Part 9

"Monsieur Bertrand, you ought to have told me--to have spared me--But I absolutely insist on speaking to Monsieur Dalville. Let him know that I have just a word to say to him. Then I will leave him at peace with madame."

"If I had had a chance to answer sooner, madame, I'd have told you before this that my lieutenant hasn't come home from the ball yet; that's why madame was waiting in the small salon."

"Very well! I am going to wait for him too," said the neighbor, whose voice was no longer of the most honeyed kind; and as she passed Bertrand on her way to the salon, she whispered to him:

"I don't know who this woman is, but she's very bad style!"

Virginie stayed behind in the reception room a moment, to say to Bertrand:

"Who's that little jackdaw? Don't lie to me, my little Bertrand, or I'll make a row."

"She's a lady who lives in the house."

"Aha! lives in the house, does she? That's very convenient! She looks like a regular slut! Has Auguste known her long?"

"Why, no; about six weeks."

"Does he love her?"

"How do you expect me to know that? Do you suppose I ask my lieutenant: 'Do you love So-and-So, or Such-a-One?'"

"All right! you're a villain. I can only say that Auguste shows poor taste! She's a homely creature, that woman; she has red rims about her eyes, just like a rabbit's, and she has an ugly mouth, hasn't she, Bertrand?"

"Why, I don't think so."

"As if you knew anything about it! I tell you that she's a horror, with her princess's airs! Ah! if she expects to impose on me, she's very much mistaken. The sinner, to insist on speaking to Auguste in private! Just to tease her, I'm going to eat some more pie, even if I die of indigestion."

Virginie returned to the salon, resumed her seat on the couch and attacked the breakfast once more. The neighbor seated herself on a chair at the other end of the room, and while making a pretence of looking out into the street, watched Virginie's every movement from the corner of her eye. Bertrand meanwhile remained in the outer room, leaving the ladies to adjust matters as they chose. As she ate, Virginie hummed snatches of comic opera airs; Madame Saint-Edmond did not make a sound. This situation lasted for some time. At last Virginie, beginning to lose patience, called Bertrand and said to him:

"Your pie isn't at all nice; the last time I breakfasted with Auguste, we had a much better one."

Bertrand simply removed the scanty remains of the pie, saying to himself:

"I'd have sworn that she found it good!"

"Bertrand," said Virginie, after a moment, "will you give me a little water and some sugar, please? It will do me a lot of good."

"She must need it," said the neighbor to herself, with a sarcastic smile.

"By the way, my little Bertrand, you have some orange flower water, haven't you? It will allay nervous excitement."

Virginie laughed when she said this, and was evidently making fun of Madame Saint-Edmond; but that lady seemed to pay no heed to what she said.

"Upon my word, I am very sorry that I disturbed you, Bertrand," resumed Virginie, preparing some sweetened water for herself; "I might just as well have gone to get it myself, for I know where everything is. I am perfectly at home here. But you are so good-natured!"

"I do my duty, mademoiselle," said Bertrand, with a military salute.

"I know, Monsieur Bertrand, how attached you are to Auguste," said Virginie, assuming a sentimental tone. "And so, whenever I mention you to him, I am very glad to speak in terms of praise. That's no more than justice, that's sure. Auguste, who has every confidence in me, will follow my advice, I trust, and you'll find, Monsieur Bertrand, that I am not capable--of--of never doing----"

Virginie always became entangled when she tried to talk sense or to be sentimental. Bertrand confounded himself in reverences, awaiting the end of a speech which he did not comprehend; but luckily for Virginie, the bell rang.

"There's Auguste!" she cried, while Bertrand went to the door.

Thereupon there was a great commotion in the salon. Virginie rose, all ready to rush to the door, glaring at the blonde lady with an expression of defiance. The latter, too, had risen; but she did not look at Virginie, and did her utmost to maintain a calm and indifferent attitude.

But their hopes were blasted once more. It was not Dalville who had rung, but Tony, his diminutive groom, who came to inform Bertrand that after the ball, which was at Madame de la Thomassinière's, the resplendent Athalie had carried away a part of the company to breakfast at her country estate. Auguste was among the number; his hostess had refused to allow him even a moment to return home and change his clothes. But, as Auguste had emptied his purse at cards during the evening, he sent his little jockey, with the cabriolet, to obtain some money, which he was to deliver to his master at Madame de la Thomassinière's estate.

As Virginie had held the salon door ajar, both ladies heard what the little groom said to Bertrand.

"You see, mesdames, it is useless for you to wait any longer," said Bertrand, returning to the salon; "monsieur's off to the country; he has sent for something and that means that he isn't likely to return very soon."

"Yes, he has sent for money," said Virginie, with a sigh. "God! how the man does throw it away! It's frightful! If he only gave me a quarter of what he----"

Virginie checked herself; she realized that she had made a mistake. Madame Saint-Edmond cast a contemptuous glance at her and left the room, saying to Bertrand:

"All that I ask you, monsieur, is to be kind enough to let me know when Monsieur Dalville returns."

"I shall not fail, madame," replied the corporal, escorting the neighbor to the door. In the reception room she said to him:

"I don't know who this hussy is that I found installed in Monsieur Dalville's apartment; but she acts like a fishwoman, and her manner is so insolent that I wouldn't have her for my cook."

When the neighbor had gone, Virginie concluded to resume her hat and shawl.

"Well," she muttered, "I may as well go, as that good-for-nothing isn't coming home. It's a nuisance, though, for I really needed to see him. I wanted to ask him--That idiot of a landlord is always in my rooms! Oh! how he tires me! He's furious because he tried to make love to me and I wouldn't listen to him. Think of it--a little seducer of fifty-five! What do you suppose he did, Bertrand, in the hot weather? He came to see me in the morning in his dressing gown; but one day, when the wind blew, I saw that my gentleman was dressed underneath like--like a Scotchman!--'Come, come,' said I to myself, 'this is too free and easy! If he comes here that way for the purpose of seducing me, just a minute!'--He wouldn't go away, so I called the concierge and had the landlord put out of my room. Since then, he's as ugly as sin. Well, I'll come back very soon.--Ah! I know where I'll go. Yes, that fat Englishman, who was willing to set me up in business, on condition that--Good! I'll go and tell him that I've found a linen-draper's shop. After all, I am tired of living this way; I mean to have a shop. I wouldn't look so bad behind a counter, would I, Bertrand?--I say, the neighbor was pretty well stirred up, wasn't she? She went before I did; in fact, she'd have had to carry me to make me go first, because when I take a thing into my head, I don't--Adieu, my little Bertrand."

Mademoiselle Virginie slipped through the door and downstairs, humming.

"Gad!" said Bertrand to himself as he looked after her, "if my lieutenant had come home, I don't quite know how things would have turned out. This one's a regular demon, and the other, with her die-away voice, was beginning to make eyes like pistol shots, too! Never mind, I got out of it pretty well; at all events nobody fainted this time, and that's what I am always afraid of. Thunder and guns! I'd rather have ten raw recruits to lick into shape than one fainting woman to bring to. In fact, there are some of 'em that are quite obstinate about it."

"Whenever you're ready, Monsieur Bertrand," said little Tony, following the ex-corporal into the salon.

"Ah! to be sure, my boy; I forgot all about it. He must have money, always money! Well, come with me, and we'll go to the strong-box. Sacrebleu! it makes me feel bad to keep taking out and never putting back. When I tell monsieur so, he says: 'Go to my notary.'--That's all right; I know that the notary always gives me money; but by giving and giving--However, the lieutenant's the master, and I must obey.--How much does he want, Tony?"

"Fifty louis, Monsieur Bertrand."

"Fifty louis! he had that much in his purse yesterday when he started for that ball! What in the devil do they do at these swell parties, to get rid of so much money in one evening? It seems that he's no luckier at these Thomassinets--Thomassinières'--than he is anywhere else!"

"Oh! it was very fine, Monsieur Bertrand!"

"Ah! so you saw it, did you?"

"Yes, I went up to the servants' quarters. They gave me ices and punch and cakes."

"Oho! I can understand that you liked that! But do you know that with the twelve hundred francs that monsieur lost at cards, we could have had some famous cakes here?--Here, my boy, here's the yellow boys; look out not to lose them."

"Oh! don't be afraid, Monsieur Bertrand, the cabriolet's waiting for me at the door."

"And don't drive Bébelle too fast, d'ye hear?"

The little groom had already gone. Bertrand was still standing in front of the strong-box, which was open. He counted the remaining contents, and frowned; he seemed terrified by the rapidity with which Dalville was spending his money. He closed the desk at last, with a shake of the head, saying: "It's his; he has the right to dispose of it." And to dispel his melancholy thoughts, Bertrand went down to the cellar and brought up a bottle of old burgundy, because, being entrusted with the duty of watching the wine, he wished to be sure that it did not run away.

IX

MADEMOISELLE TAPOTTE AND THE MARQUIS

We have heard little Tony say that his master was at Madame de la Thomassinière's ball; whence we must conclude that, since the day at Madame Destival's country house, Dalville and the wealthy speculator had become more intimate. Auguste, being invited by the gushing Athalie, had not failed to accept her invitations, and Monsieur de la Thomassinière, seeing that Dalville joined in all the pleasure parties without calculating the expense, that he played for high stakes, and lost with the best grace imaginable, agreed with madame that the young man was of the sort to go all lengths.

Madame Destival was secretly furious to see Dalville amid the throng of Madame de la Thomassinière's adorers; but that did not prevent her from continuing to call that lady "my love" and "my dear," because she would have been sorry not to be invited to the gorgeous parties given by the capitalist; and although she went to his house solely to seek subjects for criticism, and although Monsieur Destival could not eat his dinner for wrath at seeing a table much better served than his own, they were very glad to subject themselves to these vexations.

Is it surprising that Dalville, in that whirlpool of dissipation, and constantly in the company of charming women who chose him for their escort--is it surprising that he should have forgotten the milkmaid of Montfermeil? However, the memory of Denise was not altogether effaced from his mind, and on several occasions he had formed the plan of going to the village to see the child and the young woman; but when he was on the point of carrying out his plan, some new invitation, some festivity that he could not miss, detained him in Paris, where the time passes so quickly for happy people.

It was to her country estate, at Fleury, that the charming Athalie conveyed Auguste and three other gentlemen who had been at her ball. Madame had devised the party while dancing a quadrille, and had determined that they would eat fresh eggs on the grass, while walking through the "ladies' chain." Auguste and the other three young men were invited and they instantly accepted. Madame de la Thomassinière, who displayed no less activity in her amusements than variety in her costumes, issued her orders at once. Her husband alone knew nothing of the excursion; and at eight o'clock in the morning, when the four gentlemen were finally induced to leave the écarté table, madame gave them seats in her calèche, laughing like a madwoman at the idea of abducting thus four cavaliers in full dress. Monsieur de la Thomassinière was in bed, but his valet was instructed to inform him when he woke where he could find madame, in case he should desire to join her.

A word or two that Madame Destival had heard during the night had apprised her of the delightful project for the morning; and as she and her husband were not of the party, they returned home in very ill humor.

"Always some new form of dissipation!" said Madame Destival, with a bitter smile. "That Madame de la Thomassinière is at her wits' end to invent something that will ruin her husband."

"If she only would ruin him!" exclaimed Destival; "but no; that man has the greatest luck! Everything succeeds with him. However, he doesn't shine by his wit, that's sure enough! But he has just made sixty thousand francs in a transaction that I had in view."

"Well, monsieur, why didn't you carry it out?"

"I hadn't funds enough to buy the debt, madame."

"You should borrow, find the money. Really, monsieur, you ought to blush for shame when you see the show of magnificence that that Thomassinière makes, and you do not outshine him. Those people have eight servants, and I have just one wretched maid and an ill-tempered footman who does everything!--I want a lady's maid, monsieur; I insist upon having one!"

"Before long, madame, I hope----"

"They have a calèche and a landau and a coupé, and we have only a very shabby cabriolet! But monsieur must needs learn to drill, instead of giving his attention to making money!"

"I have several affairs under way, madame. If I sell Monin that house----"

"Well, come to some conclusion about it, monsieur. I tell you that I can't live like this any longer; I must have two new cashmeres, a lady's maid, a calèche, and a country house where I can give parties; not like that old barrack at Livry, which I can't endure now."

"Never fear, madame. I must have a clerk, a man cook, and a negro servant. I am going to venture into some new schemes, and you will see that we will soon crush that miserable parvenu, who murders the language with an assurance that suffocates me."

The calèche, drawn by two spirited horses, bore away Athalie and the four young men of fashion, among whom was Dalville. Each of the four paid court to the petite-maîtresse, who had the art of distributing a word, a smile, a glance, to each in turn, and revelled deliciously in the homage that was laid at her feet. Is there a greater joy for a true coquette than to be surrounded by men who wear her chains? Athalie was vivacious and playful; they knew that, to please her, they must be overflowing with hilarity, and the four gentlemen vied with one another in doing and saying the most extravagant things. Among all the _bons mots_ that were made, there were some very bad ones; for the more one tries to be witty, the less success one has. But Athalie, grateful for the efforts they made to entertain her, greeted them all with bursts of laughter; and the gentlemen zealously followed suit, although they would have been sorely puzzled sometimes to say what they were laughing about. In the midst of this running fire of nonsense, the light vehicle arrived at the country house.

Madame de la Thomassinière's property at Fleury was a charming abode, which, in truth, left the little country house at Livry a long way behind. There, everything witnessed to luxury and elegance: spacious courtyards, cardrooms, ballrooms and banquet-halls; peristyles of a severely simple style of architecture led to daintily furnished apartments; nothing had been forgotten that could increase the comfort and pleasure of the occupants of that charming abode. In the gardens, which were of vast extent, you found summer-houses for reading, for work, or for repose; cool grottoes, shady walks, dense shrubbery, labyrinths where one could lose oneself, delicious nooks where the rippling murmur of a brook invited one to dream or to do something else; and over that enchanting spot a lovely woman of twenty years reigned supreme and gave no thought to anything save the invention of new forms of amusement.

While the mistress of the house gave orders for an out-of-door breakfast, the gentlemen strolled about the gardens and admired their manifold beauties. Auguste walked alone toward a hedge between the garden and the orchard. It was a part of the garden where no one ever walked. Why, then, did Auguste turn his steps in that direction? Because he had caught sight of a short skirt and a little cap beyond the hedge, and an irresistible fascination drew the young man toward whatever suggested anything feminine.

Auguste entered the orchard, therefore, and saw a young woman picking apricots. She had neither the refined features nor the charm of Denise. She was simply a rosy-cheeked, fresh, buxom damsel; but there are men who prefer that to waterfalls, grottoes and labyrinths constructed at vast expense; Auguste was one of them. Who would believe that a simple petticoat may be awarded the preference over the marvelous creations of art; that it may disturb the peace of an empire, overturn a republic, crush a whole people, astound the universe, ordain laws, and cause half of mankind to lose their senses? O Cleopatra, Elizabeth, Delilah, Judith, Ninon! your petticoats wrought all these miracles! To be sure, it was not your petticoats exactly to which your thanks were due.

The stout girl was standing on a ladder that rested against the tree, and was plucking the ripest fruit. Auguste walked to the ladder and looked up; I presume that he was looking at the apricots.

"I say! what are you doing there, monsieur?" said the girl, when, upon turning her head, she discovered the young man.

"My dear girl, I am admiring. I am a great lover of the beauties of nature, and I am as well able to appreciate them in sackcloth as in silk."

The stout girl, who did not understand this language, concluded that the gentleman was fond of apricots, and offered him one, saying:

"Here, monsieur, here's one that's good and ripe."

Auguste took the apricot and walked still nearer the ladder.

"I'm afraid that you'll fall," he said to the gardener; "I'll hold the ladder."

"Oh! it ain't worth while, monsieur, thanks; I know how to do it; anyway I can cling to the branches."

However, Auguste remained at the foot of the ladder, and as the girl was on the fourth rung, the young man's hand naturally found itself in close proximity to her leg, and, naturally again, that hand caressed a woolen stocking encasing a calf with which a dancer at the Opéra would have been content.

The gardener continued to gather fruit while Auguste patted her calf.

"On my word!" he thought, "here's a peasant who knows what's what, who is learned in the ways of the world. She is not precisely one of Florian's shepherdesses. This leg reminds me rather of Teniers's Flemish women; but at all events, it doesn't scratch, and that's very lucky, for with such calves as these, the scar would be lasting."

"When I heard someone coming behind me," said the girl, "I thought at first 'twas monsieur."

"Monsieur! what monsieur?" inquired Auguste.

"Pardi! monsieur le bourgeois, my master."

"Ah! Monsieur de la Thomassinière?"

"Why, yes."

"So he comes into his orchard sometimes, does he?"

"Oh, yes! he comes here."

"Does he like apricots?"

"Oh, yes! apricots, and something else."

"Does he take hold of your leg too, my child?"

"Does he! pardi! rather! Catch him holding back!"

The stout girl chuckled, and Auguste said to himself:

"It seems that Monsieur de la Thomassinière, who talks of nothing but the duchesses, countesses and baronesses he courts, dances attendance on and deigns to be tender with his gardener. How many men try to take credit in society for brilliant conquests, when they have triumphed over nobody but their cook! However, there are many baronesses whose calves aren't as firm as these."

While he indulged in these reflections, the young man continued to pat the leg, and the stout girl to laugh. Her basket being full, she began to descend the ladder, and, as Auguste did not lower his hand, that member necessarily found itself above the calf, where there was still much to pat, and the stout girl laughed louder than ever.

"Does Monsieur de la Thomassinière permit himself to embrace you also?" Auguste asked, looking the gardener in the face.

"Well, I say! well, pardié! Well, well, but you make me laugh!"

At that moment Auguste saw Athalie's pretty cap over the hedge, as that lady approached the orchard. He ceased instantly to make the stout girl laugh, and asked her hastily:

"Your name?"

"Tapotte."

"And your room?"

"Over there, at the end, by the shed where they keep the hay."

"Good; adieu--I'll see you again."

With that the young man walked quickly to the entrance to the orchard and passed through at the very moment that Athalie reached the hedge.

"Where have you been hiding, monsieur?" she asked, with a smile.

"Why, madame--I went in here, you see, not knowing that it was the orchard, and, to tell you the truth, I have been eating your fruit."

"Before breakfast? that is very wrong. I am a wee bit selfish; I don't like anybody to take any pleasure without me. I supposed that you had found some milkmaid here on my place, some peasant girl, whose--ruddy complexion had taken your fancy."

"Oh, madame!"

"I do not think, however, that this establishment contains any rustic beauties worthy of your homage; for I assume that you still have some taste, and I agree that the little milkmaid was not bad-looking."

"True, true, she was very pretty; and you remind me----"

"Nonsense, monsieur; give me your arm and come to breakfast; everything is ready on a plot of greensward shaded by honeysuckle. The other gentlemen are waiting for us, and it is an unheard-of thing that I should have to come in search of you."

"If you would allow me to find you sometimes, madame, you would not have that trouble."

"Oh! no sentiment, monsieur, I beg; remember that we came here only to be foolish."

They reached the shady nook where a dainty repast was spread. A petite-maîtresse puts coquetry into everything, and the open-air breakfast, although it consisted simply of milk, eggs, butter, fruit and excellent wine, seemed far richer when served by a lovely woman, in china decorated with lovely landscapes. Daintiness never spoils anything; it often enhances the value of the simplest things, and a certain wine which has a most delectable flavor in an artistically cut glass, might seem poor stuff in a beer mug.

They had been at table a quarter of an hour, talking, laughing, and eating heartily, because dancing, enjoyment and the fresh air sharpen the appetite, when they heard Monsieur de la Thomassinière's voice in a path near by.

"There's my husband," said Athalie; "I was sure that he'd come; he's very fond of this place. But he has brought somebody with him."

"Let us pray that it isn't some horrible bore," said one of the young men.

"Oh! what does it matter? If it's anyone who bores me, I shall pay no attention to him, and you must do as I do, messieurs."