Part 29

"He thinks that my only feeling for him is friendship; he is very much mistaken; what I feel for him is love! Mon Dieu! why did I believe Monsieur Bertrand at that time? Why did I tell him that I didn't love him? This is what comes of lying! But I'll tell him the truth now, because I don't want him to try to look on me as a sister."

XXVII

AVOWALS.--THE PROPOSAL

After travelling about for three years in quest of riches, and finding in all lands the same vices, the same passions, the same folly,--when one returns home even poorer than one went away, how delicious it is to wake beneath a hospitable roof, with faithful friends whom one's evil fortune has not changed, and who are made happy by one's return! It is the harbor after a gale; it is the clear sky after a storm; it is the gleam of dawn after a long night.

Such was Auguste's waking; in his eyes the cottage was a palace, aye, better than a palace, since it held Denise and Coco. He rose, and after revelling for a few moments in the pure air of the garden, he turned his attention to his costume. Not with impunity does one live under the same roof with a lovely girl whom one has once loved, and still loves, although resolved to be nothing more than her friend. Moreover, it is quite natural to try to recover some of one's former attractions, after making one's appearance in the costume of an impoverished wayfarer.

In a short time, the razor had disposed of the beard. But Auguste's modest portmanteau contained only a coat, a waistcoat and almost no linen. He was inspecting it with a dejected air when there came a soft tap at his door and he heard Coco's voice:

"It's me, my kind friend."

Auguste opened the door to the child, who had a large bundle which he placed on the bed.

"What's all this, my friend?" queried Auguste, after he had kissed the little fellow.

"I don't know, my kind friend; it was Denise that told me to bring it to you. Good-bye; I'm going to feed my goat. You didn't see her last night; hurry up and dress yourself and come and say good-morning to her."

When the child had gone, Auguste opened the package, which contained a supply of linen and a paper on which was written:

"Coco gives you this; remember that he didn't refuse your gifts a long time ago."

"Dear Denise!" said Auguste; "how thoughtful of her! And to think of her being able to get them so early! She can't have slept at all--she must have ransacked the village already. If this is the way her friendship works, what would happen if one had her love!"

However, it was a bitter thing to Auguste to accept the girl's gifts; when one is in the habit of giving, it is hard to make up one's mind to receive. He overcame at last the feeling of pride that caused him to hesitate; he realized that it would hurt Denise if he refused, and that consideration decided him to accept her presents.

After completing his toilet, Auguste went into the garden and found Denise there. She came to meet him with the most engaging smile, and a look in which there was something more than friendship. Coco ran to Auguste and said:

"Ah! I know you now--this is the way you used to look."

"Thanks to you, Denise!" said Dalville in an undertone.

But the girl put her hand over his mouth, and he seized the hand and pressed it to his heart without more words. They showed him the cottage, the garden, every nook and corner, and Denise said to him at every step:

"Do you like this? Are you satisfied with the use I have made of your money?"

"What surprises me," said Auguste, "is that you can build a house with three thousand francs."

"In the first place, monsieur, we had the land; and then, you see, the cottage has only four rooms and attics above."

"But that pretty summer-house where I slept last night?"

"Oh! I had that built after my poor aunt's death. I preferred to live here than in our house. I felt as if I weren't so far away from you."

These words were accompanied by another sweet smile; all of which was not calculated to induce Auguste to look upon the lovely girl as his sister simply.

After breakfast they sat in the shade of a clump of lilacs. They talked a long while, having so much to say to each other after a long separation. The girl did not weary of listening to Auguste's stories of his travels. When he mentioned Bertrand's name, a sigh escaped him; whereupon Denise took his hand and pressed it affectionately, to give him to understand that he still had friends. He continued his story, but her hand remained in his, and she did not think of withdrawing it.

Engrossed by the pleasure of being with Denise, of exchanging soft glances with her, it did not seem to occur to Auguste that he must look upon her only with a friend's eyes. Nor did Denise seek to conceal the state of her feelings from him; on the contrary, she wished him to read in the lowest depths of her heart.

Several days passed swiftly. In the morning Auguste and Denise went to walk in the country. Coco always went with them, but his presence did not incommode them; for their eyes alone betrayed their feelings, and an innocent heart has no fear of witnesses. At night, when they were together in the cottage, the hours flew more swiftly still, and when they separated, they exchanged a loving: "Until to-morrow."

Auguste could not conceal from himself the fact that he adored Denise, and, being persuaded that she had no other feeling than friendship for him, he said to himself:

"This girl will end by turning my head. But she loves me only as a brother; she doesn't know how dangerous to my repose her affectionate glances and caresses are. I must leave her and return to Paris; a few days more and I shan't have strength to do it."

On her side Denise said to herself:

"Great heaven! doesn't he see that I love him? I do all that I can to show him! Is it that he doesn't choose to understand me? In that case I must just tell him how it is; and now that he has nothing at all and I have a little money, perhaps he'll not despise the little village girl."

Although he continued to tell himself that he must go away from Denise, Auguste did not leave the cottage, where he was so comfortable. But one evening when he was alone with her, he inquired:

"How does it happen, Denise, that you are not married?"

"Because I didn't choose to marry, monsieur!" she replied, raising her lovely eyes to his.

"But you were in love with someone, surely? You told me so. What obstacle has prevented you from marrying the object of your choice?"

Denise blushed and no longer dared to look at Auguste. At last she faltered in a tremulous voice:

"I--I lied that time, monsieur."

"How so, Denise?"

"You know, that time in my aunt's garden, when I told you that I had a sweetheart, it was because Monsieur Bertrand had told me that you didn't come to the village for fear of falling in love with me; and I longed so to see you that that was why I said I didn't love you."

"Dear Denise! is it possible?" cried Auguste, throwing his arms about her.

"Yes, that's the truth; and since then I've been awfully unhappy because I told you that; for you didn't come again, and you thought I loved somebody else."

Auguste gazed lovingly at the girl; but soon his brow grew dark; he fixed his eyes on the ground and seemed to be meditating deeply. Amazed by his silence and his depression, she drew nearer to him and said timidly:

"Are you angry because I love you?"

"Ah! Denise, it might once have made me perfectly happy--but now----"

"Well--now?"

Auguste made no reply; and after a moment she asked him:

"Will you marry me, monsieur?"

"Marry you, Denise?"

"Yes; formerly I wouldn't have dared to hope for such a thing, for you were very rich, and you couldn't have taken a village girl for your wife. But you have lost the fortune which kept you in fashionable society. You say every day that you no longer care for the fine ladies, the coquettes, who deceived you.--Now, if you want me, I am yours. I haven't a great fortune, but I have enough for us two; and I will never deceive you!"

Auguste was deeply moved by Denise's affecting offer; but he contented himself with pressing her hand and heaving a profound sigh. She impatiently awaited his reply; his silence made her think that her proposal had offended him; she walked away from him, and, unable to restrain her tears, faltered:

"I made you angry by proposing that you should marry me. Forgive me, monsieur; I forgot that I am only a peasant. I thought that you loved me."

"Ah! I love you, Denise, more than I ever loved! my feeling for you is a hundred times sweeter and fonder than the passions which have led me into so many follies. You are only a peasant, you say! but your virtues and your good qualities make you the equal of a great lady, even though you had not in addition such lovely features, such charming ways, and a melting voice that goes to one's very heart!"

"You love me! Oh! how happy I am! Then you will take me for your wife?"

Auguste gazed tenderly at her, and said at last:

"You shall have my reply to-morrow, Denise."

"To-morrow! Why not at once? Do you need to reflect about it?"

The girl said no more. During the rest of the evening Auguste seemed more affectionate, more in love than ever; his eyes, which were constantly fixed on Denise, expressed the most genuine passion, and when he left her, to return to his summer-house, he pressed her to his heart and seemed unable to tear himself from her arms. He left her at last, and Denise said to herself:

"Oh! he will certainly marry me! but why not say so at once?"

She did not sleep; she was too excited to close her eyes. In default of dreams, her imagination conjured up a thousand delightful pictures: she saw herself the chosen companion of the man she loved; she passed the rest of her days with him. So charming a future is surely not inferior to the pleasantest dreams, and we do not try to sleep when we possess the reality of happiness.

Day broke at last. Denise rose and spent a longer time than usual at her toilet. That is a venial offence when a woman knows that she is going into the presence of the man whom she wishes to call her husband. She left her room and went into the garden, where she found Auguste every morning; but he was not there, and the girl was surprised that he was still asleep; for she thought that he must have been unable to sleep, like herself, and that he would be in haste to see her.

She seated herself in the shrubbery where they had talked the night before. She could see the summer-house from there, and she waited impatiently for Auguste to come out. But the door did not open, and at last Coco, whom Denise had not yet seen, came running toward her with a letter in his hand.

"Here, my dear Denise, my kind friend gave me this for you," he said, holding out the letter.

"Your kind friend! Why, have you seen Monsieur Auguste already?"

"Oh, yes! he was up before sunrise."

"Where is he now, then?"

"He kissed me and then he went away; I don't know where he went."

Denise had a presentiment of evil; she opened the letter with a trembling hand and read:

"I love you, my dear Denise; do not doubt my love; but shall I join my poverty to your comfort, after I have lost my money by my own fault? shall I bestow on you the hand of a man who has not even any knowledge of the agricultural labors by which your little property can be made profitable? No, Denise, I am not worthy to be your husband, I cannot make up my mind to live at the expense of a woman who would sacrifice a happy future for me. Doubtless your kind heart led you to offer me your hand; perhaps you even pretended to love me so as to induce me to accept your generous offer; but I must not do it. Adieu, Denise! If I should become rich again, I shall fly to you; but I have no hope of it now. Adieu! I shall come to see you when I have strength enough to look upon you as my sister."

The girl turned deadly pale and dropped the letter, crying:

"He doesn't believe in my love!"

"Well, where's my kind friend? Did he write you where he's gone?"

"Alas! he has abandoned us, he has run away from us, he thinks we don't love him!"

Denise burst into tears; the child ran to her arms and she pressed him to her heart, sobbing:

"Oh! I shall die of grief, and you must tell him that he's the cause of it; then perhaps he'll believe that I loved him!"

XXVIII

VIRGINIE AGAIN

It was very early in the morning when Auguste left the pretty little cottage where he had passed a fortnight which he looked upon as the happiest period in his life. It was not without a mighty effort that he tore himself away from Denise; it requires a deal of courage to leave a woman whom one loves, when she has voluntarily offered one her heart. But we must remember that Auguste had been rich, and that every feeling of pride was not extinct within his breast. His pride could not accustom itself to the idea of offering Denise the hand of a penniless unfortunate; and furthermore he feared that it was from gratitude for what he had done for Coco that the girl offered him her hand. A heart bruised by misfortune is easily frightened; dread of humiliation makes us unjust; a benefaction seems like almsgiving, and consolation is nothing more than condescending pity.

With his little bundle tied to the end of his staff, Auguste started for Paris. When he saw the great city once more, he could not restrain a sigh. But he pulled his hat over his eyes and walked with lowered head, in dread of meeting some former acquaintance. However, it is no crime to be poor; why, then, should the unfortunate seem to avoid men's eyes when so many scoundrels go about with their heads in the air? Why should one be any more ashamed to say: "I haven't a sou," than to say: "I owe a hundred thousand francs"? Because in society we see and seek and care for none but those who have money; because we too often close our eyes to the source of the wealth of a multitude of schemers who cut a dash at the expense of the scores of families they have ruined, and who from their magnificent equipages look down in derision on those whom they have reduced to destitution; because we pardon all sorts of vices in the man who is able to cover them with gold, and refuse to pardon a trifling peccadillo in a poor devil; because we lavish attentions on a Messalina arrayed in silk and diamonds, and close our doors to a girl who has given herself for love to a man who cannot support her. All this is very sad, but it is all true.

Auguste was careful not to go near Rue Saint-Georges; he went in the direction of the Marais. It was necessary that he should be most economical in his outlay, and he found in an old house on Rue de Berry, a closet, said to be furnished, on the sixth floor, which he could hire for fifteen francs a month. He paid half of the first month's rent in advance.

The man who formerly passed his life in dissipation, who set the fashion in manners and style, who was sought after and fêted, for whom women disputed at parties, and whom they were proud to subjugate,--the brilliant Dalville found himself reduced to the necessity of occupying a garret and sleeping on a wretched pallet. When he entered the miserable den he had just hired, he could not control a feeling of regret, and he threw himself on a chair which wavered under him. As he glanced at the walls, only partially covered by a few tattered strips of paper; as he contemplated the furniture of his closet, and the tumbledown roofs near by, Auguste recalled old Dorfeuil's room; he remembered especially the old man's story and he dropped his head on his hands, saying:

"And that did not reform me!"

In a few moments, summoning his courage, he took his portfolio, glanced over a list that he had made of all the people who owed him money, and determined to spend the next day calling upon his debtors. At that moment, the payment of a single debt would be of great service to him; for, despite the economy with which he had travelled, he had but eleven francs left after paying his rent for a fortnight. He had given his name to the landlady as a teacher of music and drawing; but was he likely to find any pupils, and how could he live before he received the price of his lessons? Such reflections were ill adapted to make the aspect of his abode more attractive. If only his former companion had been there to comfort him and revive his courage! Again and again, impelled by the force of habit, Auguste turned and looked about the room for Bertrand; but, just as he was on the point of calling him, he remembered his desertion, and his heart was torn anew.

For a moment Auguste had thought of going to his former lodgings to inquire whether Schtrack had seen Bertrand, and whether the ex-corporal was in Paris; but he abandoned the idea when he reflected that he might meet Bertrand in the old concierge's quarters, and that he ought not to risk encountering a man who, by his ingratitude, had rendered himself unworthy of being regretted.

It was by thinking of Denise, by recalling the happy moments that he had passed with her, that Auguste strove to forget his deplorable plight. He was well aware that he would always find shelter under Denise's roof, but he could not make up his mind to live at her expense.

"It may be that it was from compassion that she offered me her hand," he said to himself.

On the following day, after carefully brushing his old coat, and trying to dissemble his destitution, Auguste set out to visit his debtors. His first two calls were not fortunate; one man was dead, the other had gone to Bordeaux, whither Auguste could not go to seek him. At his third attempt he was more fortunate; the debtor was a young man who, like Dalville, was devoted to pleasure; he was in the act of performing his second toilet when his creditor was ushered into his presence.

One does not put oneself out for a poorly dressed person, and the young man, who did not recognize Dalville, said to him while continuing to tie his cravat:

"What do you want?"

"First of all, to see you. Is it possible that Léon does not recognize me?"

Surprised at being addressed by his baptismal name, the young man bestowed a contemptuous glance upon Auguste and said:

"Deuce take me if I know you. Can it be that we have ever had anything to do with each other?"

"Yes, monsieur, for Auguste Dalville has had the privilege of doing you a favor more than once."

"Auguste Dalville!" cried the young man, turning his head once more; "what! can it be you, my dear fellow?"

"Myself!"

"Oh! it's impossible! you are dressed like a highwayman! Are you just out of prison?"

"No, thank God! unfortunate as I am, I have never put myself in the way of being imprisoned."

"Look you, my dear fellow, that doesn't prevent one's being an honest man; I've been to Sainte-Pélagie more than once myself, and it's likely that I shall go again. Poor Auguste!--Damn this knot! I shall never get it tied.--Well, what chance brings you here, my dear friend? You haven't been seen anywhere for a century."

"It's three years since I left Paris; I have been in Italy and England."

"The devil you say! Tell me, is it true that the English tie their cravats like a groom?"

"That isn't the kind of thing I gave my attention to on my travels. As I have told you, Léon, I am not in luck; but when I was rich you had recourse to my purse more than once. I lent you more than a thousand francs; half of that sum would be of great service to me now, and I have come to ask you to pay me five hundred francs on account of what you owe me."

"Parbleu! my dear Auguste, you have chosen a very bad time. I lost at roulette yesterday all the money I had. I determined to put my luck to the test. I have nothing left, and if I can't pick up ten louis or so to-day, to take a lovely little woman to the Bois, I am a lost man. My charmer will probably go to the Bois with somebody else, and you can understand--Does my cravat look all right?"

"I thought that you had a better heart, Léon. You will find ten louis to take your charmer to drive, but you can't find them for me, to whom you owe them, and who am in a lamentable plight."

"I don't say that I won't find them for you, my dear fellow. Come again in a few days; I promise to put aside all I win at cards, and it shall be for you. Poor Dalville--on my honor, I am distressed.--This corner of my collar won't stay in place; it's terribly annoying, it spoils all the harmony of a costume."

Auguste left the young dandy's apartment, wondering how he could ever have been the friend of a man whose head was as empty as his heart. He called upon others of his debtors: some were out, some had moved. He returned home, tired out and with little hope of faring better on the morrow. For several days he persistently pursued them; but the majority were not to be found or not to be seen; those whom he succeeded in seeing never had any money, and it was impossible for him to catch young Léon at home again. He sought fruitlessly the abode of the Marquis de Cligneval; but one day, as he was going home, he saw monsieur le marquis, ran after him and stopped him.

"What do you want of me?" said Monsieur de Cligneval haughtily.

"I have something to say to you, monsieur."

"I don't know you."

"You don't know me!" cried Auguste angrily, standing in front of the marquis, who was about to walk away. His tone and the flash in his eyes evidently refreshed Monsieur de Cligneval's memory, for he replied, trying to smile:

"Oh! I beg pardon! a thousand pardons! It's Monsieur Dalville. I was so engrossed--I am going out to dinner--I am late, and----"

"Monsieur, you have owed me money for a long, long time, which you borrowed for a few days only."

"I, owe you money? Oh! you are mistaken, I assure you."

"What, monsieur?"

"I beg pardon--I paid you! I give you my word that I paid you, a long time ago; that's why you have forgotten it."

"You dare to assert----"

"My dear sir, you confuse my debt with somebody else's; really I paid you. Think carefully and you will remember. When you lend to a number of people, you get them mixed and forget; it's like boston--there are people who always ask you twice for the trick.--Adieu! au revoir! I am going out to dine."

Monsieur de Cligneval was already far away. Auguste stood still, petrified by his debtor's impudence; but what is one to do with a man who denies a debt, when one has no evidence thereof? To thrash him would be some compensation at least, but the law would put you in the wrong.

Auguste went home more depressed and dejected than ever, and, to cap the climax of his misfortunes, fatigue and anxiety had inflamed his blood. He was consumed by fever; he was alone, on a bag of straw, and ere long it would be impossible for him to obtain those things which were essential for his restoration to health.

Stretched on his bed, where he had passed the whole day, Auguste courted sleep, which avoided his eyes. He was in pain, he breathed with difficulty, and sounds of mirth disturbed the silence of his abode. The person who lived below him seemed to be singing over her work; her voice pierced the thin ceiling that separated her from the hapless invalid, and the latter, on his bed of suffering, distinguished from time to time a vaudeville air or the refrain of a _chansonnette_.

"Those people haven't a fever like me," he said to himself. "Oh! this is an excellent time to be philosophical, but nature speaks louder than philosophy."

After a sleepless night, the poor fellow, devoured by thirst, found that he had no more water with which to satisfy it. He summoned all his strength, left his bed, and dragged himself down to the concierge's room; for he dared not apply to any neighbors, and moreover he was alone, between two lofts, on his sixth floor.

"Oh! are you sick, monsieur?" cried the concierge, at sight of Auguste.