloud of smoke arose in the courtyard and found its way into the rooms. The guests looked at each other uneasily.

"Seems to me there's a bit of a fog," said Mère Thomas; "it smells like something burning; be any of you sitting on a foot-warmer?"

The servants rushed into the room, shouting in dismay:

"The house is on fire!"

"Fire!" cried all the guests, springing from their chairs. Mère Thomas alone remained seated.

"Well! all you got to do is fling water on it!" she said.

"My house on fire!" said Monsieur de la Thomassinière, glancing at the marquis. "How can it have happened? Ah! there was a pile of straw--somebody must have dropped a match on it. Look, monsieur, see what a smoke there is in the courtyard!"

As it was about nine o'clock in the evening, the flame made by a number of bunches of straw, which the marquis had fired, made the courtyard as light as day. The cry of _fire_! soon arose on all sides; it reached the salon, and the ladies who had taken refuge there from the society of Madame Thomas, rushed out shrieking, and calling their fathers or their husbands.

The gentlemen tried to allay their fears, saying: "It's nothing, it won't amount to anything; but we must go as soon as possible. Get your bonnets and shawls; make haste, for ladies should never stay where everything is in confusion. We will go with you."

Meanwhile the fire which the marquis had kindled, in order to put the guests to flight, and which the servants did not think of putting out, because they knew that it was a ruse on their master's part,--the fire actually attacked the carriage-house and spread from that to the stable. While the ladies went to get their shawls and the men their hats, and while the servants ran through the rooms shouting _fire_! the danger had become real, and no one discovered it until a large part of the courtyard was already wrapped in flames.

Thereupon tumult and confusion held full sway; the ladies fled into the street; one lost her turban, another her cap, and several fainted. Auguste took Athalie in his arms and carried her to a stone bench in the next street. Amid the general upheaval, Mère Thomas decided at last to leave the table; she raised her skirts above her knees and began to run, crying out:

"Just look at all them friends of Thomas's! the cowardly skunks are running away instead of forming a line! and they'd leave me here to roast just like a chestnut!"

The results of the marquis's little ruse were one wing of the house burned, four horses burned, three firemen injured, ten shawls lost, fifteen hats stolen, six locks of hair scorched, three bracelets lost, and two combs broken; but Monsieur de la Thomassinière made himself whole with twenty thousand francs, and at all events his worthy mother did not exhibit herself to the numerous guests who were invited for the evening.

XV

THAT WHICH WAS FORESEEN

On the morrow of the scene at his house, Monsieur de la Thomassinière and Athalie started for England, where they determined to remain until Paris had forgotten the scandal caused by the stout countrywoman. As for the latter, they had sent her back post haste to her village, expressly forbidding her ever to leave it again, on pain of withdrawal of the allowance of two hundred francs which her generous son deigned to pay her.

The absurd false shame of La Thomassinière, who blushed for his mother after he became wealthy, and the petty baseness of Athalie, who had pretended to faint in order to avoid embracing Mère Thomas, made Auguste quite indifferent to their departure; but their house was the only place where he saw Monsieur de Cligneval, and Bertrand said more than once:

"Seems to me, lieutenant, that we don't hear much about that marquis who owes you a hundred louis."

"Perhaps I shall hear from him to-day."

"And the little milkmaid, when are we going to see her again, and thank her for what she brought you? The chickens were fine! I had to eat them while you were dining out."

"I don't think that Denise gives very much thought to us. Hasn't she a lover? Isn't she to be married?"

"Is that a reason for not thanking her for her chickens, lieutenant?"

"Perhaps she came to Paris to invite me to her wedding."

"I don't know what she came for; but she seemed unhappy when she went away. She said she wouldn't trouble you any more, and I saw tears in her eyes. That touched me, I admit; the child is so sweet and pretty, and anyone can see that her tears ain't make-believe."

Auguste was apparently reflecting on what the ex-corporal had said, when there was a violent ring at the door, and Bertrand announced that an old gentleman whose face denoted intense excitement, wished to see Monsieur Dalville. Auguste was surprised to recognize Monsieur Monin, whose eyes, even more staring than usual, seemed to indicate that something of grave importance had happened.

"Is it you, Monsieur Monin?" said Auguste, offering a chair to the ex-druggist, who, despite his excitement, inquired as he seated himself:

"How's the state of your health?"

"I ought rather to ask you that, Monsieur Monin. You look as if you were in some trouble; may I know what it is?"

"Yes, monsieur; I have less than I had! that's why I've come."

"What do you say? less than you had? I don't understand."

"Do you mean to say you don't know it?"

"Know what, Monsieur Monin?"

"What I just told you."

"Not yet; but if you would be good enough to explain----"

"The fact is, monsieur, it gave me such a blow!"

"Indeed, you seem to be a little confused."

"Didn't it have the same effect on you?"

"I don't know as yet what effect it will have on me, Monsieur Monin, or how I am interested in what you came to tell me."

"Oh! Monsieur Dalville, if we could have guessed; if we could have foreseen! But, bless my soul! we aren't sorcerers; that's what I told Bichette this morning when she insisted on taking my snuff-box away."

"I never supposed that you were a sorcerer, Monsieur Monin; but I confess that at this moment I find you rather incomprehensible."

"That's because I haven't recovered yet, monsieur."

"Recovered from what?"

"And Bichette declares that he's taken you in, too."

Dalville lost patience, and glanced at Bertrand, who was pacing the floor, muttering:

"If I had a squad of men like him to drill, I'd begin by fastening 'em to horses' tails and driving the horses at a gallop."

Monin took out his snuff-box, stuffed his nostrils, and continued:

"I have come to you, Monsieur Dalville, to see if by chance you have discovered which way he has gone."

"Who on earth do you mean, Monsieur Monin? For heaven's sake, explain yourself more fully! You have been talking to me for an hour, and I haven't understood a word that you've said. What is it that someone has been doing to you?"

"Someone has robbed me, monsieur!"

"Robbed you?"

"That is to say, carried off twenty-five thousand francs."

"Who, pray?"

"Monsieur Destival."

"Destival!"

"Yes, monsieur; he's gone away, left France, so I am told. That is what I had the honor to come to tell you."

Auguste understood now too well; he was overwhelmed. Bertrand walked up to Monin, shouting:

"What's that you say? Damnation! Is it possible that that Monsieur Destival----"

"Ah! Monsieur Bertrand! How's the state of your health?"

"He has gone--with our two hundred and fifty thousand francs!"

"Just so. You know you taught him to drill."

"Ah! the double-dyed villain!--We are ruined, lieutenant!"

"Don't get excited, Bertrand; perhaps this intelligence is false. I can't believe that Destival----"

"That's what I told Bichette; I couldn't believe it either."

"But how do you know? Who told you that Destival has gone?"

"I'll tell you, monsieur: he sold my shop for me not long ago, and kept the money to invest; and I gave him six thousand francs more a week ago, because he said that the more he had, the better investments he could make. And yet Bichette wasn't very much inclined to leave our money with him. But Monsieur Bisbis advised her to leave it, so--Do you take snuff?"

"I must go at once to Destival's," said Auguste, interrupting Monin in the middle of his speech.

"Yes, lieutenant," said Bertrand, "that will be much better than listening to monsieur. Go, don't lose any time; and meanwhile I'll go and try to find out something about which way the villain has gone. Perhaps he ain't far away yet, and if we have to founder ten horses, we'll catch him!"

"If you do catch him, Monsieur Bertrand, remember that I'm in for twenty-five thousand francs," said Monin. But nobody was listening to him; Auguste was already on the staircase and the corporal lost no time in following him. Monin, finding that he was left alone with the little groom, decided to leave Dalville's abode and to return to his own.

"At the rate they're going," he thought, "there's no doubt that those gentlemen will succeed in catching our man; so I'll go home and encourage Bichette."

Auguste betook himself to the business agent's abode. He inquired for Destival of the concierge, who replied:

"Monsieur Destival hasn't been seen for three days, and nobody knows what's become of him; he didn't say where he was going. The negro and Baptiste have gone, too; but madame and her maid stayed behind. She's at home now."

Auguste went upstairs and was admitted by Julie. The young man noticed no change in the apartments, where it simply seemed more quiet than before. He was ushered into the presence of madame, who seemed a little embarrassed at sight of him.

"Can it be that the current report is true, madame?" Auguste asked. "I am told that your husband has gone away, that he has left France!"

"Alas! it is only too true, monsieur," replied Emilie, sinking into an easy-chair.

"What, madame! has he gone, not to return?"

"I think so, monsieur. He has abandoned me; he is an abominable man!"

"And do you know what he has taken with him, madame?"

"No, monsieur; I knew absolutely nothing about his business."

"Two hundred and fifty thousand francs! It is almost all that I possessed."

"Oh! that was shocking on his part!"

"Say rather that it is robbery, infernal rascality!" cried Auguste, angered by Madame Destival's indifference. "And you don't know, madame, where he has gone?"

"I know nothing at all about it, monsieur; I am overwhelmed, stunned, like yourself!"

"Your husband has ruined me, madame."

"I am terribly distressed, monsieur; but what do you expect me to do?"

"It seems to me, madame, that this occurrence is likely to involve you in some unpleasantness."

"I have no responsibility whatever to Monsieur Destival's creditors, monsieur; we had each our own property; this house is hired in my name, and everything in it is mine. Is it my fault that Monsieur Destival has been unfortunate in his speculations? Is it the first time that such a thing ever happened? Am I not more to be pitied than anybody else? He has carried off my marriage portion, monsieur, and the furniture that is left here is certainly not worth the amount of that.--However, monsieur, do whatever you choose; proceed against me; turn me into the street if such is your desire!"

Auguste made no reply, but left Madame Destival's presence abruptly, cursing the business agent's rascality.

Bertrand returned, having failed to discover any traces of the fugitive. He continued his efforts in that direction for three days, while Auguste on his side did all that he could; but it seemed certain that Destival was already outside of France; that was the utmost that he could learn about him.

Auguste tried to recover his cheerfulness and to endure the blow philosophically. Bertrand was very careful not to offer his master any counsel at that moment, for he realized that the time would be ill-chosen. But when all hope was abandoned of discovering the tracks of the swindler who had carried off Dalville's fortune, Bertrand bethought himself of the Marquis de Cligneval's little debt; and Auguste consented that the corporal should call upon him.

Bertrand hastened to the address given him and asked for monsieur le marquis.

"He don't live here now," said the concierge.

"Where does he live?"

"He's gone to take the waters."

"What waters, morbleu?"

"Faith, he didn't tell me, monsieur."

Bertrand was furious; he returned, cursing, to tell Auguste, who received the news calmly enough.

"What! lieutenant, you are robbed of a hundred louis more, and it doesn't make you angry!" said Bertrand.

"Faith, my friend, when a fellow is ruined, a hundred louis more or less aren't worth worrying about."

"Still, they'd tide over for some time. That cursed marquis! I had a presentiment of this."

"I shall find him somewhere."

"He won't pay you."

"Bertrand, you must look into the condition of my cash-box and see how much I have left."

"That won't take long, lieutenant."

Bertrand walked sadly toward the desk; then returned and presented with a sigh a statement of their finances.

"Eighteen thousand six hundred and forty francs," said Auguste, reading the total; "Gad! I didn't think that I was still so rich as this."

"I haven't counted the marquis's hundred louis, nor what several of your friends owe you."

"I am inclined to think that that is wise. But I must know what I owe also; send to my tailor and boot-maker and harness-maker, and pay their bills. When I was rich I could afford to owe; but when one's money is gone, one should not think of running into debt."

"You speak like the great Turenne, lieutenant. All the bills shall be paid to-morrow."

After the bills were paid, Auguste possessed sixteen thousand four hundred francs.

"Add to that our handsome furniture and the wine in the cellar, and by leading an orderly, economical life, you can wait to see what will turn up," Bertrand observed.

"We must subtract from the total, Bertrand, three hundred francs that I have promised to pay for a pretty mercer's apprentice, whose furniture a heartless bailiff proposed to seize; two hundred francs which I am lending to Virginie, and ten louis for some bracelets that I am going to buy to-night."

Bertrand nearly swallowed the pen that he had in his mouth.

"You can't mean it, lieutenant!" he cried; "before long you won't have anything left."

"Look you, my friend, I promised all these things when I was still rich; shall I break my promises just because a villain has ruined me? You wouldn't do it yourself. But I swear that these shall be my last follies. Henceforth I propose to be virtue itself; besides, you must remember that we shall also have the proceeds of the sale of my two horses and my cabriolet, for I can no longer indulge in a carriage! I must cut down my establishment, dismiss Tony, and go on foot.--Does that make you feel sad, Bertrand?"

"For your sake, lieutenant!"

"Oh! very likely I shall be all the better for it, my friend. Exercise is essential to good health--I've heard you say that a thousand times. Do you think that people who go on foot aren't just as good as those who ride in carriages?"

"Oh! you don't think I'm such a fool as that, lieutenant!"

"Well then, why regret a thing one can do so well without! With money, hasn't one always a cab at his command, without having horses and a groom to keep? Upon my word, I can't understand now why I ever had a cabriolet."

"But all those grisettes who come to tell you about their little troubles, to have you comfort them, and the great ladies whose heads you turned--don't you think, lieutenant, that your cabriolet had something to do with their display of affection for you?"

"That would be an additional reason for not regretting it. Henceforth I shall know the hearts of the women to whom I make love; I shall be sure of being loved for myself; and if I triumph over a youthful beauty, if I carry the day over a rival, I shall have no reason to fear that I owe the preference accorded me to my fortune and to that alone."

"You will soon find out, lieutenant, that it was for your advantage that that villain carried off your money!"

"Faith! who knows? Tell me, am I wrong to look at the bright side?"

"No, indeed; there are lots of people who couldn't find a bright side to such a thing; but still--excuse my fears, monsieur--what you have left won't last forever, no matter how much we may economize; and what will you do then, lieutenant? for a man can't live on his cheerfulness alone."

"Why, then--we'll see, my dear Bertrand; I have some talents--well, I'll turn them to account, I'll work."

"You work, monsieur!" said Bertrand, turning his back, to wipe away a tear.

"Why not, my friend?"

"Because you're not used to it--because it would be too hard for you--because I wouldn't allow it, in fact,--and--But let's not say any more about that. You're right; it's better to forget ourselves. Who knows? perhaps we shall find your thief!"

"That's the talk, my dear Bertrand; we must always hope; it makes us none the poorer and it does us good."

Auguste went out to seek distraction with a mercer's apprentice, and Bertrand went downstairs to read the life of the great Turenne to Schtrack.

XVI

A SCENE IN SOCIETY

The cabriolet was sold, the little groom found another place. When Madame Saint-Edmond observed that her neighbor was cutting down his establishment, she no longer deigned to look at him, but passed him without even bowing to him. Bertrand was indignant at her discourtesy, but Auguste laughed at it, saying:

"I am certain now that that woman never loved me, and it is always pleasant to know whom one is dealing with."

But Bertrand muttered:

"Just let her lose her poodle again; and if I find him I'll make him do a turn of sentry duty that he'll never be relieved from."