"Bah! how did you look at him? He is horrible! A hideous nose and sunken
eyes, and such an awkward, ridiculous figure! Oh! I can't endure the
man."
Auguste pushed his questions no farther and said no more about the
little man; but he was secretly vexed to hear her speak so ill of him,
because he knew the tactics of ladies of her stamp, who often employ
that method to conceal their intimacy with a person.
On returning to his own rooms, Auguste noticed that Bertrand looked at
him with a sly expression, and hovered about him as if he were seeking
an opportunity to speak to him.
"You want to tell me or ask me something, I see, Bertrand," said
Auguste, stopping in front of the corporal. "Speak, for heaven's sake,
instead of prowling about me in this way. You have no comprehension, my
old friend, of the little wiles of the ladies, who, when they have
anything to say to us, have the art to force us to question them."
"True, lieutenant, you're right; it's better to go straight to the point
without countermarching. You must have met a certain little man at the
neighbor's, for I saw him come down just after you went up."
"Well, yes, I did see a gentleman there; what of it?"
"What of it! Is this the first time you've met him?"
"Yes."
"He goes there often, however."
"Who told you that?"
"Madame Schtrack, the concierge."
"What, Bertrand! do you chatter and talk gossip with a concierge?"
"Gossip! no, lieutenant; ten thousand cartridges! I! gossip! Do you call
what I've just told you gossip, lieutenant?"
"Why, pretty nearly. Is not Madame de Saint-Edmond at liberty to receive
visits? Does she owe me an account of all her callers? What right have I
to set spies on her acts? and if anyone should give her a faithful
report of mine, do you think that she would have no reason to reproach
me?"
"True, lieutenant; I am in the wrong. I'll go on drinking with Schtrack,
but I won't talk with his wife any more, because I don't want it said
that an old moustache like me talks gossip."
Although he had scolded Bertrand, Auguste remembered Madame Schtrack's
statement; and, when he thought of the abuse Léonie had heaped upon the
little man, he could not avoid conceiving some suspicions. We may agree
that we do not deserve a faithful mistress, but we can never forgive her
for her infidelity.
"Léonie must be horribly false, horribly treacherous!" said Auguste to
himself. "Why need she pretend to love me, unless she retains her hold
on me for selfish reasons, or unless she loves two men at once? Such
things have been known."
As he walked down Boulevard Montmartre, Auguste felt a light touch on
his arm. He turned; Mademoiselle Virginie stood before him.
"I am very lucky to meet you, monsieur," she said, looking at Auguste
with a certain expression in which there was something most seductive;
indeed, Mademoiselle Virginie made many conquests, because she had
adopted the habit of imparting that alluring expression to her eyes;
and although Auguste knew her glances by heart, he still took delight in
looking at her, especially when it was a long time since her lovely
black eyes had been fastened upon him.
"Oh! although you look at me with a smile," she continued, "that doesn't
prevent me from being horribly angry with you."
"Really? you are angry with me?"
"Monsieur, I beg you not to address me so familiarly! Have we ever been
on intimate terms?"
As she spoke, Mademoiselle Virginie burst into a roar of laughter that
caused several passers-by to turn their heads; for in Paris very little
is required to attract the attention of the passers-by. In fact, there
was one man who stopped, and who, presumably because he had never in his
life heard anyone laugh, was about to ask Virginie what the matter was;
but a glance from Auguste led him to walk on.
"You make me laugh, when I haven't the slightest inclination to," said
Virginie, suddenly assuming a most serious air.
"What's the matter with you? Come, tell me your troubles; you know very
well that I am your friend."
"My friend! oh, yes! You are just nothing at all! A pretty friend, to go
two months without seeing me!"
"It wasn't my fault--I have been busy."
"Indeed! busy, eh? I know what kind of business. The blonde of the third
floor, and the lady in the country, and this one, and the other one!
It's no use talking, you're a thorough scamp, you're not a bit agreeable
any more! You used to be agreeable to me now and then."
"Why didn't you come to see me?"
"Oh! I say! do you think I haven't anything else to do but that? Don't I
have to work?"
"Ah! you work, do you?"
"Indeed I do; I have reformed now, I never go out."
"Do you still live in the same place?"
"No, I have moved."
"Why, you do nothing but move."
"Really, my dear, I have sold my furniture."
"Sold your furniture? What a pity!"
"Listen to me; I couldn't live on nut shells, could I?"
"No, they wouldn't be good for the stomach; but as you are working----"
"Oh, yes! it's very amusing; work a whole day to earn fifteen sous! Mon
Dieu! how I wish I were a man!"
"What for?"
"So as not to be a woman. I know that there are some women who are
happy, who swim in pleasure, who have feathers and velvet caps! Ah! a
velvet cap's becoming to me; I tried one on at a friend's. I propose to
have one this winter, all velvet, with gold tassels."
"With your fifteen sous a day?"
"Go on! No, but I sold my furniture because I owed some money; I was
four terms behind with my rent, and I had to pay."
"Why, I should say that, the term before the last, I----"
"No, I used that for something else. I am living with a friend until I
get more furniture. Oh! you can't imagine----"
"What, pray?"
"I am going to be married."
"Nonsense! really?"
"Faith, yes! It's a man who's mad over me; he adores me; he's turning
yellow with it."
"Try to marry him before he gets too dark."
"No, I was joking; but really, joking aside, he's a very good match--a
magnificent man!"
"How old?"
"Forty."
"What does he do?"
"He's a government clerk; he has a very fine place."
"Well, my dear girl, marry at once; it seems to me that that is the very
best thing that you can do."
"Ah! how happy I would make that man, if I married him!"
"Well said; that purpose does you honor."
"Oh, no! that's not it; you don't understand me. I mean that he would be
enchanted if I would consent to take him for my husband."
"Ah! that makes a difference. But what deters you?"
"The trouble is that I don't love him."
"What's that? such a magnificent man!"
"Yes, but his legs are a little bowed."
"You must make him wear a frock coat."
"And then he has a nose of such length--my dear, you can't conceive what
it is! His nose frightens me."
"I never knew you to be so timid."
"The fact is, I don't want to marry. Later, we'll see about it. Do you
know, I am strongly inclined to go on the stage?"
"Ah! that's something new."
"Tell me, do you think I'd be very bad? You see, I have a good voice
when I choose. Do you know that I'm as pretty as a love, on the stage?"
"You have no need to be on the stage for that, madame."
"Dieu! how genteel! But really, no joking, rouge and the bright light
and the footlights--all those things make me a dazzling sight. I have
tried on Iphigénie's costume, and it's surprising how becoming it is. I
had an offer to go into the chorus at the Vaudeville, but that didn't
tempt me much."
"Not to play Iphigénie?"
"No; how stupid you are! It was to get accustomed to the boards and the
audience, as they say, and to looking into the auditorium. What do you
advise me to do?"
"I? nothing; do what you choose; but, if you really have a chance to
marry, that would be much better than going on the stage."
"Bless my soul! you talk like my aunt. But it's true that I could never
be an actress; if I went on the stage and saw all those faces looking at
me, I know that I should laugh like a lunatic. But I say, are we going
to stand on this same spot till to-morrow? People will take us for
spies. Where are you going?"
"I am going to Monsieur Destival's on a matter of business."
"He is that tall, lanky, ugly creature I've seen you with sometimes in a
carriage?"
"It is quite possible."
"Ah! what a funny face he has! That man reminds me of one of Séraphin's
marionettes--you know, the one that sings _tire lon pha_ in _Le Pont
Cassé_."
"You will always be the same, won't you?"
"Why, a body must laugh once in a while. Look you, Auguste, you can go
to your Monsieur Destival's another day; to-day I don't propose to leave
you."
"But, really, I have some business."
"So much the worse! It makes you very unhappy to think of passing a day
with me, don't it?"
"No, of course not; but there is to be a musical party at Madame de la
Thomassinière's this evening, and I promised to be there."
"You can sing when you get up to-morrow, if you like music so much; but
to-day, monsieur, you stay with me; we will go into the country to
dinner, and to-night you will take me to the theatre; you've been
promising me this for a long while."
It was impossible to resist Mademoiselle Virginie, and Auguste yielded
with a good grace.
"We will take a cab," he said, "and go wherever you choose in the
country."
"Why not take your cabriolet? why go in a cab with wretched nags, when
you have a lovely horse that goes like the wind?"
Auguste, who chose to remain incognito with Virginie, preferred a cab,
in which he would not be seen. There was a stand nearby; he helped his
companion in, saying:
"Where shall we go?"
"Where you please."
"It makes no difference to me."
"Nor to me."
"But we must decide. Shall it be the Champs-Elysées?"
"Oh! there are too many people there."
"Vincennes?"
"Too far."
"Vaugirard?"
"A pretty kind of country, with not a tree anywhere about!"
"Sceaux?"
"Too fashionable! I am not dressed."
"Montmartre?"
"To look at quarries and donkeys?"
"Saint-Denis?"
"There's nothing nice there but cheese-cakes, and I prefer the ones in
the Passage des Panoramas."
"Belleville?"
"That's a little vulgar, but it's amusing; besides, I have a decided
penchant for Prés Saint-Gervais and Romainville wood."
"Belleville it is, then. Off we go, driver!"
The cabman lashed his horse. Virginie was in a merry mood; with her the
annoyances of yesterday, the cares of to-morrow vanished before the
enjoyment of the moment. For his part, Auguste was not sorry to have his
mind diverted from the thoughts that disturbed him concerning Madame
Saint-Edmond, whom he had told that he expected to pass the evening at
Monsieur de la Thomassinière's.
They reached the Belleville barrier; it took the cabman half an hour to
drive his nags up the hill, and when they reached the Ile d'Amour, they
refused to go any farther. But Virginie was very glad to walk in the
fields, so they alighted, dismissed the cab, and took a narrow road to
the left, which led to Prés Saint-Gervais.
The sight of the green grass and trees made Virginie sentimental; she
sighed as they strolled along the avenues of lilacs, where several
cottages had recently been built.
"How ridiculous," she cried, "to build houses everywhere, even in the
fields! you might as well go to walk in your bedroom. It used to be so
pretty here! We lunched on fresh eggs over there once--do you remember?
We drank beer under that arbor. And that restaurant, in the woods, just
beyond the keeper's, where we went several times--the one where they
have private rooms."
"Oh, yes! the Tournebride."
"The Tournebride, that's it. Ungrateful wretch! doesn't that name recall
any memories?"
"Yes, it reminds me of a certain fowl that we could not succeed in
carving."
"Indeed! it reminds you of nothing but a fowl! You are not at all
romantic to-day."
"Do you want to dine there?"
"I not only want to, but I insist upon it. It's rather far away, but the
walk will give us an appetite."
"Besides, we can rest on the way."
"Oh! since people have built everywhere, there are no nice places to
rest."
They ran along, throwing leaves and grass at each other and plucking an
occasional wild flower. At last they reached the sandy soil of the
woods, and Virginie sighed again when she saw that the trees had been
felled on large tracts, and that building was in progress there also.
"These people seem to have determined on the destruction of Romainville
forest!" she said.
"It will grow again, my dear."
"Oh, yes! but meanwhile we shan't grow again. How indifferent men are!
they don't get attached to anything. Think of the love ciphers that we
carved with a knife on the bark of an oak tree; I looked forward to
seeing them again. There was an A and a V intertwined in a heart."
"They probably served to warm some old annuitant's feet, or to boil the
kettle for some respectable family."
"That's it--make soup with my heart; that's very pleasant to think of! I
shan't cut any more letters on trees.--Ah! here's the Tournebride
luckily; I was afraid they'd cut that down too."
The Tournebride was the most famous restaurant in Romainville forest;
but for all that, it would not have been safe to order a charlotte russe
there, or a _karik à l'Indienne_, because the landlord would have
thought that you were talking Tartar, or making fun of him, and would
tell you to go to Noisy-le-Sec for your dinner. But if you confined your
ambition to a bill-of-fare dainty enough for the worthy bourgeois of Rue
Saint-Denis, and very popular among the young work-girls who came to
Romainville with their sweethearts, you might be certain of being
satisfied at the Tournebride, which is only three gun-shots from the
keeper's lodge, on the road leading to Romainville village.
Auguste and Virginie entered the inn, and, as is usual in country
restaurants, they went through the kitchen to reach the salons and the
private rooms. They enjoyed the sight of veal-stews, cutlets, and beef
_piqué_; and as such restaurants had no printed bill-of-fare, the
kitchen took the place of one. When you walked through, you saw all the
saucepans, and you inhaled the combined odors of five or six ragouts,
which might stand you instead of soup, but which was less agreeable
after you had dined.
The host welcomed his guests with a smiling face, his cotton cap over
his ear; as he answered questions he ran from one saucepan to another,
and spitted a pigeon as he extolled his beefsteak.
"Let's make up our minds at once what we'll have," said Virginie, who
was accustomed to country restaurants. "Is the beefsteak tender?"
"Oh! delicious, madame."
"With kidneys, eh, my friend?"
"Yes, they are essential.--Have you any kidneys, monsieur l'hôte?"
"Here, monsieur, just smell this," said the landlord, holding a saucepan
under Auguste's nose. "I won't tell you, as my confrères in Paris do,
that they're stewed in champagne, but I'll swear it's white wine, and
delicious."
"Very good."
"And a pigeon pie, if you please, delicious also."
"Some asparagus and lettuce."
"If monsieur would like a fine omelette soufflée?"
"Ah, yes! I remember very well that you make very good ones."
"Yes, monsieur; they puff up like a cotton nightcap."
"Let us have an omelette soufflée then. Give us a private room, please."
"Take monsieur and madame to the unoccupied room on the first floor."
A waiter, who was no longer young, but who smiled all the time, escorted
the newcomers to a room that looked on the forest.
"Why not give us the room opposite?" asked Virginie; "the outlook is
better, we can see the road."
"There is somebody there, madame--a party."
"In that case, let us stay here," said Auguste.
The waiter laid the table, then left the room, saying:
"I will go and see to the dinner; if monsieur wants anything before it
is ready, he can call."
That meant that he would not come up unless he was called. Such people
are almost as cunning in the country as in Paris.
Auguste did not call for some time, because they felt that they must
rest before dinner, and moreover the private rooms of the Tournebride
made Mademoiselle Virginie very romantic; at all events, that is what
she told Auguste, laughing like a madcap, which, by the way, is not
romantic; but Mademoiselle Virginie had a way of her own of being
romantic.
At last the stomach made itself heard; and in face of that domineering
master, all illusions vanish. The most romantic of mortals, standing in
rapt admiration before a rushing torrent or a waterfall, is compelled
to make an end when the dinner-bell rings. Virginie and Auguste were
admiring neither a torrent nor a waterfall; I am not certain that they
were absorbed in admiration of anything; but I know that they opened
their door and beat a tattoo upon it with knife handles--a method of
attracting attention which makes bells unnecessary.
The waiter brought up the dinner, to which they did justice; the
beefsteak and kidneys were in truth delicious, and they had no ground
for complaint. While the waiter was present, Mademoiselle Virginie, who
was reasonably curious, expressed surprise that the party opposite
should be so silent that they did not hear voices, whereas, ordinarily,
the guests at country restaurants are very noisy. The young woman
concluded her remarks by asking the waiter:
"Isn't it a large party?"
The old waiter replied, smiling so as to show the whole of his three
remaining teeth:
"It's no larger than yours."
"Oho! a party of two, is it?"
"Yes, madame."
"A man and a woman?"
"Yes, madame."
"They seem to be even more romantic than we are; they have forgotten
about dinner."
"Oh! the dinner's all ordered, it's coming up directly. I know their
ways; they're regulars."
And the waiter left the room, closing at the same moment his mouth and
the door, the latter of which he had been holding ajar.
"You are very inquisitive," said Auguste, "to want to know how many
people there are opposite. What difference does it make to us what
others say and do?"
"Oh! none at all; but, don't you know, I like to see--it amuses me."
"Let us eat and not worry about our neighbors; that will be the better
way."
"It don't interfere with my eating!--Wait! they're opening the door."
And at that moment a man's voice in the corridor called:
"Bring up the dinner, waiter."
"It's the man calling," said Virginie; "he's got a little soprano voice,
but the voice don't prove anything at all."
"Will you have some pigeon?"
"Do wait a minute; you're hurrying me too much."
Just then they heard a woman's voice saying:
"My friend, you forgot to order fritters."
Auguste gave a jump when he heard that voice; and Virginie, alarmed by
his abrupt movement, asked:
"Well! what's struck you now? Did you swallow a pigeon wing the wrong
way?"
"No, nothing's the matter. It was that voice that surprised me; I
thought that I recognized----"
"Ah, yes! I understand; it is probably some old flame of monsieur who's
in yonder room. Well! what then? Do you think that you ought to think
about any other woman when you're with me? That's very polite. Does it
make any difference to you who the woman's with? Are you still in love
with her? If I knew that you were, I'd go and make a row."
"Why, no; there's no question of love, but it's because----"
"Because, because--You don't know what you're saying. Eat your dinner at
once. Why don't you eat?"
"I am not hungry any more."
"Indeed! monsieur has ceased to be hungry since he heard that lady's
voice, which has taken away his appetite. How touching! What are you
getting up for? Where are you going?"
"I am going downstairs a minute."
"I don't want you to leave the room. You don't need to go downstairs.
You want to see that woman opposite, that's all; but you shan't see
her."
As she spoke, Virginie rose too, and planted herself in front of the
door.
"I assure you, my dear love, that I do need to go down," said Auguste,
gently taking Virginie's arm in order to put her away from the door.
"My good fellow, I don't care what happens, but you shall not leave this
room."
Auguste, laughing all the while, succeeded in removing Virginie from the
position she was determined to defend. She flew into a rage; the door
was partly open and Auguste attempted to go out; but she caught him by
his coat tails and the struggle began anew. At last, Virginie's strength
being exhausted, she suddenly released her hold. Auguste plunged into
the corridor, and collided with the waiter who was bringing his
neighbors their soup, splashed the julienne against the wall, hurled the
tureen to the floor, and caused him who carried it to stumble and
stagger.
At the outcry emitted by the waiter and the crash of the soup-tureen,
the two persons in the other room, divining that it was their dinner
that had come to grief, instantly opened their door, and Auguste, who
was still in the hall, saw Madame de Saint-Edmond, and the little man
whom she held in horror.
At first Léonie's glance did not fall on Auguste; she saw nobody but the
waiter, who was picking up the fragments of the tureen, exclaiming:
"That's too bad! luckily no one's hurt."
But Auguste suddenly appeared at the door of the room and bowed to
Léonie.
"I am distressed, madame, to have upset your soup."
Léonie raised her eyes, gave a shriek, and fainted. That was the best
thing that she could do under the circumstances. The little man, who
also had recognized Dalville, and who was afraid of being challenged to
fight a duel, leaped over the stooping waiter, and rushing down the
stairs four at a time, left the Tournebride and plunged into the woods,
without casting a glance behind. Virginie, who had left her room,
exclaimed in surprise when she recognized Auguste's neighbor in the
unconscious woman; and the waiter, thinking that everybody was shouting
because of the soup, kept repeating:
"It's nothing, messieurs, mesdames; don't get excited; there's more
downstairs; we always have plenty of julienne."
Virginie's anger had vanished and she laughed as if she would die.
Auguste looked at Léonie, who sat in her chair, with her head thrown
back, and did not open her eyes; while the waiter, seeing nothing of
what took place inside the room, went downstairs, crying:
"I'll bring up some more soup; it'll only take a minute."
Meanwhile Virginie had walked up to Madame Saint-Edmond, and, taking the
mustard pot from the table, had held it under her nose; with the result
that the pretty blonde instantly recovered consciousness and cast a
languid glance on the person who had been so attentive. But when she
recognized Virginie, her expression changed, and she roughly pushed away
the mustard pot which that young lady was holding to her nose.
"Does madame feel better?" queried Virginie, imitating Léonie's
mellifluous tone.
The latter, choking with rage, rose and said in a trembling voice:
"I don't need anything."
"Come, my dear love," said Auguste, "we must not intrude upon madame any
longer; I deeply regret that I frightened her companion away. But
doubtless the gentleman is only awaiting our departure, to return; we
must not compel him to stay in the kitchen any longer. Let's go and
finish our dinner."
"Yes, let's go back and eat our omelette soufflée," said Virginie, with
a profound curtsy to Léonie, and she returned to her seat at the table
in the other room. Auguste was about to do likewise, when Léonie ran to
him, raising her eyes to the ceiling, and said in an undertone:
"You judge me by appearances; but I swear to you----"
"Oh! upon my word, this is too much," cried Auguste; and he angrily
slammed the door in Madame Saint-Edmond's face, exclaiming: "Take a
woman in the act, and she would still say: 'Don't judge by
appearances.'"
Virginie was overjoyed by the incident; she joked Auguste about his
neighbor's fidelity, and he tried to laugh with her, although at heart
he was not over-pleased that he had allowed himself to be hoodwinked.
They finished their dinner at last and were about to leave their room
and the Tournebride, when they heard loud voices, and recognized those
of the inn-keeper and of Madame Saint-Edmond.
"Madame," said the former, "you can't go away like this; I must be paid
for my dinner."
"Monsieur," replied Madame de Saint-Edmond, imparting a moving
intonation to her voice, "I am very sorry, but you must believe that I
had no intention----"
"I see, madame, that you have an intention to go away; your friend went
off like a shot just now; who is to pay me for my dinner, I should like
to know?"
"But, monsieur," rejoined Léonie, and her voice became a little less
pathetic, "after all, we didn't dine; so we don't owe you anything."