Part 3

"There's my bed," said Coco. "Oh! I'm all right, you see; Jacqueleine keeps me warm in winter. Jacqueleine loves me, she does!"

And the child threw his arms round the goat's neck, and patted her, rolling over and over on the straw with her. But he was obliged to leave his faithful companion, for his grandmother called him.

"Come, come, good-for-nothing! You can play by-and-by. Come and put the bread on the table and give me a cup. The little scamp ain't good for nothing."

"You treat your grandson very harshly," said Auguste, taking his place at the table and tasting the rye bread and the milk.

"If I'd let him have his way, monsieur, he'd play all day long."

"But you must love the child dearly, as he's the only one your daughter left you."

"Oh! yes, I love him enough! But when a body's poor, it's just as well not to have none at all."

Auguste looked once more at the old peasant woman, and her extreme ugliness no longer surprised him so much. He took Coco on his knee, gave him milk to drink, and bread and butter to eat, and enjoyed looking at his pretty face and lovely fair hair. The old woman seemed astounded by the endearments which the fine gentleman lavished on the child, and muttered between her teeth:

"Oh! you'll spoil him! 'taint no use in doing that!"

"Is he learning to read and write?"

"Oh, of course! where's the money coming from, I'd like to know? Besides, we don't want to make a scholar of him. Is that wanted for driving the plough?"

"But you might at least give him a better place to sleep than he has."

"There ain't no sheets but for one bed, and it's no more'n fair for me to have 'em, old as I am. His father sleeps on a sack of straw same as he does. He don't sleep no worse for it either, I tell you."

"Here, Mère Madeleine, take this, and buy a bed for the child, and don't be so harsh with him."

As he spoke, Auguste rose, and put six more five-franc pieces in the old woman's hand. She, having never before seen so much money at one time, made curtsy after curtsy, overwhelming the stranger with thanks, and saying to the child:

"Come, Coco, thank monsieur for giving me all this money for you. Thank him, I say, quick!"

The child looked up at his grandmother in evident embarrassment.

"Let him alone," said Auguste, as he kissed him; "he doesn't know the value of money yet. The kiss he gives me is all the more sincere on that account. Adieu, my little Coco.--By the way, which is the road to Livry, please?"

"Follow this path, monsieur, and it'll take you to the main road. You'll be there in half an hour. Do you want Coco to show you the way?"

"It isn't necessary."

Auguste left the hovel; the child bade him good-bye and called after him:

"Come and play with me again, won't you?"

"Yes," said Auguste, "I promise."

IV

SOME PORTRAITS AFTER NATURE

Since eleven o'clock Dalville had been expected at Monsieur Destival's. Madame, a brunette of thirty, with a bright eye and a most expressive glance, who was an adept in the art of making the most of a shapely figure and seductive contours by an effective costume,--madame had finished her toilet. In the country it was, of course, very simple; but there are some négligé costumes which require much preparation. However, as madame was pretty and still young, she had spent only a half hour in donning a filmy white dress, confined at the waist by an orange sash; in arranging her curls becomingly and adorning them with a bow of the same color as her sash. Nor had she asked Julie more than six times if the yellow was becoming to her.

Julie replied that madame was fascinating, that yellow was always becoming to brunettes, and, in fact, that madame need not be afraid to wear any color. Madame smiled slightly at Julie, who was only twenty-four, but was extremely ugly, which is almost always considered a valuable quality in a lady's maid.

Monsieur Destival was ten years older than his wife; he was tall and thin; his face was not handsome, but it had character; unfortunately its expression was not of the sort that denotes an amiable person, whose wit causes one to forget his ugliness; it denoted self-sufficiency, conceit, and a constant tendency to be cunning. His rustic cap, set well forward on his head, seemed to put a seal upon all the rest.

Monsieur Destival was formerly a government employé; with his wife's dowry he had bought the office of official auctioneer, which he had afterward sold at a profit. Although he never talked of politics for fear of compromising himself, and did not himself know to what party he belonged, he had had the shrewdness to set up an office as a business agent, had obtained a numerous clientage and had succeeded in tripling his capital. To be sure, he gave receptions, balls and small punches, and madame, whose eyes were full of fire and whose manners were charming, did the honors of her salon with infinite grace.

The country house, where they passed much of the time in summer, was large enough to enable them to entertain extensively, and to provide rooms for seven or eight friends. As monsieur never allowed more than one day to pass without going to Paris to look after his business, and as he sometimes passed the night there, madame--who was very timid, although she had the look of a strong-minded woman--liked to keep one of monsieur's male friends in the house.

A young man with twenty thousand francs a year could not fail to be hospitably received at Monsieur Destival's; and so, although it was only three months since Auguste had made his acquaintance, he was already on the footing of an intimate friend. Monsieur constantly urged him to call, whether at Paris or in the country, and madame was very fond of singing and playing with him.

But the clock struck twelve, and Monsieur Dalville did not appear. Madame was annoyed. Julie was posted on the lookout at a window on the second floor, and monsieur wandered from one room to another, exclaiming:

"The devil! my friend Dalville is very late, and he promised to come early, to be here for breakfast."

"Does Monsieur Auguste ever remember his promises?" asked madame snappishly.

"Oh! there you go again, always finding fault with him, attacking him, making fun of him."

"I, monsieur? What concern of mine are Monsieur Dalville's tastes or his failings? When did you ever see me attack him?"

"I know that it's all in joke; but you are a little bit caustic, my dear Emilie, you like to hurl epigrams. It is true, I admit, that I myself should be very biting, if I didn't hold myself back; in fact, I often am unconsciously. But after all, Dalville's a charming fellow--well-born--rich--talented."

"Talented? Oh! very slightly."

"I thought that he was strong on the violin?"

"No, monsieur, he often plays false--Well, Julie, do you see anyone coming?"

"Mon Dieu! no, madame, it's no use to look. And all those cheeses that I bought of Denise! How annoying!"

"For heaven's sake, mademoiselle, don't bother us with your cheeses. Go up to the cupola--you can see farther."

"Very well, madame."

Julie went upstairs and monsieur resumed the conversation.

"You won't deny, I trust, that Dalville has a pleasant voice."

"Pleasant! bah! a voice like everybody's else."

"Why, I should say that you and he sing duets together perfectly, especially the one from Feydeau's _Muletier_; you know, the one with 'What joy! what joy!' and that ends with 'coucou! coucou!'"

"Oh! you tire me, monsieur, with your 'coucous!'"

"He plays quadrilles on the piano."

"Who doesn't play now?"

"Faith, I don't; to be sure, I have always had so much business on hand that I have had to neglect my taste for music. At all events, Dalville is bright, pleasant, always in good spirits."

"There are days when he can't say three words in succession!"

"Let me tell you that I myself, when I'm very much occupied with some important matter, am not as agreeable as usual--that happens to everybody. To return to Dalville--he is rich--and young.--By George! I have an idea! such a delicious idea!"

"What is it then, monsieur?"

"I must find a wife for him."

"A wife for Monsieur Auguste? Why on earth should you interfere? Is it any of your business?"

"Isn't it my business to look after other people's business? This may turn out a profitable affair."

"Oh! don't go to making matches, monsieur, I beg! As if you knew anything about such things!"

"I flatter myself that I do, madame."

"A business agent make marriages--nonsense! that would be absurd!--Have you thought about your gun, monsieur?"

"Yes, madame, I told Baptiste to clean it; and Dalville promised to bring that old soldier of his, Bertrand; he will teach me how to use it; for a wolf has been seen in the neighborhood, you know, madame; and that is very unpleasant because it keeps one uneasy all the time."

"I don't suppose that that makes it impossible for you to beat up the wood?"

"Oh, no! on the contrary, madame, it was I who suggested that measure of safety. I propose to see the wolf, madame."

"You will do well, monsieur."

The conversation was interrupted by a noise in the next room.

"Ah! here's our dear Dalville at last, no doubt," said Monsieur Destival.

Madame said nothing, but she prepared a little pouting expression which would surely imply what she thought. Meanwhile the person whom they had heard did not enter the room, but continued to rub his feet on the doormat. Monsieur Destival threw the door of the salon open, and found, instead of Auguste, a little man of some fifty-five years, with a light wig, broad-brimmed straw hat, coat cut almost square, short breeches, and fancy stockings, who was rubbing and rerubbing his feet on the mat in the reception room.

"Ah! it's our neighbor, Monsieur Monin!" said Monsieur Destival, at sight of the little man.

At the name of Monin, Madame Destival made an impatient gesture, muttering:

"What a bore! why need he have come!"

"Hush! be still, madame! He still has a drug store to sell, and he wants to buy a house. I propose that he shall dine with us."

With that, Monsieur Destival turned back toward the door, where Monsieur Monin was still rubbing his feet on the mat.

"Well, aren't you coming in, my dear Monsieur Monin? What in the deuce are you doing there all this time? It's a fine day; you don't need to wipe your feet."

"Oh! but I'll tell you: as I came across the courtyard I looked up at the sky to see if we were going to have a shower, and I stepped into a dung-heap that I didn't see."

"That's Baptiste's fault; it should have been taken away."

"There, that will do."

Monsieur Monin left the mat at last, and looking up at Monsieur Destival with a pair of big eyes level with his face, wherein one would have looked in vain for an idea, smiled a smile which cut his face in halves, although it was still dominated by a nose of enormous dimensions, always stuffed with snuff, like an unlighted pipe.

"How's your health, neighbor?"

"Very good, my dear sir. Pray come in; my wife is here and will be delighted to see you."

Monsieur Monin entered the salon and removed his hat, making a low bow to Madame Destival, who acknowledged the salute by a smile which might have passed for a grimace; but Monsieur Monin took it most favorably for himself, and began his inevitable question:

"How's your health, madame?"

"Passable, monsieur; not very good at this moment; my nerves are unstrung, I have palpitations."

"It's the weather, madame; the heat is intense to-day: twenty-six degrees and three-tenths."

"Twenty-seven, neighbor," said Monsieur Destival, glancing at his thermometer.

"That's surprising! it isn't so high at my house, and yet mine's in the same position. My wife says that I've made it too low lately."

"Why did not Madame Monin come with you, neighbor?"

"She's making pickles, and it will take her all day. My! but she takes a lot of pains with 'em! She won't go out to-day."

"I am deeply indebted to the pickles," whispered Madame Destival, while Monsieur Monin continued, doing his utmost to force another pinch into his nose:

"My wife said to me: 'I don't need you, Monin, take a walk.' So I came to see you."

"That was very agreeable of you, neighbor. Will you pass the whole day with us?"

"Why, yes, if it don't put you out, I should like to, because I'll tell you--when my wife's making pickles, she don't like to bother with cooking."

"Very good, then you will stay. You will meet Monsieur Dalville, a delightful young man, full of fun. His servant, who is an old soldier, is to give me a lesson in drilling, for I am appointed general----"

"What?"

"Why, yes, in the _battue_ we're going to have."

"Oh, yes! I was saying----"

"Won't you take part in it, Monsieur Monin?"

"Why, I'll tell you: when I had my rifle, it was all right--"

"Madame, madame, a lovely calèche is just driving into the courtyard," said Julie, rushing into the salon.

"A calèche?"

"With Monsieur and Madame de la Thomassinière."

"What! have they come? How kind of them!" cried Monsieur Destival, running to the window. Madame Destival did not share her husband's delight; however, she rose to satisfy herself concerning the arrival of her new guests, and went out to receive them; for persons who have a calèche and a livery deserve the very greatest consideration. Thus, Monsieur Destival flew at his wife's heels, leaving Monsieur Monin, who was just about to tell him how many times he had hunted, and who, finding himself abandoned in the salon, turned to his ordinary resource, and succeeded, by dint of perseverance, in forcing two dainty pinches of snuff into his nostrils.

Monsieur de la Thomassinière, for whom they ran downstairs so eagerly, was a man of about forty years of age. When he arrived in Paris, at eighteen, his name was Thomas simply, and he did not blush then for his mother, who kept a little wine-shop in her village. But residence in the capital had wrought an entire change in Monsieur Thomas. First a shop clerk, then a government clerk, then a money-lender, then a man of large affairs, Monsieur Thomas had seen Fortune smile constantly upon him. He speculated with his consols and was lucky; after that he forgot his village and adopted the tone and manners of a man in the first society. That a person should start from very low and rise very high--there is no objection to that; on the contrary, the man who wins success by his work, who makes his own fortune, leads us to believe that his merit is greater than his who attains the highest honor without exertion of his own. But the thing for which a parvenu is never forgiven is an affectation of pride and insolence, and the belief that by assuming the airs of a grand seigneur, he can lead people to forget the name and the clothes that he used to wear. Monsieur Thomas was such a one. He began by changing his too vulgar name for that of La Thomassinière. Then, instead of urging his mother to leave her village and enjoy his fortune, he contented himself with sending her a sum of money which would enable her to take down the sign of the _Learned Ass_, and to stop selling wine. But he forbade her to come to Paris, where, he said, the air was very unhealthy for elderly women. Then Monsieur de la Thomassinière set up an establishment,--carriage, servants, livery--bought a magnificent country estate and a very pretty wife of eighteen, who was turned over to him with a dowry of one hundred thousand francs, and who did not so much as ask whether her husband was handsome or ugly, because, having been perfectly educated, she knew that a husband who owns a carriage is always comely enough, and, besides that, a woman is supposed to look at nobody but her husband.

Monsieur de la Thomassinière, dressed like a dandy and aping the manners of good society, but always affording a glimpse of the days of the _Learned Ass_, was forever talking about "my estate, my property, my servants, my horses." His wife was his only possession as to whom he did not use the possessive pronoun. As for madame, a lively, volatile, giddy creature, with no thought for anything save dress and amusements, she never spoke to monsieur except to ask him for money, or to talk about some festivity that she proposed to give.

"Ah! here are our dear friends!" said Monsieur Destival, hastening forward to offer his hand to Madame de la Thomassinière to help her alight, while monsieur gazed admiringly at his horses and gorgeous livery.

"Good-morning, Destival.--Lapierre, be careful of the horses.--Madame, allow me to offer my respects.--Cover my calèche, you fellows, it may rain in.--We have come without ceremony. It doesn't put you out to have me bring a few of my people, does it?"

"Of course not! I have enough to board and lodge them," replied Monsieur Destival, biting his lips, because his modest cabriolet was completely eclipsed by the superb calèche, and Baptiste and Julie, who composed his whole staff of domestics, would be hidden by a single one of the tall rascals whom Monsieur de la Thomassinière carried in his train. But these reflections did not prevent the exchange of the usual courtesies, they simply made him ambitious to enlarge his household; and so, as he led the young woman into the house, our business agent said to himself:

"I must find a wife for Dalville, sell Monin's drug shop, and buy a house for him; then I will have a little groom--a negro--and dress him in red, so that he can be seen a long way off."

The two ladies embraced.

"Good-morning, my dear girl."

"Good-morning, dear."

"How sweet of you to come to see us!"

"We are going to stay until to-morrow."

"How lovely your hats always are!"

"Do you think so?"

"Fascinating. I like that style of dress ever so much."

"It's the latest--not quite low enough in the neck."

"Why, yes. I must have some of that material; it's very stylish."

"Oh! it's very simple; the dress cost only two hundred francs. But for the country, and for calls on one's friends--I'll give you my dressmaker's address."

Madame Destival allowed Madame de la Thomassinière to go upstairs first, continuing to lavish compliments upon her, and counterfeiting the most extravagant delight in order to conceal her secret annoyance; for the new arrival was genuinely pretty, her manners were charmingly vivacious, and Monsieur Dalville, whom Madame Destival was still expecting to see, had never met her. Monsieur Dalville, who was so quick to take fire, was very likely to make love to Madame de la Thomassinière, who was no less likely to listen to him. All this caused Madame Destival much secret anger; but she affected the greater amiability on that account; for in society one must know how to make believe, to speak otherwise than one thinks; that is the great secret of social success.

Madame de la Thomassinière entered the salon, where Monsieur Monin had remained; he was on the point of attempting the introduction of another pinch of snuff, but checked himself at sight of the young woman, stepped back, removed his hat, and although he had never seen her before, began his inevitable question:

"How's your health?"

But the petite-maîtresse did not give the ex-druggist an opportunity to speak; she stifled with her handkerchief the outburst of laughter inspired by Monsieur Monin's unique countenance, and turned to Madame Destival, saying:

"Who is this?"

"A neighbor of ours, very rich, but as stupid as he is ridiculous."

"Ah! so much the better; we will have some sport with him. We may as well laugh a bit. Do you expect anybody else?"

"Why, yes, we expect a young man, a great friend of Monsieur Destival--Monsieur Auguste Dalville. Do you know him?"

"No, but I've heard a great deal about him; he is noted in society for his _bonnes fortunes_ and his conquests. I shall be very glad to make his acquaintance. As a general rule, these naughty fellows are very agreeable--don't you think so, my dear?"

"Why, sometimes--not always. However, you shall judge for yourself."

"They say he's very good-looking?"

"Oh! so-so; a passable face, that's all; rather fine eyes, but his mouth is a little too large and his lips are very thick. I don't like that type of face at all."

"For my part, I don't like thin lips. Is he light or dark?"

"I can hardly remember; he is dark, I think."

"I had an idea that I had heard that Monsieur Dalville came to your house very often?"

"Oh, no! he goes to my husband's office, on business."

"Is he musical?"

"A little."

"I have brought a nocturne that I am crazy over; he must sing it with me."

"Monsieur Dalville will certainly be delighted to sing with you.--Excuse me, my dear, but I have some orders to give. In the country we don't stand on ceremony."

"I should hope not! I will go out and see your garden."

"Do; I am going to order luncheon, and I will come and call you."

The petite-maîtresse tripped lightly down the stairs leading to the garden, and Madame Destival went to her bedroom, where she threw herself on a lounge, saying to Julie as she came in:

"Oh! Julie! I am so annoyed! I cannot stand any more, I am choking!"

"I should think as much, madame; I don't see how you can help it! To wait in vain for those whom you expect, and have to receive a lot of people that you don't expect!"

"Monsieur Destival is perfectly brutal, with his mania for inviting everybody he sees. If he had a château, he would not do any more!"

"That old Monin, who can't do anything but eat and drink!"

"And yet, if he were the only one, I shouldn't mind him, I promise you."

"Is his wife coming?"

"No, thank God! she is making pickles."

"That's very lucky! Madame Monin has a wicked tongue in her head; and inquisitive--why, she always comes into the kitchen to see what's going on."

"In spite of that, I should have preferred her to those Thomassinières, who put on so much style and assume the most unendurable airs and pretensions!"

"And then, who ever heard of bringing three servants to be fed! Those big rascals will eat everything in the house."

"What time is it, Julie?"

"After twelve, madame."

"He won't come. I am very glad of it now. Order luncheon. We will not dine until half past six."

"That's right; in that way they won't get any supper, at all events."

Julie went downstairs. Madame stood in front of her mirror, looked at herself a few moments, arranged a few locks of hair, then left the room, saying to herself:

"I look well enough for these people."

She went to the garden and joined Madame de la Thomassinière, whose husband, immediately on arriving, had asked Monsieur Destival for a pen and some ink, so that he might at once write an urgent letter on a matter of great importance. Monsieur Destival ensconced the speculator in his study.

"Make yourself perfectly at home," he said; "I will leave you."

And Monsieur de la Thomassinière, left to himself at the desk, scratched his head, looked at the pens, and wrote nothing at all, for the reason that he had nothing to write and no letter to send. But a man involved in great speculations should always seem preoccupied, and pretend that he needs a writing desk; that impresses fools and credulous folk, and sometimes people of good sense even; the professional schemers are the only ones who do not allow themselves to be gulled by such petty wiles, because they often use them themselves.

On leaving La Thomassinière, Monsieur Destival returned to Monsieur Monin, who did not take offence because no attention was paid to him, his wife having accustomed him to that.

"Well, neighbor, have you sold that drug shop?" queried the business agent, slapping Monsieur Monin on the shoulder.

"Not yet, neighbor. It vexes me, because, I'll tell you, those who have taken my place temporarily aren't used to it as I am, and----"

"I'll sell it for you. I hope to see you in Paris next winter, Monsieur Monin, and to know you better."

"Certainly, monsieur."

"You must come to our house to play cards."

"Do you play loo?"

"No, but écarté, and boston. I have a very pretty house to sell you."