letter _a_. After scratching his forehead, he stepped into the middle of
the circle and said with a satisfied air: "_La femme est le
chef-d'oeuvre du monde_."
The next forfeit was Madame Monin's, who was told to take a trip to
Cythera. She sprang to her feet and offered her hand to Monsieur Bisbis,
saying:
"Come and travel with me."
The stout man submitted to be led into a small study, the door of which
Madame Monin closed behind them, and Monsieur Monin, observing the
manoeuvre, said to one of his neighbors:
"What are they going to do in there?"
"They're in Cythera."
"Oh, yes! I see what it is--another confidence; she's going to tell him
that it's a fine day to-day. I know the game now."
After remaining some time, Bichette and her companion returned from
Cythera; and some ladies noticed that the turban was somewhat out of
place, and that Monsieur Bisbis did not know which leg to stand on--all
of which did not prevent Monin from going to meet his wife and asking:
"Is it nice, Bichette?"
"What, monsieur?"
"At Cythera."
"Very nice, monsieur."
This reply was accompanied by a wanton glance at Monsieur Bisbis, who
scratched his nose longer than usual, while Monin approached him with
his snuff-box, saying:
"Do you take it too?"
The games were interrupted by the punch, which Domingo passed around
among the guests. He passed the salver to the ladies, who made a great
to-do about taking a glass of punch, which they declared was too strong,
although some of them partook a second time. The men crowded about
Domingo and seized the punch on the wing. Monin ran after the platter,
which had passed him several times; but he had not been able to capture
a glass. At last, after following Domingo throughout his winding course
among the guests, Monin succeeded in stopping him as he was returning to
the dining-room.
"One minute, negro!" he said, putting out his hand toward the salver.
Domingo halted, muttering:
"You want drink again?"
"What's that? again!" cried Monin; "my word! he's a good one, he is! I
haven't had a taste, and I'm very fond of punch."
As he spoke Monin glanced at the salver: all the glasses were empty. The
poor man was thunderstruck.
"Me come again right away.--More punch, all hot," said Domingo, as he
left the room; and Monin, for consolation, drew his snuff-box, and
returned to the games, saying to himself:
"I must try to catch him sooner than I did this time."
Madame Monin, whom the trip to Cythera had made extremely warm, said to
her husband when he returned to her side:
"Go get me another glass of punch, Monsieur Monin; the one I had wasn't
half full; I am sure that it's done on purpose so that they can pass it
round oftener without making any more."
"The negro has no more, Bichette; but he told me he'd come right back
with some hot punch. So I----"
"All right, that will do. Go away now; I believe this gentleman is
coming to ask me to make the _pont d'amour_."
But Madame Monin's hope was disappointed; it was not to her that the
young officer condemned to make the _pont d'amour_ addressed himself but
to Athalie, who laughingly assisted him to perform his penance; and
Dalville observed with some vexation that the petite-maîtresse made the
_pont d'amour_ with others as readily as with him. For consolation he
gave a kiss _à la capucine_ to a young lady whose husband emulated the
Knight of the Rueful Countenance; and the school-girl received her
youthful cousin's confidence while her mamma was arranging for another
forfeit; and the pretty creature who held them in her dress pouted
because the young officer had ceased to draw them; and the spectacled
gentleman had been trying for an hour to draw another forfeit; while for
most of those present the game was simply a pretext to enable everybody
to remain beside the person to whom he or she was most attracted. That
is something which the papas and mammas do not always see, and about
which husbands give themselves little concern; but it is perfectly
apparent to the keen observer, who seeks in a salon something besides an
écarté table, or a commonplace conversation with people whom he has
never met before and whom he has no desire to meet again.
A fresh supply of punch diverted attention from the private
conversations, and from the games, which were beginning to flag. Domingo
was surrounded again and Monin started on the negro's trail; but the
young men who laughingly besieged the salver constantly put aside the
ex-druggist, who did not reach Domingo's side until the glasses were
once more empty.
Sorely vexed, Monin returned to his wife, who had just finished her
third glass and handed it to her husband to take away.
"It's rather good, isn't it, monsieur?" she said.
"I don't know whether it's good or not," growled Monin angrily; "I
haven't succeeded yet in getting a taste of it."
"Because you're not clever and don't know how to go about it. You should
have seen Monsieur Bisbis, how he pounced on the salver! I thought for a
minute that he was going to take all the glasses. But you're so slow!"
"I'll tell you, Bichette--it's that negro----"
"Go away from here, monsieur. They're going to play _la mer agitée_ and
I must be in it."
"What is _agitée_, Bichette?"
Seeing that his wife was paying no attention to him, it occurred to
Monsieur Monin to lie in ambush at the door of the salon; in that way he
hoped to be the first to seize the negro as he passed, and so make sure
of some punch. Highly pleased with his scheme, Monin took his stand like
a sentinel at the entrance to the salon, stuffing his nose with snuff in
order to be more patient. But he waited more than half an hour and
Domingo did not appear. Monin ventured to glance into the dining-room.
He smelt the punch; that sweet-smelling vapor indicated that the mixture
was not all consumed. He crept into the reception room, and, guided by
the odor, reached a small door, which stood ajar, and discovered Domingo
drinking punch, not from a small glass, but from a large porcelain
pitcher. Monin was standing, speechless with surprise, in his corner,
when Baptiste appeared from the servants' quarters with a plate full of
biscuits. He pushed the negro aside, tossed off several glasses in quick
succession, then dipped his biscuits in the punch and ate them
hurriedly, while Domingo, by way of compensation, stuffed macaroons and
nutcakes into his jacket pockets.
Monin was wondering whether he should go away, or should ask the
servants' leave to take something, when Monsieur Destival, who had been
calling vainly for Domingo and Baptiste in the salon, appeared on the
scene and surprised them.
"Ah! you knaves! you scoundrels! I have caught you at it!" he cried,
rushing at his servants. Domingo ran from the room, but Baptiste stood
his ground, and retorted, undismayed:
"Don't yell so loud for a little punch! Don't make such a row! I was
very glad to have a drop of it myself; I've worked hard enough to-day."
"What does this mean, villain? You presume to argue! You wretch! eating
my biscuit too! rascal! thief!"
"Thief!" retorted Baptiste, glaring at Monsieur Destival with a furious
expression; "don't you dare to insult me--that wouldn't be good for you!
I must be mighty good-natured to stay in your old shanty, where the
servants don't get anything to eat or drink! And what about my wages for
two years, that I can't get hold of a sou of! to say nothing of the
money I've advanced."
"All right, Baptiste, hush!" said Monsieur Destival in a lower tone;
"that's enough, I won't say any more."
"But I tell you that I'm tired of it," rejoined Baptiste, shouting
louder than ever. "Oh, yes! you hire a black man and you don't pay me
any more'n you do the baker and butcher and fruit woman and grocer,
whose abuse I have to listen to every morning! Well! I want my money,
and if you don't like it, I don't care a hang; with all the airs you put
on, I know what's what."
"Hush, for heaven's sake, Baptiste! What's the meaning of all this
foolish talk? Come, my boy, eat another biscuit, and then go to bed."
Baptiste's shouting had attracted several persons from the salon.
"What is it? what's the matter?" they asked one another; and Destival
made haste to reply:
"It's nothing; my valet is drunk and doesn't know what he's saying."
"No, I ain't drunk either," cried Baptiste, walking toward the door;
"pay me my wages instead of calling me 'thief.'"
Destival hastily closed the door on Baptiste's heels and locked it.
"The poor fellow," he said, "talks like a fool when he's drunk; but I
overlook it, because he's very much attached to me."
The people who had come thither pretended to believe what Monsieur
Destival said, because it would have been discourteous to do otherwise;
but they exchanged stealthy glances, laughed and whispered together, and
made comments under their breath, while Baptiste, unable to return to
the room, beat a devil's tattoo on the door, shouting in a hoarse voice:
"My wages! pay me and discharge me; that's just what I'd like! I get
tired of hearing the row your creditors make every day."
Luckily the closed door muffled Baptiste's voice to some extent; and, in
order that he might be heard even less distinctly, the business agent
shouted louder than he:
"All right, Baptiste, all right! You'll be sorry for this, but I forgive
you; I know that you're faithful, and that's enough for me."
Meanwhile Monin had seen his last hope fade away; for it was not to be
presumed that the servants would bring more punch to the salon; so he
returned to his wife. The guests were discussing the scene in the
reception-room, even in the midst of their innocent games; and Madame
Monin exclaimed:
"Mon Dieu! if I hadn't been presenting my _little box of amourettes_ at
that moment, I shouldn't have lost a word of what that Baptiste said.
But you were there, Monsieur Monin, and heard everything. What
happened?"
"I was watching for the negro to get some punch, Bichette, and it was he
who drank it."
"Who's he?"
"The black."
"Who's the black?"
"The servant in a red jacket."
"Well?"
"Well, then he took macaroons--No, I believe it was the other one who
ate biscuits first--I am not perfectly sure."
"Oh! you tell a story wretchedly, Monsieur Monin! Instead of listening
to what was said, you were engrossed by biscuit and macaroons. For
shame! you are such a glutton! You go into company only to drink and
eat."
"But, Bichette, when I tell you that I didn't----"
"Bah! hold your tongue and find my shawl; everyone's going, you see."
In truth, the time for departure had arrived, and the mammas had already
donned their bonnets and shawls. The younger women took more time to
find their wraps, and some obliging young man was always at hand to
offer to help a pretty girl to find what she wanted. They still had
something to say to one another before separating, and they chose to
take advantage of the confusion that prevailed in the salon at that
moment.
Dalville had heard nothing of the scene in the reception room, being
occupied in kissing _what was beneath the candlestick_, which he had
taken pains to place over the head of a very attractive young woman; so
that he gave little thought to what was happening elsewhere. And Madame
de la Thomassinière, intent only upon making new victims, had not
listened to the unkind remarks concerning the host and hostess that were
flying about in all directions.
Soon the salon was nearly empty. The ladies took their leave and Auguste
did likewise, well pleased that he had passed the evening without
playing écarté, and to have discovered that one can enjoy oneself
without losing money. When he reached home he went upstairs and rang,
but no one opened the door. As Bertrand usually sat up for his master,
little Tony seldom carried a key. Having rung again with no better
success, Auguste reflected that Bertrand, whom he had told to go out and
enjoy himself, might very well not have returned; so he sent Tony to
inquire of the concierge and he remained on the landing, thinking that a
few days earlier he would readily have found a place to pass the night
without leaving the house.
His neighbor, who had probably heard him come upstairs and ring, donned
a peignoir and left her room, candle in hand. She went down one flight
and saw her neighbor calmly pacing the floor of the landing. She
descended a few more stairs, coughed slightly, and decided at last to go
down to him. A pretty woman is very seductive in a peignoir, with her
hair loosely secured by a silk handkerchief, from beneath which a few
stray locks escape and fall upon a white breast, which the peignoir
never conceals altogether, because there are always one or two
ill-placed pins, which betray the secrets of beauty, or, perhaps, act as
its confederates.
"Can't you get in, Monsieur Dalville?" asked Madame Saint-Edmond, in the
soft voice which she could assume so readily when she was not left
behind with a bill to pay.
Auguste bowed low to his neighbor and replied coldly:
"As you see, madame."
"Monsieur Bertrand must have forgotten himself somewhere. Perhaps
something has happened to him."
"I trust not."
"That would be a great pity! such a fine fellow, and so fond of you!"
Léonie heaved a profound sigh and said nothing more. Auguste leaned over
the rail to see if Tony were coming up. Léonie, finding that Auguste
said nothing more, decided to reopen the conversation.
"Perhaps you would like to sit in my room, monsieur, until you can get
in? I should think that you would be more comfortable than on this
landing."
"I thank you, madame, but I do not wish to disturb you or to interfere
with your sleep."
"It won't disturb me, monsieur. As for my sleep, for several days I
haven't slept at all."
"Is it because you have lost your poodle again, madame?"
"How unkind! How you make fun of my grief!"
Léonie heaved a more profound sigh than before, and as she had no
handkerchief, she lifted a corner of her peignoir and put it to her
eyes. That movement discovered some very seductive things; but when one
is weeping, one cannot think of everything, and when one's eyes are
covered, one cannot see what one has disclosed.
Auguste, distrusting his weakness, continued to lean over the rail, and
did not take his eyes from the concierge's door.
"Well, Tony, are you coming back to-night?" he cried.
Léonie walked to where he stood and said in a touching voice:
"Mon Dieu! what on earth have I done to you, monsieur?"
"What have you done to me, madame? Why, it seems to me that you know
quite as well as I do."
"Oh! monsieur, how can an intelligent man trust appearances?"
"It seems to me, madame, that no intelligence was required to see what I
saw."
"Why, what did you see, monsieur? May not a woman dine with a man at a
restaurant without having the slightest preference for him? And you
yourself, monsieur--what were you doing with that creature who had the
impertinence to hold a mustard pot under my nose?"
"Oh! I am more honest than you, madame: I admit that I deceived you."
"Ah! what an unhappy creature I am!"
And Léonie had recourse to her usual expedient--she fainted; but she was
careful to fall toward Auguste, who found himself with his neighbor in
his arms. At that moment little Tony came upstairs and said that it was
impossible to understand what Schtrack said, as he was drunk. Auguste
gently laid Léonie on the stairs and told Tony to look after her; then
he went down to interview his concierge, who was half asleep and could
hardly speak.
"Has Bertrand come in?" demanded Auguste, shaking the old German's arm;
whereupon he raised his head and sent a puff of wine-laden breath into
the young man's face as he hiccoughed:
"Pertrand! sacretié! Pertrand!"
"Come, Schtrack, speak out; you were with him, weren't you?"
"Ya."
"Where is he?"
"Haf you not found him?"
"If I had found him, should I be questioning you? Where is he? where did
you leave him? why didn't he come home with you?"
"Sacretié! I vas not strong enough to carry Pertrand; he could not valk
no more; but ve haf ein pig lot trunken."
"So I see; but where shall I find Bertrand?"
"Ach! you vill see him quite vell; dere is no tanger! He is in a safe
blace--up the street. Go up und up--near the Parrière Montmartre."
"Is he in a wine-shop?"
"No; don't I tell you that you vill see him quite vell?"
Unable to extract any further information from Schtrack, Auguste decided
to go in search of Bertrand; he succeeded in getting the door opened,
and went out in the middle of the night to try to find his faithful
comrade, with no other guide than the very vague information given him
by Schtrack. From Rue Saint-Georges where he lived, he went by way of
Rue Saint-Lazare to Rue des Martyrs, knowing that Montmartre was
Bertrand's usual promenade.
Desiring to avail himself of the permission Auguste had given him,
Bertrand had invited Schtrack to go for a walk with him. The old German
did not think of refusing; and, leaving his wife in his place, he
polished his boots, took his cane and accompanied friend Bertrand, who
had no sooner passed the porte cochère than he began on the battle of
Wagram, which was certain to take them a very long way. In fact, the
battle of Wagram was still in progress when they arrived at the Buttes
de Montmartre, without once stopping for a drink. Schtrack, who had thus
far ventured upon nothing beyond a _sacretié!_ proposed that they should
go into a wine-shop, which proposition was instantly acted upon. They
found the wine very poor because they were accustomed to Dalville's
cellar, and they left that wine-shop to look for a better one. They
went into another, drank another bottle, decided again that it was poor
stuff and went in search of a third. After four hours of prospecting
they had visited six wine-shops and drunk six bottles. When they reached
the seventh, they began to think that the wine was better, or rather
they were no longer in condition to pass judgment on it. Bertrand began
again on his campaigns; Schtrack smoked four cigars, and it was nearly
midnight when our friends were informed that it was closing time.
Bertrand paid without looking at the bill, and they left the shop; but
the fresh air put the finishing touch to their intoxication. Bertrand
especially, who was not accustomed to poor wine, soon felt his legs
begin to wobble, and at the corner of Rue des Martyrs and Rue du
Faubourg-Montmartre, he fell, reviling himself as a coward and sluggard
and a wretched drinker.
Schtrack, who had kept his head better because he was used to wine-shop
wine, emitted a _sacretié!_ when he saw Bertrand fall, and tried to
raise him. He could not succeed. After several minutes, during which
Schtrack exclaimed from time to time: "Come, come, comrade Pertrand, off
we go!" the old German discovered that his companion was already snoring
as if he were in his bed.
"So, so! he's asleep!" thought Schtrack; "I must not vake him; he pe
vell comfort there to sleep. Put, suppose some carriage might pass und
not see mein comrade!"
This reflection disturbed Schtrack, who was quite ready to go to sleep
himself; but, looking about, he saw a grocer's shop still open. Thither
he went post haste and asked for a lamp. They gave it to him, after
lighting it at his request. Beacon in hand, Schtrack returned to
Bertrand, who was still sleeping peacefully, stretched out by the wall.
The old concierge took the sleeper's hat, placed it beside his head with
the lamp upon it, and went away, saying to himself:
"Now, there is no tanger, he can sleep in beace."
Auguste spied the lamp, but for which he would have passed Bertrand
without seeing him. The young man could not help smiling at Schtrack's
ingenious device. He shook the ex-corporal, who opened his eyes, half
rose, pushed the guardian lamp away with his elbow, and could not
imagine why he was in the street. Auguste explained matters to him.
Bertrand, whom his nap had sobered, was distressed that he had forgotten
himself to the point of falling drunk in the street, and insisted on
throwing himself into the river, to punish himself for drinking so much
wine. Auguste succeeded in pacifying him, and they returned home, the
young man thinking of Léonie's treachery, Athalie's coquetry, Denise's
dissembling, and promising himself to be more prudent in future;
Bertrand recalling the wretched wine at the wine-shops, and swearing
that he would drink no more.
XIII
DENISE AND COCO IN PARIS
Not more than ten days had passed after Dalville's visit to Montfermeil,
when, on returning from the wine-shop one evening, Père Calleux, who
probably saw double, or else did not see at all, fell into a ditch newly
dug beside the road; in that ditch was a pile of stones intended for
repairing the road, and the peasant broke his head upon them. The next
day little Coco was an orphan.
But he still had Denise, who loved him dearly, Mère Fourcy, who had
become attached to him, and lastly, the friendly interest of Auguste.
Among friends who give us proofs of affection, we cease to feel quite
alone on earth. How many unhappy creatures there are, who might well
believe themselves to be orphans although their parents are not dead!
Denise paid a few small debts which Père Calleux had left, amounting to
less than a hundred francs; for a poor man can get but little credit.
The cabin remained--the child's only patrimony; but it was in such a
tumbledown condition that it was dangerous to live in it. The thatched
roof was half gone, the cracked walls threatened to fall, and the
materials of which it was built were so poor that no use could be made
of them. So that there was really nothing but the land; but with
Dalville's contribution it would be possible to build a little cottage,
surround it with a garden and cultivate it. That is what Denise said to
her aunt, who replied:
"Don't be in a hurry, my child. You'd better wait till the gentleman
comes again, and ask him what he thinks."
But at sixteen one does not like to wait; Denise reflected that it might
be a very long time before the handsome gentleman came to the village
again, and one morning, as she looked at the address which Auguste had
left with her, and to which her eyes very often turned, she exclaimed:
"Suppose we write to that gentleman, aunt! He gave us his address, you
know, so that we could send word to him if we needed him."
"You're right, my child," said Mère Fourcy; "your ideas are always good.
You know how to write, so you must write to him, my girl."
Denise was lost in thought and did not reply.
"Have you forgotten how to write, my child?" continued Mère Fourcy.
"Oh! no, aunt; but I can't write well enough to write to a gentleman
from Paris."
"In that case, my dear, get that old man to write to him, who's just
come here to live, and who writes all the nurses' letters. He handles
his pen fine, I tell you! He'll write a sentence two pages long to tell
you your child's had the colic, or needs a new cap. Or else ask neighbor
Mauflard to do you the favor; he's an old schoolmaster, and he ought to
write like a Barême's grammar!"
Denise was still silent; but after a moment she said, lowering her eyes:
"Don't you think, aunt, that it would be better to go to Paris and speak
to the gentleman? Wouldn't it be more polite than writing?"
"You're right again, my child; and there's a little stage that starts
for Paris at eight o'clock every morning and brings you back at four."
"And then, aunt, I've been to Paris twice, you know, and nothing ever
happened to me."
"All right, my child, go ahead; nothing ever happens to anybody unless
they want it to."
"And I'll take Coco with me, shan't I, aunt?"
"Yes, my dear; that will please the gentleman. It will be polite to him;
and if I wasn't so busy here, I'd go with you and ask him to give me
some dinner, because I know what's the right thing to do, you see."
Denise was quite as well pleased that her aunt should not go with her;
but she was overjoyed that she herself was allowed to go, and she ran
off to engage seats for herself and Coco for the next day. The rest of
that day she spent in preparing her dress. Coco jumped for joy when he
learned that he was going in a stage to see his kind friend, and Mère
Fourcy packed two pairs of chickens, two dozen eggs, some fruit and
cake, in a basket, as a present for the young gentleman in Paris.