would be polite, wouldn't it? that would be worthy of you! I shall have
the pleasure of chatting with my neighbor a minute, and listening to the
music. I'm very fond of music."
"You sing, I believe--do you not, Madame Monin?" inquired Madame
Destival eagerly.
"Oh! I used to sing; I had rather a good voice, too; but I've forgotten
almost everything now except the duet from _Armide_: '_Aimons-nous!
aimons-nous! tout nous y convie!_' That's so lovely! it will never grow
old."
"I have the score of _Armide_; you must sing that for us with Monsieur
Dalville."
"Oh! really, neighbor!"
"Do you hear the present that's to be given you?" whispered Athalie to
Auguste.
"I am much obliged," replied Dalville; "upon my word, I don't know what
I have done to Madame Destival to make her play such a trick on me."
"Don't be alarmed; if she forces you to sing the duet, I'll be your
accompanist, and I promise you that three or four chords will be broken
before the tenth measure."
"How good you are, and how deeply indebted I shall be to you!"
Monin, seeing that his wife had softened somewhat, made bold to say to
her:
"You sing very nicely too that song about sheep: '_Margot filait
tranquillement, ne pensant, ne rêvant qu'à son p'tit, p'tit, p'tit._'"
"Hush, monsieur, and attend to your game, as you're so fond of gambling.
Is it piquet they're playing there?"
"No, Bichette, écarté."
"What? écarté? And how long have you known écarté, monsieur?"
"I don't know it, but I was just going to tell you, I'm betting on it."
"Ah! you're betting, are you? Well, I trust that you are modest at
least, and don't play for big stakes?"
"Oh, no! never fear, Bichette!"
"You have lost your forty sous, Monsieur Monin!" exclaimed Destival at
that moment, heaving a deep sigh.
"Forty sous!" shouted Madame Monin, jumping from her chair with a
violence that made all the furniture in the room tremble; "what's that?
Monsieur Monin betting forty sous! Why, that is horrible! For heaven's
sake, neighbor, what did you give him to drink at dinner?--What is the
meaning of such extravagance, Monsieur Monin? Have you gone crazy?"
"No, Bichette, it's a mistake; I assure you that I didn't bet but two
sous."
"You put forty sous on the table, monsieur," said La Thomassinière, "and
they're lost."
"I had won a lot, you see," whispered Monin to his wife; "that was just
my winnings."
"You must admit that I am playing in hard luck," said Destival; "that
makes seven times that I have been responsible for Monin's losing."
"Seven times, monsieur! have you bet seven times in succession?" cried
Madame Monin, glaring at her husband with the expression of a cat about
to pounce upon a mouse.
"Why, no, Bichette; you know perfectly well that I am incapable of such
a thing!"
"Here's the duet from _Armide_," said Madame Destival; "come, Monsieur
Dalville, sing it with madame."
"I don't know it," said Auguste.
"Nonsense! you are enough of a musician to sing it at sight."
"I'll prompt you in your passages, monsieur," said Madame Monin,
removing her hat lest it should interfere with her voice.
Madame Monin began. Her voice was almost enough to set one's teeth on
edge. Monin applauded every measure. Suddenly a chord broke. The
vivacious Athalie ran her fingers over the keys and seemed excited by
the fire with which she was playing. Soon a second chord broke, then a
third, and it was impossible to go on. Athalie left her seat, saying:
"What a pity! it was going so well!"
"That's the disadvantage of your pianos," said Madame Monin testily, as
she put on her shepherdess's hat; "Monsieur Monin's little flute's the
thing; there's no danger of that ever breaking, at all events."
"Do you want me to go and get it, Bichette?"
"Upon my word, this is a pretty time of night to make such a suggestion!
We must go home to bed, monsieur; that will be much better than your
little flute."
Destival left the card-table, red as a turkey-cock.
"I can't stand it any longer!" he cried. "That makes twelve times that
he has passed! I've lost at least forty francs!"
"Oh! how can anyone risk so much money?" said Madame Monin. "If you
should ever lose forty francs, Monsieur Monin, I'd have a separation at
once."
"Here's a fine to-do over a trifle!" said La Thomassinière, rising from
his chair; "I'll stake it on a single hand to-morrow, at a notary's,
who's a friend of mine. That's where they play écarté! The table is
covered with gold and bank-notes! Ah! there's some fun in that! But
otherwise écarté's a very stupid game.--Well! are we going to bed?"
"Go to bed, monsieur, who's preventing you?" said Athalie; "we don't
need you."
"Faith, I am terribly sleepy."
"Baptiste will show you to your room, which is over this."
"And where is mine, my dear, if you please?" queried the
petite-maîtresse, as her husband went up to bed without bidding anyone
good-night, because it was bad form.
"Yours, my dear?" rejoined Madame Destival; "why, with your husband; we
have only one room to offer you."
"What! can it be by any chance that you are going to make me sleep with
him?"
"Why, of course."
"Oh! that is absurd! Such a thing never occurred to me. I never sleep
with Monsieur de la Thomassinière. I have my own suite, as you know."
"For once, belle dame," said Destival, with a sly expression, "our dear
husband will not complain."
"Mon Dieu! how amusing!" exclaimed Athalie, sulkily. Meanwhile, Madame
Monin, who had succeeded at last in tucking up her dress and putting on
her shawl, said to Madame Destival with a simper:
"For my part, I sleep with my husband, and I should just like to hear
him mention a separate room! Ha! ha!"
"You know perfectly well, Bichette, that I have no desire to----"
"All right, Monsieur Monin, I know what I know.--Good-night,
neighbors.--Well, monsieur, why don't you put on your cap? What sort of
way is that to act?"
Monin was afraid that his wife would discover the hole in his cap. He
finally decided to wear it over his left ear, so that the top would be
less visible to the eyes of his better half. And Madame Monin led her
spouse away, promising him that she would never again let him dine out
without her, because he was not careful of himself at the table, and
wine made him plunge into all sorts of extravagance.
When his neighbors had gone, Monsieur Destival admitted that the
drilling had fatigued him terribly, and he speedily vanished.
The music had cemented the intimacy between Dalville and the brilliant
Athalie. With those who are capable of enjoying the charms of harmony,
there is nothing that brings two hearts together so quickly as a sweet
or tender ditty, or a passage overladen with passion, which the
performers often address to each other. Music is a very potent auxiliary
in love; it stirs the emotions, it speaks to the soul. Thank heaven,
almost all our ladies know how to play the piano now.
But Athalie rose, and Madame Destival escorted her to her apartment.
Before going in, the petite-maîtresse laughingly said to her friend:
"My dear, I must tell you something in confidence: I believe I've made a
conquest of Monsieur Dalville."
"Do you think so?"
"I am almost sure of it; he has been talking to me in that veiled
way,--you know what I mean; and then he squeezed my hand very
tenderly."
"I congratulate you!"
"Oh! you understand that I mean to have a little sport with him, that's
all."
"But I must tell you frankly that the conquest is of little value, for
he is a man who falls in love with every woman he sees.--Adieu, my dear,
good-night."
"Until to-morrow, my love! I shall get up early for a walk in the
fields."
"I will go with you, my dear."
The ladies parted. Madame Destival went down to the salon, but Dalville
was no longer there; he too had retired. So madame did the same and
summoned Julie to undress her.
VI
THE COMPANY RETURNS TO PARIS
The night passed. Did its protecting darkness banish Madame Destival's
irritation and her husband's fatigue? Did Dalville determine to be
virtuous, and Bertrand to be sober? Did the sprightly Athalie become
reconciled to the necessity of sharing her husband's bed, and did
Monsieur de la Thomassinière sleep well beside his wife? These are
mysteries which I am unable to solve.
All I know is that Madame Destival rose with her friend's pleasant
confidence of the night before still in her mind, and that she said to
herself as she dressed:
"The flirt did everything that she could to assure the conquest of
Auguste. I saw all her simpering and smiles while they were singing. No
doubt she hopes to receive a declaration in due form this morning; but
I am sorry for you, madame, for I shall be on the spot, I shall not let
you out of my sight, I will not allow such intrigues to be carried on in
my house. Oh! women are such coquettes nowadays!--I think I will put
this rose in my hair; it's more becoming than a ribbon. Mon Dieu! how
badly my curl-papers work to-day!--And then they complain because men
think unfavorably of our sex. Why, don't they justify them in that
opinion by acting as they do? At the very first meeting, to let a man
see that one is attracted by him--shocking! And a woman of twenty,
married two years at most! Ah! Monsieur Auguste, you don't deserve any
friends."
Monsieur Destival, on laying aside the silk handkerchief that covered
his head at night, took his stand in front of his mirror and presented
arms with a vessel which he had forgotten to replace in the night-table.
Forgetting that he was in his shirt, Destival, who had dreamed of
exterminating all the beasts in the district, made the circuit of his
chamber at the double-quick, and took aim at his bolster with the tongs.
But in that martial posture the remembrance of the forty francs he had
lost at écarté the night before presented itself to his mind, and as one
cannot attend to business while practising the manual of arms, our
friend recurred to more peaceable ideas and proceeded to dress, thinking
of nothing but the best means to become as rich as La Thomassinière, so
that he might be able to lose a few crowns at play without losing his
temper.
Dalville dreamed a little of the fair Athalie, a little of the young
milkmaid, a little of Madame Destival, also of some other persons; like
one who has no exclusive sentiment in his heart, but allows himself to
be led by all the sensations, all the illusions, all the whims of his
imagination. He rose without any well-defined plan of operations,
without a determination to be more virtuous or more enterprising,
without any intention of beginning a new intrigue. Chance should decide,
he would act as circumstances might suggest, he would obey the dictates
of his heart, or rather of pleasure. For a heedless fellow, that line of
conduct was not devoid of wisdom; if to abandon oneself to the course of
events, to lay no plans in advance, but to seize on the wing every
opportunity to be happy--if that is heedlessness, it bears a strong
resemblance to philosophy; in which there is nothing surprising, since
extremes meet.
Bertrand had risen before dawn, always ready to carry out his master's
orders, even when he did not approve of his conduct. The ex-corporal was
well pleased with his repast of the preceding night, because the beaune
was not spared, and Baptiste and Tony and the tall lackeys, while
drinking with him, listened with respectful attention to his stories of
his campaigns. He was walking on the terrace, ready to give Monsieur
Destival a lesson in the manual, and perfectly reconciled to the life
that people lead in the country.
The petite-maîtresse, whose head was as light as her heart, had risen
very early, before her husband was awake. She had slept badly;
innumerable thoughts crowded into her mind, but the principal one was as
always the desire to attract, to make a sensation; that was the fixed
point about which her other sentiments revolved by the force of
gravitation, without disturbing the course of the planet whose
satellites they were.
As for Monsieur de la Thomassinière, he had slept without waking, and in
his dreams had imagined himself the _seigneur_ of a department,
decorated with three crosses, a broad ribbon and a star, and richer,
more conceited and more insolent than ever. Then he had found himself
abruptly transported to the wine-shop of the _Learned Ass_, serving wine
to peasants who treated him most cavalierly. That infernal sleep has no
respect for anything; it displaces the most powerful men, and effects
strange revolutions; it transforms a king into a shepherd, and sometimes
raises the plowman to a throne; it confounds the great lord with the
humblest plebeian; it makes of a minister of state a poor devil without
bread or work or resource, starving in a garret; it transforms the
banker into a petty clerk working fourteen hours a day to earn three
francs; the poet who sells his pen, into a juggler employed to perform
tricks before an audience which pays and despises him. To the kept woman
it shows the hospital, to the public harlot, La Salpêtrière, to the
young men who frequent roulette tables, the galleys or the nets of
Saint-Cloud. It reminds the parvenu of his birth, the public official of
the acts of injustice he has committed, the man without sense of honor
of the insults he has endured. And all these people do as Monsieur de la
Thomassinière did: they awake shrieking that they have a nightmare, and
they ascribe those horrid dreams to a bad digestion. They would be very
sorry to seek therein a memory of the past and a lesson for the future.
There was no trace of the storm of the preceding evening. The sky was
clear, and the country seemed lovelier than ever; the trees glistened
with a brilliant green undimmed by dust, the flowers were fresher, the
brooks more noisy; everything invited one to enjoy the charms of nature;
and that doubtless was the reason that Auguste was already in the
garden, standing in the gateway leading into the courtyard, undecided
whether he should go for a walk in the fields or remain on the
premises. Meanwhile, Athalie had taken a seat under a clump of trees at
the end of the garden; she was occupied in arranging some flowers, but
her glance constantly wandered to right and left to see if someone was
coming to bear her company; while Madame Destival strolled along an
adjacent alley ready to join the persons whom she expected to meet in
the garden.
Suddenly Auguste heard a voice that was not unknown to him crying:
"Whoa, White Jean! whoa, I say! Have you forgotten that we stop here?"
And at the same instant a milkmaid with her tin cans entered Monsieur
Destival's courtyard. Auguste uttered an exclamation of delight when he
recognized Denise, and hurried across the courtyard to meet the pretty
milkmaid.
"It is really you, lovely Denise!"
"Yes, monsieur, it's I. Didn't I tell you yesterday that I came here
every morning to bring milk? I'm very glad to see you again, monsieur."
"Really, Denise, did you want to see me?"
"Yes, monsieur, I wanted to ever so. Oh! that was such a nice thing you
did! it was so generous! and even if you do have a little too much
blarney with us girls, no matter--I let it go on account of that."
"Bless my soul! what on earth have I done, Denise, to bring down all
these compliments on my head?"
"What about Coco, and his soup-bowl, and his old grandmother--don't you
remember them?"
"How do you know so much, Denise?"
"Pardi! as if everything wasn't known in the country! The old grandma'am
came to the village to buy some things. Coco came with her, and he told
everybody that a fine gentleman had given him money to buy another
bowl. The grandmother described you, and I knew you right away. It's too
bad that Père Calleux is such a drunkard; he passed the whole night in
the wine-shop drinking up the crown piece you gave him, and he'll soon
get away with the money you left for Coco too. But that ain't your
fault, and you were mighty kind to 'em."
"I did nothing except what was perfectly natural, Denise, and I am well
rewarded at this moment."
Denise had become more and more animated as she told Auguste what she
knew, and the young man's glances made her blush more than ever. She
lowered her eyes and smiled, and stood for some moments before the man
who was gazing at her, her arms hanging at her sides. Her awkwardness,
her embarrassment and her coarse woolen skirt made the charms of her
pretty face even more alluring.
At last she took up her cans, which she had placed on the ground, and
said:
"I must take this milk to Mamzelle Julie; she's generally up by this
time."
"One moment, Denise, I beg you."
"Have you got anything to say to me, monsieur?"
"Oh, yes! In the first place, you look even prettier this morning than
you did yesterday."
"Oh! if that's all it is, I may as well go."
"One instant, Denise, please; I feel that the more I see you, the more I
love you!"
"Well, then, you mustn't see me any more, monsieur."
"Does it make you angry to have me love you?"
"Oh no! for I'm pretty sure it ain't dangerous."
"If you would listen to me----"
"Adieu, monsieur."
And Denise started to walk away. But Auguste took her hand and stopped
her, gazing tenderly at her,--too tenderly for a fickle youth who gazed
so at all pretty women. A seducer's eyes should express nothing but
inconstancy; unluckily, the eyes lend themselves to every sort of
scheme. But perhaps Dalville was moved at that moment by genuine
feeling, who knows? Who can read the human heart?
At this juncture Bertrand entered the courtyard; he approached his
master, unseen by him, and said:
"Did I hear monsieur call me?"
"Why, no! I didn't call you," replied Auguste angrily, dropping Denise's
hand; "you always appear at the wrong time. Is it proper to interrupt
people when they are talking together?"
"Pardon, lieutenant, I didn't hear you say anything; I didn't know
people talked without speaking."
"Leave us, Bertrand."
Bertrand made a half wheel to the left and went toward the garden; but
as he passed Denise, who, although she said that she was going, did not
go, and seemed very busy with her little cheeses, the corporal said to
her in an undertone:
"Look out for yourself!"
Auguste once more approached Denise, who had started in surprise at
Bertrand's words.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
"Nothing, monsieur, but I must go."
"Will you do me a favor, Denise?"
"Oh, yes! with pleasure, monsieur, if it's anything I can do."
"I have taken a liking to that child I met on the road yesterday. His
pretty face, his little honest way, everything speaks in his favor."
"You mean Coco Calleux?"
"Yes."
"I'm fond of him, too, but the poor little fellow's had a hard time
since he lost his mother. His grandmother's rough and cross, and his
father's a drunkard, and they want that child, only six years old, to go
to work so soon! Can you imagine such a thing? Why, he often has nothing
but bread to eat, and he's lucky when he doesn't have a beating for his
supper. So we in the village don't like that drunken pig of a Calleux,
and if the cottage wasn't some distance from the village, Coco would be
at our house more than he's at home, I tell you."
"Well, Denise, be good enough to keep an eye on the child and buy him
whatever he needs--in short, take my place with him, will you?"
"Oh! with pleasure, monsieur!"
"Here, take this purse, and use the contents to the best advantage for
my little protégé. When that is gone, I'll give you more. I shall always
approve whatever use you may make of it."
"Ah! you've got a kind heart, monsieur! How glad I am! But such a lot of
money as this will last a long time."
"You will do me this favor, won't you?"
"Will I! Pardi! I should say so! Don't you think it's pleasant to be
employed to do good? Who could refuse such a commission?--I say,
monsieur, I must kiss you for this--do you want me to?"
"Do I want you to, Denise!"
Auguste already had his arms around the girl, and had deposited more
than one kiss on the plump cheeks which she offered him with pleasure,
when an exclamation and a burst of laughter reached their ears
simultaneously. Dalville turned: Madame Destival and Madame de la
Thomassinière stood behind him.
"Oh! this is too much!" cried Madame Destival, walking forward with a
wrathful glance at Denise, while Athalie continued to laugh, albeit her
laughter seemed slightly forced.
"Delicious!" she said. "What! even with milkmaids? I shall remember
this! the picture was truly rural."
Denise was not disturbed, for she had no thought that she could be
blamed; so she looked at the two ladies in amazement, trying to divine
the cause of the merriment of the one and the anger that gleamed in the
eyes of the other, and still holding in her hand the purse that the
young man had given her.
"What are you doing here?" demanded Madame Destival, with a contemptuous
glance at the young milkmaid.
"As you see, madame, I have brought cheese and milk as usual."
"I didn't order any cheeses of you; in fact, yours are bitter, and I
don't want any more of them. As for your milk, you put water in it, and
I propose to take mine of somebody else."
"Water in my milk!" cried Denise, whose eyes filled with tears when she
heard her merchandise thus vilified. "You're the first person that ever
said that, madame, I tell you! And I swear----"
"All right, mademoiselle, that's enough; I don't want you ever to set
foot inside my doors again. I thought that you were a decent, virtuous
girl; I don't like little hussies."
"Hussies! Mon Dieu! what have I done to madame?"
"We saw it all, mademoiselle. And that purse in your hand is proof
enough."
"That purse, madame," said Auguste, walking to Denise's side, "is
destined for a charitable purpose, to relieve an unfortunate person. But
I see that an evil interpretation is always put upon everything.--Poor
Denise! I am responsible for your being made wretched! And when, by
chance, I attempt to do a good deed, they think that I am trying to
seduce you.--Do you suppose, mesdames, that one wins the love of a
milkmaid with money? Remember, please, that this is not Paris."
While Auguste was speaking, Denise became calm; she wiped her eyes with
the corner of her apron, and recovered sufficient assurance to say to
Madame Destival:
"I ought not to cry at what you said to me, madame, for I haven't done
anything to be ashamed of.--Adieu, monsieur; I'll take your money and
try to carry out your kind intentions."
With that, Denise curtsied to the company, and, still choking back her
sobs, returned to White Jean and left the business agent's house.
Madame Destival, conscious of some embarrassment, returned to the
garden. Athalie walked up to Auguste and said, with a laugh:
"You must admit, monsieur, that you kissed her at least six times in
succession."
"I didn't count, madame."
"You seemed to like it."
"Very much, madame."
"Monsieur is frank, at all events."
"That is, perhaps, my one good quality."
"But why did you kiss her?"
"Is she not very pretty, madame?"
"Pretty! perhaps; as coarse, rustic beauties go."
"No, no! on the contrary, her features are extremely delicate."
"But she's a milkmaid!"
"What difference do you see between a pretty country girl and a pretty
city girl?"
"Why, an enormous difference, monsieur. What about education, good
manners, and refinement--do you count all those as nothing? Would you go
out in Paris, or even in the country, with a milkmaid on your arm?"
"No, madame, I admit that I should not be enough of a philosopher for
that. But just put on Denise----"
"Who is Denise, pray?"
"This little milkmaid, madame."
"Oho! so monsieur knows her name?"
"Yes, madame."
"Well, monsieur, what do you propose to put on Mademoiselle Denise?"
"A pretty hat, a stylish dress, a handsome shawl----"
"Ah! she would cut a strange figure in all those things!"
"Mon Dieu, madame, habit is everything. You yourself, despite all your
charms, might be awkward in a milkmaid's cap. Those things that can be
acquired, madame, are of little worth; but the things that are innate
are beauty, grace, intellect, a sweet voice and glance and smile--in a
word, the charm which takes us captive and which you possess in such
abundant measure, madame."
"Ah! you did well to end in that way; if you had not I should have been
angry. Madame Destival is right; you are a ne'er-do-well, a dangerous
man. By the way, I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you in Paris,
monsieur; I often give balls, and I have a reception every Thursday in
winter."
"Madame is too kind; but your husband has said nothing to me."